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jungshookmeup · 11 days ago

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how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)

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(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.

You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.

You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.

Then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod.

You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.

“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.

You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.

“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol, doesn’t move his arm.

His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”

“But babe—”

He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”

Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.

You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.

He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”

And god help you, you say yes.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.

“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.

He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.

“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.

The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.

The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.

Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?

You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.

You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.

You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really.

She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.

But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”

It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.

You blink. My girl?

Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.

The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.

“I help you,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”

Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.

You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.

Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.

“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”

Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.

The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.

“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”

His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”

You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.

But you don’t.

Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.

“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.

They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”

The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”

You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.

“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”

“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.

Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.

A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest. Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.

You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.

You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”

Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”

“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”

You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”

You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.

You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.

Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.

“Want me to walk you out?”

You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”

His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”

“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.

“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”

And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.

“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”

He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now

“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”

You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”

“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”

He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”

And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”

He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.

“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”

You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.

“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”

He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.

“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”

You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.

“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”

“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”

He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”

“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.

“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.

So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.

“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.

He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”

Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”

“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.

“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”

Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.

“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”

Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.

Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”

Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.

A message from you.

You: So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?

He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.

Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.

Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.

He hits send before he can think better of it.

Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.

He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.

A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.

The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.

Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”

He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. “Told you. Bribes.”

You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”

“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”

You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”

He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”

You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”

He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.

You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.

“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”

You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”

“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”

You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”

You blink. “Why?”

He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.

“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”

Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.

You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”

He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.

You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.

“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”

That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.

“This a date now?” he throws back.

You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”

He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”

And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.

Again.

The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.

You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.

He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.

“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting.

You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”

He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”

She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.

He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”

“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”

He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”

You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“Too late.”

There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.

He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.

“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.

You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.

She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”

You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”

You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.

“Ah, he’s exaggerating,” you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”

“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”

The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”

You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”

“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”

Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.

You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”

You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.

The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”

You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”

His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”

You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:

“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”

He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”

You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.

By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.

He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.

You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.

He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.

Jeonghan.

The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.

Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”

Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.

It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.

His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.

On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.

“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”

You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”

“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”

You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”

They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”

Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?

You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.

“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.

“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”

You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”

They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.

You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up.

The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.

“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.

He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”

“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”

You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”

“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.

For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.

He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”

You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.

The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.

You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”

You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away

You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.

“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.

“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”

You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.

It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.

The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.

“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.

You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”

“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.

“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”

“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.

And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.

He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.

Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.

“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.

“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”

You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”

You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.

The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.

And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.

As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.

You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”

“What, you think I’m boring?”

You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”

He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”

You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.

“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”

“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”

You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”

The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.

"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”

His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”

"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"

“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”

You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.

He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”

He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”

You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”

“I could say the same about you.”

That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.

By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.

He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”

You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”

And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”

He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.

“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”

You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”

“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”

You freeze just for a second.

“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.

You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”

His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.

Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.

You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”

You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.

“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”

And you don’t argue.

But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.

It’s just the prelude.

The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.

Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”

Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.

And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.

Actually, smiling.

Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”

“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”

They both watch him a beat longer.

Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”

Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”

Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.

“Y’all are dramatic.”

“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”

“There’s no she.”

“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”

Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.

Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”

Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”

Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”

“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.

The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.

It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m.

A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?

He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming.

It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.

You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.

Hence: the smile.

The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.

“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”

Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”

“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”

That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”

He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.

“She liked them.”

And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.

You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.

But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.

Flowers again?

You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.

And your heart absolutely stutters.

Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.

It’s him.

Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.

“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”

You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”

He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”

You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”

“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”

You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.

Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.

“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”

You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”

“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”

You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”

He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”

“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”

He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.

You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.

“How was your morning?”

He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.

“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”

You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”

He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”

“Because you were texting me?”

His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.

“Maybe.”

You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.

You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”

“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”

“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.

You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”

And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.

You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.

“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”

His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”

You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”

He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”

You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.

“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”

You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.

“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”

Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.

“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”

You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”

“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”

“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”

He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”

You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.

“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”

He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”

The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.

“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.

“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.

Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.

It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two.

A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.

But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.

The bar.

He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”

You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”

He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.

“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”

“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”

“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”

“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.

You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.

“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”

His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.

“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”

You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”

He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”

You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.

From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.

Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.

Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying.

One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.

And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.

Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.

He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast. And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.

One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”

He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”

He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look

“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”

You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”

You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”

For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.

You feel it, the shift. Again.

And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.

“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.

“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”

Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.

He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”

“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”

Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”

“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim.

“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And you believe him. God help you, you really do.

“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”

Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.

He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”

“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance.

“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—

“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”

And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.

The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.

You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.

He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.

When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

No questions.

No where to?

He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.

And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.

You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”

“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.

And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.

Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”

Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.

“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”

Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”

“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”

“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”

Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”

Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”

“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.

And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.

He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”

The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.

You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.

Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.

You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.

“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”

He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way.

You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days.

“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”

You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.

“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.

You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”

He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.

“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”

You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”

His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”

And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.

When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.

As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”

You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”

It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.

You’re not waiting long.

His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress.

Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.

And then he steps out.

He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”

You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”

He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.

“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.

You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”

He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”

You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”

When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.

You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.

Because of him.

Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.

Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt.

He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”

He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”

And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.

You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”

He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”

That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”

“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.

“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”

You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”

“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.

“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”

You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”

“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.

That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.

You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.

“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.

“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”

“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.

He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T

When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.

“Finally,” you whisper.

Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”

You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”

He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.

Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.

When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.

You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.

She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.

“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”

You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”

You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.

He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”

Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”

“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.

“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”

You gape at him.

Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”

“If she’ll let me.”

Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”

You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”

Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”

Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”

“Mom!”

She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.

You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”

But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.

He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear.

That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”

Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”

Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”

“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”

Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”

“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.

Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did she finally kiss you?”

“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”

Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”

“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”

Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”

“She liked me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”

“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”

But he’s still smiling.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.

“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.

You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”

His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”

He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”

The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.

Then he turns around.

Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”

“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”

“Shut up,”

You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”

You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.

When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”

He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”

You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”

“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”

You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”

“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”

You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.

“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”

Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”

Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.

Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.

He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.

“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”

He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”

And somehow, you believe him.

The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.

Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.

“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”

“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.

But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”

Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”

Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.

“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.

Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”

You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”

The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.

“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”

“No?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”

“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”

Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”

You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.

Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”

Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.

He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”

You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”

You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.

You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.

Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.

“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”

“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.

But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.

“You love the guy.”

“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”

She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”

You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”

“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge.

“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”

She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”

The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.

And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.

You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”

She raises a brow.

“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”

Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”

The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.

“Hey, baby.”

You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now.

“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”

There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”

He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.

“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.

You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”

“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”

You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”

The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.

The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.

Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.

“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”

You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.

“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.

“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.

“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”

That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft.

You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.

And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I could get used to this,” he says softly.

You smile, eyes locked with his.

He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.

Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.

Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”

“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”

He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”

“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”

“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”

“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.

The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it.

Like there never was.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

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jungshookmeup · 14 days ago

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If you mess up a social interaction you can say "Failed Experiment" and move on

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jungshookmeup · 15 days ago

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[through tears] yeah i remain whimsical

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jungshookmeup · 15 days ago

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off the record | kim mingyu {part two}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in. PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), drinking, mention of tobacco, mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 18.2k (for part two); 43k (in total)

notes: welcome to the final part of off the record!! honestly after rereading this fic a million times i swear there are plot holes and parts i could do better on. but hey, i've never written an action-crime fic like this before so i had fun writing with all the knowledge i had and wtv my pea brain could handle heh. if you've read this far, i hope you've enjoyed 🫶 once again, pls do reblog or comment/send an ask i would love to know your thoughts!

part one | part two

Mingyu finds himself clumsily stumbling through the doors of the Daily Planet. He’s ten minutes late than he was supposed to clock in. One of the buttons on his shirt is unknowingly misaligned, though he covers it up with his jacket. He brushes through his windswept hair, adjusts his crooked tie, and itches a tiny spot at his nose before fixing the glasses on his face while speed-walking through the lobby.

There was an attempted robbery at one of the local laundromats this morning. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad𑁋just a bunch of high school teenagers attempting to snoop through the laundry machines and steal the coins. Mingyu had handled it quickly, gently scolding the teenagers then reprimanding them, and flying them straight to the nearest police station. But it still cost him precious time, as he barely was able to finish his breakfast before being called in.

Mingyu sighs under his breath, muttering an apology as he dodges a passing janitor and an intern jogging towards the ground floor coffee shop. His mind races ahead of him, knowing he was going to see you today. You’re probably already here, sipping on your cup of coffee that he should’ve probably gotten for you if he wasn’t late.

Warmth blooms in his chest at the thought of you briefly, but the fondness is quickly shoved away by guilt. He can’t help but think about your conversation with him the other night as he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

Your words keep replaying over and over in his mind. You make it hard, you know, to stay detached.

God, he wanted to tell you everything. Wanted to stand in front of you𑁋not as Superman, but as Mingyu. As your dazed, cowardice coworker and science journalist who has always wanted to ask you out on a proper date but doesn’t have the guts to.

It’s an odd situation, really. When he’s Superman, he has the confidence to kiss you, but when he’s Mingyu, he can barely look at you in the eyes for more than five seconds before feeling like he’ll spontaneously combust.

He exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face as he nears the elevators. His steps quicken with determination. He dashes around the corner of the lobby𑁋

𑁋and crashes straight into another man.

“Ah, sorry, sir!” Mingyu blurts out in apology, already reaching out a hand to steady the man before stumbling back himself.

The man barely looks up from where he stands, clutching a sleek black briefcase at his side as he brushes off his dark coat, muttering something under his breath. He’s tall, seemingly close to Mingyu’s height, and his face is half-hidden by a black fedora.

The familiarity of the man hits Mingyu all at once.

Mingyu feigns a guilty look. “Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can𑁋”

And then it hits him. A wave of nausea slams into Mingyu’s gut.

He falters for a second, trying to control the way his knees nearly buckle beneath him. His vision swims for a second, his skin burning underneath his clothes, sweat beginning to bead at his forehead despite being in a completely air-conditioned lobby.

“You good, kid?” the man asks lowly, voice rough and gravelly; it even sends an uncomfortable shiver up Mingyu’s spine.

No.

He is not good.

“Yeah, just…” He lets out a few fake coughs, clenching his jaw. “Skipped breakfast, little stomachache. Happens more often than you think.”

“Mm,” the man hums, and Mingyu swears he sees his lips curl underneath the shadow from his fedora. His stomach twists violently as his attention flits to the man’s briefcase momentarily, and there’s a faint, sickly green glow pulsing from its seams, so subtle no ordinary human eye could possibly notice. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

Before Mingyu can say anything more, he watches as the man disappears within the bustling, crowded lobby. Then he finds himself leaning against the wall for support, breathing unsteady, feeling the poison dissipating from his bloodstream the farther the man walks away.

Kryptonite. The word echoes through his mind as if he was cursed, leaving his limbs heavy and his thoughts spiraling. The pain is faint now𑁋whatever the hell was in that briefcase is out of proximity𑁋but that encounter was close. Too close. This wasn’t just some low level crook or common thief. It wasn’t an accident. It was intentional.

And if it’s in the Daily Planet, it was meant for him.

Mingyu forces himself upright, brushes away invisible dust on his clothes, and readjusts his crooked glasses. He can’t afford to make a scene. Not here. Not now.

Especially not when you’re here.

He pastes on a smile when the elevator dings and he steps out onto the floor, yet it’s swift to fade as he breezes past passing colleagues trying to greet him and cubicles, scanning the room to find you. But he doesn’t see you, not even at your desk.

Panicking, he strides towards around the corner to where the conference room is, heart thudding, vision narrowed.

Finally, he spots you through the glass of one of them. You’re seated near the end of the table surrounded by other journalists in your field, dressed in some semi-formal attire, jotting down notes on your notepad as a woman speaks at the front. You’re so focused, so in your element, completely unaware of the possible danger lingering inside the building.

A wave of relief washes over him for a fleeting moment as he nears the door. He hesitates. He shouldn’t disturb you. You’d probably even try to kill him for interrupting a meeting like this.

But he can’t shake the feeling crawling up his spine𑁋the warning courses through his veins, the way every nerve in his body is rigid with apprehension. The image of that briefcase and its poisonous glow flashes through his eyes.

Without thinking, he knocks on the door, and it’s firm enough to turn a few heads in his direction. The woman at the front pauses mid-sentence. You look up as well, eyes widening and brows furrowing to the sight of Mingyu in the doorway. He gestures toward you with a subtle tilt of his head, mouthing something you can’t quite decipher from where you’re sitting.

“Hi, um… Sorry to interrupt.” Mingyu pushes the door open a little more, trying to contain the urgency in his voice, shooting apologetic looks to everyone in the room. “Can I borrow Y/N for a second?”

You frown at him, glancing briefly at your other colleagues who are all mumbling amongst each other. “I𑁋Mingyu, can it wait? I’m in the middle of a𑁋”

“Please.” His lips part; for a brief second, his façade falters, and you catch something like worry in his eyes. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

Your shoulders tense instinctively, but you cover it up with a polite smile to the people beside you, mumbling apologies under your breath. You tuck your notepad under your arm and stuff your pen inside the pocket of your suit jacket and quietly excuse yourself from the meeting.

Mingyu opens the door a little farther for you to step out, before closing it behind and reaching for your hand without a second thought.

His fingers wrap around your hands with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt from him before, struggling to keep up with his fast pace. He drags you through the crowded newsroom and towards the entrance to the stairwell, the buzz of nearby conversations fading away.

“Mingyu,” You breathe out the second the two of you stop. “You can’t just take me out of my meeting𑁋what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His hand still hasn’t let go of yours, and you catch the way his eyes seem to be darting around as if expecting someone𑁋or someone𑁋to appear around the corner any moment. His jaw tightens, and you swear if you listen hard enough, you might be able to hear his teeth grind.

Mingyu swallows hard before looking down at you, his firm grip on your hand loosening slightly.

“I… I just needed to see you,” he confesses, though you can tell he’s holding something back.

Your breath hitches at his words. “What’s𑁋”

“You trust me, right?” he asks quietly, words fragile as if it’s going to break.

Your lips part to speak, but the words take a few seconds to form. “I… Of course, I do.”

He exhales shakily at your words, something flickering over his eyes𑁋relief, perhaps. Or guilt. Or regret. But before you can dwell on it, before you can ask him what’s wrong, a shrill, piercing sound cuts thunderously through the air.

The alarm.

It blares overhead, bouncing off the walls, swallowing every other sound in its wake. Flashing red lights cloud your vision and illuminate the halls. You could only freeze in place, stomach sinking down to the ground, unable to move.

“Attention, all personnel,” a calm, but firm voice speaks through the intercom system. “We have received a breach in security. Please remain calm and await further instruction. There has been a potential bomb threat reported in the building. All personnel are ordered to evacuate immediately. Emergency services are on their way. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill.”

You feel your blood run cold. Gasps and shouts erupt all across the newsroom. Chairs scrape against the floor. People around you are scrambling for their belongings and pouring out into the hallway.

You whip your head back around to Mingyu. He’s grown paler, yet his grip on your hand only tightens, like he’s trying to anchor himself to you𑁋and maybe he is. Maybe you’re the only thing holding him together right now.

“Mingyu,” You utter, panic creeping into your voice. “A bomb? Is this𑁋should we𑁋”

“We need to get out of here,” he interrupts, already pulling you toward the stairwell door. “Come on.”

You hastily stumble after him as he pushes the door open and leads you down the flights of stairs. You can hear the stampede of steps right behind you of people flooding their way through the stairwell, trying to get out as well. His steps are faster, more purposeful, but every few seconds he glances over his shoulder to check on you, making sure you’re keeping up.

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors are wide open, people from all directions rushing outside, some shouting into phones, others helping each other along. The sirens of the emergency services grow deafening the second you and him burst outside.

Mingyu pulls you a little farther away from the growing crowd, his hand still clasped around yours like he’s terrified to let go. His chest heaves unsteadily, gaze flicking wildly over the scene𑁋police cars, reporters scrambling to get footage, people crying or calling their loved ones on the phone.

When he comes to a halt, he turns back to look at you. “Don’t move from here. Don’t follow me. Do you understand?”

“What?” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “No𑁋Mingyu, you are not fucking going back, I am not letting you𑁋”

“Promise me.” One of his hands finds your shoulder, gripping tight but not too harshly. The other reaches up to hesitantly cup your face, and for a brief moment, the chaos seems to fade away. “Please.”

Your throat constricts, and you barely manage a nod. With that, you feel him pull away from you. There’s a small hint of hesitation as he doesn’t let his eyes leave yours. But then he purses his lips together and turns on his heel, running back into the crowd and disappearing behind all the rows of screaming police cars.

Every instinct in you is fighting to follow him, a wobble in your step as you place one foot forward.

But you promised him to stay, and so you do.

Mingyu rounds a corner and ducks into a nearby alleyway. He fumbles with the buttons to his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the unmistakable emblem hidden underneath. He kicks off his shoes and throws his glasses aside, shrugging off the rest of his clothes as his red cape flares out behind him like a banner.

The building of the Daily Planet shrinks beneath him as he launches himself up into the air, letting his mind focus to narrow in on the threat. His eyes glow as he scans through the building’s interior, and then𑁋there.

A soft, beep-beep-beep reverberates in his ear, coming from beneath the layers of concrete and steel. He forces himself to focus even more, his vision lasering through the walls of the building, until he sees it.

17th floor. Administrative area. Armed men surrounding the bomb like vultures.

With a singular breath, he dives down, merely a blur of red and blue to witnesses below as he crashes through the window, shattering glass exploding like diamonds. The force is enough to send a few of the armed men crashing down the ground before even realising what hit them.

In an instant, he feels the white-hot searing pain of kryptonite nearby enter his body, but he has to push through. He has to.

Alarms wail in his ears as he lands on the floor with a thunderous impact. But he tunes them out, eyes narrowing to the sounds of weapons being drawn and commands being shouted from all kinds of directions𑁋but he’s faster, way too fast.

Mingyu moves before any of them can properly aim. A sharp whoosh penetrates through the air with every punch, every tackle, every bullet that harmlessly ricochets off his chest and into the walls. He lifts one man into the air and flings him into a nearby desk with enough restraint to incapacitate, but not to kill. Another one tries to foolishly sprint at him with a knife, but fails miserably as Mingyu grabs him by the wrist, twisting hard enough to make the man yelp and the knife crumpling down to the floor. With a clean punch, he sends the man flying across the room.

The click of a gun heightens Mingyu’s senses, and he turns around to lunge forward into another armed man aiming directly at him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and bending it like it’s made of tinfoil. A swift punch to the gut is enough to send the man buckling down to the ground before having any time to react.

At the corner of his eye, Mingyu spots another one of the men attempting to escape through the stairwell. He dashes forward, slamming the man straight into the wall, watching as his unconscious body slumps down the stairs.

When the last attacker is down and the room finally stills, Mingyu turns his attention back to the bomb. It sits perched on a standing desk, ominous and pulsing faintly with a green glow.

Kryptonite.

A wave of nausea claws up his throat as he nears it. It’s still ticking down.

00:00:40.

00:00:39.

00:00:38…

He has no time.

As a groan bubbles deep in his chest, Mingyu reaches out and encases the bomb in his arms, sweltering pain crawling up his arm as he tightens a grip around the cold metal, but he doesn’t let go.

“Shit, come on, come on…” he hisses through his teeth, his cape dragging against the floor below.

He bends his knees and tries to push off the ground, but he barely lifts off.

The kryptonite’s grip tightens around his chest like a suffocating weight. His flight sputters like a broken engine, lifting him only a few feet off the ground before his strength falters. He slams back onto the floor with a harsh grunt, sweat beading over his forehead.

The clock keeps ticking down. He squeezes his eyes shut. Focus, focus, focus.

He won’t fail. He can’t.

Mingyu forces himself upright again, wrapping both arms around the bomb. His muscles turns into knots under the strain, but he wills his body to rise, fighting to cover every agonising inch off the ground.

Then with a sudden burst of energy, he rockets through the ceiling, debris exploding through the air as his cape snaps behind him through the wind. He flies higher and higher, struggling to not succumb to the kryptonite’s poison crawling through his veins.

00:00:17.

00:00:16.

00:00:15…

He breaks through the clouds and rears close to the stratosphere, the city below him stretching like a blanket. The bomb feels heavier than the entire world itself. His chest tightens even more; black spots dancing through his vision.

00:00:06.

00:00:05.

00:00:04…

With one final roar, Mingyu hurls the bomb out of his grasp and straight up into the sky with every last ounce of his strength he could muster. It sails upwards like a shooting star, and as the seconds dial to zero, it explodes in a brilliant, blinding supernova of green light far above the Earth that sends him barreling back to the ground, though he manages to catch himself mid-air, hovering for a few seconds to catch his breath.

Back on the ground, a sudden shockwave nearly has you slipping on your feet, rumbling the ground like distant thunder. Gasps ripple through the air as you and everyone else’s eyes peer up to the skies, the explosion illuminating the heavens above before being swallowed by the clouds.

And then… silence. Peace. But it isn’t as comforting as you hoped for.

You scan the crowd desperately, spotting coworkers hugging each other, cameras aimed at the skies with reporters frantically speaking. But there’s no sign of the face you’re looking for𑁋where the hell is Mingyu?

He promised you. He promised.

Your feet take a few staggering steps forward, continuing to skim every face in your peripheral vision, yet you still don’t see any sight of him. Worry swarms through every limb in your body as you clench your fists at your side, ready to defy his word if it means finding him.

But then, suddenly, a cloth clamps over your mouth from behind.

Your scream is muffled as your body jerks backward, and whatever the hell is laced in the cloth immediately burns down your throat the second you inhale its bitter, chemical smell. You try to thrash your legs, wildly flail your arms, but then an arm grips around your torso, leaving your efforts to no avail.

Your vision spins. The world starts to tilt. Your limbs begin to grow weak, sluggish, your strength slipping away.

“Shh, shh,” a low voice whispers eerily in your ear. “Don’t make this harder, sweetheart.”

The last thing you see and hear before the darkness consumes you is the blurry outline of the crowd cheering and the streaking colour of red and blue crossing the sky.

The first thing you feel is a pulsating throb against your skull. Your eyelids flutter open slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus, but the world around you is completely disorientating.

Harsh fluorescent lights glare down on you from above, and the sharp smell of something faintly chemical, acrid, metallic fill your lungs. It feels like weights are holding down all your limbs, only for you to realise you’re completely bound up𑁋both legs and wrists.

You tug helplessly at the bindings, but they don’t budge. Cold metal cuffs bite uncomfortably into your skin, anchoring you to the chair you’re sitting on. Your heart pounds anxiously against your ribcage as your vision starts to finally sharpen𑁋and that’s when you realise where you are. Or where you think you are.

A warehouse. Or something like that. Grey, windowless walls surround you on every side, illuminated by the few flickering light bulbs above. Stacks of crates line the walls containing serial numbers you don’t recognise, but you could only guess the one thing that may be housed in there.

Kryptonite.

Dread gnaws at your core.

Somewhere, a low snicker taunts you from the shadows.

“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”

You flinch as footsteps start to approach, a pair of heavy boots pounding against the concrete. Slowly, a man steps into your view𑁋middle-aged, a black fedora on his head, a jagged scar running from his temple and down to his jaw. A pistol is grasped in his hand, but what chills you more is the cutthroat glint to his eyes. Behind him stood a few men, rifles casually slung over their shoulders, their faces covered with masks.

“Comfortable?” He crouches down to your level, close enough you literally taste the pungent smell of tobacco off him. “Apologies for the rude awakening, darling. Was concerned they put too much chloroform in you.”

You spit at the ground near his boot. “Go to hell, prick.”

A dark grin spreads across the man’s scarred face. “Oh, honey, I’ve been living there for years.” The gun in his hand clicks loudly, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, pointing the barrel of the gun at your knee. “But don’t worry. You’ll be joining me soon enough.”

A ripple of chuckles dance around you mockingly. Scarface eventually stands up, pacing around you tauntingly.

“Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” he starts. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”

He stops directly behind you, and you feel the barrel of his gun knock against the back of your head.

“Here’s the thing,” Scarface continues coldly. “This ain’t personal, sweetheart. Though, between you and me, it’s a hell of a bonus that you happen to be his plaything.”

Your blood runs cold. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He simply laughs, a bitter bark that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. “Come on, princess, don’t play dumb. You and Superman. Or whatever the hell he calls himself these days. We’ve seen you two.”

You swallow hard, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re delusional.”

His grin widens, teeth yellow in the dim light. “Am I? Or did you think no one else would notice? Cameras are everywhere in this shithole city, darling. Tell me, doll𑁋does he fly straight to your apartment after a rescue? Whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Fuck you silly in the sky?”

You jerk frantically against the cuffs, wincing as the metal digs deeper into your skin. “You’re sick, you𑁋”

The sound of the gun cocking immediately makes you zip your mouth.

“You wrote that little article, huh? Though you were some big hero exposing our kryptonite trade, eh?” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve pissed off the wrong people with that one, princess. It almost makes me feel bad for you, honestly. But alas, you’ve signed your own death warrant with that.”

“If you want to kill me so badly, just do it,” You urge lowly.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Scarface spits hoarsely. “As much as it would be fun to put a bullet through your head, there are far more important things than that. Superman.”

“He’s not your enemy,” You attempt to reason, even though deep down you know it’s useless. “He’s saved this city more times than𑁋”

“I’ve heard all the PR bullshit,” he cuts you off sharply. “He’s a threat. A freak. An alien bastard. A ticking time bomb. You think this world is safe with him flying around? He can lift mountains and destroy an entire city with a fucking sneeze. And threats like that need to be neutralised.”

Scarface looms above you once again, pointing the gun right between your eyes.

“And what better way to lure him out by using the thing he loves most?”

You battle the fear grappling at your chest, forcing your defiant gaze to shoot a dagger right through him.

“Fuck you.”

What comes next is a loud slap that echoes across the room. Pain immediately burns through your cheek from the force, your vision momentarily blurring, the taste of copper falling on your tongue. Your teeth scrape against each other in your mouth as you hold back the heat sprouting in the corners of your eyes.

“Tough girl, huh?” Scarface sneers amusedly, pulling away from you. “Makes things more fun.”

Before you can retort, you hear shots ringing out in the distance𑁋somewhere outside from wherever you are. It stuns the room in a brief, rigid silence, making the armed men in the room hoister their rifles. There’s a momentary wave of relief that hits you, a beat of hope that reverberates in your heart.

Scarface curses lowly under his breath, his grip hardening around his pistol, signaling to the men in the room. You watch as they all give a nod before marching out the door, before Scarface flickers his gaze back to you.

“You stay right here, yeah?” He gives you a forceful flick on the forehead. “Enjoy the show, princess.”

The rattling sound of keys jerks your attention upright. You watch with hazy eyes as two armed men stroll inside the room with heavy footsteps. Both of their faces are obscured and hidden by hats and masks, rifles slung across their shoulders as they approach you. They come to either side of you𑁋the man on the right reaches for a tight grip around your waist.

“Get up,” he orders gruffly. “Orders changed. We’re taking you outside.”

The man on the left is noticeably silent as you’re yanked off your chair and onto your feet. Your knees wobble from having been sitting for God knows how long, blood and adrenaline rushing throughout your body.

You find yourself being forced towards the exit, entering into a shallow hallway. Exposed pipes and the heavy, unappealing scent of oil and gunpowder fill your lungs. You stumble against the uneven floor as you’re guided forward, their grips firm on your wrists.

The silence of the hallway feels deafening, seemingly endless before your eyes with no visible signs of escape. You overhear the man on the right mumbling something over what you assume to be a radio, then you allow your gaze to flit over to the man on the left.

He’s stoic, composed, the low brim of his cap hiding his eyes. His grip on your wrist is not as bruising as the other man; in fact, it’s almost gentle, somewhat hesitant. It doesn’t feel like the kind of grip of someone dragging you down to your execution. Or maybe you’re just holding onto the end of some fragile thread of hope, because at this point, it’s slipping from your grasp way faster than you’re able to catch up with.

“Get moving.” The man on the right shoves you with the barrel of his gun.

You stumble forward with a sharp hiss, and you hardly realise that the grip on your left wrist tightens ever so slightly, preventing you from falling down to the ground.

“Watch it,” the man on the left grumbles.

“Shut your mouth.” The other man gives you another harsher push.

And then, suddenly, the air shifts.

It happens like the blink of an eye𑁋a blur of movement catches you off-guard and before your brain could fully process what’s happening, the man on the left snaps into action.

With one fluid, impossible movement, he lets go of your wrist before swinging a hand directly into the other man’s gut. A sickening crunch echoes through the empty hallway as you watch the armed guard crumple down to the ground. Before he has any chance to recover, the man on your left knocks the rifle clean out of his hands, and in another flash of motion, slams him hard into the wall.

The impact leaves a deep dent in the drywall.

You instinctively shield yourself with your cuffed hands, fear slithering up your shaky legs as the man turns directly towards you. For a moment, your heart nearly stops.

And then, you see it.

Though his face is still obscured, you catch a glimpse𑁋just a tiny glimpse𑁋of his eyes.

There’s no anger in them.

Or rage.

But warmth.

Your lips part in disbelief as you scan him from head to toe. The brim of his hat is slightly askew from earlier, dark hair peeking out from underneath. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his frame sending an unmistakable spark of recognition through your mind, and it takes everything in you not to cry or collapse from relief.

Superman is here. He found you.

He steps up to you carefully while removing his mask, reaching an arm behind to snap the cuffs off your wrists like they’re made of tinfoil. They fall down the ground with a clank, and you find yourself instinctively leaning into him, feeling his arms immediately catch you. His warmth is enough to wash away more of the fear and adrenaline coursing within you.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low, almost hoarse𑁋like it physically hurts to see you like this.

You give a subtle, vulnerable shake of your head. He doesn’t press you more about it.

“There’s kryptonite here,” You tell him worriedly. “They talked about it𑁋said they were going to use it on you. To trap you. Kill you.”

You feel his body stiffen for a moment. Not out of fear, though. He’s not afraid, you think.

“I know,” he says quietly.

He releases you a little, giving him room to slide one of his gloves off. Your eyes widen at the sight of blood on his knuckles. The imminent danger of kryptonite is fully shown right in front of you. Just like the heist at the National Bank, it’s enough to even make the Man of Steel bleed.

You take his hand in yours. It tremors from your touch. “No, you can’t𑁋” You purse your lips together urgently. “They want you to walk into their trap. Into their goddamn execution chamber.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away. He lets you hold it, allowing your gaze to wash over the blooming scrape as if it’ll be enough to make it fade away. You feel the restraint in his body, as if he’s trying to hold in the imperceptible signs of pain he may be feeling. He’s breathing harder than he should, and still holding your hand like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then he looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since stepping into this hellhole. And it nearly destroys him to see worry carved in your features. He’s never seen this look on you before, never seen you𑁋the Daily Planet’s most passionate and sharp-witted journalist𑁋this scared before. For him.

His jaw tics.

“I have to stop them,” he mutters. “It’s what I have to do.”

He’s about to move. You can feel it in the way his body shifts. You still refuse to let him go.

“There’s a vent, northside of the building,” he informs you softly. “It’s a tight squeeze, but it’ll take you outside. Reinforcements are already on their way. I’ll hold them off so you can get out.”

“No,” You insist desperately, clinging to his sleeve. “You’re hurt, you’re bleeding. They’ll𑁋”

“Please.”

His voice cracks from the singular word alone. God, you want to argue. To cry. To kiss him hoping that this entire thing was just a figment of your imagination. But you can’t. This nightmare is real.

The realisation settles in your bones like ice.

He bends down a little to press his forehead against yours. You relish the closeness, allowing your eyes to fall to a close. While the world has gone mad outside, there’s a brief period of stillness that makes standing in this quiet, grimy hallway less suffocating. Slowly, your fingers release his sleeve, one-by-one.

“If you die in there, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” You whisper shakily, trying to summon any semblance of strength in your voice𑁋yet, it wavers anyway.

The barest twitch of his lips is the closest thing to a smile you get. “Deal.”

You open your eyes to look at him again𑁋just in case. Just in case this is the last time you get to. He doesn’t say anything, only leaning in to press the gentlest of kisses to your forehead which makes your heart squeeze tightly. It burns. Not from heat, but from the pain of goodbye disguised as tenderness.

“Go. Run,” he demands. “Don’t look back.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. And then you turn on your heel and bolt.

Your footsteps echo down the corridor, fading faster than he’s ready for. You don’t look back. You can’t. Because you know that if you do, you’ll turn around and never leave. And he needs you to leave. Staying might only hurt him even more.

Maybe that’s what love is sometimes: letting go of something, even when one piece of you is begging to stay.

Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋watches as your figure disappears around the corner. The softness in his gaze hardens back to steel. He brings his eyes down to the unconscious guard slumped down the wall, stepping over to crouch down.

He begins to rifle through the man’s pockets swiftly. There’s no time to waste. At the corner of his eye, he spots one of the kryptonite pendants hidden underneath the man’s jacket. Other things that he finds are pretty standard: extra rounds of ammo, a pistol, a radio muttering purely static, a tactical knife. All of it is completely useless to him. But then, his hand brushes against something cold and metallic in one of the inner pockets.

He pulls it out𑁋a small, lead-lined case, which alone is already a red flag, and an access card.

Mingyu pockets the card before flipping open the tiny hatch, bracing for what he already suspects. Inside, there’s kryptonite, but it seems to be purposely melted into a liquid, metallic state, pulsing green like a heartbeat. The buzz from the radiation itches at the edges of his strength. He digs a little deeper into the man’s pockets, and he flinches when something sharp caresses his skin.

A syringe. It’s sleek, probably custom-made, the kind you don’t find in a standard military-grade medical kit. No, this was made for a purpose. They’d planned to get close to him, inject him. That’s why they needed you. You were the bait𑁋the knife they’d twist into his gut the moment his guard drops.

And it nearly worked.

Mingyu crushes the syringe in his hand without a second thought, the material melting inwardly before crumpling to the ground like a pile of dust. They used you. They took you from him. Toyed with your life and hurt you, left bruises on your wrists that he can still feel under his fingers.

It’s not rage that powers him now.

It’s you.

A bullet barely grazes his cheek, flying past him and hitting the wall right behind him.

He doesn’t flinch. He’s bleeding, but he hardly lets it phase him.

Mingyu’s body moves before he could even think, instincts sharpened by fury. He lunges forward, grabbing the armed man by the collar and slamming him into the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. The rifle clatters uselessly to the floor, and Mingyu crushes it with his foot.

Another soldier comes up at Mingyu from behind𑁋the soft click of the safety being released heightens his senses𑁋and he spins, sweeping the attacker’s legs out from under him. Before the man could hit the ground, a loud crack bounces off the walls as Mingyu’s fists meets his jaw with a forceful punch.

Pain rattles through his bones. He’s getting weaker by the minute, as if there’s some invisible noose tightening with every breath he takes. But he has to keep going. He has to.

He limps past the carnage of unconscious bodies, his breath ragged, shoulders rising and falling heavily with the effort to stay upright. The hallway ahead of him stretches before his eyes, flickering lights buzzing overhead. He makes one turn. Then another. And another.

He stops in his path.

A dead end, but it doesn’t forgo any sort of hope; in fact, quite the opposite. A steel, reforged door looms in front of him. Unlike the other doors in the place, there’s no handle for this one. A keypad glows faintly on the side𑁋red, locked tight. But he remembers the access card he pocketed earlier from the guard.

Taking it out of his pocket, he swipes it.

A soft beep. Then a hiss.

A gust of cold air meets his face as the door slides open slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t move𑁋his instincts scream at him that something is off, that something is wrong. But he steps forward anyway, walking inside the room as another wave of nausea courses through him.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a minute to labour his breathing. One exhale. Two exhales. Three exhales. It’s relieving, even for a little while.

Then he opens his eyes.

And his heart drops.

The room is vast and eerily silent. The walls are lined with what appear to be glass chambers, some sort of stasis pods. They’re large, cylindrical-shaped, condensation brewing through them so he’s unable to fully see inside. He makes his way over to one of the pods, running a bloodied hand over its icy surface.

Mingyu nearly collapses down on his knees.

There’s a body inside. A woman, probably around his age. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, her skin pale. Yet as he gazes over her still form, his mind suddenly racks with memories, recognition. This woman was on the list of people who were reported as a missing cold case at the very beginning. She was here all along, and the thought makes frustration blaze through him.

Then, another feeling slithers up his spine. He can feel it right down to his core, and it makes him stagger a few steps backwards. The same physiology. The same dormant power thrumming beneath her skin𑁋except, it’s lifeless now. Pulseless.

The people who were reported missing weren’t humans.

They’re Kryptonians.

Kryptonians who had survived the fallout of the planet, just like him. Mingyu thought he was the only survivor, but he wasn’t. They were here this entire time, and he couldn’t save them.

God, he had hoped. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped that he wasn’t entirely alone, even if the loneliness was a fact he’d come to accept over the years. He had hoped that maybe one day, he’d find another Kryptonian out there who could tell him stories, or even what the stars looked like from his home planet because he was way too young to even remember.

He anguishly dashes from one pod to another, spotting more familiar faces from the missing person photos. Faces that look like his𑁋that feel like home. Some older, some younger. All stolen from the world and stripped of the chance to live like him. They all contain the same lifeless visage as the others, the same fading look of longing that there was freedom out there, but he was too late.

What had happened to them? Were they tortured? Experimented and researched on? Anger courses through him, and he shrugs off the disguise that had kept him alive this far. His cape unfurls behind him, and the crest on his suit is no longer hidden by grime and blood.

The symbol of hope.

He stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by the shattered remains of his people. He feels the guilt eat away at his resolve as he kneels down to the ground. There’s a dreadful stillness in the room that follows, before he clenches his bare fists and slams harshly into the ground, the floor cracking slightly beneath him.

It fucking hurts.

The rage that rises in his chest is no longer a flame. It’s blazing, devouring.

“It’s about time you showed up,” a voice says from behind, low and coiling around his nerves like the poison it is. “I was starting to think you’d turn on your tail and run away like your little girlfriend.”

Mingyu doesn’t turn around right away. His jaw tightens as he forces himself to rise to full height, pulling through the pain with gritted teeth. He doesn’t need strength to recognise the bastard standing behind him.

He spins his head slowly, red-rimmed eyes meeting the smug, scarred face grinning at him from across the room.

Scarface is leaning against the doorframe, twirling a pistol between his fingertips. That ugly scar draws down his features like someone had tried to carve the smugness off his face and failed. Mingyu watches as he approaches him at a leisure pace, walking into the room like he’s the goddamn messiah of this butcher’s cathedral.

“You piece of shit,” Mingyu rasps, chest heaving. “You killed them. You killed my people.”

Scarface clicks his tongue. “Killed? No, no.” He shakes his head amusedly. “We liberated them, sunshine. Gave them a purpose before their little brains shut down. You wouldn’t believe how much their bones would go for on the black market. Oh, you should’ve seen them, Kryptonian. Some of them lit up like fucking fireworks the second they got poked.”

Mingyu surges forward.

Or, he tries to.

But his knees buckle the moment he shifts his weight, a strangled noise escaping out of his throat as his legs give out beneath him. The green haze he’s been fighting since he stepped foot in this hellhole is suffocating him in. The very air is probably saturated in it. As he tries to lift himself again, it’s no use. His strength is barely there. The fire is there𑁋God, it’s there𑁋but his body is failing him.

“Kryptonite’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Scarface squats down just a few feet away. “You know what’s really funny? I didn’t even need to do much. All I had to do was grab your girl, and you folded like a fucking piece of paper.”

Mingyu jerks his head up from that. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Scarface slams the butt of his pistol into Mingyu’s ribs, causing him to crumple down on the floor with a groan.

“Struck a nerve, huh?” he sneers. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? So feisty too. All that attitude. It’s a shame, though. I can’t wait to see the sparkle leave her eyes when I’m finally done with you.”

That makes Mingyu snap again.

Mustering whatever strength he has, he manages to land a punch right at Scarface’s jaw. It catches the man off-guard, and Scarface stumbles back, momentarily stunned. But Mingyu watches as he recovers quickly, wiping the blood off his lips with a mocking smile.

“That’s all you can do, eh?” Scarface spits angrily. “What a pity.”

“Why?” Mingyu pants heavily. “Why did you do this? To my people?”

Scarface straightens his stance, letting out a dark, low chuckle. “Because you freaks don’t belong here.”

He gestures broadly to all the pods in the room, to all the still, frozen remnants of what Mingyu had once hoped were kin.

“We let one of you walk among us𑁋fly above us𑁋and what do we get in return?” Scarface motions back to Mingyu. “We get broken cities, dead citizens, and a god playing dress-up in a cape thinking he knows what’s best for us.”

“You slaughtered them,” Mingyu growls in frustration. God, he wants nothing more than to rip this man apart. “They were just trying to live. Trying to survive.”

Scarface cocks his head to the side in amusement. “And look where that got them. Look where that got you. We took care of them before they had the chance to get power and control. You don’t get it, do you, alien? You think just because you can bleed and cry and kiss like the rest of us makes you human?”

The man steps closer to Mingyu, looming over him now, his footsteps brooding with each step. Scarface whistles annoyingly as he lowers his gun away, before pulling something out from his vest. Heat boils through Mingyu’s as another familiar syringe is summoned, the sickly glowing green of kryptonite reflecting on his skin. It’s almost as if the kryptonite itself is alive, hungry.

Mingyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. The veins in his neck pop from the pressure, but his eyes are made of steel. Unyielding.

Scarface’s cracked lips twitch up into a smirk, taunting the fang of the needle closer and closer to his neck.

“Finally! I can use this. Saved it for a special occasion, you see,” the man croons goadingly, letting the emerald fire of the kryptonite inside the syringe swirl. “Bullets and bombs are messy, but this? You’ll feel every second of it. And when it’s done, well… maybe I’ll put your corpse on display for the world to see that the perfect Superman can bleed. Can die. Can be humiliated.”

The tip of the syringe caresses over Mingyu’s carotid artery, just a whisper away from being injected into his body. If Scarface pressed a little harder, it would all be over.

And then𑁋

A loud BOOM bursts through the room like thunder.

A gun fires.

But it doesn’t come from Scarface.

It comes from behind him, echoing like thunder across the room, the bullet lodging into the wall behind Mingyu.

“Get away from him,” a voice rings out shakily𑁋your voice. “Now.”

Scarface freezes, his entire body jerking as the bullet whooshes past him. His expression contorts from surprise to disbelieving amusement, the scar on his face contorting into a smirk.

He turns his head slowly and spots you. You’re standing by the threshold, trembling hands gripping tightly onto a pistol that you snatched from one of his fallen minions. There’s a bruise to your cheek and your clothes and ID badge are covered with dirt, dried blood, and grime. Your chest is heaving with a mix of horror and fury, your body braced like the hells have cracked open beneath your feet and you’re struggling to stay above the surface.

You’re terrified out of your mind, but you’re here.

And Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋feels his heart stutter painfully in his chest, because damn, he’s never seen anything more braver in his life.

Scarface’s eyes rake over you incredulously. “Well, look who decided to come and play the hero, hm?”

He places a singular foot in front of the other, and you aim your gun again.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” You threaten, trying to power through your sweaty palms and unsteady grip.

Scarface raises his hands mockingly. “Sweetheart, I’m so scared. Look at you𑁋you’re trembling like a leaf.” He raises his gun back to you, which makes you stagger slightly. “Aren’t you just a journalist? Thinking you can play in the big leagues ‘cause you got a piece on the Daily Planet front page?”

He stalks a little closer to you like a vulture, testing your nerves.

“Aliens like him don’t belong on this planet,” Scarface hisses. “And you? You think someone like him could ever really love someone like you? Come on, darling. Be honest with yourself. He’s a walking extinction event. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.”

The pistol in your grasp wavers. You feel it𑁋hesitation creeping through you like a dense, thick fog. The words prickle like the heat of a hot poker getting jabbed into your skin.

Scarface sees it.

That tiny flicker of doubt. It’s all he needs to latch onto like a leech. His words seep through your body like venom. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.

And on the side, Superman sees it as well.

The gun lowers in your hand. For a fraction of a second, you allow your thoughts to believe his words.

You’ve heard the rumours, watched the news, read the bylines that were initially published when Superman first came to light. The public loved him. Then feared him. Then loved him again. You always tried to remain neutral, like a good journalist always does. But somewhere between the time he had rescued your bag and to the kiss he gave you in the sky after the interview, your objectivity crumpled along with your heart.

Wait. A bell rings in your head. The interview.

“I’ve found my home here with people I care about,” he had said. “There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

“Is that what you consider yourself?” You had asked him. “A symbol of hope?”

“Not exactly,” he had responded. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

You remember it all𑁋the look of quiet sincerity in his eyes when he said it. The ache behind his words like he was carrying a galaxy of burdens, yet still managed to smile at you.

“But here’s what I believe,” he had told you. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that’s worth the burden.”

Your gaze falls towards Superman, who is crumpled on the floor, veins bulging out of his neck, blood dripping at the corners of his mouth. He’s clutching his side with gritted teeth, practically at the verge of passing out; yet despite everything, despite how close death is wrapped around his ribs, his eyes𑁋God, his eyes𑁋are watching you like you’re the only other person in the room, like you’re the only goddamn star left in the sky. There’s no fear there. No regret.

He’s still there. He’s still fighting.

“He’ll outlive you, sweetheart,” Scarface says with a chuckle. “He’ll outlive all of us. This stupid world is going to grow old and die, and he’ll be floating above the ashes looking down on us. And when you’re gone𑁋just another speck of dust in the wind𑁋he won’t even remember your name.”

You falter again. Just a blink. The words scratch at old insecurities like fingernails on scars.

Your vision clouds, not from tears, but from uncertainty.

Scarface sees it like it’s his golden ticket.

But then, there’s a cough. A weak one, yet it’s enough to break through the fog clouding your mind. Your gaze whips towards the source, and you’re met with an expression so heartbreakingly soft.

“Don’t listen to him,” Superman groans out, coughing hoarsely, and the utter familiarity of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Please. Don’t… let him in your head. I lo𑁋”

A gun fires. It happens in a blur: one second you’re frozen in place, the next your ears are ringing from the force of the shot, and there’s a pool of blood forming at your feet. The pistol clatters to the floor from your shaky hands as your steps stagger back slightly𑁋you don’t even recall pulling the trigger.

Scarface blinks.

He doesn’t fall. Not at first.

He just stares at you, stunned, as if you’ve grown a pair of wings or another head he hadn’t reckoned with before. Then there’s a twitch to his bloody mouth𑁋somewhere along the lines between a smirk or like he’s about to say one last vile, witty remark𑁋but his knees buckle beneath him, the kryptonite syringe falling from his hands and clattering to the ground. You watch in horror as his body collapses to the ground with a sickening thud. You’ve never seen blood pool faster than now, spreading throughout the steer floor below.

You’re still holding your breath. You can’t even move, even breathe, your arms trembling at your sides

The silence that follows is deafening.

You stare at Scarface’s body, your mind completely blank, as if trying to reject the impossible deed you just committed. You just shot him. You killed someone. With the hands you used to type articles until dusk𑁋you used it to end a life.

For some uneasy reason, you don’t feel heroic. You don’t feel strong. Gosh, you feel like you’re going to be sick.

Then a low, pained grunt startles you out of your head. Superman.

“You saved me.”

Your legs act before you could even catch up with it, finding yourself kneeling down to the ground, scrambling to pick him up on his feet, but you struggle. He’s heavier than he looks𑁋well, of course he is𑁋so you let your arms wrap around him instinctively, attempting to hoist him upright again.

His body lurches in your hold as you’re barely able to drag him by a few feet to the door. It doesn’t take long for your effort to fail as he slumps back down to the floor again, dragging you down with him. Somewhere down the corridor, you can hear the rapid sounds of footsteps and radio chatter of emergency responders that you met when you escaped initially. You just need to hold him tighter for another minute.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that𑁋shit, don’t close your eyes,” You plead desperately when you notice his eyes falling, brushing away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “Backup is coming. Stay with me. Please.”

“Fuck…” he croaks out weakly, and you feel his hand lace into yours. A weak grasp, but it’s there. It’s something. “Y/N, I…”

“Don’t talk,” You tell him softly, letting your free hand cradle his face to bring him into your chest. “You’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Superman, you hear me?”

Superman breathes raggedly against your chest. You feel the way he’s burning up, see the way his eyelids are fluttering as he tries so goddamn hard to focus on your presence around him, hear the way he’s literally struggling to get his lungs to fucking work. But you still don’t let go.

“He killed my… my people…” he rasps, a few dry coughs jolting out of him. “The missing people… they’re…”

If it was possible for your heart to physically break, you swear it does now. He doesn’t even need to finish the sentence for you to know exactly what he’s talking about. The room was entirely a blur when you stepped in initially, but with the quietness now and Scarface’s lifeless body on the floor, you can see it all.

You remember all the photos in the files, all the reports about the missing people whose cases all went cold, unsolved, and discarded. They were never just missing people. They were survivors. And the two of you were too late to realise that.

“I’m sorry.” You shelter him even closer to you, because you know there’s not much you can do except to hold him together as tightly as you can, even if he’s completely falling apart on the inside. “I’m so, so sorry…”

You know that apologising could never bring his people back, yet Superman inhales your words even if it’s painful to do so, holding onto you even tighter, his warmth seeping into your skin. Blood and grime stains your shirt as he leans into you through the pain, his quiet sobs muffled as he buries his face in your chest.

You press a warm, trembling kiss to the temple of his head. He doesn’t speak; no, he closes his eyes, dipping in and out of consciousness, and lets himself be held.

“You’re safe now, Superman, okay? You’re safe with me.”

Above the two of you, the crest on Superman’s chest catches the overhead light, flickering weakly, but it never dims. Hope had barely survived.

Beneath your feet, the city is peaceful.

It’s been two weeks since the ordeal. Two weeks since Scarface’s body hit the floor. Two weeks since the sounds of gunfire etched itself permanently into your bones. Two weeks since the awful stench of sweat, blood, and gunpowder had stuck to your clothes no matter how many showers you took.

Two weeks since you saw Superman’s near-lifeless body being hauled through the hospital as the doctors and medical experts struggled to make sense of his alien biology𑁋every needle they poked through him broke on impact from his skin, but still, they didn’t give up on him. Refused to give up on him.

Two weeks, and the city has begun to breathe again mostly.

You haven’t slept much since.

The DOD have been working on reprimanding other criminals who had access to the kryptonite trade, and the kryptonite shipments that were found within the sketchy warehouses in Pier 13 had been confiscated as well. Details were still being poured in, but all you know is that the kryptonite is finally out of harm’s way. At least, for now.

People have been calling you a hero, a survivor. Some of your colleagues have written a little tribute column in you and Superman’s honour. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t exactly want it. The attention has been overwhelming, to say the least.

You had just gotten through your first day back after requesting some time off to recalibrate. Now, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the rooftop at the Daily Planet. You pull your cardigan tighter around you as the evening breeze rustles through your hair. You take a sip from a can of beer𑁋a second one at your feet for good measure.

“Y/N?”

You turn around to the voice, a faint smile when you catch Mingyu walking up to you. The glasses on his face catch the faintest sparkle from the moonlight. He’s clad in his usual attire𑁋a denim jacket, a white shirt, and a pair of baggy denim jeans𑁋and his hands in his pockets as if he’s unsure of his own presence right now. You had sent him an email a few hours again telling him that you’d be staying late tonight.

It seems that showing up is his response.

“Hey,” You greet him quietly.

Mingyu slowly saunters over to where you are. He doesn’t sit down at first, but then you nudge towards the second can of beer by your feet.

“Peace offering,” You say with a light chuckle. “It’s probably warm now, but whatever.”

A small laugh escapes him as he sits down beside you, the tip of his knee touching yours when he crosses his legs together. He takes the can of beer and opens it with a sharp click, taking a quick sip of his own.

Mingyu shoots a quick glance at you, watching the way your gaze is lingering out to the mellow, peaceful, blissfully unaware city. He allows himself to look out to the world as well, with the stars hanging low in the sky as if they’re curiously eavesdropping on this strange little moment. The two of you take another sip from your cans, letting the silence stretch in the air. It’s not uncomfortable𑁋not entirely, anyway. It’s quiet, calm, like the city has exhaled for the first time in a long while.

“Did you know I spent the night in juvie once?” You suddenly pop in.

Mingyu’s brow furrows in surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” You confirm, shaking your head to the memory. “I was fourteen. Dumb, broke, and angry at the world like any other teenager. Stole some makeup from the local pharmacy. Got caught before I even stepped through the door.”

Mingyu huffs a soft laugh beside you. It wasn’t mocking, just simple disbelief about this little detail of your life. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Well, I also had purple hair. Oh, and a lip piercing. Did it with a safety pen,” You add in with a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t recommend it at all.”

He grins softly at that. He tries to imagine it𑁋he really does𑁋but all he can see is you. Even with your past little rebel phase, you’re still the same person with a fire-lit soul he first saw when you were tackling this entire case, scribbling away in the depths of your cubicle and rummaging through endless files in the archive room with a sharp tongue and a guarded heart.

You haven’t changed, not really. Just a little older, a little stronger. Maybe a little more tired.

“I grew up in a place that never really felt like home,” You continue, cradling the can of beer in your hands. “Parents were always busy trying to keep the lights on. I bounced between schools and hardly stuck around enough to make proper friends.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. He’s listening, steady and patient as always.

“Then I started writing to keep myself sane,” You confess. “Started with dumb teenage poetry, angsty blog posts, then… it sort of turned into something more real. I stole a newspaper from the library, read this piece about corruption with the mayor at the time. Something about it just clicked for me.”

Mingyu notices the way your features soften with relief.

“So, I cleaned myself up,” You continue with a smile. “Wrote shit for the newsletter in high school, got a few internships in college. One thing led to another and well… Here I am. I don’t know if Seungcheol even looked at my resume.”

“He did,” Mingyu chimes in playfully. “Well, not exactly. More like flaunted about you.”

You snort at that, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Clearly you’re good at what you do, or else he would’ve been accused of nepotism by now,” Mingyu says with a teasing grin, before it eases into something more bashful. “And… you are, um, good. Amazing, even. I admire you. I’m sure the rest of the world would agree, too.”

Your chest tightens at his words. It’s crazy how he’s able to disarm you just like that. Kim Mingyu, the guy who spilled coffee on your shirt the first day you met. Kim Mingyu, who brings you over sweetened coffee when he knows you’ve had a rough morning. Kim Mingyu, who caught you in his arms in the archive room when you nearly slipped on some fallen files.

Kim Mingyu, who tried to protect you from publishing the exposé on the kryptonite trade. Who stupidly ran back into the Daily Planet even with the bomb threatening the entire building. Who promised to come back, but he didn’t, and then he did𑁋

Kim Mingyu, who… may or may not be Superman.

And Superman, who you’ve kissed.

“What were you like?” You suddenly ask, turning to Mingyu slightly. “Growing up?”

Mingyu takes another sip of his beer, and you catch the way his shoulders stiffen before relaxing quickly. His eyes flicker𑁋not toward you, not toward the city𑁋to somewhere far away. There’s the faintest hint of hesitation when the can leaves his mouth. You don’t rush him. You know how to wait.

“I grew up on a farm,” he finally answers, a wistful look to his face. “I was, um… adopted when I was younger. It was just me, my parents, my sister, and our dog. They were good people. And it was nice living out in the countryside. Peaceful, even.”

“You? On a farm?”

Mingyu turns to you. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, of course I do. It’s just…” Your voice trails off, fondness glazing over your features. “Just trying to imagine it, you know. Little Kim Mingyu running around in the cornfields with mud on his knees and a head too big for his body.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out of him. “Well, you aren’t that far off, I guess. Used to trip over my own feet all the time.”

You hum against the rim of the can. “Explains the permanent clumsiness.”

Mingyu huffs in mock offense at that, wearing that familiar, warm, boyish grin to his lips.

“And science journalism?” You question curiously. “What made you want to get into that?”

“Always had this sort of… curiosity about the world.” He gives a small shrug, fingers tapping against the can. “I was, uh… really into astronomy too. I used to stay up all night looking through this janky telescope my dad snagged from a yard sale. Guess I just wanted to know what’s out there, how things worked and whatnot.”

What Mingyu doesn’t tell you is that he used to look through the telescope in the hopes of finding any remnants of his origins, of his home. Not the little farmhouse with the creaky porch swing or the kind faces who raised him with warm hands and warmer hearts. No, he means the kind of home that stretched light years away, a place that echoed in his bones with a certain ache he couldn’t name. A home he had never truly seen, but felt nonetheless.

He doesn’t say any of it; instead, he tucks it away with a remorseful sip of beer. When he glances back to you, you seem almost lost in thought again.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol buzzing through your veins or something else. “Yeah. Just… rough couple of weeks.”

Mingyu lets his eyes trail over you. The bruise to your cheek has almost entirely faded𑁋a clear reminder of the hell you’ve been through𑁋but the memory of everything hasn’t. Though to him, you still look stronger and more beautiful than ever.

“We survived a bombing, I got fucking kidnapped, then I shot a horrible man in cold blood and it just𑁋” Your lips form a tight line. “And yet, despite all of that, I… The only thing that’s been making me stay up these nights is the fact that I fell in love with two different men.”

Mingyu freezes beside you. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s panicking. The breezes seem to pick up a little harder, tucking and sending strands of your hair flying that you don’t bother to fix.

“God, I-I sound like an absolute homewrecker,” You mutter in disbelief, clicking your tongue, before fully turning to face him. “Because how is it possible that I’m able to fall for you, and him𑁋Superman𑁋at the same time?”

The words hang in the air like lightning preparing to strike. And suddenly, Mingyu forgets how to breathe.

“I kissed him𑁋he kissed me after the interview.” Your voice grows louder now, more certain. “It wasn’t just a quick peck. It was real. Then I looked at him, and maybe it was the adrenaline, or that I’ve gone insane. But for a split second, I swear to God, I saw you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s lips part as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. You watch the way his fingers tighten around the can, the soft crinkle of aluminum breaking under his grip. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. His gaze only lingers straight ahead.

You keep going.

“I thought I was going crazy,” You go on, powering through your shaky voice. “That maybe this stupid crush I’ve had on you since the day we met was getting to me. But then I thought more𑁋how you showed up late for meetings, how you disappeared after the heist, how you caught me in the archive room, how you tried to stop me from publishing the exposé… how you look at me.”

The silence between you both is probably more deafening and terrifying then when you shot Scarface, but this silence is filled with revelation. It means everything.

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

He still doesn’t say anything. The only sound you hear is the crumple of the beer can from his tight grip.

“Mingyu.” The way his name rolls out of your mouth hits Mingyu more painful than anything else. “Say something, please. Tell me I’m just projecting, or that I’m drunk or delusional or traumatised𑁋just something.”

Mingyu’s throat bobs. His jaw clenches. His eyes close and reopen slowly, and he exhales a breath as if it hurts.

“I’m not him, Y/N,” he admits finally, voice careful𑁋too careful.

But it doesn’t sound convincing. Not even a little.

And he knows it.

You know it, too.

A part of you wants to laugh, or cry. Or to shake him, kiss him, and hold him all at once. You barely even register standing up, your near-empty beer can forgotten on the floor.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You retort back bitterly.

He stands up as well. “I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not𑁋”

“I’m a goddamn journalist, Mingyu.” You throw your arms out dramatically. “I live off of facts, off truths. I know when I’m being lied to.”

You hate how your voice cracks at the end. You’re not even mad, not in the way you thought you’d be. You’re hurt. You’re exhausted. And still, you love him. Even if you can’t provide definitive proof that the guy you kissed in the sky felt exactly like the man you love on the ground, your heart knows. It knows, and it’s pounding so damn hard it may as well crack through your ribs and scream it all out.

Mingyu feels so torn, like he’s standing between two burning buildings collapsing in on him. This awful lump is lodged in his throat, his fists clenched at his side, but his feet won’t move, even if his own heart is telling him to. He’s still trying to protect something𑁋maybe you, maybe himself, maybe from this paper-thin illusion that he can still tape up, even with the tears showing.

Then, he watches in shock when you take a step backwards, near the edge of the rooftop. The rush of air from being thirty stories up teases up and down your back.

“Y/N,” he warns in panic, his body tensing. “Don’t you dare.”

You don’t know what kind of madness is possessing you right now. Perhaps it’s from the lack of sleep the past two weeks, the fact you drank an entire can of warm beer, or from the sheer desperation of needing him to tell you the truth. The real truth that has been digging in the crevices of your bones ever since you looked into Superman’s eyes and saw Kim Mingyu staring back at you.

Your heel bumps the ledge.

“I trust you, Mingyu,” You mutter shakily. “I always have.”

You take a breath.

And then you do the most stupidest, bravest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life: you fall.

The world tilts before your eyes, the rush of wind overpowering the scream of your name that Mingyu yells out.

The city below rushes up to meet you, the air roaring like a wind turbine through your ears, the gravity tearing your stomach inside out. You can’t breathe and can hardly think; hell, you don’t even scream. Time slows just enough for a single thought to push through: This is how I die. This is how I find out I’m wrong.

The windows of the Daily Planet all become a kaleidoscope of blurred lights as you plummet past them. The rooftop disappears into the tiniest speck in your vision, the ledge you just stood on now impossibly far away. You’re starting to feel the inevitable cold claw of death latching around you.

You feel weightless and heavy all at once.

Your heart clenches in your chest, your eyelids fluttering to a close. Your limbs are flailing around on instinct to reach for something, anything. Then, you brace yourself to hit the ground because you’re falling, fuck, you’re actually falling, and there’s no going back now𑁋that maybe this was all just delusion disguised as hope, that maybe𑁋

The world suddenly halts.

A gasp flies out of your mouth, ripping out of your lungs like they’ve just remembered how to function. You find your chest pressed against another body. Firm. Familiar. Powerful. Your eyes fly open as your entire form jolts against the abrupt stop, the wind rushing around you more calmly as you realise you’re ascending, not descending.

Then you finally look at him. His glasses are still on somehow, dark hair messed up from the force of the wind, his eyes wide with fear and panic𑁋but unmistakably Kim Mingyu. Superman.

Warmth radiates off his skin as he clings onto you, his arms tightened like a lock around your waist. You feel the way his chest rises and falls with each panicked, shallow breath he takes. There’s a tremble to his body𑁋not from exertion or the flight𑁋but from the sheer terror that he nearly lost you.

You let your arms circle around his neck, pressing closer to him.

“Are you insane?!” Mingyu chokes out, the clouds around the two of you billowing as he slows to a hover, away from the city, the noise, the doubt. “What the hell was that?!”

You don’t answer at first. You simply just stare up at him, the high from your adrenaline receding into something more softer, tender, raw. The city is practically swallowed by the clouds underneath you as the two of you hover in the air, existing in this space between heaven and earth, between truth and lie.

“You caught me,” You whisper.

“Of course, I did𑁋Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Mingyu rasps breathlessly. “If I was just a second too late, you could’ve𑁋fuck𑁋”

“But I didn’t,” You cut him off gently. “Because I was right. I knew you’d catch me.”

Mingyu swallows hard. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to find some other outcome, still hoping that in some way, you don’t see the truth and that he can walk away from all of this. But it’s over. You know, and he knows you know. You’ve always dug deeper, looked harder than anyone else𑁋hell, it’s your job.

And maybe in some twisted, beautiful way, you were meant to find him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “I… I wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. Because if I told you, you’d see me differently. I would’ve put you in danger. God, I just wanted to be normal for you. To be Mingyu for you. Not the guy who can fly or lift buildings for a living.”

“We already lived through the danger, and survived,” You tell him desperately, your fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. “And I’m still here. I never left and I don’t plan to. You don’t have to be so brave around me, you know.”

His body goes rigid from your words as if someone had punched him in the gut with a force that could rival a hundred bullets being shot at him. His grip on you never eases; if anything, he holds you even tighter, fingers tracing aimlessly circles at your waist as if trying to remind himself that you’re here. You’re real.

Mingyu hears your heartbeat thundering your chest, and he swears to himself it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“You terrify me.” His lips twitch upwards. “And dammit, I love you for it.”

Your breath hitches at that. The air around you grows silent, like the world itself is holding its breath as well. You reach up to trail a finger down his cheek, before tenderly cupping his face in your hand. Mingyu leans into your warmth as if he’s waited a hundred lifetimes to be allowed this.

His eyes fall to a close before reopening again to look at you. But it isn’t just a glance𑁋no, he’s looking like he’s trying to memorise you, like he’s afraid to even blink.

“I love you too,” You confess quietly.

Then you kiss him.

It’s soft, almost uncertain at first𑁋just a tentative brush of your mouth against his. Mingyu’s breath catches the second your lips meet his, his eyes widening for a split moment as he peers down at you with nothing but longing.

Then he simply just chuckles, low and breathless. His hands slowly trail their way up your spine, his other hand wrapping around more protectively around your waist. He tilts his head adoringly, pauses to blink, before leaning to press his mouth back to yours. This time, the kiss is deeper. Slower. And so impossibly gentle it nearly breaks you.

He’s kissing you like Kim Mingyu, and holding you like Superman.

Your hand reaches up to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers lightly threading through his hair. A sigh leaves him from your touch𑁋a breath of surrender, of relief, of finally, sending trembles all the way down to your toes. His nose barely brushes against yours as the angle shifts slightly, his chapped lips molding more fully into yours, coaxing your mouth open with a sweetness that sets your skin ablaze in the softest, most devastating way.

The clouds hug dreamily around the two of you as you part away for air. You find your foreheads pressed against one another, your hand drifting to rest on his chest. You feel the way his heart is pounding, as if it’s overfilled to the brim with nothing but love. He’s holding you like you’re something fragile, precious, his.

“You make me feel human,” Mingyu whispers shakily. “Like I belong somewhere.”

You tenderly brush the tip of your finger over his cheekbone.

“You are human, Mingyu,” You tell him reassuringly. “Because only someone truly human would love the way you do.”

He stares at you like he doesn’t deserve to be looked this way. All his life he’s always been… different. He was the third grader who’d run away into the janitor’s closet crying because he accidentally broke the swing set at recess. The teenager who couldn’t join any sports due to the fear he’d break someone’s ribs. The adult who could save the world but never fully belong in it.

But here, in your arms and under your gaze, he’s never felt more safe, wanted, and loved.

Mingyu leans in again, littering tiny kisses over your skin𑁋from your forehead, to your nose, your cheek, a lingering one to your lips, each one eliciting a low giggle out of you. The sound makes his heart swell.

When he pulls back, there’s a breath of hesitation in the air. His gaze silently flickers between your eyes, to your mouth, and back up to your eyes again.

“Can I, uh…” He swallows thickly. “Can I… take you home?”

You blink dazedly at that, but as the words register, the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Take me home?” You echo teasingly. “Is this your way of seducing me?”

Mingyu’s ears instantly grow red.

“What? No𑁋I mean, yes𑁋wait, shit, that’s not what I𑁋” He fumbles over his words like he’s completely short-circuiting. And honestly, he really is. “I didn’t mean it like that𑁋okay, maybe I did, but𑁋fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh. Like really laugh. The kind of laugh that bubbles from deep within your chest and makes you throw your head back at his sheer adorableness. He’s literally stammering like a teenage boy trying to ask out his crush to prom. The sound of your laughter curls around Mingyu like sunlight, the tips of ears growing warmer from embarrassment.

“Mingyu,” You call his name after taking a minute to recover. “Relax. I’m just teasing.”

A sheepish pout crosses his features. “You’re evil, you know that? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

“You’re literally invincible.”

“Not to you.”

His words make your smile falter𑁋just for a second, your heartbeat thudding unevenly in your chest.

“I just… I want to be real with you,” Mingyu continues bashfully. “I want to hold you when I fall asleep and wake up to you in the morning. I want to take you on a thousand dates and argue about who left the dishes in the sink. I want… more than just saving the world. I want to do everything with you.”

Then his voice dips just slightly lower, still plagued with that certain shyness.

“And yeah, I want to kiss you. A lot. Probably for the rest of my life,” he adds in with a smile, before it softens. “And maybe more than that. If… if you want that, too.”

Your lips part slowly, warmth blooming throughout your body. You simply stare at him. Not because you’re surprised𑁋as you literally fell off a building just to prove your stupid heart right𑁋but because of how goddamn earnestly, nervously, hopefully he says it. Like the thought of having you is still something he doesn’t deserve.

You want it all with him, too.

“Okay,” is all you say.

His eyes widen. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You cup his face again, caressing a finger over the corner of his lip. “Take me home, Superman.”

Mingyu’s arms only tighten around you, and he presses one last kiss to your temple.

“Hold on tight.”

And then, the two of you are soaring through the skies.

Mingyu lands you back at your apartment.

It’s quiet inside. Your feet brush against the old wooden flooring, which is scruffed and faded in some spots. The walls are pretty much bare of any childhood relics except for an old photograph or two. Mingyu spots shelves of old case files, stacked notebooks, and a tiny little succulent plant. The couch appears second-hand, a little sunken in the middle, with a blanket on the arm that’s seen better days.

There’s a kind of loneliness in the walls that Mingyu picks up immediately. It’s lived in, but barely. You’ve never really let anyone in here.

Still, Mingyu doesn’t say a word.

You watch the way his gaze trails over every crevice of your apartment, as if he’s stepping into a secret, into your own heart. And in a way, he is. He’s been to the edges of space and seen the worst humanity has to offer𑁋yet being in your little half-empty apartment is what feels the most real.

You find yourself pouring a glass of water in the kitchen as Mingyu’s fingers curiously trail over some of your old investigative journalism textbooks on the shelf.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not much,” You mutter, placing the glass back on the counter. “Never really felt the need to decorate, honestly.”

The emptiness of your apartment doesn’t bother him𑁋it never could. Mingyu crosses the room without a word, and you hardly have time to process his presence as his arms wrap around you from behind. You melt into him naturally, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and caressing over your skin.

As his breath hits the shell of your ear, tingles run up and down your spine.

“It’s perfect,” he mutters. “You let me in. That’s more than enough.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he kisses you.

Not on the lips, not yet𑁋he presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, then another one to your shoulder, tracing his little constellations on your skin along the way. You shudder from his touch, knees almost buckling, and you feel the smile on his face as he chuckles into your neck.

“Mingyu…”

Mingyu hums against your skin. “Mhm?”

You nearly combust when his kiss lands near your collarbone.

“Do you, uh…” You start, already breathless. “...want to go to my bedroom?”

Mingyu lifts his head at your question. You don’t even have to turn to know he’s already smiling.

Before you can say anything more, he’s spinning you around and scooping you up in his arms effortlessly like you weigh literally nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his torso, a surprised yelp leaving your lips.

“Jeez! Warn a girl first!” You gasp, half-panicked, half-excited.

“Sorry, baby,” he mutters with a grin, arms wrapped securely around your thighs. “Perks of the job.”

He carries you through your little apartment with confidence. Your head rests on his shoulder, your giggles mingling in the heavy air together as he strides down a small hallway. When he arrives in front of a door, he nudges it open with his foot𑁋before realising it’s your bathroom.

“Mingyu! That’s the bathroom!”

“Shit, sorry!” He backtracks quickly, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he tightens his hold on you. “My glasses don’t let me use my x-ray vision here! I’m working with human eyes right now.”

You practically die of laughter in his arms, hearing him grumble something under his breath before arriving at the correct door. He gives the door a little poke with his shoulder, and as he steps over the threshold into your bedroom, the air seems to thicken even more.

Just like the rest of your apartment, there’s nothing much here either. Just a bed, with disheveled mismatched sheets that you didn’t bother to fix in the morning, and a singular lamp flickering right next to it. Under the window, moonlight pours all over a small desk that has a bunch of scattered papers and an unopened laptop. A few pieces of clothing are sprawled out on the floor, and you silently curse at yourself for not being more prepared for this.

Even then, Mingyu treats it as if it’s your palace, and that you’re the queen within it.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, bringing you snugly into his lap. His arms don’t let go of your waist, and his eyes never leave your face.

You’re straddling him now, knees pressing into the bed on either side of his thighs. Your hands rest lightly on his shadows, and he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes as if he’s in complete awe of you. As if he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re his.

“You’re shaking.”

“I know,” he breathes out. “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head at that. “You won’t. I trust you.”

That makes Mingyu pause for a moment, as if your words hit him square in the goddamn chest. Mingyu hardly trusts his own strength, and especially in a situation like this, he would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you. Whether it’s intimately, emotionally, anything, he’s never been more afraid of breaking something so precious as you.

But you said you trust him, and that makes him want to be better, softer, stronger all at once. Just for you.

He leans in to kiss you again. This time, it’s a lot less playful, less teasing. Just slow, deliberate, and so goddamn soft you might as well spontaneously combust. Your hands instinctively wrap around him, his denim jacket falling off his shoulders and landing somewhere on the floor. You barely even register it coming off𑁋too lost in the way his lips mold sweetly and perfectly against yours.

When he pulls back, his eyes remain peering up at you through those dorky glasses, at the way your lips are kiss-swollen and body heaving with shallow breaths. You don’t even have to hear him say anything, but you understand what he’s trying to convey: I want this, but only if you want it too. There’s a flicker of hesitation, before he reaches down to grab the hem of his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

You immediately freeze up.

Because holy shit.

He’s sculpted like a statue. Like Michelangelo said fuck this, let’s sculpt Mingyu. Even in your shitty apartment lighting, his golden skin radiates. You know that he’s strong𑁋you’ve seen the way his suit hugs his figure and how he walks around at work not realising he’s built like a Calvin Klein supermodel𑁋but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Your eyes trace over the smooth lines of muscle over his body, over his chiseled torso and abs that look as if they’re carved from literal stone, over his stupidly kissable collarbones. You’re not even sure what to do with your hands. Or your lungs, at this point.

When Mingyu notices how stunned you are, he blushes. Blushes.

“I𑁋was that too fast?” he questions bashfully. “Sorry, I just thought𑁋”

“No,” You respond too quickly, still practically gawking at him like a Victorian woman seeing an ankle for the first time. “It’s okay. You’re just… a lot to take in.”

“Do you want me to put it back on?” he asks sheepishly.

A scandalised look crosses your face. “No. God, no. Don’t you dare.” You lean in to press a kiss over the skin covering his heart, one of your hands caressing down his stomach. You hear the sharp inhale that escapes him, and you smirk against his skin. “I love seeing you like this.”

You meet him back eye-level, reaching to grab the frames of his glasses, pausing for a moment to ask permission with your eyes. When he gives you the faintest of nods, you slide the glasses off his face and set them aside, and you’re met with the most beautiful, warmest, honey-brown eyes ever.

You’ve seen his eyes before, obviously. But without the glasses, without the disguise, they’re more piercing than ever. You feel as if you’re staring into a pair of galaxies, and you could pinpoint all the stars within them. He isn’t just Superman. He’s also Mingyu. Your Mingyu.

“Hi,” You whisper.

He smiles bashfully. “Hi.”

You almost want to laugh. You’re both ridiculous. Because here you are, nervous like two hormonal teenagers and blushing like you weren’t close to dying not that long ago.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Mingyu kisses the inside of your palm. “I think I’m freaking out. In a good way, of course.”

You smile at that, leaning in to press your forehead against his. You hear the shaky exhale that leaves him, before his head tilts to meet your lips again. You feel his fingers trail up your waist, pushing off the cardigan you’re wearing off your shoulders, as his mouth moves down even further.

Your breath hitches when you feel his lips meet the corner of your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, his fingertips hesitantly slipping underneath the hem of your top like he’s asking for permission to keep going. He’s giving you time to stop this if you want, but you don’t. You don’t want him to stop.

You answer by lifting your arms up, letting him pull your shirt off to join the other clothes on the floor. You’re left in just your bra now, and Mingyu just stares.

He doesn’t pounce on you𑁋just lets his gaze roam over your form like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His jaw tightens with restraint as he drinks you in, taking in even the tiniest imperfections that dot all over you, his hands adoring every sight of new skin being revealed to him. You barely have any sort of chance to feel self-conscious when he kisses you again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a line of kisses over your collarbone, the curve above your breast, and one above your heart. “Every part of you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m half-naked on top of you,” You retort playfully.

His brows draw together at that as he glances up at you mischievously. “I’m saying it because it’s true, sweetheart. The half-naked part is just a bonus.”

Your laughter dissolves into a breathy sigh as his thumbs tread tenderly over your ribcage. You move your hips again𑁋just a subtle, completely unintentional grind on his lap, enough to have a sound that nearly resembles a whimper tumbling out of his throat, and his hands gripping onto your hips a little more tighter.

“Sorry,” You murmur breathlessly, though there’s a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he breathes out, voice low and wrecked. “Never be sorry𑁋fuck, angel, you’re driving me crazy…”

It’s so hard to take in the fact that someone so powerful𑁋someone who literally has the power to lift up a tank on his shoulders as if it’s light as a feather𑁋is trying so hard to be so gentle with you. Like he’s terrified that one wrong move shatters you, when all you want him to do is pull you closer.

Your fingers comb through his hair as he nuzzles his face in your shoulder, taking in the way you feel, smell, and taste.

“Superman always takes care of everybody,” You start when it’s your turn to be littering kisses at the skin of his neck. “Saves the world, the city, strangers, me𑁋but… who takes care of you?”

He stills. Just for a second. His grip on your waist loosens imperceptibly, before tightening back. You see the way the question runs around his head as if it’s his first time ever being asked something so vulnerable.

“I… I don’t know,” he answers unsurely.

Your heart breaks and comes back together all at once.

“Then let me,” You insist softly. “From now on, from however long you want me, let me.”

Mingyu looks up at you with hopeful, puppy eyes.

“And if I want forever?”

You give him a smile.

“I can do forever.”

You don’t know who leans in first. You don’t exactly know how the straps of your bra have fallen over your shoulder either. All you do know is that you’re suddenly underneath him this time, and he’s still kissing you. Hungrier. Needier.

The bed dips slightly as Mingyu fully climbs on top now, one leg slotted between yours as you find yourself practically melting into the mattress. His body is the personification of a living furnace as his chest presses against yours, skin against skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You roll your hips against him once more to chase that particular friction over the hardness of his jeans, and he has to muffle away a groan into your shoulder. He rocks himself up to meet you halfway with a low sigh into your neck, the two of you finding a rhythm that has heat spiraling down both of your bodies and for your brains to grow foggy.

“You’re so𑁋shit, you’re so perfect,” he rasps, voice barely audible from the needy sighs spilling out of your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

The muscles on his back tense when he feels your hands explore themselves over them, breath hitching against your throat. Your fingertips caress over the ridges of his spine, tracing the slope of his shoulder blades, curling into the soft messiness of his hair. Mingyu swears that perhaps you have your own kind of superpower𑁋of making him so undeniably, fondly, helpless for you.

Bullets break in half when they hit him, he’s prevented literal buildings from falling over, and could bend steel with the singular twirl of his fingers. But when you’re here, underneath him, kissing him and making noises he’ll replay in his mind for the rest of his days, he turns into literal mush. Kryptonite isn’t the only thing that weakens him.

It’s you.

“I think I understand it now,” he mutters against your skin.

Your body buzzes with heat as you look at him. “What?”

Mingyu pulls back to look at you, a lump bobbing in his throat.

“Desire.”

He says the word like it’s some otherworldly discovery. As if he’s heard it from somewhere, maybe read about it, seen it when lovers skip down the streets with their hands clasped together. But he’s never felt it like this. Not until now. Not until you.

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he says quietly. “This need to… touch you. Be close with you. Not just physically, but gosh, hearing your heartbeat makes me go insane.”

You giggle at that, and it sends a cheeky, silly smile crawling over Mingyu’s face. He watches the way your face lights up when you laugh. You’re always so scarily serious all the time when you’re in your zone, but now? Now you’re all soft and radiant and so unfairly sexy in a way that makes him ache to know what other things he can make you feel.

“Mingyu?”

Mingyu hovers above you, one hand propping him up beside your head and the other drawing circles near the waistband of your pants. “Yeah?”

“I want you,” You confess. It doesn’t come off shy, not anymore. “You… don’t have to hold back with me, okay? You can let go𑁋I want you to.”

That’s what undoes him right there. He gives you the most affectionate grin known to mankind.

“Okay,” Mingyu breathes, a singular breath away from your lips. “Okay. Letting go. I… I can do that.”

This time, when he kisses you, it feels like you’re flying again.

Mingyu makes love to you just like how he fights𑁋with the same passionate fire in his veins and the protectiveness of someone willing to break himself before he ever lets harm touch you. And it isn’t just about pleasure; no, it’s about safety. It’s about surrender. Vulnerability.

It’s about loving you with the same unrelenting force he uses to save the world𑁋this time, only softer. Sweeter. And only a certain type of love that belongs to you.

The second you check the time on your watch, the elevator dings in front of you.

Your heels clack against the floor as you step inside with a sigh, pressing a button to your desired floor. Your bag is slung loosely over your shoulder, the strap threatening to fall off from the weight of your laptop and whatever the hell you have inside is. You’re too busy scrolling through your upcoming meeting agenda on your phone. The Daily Planet is as alive as ever for a Monday morning, but here, you’re lucky you can breathe for once.

You catch sight of your reflection on the mirrored walls on the elevator before leaning back against the cold metal with a sigh, letting your eyes flicker close for a moment as the door starts to close.

But before the doors are able to seal shut, there’s a sudden clang, and the metal shudders as if it’s been crushed with some kind of forceful pressure.

You jolt in surprise as the elevator doors groan back open, revealing none other than Kim Mingyu clambering clumsily inside wearing an extremely apologetic expression on his face. He takes his hand off the elevator door, where you notice a visible dent had formed from what you assume to be how hard he grabbed the damn thing.

“Shit,” Mingyu mutters, staring at the dent like a guilty puppy as the elevators struggle to close back again. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

You roll your eyes. “Gyu, that is literally government property.”

He winces at that. “I got too excited!”

“For what?”

“...seeing you.”

Your expression softens despite yourself, struggling to bite back a smile as Mingyu places himself right next to you, your shoulders momentarily brushing. His hair is a tad bit windswept from probably flying here, and his glasses slightly askew on his nose. Half of his dress shirt is tucked into a pair of dark slacks, his tie half-done, and yet, he still looks like the most kissable man on Earth right now.

As the elevator begins to rise slowly, Mingyu glances over at you too.

“You look nice today,” he points out casually.

You blink, peering down at your own outfit. It wasn’t too much out of the ordinary𑁋just a more structured blazer, a formal blouse, a bit more effort in your makeup, and your hair styled in a way when you actually want to appear like you have your shit together.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, warmth sprouting in your cheeks. “Got a meeting later in the afternoon with out-of-town journalists. Thought looking intimidating would make it go by faster.”

A grin crosses Mingyu’s face as his eyes roam over you once more. “Well, you do look intimidatingly hot, if I do say so myself.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Mingyu.”

“What?” His grin only widens. “Is flirting with my girlfriend a crime now?”

You try to glare at him, but it’s not effective at all with the way you’re suppressing a stupidly fond smile. “Flattery won’t fix this elevator door.”

“That’s totally unrelated.”

“It looks like a rhino charged head first into it.”

Mingyu chuckles sheepishly. “I’ll… fix it tomorrow, maybe. After hours. No one will know. Or I can bribe maintenance with cookies again.”

You could only scoff. He’s such a dork.

The elevator hums as it continues its ascent into the upper floors of the building. Right next to you, Mingyu’s hand brushes against yours. First by complete accident, second on purpose. You don’t pull away when his pinky nudges against yours. Instead, you allow your fingers to lace around his, and you immediately feel the way he relaxes.

It’s quiet in the moments that follow, yet your heart is completely betraying you and you know he can hear it.

The two of you have been together for almost five months at this point, and yet, it feels like it’s only ever been day one. The hardest part was keeping your relationship a secret at first, especially from the newsroom, but then Minghao told you that you both have been fairly obvious ever since the kryptonite case. You didn’t even try to deny it because there was no point.

Especially not when Mingyu would sometimes hover outside your bedroom window, tapping gently on the glass to say hi before flying off on another rescue mission. Or when your coworkers always noticed the two of you walking in and out of the building together. Or when you’d randomly go missing for lunch and return all flushed, hair tousled, and somehow in a better mood.

You turn to face him, letting go of his hand momentarily to fix his tie, tugging gently at the silk resting at the base of his throat. You feel his hands trail down your waist as he stands still while you tighten it. When your fingers brush over his collarbones, he tenses naturally, though he still wears that boyish smile to his face.

“Still meeting me for dinner tonight?” he asks.

You smooth out his dress shirt over his chest. “Depends. Are you flying me to Paris or Italy this time?”

Mingyu hums contemplatively, his fingers tightening a little more around your waist. “Hm, I was thinking more like Greece. Or Japan, maybe. I know you’ve always wanted to go there. Heard it’s cherry blossom season over there.”

You tilt your head as you pretend to think. “Tough choice. Greek sunsets or Japanese cherry blossoms?”

“Baby, I could take you to both, you know.”

You snort, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Clearly you forgot we have actual jobs that require us to, I don’t know, show up.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically, pushing back some loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Right. Damn capitalism.” He lets his eyes roam over you adoringly. “Okay, how about just my place tonight?”

“Isn’t Wonwoo going to be there?”

“Don’t worry. He’s grown into the art of minding his own business.”

You grin at that.

The ding of the elevator interrupts your banter, the doors𑁋still dented from his overly enthusiastic entrance𑁋sliding open to reveal the classic chaotic routines of the bullpen. Mingyu retracts his hand from your waist, straightening his posture in the hopes of masking away his besotted features. You flip back into your professional stance too, fixing your blazer and flicking a glance to the time on your watch.

The two of you step out onto the floor together. The frantic morning bustle of the newsroom quickly fills your senses: interns rushing by, the clattering of keyboards, a printer breaking down somewhere in the corner, and people yelling out deadlines in your ears. When you stop at your desk, you watch for a few seconds as Mingyu sidles past you to head to his own cubicle just a few steps down.

However, just as you’re about to sit, a loud voice booms through the newsroom: Seungcheol.

“Mingyu! Y/N! Office now!”

You freeze halfway in the seat, meeting Mingyu’s equally startled gaze across the room, his hand gripped around his rolling chair. Letting out an exhale, you set your bag down on your desk with Mingyu following behind you over to Seungcheol’s office.

The blinds of Seungcheol’s office are halfway drawn as the two of you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Seungcheol is sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pragmatic look to his face. He doesn’t even have to glance up as he cracks a manila folder open on the desk.

“Alright, Bonnie and Clyde,” he starts as you and Mingyu sit down. “I’m pairing you up again.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, shooting a side-glance toward Mingyu, who looks just as curious and baffled as you are. It hasn’t even been long since the two of you were paired up on the kryptonite trafficking and Scarface incident, where near-death was just a slip away from your fingers.

Seungcheol opens the folder, revealing a cluster of surveillance photos from what look to be press conferences, a particular figure standing out in every single one.

“Recently, the President-elect has been appearing in places he shouldn’t be,” Seungcheol states, sliding the photos over the two of you.

“The President-elect?” You repeat, staring down at the images. “As in, President-elect Yoon Jeonghan?”

“Precisely,” Seungcheol responds eagerly. “He’s been spotted here in Seoul, then Metropolis, Gotham, Beijing, nearly everywhere.”

You lean in closer to photos, feeling Mingyu beside you do the same. Sure enough, there he is𑁋President-elect Yoon Jeonghan wearing his signature dark suit, waving gracefully at crowds, shaking hands with sick children in a hospital, all with that perfect charming smile on his face. He appears undeniably poised, pristine, and politically untouchable. There’s something quite eerie about it.

However, there are also some photos taken from security cameras in the middle of inconspicuous dark alleyways, military divisions, and unregistered facilities. All the photos were taken in different locations around the world. But what catches your eyes are the timestamps on the photos.

They’re all merely hours or even minutes apart.

“That’s not humanly possible,” You remark incredulously. “Any information on travel records?”

Seungcheol shakes his head grimly. “Nope. His press team claims he’s been prepping for his inauguration in Seoul and only travelled three times the past five months. The intelligence team is pretty divided on digging even more about this. But I know when something isn’t right, and clearly this𑁋” He motions over the photos. “𑁋isn’t just normal presidential shenanigans. I need to know if the man who is about to lead this country is actually who he says he is.”

You and Mingyu exchange another look. He’s frowning now, jaw tense. You can practically see the gears turning in your head. It’s clear he’s thinking the same thing you are.

This isn’t just a scandal, or a simple case of political corruption. It’s a threat waiting to detonate.

“Alright,” You say, clasping your hands together. “We’ll take it.”

“Good.” Seungcheol leans back in his chair. “But keep this off the record for now. We don’t want to cause a nationwide panic. Whatever you plan to write, take it up with me first. He’s still the goddamn President-elect, so watch your backs. Both of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu states solemnly, already gathering back the photos in the folder.

“And look, I don’t care what the hell is going on between the two of you,” Seungcheol starts, eyes flitting between the two of you. “But I do know the last time I partnered you two, we broke the damn site’s traffic record and scored a Pulizter nomination in the process. So don’t disappoint me, alright? Meeting’s over.”

The two of you start to saunter your way out of Seungcheol’s office with materials gathered under both of your arms. However, just as Mingyu is about to close the door, Seungcheol calls out to him again.

“Kim! One more thing.”

Mingyu pauses with his hand still on the doorframe, poking a head back in the office. “Yes, sir?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his papers he’s scavenging through, but his voice cuts through the room like a knife.

“Try not to die this time, yeah?”

It comes off way too casual for Mingyu’s liking, laced with that familiar gruff Seungcheol charm that’s gotten him through years of leading the newsroom and dealing with incorrigible employees. The man basically implied that he knows in some way, somehow. Mingyu’s jaw twitches from nerves, before easing into a tight-lipped smile.

“Noted… uh, sir.”

Seungcheol waves him off curtly. “Amazing. Now get back to work.”

And so he does. Mingyu quietly shuts the door before sheepishly meandering his way over to where you’re already perched at your desk and setting the files down. You smile when you catch him coming up to you, and the look on your pretty face is quick to dissolve any lingering nerves he has.

“So, partner.” You place a hand on your hip. “Guess we’re working together again.”

“That seems to be the case, Cronkite,” Mingyu retorts teasingly.

You tilt your head fondly at the nickname, peering up at him curiously.

“Are you ready for this?”

Mingyu glances down at you. He doesn’t answer, not at first𑁋just takes you in with warm eyes as if you’re the centre of the damn universe, noticing every flicker of excitement and hint of worry that paints your features. He may be Superman, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel scared sometimes.

Especially when it comes to you𑁋someone who he doesn’t just love, but someone who he would quite literally move through heaven and hell for. Someone who makes every mission worth surviving. Someone who he chooses again and again every damn day.

You’re standing there in front of him with your lips pressed in that determined line he knows all too well. Brave. Brilliant. Unafraid to chase the truth even if it kills you. And God, he swears he falls in love with you all over again.

“With you by my side?” Mingyu starts, lips quirked up as he steps up closer to you. “I’m ready to take on anything, my love.”

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jungshookmeup · 16 days ago

Text

off the record | kim mingyu {part one}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in. PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 21.5k (for part one); 42.7k (in total)

notes: hello everyone it's finally here!!!! we cheered!! sadly i have to separate this fic into 2, but part 2 will either be posted either tomorrow (june 7th) or sunday (june 8th). ty guys for being so patient with me as this is the longest fic i've written so far on this blog. i hope you all enjoy the story! this is my gift to you all for 3k followers!! ty to @tomodachiii and @slytherinshua for reading over this for me hehe. pls don't forget to reblog as well i'd love to know your thoughts 🙂‍↕️

part one | part two

“Surely a young man like you would be settling down with marriage at your age!”

Kim Mingyu elicits a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he watches Mrs. Moon place a couple of her famously harvested tangerines inside a brown bag. He pushes up the pair of dainty glasses that sit on his face. He flashes the old lady that particular disarming smile𑁋one that seems to win over anyone on the street.

“Ah, you already know me, Mrs. Moon,” Mingyu begins, sending a small wink. “Work keeps me quite preoccupied these days.”

(Yesterday, he had to save this speeding train from derailing off the tracks and crashing into a platform full of people in France. And the day before that, he heard cries from a few families who were trapped within a burning apartment building in Brazil and barely made it out with a little girl clutched in his arms before the top floor collapsed entirely.)

But Mrs. Moon doesn’t need to know that. To her and the rest of the world, he’s just Kim Mingyu𑁋the clumsy, always smiling, ever-so-slightly late to everything Kim Mingyu. But the truth is, between dodging falling satellites in space and struggling to file articles on time, he doesn’t exactly have the time for something as ordinary as love.

Mrs. Moon clicks her tongue and lets out a cackle, shaking her head while placing the final tangerine in the bag. “Work, work, work. Excuses, excuses. You should find a nice girl before someone else snatches her up! Cherish your youth.”

Mingyu laughs at the woman’s words before opening up his wallet and giving her some spare cash as a friendly tip. He clutches the bag of tangerines in his grasp as he exits the grocery store, his thoughts lingering to Mrs. Moon’s words as he enters back into the regular flow of the city he’s been tasked with protecting for the past few years.

It’s a relatively peaceful morning so far. The sky is painted in the most perfect shade of blue, clouds lazily drifting across its surface. Mingyu allows himself to relax for a moment as he approaches the incoming intersection, shooting a glance down at his watch to ensure he’s still on the right track with coming into work.

A breeze brushes past his hair. Passerbys come and go past him, all heading towards their own work duties as he is. He’s gotten the hang of pretending to be ordinary. Just an ordinary guy heading on his way to his desk job. Just another journalist at the Daily Planet.

But then, he hears it.

A sudden commotion. A shout.

Sharp. Frantic. Close.

His head darts towards the source of the sound𑁋it’s right across the large intersection he’s currently standing in. His eyes laser in on focus: a woman across the street, breathless and wide-eyed as another man barrels down the sidewalk dodging people left and right with a worn leather bag clutched in his hands. Her bag.

Instinct takes over.

Mingyu peers around before ducking into a nearby alleyway, his heart already racing𑁋not from fear, but from adrenaline. His glasses are off as he rounds the corner, the brown paper bag of tangerines abandoned on top of a garbage bin as he shrugs off his coat and unbuttons his shirt.

And within seconds, the familiar sight of a red cape flares into the sky like an open flame.

You’ve never been a runner. At least, definitely not in heels. Yet you try anyway, bolting forward a few steps to catch up with the thief before nearly stumbling when one of your heels gets trapped in a hidden crack in the pavement. And when you try to move it, you hear the slight sound of a crack, though it’s loud enough to crush your dignity like a slap to the face.

Frustrating stings at your eyes, because of course, this just has to happen on the first day of your new job. You can still see the damn thief up ahead𑁋with your bag, your wallet, your ID, your everything.

You don’t even have time to scream.

And then𑁋

A gust of wind rushes past your face. A whoosh so fast it rattles the windows of the nearby stores that surround you. You barely register the colours of blue and red that streaks across your vision, and everyone else around you seems to take a halt all at once, their gazes stalking up at the skies with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Was that𑁋?”

“Oh, my God. It’s him𑁋!”

Meanwhile, Mingyu soars just above the streets, spotting the thief tripping into a narrow alley. A slight smirk crosses his face as he picks up speed. Like the blink of an eye, he cuts the man off at the end of the alley, hovering mid-air with folded arms as his cape behind him lazily billows through the heavy, mildew-scented air.

The thief skids to a stop, his shoes squeaking distressfully against the ground. “No fucking way𑁋”

And in an unlucky attempt to escape from the other way, Mingyu appears right in front of him. Again.

With an almost bored look, Mingyu leans in to snatch the bag from the man’s grasp as if plucking an apple off a tree.

“Thank you for your service,” he tells the man with a roll of his eyes, showing off the leather bag in his hand. “But this doesn’t belong to you.”

And then, with a flash of movement and a gentle, almost slothful toss, the thief finds himself landing face-first into a nasty pile of garbage cans, only to be surrounded by a few police officers who come dashing around the corner into the alleyway.

Mingyu casually hovers in place for a few moments, offering a mock salute to the baffled officers before zooming back up towards the sky.

By the time you’ve managed to shuffle your near-broken heel out of the crack and catch your breath, he appears right in front of you.

Superman. The one who’s been plastered all over the news and articles now. The one who lifts buses and stops meteors from crashing into Earth with the simple power of his heat vision. The one your skeptical friend called a “silly government hoax” until she saw the hero in action right before her eyes saving an entire school from collapsing into itself from a record-broken earthquake.

And now he’s standing in front of you.

With your bag.

“This yours?” Superman asks, holding it out towards you with a certain calmness that highly contradicts the way your heart is practically thundering in your chest.

You stare at him𑁋like, really stare𑁋because there’s no real way for someone to mentally prepare themselves for what it feels like to be face-to-face with him. Superman. Cape, emblem, and everything. He appears almost sculpted by someone with far too much time and a love for perfect symmetry. And gosh, he’s tall.

You blink. Once. Twice, as if it’ll somehow get rid of whatever illusion your brain is tossing towards you and the sheer embarrassment your morning has been raining down on you so far. But alas, no. He’s still here, with his cape fluttering behind him like a damn Renaissance painting come to life, hair tousled in a perfect way, and his eyes warm like the colour of chocolate, waiting for a response from you.

Letting out an exhale, you grab the bag from his grasp, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” You say quietly, voice slightly tight. “Thank you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Even in your hunched-over form, you can tell his eyes are roaming over you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head with a particular smile you’re sure many people have fawned over while eating their breakfast.

“Oh, I’m doing grand, you know,” You respond snarkily. “My heel is probably broken. Mild public humiliation. The usual.”

His smile stretches a little at your words, his eyes glinting with something that nearly resembles amusement. It’s not the kind of politeness someone gives as a way to be nice𑁋he actually seems entertained. Which only annoys you even more, because now you’re hyper aware of how ridiculously disheveled you must look.

“Want me to fly you somewhere?” Superman offers like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You lift a brow at that, blinking again. Superman is offering to fly you? “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely to the sidewalk. “Well, your shoe is busted. Figured I could help.”

“You mean carry me?”

“I mean, I won’t be dragging you by the ankles, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he affirms, the corners of his lips twitching up like he’s trying to suppress a few laughs.

You give him a long, pointed look. “And you just go around offering free rides to random civilians? Don’t you have galaxies to save or kittens stuck in trees somewhere?”

Superman chuckles at that. “Actually, I did save a few kittens just last week, but I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

You cross your arms together, eyeing him warily. You find your thoughts running throughout your head𑁋how your first day is already going to hell, how ridiculous this entire situation is, how unfairly attractive this literal superhero is up close; and how, despite your guarded nature, you’re almost tempted to say yes.

But you don’t.

Instead, you straighten your posture and offer a somewhat dry, polite smile.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass,” You give him as a response. “I’d rather wobble to work with whatever pride I have left.”

Something flickers across his chiseled features𑁋surprise, maybe? It’s almost as if he’s not used to hearing those words, or being casually declined. But even with that, you catch the way he musters up an accepting look. For a moment or two, your eyes lock, perhaps a bit longer than the two of you intended, and you can definitely tell that he wants to say more.

And then he just grins.

It’s not the usual professional one he shares within his workplace. No, this time, it’s smaller. Bashful, even.

“Well, if your pride ever gets too hard to carry,” he starts, voice dropping to a lower, more quiet tone. “This area is my usual route to fly over.”

You nearly snort at that. “I… Are you hitting on me right now?”

“Is it working?”

Your lips part, and whatever witty remark lingering on your tongue swallows down your throat in an instant. Because this was not how you expected your day to go. Not how any day is supposed to go, honestly.

You can’t help but let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I think it’s concerningly close.”

Then he gives you that smile again. “I’ll take it.”

And before he can say anything more, you catch the way his expression shifts, switching back to an almost scarily serious look. He shifts his eyes back to you, as if hesitant to move, slowly hovering off the ground.

“Duty calls,” he tells you, a hint of disappointment in his words. Then he pauses, and adds in, “Take care. Try not to get your bag stolen, yeah?”

And then in an instant, he’s soaring back up towards the skies faster than any jet you can imagine and vanishes between the clouds. The force is enough to send your hair ruffling in the air, leaving you standing on the ground with a few unsuccessful attempts at processing whatever the hell just happened.

You stand there for a few moments, your bag clutched tightly in your hands. Just like everyone else, you know about him. You’ve watched countless clips on the news, read printed articles from other inspiring journalists in your field documenting his adventures. You’ve listened to a variety of debates talking about his otherworldly existence𑁋is he an alien spawn? Some government experiment gone wrong? Is he really invincible? Too many questions; too little answers.

But none of those can remotely compare to the way he simply asked if you were okay, or the way he’s able to effortlessly crack jokes at will.

Or even the infuriating way he smiled.

Your bad luck streak seems to have lessened. For now, at least.

The Daily Planet hosts a little coffee shop on the ground floor, and you trudge your way in, heels in one hand, sporting an unflattering pair of loafers you managed to find at a local thrifting place on the way to the office. Your hair is a tiny bit unkempt, your shirt adorning a wrinkle you swear wasn’t there earlier, and you feel all kinds of eyes on you as you stand in line.

The comforting scent of roasted espresso beans and fresh muffins hits you like a warm blanket. You exhale slowly. It helps a little.

When you approach the counter, however, the barista𑁋Seulgi, you read on her nametag𑁋looks up at you with all-too-knowing smirk.

“You’re the bag girl, right?” she asks.

You freeze. “Sorry?”

Seulgi motions towards the ceiling, where a mounted television is currently playing the local news. A paused still frame captures none other than you𑁋well, more like a blurry shot𑁋angled from a store security camera, yet still clear enough for you to recognise yourself. And then right in front of you, of course, is unmistakably the city’s famous heroic heartthrob.

“You’re practically famous. For a few hours, technically,” Seulgi’s voice pops back in.

You let out a groan, muttering, “Kill me.”

“Unfortunately, no can do,” she replies cheerfully. “But I can offer you a free drink, courtesy of our friendly neighbourhood superhero.”

You blink at that. “Wait. He paid for it?”

Seulgi shakes her head. “No, but he does come by sometimes and donates some extra cash. Says it’s for ‘emergencies’, so… I guess you abide by that.”

As you open your mouth to protest, Seulgi merely hands you over a warm, fresh cup of espresso.

You could only mumble a quick thanks as you saunter away, still a bit dazed and confused. The warmth of the coffee spreads throughout your fingers, anchoring you in a way, especially after your whirlwind of a morning.

You turn around, letting your feet carry you aimlessly towards the lobby. And just as you think you’re starting to relax, it appears that fate has other ideas on its side.

You bump into something𑁋no, someone𑁋hard. A sharp gasp hisses from your lips as hot coffee stains onto your shirt and the skin of your hand, as well as splashing onto someone else’s literal chest. You stagger back, nearly losing balance, the stranger in front of you letting out a curse of surprise.

“Shit, I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” a man’s voice says, reaching out his hands as if to steady you.

You pick your head back up, ready to release a tumble of apologies as the guilt blooms in your chest, but all that comes out is nothing.

The man in front of you is tall. Broad. Stupidly handsome in a way that makes your brain lag for a split second. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses sports over his sheepish face, and you swear his jawline is sharp enough to cut through glass. He’s holding an identical cup of coffee in his own hands, which was now half-full thanks to your ordeal.

Finally, you manage to speak. “Are you𑁋”

“Burnt?” he guesses, a warm, tiny laugh leaving him, which somehow makes your embarrassment worse. He glances down at the brown stain running over his white shirt. “Maybe a little, but it’s all good.”

Your eyebrows knit together in frustration. “God, I’m sorry, I’m such a disaster right now...”

“No, it-it was me,” the man chimes in reassuringly. “I forgot something in my car and then boom. Don’t worry about it. Are… are you okay? You look kind of…”

You give a few nods of your head. “I’m fine, just, uh… Not having the best day, clearly.”

The man’s eyes wash over you, and briefly, there’s a sparkle of recognition in them.

“Oh! You’re…” His lips tighten inquisitively for a moment. “You’re the, um… girl from the news, right?”

Perhaps sinking into the floor is your best opportunity to escape.

“The one and only,” You mutter with a dramatic gesture of your hands, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

The man continues to loom over you, and there’s a certain genuine, albeit awkward charm that surrounds him. Maybe it’s the glasses or the way his voice doesn’t match at all with his intimidating build𑁋soft, friendly, perhaps a bit shy. It’s sort of refreshing, in a sense.

“Here, uh…” You watch as he strolls away to retrieve some napkins from the coffee shop, handing a few over to you.

“Thanks,” You mumble, beginning to dab helplessly at your shirt. “Ugh, and this was one of my favourite shirts too.”

“I think it still looks good,” he offers with a shrug, then immediately spluttering, “I mean, not that I was, um, staring. Just𑁋objectively speaking.”

You blink up at him, and even despite the chaos of your morning, a smile finds its way across your lips. “Objectively, huh?”

The man just chuckles, running a hand through his slightly tousled dark hair.

“I’m Mingyu, by the way. Kim Mingyu.”

You nod at his little introduction, filing the information into the back of your brain, before a tiny bell of recognition dings in your mind. Kim Mingyu. For some reason, the name sounds oddly familiar, perhaps you’ve read it somewhere? Maybe in some news article or𑁋

Wait.

You look back up to meet his eyes. “You’re Kim Mingyu?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen slightly, his body stiffening. “Yeah. Uh… guilty?”

You let out a small breath of relief. “You’re the guy who writes the science features! You just published that piece of the whole… lunar water discovery two weeks ago, right?”

Mingyu blinks a few times. Then he lets out a bashful laugh, the kind of laugh that’s caught between flattered and embarrassed. “No way, you actually read that?”

You arch a playful brow. “Duh, do you think no one reads science journalism anymore?”

“No, no, I mean𑁋maybe a little.” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks pinking enough for you to notice. “It’s just nice to meet someone who did.”

A couple moments of silence pass. You tilt your head to look at him again, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks you look like a creep doing so. Science journalist. Right. That would probably explain the gentle voice and the easygoing tone that’s somehow more comforting than you expected.

But maybe it doesn’t explain how he’s not built like the kind of guy who sits behind a desk all day and writes about moon water. Maybe.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

Mingyu flinches. Not a lot. Barely noticeable, but you catch it anyway. He pushes up his glasses on his nose awkwardly.

“Uh, no? I don’t think so,” he answers quickly. A little too quickly.

You squint at him.

Mingyu shifts his weight between his feet. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Have you ever done any modeling?” You ask instead, almost too casually.

His ears grow endearingly red at your words. “Uh, maybe once? My friend Wonwoo needed someone to pose for his photography portfolio back in college, so… Why?”

You wave him off dismissively, crumpling the napkin in your hand. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, nonetheless,” Mingyu says brightly, before reaching into his pocket to glance at his phone. “Shoot, I’m late. Got a meeting with the tech editor. It was nice running into you. Literally. Uh…”

“Y/N,” You finish for him. “Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist.”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically. “Right, Y/N. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around?” His voice carries that familiar warmth, and it sends your head abuzz. “Take care of that shirt too. And sorry for bumping into you earlier.”

Then he gives an awkward wave and one final lingering glance before making a beeline dash towards the elevators. A strange flutter settles in your chest as he runs off.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What the hell is going on today?

“Choi Seungcheol,” Mingyu deadpans, striding into the private office room of where his editor-in-chief, Choi Seungcheol, resides. “I already got approval to interview that quantum physicist for the piece due next Friday. You can’t seriously be calling another penalty on me right now, or yell at me about another missing Oxford comma.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his computer as he takes a sip from his mug, steam curling into the air.

“Good morning to you too, Kim,” he says dryly, scrolling through what looks like an email thread gone to the depths of hell. “And no, this isn’t about grammar. Or physicists. Although, I am impressed you remembered the deadline for once. You’re not in trouble.”

Mingyu lifts a frazzled brow. “I’m… not?”

“Nope.”

A beat of silence. Then Mingyu crosses his arms. “Alright, who died?”

“No one. Yet.” A pleasant hum leaves Seungcheol as he places a manila folder on the table. “New case. Green mineral trafficking, multiple disappearances, possible government cover-up. Sounds like your kind of party.”

Mingyu tenses.

Green mineral trafficking? The only word he could possibly think of is…

Kryptonite.

He attempts to keep his expression neutral, unfazed, but his pulse quickens loud enough to echo in his ears. Most people don’t even know that kryptonite exists, let alone know how dangerous it can be. To anyone else, it’s just a strange name for a rock. To him? It’s a death sentence.

Mingyu clears his throat, stepping forward to grab the folder on Seungcheol’s desk. “Are you sure this isn’t a job for the police? Or the FBI?”

“Nope.” Seungcheol shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “It’s already been classified as a fringe case. Everyone in this building thinks it’s nothing more than just conspiracy fluff, but you’ve been here long enough. You know how we operate. If there’s something to dig, we dig. Besides, your science background is especially helpful.”

When Mingyu flips open the folder, he spots a few grainy pictures. But there’s a particular surveillance photo that catches his eyes. It’s blurry, but his vision is sharp enough to catch the sight of a figure with something glowing in their hands.

Definitely kryptonite.

Finally, he exhales. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Seungcheol smirks, and Mingyu knows for certain that there is a catch to this.

“Now that that is out of the way.” Seungcheol clasps his hands together and places his elbows on top of the desk. “You won’t be flying solo for this one.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at that. “What?”

“You heard me,” Seungcheol remarks with that shit-eating grin. “I’m pairing you up. Joint assignment.”

The folder nearly slips from Mingyu’s grasp at his words. “Since when do I get a partner? You already know I work better alone.”

“You also tend to disappear way longer than you need to be during your breaks,” Seungcheol retorts flatly. “And while I usually could give crap as long as you turn in Pulitzer-worthy articles, I think this case is different. Bigger.”

Mingyu presses his lips together, biting back the million responses aching to jump off his tongue, but he knows Choi Seungcheol all too well. Once he’s made up his mind, there’s no going back from there.

Still, he tries, even if it’s hopeless. “You do know I have a system, right? I research, I write, I investigate𑁋”

“You also vanish every time there’s a major break in the news and then show up three hours later claiming you were stuck in the elevator.”

“That was one time,” Mingyu grumbles.

“It’s always the damn elevator.”

Mingyu lets his head fall to the ground. “I get… claustrophobic sometimes.”

Seungcheol snorts. “Sure you do, buddy. Alright, I don’t care if you need to get yourself a therapy llama or whatever to cope𑁋all I care about is getting to the bottom of this and for someone to keep your ass in check. Now, chop chop. I’ve set up a meeting time for the two of you on Thursday.”

A long, long, contemplative pause.

“...wait, there are therapy llamas?”

“Kim Mingyu!”

“Okay, sorry! Just𑁋can you at least tell me who my partner is?”

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose, before reaching into a drawer to pull out a file. When he opens it, the first thing Mingyu sees is a photo stapled at the corner of the first page. It only takes a matter of seconds for the recognition to dawn on him, because not only does he know the woman in the photo, the dread that pools in his stomach is something only you could cause.

Coffee girl. Bag girl. Why-has-your-smile-been-stuck-in-my-head-the-whole-week girl.

“Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist. Recently transferred here from halfway across the country,” Seungcheol explains. “I’ve seen her portfolio. She’s quite good at what she does. I figured she could balance you out, you know. She’s already got the nose for shady ordeals with her exposé on that real estate company two years ago.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, opens it back up, then closes it again. You, of all people. You’re his partner. For a case potentially involving kryptonite. And just last week, he retrieved your stolen bag from a thief; bumped into you and spilled coffee on your shirt; said that your shirt looked good; got flustered like some hopeless nerd. And you… not-so-subtly called him model worthy.

Oh, he’s doomed. The universe truly had a sense of humour, after all.

“Cool. Great. Fantastic,” Mingyu says finally, his shoulders slumping.

Seungcheol shoots him an eye. “What? Refuting already?”

Mingyu’s mind could only race, because he knows how investigative journalists work. They’re always sharp, observant, perceptive, and have those particularly expressive eyes. The kind of eyes that could probably read into him. Past all the words, the excuses… the disguise.

“Nope. No complaints here. Just…” Mingyu bites his bottom lip. “What if she gets too close?”

Seungcheol lifts up a brow. “Close to what, exactly?”

“To the story.”

Seungcheol watches him for a moment too long. “Then she’s doing her job.”

Mingyu nods slowly, gathering the file in his arms. “Right. Got it.”

A truck hijacking on the highway was certainly not on Mingyu’s to-do list, especially since he has a meeting scheduled with you.

He’s already late, and there’s no way he can simply send a polite sorry, running a little behind and definitely not the a truck was hijacked on I-17 and I had to take care of it email to your inbox, especially when he’s currently hanging off the side of the highway holding onto the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler like he’s helping a neighbour move some furniture.

He grunts, his teeth gritted as the metal steels in his tight hold. The tires of the truck screech loudly against highway roads. The initial driver of the truck is knocked out from the attack by the hijackers, but Mingyu can still hear the faintest thrum of his heartbeat. He overhears another man in the cabin cursing and trying to figure out how the hell this large truck is not moving even with the gas pedal through the floor.

But here he is. Midair.

His cape flaps elegantly behind him as he carries the truck back to where all the police cars were coming in on the highway. Slowly, he lowers the truck back down onto the ground, a loud slam screaming through the air. At the corner of his eye, he notices one of the hijackers attempting to crawl through the broken window, but Mingyu is faster.

He yanks the man out of the truck by the collar and heaves him to the ground, but there’s something about the man’s close presence that physically makes Mingyu recoil back, and his eyes keenly focus on the faintest glow of green underneath the man’s shirt.

Is that a… kryptonite pendant?

“Who the hell gave that to you?” Mingyu questions angrily, gripping the man by the collar of his shirt.

“I-I don’t know!” the guy sputters weakly. “I just drive the truck, man! I was supposed to leave it at Pier 13𑁋”

“I didn’t ask where you park the damn thing,” Mingyu interjects furiously. “Tell me who gave it to you.”

“I don’t know anything! I swear, dude!”

Before Mingyu could do anymore questioning, the police are beginning to swarm them now. He gives the man one last glare, and reaches over to grip the pendant in his hand, ripping it from around the man’s neck. A stinging ache settles in his muscles, but it wasn’t any normal kind of soreness𑁋it’s the kryptonite kind.

Yet with every ounce of strength he could muster, he tosses the pendant into the hands of an incoming officer. He already feels the pain lift off his skin as he bastardly drops the man back onto the ground, a fleet of other police officers coming to apprehend him.

“Put that thing into a lead case and to a lab immediately,” Mingyu groans out towards the dazed officer.

Before anyone could say another word, he’s already shot himself up towards the skies, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind.

He’s back in his civilian clothes and landing on the roof of the Daily Planet within a few short minutes. His glasses are on, his tie straightened, hair still a bit windswept which he brushes back with his hands. He wipes away some dust off his clothes before sneaking back into the building, resuming his normal routine.

Mingyu already knows he’s late, and at this point, he’s accepted defeat. He could only hope an extra cup of coffee that he might have put a bit too much sugar in would be enough to make up for his unexpected detour.

When he arrives at the conference room𑁋six minutes late𑁋you’re already sitting there in one of the seats, flipping through the case files with your brows slightly furrowed. A pen is tucked behind your ear, and he swears he can smell your perfume from where he’s standing at the door. It’s like a scent of lavender, and something else. Perhaps warm and sharp, just like you.

Mingyu takes a singular step forward, and your head snaps back up.

“Hey,” You greet him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Mingyu breathes out, trying to keep casual. “Elevator broke down.”

You chuckle at that, pulling a chair out for him. “Does it break down often?”

He smiles faintly at your gesture, sitting down next to you. “You have no idea.” He slides one of the cups over to you. “For you, by the way.”

You glance inquisitively at the cup. “Oh. Thank you. Trying to bribe your way out of being late?”

“Depends if it works or not,” Mingyu remarks back, and he tries not to notice the way the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile.

A soft laugh leaves you, and it makes something flutter beneath his ribs.

You take a sip from the coffee, and nearly choke it out. “Wow, that is dangerously sweet.”

“Ah, crap,” Mingyu mutters in embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t, uh, paying attention to how much sugar I poured in.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still coughing through a laugh. “It’s all good. I needed the sugar rush anyway.”

“Still,” Mingyu chimes back in. “I’ll get the ratio right next time, don’t worry.”

Next time.

The morning light shining in through the conference room windows shine on your cheekbones, casting flecks of gold across your skin and over the smile you were still wearing. His breath nearly catches in his throat at the sight𑁋the kind of smile that makes Mingyu almost forget he was mid-air just ten minutes ago and lifting a stolen truck with his own bare hands, freaking out about how you’d react to him showing up late.

“It’s funny, right?” You start, turning your body to face him. “How we went from a stupid coffee incident to being paired up for a case like this. Who would’ve thought?”

Mingyu hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of his own overly sweet coffee. “If I knew you were an A-list journalist, I probably would’ve risked being late to that meeting when we first met.”

You roll your eyes at him, tiling your head a little. “Why?”

Mingyu swallows a lump down in his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose shyly. “Uh… first impression, you know? It was your first day that week, so… I could’ve shown you the ropes of this place.”

Amusement glitters in your eyes, and you lean in, settling your chin on your hand. “We spilled coffee on each other, then you complimented my shirt. I don’t think anything is salvageable after that.”

“Okay, well, technically…” Mingyu starts, but his resolve falters quickly when he catches your gaze on him. “I didn’t plan to spill it on you. I was just nervous.”

“You? Nervous?” You repeat. “Why would you be nervous?”

Mingyu stiffens a little in his seat. “I mean, not nervous because of you, exactly. I mean, yes. You’re just kind of… I don’t know, intimidating?”

You stare at him.

“I’m saying you’re…” he pauses, knowing all too well he’s digging himself deeper into this hole he’s making. “...very cool. Like, cool-cool. Like, you have that unbothered, domineering energy𑁋okay, let me shut up.”

Your shoulders shakes with a lighthearted laugh, and it seems to fill the large room more than it should. Mingyu only sinks down further into the chair, hoping that it could swallow him whole, as the heat spreads up to the tip of his ears. But even despite the embarrassment radiating off him, he can’t bring himself to look away from you for that long.

“That was probably the best trainwreck of a compliment I’ve heard ever,” You tease playfully while tapping your pen on the table as if to stabilise yourself.

Mingyu groans into his hand. “Please forget I said any of that.”

“Oh no.” You grin. “Sorry, I’m filing that away in our case notes.”

His mouth flies open. “You’re joking.”

You merely shrug. “You’ll never know.”

That silence that follows after is strangely comfortable. Maybe a bit awkward, but not in a bad way. It’s quiet enough for Mingyu to realise this is probably the most peace he’s felt in a while. The adrenaline from the hijacking and discovery of the kryptonite pendant is momentarily forgotten, dulled by the sunlight falling on your face and a smile that crawls right under his skin.

“Listen,” You begin, your tone turning a bit more serious, though sincere. “I know how people around here work. Trust is a weird currency nowadays. People hold their cards close to their chest, and sometimes, it doesn’t end well. We don’t have to share our life stories with each other. I just need to know…”

You pause for a moment. Mingyu is still waiting for you to continue.

“...that if things ever get messy, you’ll have my back.”

The weight of your words settle heavily on his chest. And there’s something about the way you’re looking at him𑁋steadily, hopeful𑁋that makes his stomach flutter. The same kind of feelings he gets when he’s flying too fast or perched at the edge of space and staring down at the place he’s dedicated to protect.

He’s not used to this kind of vulnerability. Not from others, and definitely not from himself.

“I will,” he finally says, voice low yet certain. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Mingyu notices the way you study him for a moment, as if you’re trying to read between the lines of his words and expressions. But then, the curve at your lips fades into something more softer, less amused, reassured.

“Good,” You murmur, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Because I’ll have yours, too.”

And in the back of his mind, Mingyu knows one thing for sure: that he’ll protect you. From thieves, criminals, and the quiet threats that no one else sees.

Even from himself, if it ever comes to that.

God, especially from himself.

“Seriously? You kept this from me for an entire week? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Mingyu’s mouth falls open. “Wonwoo𑁋”

“You touched a kryptonite pendant barehanded and now you expect me to assist you on this report that’ll probably end with a front-cover newsletter covering the untimely demise of Superman,” Wonwoo snaps as he paces across the shared living room. “What part of ‘you’re not fully invincible’ do you not understand?”

Jeon Wonwoo is the only other person that knows of Mingyu’s… extracurricular activities. The man has been for him since the very beginning. It was during a particular night during their college days where he had stumbled upon Mingyu levitating in the middle of their dorm room, freaking out about how he could quite literally see through the wall into the next room, and freaking out even more when he was able to see Wonwoo’s entire skeletal system.

Wonwoo had the opportunity to probably blackmail him to the entire campus, but all he did was simply sigh, and muttered something about always getting the weird roommates before sauntering back into his room.

Ever since that night, they’ve been inseparable. Wonwoo had silently mingled his way into the role of confidant, cover-up artist, and occasionally, accomplice. He didn’t ask for the job, honestly. He didn’t even like it half the time. But he does his duties anyway, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Mingyu can definitely say that he’s the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

Wonwoo may not have superhuman strength or have literal lasers shooting out of his eyes, but he had something else: a brain filled with logic, the ability to knock some sense into Mingyu, and a camera always slung around his neck that somehow captured the city more truthfully and beautifully than any headline could ever do.

“Well, I didn’t plan on touching the kryptonite, okay?” Mingyu defends weakly. “The guy was trying to escape out of the truck! What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

“No, you call me, or literally anyone else not allergic to space rocks,” Wonwoo grumbles in response. “You’re lucky it was only a pendant. If it were something bigger, you’d probably be in the ER, and it would be a whole other shitshow when they find out about your weird alien space blood. Or worst case scenario, dead.”

Mingyu flops back down on the couch, running a hand over his face with a heavy sigh. It’s almost as if he’s carrying the weight of the entire planet on his shoulders.

His mind feels like it’s folding into itself, because he really shouldn’t have accepted this case, yet on the other hand, was there anyone else more capable of handling it?

Later that week, Mingyu stumbles upon you in the archive room. Your face is practically half-buried in a box full of case files, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hands rummaging through the box like a raccoon going dumpster-diving.

He stalls in the doorway for a moment, briefly forgetting why he was coming down here in the first place.

Then, he clears his throat. “Y/N?”

You spin your head towards the doorway, and the way your face softens at the sight of him makes something ache a little in his chest. His inhuman abilities to be able to discern those little details is either a blessing or a curse. Or both.

“Hey,” You breathe out, almost as if you’ve run a marathon, brushing away your dusty hands on your pants. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Mingyu slowly inserts himself more into the room, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Would… you have stopped me?”

Your lips twitch in amusement. “Would you want me to?”

Your words send an abnormal jolt down his spine. Mingyu clears his throat, and shakes his head.

“No.”

“Then you got your answer.” A proud look briefly passes over your features before you turn your attention back towards the box of case files in front of you. “Come here. Found some stuff you might want to take a look at.”

You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he leans over beside you, the warmth radiating through the sleeves of his flannel hitting your arms. He smells faintly like rain and something earthy, as if he was just a step away from being into the clouds, even though the forecast outside has been sunny the entire day. But you don’t comment about it.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, his attention mainly fixed on the way you’re quietly scanning through the files. There’s a hint of exhaustion plaguing your face, judging by the subtle sag to your shoulders and crease between your eyebrows as you silently scan the words on the files, hoping to absorb them better.

“Have you been down here for long?” he finally asks.

You take that as a chance to straighten your posture, wincing slightly. “Yeah. Long enough for my back to start complaining.”

Mingyu chuckles softly. “You could’ve called me down here, you know.”

“I thought I was the investigative journalist in this partnership,” You remark wittily without looking up, continuing to sift through the files.

“Not necessarily for that stuff, I mean…” Mingyu shrugs sheepishly. “...to just be here with you, I guess. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

His words alone are enough to make you momentarily pause. You glance up at him, and a millisecond is enough for Mingyu to catch that flicker of surprise to your eyes, quickly followed by something softer, perhaps fond, and a pinch of nervousness. But it fades just as swiftly as it came.

You don’t smile, not exactly, but your features soften noticeably. The archive room suddenly feels as if it’s shrunken three times in size. You clear your throat.

“I’ll make note of that then,” You say quietly, before sliding over a few papers in his direction𑁋surveillance pictures, specifically. “I found something strange while looking at the list of disappearances.”

Mingyu narrows his eyes, studying the photos in front of him. Most of which are simply blurry photos of random civilians he doesn’t recognise, taken in grocery stores, restaurants, or simply walking down the street.

“These people… They don’t have any background,” You explain. “Some of them don’t have any official documentation in any databases. Only a name, and that’s it.”

Mingyu bites at his bottom lip in thought. “So it’s like they appeared out of nowhere?”

“Exactly.” You brighten from his words. “Which, obviously, can be a motive of some sorts. Whoever is taking them knows that these people don’t actually exist, even though they do, making them easy targets, more difficult to track down and find. Because… they wouldn’t have anybody to look for them. They knew their cases would eventually be dropped.”

His heart sinks at the thought. You slide more photos over to him, looking at him curiously.

“Do you know anything about what this… green mineral thing is?”

Mingyu’s brain stutters.

“There was a biotech company back then𑁋CARAT Corp𑁋which was suspected of using these green minerals in their experiments and machines,” You explain casually. “Then they got accused of several counts of illegal experimentation. Rumours of black-market robotics, AI enhancements, which prompted its inevitable demolition and arrest of the owner. Heard he got bailed out of jail not even a year later and fled the country.”

You motion a finger over some of the photos, and there’s clearly that familiar green glow around some of the blurry figures, and Mingyu immediately recalls the pendant he found on that hijacker.

“Someone’s been collecting this stuff again. Quietly. Systematically. And selling it off.”

Selling it off. It’s definitely a likely explanation to why that hijacker had a kryptonite pendant on. But the more important question is why?

“From what I’ve read about this stuff back then, it’s definitely… otherworldly. It reacts differently compared to other minerals on Earth,” Mingyu explains. “It’s supposedly radioactive as well. Definitely not something you’d find on the periodic table, for sure.”

You nod your head slowly, trying to process the information. “That’s… definitely a case.”

“But there’s not much research on it, from what I know at least. Heard a lot of scientists and physicists these days don’t even want to touch that stuff,” Mingyu finishes with a tilt of his head. “Too unstable. Too unknown. I’ll try to look into what this stuff is.”

A sudden, loud click of your pen is enough to make anyone in the room flinch. Mingyu hears a snicker leave your mouth.

“This is definitely something deeper, isn’t it?” You question pensively, mostly to yourself, your gaze lingering over the various photos spread out on the table.

Mingyu watches you closely. To the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip as you think, to the way your fingers are hovering over the photos, aching to pull the truth out of them. It’s impossible to look away from you.

“It definitely is,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

You turn to him expectantly, eyes locking onto him. “Together?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Together.”

Your shoulders relax to his words. “Great. Let’s get these things upstairs so we could cross-reference them. I forgot my stupid eye drops at my desk.”

You bend over to lift the box, planting firm hands on both sides, preparing to hoist it up in your arms. The files inside the box shift inside, some of them nearly tumbling out and falling to the floor, but you manage to adjust your position.

Mingyu finds himself reaching over instinctively, but he hesitates for a moment. “Y/N, I can carry𑁋”

“I’ve got it,” You insist cheekily, shooting him a determined look. “Don’t think I can carry a little box?”

“It’s not that𑁋”

But just as you get the box in a comfortable hold, the bottom corner clips against the table, and it shifts your entire balance, making the box tilt violently in your grasp, a rain of documents preparing to dampen the ground. Unknowingly, your foot catches onto a loose folder you didn’t notice had fallen onto the smooth tile floor, and everything happens all at once. A started yelp leaves your lips before you could even register it.

And you’re stumbling backwards, your backside threatening to land on the ground.

Mingyu moves before he even realises it.

One second, he’s watching you stumbling backwards; in the next, he’s secured the box in his left arm while his right hand rests tightly around your waist. You take a few seconds to blink, suddenly no longer falling but coming back upright𑁋and very much pressed against Mingyu’s broad chest, who was peering down at you, wide-eyed.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a slight tremble to his voice.

You could only stare back up at him, suddenly very aware of how close he is as your brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. His hand is still around your waist𑁋warm, steady, protective𑁋and you don’t make any sort of move to shrug it off. And neither does he.

“I𑁋yeah,” You breathe out shakily, clearing your throat loudly. “Thanks.”

You still don’t move. Same as him.

His glasses have slipped the tiniest amount down the bridge of his nose, and his hair has fallen in front of his eyes a bit, but his gaze barely wavers from yours. Finally, after a few long moments, you release yourself from his hold, rubbing away the sweat that has somehow accumulated on your hands on your pants.

Mingyu steps back as well, giving you some space, and fixes his glasses on his face before letting his hand fall back awkwardly to his side. The tension still makes the air around the two of you heavy, but there’s no sense in hurry between you both of dispeling it𑁋perhaps because neither of you really want to.

Then, his voice cuts through the air. “I’ll, uh… carry the box, if that’s fine.”

You give a quick nod. “Yeah. Sure. Probably smarter.”

You watch as he carries the box out of the archive room with minimal effort, or no effort, specifically, as if it weighed no more than a paperclip. The two of you file your way back into the hallways of the Daily Planet and towards the elevators.

As the two of you stand silently in the elevator, your mind can’t help but linger on the way how easily he caught you𑁋how steady his grip was on your body, how warm he felt, how he moved as fast as the blink of an eye. Too fast, maybe.

“Do you have any plans later?”

You turn towards him, shaking your thoughts away. “What?”

Mingyu keeps his eyes forward, though you notice the imperceptible curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

“I was just wondering if you… you know, did stuff after working hours,” he says lamely. “Like, any hobbies, or…”

You let out a faint chuckle. “Is this another one of your brilliantly horrible attempts at making small talk with me?”

Mingyu visibly stutters at that, a soft laugh leaving him. “Well, I mean𑁋maybe?” He shakes his head, a little embarrassed. “I just want to get to know you a little bit, that’s all.”

You tilt your head to the side, studying over him as you both ride up the elevator. It’s somewhat… endearing at the way he looks right now. His posture is straightened like a stick as if he’s attempting to appear cool, but the twitch of nerves to his fingers tapping against the cardboard box is pretty much a dead giveaway. It still makes your heart skip a beat, regardless.

“I knit,” You respond suddenly, making Mingyu shift his attention to you. “On occasion. Badly, most of the time. I also cook𑁋horrible at that too. And I read, probably too much to the point my eyes feel like sandpaper.”

It’s only a tiny sliver of information, but it’s enough to hit him with a wave of relief. It’s kind of absurd imagining you𑁋an A-list investigative journalist who’s always on her feet𑁋to be bad at anything. But he likes knowing you have those sides of you as well. Unlike him, you’re human, after all.

“Cute,” he mutters quietly without realising it.

You lift a brow. “‘Cute’? Seriously?”

His mouth falls agape. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that𑁋”

“It’s fine, Mingyu,” You reassure him calmly. “I liked it.”

Mingyu swears he feels his heart stop.

“And how about you?” Confidence fills up your voice. “Any hobbies that I should know from you?”

Oh, you know, he answers in his head. I like to fly up to the stratosphere and breathe in space fumes, punch criminals straight to Pluto, and use my heat vision to warm up my cups of instant ramen.

“I… like to go to the gym,” he answers instead, but it comes out as if it was the only thing he could think about. “Other than that, um… nothing much. Just work and research, you know?”

The elevator dings, signaling that the two of you are close to the floor you’re supposed to step off on. You snicker a little.

“I see,” You say, smirking to yourself. “Keep being your little mysterious self then, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu blinks dazedly. “Huh?”

The elevator dings again, and the doors swing open. It’s time to get back to work.

“But lucky for you,” You continue, stepping ahead of him and onto the floor. “it’s my favourite genre to read.”

Alarms loudly blare out of the Seoul National Bank, their sharp wails cutting through the late afternoon rush of the city. Red and blue lights flash across the marble pillars of the large building, helicopters swerve frantically through the skies, and crowds outside begin to cluster on the sidewalks outside, held back by the barricades and arms of police officers.

Inside the bank, it’s absolute chaos. Frantic and frightened shouts echo from hostages locked inside, scattered with threats by masked figures armed with weapons and bags containing large sums of money.

Mingyu is already mid-air when the call goes out.

Within seconds, he’s descending from the sky. He slices through the clouds as his cape pillows behind him. The moment he sets foot on the concrete stairs leading up to the bank, the ground itself shakes with his presence. Gasps erupt from onlookers behind the police barricades. Phones are raised, cameras are flashing, news outlets are reporting. The world is watching. Superman is here.

All it takes is a singular inhale before he’s barrelling headfirst through the solid entrance of the bank. Debris flies in all sorts of directions, crumbling down all over the floor. Mingyu spots the robbers immediately: four of them, their identities shrouded with masks and hoods, armed weapons in their hands. Frightened civilians and families all scramble to the corners of the buildings, cowering in fear.

“He’s here!” a civilian shouts from the side. “It’s Superman!”

Pride swells in his chest as he speeds towards two of the robbers, who were uselessly scrambling for their weapons. With his super-speed, Mingyu swipes the first one and throws away his gun like a toy, and knocks the second one unconscious with the gentlest flick of a finger.

He dodges a panicked swing of a knife that comes from the third robber, and Mingyu responds with a hard kick to the robber’s stomach. A choked groan leaves the robber’s lips, before he’s completely forced to the ground with a loud thud, and the force of the punch is probably enough to knock some teeth out.

Just from all that, there were no visible signs of struggle to Mingyu’s body. His fists clench together at his side. All who is left standing is the final robber, who was positioned right at the open entrance to the vault.

However, as Mingyu trails closer, he finds himself suddenly… disorientated, as if the world has tilted slightly off-axis.

“What the…” he moans out as a pulse of nausea hits him. Tightness coils in his stomach, and his shoulders feel as if they’re carrying the weight of boulders. It’s like his strength is being sucked away from him by the seconds that are passing.

His vision swarms with a burning, sickly green hue, his knees buckling beneath him. Ahead of him, the fourth robber doesn’t even flinch and simply stands still, calm, too calm, arms relaxed as his sides as if this was just an ordinary day.

“Fuck…” Mingyu curses, staggering back a step, his breath hitching in his throat.

The metallic taste of weakness is bitter on his tongue. The pain of acid slithers up his bloodstream. It takes every ounce of his strength to focus on the robber looming over him, and he notices it immediately.

The kryptonite pendant. The same pendant from the truck hijacker, and now, this robber was wearing it. But it wasn’t just one robber who has it on𑁋all of them do. The others that Mingyu knocked down earlier all reach inside their clothes, revealing their glowing pendant in their hands, exposing Mingyu to more pain.

Phones are still rolling. Cameras are still clicking.

And exposing his pain to the entire world.

All he can see and hear around him are the loud shutters of cameras clicking, mouths whispering, and sirens booming from outside. News outlets are about to have the absolute field day of their entire careers.

His stomach physically churns at the sight.

Then the robber lunges forward, hitting him square in the ribs with the butt of his rifle, and for the first time in years𑁋it hurts.

The shock in his eyes mirrors the horror in every single hostage in the building. He’s Superman. He doesn’t get hurt.

“Not so tough, ay?” the robber sneers, a malicious smirk forming under his mask. “Looks like everyone’s favourite superhero can bleed after all.”

With a tight purse of his lips, Mingyu fires two rays of heat vision from his eyes, aiming with precision𑁋not directly at the robber himself, but down to the floor𑁋and with a loud crack, the marble floor splits beneath his feet. It’s enough to buy Mingyu some time, especially as he can hear the SWAT team and police force making their way up towards the entrance.

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to remain upright as he fights the waves of radiation from the kryptonite. Sweat beads down his forehead. The pain is searing and hot, like flames dancing over his skin, but he has to push through as much as he can𑁋he has to. People are watching. People are hoping.

“You see this here, Superman?” the robber spits hoarsely, appearing above him once again with the pendant in his hand. “You can’t win this one. It’s just the beginning.”

If he had his super-strength, or his super-speed, he would’ve punched this robber straight to Mars at this point. But he can’t, especially not with the kryptonite dangling off the man’s neck, taunting him, painfully blurring and mashing together his mind and thoughts.

But he also can’t let these people die. He’s made a promise to the world: to protect it and its people.

Channeling every last bit of his strength, Mingyu throws his weight forward onto the robber, collapsing onto the ground and pinning the man right below him.

“Tell me… who your dealer is,” Mingyu threatens lowly, his voice weak. “Or I’ll fucking end you right here.”

The robber squirms in his hold, kicking and thrashing, refusing to answer.

“Answer me, dammit!” Mingyu demands again, harsher this time.

But before the robber can answer, the SWAT force finally enters the bank, their guns aimed and shields positioned. Bullets fire deafeningly through the room as the officers non-lethally shoot at the other robbers, forcing their weapons down to the ground.

Mingyu only groans to himself, giving the man in his hold one more death glare before letting go, and he could only stand and watch as the robber’s eyes remain on him until he disappears out of the building. He can’t bring himself to meet eyes with the hostages as they’re all escorted out of the bank and back outside.

Paramedics and firefighters start rushing into the bank as Mingyu finds himself leaning against the crumpled doorway, the remnants of the kryptonite still lingering in the air like a poisonous gas. Even as the robbers are taken away, it still doesn’t rid of the burdened guilt threatening to swallow him whole.

“Superman?” an officer’s voice suddenly chimes in.

“I’m fine,” he lies flatly. “Make sure to take the pendants from those bastards and send them to a lab.”

The officer nods before briskly moving away. He can only watch the scene unfold in front of his eyes in trepidation, a sigh of defeat leaving him. He knows he’s already overstayed his welcome in this fight.

As he exits the bank and prepares to take off, though, a swarm of reporters come rushing in like a harsh wave crashing onto the shore. Incessant flashes of their cameras surround him as they shout over each other to get a single word in.

“Superman! Superman! Did you really sustain injuries from today’s robbery?”

“Over here! Superman!”

“Were you affected by the robbers’ weapons? Can you explain why?”

Mingyu’s eyes dart around as he forces a strained smile to the cameras. He tries to search for a chance to escape, but the reporters are relentless. But he knows if he reveals remotely anything, there will be somebody already out there watching, waiting, for the moment to exploit him.

Until a bombshell is dropped.

“Is it true that you have a weakness? What would that mean for the people? The country? The world?”

The mass crowd of reporters fall silent for a few seconds as they anticipate any sort of answer, like time itself has come to a pause. Mingyu feels his heart completely sink. His secret wasn’t just a risk threatening to be expelled anymore𑁋it was happening right before his eyes. The blood rushes to his ears. Cameras continue to roll. Microphones are thrusted in his direction.

His jaw clenches. The silence is enough to offer an answer to the media.

“Superman! How do we know if you’re still able to protect us?”

He doesn’t say a single word. He can’t. There’s no right answer.

Even if he lies or denies it, the world has seen too much.

Every inch of the footage would be dissected frame-by-frame. Everyone would see the pained expression on his face, to the way he literally fell down to his knees, how he was knocked down by a singular punch to the ribs. Everyone would see the glowing green pendants strapped around the robbers like trophies.

And in some dark spot in the world, someone would see it as an opportunity.

His heart races with anxiety as he scans over the crowd one final time. He catches every panicked face, every worried look, every pitiful glance in his direction from children and adults alike. But he also spots anger and fear.

Then his eyes linger on a particular figure.

It’s a man. He’s wearing an all black suit, which appears pressed to perfection, along with a fedora that creates a shadow to shroud over a good chunk of his face. He’s simply just standing there at the edge of the crowd, watching him amidst the chaos surrounding him. Mingyu squints just slightly, allowing his vision to sharpen in on him, and he catches sight of the cold smirk forming at the man’s jagged lips.

Mingyu feels his fists clench at his sides𑁋not from fear, but from rage. This wasn’t just a robbery; it was planned.

The crowd only continues to press him, shoving their microphones and flashlights in his face and yelling the same questions over and over again.

So he makes the only move he can: he flies off, sending a few people almost stumbling to the ground from the force of the launch.

The voices of the crowd of bystanders and reports fade away as he takes to the skies, the city blurring right beneath him.

When he lands onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet, he’s already trembling. He thinks about everything: the kryptonite, the robbery, the people…

And his thoughts land on you.

His eyes flutter shut.

Mingyu thinks about you, and for some reason, it’s the only thing that’s keeping him grounded right now. He thinks about that particular sparkle in your eyes when you’re working on the case; he thinks about your laughter whenever he fails in his dumb attempts at talking to you; he thinks about your intimidating passion for justice; he thinks about how when he’s with you, he feels like… he can be himself.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you. He shouldn’t be feeling this much for you.

But he is.

BREAKING: Superman Weakened In National Bank Heist – Mysterious Green Objects To Be Identified The Re-emergence of Green Minerals, From CARAT Corp to Present Day: A National Security Concern Superman’s Weakness Exposed: What Does This Mean For The World?

“Are you just going to be sitting around moping all day like a lost puppy?” Wonwoo’s voice interrupts.

Mingyu just groans. “What else should I be doing when I’m exposed to the entire world?”

“They still don’t know it’s you,” Wonwoo replies evenly, stepping further into the living room with two glasses of water, offering one to him. “They know Superman got hurt; they didn’t know it was you. Your lucky glasses still work as a disguise, somehow.”

Mingyu only continues to silently brood, taking the glass of water from Wonwoo’s hands and chugging it down before placing it back firmly on the coffee table.

“They were scared,” he says quietly. “The people. I saw it all in their eyes. They looked at me like I… like I failed them, because I did.”

“No,” Wonwoo retorts sharply. “They were scared because they care. Because they’ve come to rely on you when things go to shit in this cesspool of a city. You’re human, Mingyu.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu snaps back, then falters. “I mean… not exactly. Not completely.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wonwoo shoots him a fixed, stern look. “I mean that you feel things like one. Happiness. Sadness. Everything in between. You care a little too much, and honestly? That’s a good thing, and probably a bad thing.”

Wonwoo’s words settle within the crevices of his bones, because he’s right. He always is. Mingyu isn’t human𑁋he wasn’t organically brought upon this world like everyone else. And yet… Here he is, wearing his sensitive little Kryptonian heart on his sleeve, while feeling guilt, shame, fear, and hurting like any other person would.

Mingyu slumps further down in the couch, staring at the muted television screen, all of which were constantly replaying the footage of Superman, of him, falling weakly to his knees and grimacing in pain from the kryptonite. There were also several news outlets broadcasting about how Superman seemed to have completely vanished after the incident, and it deepens the fear even more.

“And what if I can’t save them next time?” Mingyu asks, voice wavering. “What if someone dies because I was too weak enough to save them?”

“Then you grieve, and show up again,” Wonwoo responds like it was the easiest question in the world. “That’s what heroes do.”

Mingyu leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. His mind still aches.

And then, he hears a soft knock on the apartment door.

He shoots Wonwoo a puzzled look, but Wonwoo only gives him a helpless shrug. Mingyu stands up and heads towards the door, and he feels his heart drop to the floor when he peers through the peephole.

It’s you.

Panicking slightly, he makes sure that he looks slightly presentable𑁋fixing his unkempt hair, putting on his glasses and smoothing out his clothes, even though he sure as hell knows he looks like shit. He clears his throat dramatically a few times and reaches for the lock.

And then he hesitates.

He stares at the door like it’s a ticking time bomb, his pulse rattling loudly in his ears. Why have you come? How did you know where he lives? Either way, you shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not when his weakness is still plastered across every television screen in the country. Not when there’s people out there probably analysing the grainy pictures of his face. And especially not when he’s sure that if you look at him for more than a few seconds, you’ll know that something is off.

But you came anyway.

Mingyu curses under his breath and finally turns the lock, slowly pulling open the door just enough to peek his head out.

“Y/N?”

Your hand is suspended mid-air when the door opens, and you bring it back down to your side.

“Hey,” You greet him all-too-casually, but there’s something else there too𑁋almost like concern.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets back, forcing on a small smile. “How, uh… did you know where I lived?”

You chuckle quietly. “Well, you haven’t stopped by the office to review the case in a few days, so I got… worried, naturally. You’re my partner in this after all. Seungcheol started pestering me about it, and he sort of gave me your address to hunt you down and well… here I am.”

Mingyu’s brows knit together in disbelief. Seungcheol, that bastard. Of course he would be the one to initiate this sort of intervention for him, and of course it would be you who would actually follow through with it.

“Right,” Mingyu murmurs awkwardly. “That makes sense. Yeah.”

You shift your weight between your two feet, still looking up at him. Mingyu thinks it’s his first time ever seeing you like this𑁋not as the passionate investigative journalist he’s become familiar with, but uncertain and hesitant. You’re not wearing your usual professional and confident front; there’s no sharp gleam in your eye like there is when you’re chasing a lead, no teasing lift at your lips when you’re making fun of him.

“So,” You continue, carrying your words carefully. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a few feigned coughs. “Yeah, I… I was just feeling under the weather, you know? I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to worry you, I guess.”

You smile at that, and there’s that little lift to your lips. Maybe he’s the only one who could bring that out of you.

“Look where that worrying has got me then,” You say, motioning towards the empty hallway. “But you’re alive, so that’s good enough for now.”

You try to keep your tone light, like it’s just a simple check-in between co-workers, but it doesn’t seem as hidden with the way you’re fiddling your fingers aimlessly at the hems of your sleeves. And from the way you can’t let your eyes drift away from his face.

Mingyu feels something in his chest ache. You shouldn’t care this much for him. But you do. And he… he shouldn’t want you to.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come by unannounced, especially if you don’t feel well,” You suddenly say, taking a small step back. “I just thought𑁋Nevermind. I’ll go.”

You turn slightly, already preparing to walk away, when Mingyu opens the door a little farther.

“Wait.”

You stop.

He doesn’t think. He just speaks.

“Do you… want to come inside?”

Your eyes widen, caught off-guard by the question. “Are you sure?”

Mingyu’s expression stalls for a moment, searching over your face for any unsureness𑁋because if there is, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch you walk away from him even if every fibre and cell in his alien being is fighting to pull you closer.

But he doesn’t see any of that on you. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“Yeah,” he relents. “I’m sure.”

You fully face yourself towards him. “Okay.”

You step inside his apartment, your eyes scanning around as Mingyu closes the door behind you. It’s clearly lived-in, but tidy. There’s an empty glass and a few cans of beer on the coffee table, a blanket tossed over the couch, and on mute, the TV displaying the information that had taken the world by storm: Superman.

“Sorry, I wasn’t prepared for any company at all.” Mingyu breaks the silence with an embarrassed laugh. “I live here with Wonwoo𑁋I’ve mentioned him before, he’s over there in the kitchen. He’s on the photojournalism floor. Been helping a little with the case too.”

“Guilty,” Wonwoo adds in while shutting the refrigerator door.

“Actually, that’s… what I wanted to talk about. The case,” You chime in, turning to Mingyu. “If you have time for it, at least.”

Mingyu hesitates, his fists clenching at his side.

Of course. The case.

“Did you find any leads?” he asks warily.

You smile grimly, clasping your hands together like you’re about to announce a ment, and Mingyu knows that he’s in trouble𑁋not the kind of trouble that involves possible planetary destruction, but the kind that reaches in, pulls at his ribs, and settles somewhere quietly in his heart.

Or in other words, he may or may not be screwed.

“After those robbers were arrested, I ran a background check,” You explain. “Found some sketchy things in their financial histories, all linked to the same offshore account. Someone must be literally selling and manufacturing these things like they’re goods. It might explain the pendants they were wearing during the heist.”

Mingyu stiffens.

Wonwoo chimes in from the kitchen. “You believe that someone is possibly selling them to the public?”

“More likely to criminals,” You say with a sigh. “Probably embedding them in cheap-looking metal and selling it under the guise of crystals or pendants. Who knows how many people are wearing this stuff without fully knowing what they are.”

“And they do now.” Wonwoo points towards the muted television. “and they know what it does.”

“Which makes them all the more dangerous,” You continue affirmatively. “And get this. There’s a place that’s been popping up in these records. Pier 13. Do any of you know about that place?”

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchange a particular look between each other.

“It’s where CARAT Corp was originally established before it got demolished,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Place has been off-limits for years, but that wouldn’t stop people from snooping around.”

You nod. “I figured as much. They had all kinds of unconfirmed rumours. I pulled up old building records and chemical logs. Whatever they were doing there before it went under, they left behind traces. And someone is deciding to keep it alive.”

Mingyu bites down at his bottom lip. His eyes are still on you as you continue to explain the leads and information you found, speaking with the confidence of the journalist that the world knows and admires.

“I don’t think this was just a robbery,” he mutters under his breath.

You glance at him, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“It was… too deliberate. Coordinated. I don’t think they were there just for the money. Who shows up to rob a vault in broad daylight wearing experimental pendants?” Mingyu questions, voice tight with the barest hints of restraint. “They wanted Superman to show up.”

It’s almost as if a bombshell had dropped to the floor. It all makes sense now.

The news of the heist and Superman has been dominating the news for the past few days. It’s all everyone at the office has been talking and publishing about. You admit that it’s been sticking in your mind as well, especially the footage of him𑁋of Superman, knees down to the ground, breath laboured, the face of fear he wore𑁋collapsing.

That image hasn’t left your head since you saw it.

“Superman has always been quite the phenomenon, hasn’t he?” You murmur, more to yourself. “I mean, I’ve hardly ever been interested in writing pieces about him𑁋I usually leave those to the cocky columnists. He’s done a lot of good things, for sure. People idolise him. His name would always top the headlines for even the smallest things.”

In the background, Mingyu chuckles nervously. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a grudge against him.”

You look over at him, quirking up a brow. “Not a grudge. Just a healthy level of skepticism. Comes with the job, you know? Even when he saved my bag from being stolen that one time, I’d never put him on a pedestal like that𑁋never wrote his name in glittering gold like the rest of the city does.”

Mingyu snorts at that. “You’re different.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Well… Everyone I’ve ever talked to has always looked up at him in that way𑁋like he’s some sort of god. Untouchable. But you…” Mingyu trails off, eyes flickering to yours for just a second before looking away. “You don’t see him that way.”

You tilt your head, watching him closely. “And is that a bad thing?”

Mingyu pauses. Considering. Hesitation and awe spiraling around him. He shakes his head.

“No,” he answers meekly. “I don’t think it is.”

You smile at that, and Mingyu thinks he could kiss you right now. His chest aches, and it’s ridiculous to think that it feels more painful than damn kryptonite radiation.

“Good,” You muse softly, then you add in playfully, “Besides, if he were perfect, I think I’d hate him a little bit. It’s the flaws that make people interesting, anyway.”

The two of you exchange a bit of laughter at that, and it’s almost as if for once, the world feels at peace. And it doesn’t help that you’re looking at him with such an easy smile as well. Gosh, the things he would do to just rip his glasses off right now and confess everything to you, and yet, he knows that he has to protect you.

Even if it meant hiding the biggest secret of his life right in front of you.

“Well, I… I should probably get going now. I’ll head to the office and update Seungcheol with everything,” You say. “I already got some people working on trying to trace a source for these accounts. I’ll call you if I get any more leads.”

Mingyu clears his throat, snapping himself out of a daze, scrambling to go open the door. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

When you step back into the hallway of the apartment building, you turn back towards him.

“Take care, alright?” You tell him, and the way you say it so sincerely, so softly, undoes something in him. “Come back when you’re feeling well. Just… don’t disappear on me like that again, okay?”

Mingyu watches as you start walking down the hallway, your back facing him as he feels his throat tighten. A defeated sigh leaves him as he steps back into his apartment, closing the door with a quiet lock. He stares at it for a few moments like it held all the answers to the universe.

Wonwoo appears behind him, arms crossed.

“She’s going to figure it out eventually, you know.”

Mingyu hopelessly rests his forehead against the cold door. “I know.”

“Then what?”

A simple question. A difficult answer.

“Then I just hope… she still sees me.”

Even if the world doesn’t know his identity, Mingyu swears he can feel every pair of eyes on him in the room.

The entire morning he’s been hearing all the mutters about Superman’s lack of… presence lately, to put it lightly. He hasn’t exactly shown his face to the public, or done any of his classic superhero deeds ever since the heist at the bank, and it’s obvious that it has been taking a toll on people, on everyone, on him.

The world is losing faith in Superman. In him.

He finds himself staring anxiously at the two cups of coffee sitting on his desk𑁋one for himself, and one for you. His eyes flit to the clock that’s sitting intimidatingly on the wall of the office. You seem to be running a few minutes behind𑁋not that he’s counting or anything. It’s only the fifth time he’s checked the time in the last three minutes.

The elevator dings.

Mingyu’s posture immediately straightens at the sound, and he looks up sharply, just as you step through the doors. Your coat looks slightly askew, your hair somewhat tousled, as if you failed at fighting the wind on the way here. A small stack of folders is tucked underneath your arms. You look a little frazzled. Still, when his eyes land on you, he doesn’t realise he’s already smiling.

Your eyes glance around the room, and then you spot Mingyu immediately𑁋of course you do. It’s hard not to miss him. The sunlight cowering in through the windows shines a faint halo around his head, and he wears that familiar, stupidly nice smile you can’t unsee once when it’s aimed directly at you.

“Hey,” You breathe out as you approach, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, I was late. Heavy detour from a car accident on 17th. City traffic was hell.”

Mingyu simply shakes his head, already offering your cup of coffee. “It’s all good.”

You raise a brow as you take it from his hand, fingers brushing against his as you take the cup. “For me?”

“Who else would it be for?”

You roll your eyes at that, taking a sip. Mingyu watches you carefully.

“With all your trials and tribulations,” You start, taking another sip of the coffee. “I’d say you got the coffee-to-sugar ratio about sixty-five percent correct. Well done.”

Mingyu lets out a relieved sigh. “Sixty-five is a passing grade, you know.”

“According to your terms.” You flash a smile behind your cup, and it makes his chest thrum unevenly. “On mine, it’s barely passing.”

“So, technically, I still passed,” Mingyu remarks playfully, leaning against the side of his desk.

He’s gotten more confident around you, you consider. It’s cute.

“Barely,” You shoot back again. “but I’ll let it slide for now. You’ll have to work a little harder.”

Mingyu laughs, and it comes out so effortlessly, so genuine. It’s enough to momentarily silence all the worry that’s been swirling around his head the past few days. You do that to him𑁋ease the tension, smooth the sharp edges with your natural brilliance and determination. He’s painfully aware of the irony: the only person who makes him feel human is also the one he has to keep the biggest truth from.

Before he can say anything else, a voice booms across the office. It’s Seungcheol.

“Y/N! Mingyu! Office in five!”

You give Mingyu a look. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nods, reaching for his own notes as he falls in step beside you. The two of you wordlessly make your way over to Seungcheol’s office, shoulder-to-shoulder. He hopes you don’t mind the closeness. And upon entering, Seungcheol gestures for you both to sit down. Sunlight bleeds across the table as the two of you take a seat.

At the corner of Mingyu’s vision, he spots something pulled up on Seungcheol’s monitor: pictures of Superman, of him. His blood grows cold.

“I’ve been going through your latest reports,” Seungcheol begins. “Both of you have been neck-deep in the green mineral case, and I’ve gotta say, I’m impressed. The idea that whatever this is being sold and distributed like cheap souvenirs is insane. Dangerous. And if it’s true… it could change everything.”

You nod slowly. “I’ve got people trying to work on confirming a direct supplier and checking out Pier 13. There’s definitely a trail somewhere. Hopefully we’ll mark it down without losing it in all the noise recently.”

Seungcheol leans in from his chair, stapling his hands together. “Exactly. Which brings me something I wanted to run by with you.”

The air takes in a visible inhale.

“No one’s seen or heard from Superman since the heist,” Seungcheol starts to explain, and Mingyu sure as hell doesn’t like where this is going already. “No appearances. No saves. The car accident from this morning? When it happened, the peoples’ first thoughts started with Superman. But now? They think he’s abandoned them. Fear is turning into anger.”

Mingyu shifts beside you, his heart plummeting and racing at the same time. You clear your throat loudly.

“Alright, what are you proposing?” You ask curiously.

“There’s the golden question,” Seungcheol says with a smirk. “I want an interview with Superman, and I want you to do it, Y/N.”

Mingyu chokes on air from that, nearly dropping a pen he’s been nervously fiddling with between his fingers. His eyes quickly dart to you, then back to Seungcheol, wondering if he even heard the man correctly.

You blink. “You want… me to interview Superman?”

“I want you to try,” Seungcheol replies ardently. “We don’t know where he is. He’s gone quiet. People are starting to panic. This green mineral situation isn’t helping in the slightest. We need answers, his insight about what this stuff is, and you’re one of the few people I trust to ask the right questions.”

You give a brief pause, unsure if you should feel flattered or not. “I’ve never even talked to him before. Not really.”

Seungcheol lifts a brow. “Didn’t he save your bag once?”

“That doesn’t exactly make us close friends. I had to suffer through an entire day’s worth of being referred to as ‘bag girl’. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mingyu feels a little guilty for that. He slumps even deeper in the chair, trying hold himself back from saying something𑁋to tell you and Seungcheol this is a terrible idea, that maybe Superman isn’t ready to face the world like that, to face you like that. But, instead, he chooses to say nothing.

He’s too deep in his head to notice the way you sideways glance at him.

“How would I even get in contact with him?” You ask. “It’s not like he has a press secretary or a hotline I could call.”

Seungcheol leans back helplessly, though his lips lift up into the kind of smile that always spells trouble. “That’s the thing. We don’t know. But if there’s anyone who can figure out how to get his attention, it’s you.”

You raise your brows at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “What, you just want me to shout into the sky and hope he hears me?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried it,” Seungcheol says jokingly, before his expression turns back to serious. “Look, I get it. It’s a shot in the dark. But the Daily Planet is trusted, more than any government agency and broadcast network these days. And you’ve gathered yourself a respected reputation already. Maybe if you write a column, an open letter, or get your bag snagged again, he’ll show.”

You chuckle at the last idea as your tongue presses into your cheek, thinking, thoughts already joggling through possible ideas without even meaning to. That always happens when a story itches at the back of your brain. You hate that Seungcheol𑁋and this ridiculous suggestion𑁋might be right.

Beside you, Mingyu remains unusually quiet.

“Let me sleep on it,” You finally say after a long moment. “I’m not saying no. Just let me think it through. But if I do this… I want full independence. No one breathing down my neck, no pre-written questions. If he even agrees to the interview, it has to be on his terms. Not the Planet’s.”

Seungcheol nods, as if he was already half-expecting for you to suggest that. “You’ve got the microphone.” Then his eyes flicker to the clock, and he claps a hand on the desk. “Alright. Meeting’s over. We’ve got a story to chase. Keep me updated, you two. You’re doing great.”

As you and Mingyu gather your belongings and exit out of Seungcheol’s office, you turn to him with a sigh.

“So.” Your shoulders relax. “Guess I gotta dress up pretty for a date with the Man of Steel.”

Mingyu chuckles softly at that𑁋almost too softly that he nearly regrets it. A reluctant smile stretches across his face, a glimmer of panic flashing behind his eyes that you miss as you face forward to place your cup of coffee and files on your desk.

“A date, huh?” he says, an attempt at lightness, though his chest tightens at the word.

You shoot him a teasing look. “What? Jealous already?”

He clears his throat. “No. Just… didn’t expect you to call it a date.”

“Well,” You muse with a shrug. “I mean, if I’m risking my career and sanity tracking down a metaman who doesn’t even have a phone number or any line of contact, I should at least get a drink out of it, don’t you think?”

Mingyu fixes his glasses, heat rushing up his neck. “Right. Drinks. Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for an espresso.”

You grin lightly at the thought, sliding back into your chair, and he tries his best to pretend his entire world isn’t crumbling by the seconds that tick by. There’s no good way to stop this now, and the worst part is that he wants to be interviewed by you. He wants to know how it feels to sit down with you as himself𑁋or, rather, his other self𑁋and answer all your questions, the easy ones and the hard ones, just to see that admiring sparkle in your eyes when you’re in your element.

Just to be with you.

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Mingyu asks after a second.

You glance over at him as you power on your computer, offering a shrug. “If it helps the people, and helps us get more information, then it might be worth it.”

Mingyu takes a nervous sip of his coffee. “Do you think he’d say yes?”

“To the interview?”

“Yeah.”

You cross one leg over the other, rotating your chair to face him. “Well, if you were Superman, hypothetically, would you say yes?”

He stares at you𑁋really stares at you𑁋catching sight of that intimidating fire behind your eyes, the curve of your smile, the slight lift of your brow as you wait for his answer.

“If I were Superman…” he echoes slowly, dragging his words carefully. “...and it was you asking?’

You nod. “That’s the premise.”

He pretends to think. Pretends to put his own thoughts into the person who is him. Pretends to not already know the answer, despite the hammering of his heart in his chest telling him to avoid the topic altogether.

“If it’s you asking,” Mingyu begins, eyes locking with yours. “I don’t think I could say no.”

There’s a quiet stillness that follows. No one else in the office seems to notice it but him, and maybe you do too, because your lips part𑁋maybe to tease, maybe to question𑁋yet nothing comes out of it.

However, a smile, one full of amusement, blooms across your lips.

“Then I hope Superman is as receptive as you are, Mingyu.”

Hope is Missing: An Open Letter to Superman By Y/N L/N Investigative Journalist, Daily Planet

The wind is cool tonight. Brisk enough to have the loose ends of your clothes ruffle through the night air, but not so cold that you mind waiting. You’ve been sitting at the rooftop of the Daily Planet for over an hour at this point, way longer than you had intended, as the clock dials close to midnight. A notepad and recorder sits in front of you, empty just like the seat across.

You glance down at your shoes, then back up to the darkened sky.

No sign of him. Of anything, really.

The open letter had been published yesterday morning, a few days after Seungcheol had proposed the idea. It had gone viral almost instantly. People talked, speculated, wondered. And yet here you are, alone on the rooftop, and talking to the stars.

There’s a part of you that feels rather foolish. If anything, at least the view of the city is decent enough to fill you up with a sense of peace𑁋you hardly ever come up to the rooftop, and you think there’s something quite beautiful about seeing the world asleep beneath your feet. You wonder if Superman feels this way when he flies through the skies.

You click your pen shut as you pull your coat tighter around you, a sudden rush of wind running past your skin. The feeling leaves as fast as it came in, and the sigh that escapes your mouth follows along with it.

You should really go home.

But you don’t.

Because as you start to gather your things, there’s another near-silent whoosh that stops you in your place. It’s subtle, yet far from natural, brushing against the nape of your neck like the ghost of a caress. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

You nearly jump from the voice.

It’s soft, deep, and so alarmingly close that it has you whipping your head around, your notepad clutched at your chest like some makeshift shield.

And there he is.

Superman. In the flesh, standing with that iconic posture and wearing the famous colours of red and blue of his suit, cape fluttering behind him in the wind. Moonlight drapes over his figure, and he appears almost otherworldly. Somehow, it’s different from the last time you saw him that morning when your bag got stolen.

That time, he was confident and poise𑁋you briefly recall the moment he shamelessly flirted you too𑁋as if the world was his greatest trophy. But now, there’s something… softer, fonder.

Vulnerable, even.

“Hi,” You manage to croak out, because it’s the only word your mind is able to process at this moment.

Superman smiles. It isn’t the big, flashy one that the tabloids like to plaster across every news article, but a small, almost boyish curve of his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a strange buzz underneath your skin.

“Hello, Miss L/N,” he greets back calmly, taking a few steps towards you, eyeing the empty seat at the table. “This seat taken?”

You blink, before it all registers back. “Oh, no, it’s not. Here, um, let me𑁋” You quickly scramble to pull the seat open for him. “Take a seat.”

You watch as he gives a short laugh before moving to the empty seat. He moves with grace, with purpose, with power; and yet, there’s something oddly humble in the way he folds himself into the chair, like he’s trying not to take up too much of your space.

When you take the seat in front of him, his eyes briefly shoot down at the recorder that you place between the two of you, but you don’t hit the record button yet.

“You picked the weirdest time to show up for an interview,” You remark lightly as you prepare your notes.

“And you picked the most obvious location to have it in,” Superman declares back as he lets his gaze drift down to the constellation of city lights below. “It’s nice, though. I’ll give you credit for that.”

You glance up, the corner of your lip twitching at the comment. “Figured out it was symbolic, you know. Being high up, close to the stars. Maybe you’d feel more at home.”

Your eyes are drawn back to your notepad of questions, scanning over each one slowly and carefully. You don’t catch the way his gaze locks back onto you.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly. “Home.”

As you finish reviewing your notes, you pick your head back up. “Alright, before we start, are there any boundaries you want to set? Anything in particular you want me to not ask?”

Superman considers your words for a moment, tilting his head. “Not exactly, I would say. But if I did want something… what is it that journalists say again? If I want something𑁋”

“Off the record?”

“Right. Off the record,” he echoes back proudly. “If I wanted something off the record, you’d respect that, right?”

“Of course,” You answer as you nod without hesitation. “I’m not here to trap you, don’t worry. I’m here to understand you.”

He hums amusedly, a gentle sound that slips from his throat like a sigh of relief. Then, he offers you a nod of his own, signaling that you could start.

You reach over tentatively to hit the record button on the recorder. A click reverberates through the air.

“Time is… 11:43PM. This is Y/N L/N, reporting for the Daily Planet, speaking with𑁋well, I suppose you don’t need an introduction, do you?”

Superman chuckles at that, a bit raspier at the edges like he’s been holding it in for a while. His hand brushes over the table briefly, before it stills.

“I guess not,” he murmurs. “But you can call me Superman, if it’s easier for you.”

You force yourself to bite back a smile at that, before returning back to the task at hand, adjusting your posture just slightly. Across from you, he mirrors the movement without even thinking.

“Right. Well, tonight I’ll be speaking with Superman.” You lock a steady gaze on him. “First off, I wanted to thank you for agreeing to this, considering the circumstances lately.”

“It’s a pleasure to be speaking with you, Miss L/N.” Then his eyes soften𑁋the way he addresses you sends a flip to your stomach. “I should be thanking you. I… read the letter that you published. Every word. It was honest, and I owe the people an explanation. An apology, perhaps.”

You lift a brow at his humility, the tip of your pen roaming over the surface of your notes. “Some might say you disappeared when people needed you most. After the heist at the National Bank, your absence wasn’t just felt, it caused panic. Do you regret it?”

There’s a pause.

His gaze drops to the space between you, hands clasped loosely in front of him on the table. His thumbs brush together in slow, deliberate circles, and when he lifts his eyes back up again, there's something unguarded in them.

“I do,” Superman answers quietly. “I didn’t plan to disappear. I wasn’t trying to… abandon anyone. But during the heist, I was hurt. The green minerals used by the robbers is called kryptonite. And it isn’t just dangerous𑁋it weakens me, my strength, my powers.”

You swiftly write on your notepad as you ask the next question, “What can you tell me about kryptonite? Its origin? What does it do to you, exactly?”

His brows furrow slightly, trying to find the right words. “It’s… hard to describe. It originally came from my home planet, Krypton. Its fragments of what’s left of it after it ceased to exist, scattered it all over space. Your earth’s sun makes it radioactive to me. When I’m near it, the radiation simply… strips those powers away from me. It’s like breathing in poison.”

You take in his words carefully, writing down the information on your notes with cadence. He simply observes you as you write, with your head bent over the paper, lips pursed in concentration, your hair slipping endearingly over your forehead. It’s almost too much to you have this close, yet he could only admire you𑁋this is probably the closest he’ll ever have you, anyway.

“Krypton… is your home planet, you said?” You glance back up at him for confirmation, and he forces himself to concentrate back on the interview.

“Correct,” Superman affirms, his features wistfully fading into something sad, nostalgic. “I crash-landed here on Earth after it was destroyed. From what I know, not… not one of my people had survived, except me. I was just a baby, so Earth is the only home I really remember. Raised here, pretty much.”

Your pen hovers over the paper hesitantly, considerately. “Do you miss it?”

An unscripted question.

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, he mentally reminds himself𑁋hesitates for a few seconds. Not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he knows how much of himself he potentially risks giving it away.

“I… don’t know, honestly,” he starts, voice lower now. “I guess you could say I miss the idea of it sometimes. But I’ve found my home here with people I care about. There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

He looks at you when he says it.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and weightless all at once.

You don’t write that one down; instead, you file it into a safe space in the back of your mind.

“Never picked you to be the sentimental type, Superman,” You tease lightly with a pleased shake of your head.

A playful glint catches in his dark eyes. “You bring that out of me, I suppose.”

“Do I now?” You counter back playfully, clicking your pen shut. “And do you always flirt with every person you save?”

Superman grins cheesily at that. “Only certain ones, especially if their bags get stolen.” Then his eyes brighten up mischievously. “Keep that off the record, though.”

Petals of warmth bloom throughout your chest at that, and gosh, you already know you would have to cut out so many parts in this recording when you update Seungcheol about the case, because you really don’t want to be accused of fraternising with Superman, as ridiculous as it sounds.

It’s strange, really𑁋how you’re casually sitting here interviewing a literal alien superhero with powers that defies the laws of anything, and yet, the two of you are sitting here like you’ve known each other for months.

For a few moments, you don’t know how to respond to that, and the only thing you can do is to clear your obnoxiously dry throat. You partly blame the cold air for it.

“Anyways, well𑁋next question.” You snap your pen open again. “The kryptonite. We’ve received multiple sources proving that it’s being distributed in bulk to criminals around the city under the disguise of those pendants from the heist. Criminals are wearing them when committing their crimes. Do you have any insights on that?”

He sobers up instantly, expression turning serious.

“My only guess is that they’re using the kryptonite to bring me down.”

You hum approvingly. “And do you have a reason why they would want to bring you down?”

He stills briefly, then answers carefully, “For power. For leverage. Fear. I’m the biggest obstacle between standing between them and their ambitions, so getting rid of me would offer less resistance. Fear is easier to spread when hope is chipped away.”

You give a thoughtful nod as you digest his words. Your pen scratches softly against the paper as you scribble down his responses. When you pick your head back up, he holds a steady gaze on you already, and it’s making it harder and harder for you to stay objective.

“Is that what you consider yourself, Superman?” You ask lightly. “A symbol of hope?”

Something flickers across his eyes, before he shakes his head.

“Not exactly,” he responds quietly. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

Those words seem to hit you𑁋an unexpected vulnerability from someone who appears untouchable to anything. The answer makes you smile, however, although very faintly.

“Some people argue that the world is too dependent on you. That humanity relies on you too much to fix things when we should be fixing it ourselves,” You begin to ask. “What is your response to that?”

Superman doesn’t answer right away. His head hangs low, but it’s not from defeat. Far from it.

“I want humanity to fix itself. I’ve never wanted to stand above anyone else. My role on Earth has… never been about solving problems.” He looks back up, eyes shining with something fierce, passionate, and kind. “It’s about standing with the people. Reminding them that they can fight. I don’t rescue people because they are weak𑁋I rescue them because they deserve a chance to keep going.”

“Then why stay?” You press a little more, writing as you ask. “Why keep risking yourself if there’s no realistic way for humanity to fix its own issues? Doesn’t it ever make you feel… hopeless, in a way?”

The silence stretches a little. The only sound comes from the recorder whirring between the two of you, recording every word.

“I do have days where I wonder if I’m really making a difference,” he admits. “But then I see a firefighter run up to a burning building without hesitation. I see a kid stand up to a bully. I see people love each other, even through the messiness and brokenness that comes with it.”

He leans in slightly, folding his arms across the table.

“You don’t have to be indestructible to protect people. You just have to be willing. Courage doesn’t come from having powers𑁋it comes from choices and actions. I didn’t choose to have these abilities, but I did choose what I wanted to do with them. Which, to answer that, is doing the greater good.”

Quietness floats through the air as you write down his answers. You can barely feel the cold on your skin anymore. When your gaze roams over the next question, you nearly debate skipping it entirely, but that wouldn’t be honest𑁋not as a journalist. And not with him.

You take in an inhale. “Superman.”

“Miss L/N.”

The corners of your lips quiver from hearing him call you that.

“How do you choose who to save?”

His face doesn’t change. But if you looked at him even closer, the stillness that settles over him is a different kind. More heavy.

“I mean,” You continue carefully. “When the world is falling apart in five places at once, when lives are on the line in different corners of the city… how do you live knowing you can’t be everywhere? How do you pick? And how do you carry the burden of the ones you don’t get to in time?”

It’s probably the toughest, most human question you’ve asked this entire night. You watch him closely.

“Sometimes, when I fly, I can hear almost everything,” Superman begins. “Sirens. Screams. Prayers. I hear them all. At times, it becomes overwhelming𑁋sort of crushes me with all this pressure. And it hurts physically, emotionally, mentally.”

You say nothing, letting your pen stay still to listen.

“It’s unbearable knowing I can’t reach them all. There are times where I’m five seconds too late.” His voice is tighter now. “I don’t choose who to save based on who matters more. I pick because someone needs help, and I move as fast as I can, wherever I can. But it doesn’t make the ones I couldn’t reach any easier to forget.”

The way he’s looking at you while answering almost makes you feel like you’re being stripped bare. It’s not invasive, but honest. Raw honesty.

“But here’s what I believe,” he continues modestly. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that’s worth the burden.”

You hardly notice how close his hand is to yours on the table now, but you can’t will yourself to move. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he speaks so achingly human about the way he carries his pain, about the way he speaks not like some saviour or god𑁋just as a man learning to navigate with the weight of the world on his shoulders constantly. Just a man trying to do what’s right.

It makes your curiosities wander as well, because who exactly is Superman?

“So, um, in light of all things,” You begin, readying your pen up once more. “What is your plan? How do you intend to stop the kryptonite distribution around the city?”

He shifts in his chair, his body language becoming more focused, determined, while the city lights dance across his eyes. There’s a pause as you observe the way he searches for the right words, his jaw tightening a fraction as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ll stop them, no matter what it takes,” he answers with certainty.

You jot all of this down on your notepad. Then you gaze back up at him, and you feel a pinch of worry. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

He laughs halfheartedly at that. “I’ve handled worse things.”

Yet your face remains steady with concern. “What about the kryptonite? What if… it doesn’t go your way? If they succeed, what happens then?”

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, shit𑁋feels an odd tug at his heartstrings at the way you ask it. It’s unsettling, yet comforting all at once. Because you care, the same kind of care you expressed to him when you showed up at his doorstep the other week as he gave you the lame excuse of being sick for his absence. You’ve shown care to both sides of his coin, even if you don’t fully realise it, and that means something.

It’s so, so hard. He has to constantly remind himself that in moments like these, he’s supposed to be Superman, not Mingyu, even if his instincts ache to scream at you.

“No matter what happens to me, or how dark it gets,” Superman finally says after a long beat, his tone bittersweet. “I’ll never stop fighting.”

With a final, firm nod, you document down his responses and let the silence settle between the two of you. You managed to cover a lot of ground, and there’s definitely a lot of information you can work with for the case as well as the article that you plan to write surrounding the interview. When you finish writing, you reach a finger over to click stop on the recorder.

“Right. Thank you for your time, Superman. I believe that’s all the questions I have for you for tonight,” You say as you close your notepad and begin to gather your things.

“For tonight?” he repeats with a sly look. “So there will be… other nights?”

You scoff at that while shoving your notepad and recorder back into your bag, but the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrays you.

“Don’t push your luck, Superman,” You say teasingly, slinging your bag over your shoulder, already taking a few steps towards the door back into the building. “I’m going to start thinking you’re interested in me.”

“And what if I am?”

You freeze in place at that, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag. When you turn around, he’s already stood up, his red cape flying behind him in the cool, nighttime breeze. Despite the banter, there’s something about the way he’s looking at you𑁋something soft and devastatingly earnest.

“There’s a city that needs saving out there,” You assure him as calmly as you can be. “I’m sure you have better things to do than to entertain… this. Don’t put me on your priority list.”

And yet, some deep part of your heart aches at your own words.

Superman only steps closer to you. Your feet stay planted heavily on the ground.

“Five minutes,” he says.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Five minutes. That’s all I ask for,” he mutters, quieter this time. “The city can wait five minutes, can it?”

This earns him a narrowed gaze from you as you peer at him carefully. You could leave. You could leave this moment behind and carry on with your life, investigate and finish the case, and forget the fact that a man who has the power to wield the Earth in his own hands is standing right in front of you, asking for something as simple as five minutes of your time.

You know what you’re getting into if you allow your feelings to get the better of you. You can’t possibly be this careless with your heart without knowing all the pieces of who he is. It’s risky𑁋so, so risky.

But the other part of you, the part that’s been slowly falling into his orbit, tells you to stay. It’s just five minutes. Only five minutes.

“Five minutes,” You repeat softly. “No more, no less.”

Superman grins knowingly from where he stands. “You have my word.”

You watch as he takes a few more steps towards you, and suddenly, without warning, he extends a hand to you. An open invitation. You stare at him in disbelief for a few moments.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he says with confidence, his hand unwavering in the space between you. “Do you trust me?”

You stand there in hesitation, the question lingering in the air, as your eyes flicker between his outstretched hand and the twinkling lights of the city skyline. When your gaze flits back up to him, he’s still waiting, eyes hopeful but not demanding. It’s crazy how easy it is to get swept up in the charm of a superhero.

But… there’s more to him, isn’t there?

Taking a deep breath, you meet him halfway, and let your fingertips graze against his palm, before your hand finally settles in his. The warmth from his hand sends a strange wave of flutters throughout your body, and it’s almost as if the world around the two of you softened into something more… safer.

You catch the way he smiles at the contact, and he lets his own hand fully embrace yours. With a gentle tug, he drags you towards the end of the rooftop. The wind kisses your face a little harder, the sleeping city stretching beneath your feet.

You stiffen instinctively when your toes reach close to the edge, but you feel his grip tighten in your eyes.

He turns to face you, and even under the sliver of moonlight that casts on his face, you still see the softness in his expression.

“Ready?” he asks.

You shoot him a flat look. “Define ready.”

All he does is chuckle. And before you can second-guess yourself, he steps off the edge. With you in his arms.

A sharp yelp leaves you as the wind roars past your ears. Your free hand shoots up to grasp onto the front of his suit so tightly you swear you could probably tear it. Your heart slams against your ribs, nothing but pure fear spreading through your veins.

Then you feel the sudden shift in air, a rush of gravity failing away𑁋and then, impossibly, you’re rising.

Flying.

Beneath you, the city starts to blur into nothing but tiny pinpricks of light. The feeling that your feet are touching virtually nothing is enough to send a wave of adrenaline crashing through you as you realise how high you’ve gone, and you cling to him even more, completely afraid to let go.

“You’re okay,” Superman reassures you, voice nearly fading in the wind. “I’ve got you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging helplessly into his suit. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re used to flying!”

Even with your eyes closed, you swear you still know that he’s smiling. The gusts of air rushing past your ear start to slow, and you feel his hand begin to snake around your waist to secure you even more. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he could hear it. You stay clamped against him, too afraid to open your eyes, too aware of how close he is to you without fully seeing it.

“Hey,” he coaxes gently. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head furiously. “No way in hell. I’m good here, thanks.”

“Come on, you’re missing the best part,” he says, laughter tucked in his voice. “Just trust me.”

With gritted teeth, you peek open one eye. Just barely.

And you gasp.

Below you, the city sprawls out in a blanket of gold and silver. You can’t even tell the buildings apart since they appear mashed together. Above, the stars are so much closer than you could remember𑁋close enough you could probably touch it if you’ve reached for them. It’s breathtaking, overwhelming, dizzying, and yet, you don’t have it in you to look away.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you𑁋that we’re𑁋” You purse your lips together for a moment, unable to form proper words. “You’re insane. Absolutely, recklessly, insane.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches painfully in your throat at his words.

You blink up at him in surprise. Superman’s eyes𑁋no, Mingyu’s eyes, but you don’t know that yet𑁋are trained on you, disarming you from the fact that you’re suspended probably thousands of feet in the air that death is beyond inevitable if there’s even one wrong move. He can see the way your heart is racing in your ribcage, the way you’re shaking in his grasp. But none of that matters because you’re in his arms, and you don’t feel like you’re going to fall.

You don’t even realise that you’re staring at him, attempting to decipher through every detail of his face that seems so familiar, and yet so different.

However, your thoughts are clouded the moment he tilts his head slightly, and naturally, your eyes briefly shoot down at his lips before immediately snapping back at his eyes. But he notices. Of course, he notices.

Then, he leans in closer, and you feel the slightest touch of the tip of his nose onto yours, and he pauses. He’s giving you the opportunity to pull away, to tell him to stop and that this was a bad idea. But you don’t. You can’t.

And then, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft, so soft, like he’s afraid of breaking you, afraid of letting you go more than you letting go of him. It starts off slow, questioning, asking for permission. And the second you kiss him back, he pulls you closer against him and deepens the kiss just slightly more, your chest meeting his. He’s warm. Solid. Real.

It’s exhilarating, albeit terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re hovering in the middle of the vast, endless night sky. The stars above burn a little brighter, the wind hums around you in quiet awe, and for the first time tonight, you feel weightless not because you’re flying𑁋but because you’re his; at least, for however long this five minutes will be.

You’re kissing Superman𑁋the thought is as ridiculous as it sounds𑁋but with the stars and sky as your witnesses, you don’t care.

When the kiss breaks, you’re met with his unsure gaze, like he’s waiting for something, anything, to give him a sense of what you’re thinking. His shaky breath fans against your warm skin. He’s still so close to you.

“I…” His voice trails off. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You’re still clinging onto him, his hand is still on your waist, and the world is still somehow spinning on its axis like everything about this moment is normal. But it’s not.

Your mind races too fast to be able to catch up with it the more you stare up at him. There’s something, just something about the goddamn way he’s looking at you that feels so familiar.

There’s something about his eyes.

About the curve of his lips, the slope of his cheekbones, the warmth of his voice, the care in his touch.

There’s something about him telling you, merely screaming at you𑁋that you’ve seen his face before. The thought is gnawing at the edges of your thoughts like a parasite, refusing to let go. It won’t stop.

And then it hits you. You probably stop breathing altogether.

Because if you focused with whatever strength you have, you’ve seen that face. You’ve seen it nearly every day ever since you started working at the Daily Planet, sitting across from you at the office or next to you in the conference room while you’re neck-deep in case files. You’ve seen it wear that particular lopsided smile whenever you tease him. You’ve seen that face whenever his glasses accidentally lower too much on his nose. You’ve seen him.

You almost want to laugh𑁋because that’s absolutely absurd, right?

But it could be him. If you imagined him without the glasses, with his hair slicked back perfectly, then it could be him. If you focused on the voice, his large build, his hands…

God, the hands.

You swear your heart trips over itself.

“Yeah, I’m…” You mutter, voice unsteady, trying to pull yourself together when you’re everything but okay. “I’m okay.”

An exhale of relief leaves him.

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling you a little closer again. “Five minutes are up. Here, let me… Let me take you back down.”

As the wind starts rushing through your hair once more, you find yourself descending back onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet. Your feet land back on the ground with the lightness of a feather. Superman𑁋no, Mingyu?𑁋doesn’t let go of you right away, but when he reluctantly does, the cold that replaces his touch instantly hugs around you.

He steps back just slightly, and you watch him with uncertainty, confusion tightening its knots in your chest. Your heart wants to say something, and maybe he does too, from the way his expression softens into a bittersweet look.

His back is almost turned towards you when you finally call back out to him, “Wait.”

He pauses, stiffening, and turns back toward you.

You swallow a thick lump down your throat. “Will I… see you again?”

There’s a beat𑁋a long, torturous beat𑁋where you think you may have said something wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t want this, whatever this is supposed to be. Maybe you’re so stubborn to think you could be with someone like him. Maybe Superman isn’t supposed to belong to anyone but the world.

But then… he smiles. You know that smile, you swear you do.

“If you need me,” he starts quietly. “I’ll be here.”

It’s not much. It’s barely even an answer.

Before you can say anything more, he’s bending his knees and pushing up towards the sky. You watch as he turns into nothing more than a speck in the clouds as the night and stars swallow him whole.

The rooftop feels a lot emptier now as you’re left standing alone.

If your speculations are right, and you’re not just losing your mind over stress and a severe lack of sleep, then what the hell does that even mean?

For the investigation?

For your partnership?

For… you?

“These were images taken from Wonwoo in photojournalism and… See?” You motion to the grainy picture in front of you on Seungcheol’s desk. “Shipments were reported to have an odd green glow around them while being transported to Pier 13. These guys aren’t slick at all.”

Seungcheol squints down at the photo. “That is definitely kryptonite alien tech right there.”

“Exactly,” You affirm with confidence. “I’ve already cross-checked all the logs from the pier’s cargo records for the past six months. There isn’t any official documentation, no scheduled deliveries, or inputs from customs. It’s all ghost shipment.”

“And you pulled all these conclusions just from that interview with Superman alone?” Seungcheol questions, clearly impressed.

You nod once. “You could say so. The pieces started coming together after that night.”

That night. You don’t elaborate, and Seungcheol doesn’t press any further about it, thankfully. He’s already heard the recording of the interview𑁋the blatant, cut version, of course𑁋so he knows the basics. He doesn’t need to know all the nitty-gritty details of what happened after the recorder clicked off.

“Good work, Y/N,” Seungcheol says with a look of approval. “Draft up all your findings that you got from the interview. I want it on my desk by the end of the day. Then we’ll pitch it to the evening editors. Superman seems to be back in business because of you.”

Superman, Superman, Superman. You remember walking into the building and seeing the news playing on the television, detailing live about Superman saving an elderly pedestrian in danger from walking into oncoming traffic. Your thoughts drift back to Mingyu instinctively.

“On it, sir.” You nod again. “Do you also want me to𑁋”

The door to Seungcheol’s office suddenly bursts open with a loud thud, cutting you off and making you and Seungcheol simultaneously jump in your seats. The sound of heavy breathing, and an unmistakable mop of dark hair stumble in all at once.

Mingyu. He looks absolutely winded, as if he had just run an entire marathon through the city just to get here.

“Sorry𑁋I’m so sorry for being late,” he sputters out all-too-quickly. “Morning rush was… insane. Total nightmare.”

You blink.

Seungcheol also blinks.

“Don’t you live, like, five blocks away, Kim?” Seungcheol asks with his arms crossed.

Mingyu freezes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something clever, before shutting it close again. You notice a thin layer of sweat on his brow, like he preferred to sprint up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. His tie hangs loosely off his neck as if he gave up mid-tying it, and his glasses are slightly askew, which he adjusts swiftly.

Right, You think. The glasses.

“Anyway, other than being…” Seungcheol briefly checks his watch. “...thirteen minutes late, you’re here in one piece. Better than some of the interns this week.” The man gestures towards the seat right next to you. “Sit down. Don’t sweat on my carpet, please.”

Mingyu gives a short, apologetic bow before sliding into the seat right next to you.

You stiffen when his arms momentarily brush against yours. It’s not the first time he’s sat beside you, obviously𑁋but this is the first time since, and your body is reacting like he’s never been this close to you before, when he definitely has.

He grows unusually quiet as Seungcheol starts talking about the case𑁋about writing up an article based on the findings the two of you have gotten so far, integrating everything together into one sharp exposé, potential ideas for headline titles, and expectations from the editors. He merely nods here and there as you and Seungcheol exchange ideas back and forth.

You can feel his presence at your side. Familiar, too familiar.

You try not to glance up at him. But you can’t help it.

“Y/N, you’ll write up a narrative draft,” Seungcheol’s voice chimes back in. “Mingyu, I need you to get me more details on the kryptonite samples that got sent to the lab for analysis. Cross-reference them with any other materials if needed. I want all these pieces put together by this evening. Got it?”

Mingyu’s lips form a thin, contemplative line. “Are you sure that Y/N should… publish the article?”

The question slices through the already-thick air of the room like a knife.

Seungcheol lifts his head up from his notes. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Mingyu knows you’re already staring at him, and he tries not to meet your eyes. He tries to focus on Seungcheol instead, with his tense jaw and knitted brows.

“It’s… it’s dangerous,” he mutters. “She’s exposing an illegal black market deal involving risky alien tech. People don’t just walk away from that kind of exposé.”

Beside him, your breath hitches. He’s not wrong. You know that. But he also knows you. He knows exactly what you signed up for when you walked through the doors of the Daily Planet with nothing but your half-empty cup of coffee, your pen, your spine, and your unbridled passion in exposing corruption.

“I’m not walking away from this, Mingyu,” You add in, voice more sharper than intended. “You can’t just pull me away from uncovering the truth that easily.”

Mingyu finally turns to look at you, and in that moment, you swear you see his mask falter a little. His eyes are desperate. Not angry, nor dismissive. Just desperate. Like he’s silently begging for you to read between the lines of his concern.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The honesty in his words hit you like a wave, and you don’t know what else to say.

Seungcheol clicks his pen loudly, disrupting the tension. “We’re not a daycare centre. We don’t back off because something might be dangerous, and if things do go south, we have authorities we can work with. We triple-check our facts, and make sure to shine light in places where others don’t.” His daggered eyes cut back to Mingyu. “If you’ve got a problem with that, Kim, then I think you’re in the wrong department.”

Mingyu just straightens up his posture, his jaw still tense. “No, sir. I’ll get you those lab reports.”

With a dismissive wave, Seungcheol turns back to his computer to write up a follow-up email to the editorial team, and you stand up from the seat to begin gathering up all the materials on the table. Mingyu leaps from his seat as well, and after a hesitant second, he starts helping you gather up the scattered papers, yet you can tell his movements are a little too careful.

Your hands brush when you both reach for the same file, and you flinch just slightly. It’s instinctive, and maybe stupid, but you do. Mingyu notices.

It’s awkward. Not unbearable, per se𑁋but definitely noticeable. At least to you.

He doesn’t know what you know. Or rather… what you think you know.

Because how do you even bring a topic up like that? That you kissed Superman? That you probably kissed Mingyu? And that you’re 90% sure are the same person?

Did you say something such as, Hey, remember that interview I did with Superman the other night? Yeah, I kissed him and his cheekbones look a lot like yours. What a funny coincidence, right?

Yeah. No. That isn’t going to work at all.

“Thanks,” You murmur as you grab the last folder from Mingyu’s hands.

Mingyu nods, and for a second, your fingers linger a little too long in the handoff. His brows twitch faintly like he wants to say something, yet he presses his lips into a straight line as you saunter out of Seungcheol’s office. You feel your pulse thrumming a little too fast in your ears when you brush past him.

He follows right behind you, just a step behind.

You try not to look at him as you head back to your desk, seemingly too busy straightening out the files next to your computer. Mingyu’s desk is only a few cubicles away from yours, but he doesn’t go to it right away. Instead, he finds himself slowly trailing over to you.

“Y/N?”

You look up, and the moment your eyes meet, something falters between you.

“Do you…” he starts, rubbing the back of his bashfully. “Do you wanna grab coffee later? After we finish things up?”

A small, thin silence threads along in the space between the two of you.

Your fingers subtly tighten its hold around the edges of the folder in your hands. You pretend to think about it, and maybe you are thinking about it. Coffee, just normal, harmless coffee between coworkers. It would be nice. But nice isn’t exactly what this is right now. Not when you’re still staggering on the edge of some truth you haven’t confirmed yet.

You glance at him, and you swear, just for a second, there’s that same look again. The one that Superman gave you back in the sky and the stars were just a touch away from your fingertips.

God.

A forced, polite smile stretches its way across your face. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Actually, I… have some errands to run tonight,” You say, fighting away the flutter in your chest. “Stuff I’ve kind of been putting off for a while, you know?”

An imperceptible flicker runs across Mingyu’s eyes, the corners of his mouth dipping just a fraction. It’s gone before it can fully land on his face, replaced by that practiced, soft grin of his.

“Ah, right,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”

You nod apologetically. “Rain check?”

“Yeah. Rain check,” he echoes back, stepping away slightly. Though when he’s half-turned away from you, he shifts back around to face you one more time. “And just… Be careful, alright?”

He walks away before either of you can say anything else, and you hate how your eyes follow him. Hate how conflicted you feel when he throws one last look over his shoulders before disappearing back into the crowded newsroom, leaving you with your unanswered questions and a story that won’t write itself.

Slumping back into your seat, a sigh escapes your mouth. You’re really not ready for this at all.

“I can’t believe she’s going to publish that article,” Mingyu says, gritting his teeth in frustration. “It’s going to put a target on her back.”

Wonwoo adjusts himself where he was leaning against the windowsill, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. “You do know that’s part of her job as a journalist, right?”

Mingyu raises an agitated hand through his hair. “I know that’s part of her job. But this𑁋this isn’t some corporate fraud exposé or a fluff piece about city hall mismanagement. This is about kryptonite. Organised criminal trafficking of alien tech that shouldn’t even exist here. When they see she’s the one who wrote it, she’ll be next on their list.”

“And you didn’t think to stop her?” Wonwoo asks, taking a sip from his tea.

“I tried to! Her and Seungcheol were dead-set, and you know I’m scared of that man𑁋of both of them. She barely even looked at me the entire day,” Mingyu retorts with a groan. “And that’s what makes it hard, because everyone knows how she works. She’s… she’s passionate, and once she believes in a story, there’s no talking her down from it.”

Wonwoo exhales, watching the steam curl satisfyingly from his mug. “Yeah. That’s what makes her so good.” He pauses, giving Mingyu a particular look. “And what makes you a damn idiot.”

Mingyu shoots him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “What, did the wind blow too hard and your lips accidentally crashed onto hers?”

“It wasn’t𑁋I didn’t plan that! It just𑁋it happened, okay?” Mingyu runs his hands over his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, I have the faintest idea,” Wonwoo deadpans. “Hormones. Delusions. And wack-ass impulse control.”

“God, I know… I know it was dumb.” Mingyu fixes his eyes down to the ground in guilt. “I just𑁋She looked… beautiful, okay? Like really beautiful. And confident. And every other synonym of that. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Wonwoo snorts into his cup. “You’ve dodged missiles and can eat bullets for breakfast and yet can’t spare a single ounce of common sense around a girl. They should’ve written that your weakness is hopeless infatuation instead.”

Mingyu only groans at that.

“But I’m not judging you for kissing her,” Wonwoo continues. “I’m judging you for not telling her.”

Mingyu’s shoulders slump into the floorboards. The truth of who he is weighs heavier than any concrete wall he’s ever lifted, more suffocating than any collapsing building he’s ever flown into.

“I want to tell her,” he says, almost too quiet for even himself to hear. “God, you have no idea how much I want to tell her. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t,” Mingyu responds sharply, his fingers digging into the armrest of the couch, deep enough to cause a tiny laceration in the leather. “I can’t. Not until I know she’s safe.”

Wonwoo lets out a helpless sigh. “Then I hope you’ll be ready to face her when you do.”

“See? Your shit is going viral. Again. The internet is going wild from your exclusive interview with Superman,” one of the evening editors, Minghao, points towards his computer screen where your exposé on the kryptonite trade is on display. “You’ve even got retweets from some politicians.”

“It sounds like you’re envious.” You smirk lightly while hovering over Minghao’s shoulder as he scrolls through your article.

On the screen, the title of your article is screaming at you in its large bold letters: Kryptonite on the Black Market: The Alien Arms Race Hiding in Plain Sight. It was published by the start of this morning, and you’ve already garnered a massive amount of attention for it. Yet, there’s still a strange swirl of pride and dread that courses through you.

“Envious? Please,” Minghao says with a playful scoff. “I just can’t wait to watch the shitshow of law enforcement and our government fighting over jurisdiction on this. It’s practically a reality show! You should charge admission fees. You’d be a millionaire by tomorrow morning.”

You laugh quietly at that, but it doesn’t quite feel as genuine when it leaves your mouth. You fold your arms across your chest as you lean against the corner of Minghao’s desk. The article is trending, the story is out, and your name is plastered at the top of it just like you wanted. You wrote a story that matters. A story that tells the truth.

Then why does your chest still feel heavy?

Maybe it’s because you don’t know the kind of people you’ve probably pissed off. Maybe it’s because the names you didn’t print are more than likely the ones coming after you.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” You murmur, leaning away from Minghao’s desk.

Minghao raises a brow. “You sure? Heard there’s some celebratory pizza or whatever being delivered for you.”

You’re already sliding on your coat as you shake your head amusedly. “Save me a slice, yeah?”

“For some reason I’m not feeling generous tonight,” Minghao responds wryly, before waving you off with a dismissive hand. “Night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes. “Night, Xu.”

The office is basically empty at this point in the day. The only ones working being the evening team hammering away at their keyboards, too engrossed in their own deadlines to even notice you quietly slipping out of the cubicles. The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you walk down the hallways and into the elevator, the silence oddly comforting as you drift down to the ground floor.

The heel of your shoes click down against the tile floors as you head out of the building, the cool air hitting you square in the face. For a moment, the relaxation in your bones is swiftly replaced by the chill of the night, whispers of the breeze sending tense shivers down your spine. You glance between your left and right sides, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, just the streetlamps flickering overhead.

But the uneasy feeling still refuses to leave you.

Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag, and you let out a sigh. You start your walk down the empty sidewalk. You’ve done this a hundred times before𑁋walking home from a late night at the office. But tonight feels different. The kind of different that clings stubbornly to your nerves.

Halfway down the block, you swear you hear it. Footsteps.

They’re steady. Measure. And they don’t belong to you.

You pause, and turn around. For a fleeting second, there’s a shadow that disappears quicker than you could process. Your heartbeat is still punching maniacally at your chest.

You shake your head anxiously, swallowing thickly. Maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you’re just paranoid after everything today. God, maybe you just need to get home and crash on your bed and forget about the world you live in.

Your pace becomes faster, but the whispers of the breeze in your ears is adamant, almost mocking. But you can’t turn around. Not like this.

However, the breeze that caresses the back of your neck when you turn the corner makes you pause again. It sharpens suddenly, a gust of wind that whips your strands of your hair against your cheek. At the corner of your eye, a shadow crosses the streetlight shining above you. It’s fast, silent. Too big and quick to be a bird.

And then it hits you. Relief, out of all things.

“You know,” You start, straightening your posture. “for a superhero, you’re awful at stealth.”

The unmistakable sound of a foot touching down on the ground echoes behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. The familiarity of the sound, the rhythm of the steps coming closer to you𑁋it’s him.

Taking in a breath, you finally turn around, and there he is. Superman. His tall figure is outlined with an angelic glow under the streetlamp, his red cape trudging calmly behind him. You find it hard letting your eyes meet his, your gaze merely lingering on the familiar lines of his face. It’s almost as if he belongs in this scene, like he’s part of the night itself.

His gaze is fixed on you, but there’s a soft hesitation in it, like he knows he’s intruding in your space but can’t help it.

“Are you stalking me now?” You ask with a small laugh.

His lips form a thin line. “Not stalking. Just… watching. Nightly duties.”

“Right,” You deadpan, a disbelieving twitch lifts at the corner of your mouth. “Well, carry on, yeah? I appreciate the well-being check.”

As you’re about to turn back around, Superman steps forward, his voice stopping you before you can take another step.

“Wait.”

You halt. You don’t know why you do. Because you shouldn’t feel this way, but the softness dripping down from his tone is enough to make your heart skip a beat in a way that’s both infuriating and comforting. It’s like a suspiciously sincere knock to your guarded walls, one that you shouldn’t fall for yet here you are𑁋letting him in anyway.

“I’ve read it, you know,” he says quietly. “The article you published.”

You cross your arms together. “If this is your tactic to get me to revoke𑁋”

“It’s not, I promise,” he chimes in adamantly. “I’m just warning you.”

You huff out a sigh. “Look, Superman, I’ve dealt with threats ordering my death before. I’m not exactly a stranger to this kind of thing. If I didn’t think I could handle this, I wouldn’t have written it, or interviewed you, for that matter.”

The half-smile that you give him is far from convincing, even you know it, despite your best efforts at masking the fear with feigned confidence. He notices it, of course. He always does. He probably knows you more than you know yourself.

“I know you can handle yourself,” Superman reassures calmly. “I’ve never doubted that fact; if anything, I admire it. But there’s a difference between being able to handle it and handling it alone.”

You scoff at that. “So what, you’re going to babysit me now? Hover outside my window while I sleep at night?”

“I mean, if it has to come to that…”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I know.”

You pause, unsure of what to respond. You hate how your chest tightens at his words. Biting your lip, you avert your gaze back down to the pavement, because you can’t possibly fathom the way he’s looking at you right now. Like you’re something fragile. And maybe that’s the problem. You don’t know how to navigate whatever this is between the two of you, whatever this that has been brewing since you first met.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You mutter, voice tight. “It’s not fair.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before asking, “What’s not fair?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You snap back bitterly. “I know what I’m doing. I knew even before the moment I published the article. You don’t get to swoop in at the eleventh hour and fly to me like I’m some damsel in distress. I don’t need your pity, Superman.”

“I’m not pitying you, Y/N,” he says roughly, voice trembling like he’s holding something back. “God, don’t you see that?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with sharp, glaring eyes. “Then what is it, huh? Why are you here, really?”

“Because I care about you!” Superman exclaims, hands curling into fists at his sides like he has to restrain himself from reaching out to you. “And it terrifies me how much I do. I’m not asking to stand in front of you for this𑁋I’m asking to stand beside you.”

You freeze at that. For a moment, there’s only the rustling sounds of his cape and the distant whoosh of a car passing by on the other side of the road.

You shut your eyes, shaking your head. “You shouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “Why not?”

“Because you’re𑁋” You pause, struggling to find the right words. “Because you’re Superman, for God’s sake, and I’m just… me.”

The words leave your mouth as quiet and hesitant as a whisper. You hate that they’re true. You hate how small it sounds. You’re just a journalist. A damn good one, sure𑁋but still just a singular person trying to survive in a world that’s far more dangerous than it lets on. And him? He’s him. Faster than the speed of light, stronger than fate, and holding up the world with just the tip of a finger.

Superman’s eyes noticeably soften, his jaw loosening away the tension as he gazes at you.

“Don’t say that,” he says gently, and his voice is steady, quiet, firm. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re less.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. I’m being realistic.”

His lips quirk up into the faintest smile.

“Realistic or not,” he murmurs, taking another step. “You’re more than you think. You always have been.”

You find yourself staring at him like he’s a puzzle, heart threatening to pierce through your chest. Because God forbid, the pieces that he lays around has you feeling more conflicted than ever. You can’t help but wonder why a superhero like him would stubbornly care for a human like you𑁋why he would put all this time and effort into worrying for someone who should mean nothing more than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of the universe he watches over.

There’s a name that lingers in the back of your throat, and it burns. A name you’ve stated a hundred times in casual settings. A name that seemed to have found its rightful place in the depths of your mind and has you smiling like a fool as you sit in your cubicle at work. A name you refuse to believe to be true ever since that kiss in the sky, yet it fits all too well.

It’s been threatening to spill out of you. The days you see him in the office brings out those urges𑁋to accuse him outright, to demand if this is true. A part of you wants to deny it entirely; and the other part wants to believe it.

But before you can spiral any further, Superman takes another step closer to you.

“Let me fly you home,” he offers casually. “You’ve had a long day, and you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.”

You give him a pointed look. “You’re quite the idiot, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “but only for you.”

With that, he extends his hand toward you, and for a few seconds you can’t help but think back to the time on the rooftop.

You shake your head in disbelief, yet you still step closer to reach for his hand. “God, the things people will say if they find out Superman is taking me home.”

Superman laughs fondly at that, already naturally pulling you closer like he’s done this a hundred times before with you. “Wouldn’t be the worst rumour someone has spread about me.”

When you tell him where you live, it isn’t long before the two of you are back up in the sky again. The height doesn’t seem to scare you as much as it did before. Mingyu𑁋Superman, remember!𑁋shoots a glance at you. You’re staring down at the world with that particular gleam in your eyes that the stars rival, a loose grip clutching at the fabric of his suit. He smiles to himself briefly, before looking back forward.

The two of you don’t say anything more as the wind rushes past your faces. He’s flying slower than usual, wanting to savour these moments with you. As you come closer to your building, you tell him where to land𑁋on the balcony of your small apartment on the fifth floor.

He touches down with the softest thud, feet barely grazing against the concrete floor of your balcony. You step away from him slowly, wobbling slightly as the gravity catches up to you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, brushing away the dust from your clothes.

He lingers by the railing, watching you closely. “Anytime.”

“Don’t make it a habit.”

“Too late for that.”

Your keys jingle as you take it out from your bag, but you pause right before sticking it into the door. You turn back to him.

“How do you do it?” You ask vaguely.

He looks at you puzzledly. “Do what?”

“This.” You motion at the space between you. “Is this another one of your superpowers that I’m not aware of? Because you make it hard, you know, to stay… detached.”

His expression falters a fraction at your words. Barely noticeable, but you see it anyway. His lips part for a moment, but then they curl into a small, almost rueful smile.

“Is that what you want?” he questions unsurely. “To stay detached?”

You freeze in contemplation as his question hangs in the air, the words pressing against your chest and knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“I…” You begin, but your throat feels tight. “I should want that.”

“But you don’t.”

You let out a small, defeated laugh.

“No,” You admit softly. “No, I don’t.”

His eyes search yours like he’s afraid to believe it, like the smallest breeze can carry your words away and leave nothing behind. He takes a slow step closer, crossing over the tiny space that separates the two of you, his warmth encircling around you as if it’s a selfless hug from a lover. You don’t back away. You can’t.

He hesitates, lifting his hand, fingers trembling slightly as they hover near yours. Like a magnet, your hand draws near his𑁋and before you even realise it, your fingers are brushing, then intertwining, fitting together so naturally.

It’s gentle. Peaceful. Quiet. Intimate in a way that makes your heart ache. You focus on the feeling of this thumb stroking softly across your knuckle, as if he’s trying to memorise the shape of it. If only you could stay in this corner of the world until the end of time, ignoring all the possibilities of danger and death looming at your front door.

If only you could stay in this corner of the world with him.

“You should go,” You whisper quietly.

He looks at you, brows knitting together. “You’re sure?”

“You’ve got a whole world out there that needs you,” You say, managing a wry smile. “And I’m sure you’d rather be in the comfort of your superhero lair or whatever than my tiny balcony.”

An impossibly fond, boyish grin stretches its way across his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Before you can even ask what he means, before you even get the chance to breathe, he lifts your hand closer to his lips. His eyes never stray away from yours as he presses the softest kiss against the back of your hand, lingering there for a few fleeting seconds.

You still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin when he backs away, reluctantly releasing his hand from yours.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells you. “I’ll be around. Stay safe.”

And with that, he steps away from you. In the blink of an eye, he’s shot up towards the skies, his silhouette growing smaller and smaller until nothing is left behind but the warmth of his kiss on your hand.

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head, and you wonder how the hell you got yourself in this kind of situation.

“Goodnight, Superman,” You mutter as you unlock your door. “Stubborn bastard.”

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jungshookmeup · 20 days ago

Text

sexting with Mingyu pt.2

how much does a relationship (more like a 'forced to coexist' acquaintance) change after sexting? the result may shock you.

this is part 2 of my sexting au! you can check out part 1 here

✧.* genre: kim mingyu x fem reader, porn with plot, smut with fluff at the end, MDNI!

✧.* w.c: 6k hehe

✧.* warnings: switch mingyu, lotss of teasing, fingering, cum eating, protected penetration, he has a big dick, size kink if you squint.

check out my main masterlist ♡

✧.* note: thank you so much for the support on the first part ♡ I hope you like this, and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes

Kim Mingyu: guys I told Seokminnie to come at 9😊 [15:36 pm]

Kim Mingyu: come to my place at 8 so we can arrange everything🙏

Kim Mingyu: and don’t forget to bring the stuff on the list😁

The new text from the group chat made exclusively for tonight’s surprise party lights up your screen, taking your attention away from the tv show you were watching.

You have the urge to ask why he decided the time on the same day, but you don’t. You have a feeling that things are still a little awkward, and you never talked much anyways so it would be weird.

These few days, even if you tried not to, the only thing occupying your mind was your little chat with Mingyu.

Can sexting change your view of a person? That sounds so stupid. You were never mean to him, on purpose at least, and you would always think twice before going somewhere if he was going too. But now, you find yourself a little excited at the idea of seeing him.

You have about four hours to get ready and half an hour to get to Mingyu’s place. There’s plenty of time, so you finish the episode of New Girl you were re-watching and begin to get ready.

You absolutely do not think about seeing Mingyu for the first time since your… conversation. Not during your shower, where you shave your whole body. Not while picking a cute outfit you don’t usually wear that flatters your body and shows off your boobs. And absolutely not while doing your make up, you just happen to choose a red lipstick that has been sitting collecting dust since you bought it. There’s nothing wrong with trying different things sometimes!

Looking in the mirror, you realize that maybe you went a little overboard, not enough so that your friends would think it’s on purpose, but it is definitely noticeable.

Whatever. You’ll welcome whatever attention you might get. There’s no time to change anyway. You have to leave now, or you’ll be late, so you grab your purse and go out.

You were tasked to bring the cake, so you drop by the cake shop a few blocks from your home and take a taxi afterward. It was a simple two tiered pink cake that said “Happy Birthday," but looking at it, already seated on the cab, you can’t help feeling like you’re forgetting something.

Checking the list over and over again doesn’t help. It only says “cake" and your name beside it. You’re thinking about what could possibly be so obviously necessary that no one thought to write it down. And then you remember, CANDLES! Painfully, obviously, and pretty needed for a birthday cake.

It’s too late to go back now because you’re already 2 minutes away.

It’s fine.

It’s completely fine.

You’re sure someone else might have thought about it and will bring some. Mingyu has to have candles around just in case the power goes out. Maybe in the box there’s a candle the cake shop puts just in case.

The taxi leaves you at 8 pm sharp at Mingyu’s building. You try to calm down during the elevator ride, and it’s not until you’re at the door, knocking, that you remember at whose house you’re at. And realize that it’s just a little bit too quiet inside.

Mingyu opens the door, knowing it’s you on the other side. You’re always the first one to arrive.

You know you should be more put together, but you’re left without words at the sight of him. His hair is pushed back, a little wet still. He was probably on the shower while you were on the way. His outfit is simple, black jeans and a white t-shirt, but it somehow looks amazing on him. How does someone make a plain white t-shirt look so good? It’s almost unfair to everyone else.

Too lost in thought, you don’t realize you have the same effect on him. He’s left breathless by the sight of you. He thinks you have never looked this beautiful.

A door opens at the end of the hallway, and the sound takes you both out of your trance. He’s the first one to speak.

“Hey sorry, come on in.” Mingyu says with an embarrassed tone you almost don’t catch. He moves to the side to let you through and speaks up again. “You’re first like always.”

“Yeah, they can’t be punctual at all." You’re standing awkwardly looking at the cake in your hands while he closes the door.

“Should I put this in the fridge?" Your eyes point to the cake Mingyu didn’t register before.

“Sure let me -" He tries taking it from your hands, but you back away.

“I can do it.” It comes out drier than you want to, so you look him in the eyes and show him a little smile. Even if your “friendship” didn’t change drastically in a matter of days, you don’t want to still have a rocky relationship. That seems to make him relax.

“There should be enough room.” You hear him say as you’re walking towards the kitchen.

You know his apartment like the palm of your hand by now. It seems like he’s the only one willing to have many people over at once, so the hangouts are always here.

He follows behind you and stands in the kitchen while you try to figure out the best way to store it without getting it damaged.

“Oh I should tell you I forgot the candles, I’m sorry I don’t know why I didn’t think about it but I remembered on the way here and it was too late, but I thought maybe you had some here but if not we can just ask the guys I’m sure some of them aren’t even on the way yet and-" You turn around after you place the cake on the fridge and you blurt out the apology, only to find Mingyu standing right behind you.

He's so close you can smell his cologne. The one he always uses that you secretly love and wish you could steal, but he doesn’t have to know that. His body so close to yours does not affect you. In any way.

“I bought them don’t worry.” You sigh, relieved that you didn’t ruin anything with your stupid mistake.

“Oh thank God!" You start and look at him in the eyes, “Thank you, really. I was panicking on the elevator. I thought I ruined the cake because-"

“You should be a rapper." Mingyu suddenly interrupts you.

“What?” You look at him, very confused by his statement, and he just laughs.

“You just said 50 words in like two seconds.” He adds in between laughs.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You punch him lightly on one arm, “I was actually worried!” You really try to sound mad, but his laugh is awfully contagious and brings you to laugh with him.

“I don’t think you spoke that many words to me in years." He suddenly says, still laughing, but your smile dies slowly because you realize he’s right.

“Yeah well…” You’re looking at him directly in the eyes. His smile is still plastered on his face, a little faded but there nevertheless.

Your eyes move to the side, to not make eye contact with him as you say “Things change.”

The atmosphere shifts as fast as a heartbeat. You’re suddenly very aware of your body so close to his. Mingyu’s gaze wander to your lips a second too long before it goes back to your eyes. Slowly, he begins closing in the space between your bodies. You step back but find yourself caged in between him and the counter.

His warmth embraces you when he places an arm on your side to cage you in more. He has to crouch to look you right in the eyes. “How?” You barely register his question, his closeness making you dizzy. “What?”

“What changed?” For sure he’s trying to take a reaction out of you, and you hate that he’s succeeding. But you can have your fun too.

“You know… when you make a guy cum in his pants your relationship changes.”

He doesn’t seem affected by your response, quite the opposite, actually. He might be enjoying it, judging by the smirk forming on his mouth.

“You know damn well I did not cum in my pants”

“Didn’t you? Huh… I guess I wasn’t that impressed because I would remember otherwise.” Impressed you were. And remember you do. But you like annoying him.

He sighs, acting shocked as he puts his right hand on his chest. “How could you?” You giggle at his silliness.

But his arms are back to caging you in a millisecond. “I’ll have to make you remember then.”

You can’t resist it when your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, suddenly calling to you like he’s got you under a spell. He seems to notice because his smirk makes a reappearance.

So slow, you barely even notice, his face comes closer by the second. It's so painfully slow he’s for sure doing it on purpose.

“And how would you do that, may I ask?” Now it’s your turn to smirk as your eyes go up back to his eyes, defying him.

His face is so close now that you can feel his breath on you. Your lips are only separated from his by bare millimeters. You’re about to tilt your chin up to connect them when someone knocks on the front door.

Mingyu drops his head as he sighs and separates from you a few inches. Your hands find their way to his chest and push him back a little to draw his attention.

“You should probably get that.” His head goes back up at your words and gives you a disappointed look.

His gaze goes down to your lips. “I don’t want to.” You smile at his reaction. You don’t really want it either, but more people are going to start showing up, so you need to get going. The person outside knocks again, and you push him one more time, a little harder this time, so he gives you space to leave his arm prison.

“Go! I’ll start putting up decorations.”

He gives up and let’s his arms go from the counter, but you don’t move. You watch his form as he turns around and walks to the door.

You were always amazed at how tall he was, his broad shoulders and strong back that somehow ended in a tiny waist. Somehow, what he was wearing today accentuated all of that.

The door opens, and you hear Mingyu welcoming whoever was outside.

The night goes as smoothly as it could have. When Seokmin arrives, everyone shouts happy birthday, and he looks genuinely surprised. But then you all find out he actually knew because Soonyoung accidentally told him yesterday. Wonderful evening.

After all the singing and shouting, someone you can’t see puts music, and the drinks start rolling in. You had no idea there was that much alcohol at the party to make like 15 people drunk, but you’re not complaining.

It's already 4am when you start feeling the effects of alcohol leave your body.

You’ve been sitting on the couch watching Wonwoo destroy everyone at Mario Kart. You don’t dare to try to play against him, so you just sat back to laugh.

Everyone eventually grows bored of the game. Some go back to their homes, but you and a few others stay to hang out.

Mingyu, on the other hand, started tidying up when people started leaving. He doesn’t mind people staying over, but he prefers cleaning now, so he doesn’t have to do it when he wakes up. He’s still listening to the conversation, though, throwing in a few comments here and there or laughing.

When he finally finishes it’s a little over 4:30 am. There’s no room on the couch, and he doesn’t want to sit on the floor, so he stands against the wall facing the group.

You’re sprawled out on the couch, resting your legs on top of Vernon’s who’s sitting at the other end. The guys are debating about… something. You stopped understanding a while ago. You just laugh when someone says something funny.

It’s when Mingyu comments about something Wonwoo said that you notice he finished with whatever he was doing, standing there in his full glory. Your eyes can’t seem to move away from him, and you don’t resist it either. His hair is now messy, and he's sweating a little bit. He catches you staring and raises his eyebrows. You shrug in response.

The chatter becomes background noise as you two play a staring game. You don’t dare move your eyes off of him, and he doesn’t either. After a few minutes, you motion a “What?” With your mouth.

He grabs his phone without breaking eye contact, but ultimately does to unlock it and starts texting someone. You realize that someone is you when his gaze is back at you, and your phone vibrates in your back pocket.

No one is paying attention to you. The guys are still debating, maybe about something else now, so you grab your phone without getting noticed. The only person who notices is Vernon because you move your legs off of him, but he doesn’t even glance at you, just re positions himself.

Kim Mingyu: so how long are you staying? [4:33 am]

You look up at Mingyu with an incredulous look, and he just motions for you to reply.

You: wow no emojis this time

Kim Mingyu: I’m being serious😔

When you look at him he’s actually making the same face as the emoji. Cute.

You: for how long am I welcomed? [4:34 am]

Kim Mingyu: you can stay however long you please

You: I was thinking I might leave when the guys leave

You: but they seem to have a lot of energy today

Kim Mingyu: I can tell them to leave [4:35 am]

You: you want me to leave that badly?

Kim Mingyu: I want you to stay.

Kim Mingyu: but I don’t want them to be here

You giggle at his response. That definitely draws attention to you because Seungkwan asks “Who’s got you giggling like that?”

“No one.” You rush to reply, and hope no one sees your eyes dart to Mingyu before adding “You don’t know him.”

The interest dies soon enough, but you know Seungkwan will ask you again later.

Your eyes find their way back to Mingyu’s to find him already looking at you, waiting for you to text him again. You raise your eyebrows at him before going back to your phone.

You: don’t be mean they’re your friends! [4:37 am]

Kim Mingyu: when I’m done with you you’ll thank me

You: done with me?🤔

Kim Mingyu: you’ll see…

Kim Mingyu: do you want to stay? [4:38 am]

You: only if you make me breakfast in the morning

You: I hear you’re a really good cook

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts subtly kicking everyone out, saying stuff like “hey guys it’s getting late," and “you’re all gonna be wrecked tomorrow."

Someone jokes “that’s him politely asking us to get the fuck out", and everyone laughs as they start picking up their stuff.

You also start grabbing your stuff and cleaning around you, although slower than everyone else.

It’s around 5 am. when the last few start heading out the door. You get asked how you’re leaving. You lie and say you called an Uber, and you’ll just wait here for it.

You’re back on the couch as Mingyu closes the door after the last person leaves, awkwardly sitting while waiting for him.

Butterflies show up on your stomach when Mingyu appears in the hallway, walking straight to you with a smile on his face.

The atmosphere feels awkward as he sits beside you. You want to say something, but your mind is blank. There’s really only one thing you can think about.

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but you get up and sit on his lap, one leg on each side of his hips.

“So what’s with all that talk earlier?” Your hands position themselves on his shoulders almost like they’re meant to be there.

Mingyu’s shocked for a second before he focuses his eyes on your lips and licks his.

“C-Can we talk about what h-happened the other day first?” He mentally kicks himself for stuttering. But his words contradict his actions. His hands are around your waist keeping you in place, and his eyes don’t leave your lips, like he’s on a trance.

“What happened was…” You grab the side of his face and get close to his ear to whisper “You got horny because of me, and I helped you.” Slowly, you go back so you can see his blushed face. “Is that right?”

But blushing doesn’t prevent Mingyu from teasing you too. “Acting like you weren’t practically begging for me huh?” His hands slowly travel from your waist to your thighs.

“Says the one who actually begged to cum.” You try your luck and grind softly against his growing bulge and he squeezes your thighs, closing his eyes lightly.

“You liked it.”

“I did, yeah." Now your hands are on his very firm chest. Mingyu sighs as you grind on him again, a little harder this time. Your faces are so close you feel his breath fanning over you, and you can’t resist your eyes when they focus on his parted lips.

When he opens his eyes again there’s only one thing on his mind, the thing that has been plaguing him since you arrived so many hours ago.

“Can I kiss you?” Mingyu says softly, almost in a whisper.

“I thought you wanted to talk?” You grind on him, hard enough to feel his already hard bulge, and you feel how your panties get ruined by your arousal.

“You’re funny.”

“I get that a lot.” Mingyu’s hands go back to your waist to make you grind on him again, setting a pace that’s not fast but hard enough to create more friction between your cores.

Electricity flows between your bodies. You wrap your arms around Mingyu’s neck, your faces barely millimeters apart. His lips are still parted, just like yours, releasing little sighs that almost make your lips barely touch.

“Please.” He pleas in a whisper, and you swear a million butterflies explode in your stomach. You can’t resist it anymore. You can't resist him.

You connect your lips with his, and Mingyu reacts instinctively. He wraps his arms around your waist, almost as if to keep you from getting away. As if you ever would.

The feeling of his lips against yours is addictive. He’s kissing you like he wants to erase any trace of anyone who has ever kissed you, making your lips his, so needy and hungry for more.

He thrusts up, making you moan in his mouth, and takes the opportunity to meet his tongue with yours, deepening the kiss and making you more addicted to him. If that’s even possible.

Mingyu’s hands start roaming your body, traveling from your waist to your thighs, and then up to your neck. Your skin burns everywhere he touches, and you want more. You want to feel him everywhere all at once.

Your hands play with the hem of his shirt. You lift it up just a little so you can touch his abs without fabric in the way. You feel him smile against your lips at your touch.

He breaks the kiss, and you chase after his lips. When you open your eyes, you find him smirking at you. His lips are swollen, and he’s stained red all around because of your lipstick. You figure you look the same. “Eager are we?"

“Yes very in fact.” You grab the hem of his shirt again and push it up. “Take this off.”

He obliges, but not before laughing softly at your eagerness. You follow his moves and also remove your tiny top. You can’t move your eyes away from his bare chest, and your hands immediately touch him, but he stops you.

“This too.” His hands sneak behind your back to unclasp your bra.

As soon as the bra is off, you push yourself against him and kiss him again. His hands are quickly on your tits, thumbs going in circles around your nipples.

“Ah! You’re making me crazy.” You manage to say almost in a moan.

The clothes in your lower bodies soon begin to annoy the both of you, and the friction is no longer enough.

Reluctantly, you get up, and now it’s his time to chase after your lips.

Mingyu understands immediately and also gets up. You remove your shorts while he gets rid of his jeans, and in no time, you're sitting on top of him again. Only your underwear in between you now.

You trace kisses down his neck, leaving marks, so that he has a reminder of you for a few days. His now fully hard dick presses against your clit just right. Your panties are so soaked they’re beginning to stain Mingyu’s boxers too.

He kisses you hard to quiet down both of your moans, as his hands sneaks down to your core and his fingers start stroking your pussy through your panties.

“You’re so wet already.”

“That’s because you’ve been teasing me for like 20 minutes.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” You roll your eyes playfully. “But if you don’t actually touch me in the next five seconds I’m going to lose my mind.”

He chuckles, and you think he’s about to kiss you again, but you’re starting to learn that Mingyu is a man full of surprises.

In a swift move, he turns your body around, your back now against his chest, and spreads your legs wide. One hand sneaks under your panties while the other plays with one of your boobs.

You quickly turn into a moaning mess as he starts circling around your clit and pinches your nipple. But it’s not enough. “Mingyuu.” It comes out more whiny than you’d like, but right now that’s the least of your worries.

“Tell me.” His finger slows down but also presses harder. You squirm under him, and he kisses your neck softly. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“I-I need your fingers.” Your words barely get out.

“But I am touching you” He feigns confusion. His fingers stroke from your hole to your clit, collecting your arousal and spreading it.

“Inside.” You grind on his fingers in hope of getting more friction, but he slips his hand away from you. You see his fingers glisten with arousal and feel a new wave gushing out of you. “Please.”

You don’t see, but rather feel Mingyu smile against your neck. “Whatever you want baby.”

His hand is back under your underwear in no time, playing with your hole and collecting your juices with his fingers. You grind against his hand as he slides two fingers in.

Not even your imagination could have prepared you. His thick fingers stretch you more than you ever could, and the slow but deep thrusts let you feel him in places your fingers could never reach. You can’t hold back the moans that comes out of you.

“Oh my God! Mingyu faster please!” You’re not ashamed to beg anymore.

His palm is creating friction on your clit while his other hand is still playing with your nipples, and he thrusts into you faster.

You pace your grinds to match his hand, and you’re sure this is what heaven feels like. You feel the tightness in your stomach close to snapping.

“I’m so close!” You breathe out.

Mingyu slows down his thrusts, and you’re about to complain when you feel him add a third finger. He’s stretching you deliciously, knuckles deep inside you. You can feel him everywhere.

“Cum on my fingers c’mon” He demands as he speeds up. His fingers reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you jelly and abuse it.

You’re cumming on his fingers faster than ever. Shaking on top of him as he thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm.

When he finally pulls his fingers out of you, you’re still breathless. Mingyu surprises you again when he moves his slick covered fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

You remove your panties once and for all and turn around. You feel his still hard cock under you and he winces at the friction.

“That was really hot.” You state, and his whole face turns red.

“I’m not done with you.” In one swift movement, you have your back against the couch and your head on the armrest. “I really wanna eat you out.”

And who are you to stop such a determined man? You grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting your arousal in him. “Okay.”

He starts a trail of kisses on your thigh, slowly going down until he reaches your cunt, but skips it and starts kissing your other leg. You whine in response as you grab his head and put it back on your core. You feel his breath on your bare cunt and shiver.

He looks at you in the eyes and barely licks your lower lips. You sigh at the little contact. “Stop teasing.”

His hands open up your legs and he flattens his tongue on your lips, licking in up and down motions and kissing your clit.

When he experimentally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, you moan and instinctively close your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

With his head now trapped in between your thighs, his tongue licks you from your clit and to your hole, tasting and savoring your arousal like it’s his last meal.

He toys with your clit and your hands find themselves in his hair again, pushing him more against your cunt. He moans when you pull at his hair, sending vibrations straight to your core and you feel a wave of arousal gushing out of you and to his mouth.

His tongue teases your hole, stroking the tip in and out lightly. You push his head into you again and his nose bumps into your clit, taking a moan out of you.

“Feels so good" You grind against his tongue as it keeps teasing your hole and his nose stimulates your clit.

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast and you’re cumming on Mingyu’s mouth in no time. He keeps his mouth on you, licking every last drop of arousal that gushes out. You have to pull at his hair to make him stop.

When he lifts his head up from you, his chin is shiny with arousal, and he’s smiling.

You waste no time and make him sit on the couch again, “Now it’s tour turn."

You kneel on the floor as you remove his boxers. Even after seeing him on video and feeling him under you, you were not prepared to see how big Mingyu actually was.

His cock springs out against his stomach, angry red and already leaking pre cum.

It barely fits in your hand, and he sighs at your touch. You give a few experimental pumps, but he stops you.

“I don’t have much longer. Do you have a condom?”

“You wanna be inside me that bad?”

“Yes.” He responds quickly. You chuckle as you grab your purse. You find the one you put while getting ready and open it.

He squirms under your hands as you put it on him. As soon as the condom is on, he grabs you and gets you on top of him again. You both sigh as your cores touch.

You grind on him, covering his cock with your juices and you both moan as he traces your neck with bites and kisses.

“Looks who’s teasing now.”

“It’s fun seeing you frustrated.” You stop your movements, and he looks at you frowning. You can’t resist his sudden cuteness and give him a peck as you resume grinding on him. His tip grazes your clit and you shiver.

“You’re making me crazy.” He breathes out, and you can’t help to chuckle.

“Can you cum like this?”

“I want to cum inside you.” His whiny response takes you by surprise.

His hands grab you by the waist and lift you up. With one hand you grab his cock and position it under your hole.

You steady yourself, putting your hands on the back of the couch, and slowly start going down.

If you thought his fingers reached places no one ever has before, then you’re sure his dick is creating more space for you to feel him. You can feel every vein dragging inside of you.

You suppress your moans by kissing him, and he sighs in your mouth when you bottom out.

You’re so full you’re having trouble breathing. He keeps you still, giving you time to adjust. Even the tiniest move makes him twitch inside of you.

“You’re so fucking big Mingyu.”

“I told you I'd make it fit.” He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you to him to kiss you. You moan, feeling him grind inside you, and he stills.

You start grinding on him slowly. You’re sighing on each other’s mouths, savoring every drag of his dick inside of you, feeling him reach deeper with every thrust.

Your hands travel to his chest and start playing with his nipples. He thrusts up when you pinch one nipple lightly, hitting exactly where you need it and making you moan louder, so you do it again.

“Yes like that Mingyu.” That encourages to start thrusting up harder and matching your pace.

One of his hands creeps down to your cunt and start playing with your sensitive clit, still wet from his spit, and the other plays with one of your nipples.

You start clenching around him, eliciting a moan out of him.

“You’re so tight around me baby.” He says almost in a moan. “I'm so close."

His thumb is still playing with your swollen clit, making you squirm and clench so hard it’s hard to keep grinding on him. You collapse on his chest and he embraces you as he fastens his moves.

He's thrusting so deep and hard. You're sure he's marking you as his. Ruining you for any other man, spelling his name in your insides so you're forever his.

Your bodies are so close together that your clit is rubbing against his abs, a friction you've never experienced but it makes the tightness on your stomach come so close to snapping you can almost taste it.

A few hard thrusts later you’re coming undone on top of him. But his thrusts don’t stop, chasing his high while you’re clenching around him, making him go crazy. You’re staring to feel the overstimulation when you feel him twitch inside you, and his thrusts come to a stop.

You stay like that, your head on his shoulder and his arms around your waist while you regulate your breaths. Your torsos pushed together allow you to feel the beating of his heart.

Mingyu relaxes his arms from around you, and you release yourself from his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck and look him in the eye.

“So what did you want to talk about?” He chuckles at your question.

“I’m still inside you, and you want to talk?” His reply sends shivers down your spine, and you unconsciously clench around him. He drops his head back in a sigh, and his hands find their way to your hips.

“Are you staying over?” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes, and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to him. You just nod as an answer, and he smiles like you just gave him a million dollars.

He surges forward to kiss you and you both wince at the stimulation from the sudden movement. “I think we should get up.” You chuckle with his mouth still on yours.

He helps you get up, and you instantly miss the fullness of having him inside.

While you grab your clothes from the floor, he disposes of the condom and goes to his bedroom. He comes back with one of his shirts to give to you. Your stomach gives a little jump at the idea of sleeping with his t-shirt as he shows you where the bathroom is so you can clean up.

When you finish and go to Mingyu’s bedroom, he’s waiting for you already inside the covers, a smile still plastered on his face. You sit on the bed and give him a peck, but he doesn’t let you go as he deepens the kiss and hugs you close to him.

“Mingyu the sun is about to come up. We need to sleep.” You manage to say with his lips on yours, and he smiles. You separate, but neither of you make any moves to go to sleep. You lay facing each other, admiring each other’s features in silence, when he suddenly says.

“Can I confess something?” That definitely wakes you up.

“You’re not a murderer are you?” You joke, and he shakes his head as he puts one string of your hair behind your ear.

“I know we didn’t really like each other until a few days ago…" He says, now with a serious expression on his face, and you listen carefully. “and I’m not saying this just because you made me cum on the phone…” He continues very seriously but you can’t help to chuckle lightly. Mingyu removes his eyes from you a little embarrassed by what he’s about to say, “and I don’t know why you sent me that photo the other day and I might be embarrassing myself saying this but, I think I kinda like you and I don’t want this to be a one time thing.”

You stay in silence a few seconds, processing what Mingyu just said. He doesn’t dare to look at you.

“Can I confess something too?” Your question makes him look at you again. He stares at you with those puppy eyes you’re learning you’re too soft for. “I sent that picture by accident the other day.” He looks worried, fearing that what you’re saying means you’re rejecting him, so you quickly continue, “but I don’t regret it.” You see a little smile appear on his lips. “I think we were very stupid not talking all these years, we could’ve save a lot of time if you just showed me your monster cock before!” You can’t help to joke to lighten the serious mood and he laughs with you.

You grab his face and give him a little peck. “I think I might like you too, but we need to see how it goes first.”

He smile grows impossibly wider at your words. “Let me take you on a date tomorrow.”

You chuckle at his eagerness. He’s too cute for his own good. “Ok let’s go out tomorrow.”

He hugs you and brings you closer to him again, taking his time sweetly kissing you while his hands sneak under his shirt to touch your skin.

In a swift motion, Mingyu traps you under him again, your back on the mattress, and he presses against you to let you feel his already growing bulge. “Oh my god you’re insatiable.” You say as you grind against him, earning a moan out of him. “Look who’s talking.”

note: thank you so much for the support on the first part♥︎ I'm sorry the ending is kind of abrupt

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jungshookmeup · 20 days ago

Text

7 Days (kmg)

Can feelings change in only seven days?

During a seven-day vacation with your friends, you try to get over your feelings for one of them.

Feeling alone, surrounded by people who seem closer to each other than you, you find comfort in the one person that you didn’t know before.

✧.* pairing: kim mingyu x fem reader

✧.* w.c: 26k

✧.* genre: best friend's brother, strangers to lovers, fluff, comfort, smut, angst.

🎧: 7 days — g-idle

✧.* content warnings: ages are not specified but mingyu is mentioned to be a little older (once), some anxiety themes, alcohol consumption, | explicit smut (minors dni) protected penetration, exhibitionism (just a lil), fingering, masturbation, cum play, lmk if i miss something important!

check out my main masterlist ♡

✧.* remember! this is a fictional work, it doesn't represent how any of the real people mentioned are like in real life!

✧.* note: this took so long to finish! i've had a crazy couple of months at uni, but luckily i passed all of my midterms :) i really hope you like this ♡♡♡

ONE WEEK BEFORE

Your eyes focus on the pavement below as you walk, head low and not a single word coming out of your mouth. Your steps and Minghao’s are coordinated, muscle memory moving them forward through the city. Each block memorized in both of your brains, each closed shop and parked car, the blinking lights and broken pieces of pavement, all so familiar to you yet coated with a nostalgic feel. You’ve walked the same path together countless times before, but tonight there’s an awkwardness impossible to shake away.

A third body walks by his side. Sami’s fingers are tangled with his with familiarity as they engage in a conversation you choose not to take part in. A question flies your way every few minutes, and you know they’re trying to include you so you don’t feel out of place, but nothing comes to mind besides one-word answers. You laugh every now and then, just so they know you’re at least a little bit engaged.

The pavement changes color under your feet and you know you’re barely minutes away from your home, finally. You like their company, you really do. And you appreciate them walking you to your door this late at night. But their presence can be suffocating.

You can’t avoid feeling guilty about your... feelings. She's one of your closest friends yet she never mentioned starting a relationship with the guy you were in love with. If you would’ve known, you would’ve never let your feelings progress beyond a tiny crush. You would’ve never deluded yourself into thinking he may also like you. For the record, you never told her either, but the only friend you trusted with your feelings also failed to mention that detail. You felt betrayed at first, but deep down you always knew they were closer to each other than to you.

They’ve been together for months now, but even if you’re used to seeing them kiss and hold hands, the awkwardness in your body doesn’t care. Every time you see him your hands are going to shake, and you mind will go blank. Inside, you can’t help to feel giddy anytime he takes interest in your answers to his questions, and you always feel bad after. So, when they insist that they’ll walk you home, you refuse. Not only you feel awkward around them, but now you have to be the third wheel? You'd rather not. But they don’t take a no for an answer, and thus, your current situation.

Your front door appears on your sight, and you feel instant relief. You're quick to bid them goodbye and thank them for keeping you company. Even though you kept saying they could just turn around and you’ll be fine many times over the walk, you don’t want it to seem like you hate their company. Their presence is not the problem, you are.

As you turn around to open your door, your name is called and you’re instantly facing them again.

“We’re going to Chan’s grandfather’s house on the beach next week. You should come!” Sami invites you with a smile on her face. She says it so sweetly you almost don’t care that they’re telling you with such short notice.

“Oh! I don’t know, I'm kinda behind on some homework for the semester,” it’s not a lie per se, you do have some stuff due after the break, but it can be done in a day. You like your friends, and you always have a good time when you’re all together, but a group of ten people can be overwhelming, “I have to think about it.”

“C’mon it’s spring break! We’ll go to the beach, play card games and get drunk!” Sami tries to convince you again. The fear of missing out on fun times with them starts overpowering your need to run away from your feelings. You think about it for a second too long.

“We really want you to come, please?” Minghao steps in. His statement sounds so honest as he looks at you directly in the eyes. You fear you will never be able to say no to him.

Your gaze can’t stand his for long, his eyes are almost piercing though your soul waiting for an answer. You’re quick to break eye contact and look at Sami, who’s waiting for your answer just as expectantly as Minghao. They’re still holding hands as they face you, fingers interlocked, like there’s some external force that’s keeping them from separating.

What can possibly be worse? Rotting in your bed for a week, thinking about how you could be having more fun away with your friends? Or spend a full week around the man you could never have and his perfect girlfriend? You juggle your options in your head as fast as you can.

“Ok I’ll be there.” You end up saying at the sight of their pleading eyes.

“Great! I’ll text you the details tomorrow, bye!” Sami excitedly replies as they walk away, and the feeling on the pit of your stomach starts to bubble up again. You can just ignore them from time to time. You don't have to spend all 24 hours by their side. It’s completely fine.

DAY ONE

The week flashes through and, in an instant, you’re already packing for the trip.

Your mind spirals, thinking of excuses to not go, but it stays empty as you zip up your bag, go downstairs, get in a taxi and go to Chan’s place where you’re supposed to meet everyone. It's only a 10-minute ride to his house, but today, it feels like hours. Watching the buildings pass by through the window, the streetlights still on and the sun barely peeking through the horizon, hundreds of thoughts cloud your mind, running through your brain like they’re on a race, competing on which one’s can stress you fastest.

But you calm yourself as soon as you see Chan standing on the sidewalk at the distance. He always looks genuinely happy to see you, always inviting you to hang out because he knows you’re not going to do it yourself. He's just so warm and welcoming, always knows how to make you laugh, even on the toughest moments. He's someone you could call a best friend. When he and Jihyun started dating, it made sense. She’s someone who, in the best way possible, never shuts up. He lets her talk and watches her with glossy eyes, as if what she was saying was the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. In a way, you should’ve known they would’ve been perfect together, but you were too caught up in your own feelings and didn’t notice your two best friends liked each other. Maybe that’s why she confided in Sami instead.

A bear hug welcomes you as soon as you get out of the taxi. Your bag drops on top of your feet as you hug Chan back, squeezing him like you haven’t seen him in ages. You have about three seconds of peace until you have to speak up.

“My bag’s crushing my feet.” You giggle with your mouth right beside Chan’s ear, so he hears you perfectly and laughs with you. He moves down to pick it up himself but is shocked by the weight.

“Did you bring your fucking desk? Why is this so heavy?”

“Hey! I just brought the essentials.” You did in fact only bring essentials, besides plenty of clothes, a lot of underwear just in case, your skincare, a hair drier and a few towels. Years of vacations going wrong taught you that those things can really make the difference.

“It's only a week...”

“A girl always has to be prepared.” You reply mysteriously as you walk away from him and into his house, forcing him to carry your bag inside for you. He follows right behind you, and when you cross the door, another voice welcomes you.

“She’s right you know,” Jihyun tells Chan while hugging you, “last month you forgot the toothpaste when we went to the lake! If I hadn't brought my travel bag you would have yellow teeth right now.” Chan huffs but doesn’t argue with her, he just smiles and gives her a peck.

Sami and Minghao are talking in the kitchen, so you only wave at them. Her shiny long black hair is tied up in two buns, and it contrasts perfectly with his disheveled light brown hair. Gyuri, Vernon and Jeonghan are playing some card game on the coffee table, you could hear her screams from the door, he probably cheated, and she only realized after losing. Miyoo looks at them, with a bored expression that doesn’t change as she sees you walk in.

After saying hi to everyone, you notice your bag already beside a couch, so you sit there. Looking around, you realize you’re the last one to arrive, as all your friends are already here. Right as your about to question what you were waiting for; Chan speaks up again.

“Ok so, Joshua told me yesterday that he couldn’t come, his shitty job didn’t give him the days off,” everyone collectively ‘oohs’ at the news, “and I know we had planned the budget with all ten of us,” He gets interrupted again as Vernon walks out of the bathroom and sits beside him, “so I… invited my big brother. I hope you’re all cool with that I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before it was just so sudden, you all know him he’s chill, and he won’t-"

“It’s ok bro we don’t mind.” Minghao steps in to calm Chan down. Everyone agrees with him instantly and he visibly calms down. It seems everyone has already met Chan’s brother, besides you.

You’ve been to Chan’s house a fair share of times, but almost always his family wasn’t home, and if they were they just kept to their own and let you hang out. And you know your friends sometimes hang out without you, you don’t mind, so they probably are more familiar with Chan’s family than you are. A new addition to the trip doesn’t bother you, you’re probably not gonna talk to him much anyway. You’re usually very quiet around your friends, especially when all of them are around. So, it’s not going to be different this time.

“Great! Then we can start heading our way then.” Everyone stands up and grab their bags simultaneously at his words, eager to finally start the trip.

“You said then two times babe.” You hear Jihyun joke as you head out.

“I know I was nervous ok." Chan laughs with her.

The sun is already out by the time everyone is out the door. Orange rays enlighten the world and blind you lightly if you stare at the fiery sun for too long. It’s a beautiful sight for a long road trip.

You squint, trying to gain your sight back, and the first thing your eyes land on is a truck you’ve never seen before, and a hilariously tall muscular man standing against it. Just when you think you might’ve seen him before, Chan walks over to him and hugs him.

“Oh right, this is my brother,” Chan turns around and speaks directly to you, “I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

“Our budget savior!” you cheer before directing to his brother, “Hi! I'm Y/N.” Your right hand moves forward to shake his awkwardly.

“I’m Mingyu,” He chuckles lightly at your cheer and shakes your hand back. A tiny, almost unnoticeable, electric current runs through you at the touch, alerting all of your senses. Fortunately, he doesn’t notice because he’s looking at your bag in your other hand and then back up to your eyes, “are you riding with us?”

“Oh! I don’t know,” the question startles you, and you look at Chan panicking a little inside, “if you guys don’t mind!”

“I don’t mind, c’mon,” Mingyu cuts Chan before he can reply, takes your bag out of your hand to put it in the trunk and you follow him back. You take the chance to look back at the other cars, Sami’s already behind the wheel of one of them while Minghao puts Gyuri’s and Miyoo’s bags in their trunk, and Vernon and Jeonghan are already sitting inside the other car, waiting. Your body relaxes. Riding with Jihyun, Chan and his brother might be the best option. It’s not that you don’t like the others, but you’re quite sure Miyoo just doesn’t like you, and you’re not close enough with neither Jeonghan nor Vernon to be in a closed space together for six hours.

While Mingyu makes space for your bag in the trunk, your eyes can’t help to scan him up and down. If you thought Chan was buff, nothing could’ve prepared you for his brother. As he moves the heavy bags to accommodate yours, you think his arms are probably double the size as yours, if not more.

“Is this your car?” He finishes placing everything and you ask him something before he can catch you staring.

“It’s our dad’s but I use it more often than him nowadays,” he closes the trunk and finally turns to look at you, “you wanna take the shotgun seat? I don’t want to listen to my brother’s playlist again. I used to like it but now I’m kinda tired of it.”

It takes your brain a second to register what he’s asking you, “it’s fine by me,” you reply in a chuckle and you both start walking to the front of the car, “but I don’t think you’re gonna like my music better. I exclusively only listen to Taylor Swift.”

You hear a gasp coming from him, and turn your head aside to find him with his hand on his chest, dramatically looking at you with a shocked face, “how could think that? Can a man not like Taylor Swift?”

Your attempts to hold your laughter fail, and the back on your hand flies to hit him lightly on the arm.

“I’m not judging you! It was mostly a warning that you’re not gonna hear much diversity in artists.”

“It really is fine by me. I like a few of her tunes by the way.”

“As you should!”

In a few steps, you stop right beside the passenger's door. Mingyu’s about to open the door for you when you hear Chan complaining behind you.

“Hey! I thought I was riding shotgun!”

“Sorry! It seems your brother likes me better already!”

“How could you!” He crosses his arms feigning annoyance and you and Mingyu chuckle at him, your gazes crossing for a second. You sit down, ignoring Chan’s fake complaints, as Mingyu closes the door for you and circles around the front of the car to his seat.

After four hours into the ride, two bathroom stops, tons of singing and shouting to Taylor Swift's hits and Mingyu surprisingly knowing all the lyrics to Anti-Hero, the car sits in a comfortable silence. Chan fell asleep almost half an hour ago, that’s when the karaoke sessions stopped, Jihyun’s reading some book on her phone, Mingyu’s focused on the road and you’re admiring the view. The smell of wet grass from the dew envelopes the car, the wind ruffles your hair harshly, but you don’t care, and every now and then you’ll pass through a farm, and you’ll see the animals from far away.

Conversation strikes up again when Chan wakes up after a loud gasp Jihyun let out because of her book. The car becomes alive with laugher, telling funny stories from high school to Mingyu, and Chan’s complains about how you’re spilling too many secrets to his brother.

Jihyun starts telling a story you heard a million times, so you tune out and take the chance to take a proper look at Mingyu. His eyes are focused on the road, but he’s paying special attention to what’s being told to him, reacting to every detail and asking questions every now and then. His tan skin glows thanks to the morning sun. You can see a tiny glint in his eyes and how his nose scrunches when he giggles, but what catches your attention the most are his moles, highlighted by the sunlight, there are a few sprinkled on his cheeks and an especially cute one on the tip of his nose. It's undeniable that Mingyu is very handsome, and polite, and funny, and hot, and if you weren’t so stuck in your feelings, you know you’d probably crush on him for the whole trip.

How come you’ve never noticed him before? You’re sure he must’ve been at Chan’s house at the same time as you at least a couple of times, but you don’t remember ever saying hi to him. You think you’d remember him.

Chan and Mingyu’s grandparent’s house is huge. It’s probably more of a mansion than a house. Each of you have your separate individual rooms, and the two couples get the two big rooms. The entrance welcomes you with a shoe rack that can fit almost twenty pairs of shoes, the kitchen has two ovens and the biggest island you’ve ever seen, and probably ever see, and the living room has couches so big that you could take a nap, and everyone would still be able to sit comfortably.

Right by the living room there’s a door to a small back porch that goes straight to the beach. It’s peaceful and beautiful, and you wish you could stay here more time.

After snooping around the house, you finally go to your bedroom, that’s luckily on the first floor, and settle your stuff down. The room is almost as big as your own living room. There’s even a desk where you can put your laptop and a few drawers for your clothes, but what takes the cake is the on-suite bathroom that has a full-length mirror and a bathtub as big as the bed.

And you must’ve been exhausted because as soon as you lay in bed you fall asleep.

When you wake up, the sun is starting to set and the smell of something being cooked fills your nostrils. Three soft knocks at your door wake you out of your haze, and the mysterious person opens your door just barely enough.

“Hey,” Jihyun whispers, her head peeking inside the room, “we're setting up the table for dinner.”

“I’ll be right out.” You half groan half whisper in your sleepy voice.

It’s kind of funny in a way.

When you go out of your room after a nap that was definitely too long, the door of the room right in front opens at the same time, revealing a just woken up Mingyu.

It’s funny, that you both, being the ones less close with the rest of the group, end up together in this side of the house, the only rooms on this corridor, while the other two rooms downstairs are across the house and the rest are upstairs.

“You took a nap too?” You ask Mingyu as you walk towards the dining room side by side.

“Is it that obvious?” His voice is still raspy.

“Not at all, if we don’t take in account the messy hair or that your shirt is inside out.” You joke, still a little sleepy.

“Oh shit.”

The innocent conversation completely shifts when he stops in his tracks, takes his shirt off to and puts it back the right way. You’re frozen in place, now fully awake. You obviously could tell he was big and buff, but seeing him shirtless, even if it was just for a second, is completely different territory. He pays no mind to you and keeps walking.

A group of voices coming from the dining room take you out of your trance and remind you what you were doing. “I need a drink.”

DAY TWO

You’re not sure what you did yesterday after dinner. One drink turned into shots with Jihyun, and then everyone was drunk, playing some stupid drinking card game. That memory is already blurry, but after that is just a void.

As soon as you open your eyes, you regret it. The sun beams brightly directly to your face, increasing the feeling of someone drilling into your skull. It’s your first full day on the beach house and you’re completely wrecked. The only thing you want to do right now is take a pill for your headache and have a fulfilling breakfast.

There’s complete silence around the house, only the birds chirping and the waves crashing accompany you as you walk to the kitchen. Most probably everyone's in the same state as you but opting to stay in bed to sleep the hangover off.

“Oh hi! I didn’t think anyone was awake.” You really don’t mean to be mean, but Mingyu’s presence startles you. You were yearning for some alone time in the morning, peaceful and quiet, at least until the others wake up.

“Good morning. Yeah I just woke up,” his drowsy voice confirms it, “I don't think anyone else is awake tho.” You only hum in response, noting that you both are too sleepy to engage is small talk.

Mingyu’s company proves not to be dreadful like you thought. Both of you mind your own business, sitting down while eating breakfast and killing time with your phones in comfortable silence. It’s nice, the atmosphere isn’t awkward and there are no expectations from either of you, only two people starting the day at the same time.

“You and Jihyun seem close,” Mingyu breaks the silence and looks at you after putting his phone down.

“She’s one of my best friends.” It’s your turn to put your phone down to look at him. “She and Chan were the ones who introduced me to the rest of the group actually.”

“Yeah? How did you guys meet?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” You sound dismissive even if you don’t want to, Mingyu doesn’t strike you as someone who cares about high-school drama and you don’t want to bore him to death. “Just high-school stuff.”

“Well now I’m curious.” He fixes his posture to face you properly. “I’m listening. C’mon we have all morning.”

“Okay,” you chuckle at how eager he suddenly sounds, “basically, I moved cities right before senior year and she was my first friend in my new high school. I also met Chan on my first day since he gave me the tour.”

You stand up to grab both of your cups, he notices and moves his hand to give you his cup himself. His hand barely grazes yours, but the touch is electrifying. Panicked, you move away quickly, put the cups in the sink and keep going with the story.

“Me, Jihyun and three other girls formed a group. We were all best friends and would always hang out together, but it didn’t last long. Long story short, Jihyun and one of the girls had a big fight and she kinda left the group, became friends with Minghao and Chan and cut her relationship with the rest of the girls. I was the only one still talking to her, and yeah, the group started crumbling.”

“This is very high school.” Mingyu jokes and you agree.

“I told you! But it gets worse. So, this girl Hyerim, the girl Jihyun fought with, didn’t like that I was still talking to Jihyun and would always turn around at the sight of her. Just childish behavior that eventually started pissing me off, because every time she saw me talking with anyone even remotely close with Jihyun, she would get mad at me. It’s stupid I know, we were 18, and I just I thought those kinds of fights only happen in middle school, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Oh my god, are we talking about Hyerim?” Jihyun suddenly enters the kitchen, clearly just woken up.

“Mingyu wanted to know our story.” You chuckle at her disgusted face and joke. “Our favorite topic.”

“She sounds very immature.” Mingyu adds to your joke, not very interested in dissing some girl he doesn’t know, just adding to the teasing.

“She was a controlling bitch you couldn’t fathom her friends having other friendships beside her, she wanted followers, not friends.” Jihyun can’t help to get angry for a moment, so you intervene.

“Yeah well, luckily I escaped her claws and you and Chan adopted me, like a stray kitten." Your arms wrap around her shoulders, and you give her a peck on the cheek. "My saviors!”

“I think I’m gonna go back to bed, my head’s killing me.” Jihyun whispers while patting your hip and starts walking away from the kitchen. "Bye guys, really nice chat.” Her sarcastic tone impossible to miss.

“We don’t really talk about it much. We can get really pissed.” Your eyes are back to Mingyu, who’s gaze never left your figure.

“I get it tho, it sounds like a really shitty situation.” Weirdly enough and even if he didn’t intend to, he comforts you. Mingyu doesn’t make you feel stupid for still having feelings about a fight that took place years ago.

After a while, more people wake up and a plan is made to go to a hiking spot Gyuri found close to the house.

But all morning and even during the afternoon, all you can think about is how you’ve spoken more words to Mingyu at breakfast than to all your friends in two days, how comfortable you felt alone with him, no expectations, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. In that moment, you were just you.

“And then he pooped! On the balcony floor!”

“No way! That’s disgusting!”

The bottle that was full an hour ago passes from Mingyu’s hand to yours, with now less than a third of the liquid left.

Avoiding Minghao proves not to be as hard as you thought, as people have been sticking to their own plans during the day, and everyone only being together at dinnertime and after.

Loud voices can be heard from the living room. They found a board game and made it into a drinking game, one they’ve been playing for over an hour, all while you were with Mingyu in the kitchen.

You’re both sitting on the floor with your backs against the island, facing the couches where everyone else is sitting, but neither of you make any attempt to join them. Some come and go, enter the kitchen to grab a drink and go back to the living room. Chan even told the both of you to join them, but you refused at the same time. The minutes go by without realizing, just talking about whatever, and you don’t feel the need to go where everyone is, you’re not missing out on anything.

“There’s no way that actually happened!” The words barely get out of you, between the laughs and the bottle on your lips.

“I got pics let me-” Mingyu’s hand heads for his front pocket to retrieve his phone.

“No!” You push him lightly to the side and you both break into laughter, “why would you take photos of that?” It’s a genuine question to ask, but it seems that you’re both a little too drunk to focus on more than one thing at a time because he doesn’t hear you.

“Why can’t I find them?” He’s looking through his gallery, and in your drunk haze, you don’t think your actions through. You put the bottle on the floor and throw yourself over him to take his phone away from his hand. Your arm stretches as far as possible to reach for Mingyu’s cellphone while the other is placed on Mingyu’s thigh for support, and you don’t notice how dangerously close your head is to his, or how your hand is dangerously high on his thigh, but he does.

You put all your core strength to use and manage to snatch his phone right out of his left hand. For a second, your surroundings become blurry, the voices are no longer background noise, it’s just you and Mingyu when you look up and his eyes on yours, faces barely inches away. You stare at each other, without blinking and with your breaths synchronized for what feels like minutes. A little smirk forms on the corner of his lips when his eyes glance at your lips for a millisecond, and you can’t take it.

“I can’t believe you have pics of a stranger's poop on your phone.” You chuckle awkwardly as you back away from him and sit on your previous position, a little sobered up. His phone is left on top of his leg, where your hand previously was.

“I didn’t actually take them, it was my friend that sent them to the group chat, if that makes it any better.” You look at each other before erupting into laughter once again, the awkward atmosphere already gone.

“It doesn’t!” You try to focus on your friends and the game they’re playing while Mingyu takes another sip from the bottle. There's silence between you for the first time in hours, the only thing you feel is his body so close to yours. Your knee sits on top of his, and you’re afraid that if you dare to move, he’ll realize your closeness and move away. You've known this man for two days, an objectively short amount of time to be so comfortable getting into the other’s personal space, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we casually left to go to sleep?” His voice reaches your ears, not letting the silence get between you two, and overpowering the shouting coming from the living room.

“I don’t think so.” You look at your friends carefully. There doesn’t seem to be a piece missing in the group, nothing changes without you there, even if they all like you and you like them, there’s not much to add. “Maybe Chan will notice if you disappear suddenly, he keeps looking over.”

“Jihyun looks this way every now and then to look for you too.”

“They’re a very caring couple.” Just that second, both Chan and Jihyun look back to the kitchen and see you sitting on the floor, and you both crack up laughing.

You rest your head back against the island, and your eyelids feel heavy with tiredness. You try to fight the urge to close them, not wanting the night to be over yet, but it’s pointless. Your eyes close almost on their own, and your head falls softly to the side against Mingyu’s shoulder.

A soft smile appears on Mingyu’s face when he feels you rest on him. Warm and giddy, he’s careful not to move much as to not wake you up, but your heavy sighs signal him that you’re fast asleep. He stays that way, watching the others play while you’re resting for a few minutes. When you move slightly in your sleep to get more comfortable his breath hitches for a second, he doesn’t really want you to wake up.

Awfully, when everyone gets tired and cleans up the living room, it’s time for the house to sleep. They notice you asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder, a few knowing looks come your way, but most importantly, Chan’s worried look alerts Mingyu. He assures Chan that you’re okay, just tired, and tells him to go to sleep, that he’ll help you to your room.

DAY THREE

Second day in a row where you wake up feeling like the weight of the whole world is sitting on your head.

With your eyes still closed, you stretch your arm to the side you think you remember putting your phone at. Somehow you actually find it there and grab it to check the time, but soft knocks on your door interrupt you.

“I’m awake!” Even talking feels painful.

The door opens slightly, revealing a freshly showered Mingyu with his hair still damp and his skin shiny from the morning skincare.

“Can I come in?” It’s cute how he whispers. He most likely knows your head's killing you. Your nod gives him the okay and he comes in, like your knight in shiny armor, with an ibuprofen a glass full of cold water.

When he sinks down beside you, after placing the glass and the pill on the nightstand, you sit up. The warmth of his body beside yours awakes flashbacks of the night before, and remind you how you fell asleep on him.

“Oh my god!” Embarrassed, you cover your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry for yesterday, I swear I’m never drinking again.”

“It's okay.” Mingyu chuckles. “You didn’t bother me.”

“Really?” You move your fingers enough to uncover your eyes and side eye him. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m serious!” With one hand, Mingyu removes yours from your face so that you look at him properly. “We were both pretty drunk and having fun, I didn’t mind.”

“You look too good for someone who was drunk last night.” He doesn’t even have noticeable eye bags, while you’re probably as pale as a zombie and look like you slept only one hour. A smirk slowly forms on his face at your words.

“You think I look good?” He teases and makes you realize what you said exactly, but you’re not giving in that easily. Even if the blush fights to get on your cheeks and your stomach starts filling with butterflies. Even if your mind questions the reasons for his teasing and your eyes linger for a second too long on his smirk.

“For someone who got shitfaced 8 hours ago, sure.” You avoid his gaze and focus on the glass on the nightstand. You forgot it was there.

Your attention is now on hydrating and taking the ibuprofen pill, but you hear him chuckle again and stop drinking, “What?”

“Nothing.” His lips form a quivering line, and you know he’s fighting for his life not to laugh. “We’re all going to the beach later.” He gets up quickly, a light chuckle escaping at your questioning face. “You better not be hangover by then!”

“You’re not funny!” You shout at him as he leaves your room.

You smile as you finish the glass of water. You really try not to ponder about why that interaction left you so giddy, why remembering his smirk makes you all mushy inside, why your stomach contracts thinking about him caring enough to bring you something for your hangover.

When you decide the leftovers of the alcohol left your system for good, you change into your bikini, grab your beach towel and head to the backyard beach to join the rest of the guys.

At first, you join the girls sunbathing, snacking and chatting calmly. There's no sight of the guys, probably doing their own thing, guy stuff. The time passes easily, talking about university and gossiping about each other's coworkers, and it quickly becomes past lunch time. You almost don’t think about the night before, falling asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder and how he seemed okay with it.

It's nice spending time with the girls, even if you don’t talk much around them, they’re funny and you end up cackling and falling onto the sand multiple times.

You’ve done a good job staying away from Minghao these past two days, but there’s so much you can do before you have to face him again. And it seems that the universe thinks you’ve reached your limit.

A shirtless Minghao, wet from swimming in the sea, comes running your way, says good morning to you and asks how you woke up so nonchalantly, like his whole presence isn't messing up your whole nervous system. He never noticed and he’ll probably never know just how much he affected you. Now, for you, it’s just awkward. Remnants of your feelings still float around, making you feel guilty anytime you’ll see him and Sami acting all coupley, like right now. After saying hi to you, Sami got up and jumped to hug and kiss him, making it almost impossible for you to ignore, but your gaze doesn’t fix on them for too long.

Behind them, Vernon and Mingyu are setting up to play beach volleyball. It's a few meters away, not enough to see a lot of details but enough to leave you breathless. Since the morning, even if you won’t admit it, all you wanted was to see him again, but you hadn’t thought about the fact that you were at the beach, with warm temperatures and the sun shining brightly. Your stomach does backflips seeing his defined bare back as he’s setting up the net, a pretty mundane task, but something about how concentrated he is, in addition to the way his muscles tense, is driving you crazy inside. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you had a fleeting crush on him for the time being, it’s not like you’re gonna see him much after anyways

Sometime during your haze, Jeonghan came up to ask if any of you girls wanted to play, you were too gone to answer, but Miyoo happily went along, and now they’re playing what seems like a friendly volleyball match, but you know it’s going to get competitive in no time. Minghao, Chan and Mingyu against Jeonghan, Vernon and Miyoo, it’s gonna get ugly.

Gyuri, Sami and Jihyun keep talking beside you, but you concentrate on the match, or you at least try to. You really try to, it’s just, he’s very distracting. The ball passes from one court to another swiftly, when one team scores, they make fun of the other and vice versa. The ball goes particularly far into Chan’s team’s court and Mingyu runs to get it, having to fall onto the sand to hit the ball from below, and it works, Minghao manages to throw it to the other team’s court, and they score.

It's common knowledge that people playing sports look as hot as they could possibly be, that’s probably why you’re basically drooling over Mingyu like he’s a full course meal and you haven’t had anything to eat in weeks.

Jihyun distracts you from your train of thought to tell you that her, Sami and Gyuri are going back inside to do something you don't get to hear. You're still a little in your head and only hum in response. Left alone with your thoughts, your eyes don’t want to leave Mingyu's figure, until his team ultimately wins the match thanks to points that he managed to score, and he glances at you, catching you staring, and smirks. That damn fucking smirk it’s gonna get you in trouble.

You lay down on your towel, because if your eyes are not on him, maybe you can get over it. Out of sight out of mind, as they say. But the peace is short-lived, as a few steps get close to you, getting sand all over your body and a shadow blocks the sun. You open your eyes reluctantly, and you wish you never opened them in the first place.

The sunlight is blinding, but not as much as the sight of Mingyu with his black swim shorts, sun-kissed skin, glistening from the sweat, and panting. It’s too much for you, and your eyes close instinctively, acting as if he didn’t disrupt your peace. You hear that damn chuckle, like a warning, before he sprinkles more sand on you.

“You’re really annoying, did you know that?” You intend to sound serious, but he’s caught up with your antics by now and just chuckles.

“Only when I’m trying to get someone’s attention.” You take a deep breath, to try and gather strength to not jump him right there and open your eyes as you sit up. He's quick to motion with his hands for you to scoot so he can sit beside you. Your eyes roll sarcastically, but you still slide to the side.

“How was the game?” The way he’s sitting, propped down on his elbows, tensing his biceps perfectly, almost like he’s doing it on purpose, so you try to focus on his face as he answers your question.

“They had nothing on us.” He says smugly while looking at the loser team undo the volleyball net. “But you saw that, so why are you asking?”

“What I saw was you struggling until the very end.” his teasing doesn’t get you this time, on the outside at least, because your mind is still a mess. “Good thing you managed to pull through though!”

He nods sarcastically at your response, but something else catches his attention before he can continue teasing.

“What’s their deal? Are they together?” You follow his eyes to see who he’s referring to: Vernon is running away from Miyoo, who’s chasing him with one of her flip flops on her hand and shouting something along the lines of ‘don’t run away you coward’. They’re both laughing, and you’re also used to it. You know their fights are not that serious.

“Vernon and Miyoo?” The hysterical laugh comes out of you before you’re able to stop it. “In Vernon’s dreams sure.” You joke but you can tell he’s seriously asking.

“Nah, I think she likes him too.” Mingyu lays down after his statement, with his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes to enjoy the last rays of sunshine of the day.

“Are they that obvious? You’ve been with them for three days and you already noticed." To you it was always obvious Vernon had a thing for Miyoo since Sami first introduced her to the group, but it’s funny that someone who doesn’t really know them also noticed.

“It’s always more obvious from the outside.” His answer catches you off guard. It leaves you thinking, and you can only hum in response. Were you that obvious when you liked Minghao? There were times when you felt Sami knew, but she never asked you about it, and since she and Minghao started dating you never felt those weird vibes again. Mingyu doesn’t press more on the subject at your silence, but yawns at your side and gets up, distracting you from your train of thought.

It’s beginning to get dark, bringing the temperatures down a bit, and the sunset paints the sky with a beautiful mix of oranges and pinks. It looks like a painting you’d see in an overpaid museum, and it would make that price totally worth it.

It seems you’re not the only one who noticed the pretty twilight sky, because Mingyu runs inside the house and comes back a few minutes later with a digital camera and wearing a black jacket for the cold wind. He walks around, taking pictures of different sides of the sky with different clouds and color patterns.

“Is that camera yours?” You prop down on your elbows to admire the sky and him, and you hear a light hum coming from him as an answer. “Didn’t know you were into photography.”

“I wouldn’t say I'm into photography, I just like taking pictures of what I find pretty.” Once he’s done taking pictures of the sky, he returns to his place beside you. “One of these days I want to wake up before the sun rises and just sit here, watching the stars disappear as the sun gets higher and higher.”

“It’ll probably be really peaceful.” Even if you’re alone at the beach now, you can still hear people talking from inside the house, probably deciding on what to have for dinner. You imagine sitting on the quiet shore at 6 am, with the only sound being the crashing waves and a few morning birds, the sky beginning to light up as the sun slowly rises and the morning wind ruffling your hair. “But the first step is to not get wasted the night before.”

“Or we could just stay awake and go to sleep after.”

“We? Who says I'm doing it with you?” You joke, but of course you’ll accompany him if he asked.

A sudden cold breeze makes you shiver and Mingyu notices, so he takes his jacket off and gestures for you to take it. You grab it silently, without much resistance, and notice he also put on a sleeveless t-shirt earlier. You’re embraced by his scent in no time. The jacket's giant on you when you put it on and zip it up, so the cold doesn’t make its way inside. You smile at him, and he returns it before answering your previous question.

“I’d just annoy you until you’re awake and you’d have no choice other than to come with me.” You can only chuckle at his response, wishing you could see what happens inside his mind.

“And I'd punch you for interrupting my holy sleep time.” You’re still laughing when you see a flash from the corner of your eye. “Did you just take a picture of me?” Mingyu shrugs with an amused look on his face and waits for the picture to load. “I probably look disgusting! Let me see.”

You try and stretch to take a glance at his camera roll, but he turns it off before you can see anything.

“Why would you look disgusting?”

“I... don’t know.” He has some kind of power to always surprise you with what he says. “I've been out here all day, I didn’t get the chance to check myself on the mirror.”

“I told you I only take photos of pretty things.”

This time, you can’t hide the blush that creeps up to your cheeks. No one has ever complimented you so directly, and it’s not like you’re new to flirting, but you’ve never quite felt like this. Maybe it’s because everything around you feels so dull, except for when you’re with him. When you’re around anyone else, you never feel the need to speak up, afraid they’ll don’t care or just straight up ignore you, but these past few days, when you spoke to him, you felt like he wouldn’t judge you. He paid attention, joked with you, and even chose to spend time with you when he could’ve hang out with anyone else. He's easy to be with, and it's tempting to want to spend every day with him, but also terrifying, because everything could change after the trip is over.

“Then let me see?” You try your luck one more time to see the photo, also to try and turn the conversation around so he doesn’t catch on to the effect he had on you, although it’s already too late.

“Don’t you trust me?” He looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout that could make anyone melt in an instant.

“Stop doing that!” You hit him lightly on his left arm.

“Doing what?” He replies, feigning innocence.

“You know what you’re doing.” Your look is serious, but he's amused by your reaction.

“And I think it’s working.” His eyes don’t leave yours, starting a staring contest between the two. None of you want to give up, raising your eyebrows to tease the other and titling your head to the side, but you don’t bulge and neither does he. You try to figure out the workings of his brain, if he feels the same things you do. You embarrassingly want to think that he does.

“Can I-”

“Guys!” Sami’s voice interrupts you and both you and Mingyu stop staring at each other to look at her, “Dinner is ready! Come inside!”

Only at her words do you realize the sun already fully set and the sky is painted a dark blue color, with the only thing visible being the moon and a few stars.

“W-we should get back inside.” You look back at Mingyu to find him already staring at you.

“What were you gonna say?” He stops you before you can get any farther.

“Oh, it’s nothing, c’mon they’re waiting for us.”

DAY FOUR

“And then she ghosted me! The nerve!” Gyuri finishes telling her story about a girl she hooked up with last month.

“But didn’t you just say you didn’t really wanna be with her? I don’t get it.” Jihyun asks what all of you were thinking.

“Yeah, but like, I don’t want to be the ghosted one!” You, Sami and Jihyun burst into laughter at her words.

You and the girls are sitting on the living room while the guys and Miyoo are outside playing a rematch from yesterday’s game of beach volleyball. As soon as everyone finished eating dinner, Miyoo demanded a rematch and everyone, with their competitive souls, agreed immediately. It’s already dark outside, but with the back lights on it’s possible to play, at least for a while before your eyes get tired.

The four of you ended up sitting around the coffee table, talking about relationship drama or just telling funny stories. You don’t have much to add to the conversation, so you just say a comment or joke from time to time and give your opinion when asked. That’s until you’re given the spotlight.

“So, Y/N,” Gyuri catches you off guard and you look at her confused, “what’s up with you and Mingyu?”

“That’s right! I see you together a lot these days.” Sami adds excitedly. Three pairs of eyes are now watching you closely, curious for your answer.

“Oh, nothing… I don’t know.” You shy away when a little smile cracks at your lips, hugging your knees close as you glance at the beach to see if you can spot Mingyu, but all you see is a blur due to the poor lighting. “We just happen to end up together a lot I think.” It is partially true, because it’s not like you actively searched for him.

“C’mon! Don’t you think he’s hot?” Gyuri’s so forward she just makes you laugh. “If I wasn’t a lesbian lemme tell you, the things I would do.”

“Gyuri oh my god! He's right there, have some decency.” Sami brings her back to earth.

“Right, sorry sorry.” she apologizes and takes a sip of her beer before speaking to you again. “But really, you should do something!”

“Like what? I don’t know guys maybe he’s not interested.” Do you want him to be?

“I saw you two at the beach yesterday and trust me, he is.” Sami puts her hand on your shoulder to make you look at her, and tries to encourage you, with no bad intentions whatsoever. She just wants to see you happy and you know that.

His words from the night before echo in your head. ‘It’s always more obvious from the outside'. But you don’t really want to talk about it out loud with them, afraid you’ll jinx it. Jihyun throws you a knowing look and opens her mouth, but she gets interrupted before she can outer a word.

“Guys! Guess what-” Chan suddenly enters the house and the four of you shut up instantly, guilty look on your faces. “Wow what were you talking about? Am I not allowed to hear it?”

“It’s girl stuff!” Jihyun doesn’t hide that he is in fact, not allowed to hear your conversation, and throws a pillow his way, but he doesn't budge. “What do you want?”

“What I was going to say was... we beat them!” You chuckle and the four of you applaud lightly.

“That’s great babe!”

“You should’ve seen them when we-” Chan comes inside to show off their win when gets interrupted by a sudden darkness. The power went out, and everything and everyone sits in silence for about two seconds before Jeonghan comes in.

“How does everyone feel about turning on the fireplace?”

Lighting the fireplace on turned out to be a great idea. Hours passed and the power is still out. All ten of you are sitting on the couches and on the floor, surrounding the only source of light and warmth, and drinking the beer that’s left from the previous days before it loses its gas.

It’s warm and cozy, and everyone is engaged in different conversations with the people by their side. You listen as Jeonghan talks about his new job at a museum, trying to pay attention, but it’s really difficult when, from the corner of your eye, you can see Mingyu and Minghao talking comfortably. It’s weird, seeing the guy that caused you so many emotional breakdowns over the past year talking with the only guy who was able to make you forget about it. Even if every day that passes you feel yourself getting more and more over him, there’s this little voice on the back of your brain reminding you how you stupidly thought you might’ve had a chance with him.

Someone by your side shifts and you see Jeonghan’s expression change before he exclaims, “no touchy coupley things when we’re all around!” Everyone’s eyes are now on the couple behind you. Jihyun just sat on Chan’s legs and they're just hugging, but Jeonghan’s low-key right, most of you are single and it looks like they're rubbing it on your faces, even if it’s not what they want.

“You’re just jealous because you’re lonely and sad.” Jihyun rebuttals and everyone huffs. It’s normal for them to bicker like this, so you just watch like it’s a comedy show.

“I’m single by choice, I’m not letting anyone tie me down.” Jeonghan replies proudly.

“Didn’t you go out with that girl for the whole winter? What was her name... Miyeon? Or what about Seungcheol last year?”

“Well, I’m all free now so”

“Then don’t come to me asking for tips on what to say to girls ever again.” That is the kind of burn that makes Gyuri start clapping like crazy, which she does.

“I’m sure everyone gets what I mean.” Jeonghan looks around, checking to see if anyone agrees with him. Even if it's quite dark, you can see a few heads nod in agreement, including yours.

“Oh c’mon! Doesn’t anyone here have feelings for someone?” Now Jihyun is the one looking for backup, but it’s something harder to admit. “If you like someone, then you know you want to be close to them, to touch them!” She makes eye contact with you, knowing you do understand her, because she was the only one you told about Minghao, because you used to tell her everything.

“No one?” She asks again, looking at everyone one by one, but no one comes forward. And she lastly looks at you again. You shake your head as panic starts invading you, fearing everyone will notice why you, what she means. You make eye contact with her probably for less than a second, but it feels like your whole life passes in front of your eyes.

“Ok, fair enough.” The tense climate stills the air, because even if Jihyun agreed to minimize the public displays of affection, her speech got to some of you, and it takes a few minutes for everything to go back to normal.

But you’re still anxious. You never discussed what happened with Minghao after you found out he was seeing Sami, you couldn’t. Her indirectly letting you know she remembers makes you feel seen, exposed, bare, like she just disclosed your deepest secret to the whole world, like everyone now knows the most pathetic thing about you.

Eventually, the atmosphere starts getting full of laughs and different voices again, but you’re still in your head, so much so that you almost don’t notice the power is back on.

As everyone is celebrating, you get up and announce quietly that you’re going to call it a night. Throwing some lame excuse, but no one really bats an eye, they just say goodnight and go back to their conversations. Everyone except for one person.

Mingyu, who’s been keeping an eye on you the whole night, and who’s already accustomed to your shyness, noticed that you got more reserved after Jihyun’s speech, but didn’t want to ask you anything that would make you uncomfortable in front on everyone. So, when you rapidly escape to go back to your room, he takes the opportunity to leave as well, putting the same excuse you did about being tired and not wanting to wake up super hangover again.

As you’re in tucked in bed, about to burst out crying in any second, Mingyu knocks softly on your door.

You don’t answer, staying as still as possible, trying to stop your sobs so nothing can be heard from outside. It’s been a few minutes since you left, so maybe it’s believable that you’re already asleep.

“Are you alright?” Hearing Mingyu’s voice shatters you and the tears and sobs become impossible to stop.

“Yeah, everything’s fine!” You wouldn’t believe you if you were him.

“You’re not fine.” He sounds actually worried

“How would you know? Just leave me alone!” Your voice breaks at the last words, telling Mingyu everything he needs to know

“I can’t just leave if I know you’re crying."

“Yes, you can! Just go!"

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” A playful tone mixes in his voice. “You can talk to me.” You know, but this is different. This is exposing something to him that makes you feel pathetic, idiotic, and it's much more than you ever told anyone

There’s silence while you consider letting him in. He’s not a stranger, not anymore, but he’s oblivious enough to the situation that he wouldn’t care about the drama. Maybe you can trust him not to tell anyone. And he cared enough to come and check on you, which is way more than what anyone else did.

Mingyu waits for you, worried about what could’ve caused you to leave so suddenly and start crying alone in your room.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anyth-" He was about to give up when you open your door just barely, as to not let the corridor light reveal your blotched, tear-stained face. But you don’t stay there, you run back to the bed as he figures out that you’re letting him in.

He enters your room carefully, slowly stepping in and closing the door behind him. Even with the lights off, he sees you sitting on your bed, legs crossed and back against the wall while you’re fidgeting with your fingers, avoiding his eyes. Before he says anything, he sits beside you on the bed, testing what you’re comfortable with. When he’s sure you’re not going to tell him to fuck off, you finally hear his voice.

“What’s wrong?” He experimentally puts one hand on your knee, trying to comfort you, but it ultimately makes you sob a little before you reply.

“You have to promise not to make fun of me.” You’re still avoiding looking at him, entranced looking at his hand, but when he doesn’t answer you for a few seconds, you look to the side to meet his eyes, and only then he notices how serious your request is.

“I’d never make fun of you, or what made you sad like this.” He fixes his posture, sitting back against the wall like you and legs stretched on the bed. “If you’re comfortable, you can tell me, but if you’re not, then I can at least try and make you feel better, take your mind somewhere else, whatever you need.”

Stupid. You feel stupid. Crying about something that happened months ago, about a guy that isn’t really worth your time, when in front of you have this perfect man that for two days has made you feel more comfortable than anyone has ever. Sure, you don’t know if he just does this for all his friends, if you can even call this a friendship, but at least he cares. In this moment, you feel you could tell him anything, your deepest secrets, and he would welcome it with open arms. You'd do the same for him.

“You also can’t tell anyone,” you rush to add, “like, not even Chan, okay?”

Mingyu nods, a little smile showing up at his face as he realizes you’re really trusting him. “I promise.”

And you do. You open up to him, trusting him with what you have been carrying on your back these past few months that you didn’t trust no one else with.

You tell him how you always liked Minghao. How you found out you actually went to the same middle school but didn’t know each other. And how you thought he liked you back. How you don’t even like to talk about people you fancy, but you trusted Jihyun with it, before she distanced from your group and from you. How she suddenly became close with Minghao and his friends. How every time you managed to be with Jihyun alone, she would show off that she talked on the phone with him every day, that she regularly crashed at his place after work, that he often paid for her meals. She obviously had started liking him too, and it killed you inside. You couldn’t talk to her because his name would always come up somehow. A few weeks pass, you fight with your friends, and Jihyun and her new group welcome you in. They start inviting you to their hangouts, to their houses (often Chan’s). You always felt a little bit out of place, even if Chan and Jihyun always tried to invite you, and even if they always made sure to engage with you in conversations. But you were happy, you had a group of friends you saw every week, who made you laugh if you were going through rough times, and you got to spend time with the guy you liked. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good, until it wasn’t.

And after you finished senior year, the group was still intact. Hanging out whenever everyone could and talking on the group chat constantly. Except, you saw Minghao more often because you got into the same college, and even though you were on different majors, you still managed to bump into each other. One Friday, long after, everyone managed to get free to see each other after so long, you all went to some bar and you didn’t realize how late it got, so Minghao, being that he lived close to you, offered to take you home. Things happened and you ended up sleeping together. He was your first, God how pathetic is that, and it just solidified how much you liked him, and you thought it meant something for him too. But nothing changed after that, you two never talked about it and he just pretended nothing happened. And you didn’t tell anyone about it.

Months later, on Chan’s birthday, people started telling inside jokes that you didn’t understand about Sami and Minghao, teasing them to no end until they both turned red. When you looked at Gyuri for context, she whispered that they’ve been on numerous dates in the last few months. Your heart dropped, you had to pretend that everything was fine for the rest of the night, but as soon as you got home, you started crying and overthinking. If this was going on for months, were they already something when he slept with you? Did that solidify to him that he liked Sami? All the times you thought maybe Minghao was flirting with you were probably just your mind fucking with you, or the worst cascenario, he was flirting with the both of you until he decided which one he liked best. You felt stupid, pathetic, but most of all you felt betrayed. Because everyone knew, including Jihyun. And all this time you geeked to her about every interaction with Minghao, telling her every detail, she knew he was seeing someone else. Sure, your relationship had changed, she had new best friends, and she probably didn’t want to disclose something about Sami’s personal life, but letting you delude yourself was just mean.

Days passed, and a new secret was revealed to you, that Jihyun and Chan started dating. This just enforced what you thought that she just didn’t trust you anymore, you weren’t as much of a part of her life as before. You never talked about Minghao with her again, the last time she asked you about him was the same day you found out her and Chan were dating, almost half a year ago. But the topic ended there, and it was never brought up again, until tonight.

“So, earlier when she talked about liking someone and she looked directly at me,” you breathe for the first time in at least half an hour that you’ve been talking to Mingyu nonstop, “she was referring to me liking him, and I felt so exposed, her looking at me right in the eye trying to make me confess to liking someone just so she can win an argument, it felt like I was naked and at her mercy in front of everyone.” You feel like a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders.

You can still feel tears rolling down your face. Sometime during your talk, Mingyu put his arm around you, and you rested your head on his shoulder. You’re sure his sweatshirt must be damp with tears now.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, letting you calm down and stabilizing your breathing. You concentrate on his breathing and his fingers drawing circles on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” You finally speak up after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?”

“For listening.” You answer like it’s an obvious thing. “It was a lot, and you didn’t have to, but you listened anyway.”

“Of course, and I asked, didn’t I?” You chuckle lightly. He has a way of making everything easier.

“So, what do you think?”

“Do you really want my opinion?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” You copy what he said before and he chuckles.

“I think you should tell them how you feel.” You don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you, as if analyzing how you respond to what he said. “They’re your friends after all, they’ll understand.”

“I've thought about it, I’m not very good at that kind of talks, I kinda just keep it to myself until I get over it.”

“I don’t mean to be harsh, but it doesn’t seem to be working.” It’s hard hearing that, but it’s true. You’ve been carrying this for years and you’re still crying over it.

“Wow.” He’s not trying to be mean, but it really left you speechless. “Maybe I should… to get it off my chest at least.”

“You don’t have to, but maybe you’ll get some closure with Jihyun that way, that’s the only way she’ll know she’s making you upset.”

“No, you’re right, I’ll talk to her.” When? You don’t know. "But only her, talking with Minghao kind of scares me, because what do I do if he forgot about it?”

“Don’t tell anyone but,” he starts, and you smile at his silliness, “I never really found Minghao likeable in the first place, I don’t know why, but now I have a reason to dislike him.” You can’t help to laugh.

“You don’t have to dislike him just because of what I told you, you should get to know him!” You don’t resent Minghao for what happened, and he’s still someone you can call a friend, regardless of your history.

You dare to look up at Mingyu from his shoulder, and your face is much closer to his than you thought. It’s dark in your room, only the moonlight providing you with enough light for you to see how his head turns slowly to meet yours, and his eyes encountering yours, like he knew you were staring at him.

“He’s an ass for what he did to you, and I don’t want to be friends with someone like that.” He speaks softly, almost in a whisper, but with such a serious tone that it gives you goosebumps. Your eyes can’t seem to leave his, and neither of you want to stop. It’s becoming a habit of you two to stare at each other, testing who’ll look away first. His breath fans over your face, and you think about his words. You knew Mingyu was a good listener, he proved it several times over the span of four days, but now he’s even taking what you said into consideration before establishing a friendship with someone? Sure, he already didn’t really like Minghao, or so he said, but you gave him a reason to, so he must believe and trust you enough to truly take it into account.

This time, Mingyu breaks the silence first. “Let’s go watch the sunrise tomorrow.” But he doesn’t break the eye contact. You swear you see a little spark in his eyes at his words, and it makes impossible for you to say no.

“You really want me to go with you?” You just want confirmation that he does, that he’s not taking pity in you after crying your eyes out in front of him.

��It’ll be sad if I go alone, and besides, you’re the one I like the most here.” And it’s like a thousand butterflies fly out of their cocoon simultaneously inside your stomach. "Don’t tell Chan I said that.” You both laugh at his words.

“We should go to sleep then, what time does the sun come out? Like 5:30 am?” You groan while saying the last words. You were never a morning person.

Cold hits you all around when Mingyu takes his arm off your shoulders and gets off your bed. You almost want to ask him to stay the night here so you can wake up together. But you don’t.

“I’ll come and wake you up, but don’t punch me please.” He jokes about what you said the day before and you chuckle. “Good night, see you in a few hours.” He says as he walks to your door slowly, hoping you’d ask him to stay. But you don’t, and he doesn’t say anything either.

DAY FIVE

Waking up so early in the morning isn’t difficult. You barely got any sleep; you spent the whole time watching the ceiling overthinking about everything that happened. You even heard Mingyu’s alarm in the distance, so when he knocked to wake you up, you were already ready.

The sky is starting to show more colors as the minutes pass. You’re sitting on a mat at the beach while Mingyu’s inside making coffee for the both of you. Is it wrong to think that there may be something more to your friendship with Mingyu? You’re almost certain you’re starting to like him, and these moments you’ve been having together don’t do anything to suppress your bubbling feelings. It’s dangerous, and you don’t want to let it go too far, not again.

You hear his steps behind you before you see him. He hands you the coffee in silence and you thank him with a smile. You’re both slowly sipping away your coffee admiring the colors of the sky as they become more alive the more the sun comes out. The soft morning breeze gives you chills, but the warm cup in your hand eases it away, and the waves crashing provide with enough background noise for it to not be completely silent. But being quiet with him hasn’t been uncomfortable, you don’t feel the need to fill the void, you’re just two people enjoying each other’s company.

As the sky turns orange and pink, with swirling clouds making it look like a painting, Mingyu takes his camera out and takes photos beside you. You watch him as he does his thing, changing the settings of the camera and picking different angles, mesmerized, and you don’t notice he says something to you.

“Sorry?” You come back to earth and find him looking at you already.

“I said I’m glad we did this.” His smile almost outshines the sun.

“Me too.” You smile back, afraid to show just how you really like to be with him, afraid to scare him away.

“You’re the first person that doesn’t think I’m weird for wanting to do this you know?” He mutters after he puts down the camera. “People always tell me it’s too much of a sacrifice.”

“That’s so stupid!” You huff, incredulous look on your face. “I get not wanting to wake up early on vacation but like, a sacrifice? That’s so dramatic.”

“You get it! Thank you.”

It’s quiet for a little while after. Every few minutes a new shade of orange paints the sky and Mingyu points his camera up to take more pictures. He probably took a thousand pictures already but shows no sign of stopping. You opt for laying down, the little sleepiness you felt already slipped away, and you’re left with your thoughts until Mingyu lays down too.

“I wish we could freeze time and just stay here like this.” You prefer being here alone with him than inside the house getting overwhelmed by everything. Here, it’s much peaceful, comfortable.

“That would be nice wouldn’t it.”

The sun is fully out by now, the birds already started singing on the background, and you can hear cars on the distance. The day officially started, you’re no longer on the limbo in between yesterday and tomorrow.

After everyone wakes up and has breakfast together, you and Mingyu take a quick nap before lunch time. Eventually the lack of sleep got to both of you, and you weren’t even able to keep a conversation going.

The house is suspiciously silent when you wake up, it’s probably 3 or 4 pm but no one seems to be at the house. Except for the one person you encounter when you go out to the porch for some air.

“Hey! You're finally awake!” Jihyun greets you with excitement, too oblivious about what happened the day before, “that was some nap!” Maybe you should really tell her, she has the right to know if you’re mad or upset at her. It's not like she forgot about what you’ve told her, you just have to let her know how that makes you feel. It’s easy!

“I think I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow, I must’ve been too tired.” It comes out a little colder than you intended, hopefully she’ll mistake it by sleepiness.

“Were you okay yesterday? You went to bed so suddenly.” Now’s the time, you can’t just lie now, if you don’t tell her now then it’s pointless.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” You go to the point straight away and she notices your serious tone.

“Is everything okay?” There’s a little voice in your head telling you she’s not actually worried, but right now you decide not to believe it

“It’s about what you said yesterday, I wanted to ask you...” your hands shake as you lean against the rail by her side, looking at the beach, not so peaceful like in the morning now, and you turn your head to look at her. “It may be stupid but, were you like, indirectly asking me if I still like Minghao?” You do feel stupid as the words leave your mouth.

“Oh, I don’t really remember why I did that, I was kinda drunk and saying stupid shit.” You relax a little, at least she wasn’t trying to put you on the spotlight on purpose. “But maybe? I mean you never talked about him again.”

“I just thought it was awkward, since I became friends with everyone.” The conversation isn’t really going anywhere. You could leave it like this, but the topic out in the open and it could be the only chance to get answers, “and with you also liking him and all that.”

“I-I didn’t, I mean-” she stutters, and suddenly dropping the bomb that you know more information than she gave to you in the first place doesn’t feel right.

“It’s okay, well no it’s not really, you should’ve told me, but I’m past it by now.” Jihyun visibly relaxes at your words, but the air starts getting thicker, the atmosphere awkward.

“You’re right I should’ve told you, I’m sorry.” She avoids your eyes. You’re looking right at her, but she keeps her eyes on the ocean, or the sand, or literally anywhere else. “It was just a silly crush, it didn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t think it was, but it’s fine.” How can she just brush it off so easily?

“Actually, you don’t know how it was.” Suddenly now she’s capable of facing you, and her eyes are almost on fire, “we weren’t even friends by then, so you don’t know what it was like.”

“Why are you saying that like it’s my fault?” Anger starts to take over your brain, “and we were definitely still friends.”

“It just wasn’t the same and you know it.”

"You were the one who pushed me aside!”

“I pushed you aside? I welcomed you! When you were alone! I invited you to every hangout, every party, I invited you everywhere!”

“You stopped trusting me.” There’s a noticeable hurt in your voice, “you didn’t even tell me when you started to like Chan.”

“You were too busy feeling sorry for yourself that you didn’t notice, even Vernon noticed, and he has zero awareness of what happens around him.”

“Because my best friend liked the same guy as me and didn’t even tell me!”

“I just couldn’t tell you.”

“Yes, you could’ve! and I really still wanted to be friends with you, at least I thought we still were.” Flashbacks of times your other friends told you how you should stop taking to her come to your mind. “And you did tell me.” Jihyun looks confused at your statement. “Maybe not directly, but every time you decided I was good enough to have alone time with, and knowing just how much I liked Minghao, the only thing you ever talked about was him, and how smart he was, or how funny he was, or how he let you have his jacket, it was pretty obvious.”

Jihyun freezes in place. She looks down again and red stains start appearing on her cheeks.

“So yeah, I didn’t exactly want to talk about him with you.” This really isn’t turning out the way you thought it would.

“I- I didn’t realize,” you barely hear her whisper, “I wasn’t doing it on purpose.”

“Did you also just didn’t realize that it would’ve been nice to tell me that they were going out?” Their names aren’t said out loud, but Jihyun knows what you’re talking about, “I had to found out myself, and everyone knew except for me, stupid old me who was obliviously still hung up on him.”

“I’m sorry.” If you weren’t so angry, maybe you’d take pity on her and stop arguing, but at this moment, it just makes you madder.

“Do you know how horrible it is to see the girl who used to give you insecurities and the guy you’ve liked for years be together? Or how hard it is not to cry in that moment? Surrounded by other people who don’t know how you feel, while the only person who did know just ignores you?” Tears start blurring your vision, but you don’t let them fall, you can’t. “Luckily I don’t like him anymore, but the guilt is killing me.”

“She asked me not to tell anyone, they weren’t serious at first.”

“You could’ve just told me beforehand that he was seeing someone, you didn’t have to tell me who it was.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Jihyun looks at you in the eyes for the first time in minutes, her eyes also glittery with tears.

“And yesterday, I felt so exposed, like you only wanted me to confess so you could win a stupid argument, like my feelings didn’t matter at all.”

“I really wasn’t trying to do that, I’m serious.”

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted or didn’t want to do, that’s how it made me feel.”

“I’m sorry.” The front door opens on the other side of the house and a chorus of voices reaches your ears. What a time to have a full house again.

You both look inside at the first sound, and you can feel her eyes on you again a second after, but you can’t turn your head, you can’t look at her, not right now. Without looking back, your feet walk you off to the beach, maybe with a load off your shoulders, but a little more broken than before.

A walk alone might just be what you need. Tears don’t fall, the wind blowing them off before they can. By the time you come back, you find someone else alone on the porch, and it’s almost like the universe wants you to suffer today.

Minghao stands in the same place you were before, with his body resting on the rail and looking at the ocean. He sees you at the distance and waves, but you can only find the energy to give him half a smile.

It’s impossible to ignore him now, so you walk over to him and stand by his side in silence. But that doesn’t last long. Something in you seems to want to let go today, free you from everything you’ve been holding inside for so long. At this moment, revealing to him how you felt seems like the best option, and you don’t argue with your brain about it.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” your words catch his attention, and he turns his head to you, but you stay still looking ahead, “but you don’t have to say anything back, it’s just so I can let it go, okay?”

Minghao nods slowly, confused by your words but listening, nevertheless.

“I used to really like you, you know.” Your gaze catches his for a second before going back, “I don’t anymore, but yeah, I just wanted to get it off my chest.”

His mouth opens, as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His silence doesn’t scare you like you thought it would. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, and I don’t expect you to say anything.”

“I just… I didn’t know.” He sounds apologetic as he replies. Maybe it’s better that he didn’t know, it would be embarrassing if he or anyone else knew.

“We never talked about what happened between us.” It pains you to remember, but now you have to finish what you started, “but it meant something to me, I know for you it was probably nothing, because you started seeing Sami right after, and don’t get me wrong you two are perfect together I’m not trying to interfere, but yeah, it really hurt me that you just pretended that everything was normal after.” You finish with a sigh of relief. Everything you’ve been holding onto is now out in the open, and you’ve never felt so relieved, like you could finally breathe.

“I was an ass.” His statement is surprising. “I don’t have any excuse for what I did, I was truly an ass, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you were.” You joke as you turn around, and he chuckles. You catch a glimpse of the living room through the window and see Mingyu sitting on the couch with Chan and Jeonghan. The three are paying attention to Vernon, who’s standing up telling a story, making dramatic movements with his arms.

“Are you okay?” Minghao asks and catches your attention again.

“I had a fight with Jihyun.” You don’t want to tell him, and you hope he doesn’t ask about it further. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” It’s a little awkward, but there’s nothing you can do now. You told him what you had to, and he apologized. “I’m gonna go inside then, is everything okay between us?” He’s almost at the door when he asks.

“Definitely, and sorry I dumped all of that out of nowhere.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” With that, he finally goes in and joins the guys on the couch.

After dinner’s over and everyone moved from the dining room and onto the couches, you’re left alone picking everything up and doing the dishes. After three days of cooking every meal, you collectively chose to order from a local restaurant instead, so luckily there's not much to clean.

Dinner was awkward as it has never been. Jihyun couldn’t look you in the eyes, even if she tried to act as if nothing happened. And not a word came out of your mouth, besides when you offered to do the dishes. No one else probably noticed the weird energy in the room, but to you it was suffocating.

As you’re putting the glasses on the sink, Mingyu re-enters the room. You try not to pay too much attention to him as he walks over to you, even if your skin tingles every time he’s around.

“Do you wanna go for a walk around town?” He has to crouch down to whisper in your ear.

“Right now? I promised to do the dishes.” The idea excites you for sure. The house has been weighing you down all day, and spending time alone with Mingyu is an activity you’re starting to love too much these days. But you also fear what everyone might say if you leave out of nowhere.

“We’ll get someone else to do it.” You’re not usually this easy to convince, but for him it’s suddenly too easy.

“Fine, but you do the talking.” He chuckles as he motions for you to follow him.

His back is hypnotizing as you walk behind him. His hair is damp from the quick shower he went to take right after he finished his plate. The woody smell of his cologne reaches you strongly, and you fear it may become your favorite smell ever.

You manage to get past everyone that’s lounging on the living room without getting noticed, but as Mingyu’s about to open the front door, Chan comes out of the bathroom and bumps into you, questioning look on his face. Before he can ask anything, Mingyu tells him that you two will go out and to please do the dishes. Chan's brows don’t stop frowning, but in the end, he lets you go out, agreeing with a groan.

It's the first time you’ve been out of the house for the last few days. The supply runs that were done you didn’t go, and the beach is kind of a part of the house, so it doesn’t count. The fresh night air hits you when you step on the street, and with Mingyu by your side, you no longer feel suffocated, you can finally breathe.

When Mingyu starts walking in one direction, you follow him. Since him, Chan and their family have been coming here every summer for their entire lives, he knows the town pretty well and you trust him to guide you.

You walk around the streets for a while, talking about trivial things, telling each other anecdotes and joking around, getting to know each other more than you were able the past few days. Because even if you spent quite some time together, it was always situational, but right now, alone with no one you know around, it’s much easier to let go.

The town feels cozy and warm, like the hometown from a Christmas movie. It’s very quiet and you don’t encounter many people, only the occasional old couple that goes out for a walk or few people walking their dogs.

“How come I’ve never met you before? I went to your house multiple times.” You ask when you decide to sit down at a park.

Such a strong presence like his is hard to ignore, but somehow, after all these years of being friends with his brother, you only heard about him, never met. Your friends would talk about him from time to time, and you were always itching to meet him, but it was like he was never there.

“I let Chan have his space when he has people over.” He shrugs as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, but it’s something that’s been plaguing your head ever since you were introduced.

“But you've met the others?”

“They're at our house a lot, a little more than I'd like if I'm being honest.” You both chuckle at his statement.

“Yeah, they can be a little annoying and loud but that’s why I like them, they can take your mind off other things.” A lot of times, when you were having a rough day or you were sad about something, having fun with them would make you forget about everything. Focusing on a stupid cooking competition Gyuri made up or playing a new card game Jeonghan discovered, those would become your favorite days.

“I know you said you don’t really like Minghao for some reason, but what about the rest? Don't you like them?” You’ve seen him talk with everyone by now, so you’re just curious.

“Is it bad that I don’t care about them enough? To have an opinion on them I mean. They're just my brother's friends.”

“Are you saying you don’t have an opinion about me?” Deep down, you really want to know what he thinks about you, and why he seems to want to spend time with you out of all the others.

“I'd like to think you’re not just my brother’s friend by now.” That could mean a lot of things, but it doesn’t stop your stomach from contracting and a smile from appearing on your face.

“That does not answer my question!” You push him lightly to the side, so he doesn’t see the tiniest blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I already told you I like you the most out of everyone at the house.” He keeps finding the words to make your mind collapse and saying them so nonchalantly.

“You only said that to make me feel better because I was crying.”

“I mean it.” The poor lighting at the park doesn’t prevent you from seeing the truthfulness in Mingyu’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you out here with me if I didn’t.”

“That’s good.” You respond through a smile, and you see his smile form in his eyes before the rest of his face joins.

“Why?”

“You might be becoming my favorite too.” The confession shocks you as it leaves your mouth, and you regret it instantly. But when you see him getting shy, and even detect a little blush on his ears, it proves worth it. “Should we get back? It’s getting really late.”

The walk back is just as calm and comforting as before. But the difference is you’re much more aware of Mingyu by your side. How his hand slightly brushes yours every now and then, sparking electricity that runs through your veins and birthing just a tiny bit of hope that he’ll connect them for once. How your steps coordinate even if his legs are much longer than yours. You don’t care if your being quiet, not with him.

“I have seen you around at my house, I just never went over and said hi.” He confesses after a few minutes. “I really should’ve, we could’ve met sooner.” There’s a tone of regret in his voice, and his eyes shine at the possibility.

“You’d like that?” His words warm up your insides and you can’t resist the smile that breaks on your face as you look at him.

“Yeah.” His eyes shine as they meet yours, entranced. “I feel like an asshole. Chan always invited me to hang out with you guys when I was home, but I always refused, I don't know why.”

“I get it.” You both look at the empty road ahead, breaking the eye contact before you trip and fall. “I probably would’ve done the same.”

“But, eventually I met everyone, except for you.”

“Maybe we were meant to meet this way.” Your choice of words makes him look at you with curiosity. “Like maybe if we met before you wouldn’t have spared me a second thought and you wouldn’t have asked me to ride with you on the way here.”

“You believe in destiny and that stuff?” There’s no mocking tone on his voice, but you’re still careful with your answer.

“Something like that, more like the universe prepares us for our future, like we go through things for a reason.” You feel a little stupid talking about it out loud, but Mingyu won’t judge you. “I try to see the good in the bad, is it silly?”

“I do believe in destiny, so if it’s silly then I’m fucked too.” His joke takes a laugh out of you and your eyes connect again. “You look really pretty when you smile.”

“Oh, shut up!” You avoid his eyes by looking down, but your red stained cheeks reveal his effect on you. Why is he saying all of these things all of the sudden? The talk about wishing to meet sooner and destiny already had your stomach filled with butterflies, but his sudden flirting makes your insides want to explode.

“Missed it today.” You look up slowly at him. “You looked down at dinner earlier, did something happen?”

“I impulsively talked with Jihyun, and it didn’t end well.” You start fidgeting with your fingers, embarrassed by your behavior. “She tried to apologize but, in the moment, it didn’t feel genuine to me, so I kinda just stormed off.”

“At least you got to tell her what you felt.” Your head tilts like you can’t believe what he’s saying. “See the good in the bad, like you said.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You huff, but the release of all those pent-up feelings did feel relieving. “And I also talked to Minghao after all.”

“Oh yeah I saw you guys talking earlier, how did that go?” It’s disappointing to see you’re already back at the front of the house. You don’t want the night to end, you wanna keep carelessly talking with Mingyu forever.

“Better I think.” You shrug as he lets you in. “I told him that I used to like him.” He follows right behind you as you walk towards your rooms. The lights are all turned off, the silence interrupted by your steps and your voices. No one’s up beside you two. “It was awkward but at least I got it off my chest.”

“Used to? You don’t like him anymore?” Mingyu asks with curiosity. A tiny glint of hope reveals in his eyes waiting for your response.

When you think about why you liked Minghao, you can’t really think of much. Memories of times he’d remember details about you or say casual flirty things come to mind, but is that enough to like someone? Times when he straight up ignored you to go after his friends, or when he couldn’t even say hi to you when you saw each other in college always made you doubt.

“I don’t know if I ever really liked him actually.” Saying it out loud feels almost freeing.

“How so?” It’s scary to open up to someone like you’re doing with Mingyu, but for some reason you find it easy to tell him things you’ve never said out loud.

“I think I just liked the idea of a guy I found attractive liking me, even if he never actually did.” You always thought he was attractive, and when he’d say little flirty things to you your stomach your burn up. But before that started you didn’t think about him in that way. “I don’t know if it was all in my head or not.”

“Any guy would be really stupid not to like you.” He stands with his back against the wall beside his door, looking down at you with the most honesty you’ve ever seen in his eyes.

“You keep saying things like that.” Confusing you, giving you hope. The wall hits you as you stand back, staring at him in the same position he is. Both beside your doors, you could end the night right now, stop this back and forth between you, but something keeps you out here, longing for him to do something.

“I mean what I say.” It feels like a challenge was laid down in front of you, but you want him to take the first step.

“I know.” He smirks at your words.

“Good.” His eyes stare so intensely, like he’s trying to read your mind, to know every thought passing through your mind. He’s usually very hypnotizing, but right now, under the moonlight, flirty haze and smirk adorning his face, you can’t look away.

Everything around you blurs as you stare at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence, to make a move, to do anything. Every second it passes the tension becomes more and more palpable, even the tiniest move might snap it. But the both of you stay static, only a faint noise of rain beginning to fall filling the silence.

Seconds feel like minutes, and every second that passes that Mingyu does nothing gets more disappointing. Maybe it was all in your head after all.

Defeated, you throw a little smile and a muffled ‘good night' at him as your hand turns your doorknob, and you finally break eye contact, entering your room slowly as his face drops.

When you close the door, you regret it instantly. You stand there, listening attentively for any noise. Is he still standing there? Maybe you should’ve done something, maybe he was also waiting for you.

There’s no noise coming from outside, and as more seconds pass, you lose hope. You don’t even breathe in case it blocks any possible noise from reaching your ears, but it’s pointless.

You take a step closer to the door and open it slightly, stupidly hoping he might be waiting for you, but the hallway’s completely empty.

Once again, you deluded yourself into thinking an attractive guy might like you, even if this time the “signs” seemed so much clearer, but it clearly didn’t mean anything. You don’t regret spending time with him though, he actually helped you a lot these past few days, it’s your fault you thought it meant something else.

DAY SIX

After tossing and turning all night, sleeping in short periods of time while your mind over thinks instead of resting, you finally check the time and see it’s a normal hour to wake up.

You won’t admit, you kinda hoped Mingyu had texted you during the night. Your stomach contracts as you remember how he gave you his number a few days ago:

Everyone was sitting on the couches hanging out. It was early in the afternoon, but no one had really any plans. Mingyu was sitting in between you and Gyuri. They were talking about some band they both like. You grabbed your phone to google something he said, sure he got a fact wrong. When you smugly showed it to him, he huffed defeated, and grabbed your phone to read it again. But then you noticed he started typing something really fast. You looked at Gyuri by his side with a questioning look on your face, but she just raised her eyebrows teasingly after looking at what he was doing. When he returned the phone to you, it was on the contact list, a new one stood with his name on it.

Doesn’t really matter now, as you probably won’t use it after the vacation is over.

A smell of some kind of breakfast welcomes you as you open your door, someone is cooking something really yummy, but before you move forward to check who it is, Mingyu’s open door draws your attention. Judging by the time and his empty bedroom, it’s most likely he will be the one standing in the kitchen right now, and you can’t stand to face him. Not after last night. Not after you embarrassed yourself.

The sound of your stomach growling reminds you to feed it, and you remember a cute cafe you saw the night before while walking.

You manage to head out without the mystery person hearing and walk to where you remember the shop was. The sun in the sky warms up the atmosphere, you almost can’t notice the heavy rain it poured all night. As you near the cafe, you see they sell Jihyun’s favorite cupcakes. Maybe if you get her a few she’ll be unable to ignore you.

Ignoring Mingyu might be an easy task for these next few days, but Jihyun is someone you can’t ignore until the issue doesn’t bother you anymore. One of the thoughts that kept you up all night was how to fix things with her, you were both wrong, so it’s only right to approach her and talk things through again. What you didn’t expect was seeing Jihyun enter the same shop while you’re paying.

You make eye contact, knowing you’re both here with the same purpose. As you walk towards her, she doesn’t walk away from you, and that confirms she also wants to talk things through.

The shop has a few tables placed outside, and after Jihyun sits on one you sit in front of her. It's awkward as you put the cupcakes you just bought in front of her.

“I’m-” your voices overlap as you speak the same words. You both laugh awkwardly, and she motions for you to talk first.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday, it was childish of me to just walk away and not letting you explain, and I shouldn’t have dumped all that to you out of nowhere, I’m sorry.” Afraid of her reaction, the words leave your mouth so fast you barely register what you say.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” her response is surprising, as you expected to be the only one apologizing, “you were right about what you said, I was a bad friend for not telling you, and I shouldn’t have asked you in front of everyone if you were still in love with him, that was really stupid.” In love. It's weird to hear that about Minghao again, after so many days of getting over him, those words attached to him feel odd.

“And I’m sorry for not noticing that you and Chan liked each other, you really are perfect for one another by the way.”

“Thanks,” your comment breaks a laugh out of her, and you can finally breathe, “so are we ok? I really hate fighting, especially with you.” As the atmosphere relaxes between you two, Jihyun finally grabs one of the cupcakes you bought and starts eating it.

“Yes, I hate fighting too let’s not do that ever again please.” Making up was so easy, you feel ashamed for walking out on her, but now you’ll never do it again.

“Great cause I have something to ask you,” the relief you felt quickly turns into curiosity and you look at her expectantly, “well, it’s more so to confirm Chan's suspicions that a question but, do you have something going on with his brother?”

Red rushes to your face and your stomach drops in shock. Your shyness is a dead giveaway and Jihyun catches up in no time.

“Oh my god he was right?! You must tell me everything now!” Excitement shines through Jihyun’s voice, talking loudly and earning a few weird looks from people passing by.

“Nothing happened, I guess we’re together often and Chan noticed,” the disappointment on your voice is noticeable, “he’s really nice.”

“Channie told me yesterday that you two were acting weird and asked me if you had told me anything.” Jihyun notices something’s wrong, she stretches her hand to take yours, “did he do something?”

“It’s more about what he didn’t do”. The questioning look she gives you urges you to continue, “we went on a walk last night after dinner and Chan caught us before leaving, and I just,” remembering everything you talked about, how he wished he’d met you before, it’s a new kind of pain you’ve never felt before, “I thought he might like me or something, but it was stupid.”

“You know, for Chan to think there was something between you, I don’t think it’s nothing.” Jihyun always tries to be positive, and you do too, but this time you just can’t.

“Well, he had the chance, and he didn’t do anything, I was giving him bedroom eyes and everything!” Now you’re starting to get mad. At you. At him. At you for believing this was more than a passing friendship. At him for being so kind and hot and nice and handsome and a good listener and everything a girl could ask for.

“Maybe he got nervous!”

“He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get nervous around girls.”

And you’re right. He isn’t. So why did you have such an effect on him that he couldn’t make a move?

From Mingyu’s point of view everything was different. He understood after a few days that he liked you a little more than he should, and it only intensified after you watched the sunrise together.

After your date that shouldn’t be called a date at all, but it felt like one to him, all he wanted was to kiss you, to prove that you’re worthy of someone being head over heels for you. He had been thinking about it the whole night, but in that moment, he froze.

You were looking at him so expectantly, with droopy eyes like you wanted to eat him. It was too much for him, and he’s beating himself for it since.

As soon as you closed your door, his feet automatically lead him to the windy beach, with only the tiny porch roof to shield him from the storm, but he didn’t care.

In the morning, he woke up before everyone as usual and started making breakfast for the two of you, hoping you won’t hate him, hoping he didn’t lose his chance. But then he saw you sprint out the front door like you were running away from him.

All day Mingyu’s been waiting to get you alone, but you were always so busy, talking with someone else or helping to clean up so the house is squeaky clean before everyone leaves tomorrow. If he doesn’t get to explain himself and make it right, he fears he probably won’t see you again for a long time.

As your last night at the house, everyone decided to have a goodbye party. And by ‘party’ you mean a hang out with no alcohol, because no one wanted to drive six hours while hang over and because you all spent the whole day cleaning and tidying everything up. Just hang out, playing games, maybe one beer or two, not enough to get anyone drunk.

Sitting on the couches as usual, you can feel Mingyu’s gaze piercing through you from across the room. You did avoid him all day, making yourself busy whenever you saw him around, but you didn’t think he noticed.

Your attempts to evade his overwhelming presence are pointless. You don’t look at him, focusing on whoever is talking or pretending to look for something on your phone, but every time you stretch to grab something off the table, he coincidentally goes for it too.

The distance between you might not be noticeable for the naked eye, just casually sitting across from each other, you’re not one to talk much so it’s usual for you to look at who’s talking and not interrupt them. Mingyu’s just the same, but his eyes seem to have got a life of their own and wander to you at your every movement.

It’s killing Mingyu inside to know that you’re avoiding him. He knows he fucked up, but fears that if he confronts you, you’ll just deny it. There's not much he can do in this group setting.

His opportunity arises when everyone decides to do a movie night. It’s weird to watch a movie on your last night, but he won’t oppose to it if it’s an unanimous decision. And when you’re tasked with the popcorn, he knows it’s time to talk to you without anyone hearing. He tags along, throwing some lame excuse to the others saying he’ll help you.

You object, you’ll do just fine on your own, but your legs betray you and don’t stop even when he insists. You’re both inside the kitchen in no time and there’s no running back.

“I’ll just heat the bags on the microwave, and you can take them to the coffee table.” You avoid looking at him too much, trying to focus as best as you can, but the popcorn bags are nowhere to be found. You look inside every cabinet, doing a very rigorous search, anything to keep the interaction as short as possible.

“Let me help you.” As the kind man Mingyu is, he attempts to join you in the search, but if he gets a mere inch closer to you, you might lose it.

“No, it’s fine I can find them.” It comes out harsher than you intend, but at least he backs away.

There’s a minute of silence, only your huffs of frustration can be heard.

“I’m sorry.”

You stop in your tracks, search already forgotten as you scavenge through your mind to find any usable words to respond.

“About what?” You huff incredulously.

“About last night.” Mingyu looks small as he waits for your reply.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” The big kitchen suddenly feels too small, the four walls imprisoning you. You ignore his figure as you walk over to the tiny storage room right beside the kitchen. Maybe there are forgotten popcorn bags there and you can finally end this conversation. But Mingyu's committed to his cause and follows you.

“But there is.” It’s almost annoying how adamant he is about whatever he wants to say. You don’t want him to pity you, it’s already embarrassing enough.

“It’s fine, really.” Mingyu followed you inside the tiny room, and when you turn around to face him, he’s dangerously close. Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to not have another reaction.

“It’s not,” barely a meter separates you from Mingyu, too close for your liking but at the same time too far. He realizes and moves forward half a step, so now if you concentrate enough, you can feel his breath as he speaks, “I know you’ve been avoiding me all day because of what happened... I shouldn’t have-”

“Look, maybe I've been avoiding you but it’s because I want to keep the last bit of pride I have left, I thought you wanted to kiss me and you didn’t, it’s okay, you don’t have to pity m-”

The words stop coming out of your mouth a millisecond before Mingyu grabs your face and smashes his lips against yours with force.

The kiss lasts merely seconds, but you melt under his touch instantly. Mingyu’s lips mold over yours perfectly, pillowy and soft, but with authority.

He backs away slowly, your eyes still closed, and your foreheads connected, he gives you a peck before finally separating.

“I wanted to kiss you, I mean, I want to, like all the time.” You watch him with glossy eyes, still dizzy from the kiss.

Your bodies are close like they’ve never been before, you have to move your head up to even see his face. The pumps of your heart are so strong he might even feel them. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your brain makes no sense of what’s happening, and words don’t seem to want to get out of you.

“I should've done that yesterday.” Mingyu can barely contain his smile as he confesses.

“Yeah, you should've!” You chuckle as you jokingly slap him on the chest, “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” his hands sneak around your waist, fingers creeping inside your t-shirt to touch your bare skin, “you make me nervous.”

“Right, but you don't seem so nervous now,” as his fingers trace circles on your sides, your arms wrap around his neck naturally. Your faces get ever so slightly closer by the second, your chin up and his head down, eyes connected in a trance that draws a smirk on his face.

“Do you forgive me?” He breaks the eye contact, gaze focused on your parted lips.

“Hmm, I don’t know… I’m not convinced yet.” It’s your turn to smirk, trying to get a reaction out of him.

Mingyu’s eyes change before something takes over in him. He wraps his arms around your waist and erases the little distance between your bodies, connecting your lips in a frenzy kiss, nothing like the sweet one before. Your arms hug his neck, bringing his face and body impossibly closer to yours.

You sigh when his hands start traveling across your back as he deepens the kiss, licking your lower lip and tangling your tongues together. His arms hug your waist up, forcing you on your tiptoes to reach his height while your hands on his neck push him down. Like a game of push and pull, both of you fighting for dominance, one pushes their body against the other and the other pushes you both closer, if even possible.

Inside you feel like exploding. You knew you wanted him, but your body wants more, you need more. From the first touch the only thing on your mind is him, his hands on you, your chests flushed together, his lips on yours with force, where they belong. Everywhere he touches feels like it’s on fire. When his hands sneak below your t-shirt and his fingers wander around the unexplored territory, you sigh on his mouth again and you feel his smirk against your lips.

The metal shelves dig onto your back, but you don’t care, all that’s on your mind is him, until some lonely can falls to the ground and makes an inexplicable loud noise that alerts not only the two of you.

“Is everything okay?” Chan’s question comes from far away, but it’s enough to make you jump and push Mingyu away from your face.

“Yeah! We just,” You’re too out of breath to speak more than a couple of words, “couldn’t find the freaking popcorn.”

“Doesn’t Mingyu remember where we keep it?” You turn to catch Mingyu as he smugly retrieves his hand from behind your head to reveal the bags you’ve been looking for.

“Need any help?” Chan’s voice gets dangerously closer.

“No need! Thank you!” You take your chance to snatch the popcorn out of Mingyu's hands and start walking away from him and towards the kitchen, “Mingyu’s so annoying!” You hear Chan's laugh as he leaves.

“But you like me as I am,” Mingyu whispers in your ear, already caught up beside you, smirk so prominent you can even hear it.

“Is it too late to retract?”

“Yep, you’ll have to deal with me forever now.”

“Forever huh?” The humming of the microwave accompanies the moment as you turn around to find Mingyu standing against the kitchen island, arms stretched as if he’s showing off his muscles. He definitely catches you ogling him, but that’s what’s fun.

The knowledge that you’re able to make him nervous is too powerful. Your hunger translates in the way you look at him, standing against the sink in the same way he is, you look at him exactly the same way as the night before, lust and want almost tangible.

You stand still, waiting for him again, but this time he doesn’t chicken out. Slowly, he steps closer to you and cages you in between his arms. The air becomes too thick, atmosphere heavy as you look up at him expectantly.

The microwave beeps behind you but none of you react, too in your own bubble to care about the outside world. His eyes switch between yours, with his eyebrows raised and lightly biting his lower lip, using no words but telling you everything.

His hands sneak around your waist, and you don’t fight the smile cracking on your lips. You move your head forward, craving his lips on yours again.

“Guys what’s taking so long?” You’ve never separated faster. You barely get to turn around and open the microwave before Chan appears inside the kitchen, notoriously troubled. A few steps by your left, Mingyu searches for bowls, his back facing the both of you as to not reveal his blushed face.

Chan’s eyes switch between watching his brother and watching you, waiting for an answer as you grab the piping hot bag and dump the freshly done popcorn into a bowl. The silence is telling, even to him.

“Sorry, we’ll be right there.” Chan grabs the bowl reluctantly, clearly aware that something happened, just not sure what. As he walks away, he even turns his head around to analyze the two of you for a second.

The movie democratically chosen is quite interesting at first, but after some boring scenes, the little power of concentration you have evaporates. Mingyu’s body is next to yours, legs touching and his arm resting on the back of the couch. What you want need is so close yet so far.

You sit back so he can wrap his arm around you without raising any suspicions, goosebumps run across your entire body when he finally does.

Not engaged in the movie at all, you opt for looking at the man by your side. Mingyu notices your gaze as soon as it lands on him, but he pretends he doesn’t. Everything about your current situation is making him lose his mind. The way you keep searching for his touch, even with all your friends surrounding you, inviting him to sit so close to you, not hiding as you stare at him, everything is making him nervous. The nervousness from the night before crawls back onto his body, because of you, his brother’s best friend, here, how you’re making him feel. He just doesn’t know how to act around you.

As he wraps his arms around you, you snuggle closer to him, only a blanket hiding your closeness from prying eyes. The movie’s long forgotten, with your head on Mingyu’s shoulder, you can only concentrate the rise and fall of his chest, his soft touches on the side of your arm. His warmth is hypnotizing, prompting your hand to place itself on the uncovered skin of his thigh, just above his knee. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches at your touch, goosebumps reveal around the cold of your hand. He expects for you to move it, but your hand stays there, squeezing softly, much too close to his knee, for a few minutes.

When a fight scene breaks on the movie, you take advantage of the noise and the initial shock, and move your palm slightly up Mingyu’s thigh, over his shorts but closer to where his groin starts to wake up.

Judging by Mingyu’s face, there’s nothing suspicious about you two. He stays looking up front, pretending to pay attention to the screen, while inside all he can think about is your hand and what you’re planning to do with it. The expectations excite him just as much as they scare him. All he wants is your body close to his, making you feel through his actions just how much he likes you, but he didn’t think you’d start something while surrounded by all your friends. It’s dark, only the movie lights up the room, and you’re on the far end on the couch where it would be hard for anyone to see you, but it’s still quite exposing. Someone could catch you, you don’t seem to care, and it excites him more than it should.

“I know what you’re doing,” you barely hear his whisper through all the noise.

“Is it working?” Your thumb slowly grazes his skin as he flexes his thigh muscles.

“I have probably minutes of self-control left, so we’ll see.” He backs his head away again and you turn to watch his reaction as your hand moves over his already semi hard cock. Only a few touches and he’s already halfway up. It fills you with pride to know how much of an effect you have on him. Big, strong, serious Mingyu, coming apart under your hand.

Your palm moves up and down his covered length slowly, feeling it getting harder under your touch. His reactions are so minimal that you only notice because you pay attention closely.

What you didn’t anticipate was his hand creeping up your thigh. Slowly, his fingers find their way inside the tiny shorts you put on, drawing circles on your inner thigh, nowhere near enough to your core but still sending waves of arousal through your whole body.

Half of the run time of the movie passes, but your touches stay over your clothes, teasing, barely grazing. You stop palming him the second his index fingers ghosts over your covered clit, your breath hitches and you’re too shocked to keep up your movements. As the seconds pass, Mingyu runs his fingers through your covered folds, feeling how wet you already are.

The movie’s suddenly silent, the main characters looking at each other in the eyes. It's probably a very important scene, but you only concentrate on not making any noise as Mingyu works you up under the blanket.

With your hand still motionless on Mingyu's cock, he stretches until his head reaches your ears when the scene changes and noise fills the room again.

“Let’s go to my room.” There’s no hesitation in his voice.

“You don’t wanna watch the ending?” You tease back. You don’t even know what happened in the movie this whole time.

“If I don’t have my fingers inside you in the next five minutes, I might go crazy.” His statement leaves your jaw hanging as he, contrary to what he just said, removes his hand from you.

“I’m sorry guys, gotta drive tomorrow,” Mingyu suddenly gets up and everyone's confused eyes are on him, “don’t wanna be up until too late.” And with those words, he’s out of the living room in no time.

Everyone's eyes, including Chan’s, go back to the screen, but you stay still. Should you follow after him right now? It’ll be too suspicious, but do you really care?

You wait until the scene changes, as to not seem too obvious, and fake a loud yawn.

“Sorry guys I think I'm calling it a night,” every move you make, you make sure to do it slowly, to show how tired you are, “I don’t wanna fall asleep on the couch.”

As you take a few steps, Jihyun calls for you, “But it’s about to end!”

“Oh! I’ve already seen it it’s fine,” you lie as you face the hallway again, your back turned to Jihyun so your face doesn’t expose you.

You can hear her voice saying something like liar! You wanted to watch it! But you don’t turn back, because you can see Mingyu waiting by his door. He's about to speak but you run and smash your lips with his before he can utter a word.

Your bodies are so tangled together you stumble backwards, but luckily Mingyu manages to catch you before you fall and turns you both inside his room. With his hand pillowing your head, he pins you against the now closed door and you both laugh lightly at your clumsiness. But as soon as your eyes land on each other again, it’s like you’re both hypnotized because your mouths attach again like magnets.

His hair feels soft between your fingers, long enough for you to tug at it lightly. He groans against your mouth and now it’s your turn to smirk. That ignites something in him, because he presses you against the wall at the next tug you give him.

He’s everywhere. His thighs intertwined with yours, his firm chest against yours, one hand on your waist and the other on your neck.

The feeling of his lips is addicting, and now that you’ve finally tasted him you never want to go back. His mouth glides over yours with familiarity, like it’s something he's been doing for years, like he knows exactly how to get you head over heels for him.

You chase his lips as he steps back just a little, and you instantly miss the warmth of his body. The only light source in his room is the moonlight beaming though the window, but it’s enough to admire Mingyu’s messy hair and blood red lips. Your hands stay around his neck and his on your waist, neither of you wanting to stop touching the other.

A strand of hair blocks your view for a second before he brushes it back and tucks it behind your ear.”

“Did you mean all that?” Not his words, but his actions. Kissing you. Did it mean the same for him as it did for you?

“I've been wanting to do that for days,” his hand caresses the side of your face gently and you lean into his touch.

His lips are on your again without warning and you melt at his touch, giving in to him. His lips guide yours slowly, taking his time savoring you. Every move of his has a purpose, every deliberate touch makes you more needy for him.

He's in total control, caging your body against the door, pressing himself against you so you feel his almost fully hard dick against your upper thigh.

His mouth travels down to your neck and makes you gasp, leaving damp kisses on your sensitive skin. Your hands play with the hem of his black t-shirt, and you feel his smirk against your neck. His hands travel all around your body, from your neck to your back to your waist and your ass. You feel him everywhere every second and the heat inside you intensifies per second.

The only thing on your mind is having him. Your hands start lifting his shirt up, he smirks against your lips before separating briefly to take it off and slip his shoes off. You do the same.

You barely get a glimpse of his shirtless body before he’s on you again. Lips on lips, skin on skin, your insides pulsate with need feeling every muscle of his against you. His biceps tense under your touch when he picks you up by your thighs effortlessly.

Legs wrapped around his waist, Mingyu walks with you on his arms towards his bed. He makes sure to drop you softly before getting on top of you. His mouth finds your neck again as he lets you feel his hard bulge against your core. You grind against him, eliciting a moan out of the both of you, but it’s not enough.

With your legs still wrapped around his waist, you press him further against you. Even with the layers of clothes between you, his length grinds deliciously against you, the friction causing the heat inside you to fire up and the idea of having him inside releases a wave of arousal.

“Mingyu!” You intend to draw his attention, but he grinds against you again and it comes out like a moan. He hums against your skin and your fingers on his hair and back encourage him further. His hands roam your body until they reach your poorly clothed chest, but the lousy fabric doesn’t stop him from groping with excitement.

“Mingyu take off your pants.” You manage to grab his head to make him look at you, and he follows immediately.

You take your pants and bra off easily and prop on your elbows to admire him while he struggles to take his off. His frustration makes you chuckle, but his defined muscles distract you quickly. You saw him in just swim shorts days ago, you knew what to expect, but it still shocks you how broad his shoulders are, how his pecs flex at the tiniest movement. The size of his biceps are probably three times the size of yours.

When he finally throws his pants away, he aims to get on top of you again, but you think ahead. You move to the side, so he drops on the bed, and you get on top of his big thighs. The little fabric between you allows you to feel just how hard he is under you, hitting all the right places, making you moan while wetness gushes out of you.

Your hands travel slowly through his chest, fingers tracing his muscles, torturing him with your slow pace and making him squirm at your touch. His little sighs and whines are music to your ears, reaching the deepest parts inside you and ruining your panties more and more.

Proud of the effect you have on him, you grind softly and feel his hard twitch under you. But your fun doesn’t last. Mingyu grabs you by the neck and lowers your body until your faces are millimeters apart, keeping your hands from moving. He attempts to kiss you, but you grind on him again, causing him to moan in your mouth.

“You’re making me crazy,” his lips graze yours when he speaks, and you have to fight every internal scream telling you to kiss him back.

“Good.” You smirk as you shimmy down until your core is no longer sitting on top of his, leaving kisses down his neck while your hand travels down to palm him.

He sighs when your hand sneaks under his underwear to feel his now fully hard cock. Your hand barely wraps around him as you slide it up and down his length slowly, smearing the precum coming out from the tip.

Every little reaction Mingyu gives you encourages you to continue. Every moan when you squeeze harder, every whine when you pay attention to the tip, every sigh when you leave tiny bite marks around his clavicle, where no one else would be able to see them, but hopefully you.

Your wrist works hard as you notice Mingyu’s breath getting heavier and faster, and the fire inside you becomes impossible to ignore.

“Do you have a condom?” You ask as you slowly stop your movements. The ache between your legs keeps you from concentrating on anything else. If he wanted to, he could slide right in with how wet you are.

“Maybe,” the raise of his eyebrows tells you he’s up to no good and you look at him questioningly, “there’s something I gotta do first.” He slots between your legs with a smirk, hands on both sides of your waist and mouth getting closer to your ear.

“Gonna make you cum so hard you won’t even know your name.” His lips leave a trail of kisses below your ear to your mouth, and you sigh as he connects your lips once again. His hands go down and spread your thighs, taking his time grazing and groping everywhere between your inner thighs except for where you want him the most. You can only sigh and push him more against you, still in shock from his previous words.

One hand ghosts over your somehow still clothed core and you try to grind against it, but he moves it away with a chuckle.

“I need you,” you gasp when his hand presses against your pussy, fingers running up and down your lower lips and teases your hole through your panties, “please Gyu,” the nickname slips out of you with a moan.

“Whatever you want baby,” the not so accidental pet name goes straight to your core, too wet by now.

Mingyu starts a trail of kisses down your jaw to your boobs, paying especial attention to them while helping you out of your panties. You try to press against him, now fully naked, but he pins your hips down with force.

His head goes down leaving wet kisses on your skin and making you needier and needier until he reaches your pulsing core.

“You’re so wet already,” he kisses all around, teasing you endlessly as his hands pins you down so you don’t grind up to him, and his breath fans over your wet hole making you shiver, “so needy for me.”

“I swear if you don’t st-Fuuccck,” his tongue flattens on your core mid-sentence, slowly licking up and down, drowning any thought you might possibly have. He dives into you with no intend of stopping any time soon.

The dreamlike scenario of his head between your legs is in no way comparable to reality. He switches between swirling his tongue around your clit and teasing your entrance, drinking up all the juices you give him.

It's embarrassing how fast you’re getting to your orgasm with just a few minutes of him working you up. You tremble as he tortures your clit with his tongue once again, sucking on it lightly almost making you scream. You don’t care how loud you are, and he loves how you sound, how you moan uncontrollably because of him.

His hair is all disheveled because of your hands, tugging and pressing him closer to your core. He moans as he tastes you, sending vibrations through your whole body.

When you close your legs unconsciously around his head, he spreads you again with force, keeping you from shivering and adding newfound energy to tip you over the edge.

“Feels s-sso good Gyu oh my god,” his tongue teases your hole as his nose perfectly grazes your clit. Your mind is so numb you keep mumbling praises you can’t understand, the only thing you know is your orgasm is so close to snapping, you can almost see it, hear it, taste it.

You tremble in his hold, and he knows you’re close. Your hands on his hair keep him in place as you grind on his face, intensifying everything. He moans as you use him, and the vibrations finally make you snap.

Your legs tremble as his tongue licks you clean of the mix of saliva and your juices. It's when it becomes too much for you that you push his head back, and the sight leaves you more breathless than you already were. His chin is covered in your arousal and his lips are swollen from the work they’ve done.

His head stays on the lower side of your body, kissing your inner thighs as you recover. You can only watch him, his hands touching and massaging every part of your legs he can reach, his lips so close to your core, but teasing around where you’re starting to need him again.

“You look really pretty like this.” His words send shivers down your spine.

“So I usually don’t?” He halts his movements as you tease to look you in the eye but continues after he takes notice of the teasing tone.

“You are always pretty,” you throw your head back against the pillow at his words, “every second of every day,” the kisses on your inner thigh come closer and closer to your core, already gushing with need.

His lips ghost over your folds as he backs away just the tiniest bit to reveal his index finger moving towards his mouth. His eyes connect with yours as he licks his fingers, and the sight almost blocks your airways. You don’t want to stop watching but when his wet finger starts circling around your clit slowly, your eyes shut instinctively.

You feel him collecting your juices when he suddenly dips his finger into your hole. You moan at the intrusion but he’s quick to remove it and he’s back at circling around your wet clit.

He does the motion a few times, finger in then quickly out, circles around your covered clit with the freshly collected juices, and repeat.

“please" only a broken whisper leaves your mouth as your hand stops his movements. Your eyes connect with Mingyu’s after what feels like hours of teasing, and you can see a little smirk forming before following your needs.

His two fingers enter you slowly, letting you feel everything until he’s knuckle deep inside you. You’re so wet and needy from the foreplay that they just slide in.

He stretches your velvety walls perfectly, with a pace hard and deep that has you moaning uncontrollably.

When he finds that perfect spot that has you seeing stars, your hand jolts down to keep his in place and his fingers start abusing your gspot mercilessly. You almost scream when he adds a third finger inside you, squelching sounds filling the rooms with your moans as you get closer and closer to another orgasm.

Your walls begin to spasm around his fingers, letting him know that you're close once again. With your hand freeing his, he thrusts sharper into you, even if your walls close hard around them pushing them out.

All 5 senses explode within you when you feel his tongue toying with your clit again and your second orgasm hits powerfully. His hands help keep you in place as he maintains his movements, prolonging the orgasm as he pleases.

He licks his fingers clean as he climbs on top of you again. Your haze connects with his and you can’t look away as he removes his digits from his mouth and directs them to yours. Almost robotically, you open your mouth to welcome them and lick them clean without breaking eye contact. The mix of your juices and his saliva spike something within you. Your gaze turns to fire as you grab Mingyu by the neck and pull him towards you. Your lips connect with his fingers in between, both of you licking then clean as the same time. Your tongue plays with his fingers, finding his tongue doing the same and intertwining.

Entranced by you, Mingyu backs away once more and can only watch as you lick his fingers like it was his cock. Your eyes still meet his as you swirl your tongue around and eventually stop with a pop.

The speed of light doesn’t compare to how fast Mingyu crashes his lips with yours again. He grabs you by the waist and flips you both so now his back is against the headboard and you're sitting on top of him. His lips guide yours lazily as his hands travel around your naked back, and when you moan when he grinds up to you, he has to stop before he cums straight away.

You’re still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm he gave you to speak, and he just looks at you with a little smile growing on his face. He pecks you sweetly, but when you don’t respond he worries.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” you chuckle as you feel your face turning pink, “you were kind of a beast down there, I need a second.”

“I could do that every day if you let me,” he sounds way too enthusiastic as he begins a trail of wet kisses on your neck. A moan escapes you when his hands find your breasts and your wetness uncomfortably starts to stain his boxers below you.

“Take these off.” You grab the waistline of his boxers to draw Mingyu's attention away from your neck and it works. He slips them off at the speed of light and you're back on top of him.

Your wet folds finally come in contact with his cock and you both moan at the feeling. With his hands on your waist, he aims to kiss you, but you surprise him by grinding on him and he moans on your mouth, your lips barely touching. His veiny cock grazes against your clit deliciously, clouding any coherent thought you may have. Mingyu’s just as gone as you are, with his hands playing with your boobs and your juices wetting his entire cock, he might just be in heaven.

“I’ll cum If you keep going like that,” Mingyu has half the mind to speak up. It’s a warning, but you take it as a challenge.

“What if that’s what I want?” You wrap your arms around his neck as best as you can as you slowly keep grinding on him, trying to hide the fact that it has as much of an effect on you as it does on him, maybe even more.

“Hmm I don’t think that’s what you want.” His left-hand sneaks between your bodies as the other plays with your nipple and you halt your movements. His fingers quickly find your clit and press on it with a little force, making you gasp.

“You can have anything you want, if you just ask.” His hands pleasuring you everywhere simultaneously blur your mind. You can’t find it in you to form a coherent sentence, so you resume your grinding. It's so slow you can feel every drag against you, every vein against your wet folds, his tip perfectly against your clit. You want nothing more than to feel him inside you, stretching you until your walls are shaped like him.

“Need you inside,” your words come out more of a gasp than anything, “please.”

Mingyu’s hands stray away from your body, quickly reaching the small packet that was waiting on his nightstand and rips it open as you move away from his cock to give him some space. He rolls the condom on swiftly and you stop yourself from jumping on him.

His hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders to stabilize you, you slowly sink on his length. Yours and Mingyu’s moans synchronize as his cock stretches your walls, filling you up until you feel him on your throat.

When you completely sink down on him, he reaches so deep you almost have trouble breathing, reaching places you’re just now discovering. You stay still as your gummy walls hug his length tightly, trying to get used to the new stretch. Sensing your hesitation to move, Mingyu kisses you softly, both of you melting into the other’s touch. Your arms wrap themselves around his neck for the millionth time, like they’re meant to be there until the end of time, and the slight movement causes Mingyu to shift inside you.

His lips muffle your moans as one of his hands sneak back down to stimulate your clit once again. His fingers draw circles on you, you can feel your arousal dripping onto him, and little by little, the stretch stops stinging, the feeling replaced by want and need.

Using his body to support you, you lift your hips slowly. His low groans fill your ears as every vein drags inside of you deliciously.

Without warning, you sit back with force, getting a moan out of the both of you. His lust filled eyes watch you in awe as his hands grab your ass while you’re repeating the motion. The addictive hitting of his cock inside you almost makes you not notice how tired you’re getting.

Mingyu stops you once you sink down again, embracing you with his arms and pulling you towards him. Your chests are flushed together again as he kisses you deeply, his tongue quickly encountering yours, and he flips you over.

Your back hits the mattress and he's between your legs again. He begins a slow pace, thrusting into you until his pelvis barely touches your swollen clit and then almost all the way out. The pace continues to be torturous until he finds the spot he’s been looking for and you almost scream, egging him on to hit it again and again and again.

With force, every thrust of his hips has you seeing stars. You can’t control your noises any longer, even mumbling a few phrases you can’t quite decipher, but that Mingyu seems to like.

The bed squeaks and hits the wall repeatedly but neither of you care. With your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails digging on his back, you can only think about the tight knot on your lower stomach about to burst.

His face is so close to yours, but neither of you have the mind to do anything other than moan in each other's mouths. Any sound you make, he replicates, blessing your ears and sending waves of pleasure to your already so close body.

Your walls are tightening so hard that Mingyu has trouble keeping up his fast pace, but after telling him how close you are, he starts pounding on you so hard you have to hug him so stay in place. Caged between your arms and legs, Mingyu’s body is glued to yours, his hot skin burning him on you as he drills your insides and blurs your brain.

“y-you’re so t-tight, pleasse tell me you’re cl-close,” his words barely register on your mind and your brain can’t work out a response, so he makes sure you hear him by putting his mouth next to your ear, but never stopping pounding into you, “are you fucked dumb already?”

His words shoot straight to your core, pulsing tight around him. Mingyu tries to muffle a moan by chuckling, but you already know the effect you have on him.

“s-so close Gyu, wish you-” you clench around him around him as you say, “wish you could come inside.”

Mingyu’s hips stutter at your words, and he has to slow down his pace to not cum right that second, but doesn’t miss the chance to play your little game, “you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me filling you up until you’re so full you start dripping?” His lips leave a trail of goosebumps below your ear, giving you a few kissed around your neck before going back up to look you in the eyes as he continues his tortuously slow thrusts.

“Yes yes I want it so bad,” you have no idea if what you’re saying makes any sense, but the smirk Mingyu shows is worth it.

“You wouldn’t waste a single drop right?” his thrust become hard and pointed after you nod eagerly, hitting your gspot with force after every word that leaves his mouth, “I'd stuff it back into you, and you’d be a good girl and keep it in.”

The pet name combined with the sharp thrusts send you over the edge embarrassingly fast. Without warning, you’re cumming on Mingyu’s cock, moaning all kinds of nonsense, squeezing him so tight it’s hard for him to delay his own orgasm. His thrusts don’t stop, stretching you orgasm and chasing his, and in no time, you feel his dick twitch inside you as his hips stutter with a moan.

He stills inside you, body draped over yours as you both recover. You're so tired your eyes start closing on their own, but Mingyu sliding out of you wakes you up instantly, triggering a quiet moan out of your throat.

You don’t want him to leave, and he catches your worried eyes as he gets up, “I’m going to grab a towel to clean up, I'll be right back,” he reassures you with a soft hand on your thigh.

After he hands you a clean towel, he gets back to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Alone in his bedroom and all cleaned up, you scan around after grabbing his big t-shirt to wear. It's obvious this is the room he uses in their frequent family visits, judging by the framed photos and the few posters on the walls. Even with only the bedside table lamp on, except the clothes recently scattered around the floor, you can see you clean and tidy the room is, his clothes are packed neatly, only a few items still on his desk.

“That looks nice on you,” Mingyu’s voice startles you, and you find him watching you from the bathroom door.

“Thanks, it’s some guys’, you probably don’t know him.” He chuckles, walking towards the bed as you tuck yourself in.

“And who is this mystery guy?” Mingyu asks as he get in bed behind you, embracing you in his arms with your back against his chest.

“It’s this guy who’s totally head over heels for me,” you turn around in his arms to find him smiling, “and I really like him too.” His eye wrinkles appear as his smile widens, but you don’t notice as you’re too shy to look at him again after your confession.

“He’s really lucky then.” Mingyu, aware of your shyness, grabs your chin and makes you look at him, “do you really?” The question freezes you in place as lock his serious gaze. He’s dying of nervousness inside, worrying about you, and him, and the two of you.

“Yes,” your voice comes out small and careful, but it relaxes him, “I really do like you Mingyu.”

No words can describe the burst of emotions Mingyu feels as those words leave your mouth. He can only hug you tighter and aim to kiss you, but you turn your head away laughing.

“Hey hey hey! What about you! I’m not letting you anywhere near me until you give me an honest reply!” You find yourself play fighting with this giant man for like three seconds before he pins you down.

“Funny thing to say while you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt,” your hands are trapped by his on both sides on your head, he’s all you can see, and you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I know I should’ve said it before, but I really like you too, I’m most comfortable when I’m with you, I’ve never felt like this before and I don’t want this to be a quick fling between us.”

His confession has your stomach doing flips and turns, your blood rushing to your cheeks and ears, and your smile to wide it almost hurts. “That's what I wanted to hear.”

DAY SEVEN

Mingyu’s arms now rank first as your favorite place to sleep ever.

After making each other repeat their confessions multiple times – mostly you, but he found he loves the way you blush every time you say you like him – and kissing lazily while wrapped around one another, time flashed by and sleepiness got to the both of you.

The culprit of waking you up from your dream forcefully is Mingyu’s damn alarm, ringing and ringing somewhere in his room. You turn a couple of times, trying to locate his phone without getting up, but it’s pointless.

“Mingyuuuu your phone,” your voice echoes alongside the annoying alarm as you try to wake him up.

“Hmm sorry,” his raspy voice barely reaches you as he gets up and grabs his phone from the pocket of his pants laying on the floor.

He quickly gets back under the covers, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling against you, both of you too awake by now to get back to sleep.

Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his chest rising and falling behind you and his hand caresses your waist through his t-shirt. You lay your hand over his as he kisses your neck softly.

“Good morning beautiful.” You’re too trapped in his embrace to turn around and face him, but you get to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks at his words.

“Good morning.” Being wrapped around Mingyu’s warmth is addicting, his touch, his smell, his skin. How did you live all these years without them? “Should we get up? Everyone is probably awake by now.” You really don’t want to, but sadly you can’t stay here forever.

“We will, we will,” his hands wander lower and lower on your body, contradicting his words, until they reach the hem of your his shirt and sneak inside to caress your bare skin as he keeps kissing your neck, “are you not wearing-”

The sentence is left unfinished, his state of shock loosens his hug and you’re able to turn in his embrace, cocky smile on your face as he tries to figure you out.

“Oh, I must’ve forgot!” Mingyu joins you in a chuckle, hugging you tightly again and bringing your face towards him. Lazily kissing him, with your limbs intertwined and a little morning sleepiness, everything makes you so dizzy, already needy for him.

His tongue breaches into your mouth, messily dancing with yours as his hand pushes your shirt up and sneak to your core.

You don’t stay still. With your hands you touch and grope every spot of his torso you can reach, earning a few sighs from him, and you slowly start grinding on his hand, coating his curious fingers with your arousal.

Mingyu moans in your mouth when your hand catches his growing bulge, trying to be as quiet as possible in case anyone awake wanders your way.

“You’re gonna be de death of me.” His raspy whisper shoots straight to your core, but you can’t give him a proper reply, his lips go back to yours to shut you up as his fingers run through your wet folds.

Both of your hands work wonders on the other, your hand sneaks under his boxers to stroke him properly while he toys with your clit. It’s getting more and more difficult to quiet down the sounds coming from your mouths, your mind barely able to remember that task as the fire inside you stomach arises.

A knock on the door freezes you both in place. You stop breathing, locking eyes with Mingyu, waiting for the unannounced person to speak up. He looks as scared as you probably are as you both wait.

Another knock makes you get away from one another, and the ruffling sounds draw the attention of the one outside the door.

“Are you awake bro?” Chan asks through the door, luckily not opening it. Your eyes emanate panic as you evaluate every possible outcome for this interaction, but Mingyu motions for you to calm down.

“Hmm yeah, what do you want?” He pretends to just wake up, feigning a loud yawn.

“You know where y/n is? She’s not in her room and Jihyun’s looking for her.” Now Mingyu panics too, trying to come up with any excuse, no matter how lame.

“I don’t know bro, maybe she’s in the bathroom.” Definitely the lamest excuse ever, but it seems to work.

“Right, right, I’ll tell her that, but get up bro! We’re leaving in like an hour!”

“Okay! I’ll be right out.”

You both stay still, listening as his steps get farther and farther until there’s silence again.

“We really should tell him about us, he won’t be mad.” He sounds serious as he picks up your clothes from the floor.

“Take me out on a date first!” You snatch your clothes from his hands as you both chuckle. How would a date with Mingyu go? Outside of this bubble you created, everything could be different, but the change excites you.

The drive back to the city is full of laughter and songs, just like the first day. This time Chan managed to get on the passenger’s seat first, leaving you sitting next to Jihyun’s curious eyes and separating you from Mingyu.

You feel much better than on the first day. Relaxed, with less weight in your shoulders, and a really hot man making eyes at you through the rear view mirror.

Mingyu leaves Chan and Jihyun at his house first, saying it’s more practical to drop them off first and then you. None of them argue about it, and Jihyun throws a wink your way as you get on the passenger’s seat.

“You know, yesterday Jihyun asked me about us, she says everyone’s suspicious.” You mention when he parks in front of your building.

“That’s funny, cause Chan asked me today too, he intercepted me as soon as I got to the kitchen.” He replies and gets out of the car, leaving you hanging for a few seconds before opening your door.

“Really?” Mingyu’s grabbing your bags while you’re dying of curiosity behind him. “And what did you say?”

He chuckles as you walk towards your building, car locked and your bags still in his hands. He only answers once you get to the elevator.

“I told him… that I really like you.” A smile cracks wide on your face. You’ll never get tired of him saying that.

“And did he seem okay with it?” You quickly reach your floor and head to your door, anxiety creeping up on you at the thought of Mingyu being inside your apartment.

“Yeah! He even seemed kind of happy,” you stand by your door just watching him expectantly and he seems confused by your stillness, “are we coming in?”

“Oh yeah just, it’s a little messy I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to have guests you know.” You turn your door handle slowly, waiting for him to nod before fully opening it.

You walk in slowly, watching his every move and reaction as he steps behind you. He gives it a quick look around before crouching to leave your bags on the floor and walking towards you.

“I like your place, it’s so… you.” His arms wrap softly around your waist, and yours instinctively around his neck.

“How do you know? We’ve know each other for like seven days.” You’re not strangers, you told him stuff you’d never tell anyone else, but you've also known him for a very short amount of time.

“I just know.” The sweet smile he give you melts you in place, if it weren’t for his arms surrounding you, you’d probably fall onto the floor. “And I really want to make that time longer, I meant it when I said forever.”

And he proved to you, time and time again during those seven days, that his words are always true. You have no reason not to trust him, and you always will.

i really hope you liked this >.< share your thoughts!

taglist: @gaslysainz @soffiyuhh @oneandonlyluvv @gyuwoosbabie sorry for the wait

3K notes · View notes

jungshookmeup · 21 days ago

Text

CLARITY [K.MG]

Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend.

Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he hears from his bedroom when his friend stands you up for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.

pairing: mingyu x f!reader (with a side of bad bf!jungkook)

word count: 30,2k (lmaooo)

genre: bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff

content warnings: emotional cheating, tsundere mingyu at first, too much crying, self-manipulating, moral dilemmas, jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, denial (tons), one minor injury, mention of blood, a love triangle?, sexual tension, inappropriate things happen between mc and mingyu, petnames: babe, baby, princess (hers) | explicit smut, teasing, body worship, praise, marking, protected penetration, it's love making guys

🎧: mine — ive, breathing — nct dream, knew you — kailee morgue, begin again (taylor's version) — taylor swift, i wanna tell u — lexie liu

a big thank you to tiya @gyubakeries and ro @shinysobi for reading this over and telling me it doesn't suck ♡ and rae @nerdycheol for supporting my simp and pathetic men agenda ♡

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.

disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry

last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)

i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)

“Are you sure I won’t bother him?"

You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes.

“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.”

“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance.

The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along?

“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.”

A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.

Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester.

You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it.

Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it.

“What are we watching?”

Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent.

After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone.

Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it.

He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it.

You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more.

Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.

After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn.

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.

You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.

The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence.

Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch.

"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.”

“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.”

“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.”

Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side.

“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind.

“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.”

Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late.

Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down.

“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure.

“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out."

Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is.

“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door.

Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly.

“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator.

Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.

“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting.

“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.

Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”

“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.

“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.

“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”

When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.

Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.

“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”

You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”

“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”

“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.

“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”

Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.

“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.

“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”

“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”

“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”

Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.

You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison.

They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.

“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”

“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”

“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”

“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.

“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.

“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”

The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.

“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.

“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.

“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”

A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie.

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.”

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries.

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon.

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table.

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry.

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?”

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind.

Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth.

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority.

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him.

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be.

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care.

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too.

In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter.

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind.

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words.

“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.”

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves.

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about.

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye.

The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence.

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard.

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again.

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag.

You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual.

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together.

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen.

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost.

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes.

In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time.

He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.

“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence.

“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down.

“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest.

“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding.

“Right.” He simply replies.

Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before.

A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment.

“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.”

Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact.

“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him.

Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.

Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.

He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.

“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s.

Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all.

“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food.

“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended.

Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call.

You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse.

Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made.

“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue.

“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing.

“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology.

His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders.

“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way.

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–”

“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.”

To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place.

“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word.

Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating.

The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way.

As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do.

“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed.

“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.”

“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture.

“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up?

“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?”

“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?”

“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation.

Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.

Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.

Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.

There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering.

As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party.

Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you.

The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything.

“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?”

“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.

“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him.

As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble.

Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.

It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.

Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends.

Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.

The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes.

When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup.

It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side.

Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.

A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.

Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm.

So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.

Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible.

It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor".

He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention.

What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you.

“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does.

“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend.

“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view.

“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence.

“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood.

“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction.

“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music.

“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you.

“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again.

“He probably got tired of them after so many years.”

You freeze.

“What do you mean?”

Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t.

“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force.

For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth.

“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes.

Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad.

Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch.

“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words.

“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?”

Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance.

“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.

Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside.

“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape.

“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again.

Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back.

It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all.

“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car.

“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.”

“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.”

“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes.

“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait.

“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”

Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.”

Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons.

"I’d love to see you try.”

An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.

“We should-”

“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you.

“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.

“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to.

“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”

“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”

You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.

Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.

“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.

“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.

Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.

So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.

In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.

With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.

There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.

Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.

Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.

“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.

Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.

“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.

The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.

“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”

“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.

In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.

When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.

“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”

“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”

Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.

“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”

Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”

“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.

“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”

“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”

“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.

As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.

Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.

“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”

Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”

Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.

“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.

“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”

You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.

“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”

When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.

“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.

He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.

“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”

“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.

When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.

The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.

“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.

“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”

“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.

The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.

“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”

You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.

Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.

Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.

“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.

Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”

“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”

“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”

“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”

“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.

“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.

Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.

Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.

Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.

He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.

For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.

What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.

He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!

Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.

The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?

Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.

Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.

Working from home has never been so much of a curse.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.

He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.

You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.

The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.

“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.

Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”

You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really?

“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?

“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”

There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.

“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.

“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.

“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.

Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.

You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.

Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.

A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.

It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.

“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.

But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.

By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.

The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.

“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”

“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.

“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.

“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.

“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?

“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.

Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”

Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”

“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.

“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.

“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.

But he did.

“I can't.”

Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.

Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.

At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.

The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.

Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.

When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.

It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.

That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.

At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?

He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.

But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.

The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.

The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.

A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.

“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.

“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.

So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.

“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”

Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”

“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”

“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.

“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.

“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”

Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.

The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.

It’s been a weird day from the start.

Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.

You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.

Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.

The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.

The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.

“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.

“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.

She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”

Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.

Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.

For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.

But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.

“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.

“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.

“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”

All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.

“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.

“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”

“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.

“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”

“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”

“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”

“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”

“I had to make a show out of it!”

As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.

The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.

So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.

A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.

“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.

As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”

“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”

“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.

The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.

“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.

“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”

“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”

You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.

“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.

You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.

“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.

The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you.

When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.

Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.

Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.

Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.

“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.

Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”

Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.

“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.

The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”

Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.

“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”

You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.

Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.

“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.

Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.

“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.

“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”

Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.

A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.

“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.

“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”

Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.

You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.

None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.

Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.

Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.

“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.

“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”

“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.

“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”

“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.

Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?

“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”

“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”

“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”

“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.

“I know you are. He doesn't.”

The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.

“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.

The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.

Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.

From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.

Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.

As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life.

In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.

Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.

“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.

“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.

“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?”

“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.

Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.

“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.

Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.

“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”

Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you.

Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.

“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.

The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.

Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.

It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.

It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.

Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.

You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.

“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.

“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.

This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.

With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”

His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.

You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.

“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.

“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.

The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.

But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.

When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.

They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different.

Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.

“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.

“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.

Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.

“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”

Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”

You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.

“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”

You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.

“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.

“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.

“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.

“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.

“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”

“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”

People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.

At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.

“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”

You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.

“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”

It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.

Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.

“No. You won’t.”

Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.

“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”

The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.

“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.

You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.

“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.

“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”

When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.

Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.

You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.

“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.

“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.

“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”

Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.

“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”

“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”

Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.

“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.

“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”

Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.

But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.

“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.

“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”

“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”

Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.

“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.

At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.

After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”

He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”

You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.

“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”

Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.

“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”

Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those.

Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.

The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.

“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.

“Good for them.”

There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.

Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.

“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”

He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.

“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”

You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.

“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.

“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.

He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.

The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.

Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.

But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.

“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.

“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.

“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”

A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.

“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”

He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.

“I don't want to leave.”

The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.

“And I want you to stay.”

The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.

But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.

Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.

The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.

Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.

In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.

You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.

“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”

The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.

“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”

You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.

At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.

When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.

Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.

If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.

“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”

The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.

The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.

“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.

“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.

“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.

“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”

“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing.

“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”

The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.

“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.

“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”

“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.

“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”

There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.

“I can g—”

“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.

His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.

It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”

“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”

“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”

“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”

“What do you think of me then?”

Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.

“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”

“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”

“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.

Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.

Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.

“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand.

“Always.”

Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club Do you want to come? It’s close to my place

As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.

It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.

Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and rambles about how good his class was that day.

He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.

You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.

It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.

You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.

Sure. Text me address. I’ll meet you there.

The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.

You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!

But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.

Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.

And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him.

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.

“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”

Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.

“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.

Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.

“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.

“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.

“Right…”

It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.

“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.

“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.

The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.

“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”

The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”

“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”

How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.

Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.

Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.

You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.

You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.

The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.

As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.

“Is that her?”

Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.

Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.

It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.

“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.

“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.

The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.

Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”

“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.

Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.

When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.

He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.

Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl.

Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.

Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.

He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.

At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”

Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.

“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”

“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”

Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.

“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”

“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.

Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.

“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.

You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”

In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.

“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.

“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?

“Oh, you did? Controlling.”

“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.

Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”

“No.”

For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”

Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.

Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.

The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.

His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.

“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.

Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.

With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.

The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.

The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.

By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.

As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.

Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.

“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.

“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”

Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”

“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”

Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.

“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”

Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”

Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.

Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.

“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.

“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”

For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.

“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.

“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”

Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.

“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”

“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”

As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.

“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.

“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.

There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.

When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.

You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.

“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking it off you as soon as you put your arms up.

His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.

Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.

Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.

Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.

“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”

It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.

“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.

“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.

“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.

“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.

You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.

The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.

The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.

“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.

“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”

“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.

“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.

“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.

“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”

Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.

There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.

It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.

Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.

His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.

Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”

You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”

Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.

The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.

“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.

Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.

Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”

Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.

The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.

His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.

Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.

Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.

You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.

You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”

He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”

The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.

“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.

Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier.

The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.

You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.

You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.

“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.

Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.

Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for.

Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.

It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.

As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”

note: it's finally here!!!

thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.

if you reached the end, just know that i love you, and i'd love to hear your thoughts <3

3K notes · View notes

jungshookmeup · 22 days ago

Text

in his orbit - jeon wonwoo imagine

girlie is back with another fic, can you tell i love writing slowburns? in case it wasn't obvious yet i love writing slowburn fics😅🤣 buckle up you're about to fall inlove (i mean i did so maybe you will too)🫠🤭

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You stand just behind the sleek glass walls of the boardroom, the hum of tense conversation vibrating through the air like static. The executives are already seated, each with their tablets, papers, and rehearsed reports all waiting for the same thing.

For him.

The door opens precisely at nine.

Jeon Wonwoo enters the room. His tailored black suit fits with surgical precision, every line sharp enough to draw blood. He doesn’t greet anyone, doesn’t have to. He simply walks to the head of the table, sets down his folder, and looks up.

Conversation dies mid-sentence.

You follow behind him, your steps two beats behind, practiced and measured. By the time he sits, you're already at your place beside the wall, tablet in hand. You don’t need to ask. He hasn’t even looked your way, but you know the exact schedule, the order of presentations, and judging by the faint twitch in his jaw, he’s already displeased.

Someone’s stalling.

“Begin,” he says, voice like cut glass.

The CFO starts talking, fumbling slightly under the weight of Wonwoo’s attention. He doesn’t yell. He never does. But his silence is worse than shouting. Midway through a shaky statistic, Wonwoo shifts in his chair.

Your cue.

You tap into the live data feed from the financial team. A graph updates in real time, and you cast it to the screen before anyone even notices the CFO is behind. Wonwoo doesn’t glance your way, but he no longer drums his fingers against the table.

Success.

It’s been three years since you started working for him. You remember the exact moment he stepped into this role . Barely older than some interns, yet the air seemed to lock in place around him. Most people are shaped by power. Not Jeon Wonwoo. He wears it like skin.

The meeting wraps with a sharp, clipped nod from him. No formal dismissal. Just the subtle scrape of his chair against the floor and that’s enough. Everyone starts packing up in a flurry, heads ducked, voices low.

Wonwoo stands.

So do you.

You’re already a step behind him, speaking low enough that only he hears. “You’ll need a summary of the revised Q3 forecasts from finance, I’ll have the file before lunch. The director of marketing rescheduled her one-on-one for Thursday at nine, I moved your investor call accordingly. Legal flagged two issues in the new vendor contracts. I’ll highlight them in your next review.”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you run through his day unless you miss something.

You never miss.

You match his pace effortlessly as he strides down the hall, nodding once to the intern who nearly drops their tablet scrambling to open the elevator. Once inside, the doors close, sealing the two of you in silence. The mirrored walls catch the cold gleam in his eyes, unreadable as always.

You speak again, tone measured. “Lunch with Chairman Ryu at twelve. The chef from Verité confirmed your usual. Security’s updated on the venue change.”

His gaze shifts not quite to you, but close. “What about the Shanghai brief?”

“It’s on your desk. Summarized, annotated, with the risk assessment.”

He gives the barest of nods. But what most people don’t realize is that he doesn’t waste words when silence will do. That’s where you learned to read him.

The elevator dings open. He walks. You follow.

You’ve been in his orbit long enough to know every little thing about him. You knock once and when there’s no response, you step in anyway. He expects it.

Wonwoo’s at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie slightly loosened. His glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a thick report, one hand turning pages while the other taps a pen against the wood.

You walk in without pause, tablet in hand, your steps soft against the expensive flooring. “You’ll want to look at the shareholder report before your dinner with Chairman Ryu,” you say, placing the file on the edge of his desk you already know how he likes things arranged.

“There’s a discrepancy in the voting record. I flagged it.”

“You read the full report already?”

You nod once. “Twice. Once for detail, again for tone.”

That gets his attention. Slowly, he lifts his head. The weight of his stare lands heavy, but you’re used to it by now. That sharp gaze that makes board members stutter and interns nearly cry — you’ve seen it a thousand times.

“Do you want a printed version for the meeting?”

“No.” He leans back, the leather creaking faintly. “Just the highlights.”

Already done. You offer the printed brief without a word. He takes it, brushes your fingers as he does. A light touch. Accidental. Maybe.

He doesn’t apologize. Neither do you.

The silence stretches as he skims the top page, glasses catching the light. You watch the slight tightening in his jaw a sign only you would notice. He’s annoyed. Probably with the numbers. Or the people behind them.

You shift your weight. “I can delay the Chairman by twenty minutes if you want more prep time.”

He exhales through his nose, sets the brief down. “No. He can wait if I’m not done.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t adjust for anyone. The world adjusts for him.

You nod once and turn to go, but his voice stops you.

It’s sometime after two when your phone buzzes with a simple message from him.

JWW: Come in.

When you step into his office, he’s seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled up again, reading glasses pushed onto his face.

“You need something?” you ask, tablet in hand, thumb already hovering over the agenda notes.

“Sit.”

The small table near the window. Two covered trays. Bottled water. A fresh set of chopsticks laid out neatly beside each plate.

Your brows lift before you can catch the reaction. “You—”

“You didn’t eat.” He doesn’t say it with concern, not exactly. Just fact. Like he’s stating a poor business decision you made, and he’s correcting it. “Neither did I.”

Wonwoo finally removes his glasses, setting them down with a soft click. “Eat. We have fifteen minutes before the next briefing.”

You hesitate only a second longer, then get up and walk toward the table. You sit, open the tray. your usual. Exactly how you like it.

He joins you, pulling out the chair beside yours without a word. You both eat without rushing. The only sounds are the quiet clink of chopsticks.

Halfway through, he speaks without looking up. “You need to stop skipping meals.”

You give a soft huff. “You’re one to talk. If I start eating regularly, I expect it’ll be written into my contract.”

Wonwoo’s reply is smooth, almost quiet. “I’ll have legal draft the clause.”

You look at him. He’s already resumed eating, expression calm. As if this is just another business item on his to-do list. But it’s not.

You feel it in the small things. The way he ordered for you. The exact meal. The timing.

You eat in silence but the air between you is no longer just charged. It’s laced with something else now.

Something like care.

You steal a glance at him between bites sleeves still rolled, tie loosened, It’s the most unpolished version of him anyone ever sees. Just you.

And maybe that’s why you risk it.

“You know,” you say, tone casual as you pluck a piece of radish from the tray, “you keep telling me to take care of myself, but I’ve seen your calendar. You’ve had four hours of sleep in the past two days. That’s not impressive. That’s a health hazard.”

“You’re lecturing me now?”

“Not lecturing, lightly nagging. There’s a difference.”

His brow lifts. The corner of his mouth quirks so faintly, you almost miss it.

You press on. “You always tell people to be efficient, but you’re running yourself into the ground. I’ve seen cyborgs take more breaks.”

“I function fine.”

You snort. “You’re functioning on caffeine and willpower. That’s not a personality, it’s a warning sign.”

He leans back, arms crossing, watching you now with more amusement than reprimand. “You’re getting bold.”

“I’ve earned it,” you say, popping the last bite into your mouth. “Three years of anticipating your every micro-expression buys me at least five minutes of sass.”

“Four minutes,” he says, deadpan.

You grin. “You’re soft.”

His eyes narrow. “Careful.”

“See?” you say, standing to clear the trays, “That right there? That’s the face you make when you're trying not to smile.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re not not smiling.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head once. But the curve of his lips betrays him just a little. As you gather the empty containers, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“You should nap after your 3 p.m. I’ll move the export briefing.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

You give him a bright, unapologetic look. “Nagging clause. Already in the contract, remember?”

He says nothing, just watches you again with that same unreadable gaze. But this time, the weight of it doesn’t feel like pressure.

It feels like gravity.

It’s late. Most of the lights on the executive floor are off.

Except his.

You’d just finished clearing the last round of emails, already mentally sorting through tomorrow’s prep, when your phone buzzed.

JWW: Come in.

You enter his office without hesitation. You’re about to ask what he needs when he speaks first.

He doesn’t look at you. Just nods toward the small sofa across the room.

“On the couch.”

You follow his line of sight. There’s a paper bag sitting there. Neatly folded at the top. No logo, no tag. Just unassuming and out of place in the otherwise sterile precision of his office.

You walk over, eyebrows pulling together. “What is—”

Your voice fades when you open it. Inside, nestled in soft protective paper, is the bag. The one you’d joked about for months half-teasing, half-dreaming. The limited edition one that sold out in hours. The one with a price tag so high, you always added, “That’s my endgame motivation. When I can afford this, I’ve made it.”

You reach in slowly, fingertips brushing over the material like you’re afraid it’ll vanish.

Then you turn, eyes wide. “This is—how did you—”

Wonwoo finally looks at you. His expression is unreadable, as always, but his gaze is steady. “You kept saying it was your motivation, Consider it... early congratulations.”

Your heart stumbles. “Wonwoo, this bag is—it's not just expensive, it’s impossible to find. There’s a waitlist.”

He doesn’t reply. Just leans back in his chair like he’s already decided the conversation is over.

“You were listening,” you say, quieter now. Not accusatory. Just stunned.

“I always listen.”

You blink, still holding the bag in your hands, overwhelmed with the weight of it—not just the price, but what it means.

“Thank you,” you say, voice steadying.

He nods once. Then adds, almost like an afterthought, “Don’t cry. I won’t know what to do with that.”

You let out a breath half laugh, half something else. “I’m not crying. Just... processing. This is insane,” you murmur, your hands hovering just above the bag.

“Like actually insane.” You reach in again, fingertips brushing the handle like it's fragile. Like it might vanish if you touch it too long.

His voice cuts through the quiet. “You forgot.”

You blink, looking up sharply. “Forgot what?”

Your mind starts racing. did you miss a meeting? An investor call? Something urgent? Your tablet is already lighting up in your hand, but then—

“It’s your work anniversary.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

“THree years,” Wonwoo says plainly. “Today.”

You stare at him. For a second, you don’t know what to say.

You’d lost track. too busy chasing deadlines, organizing his schedule, holding everything together. It slipped past you like so many other personal milestones.

But not him.

“This is way too much,” you say, laughing under your breath as you shake your head. “I mean—this bag? We can’t accept gifts this expensive. It’s in the handbook, page thirty-two”

Wonwoo lifts a brow. “I’m the CEO.”

“Right. But even you—”

“What are they going to do?” he asks, tone flat, but laced with something you can’t quite place. “Fire me for bending a rule or two?”

And that hits differently.because you know who he is.

Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t bend.

He doesn’t indulge.He doesn’t move unless it’s efficient, calculated, strategic. His life is systems and structure. Precision down to the second.

And yet this. He bent a rule.

For you.

You don’t let yourself sit in that thought for long. You can’t. Not when it threatens to stir something too deep, too real.

So you set the bag down gently, like it’s sacred. Like you’re afraid of what holding it too long might reveal.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

You glance up. He’s looking at you again. You look away first. You always do when it’s like this. When the air feels too heavy, too loud for two people standing in complete silence.

Wonwoo stands. He shrugs on his coat, slow and deliberate, then moves to your side to retrieve something from the table. You can feel him without looking. The warmth of him. The tension.

Neither of you says anything.

“I’ll have the car brought around,” he says quietly. “It’s late.”

You nod, still not trusting your voice. “Okay.”

He walks past you, heading for the door. Then stops. Doesn’t look back. Just says, low and even, “Three years is a long time. You’ve earned it.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The city lights blur past the car window, streaks of gold and blue washing across the glass like motion smeared in silence.

Wonwoo sits in the back seat, coat open, tie loosened slightly. He doesn’t say much. Never does with his driver. But his mind isn’t still.

He leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing for a moment. The hum of the engine fills the space between his thoughts.

Three years.

He remembered. Of course he did. Dates are easy. Predictable. Clean. But that’s not why he got the bag.

He heard you mention it once. Then again. And again, like a joke you didn’t realize you kept repeating when the days got long and the pressure sharpened around the edges.

“That bag is the dream. That’s my finish line.” “If I survive Q3, I’m buying it. Manifesting.” “Maybe in my next life when it doesn’t cost a kidney.”

Each time, you said it like it didn’t matter. Like it was a throwaway thought, just something to lighten the mood.

But he remembered not because it was important in the grand scheme of things. But because you said it. And he listens when you speak.

He always listens.

Wonwoo opens his eyes, watching the reflection of the streetlamps skim over his reflection in the glass.

You looked at the bag like it wasn’t real. Like you didn’t quite believe you were allowed to have something that wasn’t earned through exhaustion or sacrifice.

He hated that look.

You’ve given everything. More than anyone in that building. And still, you doubt if you deserve even the smallest indulgence.

You’d told him it was too much. That it broke rules. That gifts like that weren’t acceptable.

He said, “I’m the boss.”

It was a joke. But not really because it wasn’t just about the rules. It was about what he could control. And for someone like him, that’s everything.

The car slows as it turns onto the private street leading to his penthouse tower. His building looms ahead, lights on near the top floor.

But he doesn’t move.

He stays there for a second longer. Letting himself sit with the quiet thought he won’t say aloud. That he doesn’t care about the bag. Doesn’t care about the price, or the brand, or what it might look like to anyone else.

He got it because it made you smile. Even if only for a moment.

And because it let him give you something — for once — without it being part of the job.

The elevator ride up is silent. Smooth. Efficient.

But his thoughts stay with you. Like they always do, lately.

You, with your sharp eyes and steady voice. You, who can answer his questions before he even speaks. You, who always knows when he hasn’t eaten, when he needs to be pulled back from the edge, when silence says more than words.

He steps into the penthouse. It’s spotless. Quiet. Exactly the way he likes it.

He thinks of your expression tonight. The way your voice faltered. How quickly you looked away. He didn’t say anything then.

He won’t tomorrow, either.

But the rules? He’s already bent them.

And that’s not nothing.

The next few days settle into rhythm. Or at least, the shape of one.

You’re back to the usual: synchronized movements, shared silences, decisions made with nothing more than a glance. The bag now lives on a shelf in your apartment, untouched but not forgotten.

It’s business as usual.

Except not really because something has shifted.

It lives in the pause between your words, in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. An elephant in the room dressed in tailored suits and polished restraint.

This morning is no different.

You’re in his office early, already running through his schedule with a practiced efficiency.

“First meeting at nine with Strategy, followed by the call with Tokyo. After that, the product review with Marketing, then the lunch briefing with legal.” You scroll through your tablet, tapping quickly. “Afternoon is clean aside from the quarterly report with Accounting. Oh, and someone from the Chairman’s office—”

You pause when you notice it.

He’s standing in front of his mirror, silent as usual, but there’s a small crease between his brows. His left cuff is fastened, but the right dangles open, the cufflink still on the tray nearby. His fingers brush the fabric, slow and stiff, trying again.

Jeon Wonwoo, youngest CEO in the country. Mind like a scalpel. Composed down to the breath.

And yet here he is — struggling with a cufflink.

It’s not unusual, exactly. You know him well enough to know his hands go a little rigid when he’s deep in thought, when the numbers won’t sit right, or when he’s slept less than three hours, which has been more often than not lately.

But it’s distracting. The way his fingers fumble. The way he doesn’t ask for help, won’t ask for help so you don’t ask either.

You set your tablet on the table quietly and alk across the room without a word.

You pick up the cufflink from the tray, then gently reach for his wrist.

Your fingers curl around it. You’ve done this before, in passing, in chaos, during ten-second scrambles between meetings.

His arm stays still as you fold the fabric, press the metal through the slit, fasten it in place. It’s mechanical. Thoughtless. You’ve done it so many times.

But then you glance up nd that’s when it hits you.

Just how close you are.

You’re standing barely a breath away, your hands still on his wrist, your face tilted toward his collar. His cologne is subtle, expensive, and now impossibly near. The warmth radiating from him sinks under your skin before you can steel yourself against it.

He’s watching you.

You drop your gaze quickly, fingers brushing against his skin as you pull back.

“All done,” you say, and you hate how your voice feels thinner than usual.

You turn back toward your tablet, moving before he can respond, needing the space like you need oxygen.

Business as usual but not really.

And both of you know it.

You stare at the door of the penthouse for a beat longer than necessary.

Jeon Wonwoo does not miss mornings. He does not run late. And he definitely doesn’t go silent.

You had called his driver when his office remained empty well past his usual arrival.

“He hasn’t come down,” the driver had said, voice tinged with something close to concern. “He always texts. He didn’t today.”

That’s all it took. One missing signal in a man who never forgets a beat.

So now you’re here, using the emergency access card he gave you over a year ago. For security protocols, he’d said. Just in case.

You’d never had to use it until now.

The lock beeps. The door opens. You step inside.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You walk in, shoes barely making a sound against the sleek floors. T You pass the kitchen, untouched. No coffee. No breakfast. And then, finally, you find him.

His room is dim, curtains drawn halfway, Wonwoo lies on the bed, half-covered by the sheets, body curled slightly in a way that makes your stomach twist.

His face is pale except for the red burning high across his cheekbones. Sweat at his temples. Hair stuck slightly to his forehead.

He’s burning up.

“Sir?” you say, quietly, cautiously.

No response.

You step closer, heart picking up now, each second tightening your chest a little more. You place a hand lightly on his forehead. It’s scalding.

“Wonwoo,” you say again, firmer this time.

His eyes open barely but when they land on you, something in his expression shifts. Like he’s seeing something impossible. His voice is hoarse, dry.

“You’re here.”

“You didn’t show. No text. I called your driver.” You pause, kneeling beside the bed now. “You’re sick.”

“Didn’t mean to sleep through…”

You shake your head, already reaching for the blanket, pulling it higher over him. “You didn’t just sleep through — your body shut down. God, you should’ve called someone.”

His eyes close again, brows twitching as if the thought of arguing with you costs more energy than he has. “Didn’t want to—” he exhales — “make it your problem.”

Your fingers still for half a second, then move again, tugging the covers with more care this time.

“Too late for that. I’m making it mine.”

You move around the room, switching on the bedside lamp, searching for a thermometer, medicine, anything. When you find none, you grab your phone and start making calls, his doctor, your contacts, the concierge for extra supplies.

You’re in work mode, the same precise, efficient tone you use in meetings and under pressure, but your hands shake slightly as you dial. You return to his side, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek again.

Wonwoo opens his eyes a sliver. “…You mad?”

You scoff quietly. “Furious.”

His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile, dry and weak but still him. “Figured.”

“You’re the CEO of a multi-billion won company and you can’t even tell someone when you’re sick? What kind of example—”

“I was tired,” he mutters. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You have a fever of 39.4. That’s bad, Wonwoo.”

You don’t realize you’ve dropped the title until it’s already said. His name. Not sir, not CEO Jeon . Just… Wonwoo.

“I’m staying,” you say before he can argue. “Don’t bother telling me to go back to the office. You’re not dying alone in here just because you’re pathologically stubborn. Next time, just text. Like a normal person.”

You went out for a moment to grab something. balancing a small bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. You’re mentally rehearsing how to convince a man like Jeon Wonwoo to eat more than three spoonfuls of congee.

Then you see him.

Sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, glasses on and right there on the nightstand, his phone, which he’s just reaching for.

Not on your watch.

You move fast, stepping across the room and snatching the phone before he can grab it. He blinks, caught in the act.

“Hey—” his voice is still rough but clearer than earlier, more him now.

You raise an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“You do remember I’m still your boss, right?”

You roll your eyes and toss the phone gently onto the dresser, far out of his reach. “And you remember you’re running a fever and nearly passed out alone this morning, right?”

“I’m fine now.”

“You sat up. That’s not a full recovery.”

He exhales slowly, jaw flexing as he rests his head back against the headboard. “I need to check on a few things.”

“You’ll live if you don’t answer emails for six hours,” you say, placing the food down on the nearby table. “In fact, so will the company. Miraculously.”

Wonwoo watches you, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, expression unreadable. It’s not that usual sharp gaze — it’s quieter now, like he’s studying you rather than challenging you.

You ignore it. You move to pour water into a glass and set it down on the nightstand next to him. “Drink first.”

He doesn’t move.

“Seriously, don’t make me spoon-feed you,” you add dryly.

That gets the smallest quirk at the edge of his mouth. “You’d do that?”

“Try me.”

His eyes meet yours, something soft flickering there. “You’re being very bold today.”

“You left me no choice. I wasn’t about to let Jeon Wonwoo become a tragic headline: Youngest CEO in Korea dies alone in penthouse because he refuses to text assistant back.”

His laugh is barely a breath, but you catch it. Low, quiet. Real.

“Eat. Slowly.”

He takes the spoon, finally, and you watch as he takes a bite. You don't miss the small win when he doesn't grimace. Instead, he nods. “It’s…decent.”

“High praise.”

“You didn’t make it, did you?”

“Rude.”

After a few moments, he says, “You came all the way here.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Of course I did.”

"Did you at least call my driver?" he asks, voice low but calm.

You freeze for half a second, then busy yourself with the water bottle, unscrewing the cap like it needs your full attention. You don’t answer. He already knows.

His expression shifts subtly. Jaw tensing just enough. "You didn’t."

"Before you start," you say quickly, holding up a hand without meeting his eyes, "you cannot nag me right now. You’re sick. You're literally under a blanket and still half-burning up."

"You took the bus." He says it like it’s a crime.

"It’s not like I walked across the Han River. It was two stops, and it was faster than calling someone. What did you expect me to do, wait?"

“I expected you to be smarter about your safety.”

You glance at him then, lips twitching in dry amusement. “That’s rich coming from the man who was about to go to a board meeting while actively dying.”

“I wasn’t dying,” he mutters.

“You were sweating through your mattress.”

He glares, but it lacks real heat. “You know I’ve been trying to get you to learn to drive.”

“And I’ve been politely declining,” you counter.

“You’re going to keep declining even if it means riding a crowded bus to the top of a private skyscraper in the middle of Gangnam?”

“If it means making sure my boss doesn’t collapse alone in his overly minimalist bedroom, yes.”

“You’re impossible.”

You smirk. “I’ve been told.”

He shifts slightly in the bed, resting the bowl of soup on the tray. “I just don’t get why you won’t—”

“Wonwoo,” you interrupt, tone firm but not unkind.

“You work late hours. Some nights you leave past midnight. You don’t tell anyone when you head home—”

“And what, you��re gonna start putting a tracker on me next?” you joke, trying to cut the tension, trying not to think about how this doesn’t sound like a boss worrying about his assistant anymore.

He doesn’t even blink. “If that’s what it takes.”

You stare at him, unsure if you’re more shocked that he said it, or that he said it so seriously. You stand abruptly, clearing your throat.

“Okay, you’re clearly fever-delirious. That, or you’re confusing me with a younger sister you don’t have.”

“Stop deflecting—”

“Stop sounding like someone who has a say in how I get home.”

The air tightens between you, tension stretched taut and sharp, until a buzz from the panel near the door. The intercom.

You breathe out in relief, practically speed-walking to answer it. “Doctor’s here.”

You open the door before he can say anything else, and the on-call physician walks in, polite and efficient with his small case in hand. Wonwoo sighs and settles deeper into the pillows as the doctor greets him and begins unpacking instruments.

You feel his gaze on you as the doctor checks his vitals, asks him routine questions but you don’t look back. You can’t.

Not when your heart’s still catching up to what it all means.

The doctor left just before sunset, giving you a few instructions and a prescription list you already knew you'd handle yourself.

The apartment lights are dimmed to a soft gold. Outside, the city is easing into the deep hues of early evening, the skyline humming behind the wide windows.

Wonwoo rests against the headboard again, he looks much better than how you found him this morning. You sit in the armchair across from the bed, fingers tapping your knee rhythmically, tablet balanced in your lap.

You're pretending to go over tomorrow’s briefings.

He’s pretending not to stare.

“Are you hungry again?” you ask finally, not looking up.

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“…About to say something else about bus safety?”

He speaks again after a moment, voice softer this time. “You always do this.”

You tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re fine. Like you didn’t just spend the last six hours worried sick and micromanaging every detail of my care.”

“I’m your assistant,” you say, slower now. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

You shift in the chair and glance toward the side table. “I should prep the meds. You’ll need to take something before bed.”

You stand, already turning toward the counter when he says quietly, “You really weren’t going to tell me you took the bus, were you?”

You pause mid-step. “Nope.”

“I’m going to hire you a driver.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m going to try.”

You turn halfway, eyebrow raised. “Good luck with that.”

You’re lining up the pill packet with almost militant focus when his voice cuts through the quiet again.

"Okay, fine."

You glance over. He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just says, calmly, like it's the most reasonable thing in the world:

"Either you let me hire a driver for you… or I’m driving you home myself."

The sound of the pill bottle cap clicking shut is the only thing between you and the complete whiplash you feel.

"I'm sorry, what?" you ask, turning fully now, arms crossed.

One eye opens lazily. “You heard me.”

"You’re literally sick in bed."

"I'm not that sick."

"You had a fever of 39.5 like—" you check your watch, "—four hours ago."

"I'm recovering. Fast. As usual."

“You just had soup and nearly fell asleep between spoonfuls. And now you want to play chauffeur?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you'd let me hire a driver like a normal high-ranking executive assistant.”

"I'm not normal, though," you fire back, smug. "That’s why you keep me around."

"And because of that, I have no choice but to personally ensure you don't commute like you're still in college.”

You squint. “You’re threatening me. With a ride.”

“I’m offering you one,” he says, voice all false sweetness now. “As your extremely thoughtful boss.”

“No, this is extortion.”

He shrugs — or tries to. It’s barely more than a weak lift of his shoulder. “You either accept a company-assigned driver... or you accept Jeon Wonwoo, flu and all, behind the wheel.”

“You can't just hold your own sickness over me like that. It’s emotional blackmail.”

“It’s logical consequence.”

“You’re delirious.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You throw your hands up. “You can't drive me home! What if someone sees?”

“Let them.”

You stare at him. He stares back, perfectly calm, perfectly composed, like he didn't just casually declare social war on your carefully constructed boundaries.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what the tabloids would say if you got papped driving your assistant home in your Aston Martin.”

“That you finally caved and accepted a ride like a rational adult?”

“You’re impossible,” you grumble, turning back toward the kitchen.

“You say that, but you still haven’t said no.”

About an hour later you’re holding your phone, thumb hovering just above the call button, eyeing the door like it’s somehow going to open by itself and grant you escape. You’ve done the math. Checked the timing. Calculated the route. You could sneak out. Technically.

But you also know this man.

You know how he notices every detail, how he reads every flicker of hesitation like it’s printed in bold. And unfortunately for you… that road goes both ways.

“Don’t even try it.” His voice cuts through the quiet, low and unbothered.

You groan “Fine. I’m calling the driver.”

He arches a brow without even looking up from the bottle of water you gave him. “Only took you an hour”

You point a warning finger at him. “Only for tonight.”

He hums. “So you’re negotiating with me now?”

“Yes,” you snap back. “Because you’re being like an overprotective boy—”

You freeze.

He freezes.

You clamp your mouth shut so fast you feel your teeth click.

The room goes dead silent. Not even the city noise outside dares to interrupt this moment of sheer, horrifying clarity.

Wonwoo slowly sets the water bottle down, eyes narrowing just slightly as he looks at you — not in irritation, not in mockery, but in something far worse.

Amusement. No. Worse.

Interest.

“Overprotective… what?” he asks, far too calmly.

You shoot to your feet like the chair burned you. “Boss. BOSS. That’s what I was going to say. Obviously.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“So sure.”

He leans back into the pillows again, arms crossed like he’s settling in to enjoy the chaos. “Sounded like something else.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You clear your throat, aggressively casual. “You're obviously still running a fever.”

He gives you a long, unreadable look. And then, in the most infuriatingly smug tone:

“Just saying. Boyfriends do tend to worry about their girlfriends taking late-night buses alone.”

You look at him like he just grew a second head.

“Excuse me?”

“But I’m not saying anything,” he adds, shrugging one shoulder.

“Good. Don’t.”

“You already said it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He gestures toward you. “It was right there. Almost out.”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

“It does to me.”

You groan again, dragging your hands down your face as you spin around toward the counter, muttering something unintelligible into your palms.

You end up calling the driver but somehow you still feel like he won this round.

The next morning he texted you at 6:47 a.m.

JWW: I’ll be back today. Resume as normal.

Now it’s 9:03 a.m., and you’re standing across his desk, scrolling through your tablet as you list off the day’s schedule like always except today, there’s a weird hitch in the rhythm because he’s not responding.

No confirming nods, no subtle gestures, no hmm or okay. Not even his usual corrections when you list the sequence slightly out of order.

You glance up — and freeze.

He’s not signing anything. Not reading. Not checking his watch, or his emails, or multitasking the way he usually does with quiet precision.

He’s just… staring at you.

“...The quarterly partner dinner has been moved to next Wednesday,” you continue, a little slower now, narrowing your eyes. “They requested the Hangang Room instead of the main hall, and the guest list is—”

“Why didn’t you argue with me this morning?”

You blink.

“Because I knew you’d win,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing further. “Also, I like having a job.”

“That’s not usually what stops you.”

You close your tablet with a sharp little snap. “Okay. What’s going on.”

“Nothing,” he says, still watching.

“You’re not doing anything.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re staring. There’s a difference. One feels like work, the other feels like…” You trail off, suspicious. “Did the fever damage your frontal lobe? Blink twice if you need me to call the doctor back.”

His mouth twitches — that almost-smile you’re starting to clock more often than you used to.

“I was just thinking,” he says.

“Dangerous.”

He huffs a laugh. “About how strange it is.”

You raise a brow. “What is?”

“This. You.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’re doing exactly what you’ve always done — running through my day, anticipating every need, already knowing what I’ll ask before I ask it — and yet...”

“And yet?”

“It feels different.”

“Maybe because you’re still half-recovering and emotionally compromised by your own mortality,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse it.

But he doesn’t let it go. He just rests his chin in one hand, elbow on the desk, and says plainly:

“Maybe it’s because I can’t stop wondering what you were about to call me last night.”

You freeze. Then slowly, very slowly, you tuck your tablet under your arm, straighten your posture, and say

“I was going to say ‘boiling.’ Like boiling overprotective CEO.’ You know. Because you had a fever.”

Wonwoo stares at you and ou stare right back.

It’s silent for two seconds too long before he exhales a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and mutters, “You’re a terrible liar.”

You turn sharply on your heel, muttering, “Resuming normal schedule,” and make for the door.

The car ride back to the city is quiet. You’d both just finished a site visit, checking on progress for a high-profile expansion project. he’s halfway through reviewing the day’s minutes when you mention needing caffeine before heading back into Seoul traffic.

He doesn’t even argue. Just mutters a dry, “Fine, but only if you don’t insist on that sugar-water vanilla thing you call coffee.”

“It’s not sugar-water. It’s comforting.”

“It's a dessert.”

“You wear suits to construction sites. What’s your point?”

The café is small and tucked at the edge of a quiet road, with warm wood interiors and soft lighting. A little too charming, honestly. The kind of place couples probably stop by on dates after hiking.

“I’ll take a hot americano,” he says, pulling out his card.

Then the barista turns to you, smiling. “And for your girlfriend?”

Before you can answer, Wonwoo beats you to it.

“She’ll have an iced vanilla latte. And one of those croissants to go.”

The words hit the air like a glass shattering on tile. You gape at him, every muscle in your body seizing. He doesn’t even blink. Just calmly taps his card, like he didn’t just commit social assassination.

You don’t even think, your hand moves on instinct, pinching his side with a sharp “are you crazy” kind of vengeance.

He grunts and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Ow.”

You hiss under your breath, leaning in. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Mm.” He moves aside so you can grab your coffee. “Didn’t feel like correcting him.”

“That’s not how correcting works!”

He takes a sip of his americano, completely unbothered. “He assumed. I went with it. You were going to order an iced vanilla latte anyway,” he adds, like that justifies everything.

“That’s not the point—”

“Croissant too?”

You stare.

He smirks, that tiny half-quirk of his lips that always means trouble. “You always eye them. Never buy them.”

You blink. “...You watch me eye pastries?”

“You make it very obvious.”

You grip your cup like it might keep you grounded in this reality. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet,” he says casually, holding the door open for you, “you still show up every morning.”

You walk past him without looking. “Because I’m contractually obligated.”

He follows. “Is that all?”

“Don’t push your luck, CEO Jeon.”

Later taht evening. You get home and drop your bag like it weighs ten kilos. Which, to be fair, it might — emotionally, at least.

Your heels come off with two exhausted kicks by the door, and you shuffle in like a ghost that's been overworked and emotionally blindsided in the span of a single car ride and a café order.

Your thoughts are spiraling again. Replaying the moment on a loop like your brain’s refusing to let it go.

My girlfriend will have an iced vanilla latte.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

He didn’t even flinch. Said it like he orders for you all the time. Which he doesn’t. Because he’s your boss. Your boss. The youngest CEO in South Korea. The man who built empires with one look and shuts entire boardrooms up without raising his voice.

You should not — cannot — be thinking about how sharp his jaw looked when he turned slightly in the café light. Or how the corners of his eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit when you pinched him.

You’ve lasted this long. Years of working beside him, through sleepless nights and global deals, through power plays and gala events and 3 a.m. emergencies. You’ve survived his deadpan sarcasm, his overachiever control freak tendencies, even the subtle ways he remembers your coffee order and favorite pastry.

You cannot fall for—

“Unnie.”

You scream.

Your little sister Minjeong blinks up at you from the couch, a blanket around her shoulders and a bag of chips halfway to her mouth. “Whoa! Are you okay?!”

You clutch your chest, gasping like you just ran a marathon in your own hallway. “Minjeong! What the hell—what are you doing here?!”

She shrugs like she lives here, which, okay, technically she does. “I finished class early. You didn’t text back, so I figured you were still working late. But you’re early.”

You slump onto the armrest of the couch, still trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Early is a strong word. I’ve just… had a day.”

She squints at you. “Wait. Are you blushing?”

You stare at her. “I am not.”

“You so are. Your ears are red. That only happens when you’re embarrassed or thinking about something you shouldn’t be thinking about—oh my God, is it work guy?!”

“Stop calling him that.”

“You never give me a name! So I just assumed ‘mysterious hot boss you won’t talk about’ means he’s secretly your forbidden office love.”

You groan, burying your face into the blanket she left on the side of the couch. “I hate you.”

“You do not. Spill. Right now.”

You mumble through the blanket. “He called me his girlfriend in public.”

Minjeong gasps so loudly it sounds fake. “WHAT?!”

“In front of a barista. Like it was nothing”

Minjeong slaps the couch cushion beside her. “Did he wink? Was there hand-holding? Did he look at you like you’re the only woman who’s ever understood his trauma?!”

You lift your head. “What drama have you been watching—?”

“This is real life drama! What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything! I pinched him! Pinched. In public.”

Minjeong’s mouth falls open. “Scandalous.”

You groan again, collapsing fully onto the couch this time. “He’s my boss, Minjeong. This is a nightmare.”

She leans over you, her eyes wide. “Or it’s the best plot twist ever.”

You throw a pillow at her. your face is still warm and the word girlfriend won’t leave your head.

Wonwoo can pinpoint the exact moment it shifted.

It wasn’t some dramatic, earth-shattering realization. No lightning bolt. No slow-motion scene from a movie.

It was simpler than that. Quiet, like most important things in his life.

You were leaning over his desk, rattling off his schedule without looking at your tablet — because you’d already memorized it. You were adjusting his tie, the fifth time that month because he couldn’t be bothered to fix it right

You had this look on your face and you didn’t even flinch when he gave one of his sharper remarks. You just quipped something under your breath and moved on.

And that was it.

That was the moment. He still remembers thinking, God, I’m in trouble.

He’d always been good at structure. It was how he survived becoming CEO at twenty-eight. How he controlled rooms full of people twice his age and didn’t blink. His life was systemized, every minute accounted for, every decision calculated.

But you… you snuck in between the seconds. You made space where there wasn’t supposed to be any. And worst of all — you never asked for it.

You never asked for special treatment. Never tried to charm your way into anything. You just showed up — on time, prepared, infuriatingly perceptive — and somehow made the chaos manageable. Made him manageable.

He tried not to think too hard about it. Especially in the beginning. You were his assistant. That line was immovable. He’d built too much to risk it.

But then you started noticing the little things too. That he skips lunch when he’s stressed, that his coffee order changes depending on how his meetings went. That he gets tension headaches after long phone calls in Japanese. That he breathes a little easier when you’re around.

You never said anything about it. But you adjusted for him, anyway. Quietly. Naturally.

When the word “girlfriend” slipped out, he expected panic. Maybe a scandalized look or a stammer. He didn’t expect a sharp pinch to the side.

And God, if that didn’t make him want to smile.

Now, sitting in his living room after watching you nearly combust from your own embarrassment, he can’t help but let the smirk tug at his lips. The one he only ever lets slip when no one’s around.

He knows it’s risky. Knows the lines are still there, waiting.

But he also knows something else now — something he’s known for a while but only recently let himself admit:

You aren’t just part of his life.

You are his life.

The quiet in the storm. The thread in the chaos. The one person who never demanded anything, and somehow ended up meaning everything.

The door opens with a heavy click, and you glance up from the stack of files on your lap. Wonwoo walks in, loosening his tie with one hand, the other clutching his tablet. His jaw is tight, movements sharper than usual.

He doesn’t speak at first, just tosses the tablet onto the desk and shrugs off his jacket. Eventually, he turns, leaning back against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. His eyes find yours, unreadable but heavy. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

You tilt your head, voice soft. “Bad meeting?”

He scoffs, low and humorless. “Understatement.”

“Do you want me to reschedule anything for tomorrow? Push a few things so you get a breather in the morning?”

He shakes his head, looking down at the floor for a beat. “No. I’ll handle it.”

You eye him for a second, then lean forward, sorting through another file. “You say that like you’re not running on caffeine and spite.”

“Spite’s effective,” he murmurs.

You glance up again. “Not sustainable.”

He walks around the desk slowly, finally moving toward you. You expect him to stop at his chair, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes to where you’re sitting and wordlessly drops down on the couch beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours.

You don’t say anything at first but then, voice quiet you say “Was it something I can fix?”

He exhales through his nose, then turns his head to look at you. “You fix more than you know.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a small smile, bumping his knee with yours. “Yeah, well. That’s what you pay me for, right?”

He hums, eyes still on you. “I don’t pay you enough.”

You glance away before you can look too long, heart tripping slightly. You’re too aware of how close he is. Of the tension from earlier meetings still lingering in his shoulders, the tired look in his eyes, the quiet way he always softens when it’s just the two of you in moments like this.

“You hungry?”

His lips quirk faintly. “Only if you are.”

You smile at that, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re both going to end up eating crackers from the vending machine again, aren’t we?”

“Classy dinner for two.”

You laugh under your breath, and he watches you. A little too long. A little too hard.

Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice quieter now. “You should’ve gone home earlier.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze. “You know I don’t leave until you do.”

He looks at you for a moment more, something in his eyes you can’t place.

And then softly, under his breath: “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You blink. “What?”

But he’s already standing again, brushing off his pants, like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll call the driver,” he says. “We’re done for today.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Minjeong flops down next to you on the couch, dropping her backpack with the kind of dramatic sigh only college students and people who’ve had three back-to-back group projects can muster. “God, if I hear the word ‘presentation’ one more time, I’m throwing myself into the Han River.”

You grunt from under your blanket, fully cocooned. “Mood.”

She turns to look at you. “Why do you look like a defeated burrito?”

“I am a defeated burrito.”

Minjeong raises a brow. “Rough day?”

You pause. Then with a long, tragic sigh, you mumble, “Hypothetically…”

“Oh boy.”

“…what does one do,” you continue, voice muffled from under your blanket, “when they’re… possibly… kind of… maybe… starting to like someone they’re not supposed to like.”

Minjeong’s eyes light up like a crow who spotted something shiny. “Ooohhh. We’re finally talking about it.”

You sit up just enough to glare at her. “Talking about what? I said hypothetical.”

“Yeah, sure. Hypothetical,” she echoes, with full air quotes. “Let me guess. Is this hypothetical person tall? Powerful? Smart? Obsessed with order? Wears tailored suits that scream ‘please emotionally damage me’?”

You scowl. “You know too much.”

“I live with you. You literally talk in your sleep.”

You throw a pillow at her. She catches it with a smirk. “So what happened? Did he brush your hand? Did he breathe too close?”

You sigh again, flopping back dramatically. “He ordered coffee for me. Then today he drove me home, well his driver did but you get what i mean right?”

Minjeong stares. “Wow. Scandalous. I hope you recovered from that very erotic experience. so what’s the problem?”

You groan, throwing your hands over your face. “The problem is: 1. He’s my boss. 2. I’m his assistant. 3. He’s objectively terrifying. 4. I’m very good at pretending I don’t find him absurdly attractive. 5. I don’t want to die.”

Minjeong leans in like she’s hosting a gossip podcast. “But you do like him.”

“No! Maybe. I don’t know. Shut up.”

She’s grinning so wide now you want to kick her. “This is so fun for me.”

“Good. Glad one of us is thriving.”

“You know,” she says, suddenly thoughtful, “for someone who’s always in control and totally unflappable at work, you really are spiraling like a romcom heroine right now.”

“I am not—”

“Next thing I know you’ll be running through the rain in heels crying about how you can’t be with him.”

“First of all, I would never ruin good heels like that. Second, I hate you.”

She grins, leans over, and flicks your forehead. “You love me. And you totally love him.”

You flop back into your blanket. “God, I need a lobotomy.”

“Nope,” she chirps, standing up. “You need a plan. Operation: Seduce Scary CEO.”

You peek from under the blanket. “I will call mom.”

“And tell her what? That I’m encouraging you to get your rich, hot boss to fall in love with you? She’ll ask why it hasn’t happened already.”

You sigh like it’s your last breath on Earth and scrub your hands over your face. “I’m serious, Min. I can’t do this.”

She pokes her head back into the living room like a nosy meerkat. “Do what, exactly?”

You groan, flopping back down on the couch. “Function like a normal human being when he does these things! Like, he’ll look at me — just look! — and for a solid three seconds my brain just. Stops working. Completely.”

Minjeong is smirking again, the menace. “So... like how you look at carbs after a diet?”

“Worse!” you wail. “Because bread doesn’t make me think about HR policies!”

Min walks over, sits back down beside your burrito form, and raises a brow. “That’s a very specific guilt.”

You wave your hand like you’re shooing away the ghost of professionalism. “It’s one hell of a long letter to HR, Min. One hell of a letter. ‘Dear HR, I accidentally had a daydream about my boss shirtless again. It was a Tuesday. There was nothing I could do.’”

She snorts. “Again?!”

“Don’t judge me, I’m fragile.”

Min is full-on laughing now. “You’re spiraling.”

“I am!” you cry dramatically. “He said I was his girlfriend to a stranger! In public! With his CEO face on like it was just another bullet point in the agenda!”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t just to mess with you?”

You glare. “Oh, he was absolutely messing with me. But then he does that thing where he holds eye contact a second too long, or says something kind of sweet but in his emotionally constipated CEO tone, and I just— I lose my ability to form words.”

Min makes a fake sympathetic noise. “Poor thing. Falling for your terrifying boss who buys you luxury bags and remembers your coffee order.”

You grumble into the blanket. “He’s too powerful. It’s like being in a boss battle with feelings. And I can’t even use any of my attacks because he already has all the cheat codes!”

Min pats your head. “You need therapy.”

“I need to quit.”

“You won’t.”

You sigh. “I know. I’d just end up crying on the street while LinkedIn roasts me with passive-aggressive rejection emails.”

Min grins and stands. “I’ll go start popcorn. Let me know if you plan to make out with him in a boardroom so I can clear my evening.”

Wonwoo noticed it immediately.

It was subtle at first barely-there shifts only someone who’d spent nearly every waking moment with you the last three years would even register. But for someone like him, whose job required reading rooms, reading people, reading you, it was impossible not to see it.

You still handed him his coffee just the way he liked it. Your reports were still precise, your scheduling still impeccable, and your presence still reliable as ever.

But that was the thing. That’s all you were now.

Reliable. Efficient. Distant.

You no longer stood too close. No light teasing, no under-your-breath comments when you passed each other in tight hallways. No quiet, shared glances from across a boardroom when someone said something ridiculous.

But oddly enough… it wasn’t like you were distracted. Not the usual kind.

You were sharper. Every task executed with ruthless precision. Every deadline met before he even brought it up. It was as if you’d turned all your energy inward, redirecting it completely to your job. Like a shield. Like a wall.

And Wonwoo hated it.

He hated the unfamiliar cold that came with your new distance. He hated that you didn’t argue anymore, didn’t nag him over meals or mutter things under your breath that made him stifle a smirk in the middle of a meeting. The version of you that made his world feel a little less mechanical.

He sat behind his desk one evening, watching you through the glass as you stood outside, briefing a junior team member like your voice didn’t used to soften when you spoke just to him.

And for the first time in a while, Wonwoo didn’t know what he was doing.

Because he could face boards, competitors, the press, entire industries with calm precision—but facing this version of you?

He didn’t know where to begin.

The rain was merciless, pounding the windows with a steady rhythm that usually lulled you to sleep. But tonight, it sounded like a warning. Something in the air had felt off since evening fell, like the silence was heavier than it should be.

You had tried to brush it off.

Minjeong had noticed your restlessness, teasing you lightly before retreating to her room. But even she had paused before closing her door, glancing back with a furrowed brow like she sensed something too.

You were just about to crawl into bed, hair still damp from your shower, oversized sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder. The kind of night where you should’ve been half-asleep already, but instead you stared at your phone like it might suddenly buzz.

And then it did.

The name flashing across the screen made your chest tighten instantly

Kang, security detail.

You answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Miss—” the man’s voice cracked slightly, something in it strained. “There’s been an incident. Mr. Jeon’s convoy—on the return from the site. There was an accident. He’s—he’s conscious, but we’re still assessing. Paramedics are on site. We’re bringing him back to the penthouse for further monitoring. Doctor will be on standby.”

You didn’t hear the rest.

Your body moved on instinct—keys, shoes, phone—your sweatshirt was soaked in seconds as you dashed through the rain, adrenaline silencing the voice in your head screaming for answers. You didn’t call anyone. Didn’t text. Didn’t stop.

You just ran.

By the time you got to the penthouse, it was chaos. His head legal counsel was there, murmuring in tight tones to someone from security.

A private doctor stood near the hallway, suitcase open and ready. The elevator dinged softly behind you, someone rushing past with documents in hand. Every face was tense. Quiet.

You stood there, dripping wet, your lungs burning not from the run but from what came next.

“Where is he?” you asked the moment one of the security team spotted you.

“They’re just bringing him in—”

And then the door opened. Two guards came in first, followed by the doctor, and then—

Wonwoo.

He was walking, which gave you the tiniest ounce of reliefmbut barely. His face was pale under the dim light, soaked in rain, one arm pressed tightly to his side, the other bracing against a guard’s shoulder.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on you.

Everything stopped.

You wanted to go to him, throw your arms around him just to make sure he was real, breathing, alive but you froze. He didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at you like you were the only thing grounding him.

And somehow that look alone nearly shattered the wall you had built this past week.

You followed as the doctor led him to the couch, gloves already on, checking his vitals. Someone handed him dry clothes. He didn’t speak through any of it. He just winced when the doctor touched a bruised rib, hissed softly when antiseptic hit a gash on his arm.

Still, his eyes found you again, as if making sure you were still there.

You stood behind the couch, hands clenched into fists. You needed to stay calm. Needed to be his assistant, not this panicked, helpless version of yourself shaking in place.

“How bad is it?” you asked quietly when the doctor finally stepped back.

“He’ll need to rest some bruising. A few minor cuts. Thankfully nothing internal.” The doctor looked to you, then back to Wonwoo. “But he shouldn’t be left alone tonight.”

“I’ll stay,” you said, before anyone else could offer.

Wonwoo didn’t argue. His team slowly began filtering out, murmuring about statements, follow-ups, documents to file. You barely registered them.

When everyone else finally cleared out, and it was just you and him in the dim quiet of the penthouse, you finally moved. Walked to him slowly. Sat down on the table in front of him.

“You’re an idiot,” you said quietly. Your voice cracked.

He blinked. “...You’re soaked.”

“You almost died, and that’s your concern?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I ran here through the rain!”

A pause then he reached forward, slowly, fingers brushing yours. You flinched—not from fear, but from everything inside you that had been bubbling and cracking and breaking since the call.

He didn’t pull away.

“I told them to call you first,” he said.

You swallowed. “You did?”

“I knew you’d come.”

Of course you would. Even if it killed you.

You exhaled, shoulders finally sagging as you leaned your forehead gently against his shoulder.

“Just—don’t ever do that again,” you whispered.

“I didn’t plan on it.”

The tears came before you even realized it. You tried to blink them away, wiped at your cheeks quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie like that would make it less obvious, but it was already too late.

Wonwoo was staring at you with something unreadable in his eyes, something that wasn’t just concern or guilt or pain. Something softer.

“Are you… crying because you almost lost your boss?” he asked, tone dry but quiet, like he wasn’t sure if joking was allowed yet.

You sniffled. “Shut up.”

And he chuckled. That low, rare laugh of his that always caught you off guard. The kind that never lasted more than a second but managed to settle under your skin.

You didn’t pull away when he reached for you. You didn’t step back or pretend to be fine or make another sarcastic comment. Instead, you let yourself be tugged forward, into the warmth of his chest, your knees slipping between his as you pressed your forehead to his shoulder again.

His arms came around you, one a little tighter than the other with the bruised rib, but it didn’t matter.

You melted into him.

“You’re shaking,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your hair. “Why would you run through the rain like that? Do you even know how dangerous—”

“Wonwoo.”

“It would have been better to take the bus than this—”

“You were in a car accident,” you muttered against his shirt, voice hoarse. “You could’ve—”

“But I didn’t,” he said. And his tone dropped, lost the teasing edge. “I didn’t.”

You didn’t answer, just gripped his shirt tighter in your fists.

He sighed softly, adjusting to pull you in closer despite the dull ache in his side. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Still your assistant,” you mumbled. “Technically part of my job description to panic when my boss almost dies.”

“That’s not in any contract I’ve signed.”

You scoffed against him. “You bend rules, remember?”

That made him pause. Then he murmured, “Only for you.”

It hung in the air between you, heavier than the silence before it but you didn’t back away. Not this time. You stayed exactly where you were, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he wasn’t planning to let go any time soon.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you deadpan, arms crossed as you stand by his office door, glaring at the man who was very much in a car accident less than twenty-four hours ago and now sat at his desk like nothing happened.

Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. He adjusted the sleeves of his dark shirt—he’d forgone the tie today, probably the only concession he made to his condition—and started tapping through emails like you weren’t shooting daggers at him from across the room.

“I already told you,” he said calmly, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re stubborn.” You stomped over to his desk, grabbed the edge of it like you might flip it just to make your point.

“Your shoulder’s bruised. You’ve got stitches on your hand. You limped into the building this morning, and you have a team of people who can handle things for you while you rest.”

“Yet here you are,” he replied, not looking up. “Still here. Still managing my schedule.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because I knew you’d pull this.”

“Sit down,” you said, exasperated, reaching over to grab his laptop. “You’re getting too comfortable pretending you’re indestructible. I should start locking your office when you're not fit for duty.”

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair slightly, wincing just a little. “That would be an abuse of power.”

You raised a brow. “And giving yourself a concussion from working too much isn’t?”

He blinked slowly. “It was a collision, not my laptop falling on my head.”

“Same difference.”

That made him laugh—quiet but real—and you hated how your heart did a stupid little stutter at the sound.

“Fine,” he said, finally closing the laptop. “An hour. Then I’ll rest.”

“You said that two hours ago.”

He huffed a soft laugh again behind you, then called your name, quietly.

“You didn’t have to stay last night,” he said.

“I know.”

“And you didn’t have to come running when they called.”

“I know.”

“And you still did.”

You shifted slightly under his gaze, biting your lip. “Don’t make it weird, Jeon.”

His eyes softened just enough. “I won’t. Not today.”

“Don’t say it,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo doesn’t reply, just tilts his head slightly, waiting. You glance down, hands gripping the edge of the file you’re holding like it might anchor you to the ground.

“I—I don’t know what this is,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “What we are. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just… blurred lines. But I’m not going to do something that can put your position at risk.”

There’s a flicker in his expression. A faint crease between his brows. Like something in your words bruised a part of him.

He still doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to convince you, doesn’t argue or joke or push.

But what you don’t know—what he doesn’t say out loud—is that the moment you stepped into his life, everything shifted. He’s not just willing to bend the rules anymore. No, in his mind, he’s already rebuilding the whole system. Brick by brick. Quietly, meticulously.

If the rules don’t allow room for you, then the rules need to change. Simple as that.

To him, it’s never been about risk.

It’s about you.

You, who showed up through every storm. You, who know how he takes his coffee better than the barista at his usual café. You, who still argue with him about cufflinks and vitamins and going home at a reasonable hour.

You, who looked like you were going to fall apart when you saw him after the accident—and then pulled yourself together for his sake anyway.

So no—he doesn’t speak. Not yet. But as he watches you retreat across the room, back to your usual spot like nothing just passed between you, he knows.

This silence won’t last forever.

The summons came just after you got back to your desk. A message from him

JWW: Come in. Now.

You groan quietly and bang your forehead lightly against your desk twice before pushing yourself up. Of course he found out. Of course someone from HR opened their mouth.

You tried to handle it discreetly, but nothing ever stays secret for long in this building. Especially when it comes to you and Jeon Wonwoo. When you enter, he’s behind his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, glasses on, the expression on his face unreadable.

That’s somehow worse.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You do, because what else can you do? You sit, and the air feels a little too heavy for your liking.

“So,” he starts, folding his hands together on the desk. “Are you going to tell me what this is about or are you planning to run away without saying anything?”

You blink. “Define ‘run away’ because technically I didn’t quit—yet.”

His jaw ticks. “You went to HR.”

“I was just exploring options,” you say quickly, too quickly. “I wasn’t resigning or handing in a letter or—you know, flinging myself dramatically off the metaphorical cliff. I was just—curious.”

“Curious about replacing yourself?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then open it again and sigh.

“Okay. Fine. Look. I am at the point where I’m tired, okay? Tired of pretending I don’t like you more than I should. More than I will ever admit again after this, by the way. Because I can’t—we can’t—this whole thing, it’s just—”

You stop for a second, gesturing vaguely at him like he’s part of the problem (he is), then at yourself (you are), then just give up and drop your hands on your lap.

“I don’t know how we got here,” you mutter. “One minute you’re just Jeon Wonwoo: Scary CEO, walking PowerPoint presentation, likes black coffee and dark suits and the sound of his own silence. And the next minute, you’re showing up in my brain in the middle of the night like—like some tragic K-drama male lead with a concussion and tailored pants.”

You inhale sharply. “And do you know how annoying it is that you're actually nice underneath all the CEO brooding? I was fully prepared to keep ignoring my feelings for the rest of my life. I had a plan! I was emotionally repressed and everything!”

He just watches you, still too quiet, still too calm. That, more than anything, starts to unravel you.

“I thought if I started the process of finding a replacement, I could… create some distance. I mean, if I’m not your assistant anymore, then maybe—maybe I’ll stop being the person who knows what color your mood is just from how you set your coffee cup down. Or the person who notices every time you look for me in a meeting. Or—God—forgets to breathe every time you wear those damn glasses—”

Wonwoo finally stands.

You freeze.

Oh no. You crossed a line. Several lines. You practically did the tango over them.

But he doesn’t speak. He just walks around the desk and stops in front of you.

“I wore the glasses today on purpose,” he says, voice lower than before.

You blink up at him, stunned. “What?”

“I knew you’d be avoiding me. I figured it’d be the fastest way to get your attention again.”

“You—” You gape. “You manipulative, calculating—glasses-wearing menace!”

A corner of his mouth twitches.

“I told you once I don’t bend the rules for anyone,” he says. “But I would for you. I already have.”

Your breath hitches. He kneels slightly to be at your level.

“If we’re really doing this…” you start, voice quieter now, softer after all the chaos you just unloaded.

Wonwoo’s still crouched in front of you, looking like he’s got all the time in the world. His eyes haven’t left yours once. You try not to fidget. Fail. Fidget anyway.

“…And the past few minutes, days, moments weren’t just my imagination,” you continue, “then I think I want to… I mean, I would like to… resign.”

His eyes narrow a little, and you raise a hand fast.

“Not like that! I don’t mean…” You inhale and press your palms against your knees, steadying yourself. “I mean, if we’re actually doing this, the… you and me thing, or whatever this is, I don’t think I can keep working for you.”

You rush on before he can interrupt, knowing that look on his face is the quiet before the storm. “I’m serious! If it turns out we’re just a momentary cliché, if something blows up, if we break up—”

“We haven’t even started,” he says dryly.

“Exactly!” you say, flailing slightly. “And still I’m spiraling. Imagine what I’d be like if we actually dated. I’d be hiding under every Monday morning or sobbing in the elevator and calling HR with a fake voice—‘Yes, hello, it’s not me, but I think Jeon Wonwoo is dating his assistant.’”

His lips twitch. “You’d sabotage yourself?”

“In a heartbeat,” you admit shamelessly. “And then I’d call myself to schedule the investigation.”

That earns a short laugh from him, low and warm.

“I’m not saying this like I want to end anything before it starts,” you say. “But I want to keep the work stuff clean. I don’t want you to have to explain to the board or media why your assistant gets heart eyes during your presentations.”

He’s quiet again.

Still.

Too still.

“Say something. Please. Or blink. You’re staring like you already have my resignation letter drafted.”

Wonwoo finally stands. Walks around his desk. You watch, thinking he’s about to sit. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out a drawer, retrieves a black folder, opens it slowly… and pulls out a paper.

Your paper. Your résumé. The one you handed in three years ago, now carefully stored in his private drawer.

Your eyes go wide. “You kept that?”

“I keep records,” he says calmly.

You sputter. “Is that romantic or terrifying?”

“Both.”

“If you want to resign,” he says, voice steady but a little rough around the edges, “I won’t stop you. But not because you’re afraid of being a cliché.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want to ask you out,” he says plainly. “Not as my assistant. Not as part of work. Just you.”

“You said you don’t know what we are,” he says, “but I do. I’ve known for a while.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest.

“So,” he says, walking over and placing the folder on the coffee table in front of you. “Take your time. Think about it. Resign or don’t. But I’m not letting go just because this is complicated.”

You stare at the folder, then up at him. He looks impossibly calm, like he’s already built a ten-year plan around whatever your decision ends up being.

“…So,” you say weakly. “If I do resign, does this mean I can start sending flirty emails to your work account?”

His mouth twitches again. “You already do.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yesterday’s ‘Don’t forget to eat or I’ll come drag you out of that meeting myself’ email? Very romantic.”

You gasp. “That was threatening! That was a threat!”

“Exactly,” he says smoothly. “Romantic.”

God help you.

You’re falling in love with a terrifying CEO and apparently… he’s already ten steps ahead.

The days that followed felt both painfully normal and wildly new. You still arrived before him, arranged his schedule, reminded him of appointments, sent out emails like clockwork, and somehow anticipated every unspoken instruction without skipping a beat. You were still you, still the best assistant he’s ever had—and both of you knew it.

But now, tucked between all the efficient workflow and clinical professionalism, you were also… interviewing your potential replacements.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t qualified,” you muttered once, shuffling candidate files across your tablet as you stood beside him during a short elevator ride, “but she called you ‘Mr. Jeonwoo’ twice, and I refuse to subject the office to that level of chaos.”

Wonwoo didn’t even look up from his phone. “So you’re screening for people who can pronounce my name?”

“I’m screening for people who won’t accidentally get fired on their first day.”

That earned a glance. A small smile.

He didn’t say it out loud, but you could see it in the way his jaw tightened every time you walked into his office with an updated shortlist.

You also learned very quickly that flirting from Jeon Wonwoo was dangerous because it didn’t come in loud declarations or showy gestures. It came quietly, smoothly, when you least expected it.

You didn’t even glance up from the stack of resumes in your hand when you spoke, but your voice was quieter this time. Less joking. “You hate it, don’t you. Interviewing my replacements.”

There was a beat of silence, just the sound of a soft sigh and the scratch of his pen stopping against paper.

Then, low and almost reluctant, he mumbled, “I do.”

That made you look up.

“I hate it. Every time I sit across from them and they talk about time management and efficiency and how good they are at color-coding calendars, I just—” He paused, jaw tightening. “—I want to ask them if they’d know to cancel a meeting just from the way I shift in my seat. Or if they’d remember I like my coffee black when the forecast says rain.”

You stared.

He finally looked at you then, straight in the eye.

“But,” he continued, quieter now, “if that’s what it will take for us to work… if you think I’m worth the risk… then I’m okay with it.”

You felt your heart thump once—loud and sharp—before catching in your throat. There it was.

That steady, no-nonsense Wonwoo voice. The one he used when finalizing major business deals. The one that didn’t entertain doubt.

But this time it was about you.

Your hands folded the resume in your lap without realizing, and you whispered, “That’s not fair.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s not?”

“You saying stuff like that—” You gestured vaguely at him, at the air, at the space between you. “—like you didn’t just casually drop an emotional landmine across my perfectly organized work brain.”

Wonwoo almost smiled. “So now I’m a distraction?”

“The biggest one.”

A beat. Then a low chuckle.

“Then it’s only fair,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You’ve been distracting me for years.”

You groaned, tossing the resume at the table like it offended you. “You were supposed to be emotionally constipated, not—whatever this is.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, the edge of his mouth tugging up just a little. “Surprise.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you wanted to slap his shoulder or kiss him.

Probably both.

“I still don’t know if this is smart,” you muttered. “We’re walking a very thin line, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be messy.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“And if we crash and burn, I’m not just risking my job, I’m risking my pride. And I have a lot of pride.”

He leaned in a little closer. “I know.”

“You’re really not going to try and talk me out of this?”

“Why would I? I’ve waited long enough.”

That shut you up. Completely.

Finally, you mumbled, “You should come with a warning label.”

“I do,” he said. “You just ignore it.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “You’re annoying.”

“Still worth the risk?”

You glared.

He smirked.

He stood up slowly, smooth and deliberate, walking around the table until he was in front of you. You tilted your head back slightly to follow his movement, heart ticking up a notch when he crouched down at your side, eyes leveled with yours.

“I don’t want you to give up anything for me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Don’t choose between me and your career if that’s what’s happening here.”

You opened your mouth. Then shut it. Then tried again.

“But…” You hesitated, the word hanging on your tongue like it weighed more than it should.

“But that’s the thing,” you said, voice quieter now. “I’d choose…”

His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t push or pressure. Just waited. Calm. Patient.

“I’d choose you,” you finally said, barely louder than a whisper.

Wonwoo didn’t move at first. Just blinked—slow, like he had to take in every word. Then his mouth lifted at the corner, the smallest, softest smile.

You added quickly, “But I’m still finishing this project, okay? Don’t get all weird and noble. I’ve worked too hard to leave everything half-done.”

His brow arched in amusement. “So you’re choosing me but with conditions.”

You scowled. “Obviously.”

A soft laugh escaped him then, low and genuine. His hand reached out, carefully, fingers brushing yours before curling around them. “Okay,” he said. “Conditions accepted.”

And there, in the middle of your chaotic work desk, his knees probably going numb from crouching and you blinking back whatever overwhelming feeling was trying to crash over your chest—you smiled.

Really smiled because you knew this wasn’t just about choosing him.

He was choosing you, too.

You were half-kneeling by the side cabinet in his office, going through the rack of emergency suits and coats he kept in there. As usual, muttering to yourself as you folded one of the sleeves more neatly.

“Who just shoves an Armani jacket like this? The hanger is right there—why do I even bother—”

You were so caught up in your organizing and light scolding that you didn’t hear him approach. Didn’t notice the soft thud of his polished shoes on the carpet.

Until you felt arms slowly wrap around you from behind.

You froze.

Completely, utterly froze.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you said slowly, voice already filled with warning, “what do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t let go. In fact, he just rested his chin lightly on your shoulder and sighed. “It’s after hours,” he mumbled, voice lower, deeper, rougher from fatigue. “And I’m tired.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked.

“Okay, first of all,” you started, heart beating way too fast for your liking, “you can’t just sneak up on people and hug them like that—this is still your office. Technically still a place of work.”

He didn’t budge. Just nuzzled a little closer and sighed again.

“Wonwoo,” you said, more breathless this time. “Let go.”

“No.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“This is not professional,” you tried.

“Good thing it’s after hours,” he replied easily.

“I could file a complaint.”

“You could,” he said, finally leaning back just a little—but his hands stayed firmly on your waist. “But you won’t.”

You turned around slowly to face him, hands still awkwardly stuck between you and his chest. He looked tired, yes, but there was something else in his eyes. Something soft. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. “Why are you doing this now?”

“Because you’re leaving soon,” he said simply. “And I… don’t want to miss any more moments I could’ve had.”

“So this is your plan? Surprise-hug me into staying?”

He smirked, just a little. “You always did respond to blunt gestures.”

You laughed despite yourself, pressing a palm to your face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still here,” he said.

You scowl at him, cheeks burning as your palms press lightly against his chest, trying—and failing—to keep some kind of distance.

"Once I’m not your secretary," you mutter, almost too fast, your eyes darting everywhere except at his, "I can be… I don’t know. Whatever you want me to."

Wonwoo blinks, caught off guard—but only for a second. Because then, he smiles. That rare, boyish smile. The one that softens every sharp angle of his intimidating face. The one you’ve only seen a handful of times and never this close.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he pulls you into an even tighter hug. His arms wrap around you securely, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head gently.

You immediately panic.

"Yah—Jeon Wonwoo!" you squeak, muffled slightly against his chest. "I just said not yet! What are you doing?!"

"You said 'once you’re not my secretary'," he says, completely unbothered, his voice warm and annoyingly smug. "Not that I couldn’t get a head start."

"That’s not what I meant and you know it!"

He chuckles low in his throat. "You're rambling again."

"Because you’re hugging me! Like this!"

"I’m practicing."

"For what, exactly?!"

He leans his chin on top of your head, his voice a low hum. “For the moment I can finally call you mine without crossing any lines.”

You go quiet. Your entire face burns hot, your mind frantically searching for a snarky comeback—but nothing comes. Because deep down, maybe you don’t want to deflect this time.

After a long moment, you sigh, defeated, forehead gently bumping against his chest.

"You’re really good at this, you know that?"

"Only when it comes to you," he murmurs, and now you really want to scream.

But you don’t. Not tonight.

Instead, you let him hold you for just a little longer.

The office is quieter today.

Not because the work has stopped—Jeon Corporations doesn’t sleep—but because it’s your last day, and everyone knows it. People greet you with bittersweet smiles. The ones who have worked closest to you offer their heartfelt goodbyes, some even trying to convince you to reconsider.

But your decision was already made.

You spend the morning tying up the final pieces of the major project you've been overseeing. Your replacement shadows you through the day, still stiff and nervous under Wonwoo's piercing gaze. You catch yourself shooting the poor kid a sympathetic smile more than once.

By lunch, you’ve cleared out your desk. The clock ticks toward the end of the day, and for once, you don’t rush to meet him outside his office when his final meeting wraps. You don’t straighten his tie, or hand him his coffee, or recite the rundown of his next appointments.

You just wait quietly at your desk, finishing the last bit of documentation before sending the final email.

You hear him call for you from his office so you go in.

Wonwoo stands there, in his suit and tie, every bit the composed CEO the world knows him as. But his eyes are different. There’s something quieter in them. Something only you have ever seen.

“So… this is it.”

You nod. “This is it.”

He walks to his desk, pulls open the drawer, and places a sleek black envelope on the table between you. You blink down at it, puzzled.

“It’s a… contract? A letter? A declaration” he says casually. “Nothing official. Just something I’ve drafted. It outlines your new role.”

Your heart stops. “My what?”

He smiles faintly. “Girlfriend. Possibly more later. Benefits included. No office politics. No need to call me ‘sir’ anymore, unless you want to.”

You laugh, a sound that comes out half-hysterical, half-teary. “You made a contract?”

“Would you expect anything less from me?”

You roll your eyes, trying to pretend you’re not fighting the urge to cry again. “This is ridiculous.”

“I wanted to do this the right way,” he says. “I didn’t want to take a single risk with you while we were still bound by titles. But now... there’s nothing in the way.”

You look up at him—your now former boss, the man who made you fall so impossibly hard without even trying.

“I’m off the clock,” you whisper.

His lips curve. “Then I can do this.”

And he kisses you.

No more tension, no more pretending. Just him. Just you.

Finally.

When the two of you break apart, you’re both smiling. This right here should feel scary, stepping into this unknown with the man who knows you best.

You look at the letter again, smiling bigger “You reall drafted a whole contract like this is some business deal?” you tease him

“What? Were you expecting a heartfelt love letter stating every reason why I’m choosing you? I can make a whole book of that if you want”

You laugh at that, Wonwoo watches you like you’re a sight he’ll never get tired watching.

“So let’s say I’m interested in this vacancy… as your girlfriend…” you trail off.

Immediately his arms tightens around you, lifting you slightly off the ground making you laugh again before he settles you back on the ground without letting you go

“You’re overqualified, I’d promote you straight to wife” he says with the kind of seriousness hed use in the boardroom.

You roll your eyes but ending up grinning and blushing anyways. You stand on your tiptoe, your lips capturing his again.

And as the day ends, a new one will begin.

You might not be there beside him during the work hours, but now you’ll be there with him for a lifetime.

2 YEARS LATER

His office looked exactly the same.

Same towering bookshelves, same minimalist elegance, same silent efficiency humming in the walls—but if someone paid enough attention, they’d notice the change. They’d see it in the framed photo on his desk, the faintest hint of a smile that used to never be there, and the soft black velvet box in the drawer closest to him, now empty.

Jeon Wonwoo had just ended another brutal, back-to-back meeting with the overseas partners. He leaned back in his chair, rolling his sleeves up slightly, the sharp lines of his suit jacket discarded on the coat rack. The meeting had run long—again—and now he was due for a dinner event in exactly thirty minutes.

He glanced down at his cufflinks and sighed.

Of course.

He grabbed one, trying to angle it just right, but it slipped from his fingers. The sound it made hitting the desk was soft, but his jaw clenched. It wasn’t about the cufflinks. It was the fact that you used to do this for him—quietly, without asking, without needing a cue.

Before he could try again, his new secretary knocked once and stepped in. “Sir, your—”

He didn’t even look up. “Let her in.”

The secretary blinked. “Ah, yes. Of course.” She stepped back.

And then you walked in.

Not in workwear. Not with your tablet or schedule. But in an elegant blouse tucked into black trousers, a soft leather handbag slung over your shoulder, and a ring—his ring—glinting proudly on your finger.

“Wow,” you said, raising a brow as you shut the door behind you. “Still fighting with the cufflinks?”

Wonwoo didn’t smile, but there was that look—eyes softening just a fraction, the corners of his mouth threatening a curve.

“I had it under control,” he said.

You snorted, crossing the room with the same confidence you had when you worked under him—but this time, it wasn’t duty guiding your steps. It was something else entirely.

“Sure, Mr. CEO,” you teased, reaching for his wrist. “Let me help before you bend another rule and go to a black-tie dinner with rolled sleeves.”

He extended his arm wordlessly, watching the way your fingers expertly slid the cufflink into place.

“How was the meeting?” you asked.

He exhaled through his nose. “I’d rather have been anywhere else.”

“Even stuck in traffic with me singing off-key?”

He gave you a side-glance. “That’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

You smirked, moving to his other cuff. “You’re just saying that because you proposed after one of those car rides.”

“And because you said yes,” he said quietly. Remembering that night just a few weeks ago.

Your hands faltered for a moment, not because you were unsure—never that—but because it still floored you, how easily you could fall for him all over again in small moments like this.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I did.”

The second cufflink clicked into place. You smoothed the sleeves of his dress shirt and adjusted his collar. When you looked up, he was already watching you again.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” you murmured, voice almost lost in the room’s quiet. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to hear my name called out over the intercom, or get a panicked email because you refused to reschedule three back-to-back meetings.”

“Sometimes I miss having you around the office,” he admitted. “But then I remember I get you all to myself now.”

You laughed, eyes rolling. “Is that your way of saying you miss me managing your life?”

“Maybe,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “But I prefer you managing our home.”

That made your heart skip.

“I’m still adjusting to that,” you said. “Every time I walk past your closet, I think, ‘Wow. The Jeon Wonwoo actually shares closet space.’”

He gave you a dry look. “Barely. You’ve taken over the left half.”

You grinned. “I make you better, admit it.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You always have.”

There was a knock on the door again—his driver this time.

Wonwoo didn’t look away from you. “Give me five minutes.”

The driver left. You turned to grab your bag but paused as he caught your wrist, gently pulling you back to him.

“I have ten minutes before I need to smile for cameras and pretend I care about golf again,” he said, voice lower. “That gives me enough time to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“That no meeting, no title, no company… will ever mean more to me than you.”

You blinked once. Twice.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“I loved you when you were my assistant,” he whispered. “I love you now. And I’ll still love you when you're yelling at me because I left the fridge door open again.”

“You mean when,” you mumbled, lips curving.

“When,” he agreed.

He kissed your temple. “Now come on, fiancée. You’re making me late.”

“You love it when I make you late,” you quipped.

He smirked. “Only for you.”

And just like that, you walked out of his office—not as the woman behind the CEO, but as the woman beside him.

Jeon Wonwoo was nothing if not sure.

And he was sure of you.

There would be whispers. There always were. To some, this story was a fairytale—the secretary who fell for the CEO. To others, it was scandal—a power imbalance, manipulation, an easy narrative painted by people who didn’t know the first thing about the truth. Some would say he gave you everything.

But they’d be wrong.

Because you were there when nothing was certain. You were the one behind the early days the quiet, ugly, unglamorous chaos no one ever saw. The nights you stayed until 3 a.m. running numbers, making calls, stitching together crises before they unraveled.

They didn’t know that without you, Jeon Wonwoo didn’t function—not the way they knew him.

They didn’t know how many nights you reminded him to eat, to sleep, to rest his eyes. That you were the one who taught him how to slow down. How to feel.

And now, years later, you were no longer the assistant with your name tucked under his email threads. You were the woman standing beside him in a room full of sharks, still the calm at the center of his storm.

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jungshookmeup · 22 days ago

Text

MOON-STRUCK

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Slow-burn Romantic Drama with Emotional Angst & Idol Slice of Life Tender Fluff Unspoken Longing*

Y/N had always been the type to pour her soul into her art. Three years into her solo career, she remained underrated by industry standards yet loved deeply by those who had discovered her. Her fans, mostly CARATs, admired her honesty, the way her lyrics cut straight into the heart, how her voice didn’t beg for attention but instead earned it.

Despite her quiet success, she never let the pressure mold her. She was vibrant behind the scenes teasing stylists, dancing with backup performers, laughing like she didn’t carry the weight of self-composed albums on her shoulders. SEVENTEEN knew her before she debuted. They had trained in the same building, shared ramen at 2 a.m., offered encouragement during late-night practice runs.

Over time, she became more than just an industry friend. She became one of them.

Among all the members, it was Woozi who surprised them the most.

Lee Jihoon, the man of quiet glances and endless hours behind the studio door, had taken a silent liking to her from the very beginning. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was in the way he always saved her a seat. How he offered her drinks without asking. How he remembered her favorite chord progressions. The way his laughter came easier around her, how his smiles lingered longer when she was in the room.

And yet, Y/N never noticed.

She was always kind to him like she was to everyone. She never saw how he’d look at her when she’d run choreography barefoot just for fun, or when she giggled at her own offbeat counts, or when she lent her voice to harmonize with a demo she thought no one would ever hear.

He wrote songs about her dozens of them. Some released, most not. They sat in his hard drive labeled under vague codes like “Project M” or “Midnight Ver.” Lyrics about her eyes, her chaos, her calm, the way her voice cracked when she got emotional during studio runs. He never told anyone. He didn’t need to.

One day, he asked her to collaborate.

“I’ve been working on something,” he mumbled, handing her a USB. “You don’t have to say yes, but I think… you’d suit it.”

Y/N smiled, cheerful as always. “Of course, Woozi! I’d love to.”

She didn’t see the way his ears turned pink when she said his name.

They began working together immediately. Hours passed in studios where she danced across the room, lyrics in one hand, iced tea in the other. She hummed random melodies mid-conversation, always sparking some new idea. Jihoon was quiet, watching, always calculating but never cold. If anything, she made his presence warmer.

She never realized how careful he was with her.

He tuned her vocals more delicately than anyone else’s.

He brought snacks he knew she liked.

He adjusted his schedule just to match hers.

And he never said a word.

Dance practice was a mess but in the best way. Y/N teased the dancers, mimicked moves badly just to make the room laugh, often collapsing on the floor out of breath. Jihoon barely danced, but he always came to watch. He sat in the corner with a water bottle, hiding a smile whenever she did something ridiculous.

“She’s got something,” he murmured to Hoshi once after a practice. “She’s lightning in a bottle.”

The final product was a song called Moonstruck a moody, sparkling track that told the story of falling for someone when it’s already too late to back out. The lyrics were poetic, haunting. A little too real.

Y/N didn’t question them.

She loved the song. Said it felt “like being drunk on starlight.”

It racked up 94 million views in twenty-four hours. Both fandoms exploded with praise.

From that point on, variety shows and interviews swept them into the public eye together. But to Jihoon’s quiet dismay, she was often paired with Dokyeom. They were chaos personified bickering like siblings, laughing until they cried, bantering in a way that had fans convinced they were a couple.

Y/N, of course, didn’t mind. It was just work. Just friendship.

Jihoon… minded.

He watched from behind the camera. A soft frown on his lips. Never interfering. Never mentioning it.

Instead, he wrote.

Another unreleased file. Titled: Moonstruck (Alt Ver). An echo of the original track but rawer. Sadder. Full of things he could never say.

Woozi’s POV

She didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

Maybe that was what made it harder.

Watching her laugh with Seokmin during their latest variety taping, Jihoon tried to focus on his water bottle, on the call sheet in his hand anything but the way her fingers reached for Seokmin’s arm when she doubled over with laughter.

It wasn’t like she was flirting.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

She was just… Y/N.

Loud, radiant, carefree.

Exactly the same way she’d been since the day they met when she barged into the vocal practice room without knocking, asking if anyone had a charger for her phone and whether or not they were good at harmonies because she needed someone to sing with her.

She didn’t change. He did.

The feelings crept in slowly, uninvited. The admiration was innocent at first he liked the way her music sounded like a heartbeat. Raw, imperfect, real. Then it became the way she scribbled in her notebooks with her tongue slightly out in concentration. The way she challenged choreography counts like she was solving a math equation. The way she wore her pain quietly in lyrics and healed in front of the mic.

He saw all of her.

And now, it was too late.

Their collab, Moonstruck, had broken every expectation. A haunting duet about two people orbiting each other, never confessing, never quite reaching. Fans called it their “emotional love story.”

Jihoon called it the truth.

Every line he wrote, every harmony they layered, every glance he risked while she wasn’t looking it was all him. Her, too. She just didn’t realize it.

She never noticed the way he tuned her voice like glass, afraid to crack the emotion. She never realized he skipped meals just to match her late-night schedules. That when she asked “Want anything from the vending machine?” and he said no, he actually wanted her to come back safely more than he wanted food.

And she sure as hell didn’t realize how much it hurt when other people got to see the side of her he cherished most.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan nudged him gently backstage. “You okay? You’ve been staring at them for five minutes.”

Jihoon blinked.

Y/N and Seokmin were still on stage, dancing like fools for some silly game. She looked happy. Light. Like she belonged anywhere but in his arms.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just tired.”

It was a lie, and everyone knew it.

Even Seungkwan gave him that look half sympathy, half “why don’t you just say something?”

But how could he?

Y/N didn’t see him that way. She smiled when he offered her a jacket. Said “thanks, Woozi, you’re the best” when he fixed her key without being asked. She trusted him like a friend. Admired him like a producer. Counted on him like family.

She never saw the way his hands trembled after she left the room. Or how he replayed her demo takes at night just to hear her voice in the quiet.

Later that evening, when the dorm lights were low and the others were asleep, he opened his laptop.

Moonstruck (Alt Ver) still sat in the folder. Unreleased. Unsent.

It had a different second verse. He’d written it after seeing her perform on stage with Seokmin when they both wore matching ear cuffs for the concept shoot, laughing like they shared a secret. It wasn’t their fault. Jihoon knew that.

Still, it bled out of him in lyrics:

saw your name on the screen, Paused for a sec, didn't know what it means. Ghost in the corner of my feed, Why does silence cut so deep?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He could send it. Just a voice memo. Just say: “Thought of this for the deluxe version.”

But he didn’t.

Because if she knew… If she heard what he really felt—how deeply, how fully he might lose her altogether.

So instead, he saved it. Closed the lid.

Pretended it wasn’t real.

Pretended she wasn’t his moon, his muse, his reason for creating music that didn’t feel hollow anymore.

But fate, he was starting to realize, had a twisted sense of humor.

Because lately, every time he turned around, there she was.

Not just in the studio. Not just in dance practice.

But at the same café he stopped at for coffee. Two tables away, humming into her straw.

At the same bookstore he escaped to on Sundays. Laughing with her manager in the art aisle.

On his recommended feed, in his dreams, in the quiet moments where he thought he could finally breathe.

She was everywhere.

And Jihoon… he didn’t know how much longer he could stay silent.

Y/N’s POV

I wish I could lie and say it was just admiration.

I’ve told myself that lie a hundred times, repeated it in the mirror like a mantra. "You just look up to him. You respect him. That’s all."

But then I’d catch myself watching him when I shouldn’t. Not during recordings, but in between takes. When his brow furrows just before hitting playback. When he closes his eyes to feel the mix. When he laughs not the public kind, but the unguarded one, head tilted slightly back like he forgot the world existed.

That’s when I feel it most. Whatever this is.

It’s been three years. Three years since I entered SEVENTEEN’s circle, and it still feels like I’m tiptoeing across thin ice every time I stand too close to him. Woozi Jihoon is not like the others. He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t compliment casually. Doesn’t say things just to be kind.

So when he does say something, it stays. Like when he told me, “That bridge you wrote? It hurts in the best way.” Or when he stayed late in the studio with me just because I was having a rough day, quietly handing me a hot drink without asking why I’d cried earlier.

He always notices. He always cares.

And that’s what makes it so hard.

Because I don’t think he sees how I look at him.

He doesn't see how nervous I get when our hands brush. Or how I save the messages he sends about music like they’re love notes. I’ve written dozens of songs I’ll never release. Lyrics filled with him. Questions I’m too afraid to ask.

If I fell, would you catch me? Even if it hurts, I’d still run to you. You faded out so quietly, But your echo still lives in me.

But I don’t say anything. Because it’s better to have Jihoon in my life even as just a friend than risk losing him to truth.

Still, there are moments I can’t ignore. Like today.

He was quieter than usual. His smile a little more reserved. His eyes lingered longer when I joked with Dokyeom. I thought I imagined it. But Seungkwan gave me a look later, that knowing one.

“You’re brave, hanging around Woozi hyung like that when he’s clearly losing it,” he teased.

“What do you mean?” I played dumb.

Seungkwan only raised a brow. “Nothing. Just don’t be surprised if he writes an album out of jealousy.”

If only he knew I’d do the same.

Woozi’s POV

I’ve written over two hundred songs in the last few years. Some never made it past the demo stage. Some debuted on stages before tens of thousands. And then there are the quiet ones tucked away in folders no one has heard. The ones I label under “Private.”

Most of those are about her.

I never planned for it to be this way. Y/N was supposed to be a friend. Just one of us. A ridiculously talented soloist who somehow managed to fit into our chaos like she’d been there from the beginning.

But over time, something changed. Not in her but in me.

I started watching her more often. Noticing things. Like the way she stretches her arms above her head during breaks. How she taps her pen against her lips when she’s lost in thought. The small frown she makes when she’s unsatisfied with her work but no one else would ever notice because she hides it behind a bright smile.

That smile. It kills me every time.

And yet... I don’t think she sees me that way.

She treats me just like the rest of the guys. She teases me when I get too serious. I’ve grown used to hearing her laughter echo across the studio, but sometimes, when she laughs at something DK says, something uncomfortable twists in my chest.

I hate the feeling.

Jealousy. That’s what it is. Not of Dokyeom, specifically. But of the way she looks at him. The way her eyes soften, how she leans into his shoulder when she laughs too hard. It’s innocent, I know. But it still stings.

Today was worse.

She wore that oversized hoodie she always paints in splattered in color, loose around the sleeves, a brush tucked behind her ear. We were working on our second collaboration track. I suggested we co-produce this time. She agreed immediately, eyes lighting up like I’d given her the world.

I couldn’t stop watching her as she hovered near the soundboard, bobbing her head to the demo.

“You’re staring,” Hoshi whispered behind me.

I jumped slightly. “No, I wasn’t.”

Hoshi didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “You do this every time she walks into a room.”

I didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Later, when we were taking a break, I walked into the practice room and saw her choreographing with one of the dancers. The music was playing softly from her phone, and she was humming along, sweat dripping down her temple, eyes alight with passion. She didn’t see me.

But I saw her.

And then something happened.

She turned, suddenly, laughing at something the dancer said—and her eyes met mine. For a split second, her laughter faltered. Just slightly. Like she hadn’t expected me to be there.

Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t different. Not really. But something in my gut twisted.

She walked over casually, tossed me a water bottle, and leaned her head against my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t judge the chaos yet. It’s going to be good, I promise.”

“I never doubt you,” I said before I could stop myself.

Her head turned. Her eyes searched mine for a second longer than necessary.

And then she smiled again, this time quieter. Like she was hiding something.

I should’ve asked. But I didn’t.

I’m Woozi. I don’t chase what I don’t understand. But lately… I think I’m starting to understand too much.

Because the way she looked at me it felt familiar. Like the way I’ve always looked at her.

But that can’t be, right?

Right?

I had rehearsed the song a thousand times.

Every lyric. Every chord. Every pause where her name echoed in the silence between the lines unspoken, but present.

The studio felt different tonight. We’d finished the second collab. It was a hit already trending on every platform, with millions of views in hours. The staff had celebrated, champagne was popped, people laughed, but I couldn’t feel it.

Because she was there. Smiling. Looking at me with eyes that knew nothing of the storm inside me.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep writing songs she didn’t know were for her. I couldn’t keep smiling every time she laughed at someone else’s joke, or pretend it didn’t sting when she called me “just a friend.”

So I stayed behind in the studio that night. Asked her to meet me again after hours.

Just us.

When she walked in, hair tied up loosely, hoodie half-zipped, a sleepy smile on her face I almost lost my nerve.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Sit,” I said gently, pointing to the couch. “I want to show you something.”

She blinked, confused, but obeyed. “Is this another demo?”

I shook my head. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, heart pounding like it never had before not even before a concert. “It’s… something I wrote. A while ago.”

I pressed play.

The piano poured through the speakers soft, hesitant, like footsteps into unknown territory. Then my voice followed.

Not producer Woozi. Not idol Lee Jihoon. Just me. Singing about her.

“You sit next to me like it’s nothin’, But my heart skips like it’s somethin’. You say “good morning” with sleepy eyes, And I’m already stuck in butterflies”

I heard her breath catch. But I kept going.

“You talk about dreams, about moving away, And I just hope I’m in them someday. Not asking for forever, just a chance To maybe hold your hand if we ever dance."

Silence.

When the last note faded, I finally turned.

She was sitting there, frozen. Eyes wide. Her hand was over her mouth, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“Y/N…” My voice was low. Raw. “That song every one of them… they were all about you. All this time.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked like she couldn’t breathe.

I walked closer, heart crashing in my chest. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe when you helped me rearrange that bridge at 2 a.m. Or when you laughed so hard at Seungkwan’s joke you snorted and didn’t even care. Maybe it was when you cried in the studio because your verse felt too vulnerable and you thought no one would understand but I did. I always do.”

She was crying now. Tears falling quietly, mouth trembling.

I knelt down in front of her, gently taking her hand. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I’m scared to say it. I’m scared it’ll ruin everything. But I can’t keep pretending you’re just another friend. You’re not. You never were.”

And then finally she spoke.

“You idiot,” she whispered, a laugh breaking through her tears. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve loved you too?”

I froze. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same. You were always so distant… so careful. But I saw it. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. The way your songs sounded like home.”

My breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared too,” she said softly, pulling me closer. “But I’m not anymore.”

She cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek as I leaned into her palm. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. For the first time, it felt like the song I’d been writing all my life finally had its chorus.

And then our foreheads touched, and she whispered, “You were always the one, Jihoon.”

My arms wrapped around her waist as hers wound around my neck, and we both sank to the floor on our knees, holding each other like the truth might shatter if we let go.

I buried my face in her shoulder, her scent grounding me, her presence finally finally mine.

“I’m still writing a hundred songs about you,” I mumbled against her skin.

She laughed through a sob. “Then I’ll listen to every one of them.”

267 notes · View notes

jungshookmeup · 2 months ago

Text

keeping score ⚽ mingyu x reader.

hating mingyu is easy. seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out.

⚽ uni soccer player!mingyu x reader. ⚽ word count: 20.4k ⚽ genre: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: university. romance, light angst. offshoot of @xinganhao's soccer team!hhu verse. ⚽ includes: mentions of food, alcohol consumption. cussing/swearing. frenemies to ???, looots of bickering, slowburn, pining!! yearning!! tension, idiots in love, feelings realization/denial. reader is a fashion major, mingyu is a goalkeeper. hhu ensemble (mingyu’s soccer teammates). other idols make a cameo. ⚽ footnotes: this entire piece of work— all 20k words of it— is dedicated to @maplegyu. this couple is our magnum opus, and i owe so much of this vision to her; i can only hope i’ve done them justice. my favorite gyuldaengie! iyong iyo ‘to. ily. <3 🎵 the official keeping score s01 playlist.

▸ S01E01: THE ONE WITH THE MONTHLY FAMILY LUNCH.

The bane of your existence arrives like clockwork every month, complete with a three-course meal, polite conversation, and the insufferable presence of Kim fucking Mingyu.

You love the Kims. Really, you do.

His mother is an absolute angel, his father tells the best stories, and his sister is one of the few people in this world you can actually stand. But Mingyu?

Mingyu is a menace. A thorn in your side. A perpetual migraine dressed in a soccer jersey and an overinflated ego.

And yet, because your families are close, you’ve had the misfortune of growing up with him. There has never been a time in your life when he wasn’t there wreaking havoc, getting on your nerves, making these monthly lunches a test of patience and endurance.

You barely step through the Kims’ front door before he spots you, and the smirk that spreads across his face already has you bracing for impact.

“You spend all your money on clothes, don’t you?” Mingyu drawls, gaze sweeping over your carefully chosen outfit. This month’s best attempt at dressing to impress. “Do you ever buy anything useful, or is it just fabric and brand names at this point?”

You flash him a saccharine smile, one wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. “I would ask if you ever spend money on anything besides soccer cleats, but then I remembered—” You snap your fingers. “You don’t. Trust fund baby, right? Still trying to deserve that, Kim?”

He clutches his chest dramatically, as if wounded. “Low blow.”

You step past him, muttering, “Not low enough.”

The act drops at the dining table, of course. Because despite the mutual irritation that fuels your every interaction, you both have the social awareness to play nice in front of your parents.

Mingyu is seated next to you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to roll your eyes when he oh-so-helpfully pulls a serving dish closer. To himself, obviously.

“Let me guess,” you say, resting your chin on your hand. “You’re carb-loading for a game?”

Mingyu, mid-scoop of mashed potatoes, doesn’t even blink. “Nah, just loading up so I don’t wither away listening to you talk about… what was it last time? The ‘psychological complexity of lipstick shades’?”

His mother lets out a dramatic sigh, though there’s no real dismay behind it. “Mingyu, be nice.”

“I am nice,” he says easily, flashing his mother an innocent smile before turning back to you, tone all too sweet. “And personally, I think you’re more of a soft pink girl than a red one.”

It’s a direct dig at your choice of makeup for the day. You know he’s just speaking out of his ass; he doesn’t know the first thing about shades, and red is definitely your color. You take a slow sip of your drink before matching his tone. “That’s funny. I was just about to say you’re more of a benchwarmer than a starter.”

His father chuckles, far too used to this by now. “Oh, come on,” he chuckles. “You two have known each other since you were in diapers. When will you stop with the little jabs?”

“Maybe they’ll finally get along,” your mother says amusedly, “now that they’re graduating.”

You and Mingyu exchange a look, one perfectly in sync despite how much you loathe the idea of ever being on the same wavelength.

Nose scrunch. Head shake.

Not in this lifetime.

There was a time— brief, fleeting, and foolish— when you thought you might actually be friends with Mingyu.

You must’ve been, what, eight? Nine? Young enough to still believe that people could change overnight, that rivalries were just a phase, that some friendships took time to bloom.

Back then, it was silly competitions: Who could swing higher at the playground, who could run faster in the backyard, who could stack the tallest tower of Lego before the other knocked it over. It was childish, harmless, even fun at times— until you saw his real colors.

And now, over a decade later, nothing has changed.

He still finds new and inventive ways to drive you up the wall.

Case in point: Your families’ traditional group photo.

You don’t know why you still expect him to behave. You should’ve known better.

Just as the camera shutter is about to go off, you feel something tickle the back of your neck. You tense immediately, but it’s too late. Mingyu, standing behind you, has flicked the ribbon of your dress like an annoying schoolboy pulling on a pigtail.

You whirl around, shooting him a sharp glare.

“Don’t,” you warn through gritted teeth.

He gives you a wide, infuriatingly innocent grin. “Don’t what?”

You turn back, forcing a pleasant smile for the next shot. And yet— there it is again. A slight tug, barely noticeable, but just enough to let you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The camera clicks.

This time, you whip around so fast he actually takes half a step back.

“I swear to God, Kim Mingyu—”

“Kids,” your mother calls, barely looking up from her phone. “Let it go.”

“We’re not kids,” you shoot back.

Mingyu nudges your side with his elbow, leaning down ever so slightly to murmur, “You’re right. We’re adults now. Which means you can use your words instead of glaring at me like you’re trying to set me on fire with your mind.”

You retaliate by elbowing him in the ribs. He squeaks and begins to whine to his mother.

There is no universe in which you and Mingyu will ever get along. No amount of family lunches, no shared childhood history, no forced photo ops can change that.

And you’re perfectly fine with that.

▸ S01E02: THE ONE WITH SOCCER PRACTICE.

Mingyu is having a good practice session— until Seungcheol ruins it.

“Yo, loverboy,” the team captain calls out, grinning as he jogs up beside him. “You’ve got an audience today.”

Mingyu frowns, breath still heavy from his last sprint across the field. “Huh?”

Seungcheol subtly tilts his head towards the stands.

And there you are— looking as out of place as a flamingo in a snowstorm.

You’re sitting as far from the field as possible, like being too close might infect you with ‘sports’. Your arms are crossed, your pink-clad form nearly swallowed by the ridiculous sun hat and oversized sunglasses shielding you from the very concept of nature. A frilly umbrella is propped up beside you, even though there isn’t a single drop of rain in sight.

The sheer disgruntlement on your face is almost impressive.

Mingyu groans. “Oh, come on.”

“Who’s that?” Vernon asks casually, appearing beside Mingyu and Seungcheol like a curious puppy. He’s the newest, youngest guy on the team, so he can’t be blamed for knowing the semi-constant fixture in Mingyu’s life.

Wonwoo, stretching nearby, lets out a knowing hum. “That,” he responds, “is Mingyu’s one true love.”

Vernon blinks. “Oh.”

Seungcheol laughs, slinging an arm around Mingyu’s shoulders in a way that always ticked the latter off. “The love of his life. His childhood sweetheart. The Juliet to his Romeo,” the older boy sing-songs.

Mingyu scowls. “Shut up.”

Vernon looks at you again. The way your expression barely changes as you sip from an offensively fuschia thermos makes him squint in confusion.

“She doesn’t seem too happy to be here,” the youngest notes, and Mingyu holds back the urge to snort.

You’re fidgeting now, glaring at a single blade of grass that’s found its way onto your lap, as if deeply offended by its existence. He’s half-tempted to dump an entire barrel of dried leaves on you, just to see you screech.

For now, though, Mingyu settles with shoving Seungcheol’s arm off him. “You guys are so annoying,” Mingyu grumbles.

Wonwoo pushes his glasses further up his face. “We’re just stating facts.”

“They’re not facts,” Mingyu snaps. “And she’s not here because of me. Trust me, if she had any choice, she’d be anywhere but here.”

Vernon looks between Mingyu and you again, then back at Mingyu. “…So?”

“So, what?”

The younger player shrugs. “Why is she here?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “She’s waiting for me.”

Seungcheol lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh? Waiting for you? Just how deeply are you entangled with this woman, Kim Mingyu?”

It’s a story that Seungcheol and Wonwoo already know. Mingyu knows they’re just being difficult for the hell of it, trying to goad him into reacting. He focuses on indulging Vernon, knowing the longer he avoids it, the longer he’ll be picked on.

“I owe her family,” Mingyu says through his teeth. “It’s not some stupid love story— her parents basically helped raise me when mine were busy working. You think I want to drive her places? I don’t. But my mom guilt-trips me into it every time.”

Seungcheol and Wonwoo share an unimpressed look.

“Uh-huh,” Wonwoo says. “Poor you. Forced to chauffeur a beautiful girl around in your nice car. Sounds awful.”

Mingyu fights the urge to sulk. “It is. She’s unbearable.”

“She seems pretty quiet,” Vernon grunts as he adjusts his cleats.

“That’s because she’s sulking.” Mingyu isn’t sure why, but once the explanation starts, it just keeps going. “Normally, she never shuts up—always going on about useless crap, complaining about things normal people don’t even think about. Like, oh no, her new nail set doesn’t match the vibe of her outfit, or God forbid a restaurant uses the wrong kind of parmesan.”

He realizes he’s said too much when he notices Wonwoo fighting back a smirk, and Seungcheol biting the inside of his cheek. The latter pushes it further with a drawl of, “So, what I’m hearing is… you listen to her. A lot.”

Mingyu groans, rubbing his temples. He really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut. “No, I suffer through her,” he insists. “There’s a difference.”

Wonwoo folds his arms. “You know, it’s funny. You talk all this smack, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her rant about you.”

“That’s just because she’s stuck-up. Always has been,” scoffs Mingyu.

His mind flashes back to childhood— when he was seven and you were six, and you turned your nose up at his scraped knees, saying, Only boys who don’t know how to run properly get hurt like that.

When he was ten and you were nine, and you refused to eat a slice of pizza at his birthday party because you only liked the fancy kind with real mozzarella, not whatever that was.

When he was fifteen and you were fourteen, and he caught you scoffing at his old sneakers, telling your mom some people just have no concept of ‘aesthetics.’

And yet, despite everything, your families had always forced you together.

Mingyu was never given the option to just avoid you. Your parents and his were practically inseparable, and since childhood, he’s had to deal with your high standards and exasperated sighs and perpetual disapproval over whatever nonsense you deemed worth being mad about that day.

“I promise you, she’s the worst,” Mingyu mutters, stretching his arms behind his head.

Vernon, still watching you, tilts his head. “So, what does she think of you?”

That one’s easy.

“She hates me,” Mingyu says simply. Like it’s a fact. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and you hate Kim Mingyu.

Seungcheol grins, his smile a little too sharp and knowing for Mingyu’s liking. “Oh, well. At least that’s mutual, right?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, but he does glance back at you just in time to see you struggling to shove your umbrella back into its case. You catch his eye and stick your tongue out at him, the act so childish that Mingyu can only roll his eyes and flip you off.

The feeling was most definitely mutual.

The practice goes as usual— drills, passing exercises, a scrimmage where Mingyu manages to nutmeg Wonwoo (which earns him a half-hearted shove after the play). By the time they’re finishing up with cool-down stretches, the sun is dipping low in the sky, casting the field in warm golds and oranges.

Mingyu runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and chugs the last of his water bottle before chucking it at Seungcheol’s back. “Captain,” he calls mockingly, “we done?”

Seungcheol catches the bottle before it can hit him. “Yeah, yeah. Go, be free.”

Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs his bag from the bench and jogs off the field, presumably heading toward you, who is still seated cross-armed, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire practice.

The three boys watch the interaction from a distance. Mingyu says something; you scowl. He nudges your knee with his foot; you swat at him.

Wonwoo rolls his shoulders. “You think today’s the day?”

Seungcheol lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not yet. Give it another few months.”

Vernon furrows his brows. “What?”

“The bet,” Wonwoo says simply.

Vernon blinks. “What bet?”

“We’ve had a running bet for years about how long it’ll take those two to get together,” supplies Seungcheol.

Vernon looks between them, then at you and Mingyu again. The two of you now seem to be engaged in some sort of bickering match. Mingyu pulls at the edge of your pink cardigan, and you swat his hand away with increasing irritation.

How long it’ll take the two of you to get together?

“You guys are insane,” Vernon says flatly.

Wonwoo snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I mean, look at them.” Vernon gestures vaguely in your direction. At this point, you’re looking like you’re five seconds away from pouncing Mingyu. “They hate each other.”

Seungcheol and Wonwoo do it again. That shared look, that quiet understanding.

“Look again,” the team captain urges, and Vernon does.

He watches as Mingyu steps back, laughingly avoiding your physical assault. You— despite your obvious frustration— fight a smile before rolling your eyes.

There’s something there. Some spark of familiarity, of knowing each other too well, of a connection that might just be a little too deep for pure hatred.

Huh.

A beat. And then Vernon digs through his pocket and procures a couple of loose bills.

“Before the year ends,” he declares, making Seungcheol and Wonwoo chuckle.

▸ S01E03: THE ONE WITH THE JANKY ELEVATOR.

You don’t know why you always end up here.

Actually, no. You do know why. Because your parents insist you wait at Mingyu’s place whenever they’re running late to pick you up, since apparently his apartment is safer than a café or a mall. Nevermind that the biggest threat to your wellbeing is standing right beside you, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Was a functioning lift too much to ask for when you were looking for apartments?” you say, eyeing the rickety metal doors of his apartment building’s elevators.

Mingyu doesn’t even look up. “Oh, sorry, princess. Next time, I’ll make sure to move into a high-rise penthouse with gold-plated buttons just for you.”

You make a noise of disgust, jabbing at the button with unnecessary force. “As if I’d ever step foot in your place again after today.”

“You say that every time.”

You open your mouth for a comeback, but the elevator doors groan open just then. The lights flicker ominously. There’s a suspicious stain on the corner of the floor. You step in with a sigh, Mingyu following behind you.

The doors shut. The elevator lurches upwards with a wheeze.

“You know,” Mingyu says, “if you hate coming here so much, you could always just Uber home.”

“Oh, believe me, if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t. But my mom insists you’re—” You pause, making air quotes, “—‘trustworthy.’”

He smiles like he’s some God-given gift. “I am trustworthy.”

“You once stole my fries in front of my face and claimed I was hallucinating.”

“Okay, but—”

Before he can finish, the elevator gives a violent jolt.

And then everything goes black.

For a moment, there’s silence. Just the quiet hum of the emergency light kicking in, the faint creak of metal settling.

Then, Mingyu takes a sharp inhale.

“Uh.” His voice is suddenly tight. “No. Nope. No way.”

You blink, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. “Oh, great,” you grumble. “Fantastic. This is what I get for stepping into this death trap of a building.”

“I think— I think I need to sit down,” Mingyu mutters, lowering himself to the floor.

You huff. “Be so for real right now, you lumbering idiot.”

But then you actually look at him.

The usual cocky tilt of his head is gone. His fingers are gripping the fabric of his joggers, his breathing coming in short, uneven bursts. His eyes are darting around the elevator, as if checking for an exit that isn’t there.

Oh.

He’s genuinely scared.

A new, unfamiliar kind of concern settles in your chest. “Wait,” you say, kneeling beside him. “You’re not actually—”

“I just—” Mingyu gulps. “I hate elevators. And small spaces. And, you know, the whole getting stuck thing.”

And then it clicks.

You remember being kids, when the power went out at the Kim’s summer house during a thunderstorm. You remember little Mingyu, barely taller than you, sitting stiffly on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, trying— and failing— not to let his fear show. You remember the way his face twisted when the room was swallowed by darkness, how his mother had to light candles and sit beside him until the power returned.

He never admitted he was scared, of course. Mingyu never admitted anything.

But you knew.

Looking at him now— his face pale, his jaw tight— you realize some things don’t change.

Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. “Hey. Breathe, okay? It’s fine.”

Mingyu exhales shakily. “I am breathing.”

“Yeah, like a terrified chihuahua,” you mutter. “Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

He gives you a look, squinting at you through the darkness, but he obeys. Inhale, exhale.

You squeeze his arm. “See? Not so bad.”

He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. You sit beside him, fingers still on his arm, grounding him. After a few beats, his breathing evens out. His shoulders relax.

“… Don’t tell anyone,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I’m definitely telling the team.”

“I will murder you.”

An unbidden laugh escapes you. You nudge his knee with yours. “See? You’re fine.”

“Still hate this,” Mingyu exhales, rubbing his face.

“You are kind of pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He leans back against the wall. Then, like it pains him to say it, he adds, “Thanks, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t remove your hand from his arm.

With a sudden jolt, the elevator whirs back to life. The overhead lights flicker before settling into a steady glow, and the quiet hum of movement returns beneath your feet.

Mingyu exhales the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard. “Oh, thank God.”

He’s on his feet before the doors have even fully opened, practically leaping into the hallway like he’s just escaped certain death. You follow him with a disbelieving huff.

It isn’t until you’re several paces into the hallway that you realize you’re still holding onto him.

Your fingers are curled around his forearm, right where they’d been when you were calming him down. Mingyu, ever the opportunist, notices right before you can subtly let go.

He tilts his head. “Aww, you care about me,” he coos, but there’s a hint of something in his tone. You think it might be genuine appreciation; you’re not about to dwell on it, though.

“Shut up,” you snipe. You want to shove him back in the elevator and see just how cocky he can be when it crashes out again.

“Admit it,” he sing-songs, trailing after you toward his apartment. “You were worried about me.”

“I was trapped in an elevator. I was worried about myself.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

You choose not to dignify him with a response, striding ahead until you reach his door. Mingyu unlocks it with a beep, stepping aside to let you in.

As soon as you enter, you do what you always do— make yourself at home. You toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto his couch, and march straight to his kitchen. The years of forced proximity have made this something as good as a routine.

“You got anything to eat?” you ask. The question is rhetorical; you’re already prepared to rob him of whatever he has in his pantry.

Mingyu scoffs as he kicks off his sneakers. “This is not a restaurant.”

“Clearly,” you huff, swinging open his fridge. The contents are bleak. A few eggs, a half-empty carton of orange juice, a suspiciously old container of takeout, and at least three protein shakes.

You make a face. “Be serious.”

He sprawls onto the couch. “What?”

“You live like a caveman.” You shut the fridge with an exasperated sigh, turning to scan the apartment. Your gaze lands on a new decorative shelf against the wall, filled with an assortment of mismatched trinkets. They’re all atrocious and generic.

You’re inclined to tease him that it’s why he’s bitchless, this sheer lack of consideration for aesthetics. You reel that in, though, opting instead for a lighter, “Since when did you care about home decor?”

Mingyu props his feet on the coffee table. “It’s called having taste,” he shoots back.

“You don’t have taste.”

“Excuse you—”

“This,” you gesture at the shelf, “is ugly.”

Mingyu grabs the nearest throw pillow and chucks it at you.

You barely dodge it. It whizzes past your head, and once again, you think this is exactly one of those things you should’ve expected from Mingyu. He’s immature, and obnoxious, and unbelievably rude.

“Did you just—” you’re gaping, but then another pillow flies your way.

You snatch it out of the air, and then you catch the way he’s already scrambling for another ‘weapon’. “You are such a child!” you screech, except you’re not above retaliation.

What follows is a semi-violent pillow war that neither of you are willing to concede. It’s ridiculous, and loud, and it feels exactly like every argument you’ve ever had with him. Full of unnecessary dramatics and zero real malice.

Just like that, the moment in the elevator— the quiet, vulnerable, human side of him you’d glimpsed— disappears into the back of your mind. A moment of weakness, never to happen again.

Because Kim Mingyu is still the same as he’s always been.

▸ S01E04: THE ONE WITH THE NIGHT OUT.

Mingyu swears he’s going to kill you.

He’s probably made that threat dozens of times in the past years, but tonight, he’s fairly sure he’ll actually do it.

He should be in bed right now, getting some much-needed shut-eye for tomorrow’s game. It’s the type of do-or-die match where scouts will be in the audience, after all, and while Mingyu doesn’t really give two damns about going pro, he wouldn’t mind the validation.

Alas, instead of being in his bed, he’s stuck in traffic en route to wherever the hell you’ve gone drinking tonight.

If it had just been you that asked to be picked up, Mingyu would’ve ended the call without question. Probably would have told you to get off his case and book a cab yourself.

But it’s your mother who’s asking, who has entrusted your safety and well-being in Mingyu’s allegedly capable hands. He’s not about to turn down the woman who practically helped raise him.

Disgruntled, Mingyu pulls into the parking lot of where you said you’d be drinking. Some swanky club with thumping music and neon lights.

“So help me, God,” Mingyu grumbles underneath his breath as he stomps out of his car and toward the establishment. When the bouncer charges him an entrance fee— an entrance fee!— Mingyu’s urge to cause you bodily harm only triples. He coughs up the fee and marches into the club, fully prepared to give you grief for this little stunt.

The club is alive, full of sweaty bodies pressing against each other and questionable house remixes that everyone is pretending to like. It’s an assault on the senses, and Mingyu absolutely loathes it.

He wasn’t about to act holier-than-thou. He’s had his fair share of drinking escapades, had even been to this very club himself once or twice. Still, it’s different when you’re ready for a night out and when you’ve been forced out of your restful evening because of a person you can barely even consider a friend.

It takes him all of three minutes to find you.

Take away the history, the tension, and fine. Mingyu would willingly admit: You’re gorgeous. Sometimes. When you tried.

It’s more than the sinfully short dress, more than the ankle-length boots that no one else would pull off. It’s that laugh of yours, so bright and open and loud as you let one of your friends twirl you around on the dance floor. The sound reaches Mingyu over the din of debauchery, and he feels a muscle in his jaw tick.

He hates it. He hates you.

He wants to be home, back in his bed, instead of standing five paces away from a stunning you. A you that he will have to drag down because of responsibility, because of his blasted pride. Whether or not he cares to admit it, he hates that, too.

Mingyu weaves through the crowds of dancing people until he’s reached you. He’s just about to call your name when the DJ plays a song that you seem to like, because you let out a loud squeal and try to jump.

Key word: Try. You’re just a little off-balance from your choice of shoewear and the alcohol running through your veins, because your attempt has you stumbling.

Instinctively, Mingyu reaches out to catch you. His palms land on your waist as your back falls against his chest, and it nearly kills him— the sound of your drunken giggle. You tilt your head back to look up at him.

It starts off as a half-lidded, hazy expression, one that shows off just how intoxicated you already are. But there’s something different there, too. A heat. A hunger. One that shows you’re out for something, someone tonight. Mingyu hates that the most.

He hates how that look on your face disappears when you realize who caught you. Immediately, your unchaste expression gives way to something more akin to sulky discontent, like Mingyu is the bearer of bad news.

And he is, really, because his fingers squeeze at your waist as he glares down at you.

“It’s past midnight, Cinderella,” he says, pitching his voice just loud enough above the music. “Time to head home.”

Your reaction to him is always a good litmus test of how intoxicated you are. When you jut out your lower lip and whine out a petulant “Mingyu!”, that gives him the idea that you’re pretty damn gone.

“You’re no fun,” you whine, trying to wriggle free from his grip. “This is my favorite song—”

“And it’s one in the fucking morning. Let’s go.”

Somehow, you manage to peel away from him. One of your friends links arms with you, the two of you bursting into laughter of giggles. Mingyu is tempted to leave you then and there. There’s nothing funny about this situation, and he’s already planning to tell you off for how this might affect how he plays tomorrow.

“One more song!” You put up one finger, practically shoving it up to Mingyu’s face. “Pleaseee?”

He’s only halfway through saying something like no, let’s go before your friend is dragging you further into the throng of dancing people. Mingyu can already feel a headache blossoming beneath his temple.

Resigned to his fate, he steps to the fringes of the crowd. He isn’t in the mood to scream to All I Do Is Win with all of these strangers; the least he can do is keep an eye on you.

You, scream-singing the lyrics. You, whose dress rides up with every little sway. You— laughing, dancing, still several paces away from Mingyu.

He crosses his arms over his chest and briefly closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose. A voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“Hey, handsome. Want a drink?”

Mingyu’s eyes flutter open. He hadn’t noticed the girl sidling up to his side. She’s a bombshell, sure, with a lecherous gaze and a barely-there dress, but Mingyu trips up over the fact that the two of you kind of smile the same.

“No, thank you,” he says curtly. “I’m driving.”

The girl throws her head back and laughs. Mingyu’s headache feels like it’s worsening.

“You’re too good-looking to be the designated driver,” the stranger purrs. When she reaches out to run an innocent finger over Mingyu’s crossed arms, his lips tug into a slight frown. He’s no stranger to girls coming on to him. He’s entertained a couple, even, in settings exactly like this.

Tonight, he’s not in the mood. That’s it. That’s all there is to it, he thinks— as if he’s trying to convince himself.

That’s how he builds the courage to lie through his teeth.

“I’m here to drive my girlfriend home, actually.”

In the morning, he will justify it like this: He wanted the stranger to leave him alone. He wasn’t exactly lying. You were a girl, and you were… kind of his friend. And he was driving you home. That much was true.

In that very moment, though, his heart— the treacherous fool that it is— skips a single, infinitesimal beat at the prospect of calling you his ‘girlfriend’.

The stranger is undeterred. It’s a common throw-off, after all. The lie about having a significant other.

“Where’s this girlfriend of yours?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked upward in amusement.

Mingyu’s eyes flick over the throng of dancers. Right. He had been watching for you. He opens his mouth, about to mention some notable feature of yours, when the words stick in his throat. Because he’s looking right at you—

You, with your arms over the shoulders of some guy. You, tilting your face upward to kiss said stranger.

The strobe lights cut Mingyu’s vision into strips. He sees each moment like a flashbulb blinking on and off: Your eyes fluttering close. The stranger’s hand slipping to the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. Your body, arching upward a little bit more.

Mingyu, still paces away.

By the time you’re pulling away from the man, Mingyu is already at your side. He’s still ever so gentle as he yanks you away from the stranger’s grasp.

“We’re going,” he announces.

The guy you had just been kissing lets out some strangled sound, something to the effect of “what the hell, man,” but Mingyu can’t be bothered to stick around and clarify. He focuses on hauling your ass away, even as you begin to kick up a fuss.

“But he said I was pretty—” you’re whining, the tone of your voice grating on every single one of Mingyu’s nerves.

“Because you are pretty!” he snaps as he guides you through the crowd. “Don’t go around making out with anyone who compliments you. Jesus!”

Somehow, the two of you manage to spill out of the club. Mingyu has a white-knuckled grip on your shoulders as he attempts to push you forward, towards his car.

You only add to his mounting annoyance when you dig the heels of your boots into the ground, keeping him from going any further.

“For fuck’s sake—” Mingyu grumbles. “I swear to God, I will leave you. I’m going to leave you to your own devices in this parking lot, you leech.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say shrilly. “You would never leave me!”

“I would,” he shoots back. He contemplates just throwing you over his shoulder and being done with it.

That train of thought is swiftly interrupted by you spinning around to face him. You plant your hands on your hips, speaking surprisingly evenly for someone who looks drunk out of their mind. “I was having fun,” you sniffle.

“And I was supposed to be asleep four hours ago,” he seethes. “Instead, I’m dealing with your bratty ass—”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Your mother asked me to—”

“Well, she can go and—”

“Please!”

Mingyu huffs out the word with his whole chest. Honestly, at this point? He’s not above begging. He runs his hands over his face before wringing them together.

“Can we just go home already?” he pleads. “I have to be up by six, and the student manager will have my neck if I’m late one more time. Please, please, please just get in my car already.”

You only stare him down with that steely expression of yours. Once again, Mingyu toys with the idea of manhandling you into his backseat, until you speak up.

“He said I was pretty,” you repeat, like that’s somehow the most important fact of the night.

“You are,” he responds exasperatedly.

“You’re lying,” you insist. It might be a trick of the light, a fleeting moment in the darkness of the otherwise empty parking lot, but Mingyu swears he sees a flicker of insecurity in your eyes.

You go on, “You’re just saying that. Unlike the guy back there, you don’t actually think—”

“Oh my God. Fine. Fine. I don’t think you’re pretty!” Mingyu throws his hands up in the air in a gesture of defeat.

You look like you’re about to deflate, but then he barrels on, going absolutely insane over this whole stupid affair. “I think you’re breathtaking. I think you’re the most gorgeous girl in the world,” he bites out. “But, holy shit, are you the most annoying one, too!”

If you’re surprised, there’s no indication of it in your expression. But your hands do drop from your sides, and you’re looking at Mingyu with a little less disdain than a couple of seconds ago.

A beat. And then—

“You think I’m breathtaking?” you ask, the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

To hell with it. Mingyu surges forward and wraps his arms around your waist, hauling you off the ground.

You’re squealing and raining punches down his back the entire way to his car.

▸ S01E05: THE ONE WITH THE MORNING AFTER.

You wake up to the distinct smell of something warm and buttery wafting through the air, the scent tugging you out of your heavy slumber.

Your head is pounding, and your throat feels like you swallowed a gallon of sandpaper, but worst of all, there’s a familiar sense of displacement— the kind that comes with waking up somewhere that isn’t your own bed.

Cracking one eye open, you’re met with the soft glow of morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. It takes you a second, but then you recognize the room instantly: Mingyu’s apartment.

The realization doesn’t startle you as much as it should. In fact, you sigh, rolling onto your back and rubbing at your temple. It isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself here after a night out, though it’s usually because of some family event that went on too long rather than Mingyu being forced to drag your inebriated ass home.

Still, the headache and vague memories of last night are enough to sour your mood. You groan, sitting up and taking in your surroundings. Your shoes are neatly placed by the door. A bottle of water and a pack of painkillers sit on the nightstand, which you’re quick to grab.

And then, there’s the smell. The one that pulled you out of sleep in the first place.

You shuffle out of bed and into the kitchen, where you find an actual, plated breakfast waiting for you on the counter. A plate of eggs, toast, and— because you assume Mingyu is still an insufferable health nut— a side of fruit. Stuck to the rim of the plate, a bright yellow Post-it with the worst handwriting known to mankind.

Stop drinking. -KMG

You find yourself staring at the plate longer than necessary. No matter how crude the note is, the fact remains: Mingyu cooked this. For you. Before his game.

There’s an uncomfortable flutter in your chest that you quickly stomp out.

Because sure, Mingyu cooked for you. Sure, he bought you medicine. But he also had the gall to leave you a rude Post-it note like the patronizing asshole that he is. You grab the note and crumple it in your fist before popping one of the painkillers in your mouth. You mutter “fuckin’ bitch” to no one in particular, but it lacks real venom.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing. You frown before spotting Mingyu’s charger plugged into the wall, your phone attached to it. You don’t have time to unpack whatever that means, because your mother’s name flashes across the screen.

With a sigh, you answer. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” she asks, voice sharp with concern. “I tried calling last night, but your phone was off.”

“I was…” You hesitate, glancing at the breakfast on the counter. “With Mingyu.”

There’s no need for your mother to know where you really were dancing, who you’d spent the night flirting with. Hell, all of that is pretty much a blur at this point. The only thing left in your alcohol-addled mind is Mingyu calling you Cinderella, Mingyu’s hands on your shoulders, and… Did he carry you to his car? You’ll have to wheedle that information out of him later.

Your mother’s reaction to your white lie is immediate. Her sigh of relief is so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. “Oh. That’s good,” she breathes. “At least I know you were in good hands.” The food in front of you suddenly looks much less appealing. Of course. Of course that’s all it takes for her to drop her interrogation. You could have told her you spent the night at any of your friends’ places, and she still would have had a million questions. But mention Mingyu, and suddenly she’s appeased.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “Great hands.”

You don’t like it. You don’t like feeling indebted to him. You don’t like that he has that effect— not just on your mother, but on you, too.

As much as you want to brush it off, you can’t help but glance at the plate again, at the neatly arranged breakfast that he didn’t have to make, at the medicine he didn’t have to buy.

And that flutter? That stupid, tiny, treacherous flutter in your chest?

You shove it deep down where it belongs.

Meanwhile, Mingyu fights his own battles. On the field, he’s a wall. A force of nature.

His muscles burn. His mind is sharp. Every time the ball nears his goal, he’s already two steps ahead. The opposing team is relentless, throwing every tactic they can at him, but it doesn’t matter. Not today.

Today, Mingyu is untouchable.

The scouts on the sidelines are nodding, murmuring to each other with increasing interest. His teammates are exhilarated, feeding off his energy. Seungcheol is the first to voice it, panting as he jogs past the goal. “You’re playing like a fucking monster.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, just adjusts his gloves and keeps his gaze locked on the field. Wonwoo watches him a beat longer, brow furrowed. “You’re not usually this aggressive.”

Mingyu exhales sharply. “Gotta keep the scouts entertained, don’t I?”

It’s a good enough excuse. No one questions him after that.

But the truth is, he knows exactly why he’s playing like this.

Because across the field is him— the guy from last night. The guy who got to kiss you, to touch you while Mingyu watched.

And the jerk looks perfectly fine. Well-rested, even. Ready to play.

Mingyu’s jaw tightens.

When the next shot comes, he doesn’t just block it. He slaps it out of the air with enough force to send it soaring toward midfield. The sound of his palm meeting the ball echoes across the stadium. The forward who took the shot looks stunned; the murmurs from the scouts grow louder.

Seungcheol lets out a low whistle. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

Mingyu exhales, flexing his fingers inside his gloves. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, but he’s locked in, focused. He doesn’t care how many more shots they take. None of them are getting past him today.

You’re not even here, but you might as well be by the way Mingyu thinks of you the entire damn time.

And if, after the final whistle blows and his team secures the win, he happens to walk past him with just a little too much shoulder in his stride? Well.

That’s just the cherry on top.

He feels proud. Vindicated. He revels in it for a full minute before— much like you— shoving the feeling as far away from him as possible.

Now it’s even. Now, he doesn’t owe you a thing.

▸ S01E06: THE ONE WITH THE PERFUME.

Mingyu isn’t sure how he ended up in the fragrance section.

The trip to the mall had a purpose— find a birthday gift for their student manager, someone patient enough to handle their chaos. Seungcheol was atrociously down bad for the girl, and was still trying to prove himself worthy of her time.

Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Vernon debate between a sleek planner and a wireless charger.

“The planner will help her deal with us,” Wonwoo pushes, “we’re always bombarding her with our schedules, anyway.”

Vernon butts in. “Getting her a gift that benefits us is a shitty thing to do.”

The man of the hour— Seungcheol, who is balancing the two gifts in his hands— gives the world’s shittiest suggestion. “Let’s just get both!”

As the three try to argue the merits of the gifts, Mingyu wanders off. For some reason, he finds himself drawn by the gleam of glass bottles and the faint hum of different scents in the air.

He has no business being here. Cologne isn’t something he puts much thought into; he has his one bottle, the same one he’s used for years, and it does the job.

Still, his fingers ghost over the display, picking up a tester bottle without much thought. The label is understated. Minimalist design, black serif lettering against a frosted background. Expensive-looking. He presses down on the nozzle, sending a fine mist into the air.

The scent unfurls slowly. First, there’s a burst of something citrusy— bright, crisp, and fleeting. Then it settles into softer notes, something warm and clean, like white musk and fresh linen.

But underneath, lingering just at the edge, is something else. Something vaguely floral, but not overpowering. A hint of jasmine, maybe, softened by vanilla.

His grip tightens around the tester. He’s suffered through this scent before.

It clings to his couch cushions, stubborn even after airing out his apartment. It lingers in his car, filling the spaces between his words when you're in the passenger seat. It’s in his hoodie the morning after you crash at his place, making his head turn before he remembers you’re already gone.

Mingyu frowns, inhaling again, as if the scent will offer up an explanation for why it pulls at something deep in his memory.

Could it be your own perfume? Could your shampoo have the same notes?

He debates it for a second. Buying the bottle, testing if it really does smell the same. If it would fade the same way, settle the same way. If it would remind him of you just as much.

And then— what the hell is he doing?

Mingyu sets down the tester bottle, clicking the cap back on. He tries to chalk it up to curiosity. That has to be it. He’s a man of logic, someone who likes to confirm hypotheses like whether this inconspicuous bottle of perfume is the same as his arch rival’s.

That’s all there is to it, he thinks, as he stalks back over to his teammates. A verdict has been reached: Seungcheol will get her the planner. The charger will be halved three-way by Mingyu, Vernon, and Wonwoo.

“Where’d you go?” Wonwoo inquires.

“Nowhere,” Mingyu answers, even though his mind is still on the stupid smell.

He wipes at his wrist like that might help him get rid of the thought of you.

(In the other side of the mall—)

▸ S01E07: THE ONE WITH THE SHOPPING TRIP.

You love shopping.

Not just for the thrill of it or the satisfaction of walking out of a store with a new find, but because it’s part of your studies. As a business major with a minor in fashion design, you don’t just see clothes. You see craftsmanship, marketability, trends, and the little details that separate the exceptional from the ordinary.

Which is why you don’t take it lightly when a saleslady looks down on you.

It starts with the way she barely glances at you when you step into the boutique, her gaze flickering from your casual outfit to the more expensively dressed customers lingering by the racks. She doesn’t offer a greeting, doesn’t ask if you need help, just wrongly assumes that you’re not worth her time.

You brush it off at first. It’s not the first time someone has made a snap judgment about you, and it won’t be the last. But then, as you pull a dress from the rack, inspecting the stitching along the seams, you hear her scoff.

“That one’s a little out of budget, don’t you think?” she says, her voice coated in artificial sweetness.

You arch a brow, turning the dress over in your hands. It’s a designer piece, sure, but it’s not about the price. It’s about the construction, and this one? Overpriced for what it offers. You could name at least three brands that do a better job at a fraction of the cost.

Instead of rising to the bait, you hum thoughtfully. “The stitching here is uneven,” you muse, holding the fabric up to the light. “And the lining? They cut costs with synthetic blends when they should have used silk. The structure won’t hold up after a few wears.”

The saleslady falters, clearly unprepared for an actual critique. You don’t stop there.

“For the price, I’d expect better craftsmanship. If you’re going to charge this much, at least make sure the dress can justify it.”

A beat of silence. Then, another voice chimes in— a stranger, another customer, who suddenly looks interested in what you have to say. “That’s actually a good point,” she murmurs, inspecting her own dress more closely.

The saleslady’s expression tightens, and she suddenly looks less inclined to speak. You hide a smirk, setting the dress back on the rack.

You love shopping. But more than that, you love knowing exactly what you’re talking about.

The next store is quieter, more minimalist, with racks of clothing spaced out deliberately to give each piece a sense of importance. You skim through them idly until something catches your eye.

A shirt. Simple, well-tailored, the kind of thing that would sit well on broad shoulders.

Mingyu’s shoulders.

You wrinkle your nose at the thought. The idea of picking something out for him makes your stomach turn, and yet… you keep looking at it. It’s a nice color, something that would complement his skin tone. The fit would be flattering. It’s practical, stylish, something he could wear effortlessly.

You chalk it up to habit. It’s the same as when you find a cute piece that would suit a mannequin perfectly. Just another exercise in styling. Nothing more.

Besides, if you bought it, it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for the sake of aesthetics. Like dressing up a doll. Or— better yet— like charity.

Yes. That’s all it is. You like knowing what you’re talking about, and this is just a manifestation of it.

You grab the shirt, holding it up for a final once-over before tossing it into your basket. If anything, you can pass it off as a Christmas gift. That’s reasonable. Normal, even. No big deal.

But then you see a sweater that would pair well with it. And a jacket that’s undeniably his style. And before you know it, your basket is full.

It’s only when you’re standing in line to pay that it truly hits you.

What the hell are you doing?

Your grip tightens around the handle of the basket, heart hammering in your chest. You stare at the pile of clothes— clothes for Mingyu— and feel a wave of unease creep up your spine. This is not normal. This is not something you do.

You were supposed to get one thing. One. Now you’re standing here like some deranged personal shopper, about to spend money on a man you claim to tolerate at best.

No. Absolutely not.

You step out of the line, return to the racks, and unceremoniously dump the basket’s contents back where they belong. One by one, you rid yourself of every last piece until there’s nothing left.

Your heart is still racing by the time you exit the store. You need a spa day. Desperately.

▸ S01E08: THE ONE WITH THE GAME.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mingyu stares from across the field, frozen in place as his teammates jog past him. The pregame warmups blur into the background because there you are, sitting in the stands. Willingly.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Because in all the years he’s known you, you’ve never voluntarily attended one of his games. Not without some level of coercion. Not without at least thirty minutes of complaining.

And yet, here you are.

Unfortunately, you also stick out like a sore thumb.

He sees you draped in obnoxiously bright colors, layered in mismatched school merch like someone who got dressed in the dark— or someone trying too hard to look like they belong. The cap, the oversized hoodie, the scarf, all of it is excessive.

The worst part? It works.

Because even from across the field, even as his teammates stretch and the crowd chatters, Mingyu sees you. And now he can’t unsee you.

He ignores the cheerleaders calling his name. Ignores the people waving at him, the fans holding up banners with his number. Ignores the way his coach is probably going to yell at him later for getting distracted before the game.

Instead, he heads straight for you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands, stopping just short of the stands.

You lower your phone, where you’d clearly been snapping photos, and peer down at him like he’s the one acting weird. “Your mom asked me to take photos of you,” you reply, voice maddeningly nonchalant. “Don’t lose.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Then, a beat later, he petulantly adds, “Also, I never lose.”

You roll your eyes, already angling your phone for another shot, but Mingyu doesn’t move just yet. The fact remains; you’re here, looking infuriatingly good, and he’s going to spend the next 90 minutes fighting for his life. He can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.

Either way, he knows one thing for sure: He really, really can’t afford to lose.

But he does.

It’s a hard-fought game, and Mingyu plays like a man possessed. He dives for impossible saves, yells orders at his defenders, and shuts down shot after shot. The crowd roars every time he denies the other team, and for most of the match, it looks like his team might just scrape by with a win.

Then, in the final minutes, everything falls apart.

A miscalculated pass. A stolen ball. A breakaway that happens too fast.

Mingyu sees it unfold in real-time, feels the moment slip through his fingers before it even happens. He charges forward, determined to cut off the angle, to make himself big, to stop the shot. But the ball soars past him, hitting the back of the net with a deafening thud.

The stadium erupts. The other team celebrates. And Mingyu, chest heaving, fists clenched, can only stare as the scoreboard confirms it.

A one-point lead. Game over.

He barely hears the whistle. Barely registers his teammates patting his back, muttering things like You did great and We’ll get them next time. None of it matters. Because he lost. Because he let that shot in.

Because somewhere in the stands, you saw him fail.

He drags his gloves off, jaw tight, shoulders tense. He doesn’t want to look up. Doesn’t want to see if you’re still watching.

Against his better judgment, his gaze lifts toward the stands anyway.

There you are, camera in hand, expression unreadable. Of all his losses that day, that was the one that inexplicably ticked him off the most. The fact that you weren’t smiling, weren’t frowning. You were just… watching. He’s never been able to read your mind, but he despises that inability the most today.

Mingyu exhales sharply, looks away, and storms off the field.

He doesn’t expect you to wait for him outside the locker room. You’re there anyway when he steps out, your arms crossed and your lips pursed. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond the look he shoots your way; you have to take large steps in your ridiculous heels just to keep up with his pace. He feels like a hurricane— one that’s about to sweep through your stoicism, about to leave significant collateral damage.

“Come on, then,” he mutters, shoving his duffel strap higher onto his shoulder. “Tell me just how shitty I am.”

“Excuse me?”

He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You must be dying to rub it in my face. Go ahead. Get it over with.”

You frown. “What the hell is your problem?”

That sets him off.

“My problem?” he snaps, finally stopping in his tracks to glare at you properly. You follow suit, and it amuses him for a fraction of a second— just how easily he towers over you. “I just lost a game, in case you missed that part while taking your stupid pictures.”

You scoff, fully displeased now. “Are you serious? You think I came here just to laugh at you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His voice is sharp, low. “You’ve never had a problem making fun of me before.”

Your jaw clenches.

“No need to make me your punching bag, Kim.” In turn— your tone is piercing, almost hurt. “I came here to comfort you. I’m not the fucking devil you make me out to be.”

The words hit harder than they should.

The weight of the loss still clings to him, frustration simmering beneath his skin. His hands are still balled into fists, his shoulders locked up so tight they ache. But the way you say it, the unexpected offense in your voice, makes something in him falter.

He rubs a hand over his face. The hurricane in him quiets, runs out of rain. “Yeah.” His voice is quieter now. “Sorry.”

You roll your eyes. Really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it. “I should just leave you here to wallow.” You make a grand show of turning away— really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it.

But then you glance at him over your shoulder. “Since I’m feeling benevolent, I’ll treat you to a meal.”

Mingyu stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You?” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Treating me? Are you dying?”

“Maybe,” you deadpan. “From secondhand embarrassment.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, something between a huff and a chuckle. “Wow. Real comforting.”

You shrug. “I never said I was good at comfort,” you snipe, and he knows that much is true.

Somehow, that’s how he finds himself behind the wheel of his car, hands gripping the steering wheel. He’s still mildly dazed as he glances over at you in his passenger seat. He doesn’t remember actually agreeing to this. He doesn’t remember deciding to take you to his favorite restaurant. And yet here you are, scrolling through your phone like this is the most normal thing in the world.

For the first five minutes, the drive is quiet. Mingyu fiddles with the AC, rolls his shoulders, frowns at the road ahead. But the longer you sit there, humming under your breath, mindlessly playing with the hem of your sleeve, the more it starts to sink in.

This is the first time the two of you have willingly shared a meal together.

Not because of mutual friends. Not because of a group project or an event neither of you could get out of. Not because your parents forced you into it.

Just… because.

It’s the strangest possible way for Mingyu to have possibly ended the night.

He spares you another glance as he pulls into the parking lot. “You better not complain about the food,” he warns, “or I’m leaving you here.”

Of course, that gives you the leeway to complain, bitching about things like sanitation and standards for cuisine. He tunes it out like he often does, instead trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here.

Here, sitting across from you in a restaurant that he usually only visits with his teammates. It felt like a fever dream to approach the host stand and ask for a table for two; his voice had come out a little too uncertain, like he couldn’t quite believe the words himself.

The host had seated you without question, handing you both menus before disappearing, leaving Mingyu to sit there and take in the absurdity of the situation. You, sitting across from him, elbows on the table, flipping through the menu like this is any other meal with any other person.

His mind flickers, unbidden, to a thought: Are you like this on all dates?

Then, he scowls. No. This is not a date.

“Alright, what am I getting?” you ask, still scanning the menu. “You’re the one who dragged me here, might as well give me a solid recommendation.”

Mingyu raises a brow. “I dragged you here? You were the one who insisted on treating me.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” You shoot him a sharp glare, as if his insolence was something that caused offense. “Just tell me what’s good.”

He studies you for a second like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you just blink back expectantly, he sighs, resigning himself to whatever surreal alternate reality this is. “Get the beef stew,” he finally says. “And the garlic rice. You’ll thank me later.”

To his surprise, you actually listen. He half-expected you to ignore him just to be difficult.

The conversation that follows is easy in a way that confuses him. You bicker, naturally, but it’s mostly over trivial things— your tragic lack of appreciation for his taste in sports documentaries, the way he insists that pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity. Nothing about the game, nothing about his loss, nothing about the way frustration still lingers in the tightness of his jaw.

Instead, you seem content commenting on the restaurant itself, mentioning how you like the warm lighting, how the playlist is surprisingly good. And then there’s the way you eat. Without rush, without any of the absentmindedness he sometimes sees when you’re multitasking with your phone. You actually appreciate the food, nodding approvingly after each bite like you’re mentally scoring it.

Somewhere between your satisfied hums and the way you swipe an extra spoonful of his rice when you think he’s not looking, Mingyu realizes something strange: You’re actually enjoying this.

And, maybe, so is he.

It’s disorienting, how quickly the irritation from earlier has faded.

He tries to remind himself of the reasons you’re infuriating. That you’re picky about things that don’t matter, that you have a bad habit of being late, that you roll your eyes too much, that—

But every thought is immediately met with another. That you actually care about things enough to be picky. That you only run late when you’ve lost track of time doing something you love. That you roll your eyes, sure, but you also laugh, also banter, also make things more interesting.

Mingyu stares at you for a moment, something warm settling into his chest.

By the end of the dinner, he’s forgotten why he was so upset in the first place.

▸ S01E09: THE ONE WITH THE HIGH SCHOOL REUNION.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Mingyu arrive.

It’s the usual reunion scene— too many people packed into a house slightly too small for the occasion, music loud enough to drown out the conversations but not enough to stop them altogether, and a lingering smell of something fried mixed with overpriced cologne.

You’re still annoyed. Annoyed because Mingyu had, with all the grace of a wrecking ball, insulted your outfit on the drive here. Something about how your skirt was too short and your heels were impractical for a house party. As if he was some kind of fashion authority.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice, asswipe,” you had snapped back, crossing your arms and staring out the window. He only scoffed in response, muttering something about not wanting to be responsible if you tripped and broke your ankle.

Now, hours later, you’re still disgruntled about it. You refuse to think about how, deep down, it had been less about disapproval and more about the way his gaze had lingered.

That would be a problem for another time. Maybe never.

You make your way to the kitchen, eyeing the assortment of drinks lined up on the counter. A bottle of something expensive-looking catches your attention. You grab it, twisting the cap with determination, but it refuses to budge. You try again, gripping it tighter, but all you manage is an embarrassing squeak of effort.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up.

Before you can attempt another futile try, a large hand appears in your periphery. The bottle is plucked effortlessly from your grip. In one swift motion, Mingyu twists the cap open like it was nothing. No struggle, no hesitation, no unnecessary flexing. Just pure efficiency.

He doesn’t even smirk. Doesn’t gloat or tease you like you expect him to. He just hands the bottle back to you before turning away as if it had never happened.

You blink. Then blink again.

The room suddenly feels a little warmer. Must be the alcohol in the air. Or the heater. Or—

Oh, God.

With absolute horror, you realize Mingyu was kind of hot for that.

You take a generous swig from the bottle, hoping it burns away whatever ridiculous thought just took root in your brain. Unfortunately, the warmth spreading through you has absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol.

You take another sip, then another, letting the burn of the drink ground you. It’s fine. It’s whatever. You’ll drink and have fun and not think about the way Mingyu’s hand had so easily dwarfed yours when he took the bottle from you.

You wander back toward the living room, where clusters of people are chatting, laughing, reliving the glory days. Just as you settle into the buzz of the atmosphere, you catch Mingyu’s name being thrown around in a conversation nearby. You don’t mean to eavesdrop— okay, maybe you do a little— but something about the way his voice carries through the room makes you pause.

“Not drinking tonight?” You hear someone ask him.

“Nah,” Mingyu replies, nonchalant. “I’m her designated driver.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip.

Well, then.

If that’s the case, if Mingyu’s already consigned himself to the role of responsibility, then there’s absolutely no reason for you to hold back.

You tilt your head back, take another sip. Then another.

A warmth spreads through your limbs, but whether it’s from the alcohol or the fact that you now have free rein to drink without consequence, you’re not sure. You tell yourself it’s definitely the alcohol, though. Because the alternative— the thought that it has anything to do with Mingyu— just isn’t an option. Not tonight.

The alcohol has settled comfortably in your veins by the time the dancing starts. The living room has been cleared to make space, furniture pushed against the walls. Now the music pulses louder, the bass vibrating through the floor.

You’re laughing with old friends, moving with the rhythm, when you feel a sharp tug at the hem of your skirt.

You whirl around, already prepared to snap at whoever dared, only to come face-to-face with Mingyu. He’s standing there, a frown on his face. He leans in slightly, voice low but clear over the music. “I told you it was too short.”

You blink at him, thrown off by the way his fingers had just been on you, tugging fabric downward like it was some sort of personal mission. Something fizzes beneath your skin, something that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the fact that Mingyu— annoying, overbearing Kim Mingyu— is looking at you like that.

It’d been such a boyfriend move. You force yourself not to dwell on it.

You don’t know what compels you, but maybe you’re just tipsy enough. Maybe you want to make him suffer.

You suddenly reach out, looping your arms around Mingyu’s neck. His whole body goes stiff, his eyes widening in immediate suspicion.

“Dance with me,” you say, tilting your head, voice syrupy with tipsiness and mischief.

Mingyu shakes his head, already taking a step back. “Absolutely not.”

You grin and pull him right back in. “You sure? ‘Cause I know things, Kim. Lots of things.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” he squeaks.

You sway closer, pretending to consider it. “It’s more of a… strategic incentive.”

A battle wars in his eyes. But then, with a low ‘tch’ and a mutter of “You’re insufferable,” Mingyu lets your grip pull him in.

The moment is bizarre.

His hands find their place— one cautiously at your waist, the other hovering near your shoulder like he’s afraid to touch too much. You move to the beat, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, the solid press of his frame against yours.

It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid.

It’s also the best decision you’ve made all night.

The song shifts into something heavier, the bass thrumming through your chest, the kind of music meant for bad decisions and blurred memories. Mingyu hasn’t bolted yet, which is a miracle in itself. He’s actually keeping up with you, moving in sync, matching your rhythm with ease. It’s unexpected, the way he doesn’t seem like he hates this, like he’s maybe— God forbid— having fun.

You scoff at the thought, but the amusement lingers. The insults come easy, natural, tossed between the two of you like a ball neither wants to drop.

“You dance like an old man,” you tease, voice warm with liquor.

“And you dance like you’re trying to summon a demon,” he shoots back.

You laugh, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Maybe it’s the dim lighting or maybe it’s the alcohol, but Mingyu’s gaze doesn’t seem as sharp as it usually does. His grip on your waist is firm but not forceful, like he’s not entirely opposed to being here, to this, to you.

It’s too easy to forget that this is Mingyu, that this is the same guy who has made a sport out of getting under your skin. Because right now, he’s just a tall, ridiculously handsome man who happens to be an unfairly good dancer.

The thought sneaks up on you before you can fight it. If he wasn’t Mingyu...

The words slip out before you register them. “I wonder what I’d do if you weren’t you.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows raise. “What?” His voice is a little rough around the edges, and far too sober.

Shit.

You blink rapidly, force a laugh, and shake your head as if you can brush it off. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

But the thing is— you can’t ignore it.

Because somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re already picturing it. A world where Mingyu isn’t Mingyu, where he’s just some stranger with sharp eyes and broad shoulders who smells good and dances well, who looks at you like he’s actually seeing you.

A world where you wouldn’t have to fight every instinct telling you to lean in.

Eventually, your feet start to protest. You’re wearing heels that were never meant for this much standing, much less dancing. You haven’t even said anything about it, but your expression must be reflecting your discomfort and your frustration. Mingyu sighs like you’ve personally ruined his night before crouching down and unlacing his sneakers.

“What are you doing?” you ask laughingly as he kicks them off, right there on the fringes of the dance floor.

“Giving you my shoes,” he says, like it’s obvious, shoving them toward you. “I’m not carrying you to the car.”

You snort. “You’d probably drop me anyway.”

“Exactly.” He watches as you swap out your heels for his much-too-big sneakers, which make you feel ridiculous but are, admittedly, a godsend.

You don’t realize until you’re halfway to the car that Mingyu is walking in only his socks, completely unbothered. You slide into the passenger seat, tipsy and warm and just self-aware enough to realize something terrible is happening.

You are warming up to Mingyu.

It hits you like a truck.

Mingyu, your mortal enemy. Mingyu, who has annoyed you since childhood. Mingyu, who insults your outfits and steals your food and opens your drinks without a second thought.

Your head lolls against the seat as you stare at him in horror, combing through the memories, trying to pinpoint exactly when this started going wrong.

By the time he pulls up in front of your house, you’ve made a decision.

You need to stop being too nice to him.

▸ S01E10: THE ONE WITH THE TEAM LUNCH.

Mingyu is halfway through his second helping of rice when he hears it— the unmistakable sound of his personal hell approaching.

He doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s you. The dramatic click of your heels, the way the conversation at the cafeteria table shifts just slightly, the exasperated sigh that escapes Wonwoo before you even arrive.

And then, as expected—

“Kim.”

Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t know what you want, but if the past few weeks have been anything to go by, it’s nothing good. Ever since the high school reunion, you’ve been nothing short of a menace.

He still doesn’t know what changed that night, but suddenly, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be the most irksome person in his life. There was the time you texted him an obnoxious amount of links to ugly sneakers after he’d lent you his at the party. The time you “accidentally” swapped his shampoo for some floral-scented one that lingered in his hair for days. The time you sent him a video of him losing his last match, edited with clown music in the background.

He finally looks up from his food, expression already set in a scowl. You’re standing at the edge of their table, arms crossed, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. Seungcheol, Vernon, and Wonwoo all look between the two of you like they’re watching a horror movie unfold in real-time.

“What do you want?” Mingyu asks, voice flat.

You feign offense, placing a hand over your chest. “Can’t I just stop by to say hello?”

“No.”

Vernon snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. Seungcheol nudges him under the table, but he’s grinning, too.

“You wound me, Kim.” You pull out the chair beside him and sit down like you belong there. “But fine, I do need something.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, shoving another bite of food into his mouth before jerking his chin at you. “Then spit it out already.”

“I need a favor.”

Mingyu groans. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I don’t need to know what it is.” He glares at you. “It’s a no.”

Wonwoo sighs, setting his chopsticks down. “Just let her talk, Mingyu. We’d like to finish our meal in peace.”

Mingyu gestures wildly. “I would like to finish my meal in peace!”

You pat his shoulder condescendingly. “This is more important than your third bowl of rice.”

He swats your hand away. “It’s my second bowl—”

“Not the point,” you cut in. “Listen, I just need—”

Mingyu groans again, slumping back in his chair, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. He knows, deep in his soul, that whatever you’re about to ask is going to be something ridiculous.

And yet, for some godforsaken reason, he doesn’t immediately tell you to leave.

“I need help moving some furniture.”

Mingyu blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” you deadpan. “Are you going to help or not?”

He stares at you. It’s one of those things that’d be a given for anybody else. Mingyu was the type of friend who would drive someone to the airport, would help someone move, would cook if someone was sick. Those were things he’d do for someone he was friends with— something the two of you were decisively not.

“And why, exactly, would I do that?” he challenges.

“Because you owe me?”

He lets out a laugh. “I owe you?”

“Yes, for—” you flounder for a reason, “—for existing, Kim Mingyu. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

Unconvincing to a fault. Mingyu is half-tempted to call you out for being a spoiled brat, but he’s not interested in escalating this argument in front of his team.

“Not my problem,” he settles on saying.

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“And yet, here you are.”

The two of you go back and forth like that, the jabs mostly inoffensive and subjective. Mingyu is vaguely aware of Seungcheol pinching his nose like he’s nursing a headache, Vernon sipping his drink as if watching a spectacle, and Wonwoo calmly chewing his food, unfazed.

Finally, Seungcheol decides he’s had enough.

“Both of you,” he interjects, voice firm. “Can you stop fighting for five minutes?”

To Mingyu’s shock, you actually fall silent. You roll your eyes but begrudgingly listen, arms still tightly crossed.

Mingyu scoffs. “Oh, so you can listen to people,” he mutters. “Didn’t know you were capable of being nice.”

Your head snaps toward him. “I am capable of being nice. Just not to you.”

“Right, because you’re a little devil sent from hell just to ruin my life.”

“Your life was already in shambles before I showed up. Don’t blame me.”

The bickering immediately picks back up, much to the dismay of Mingyu’s teammates. Vernon exhales dramatically. “Mamma mia,” he sing-songs jokingly to Wonwoo, “here we go again.”

You suddenly reach out, snatch a piece of Mingyu’s pork right off his plate, and pop it into your mouth as you ready to leave. His jaw drops; he’s stolen your food a fair amount, but you’ve never done it to him. “Hey—”

You’re already turning on your heel and walking away, not sparing him another glance. “Thanks for absolutely nothing,” you chirp.

Mingyu watches, speechless at the petulant display.

“Did she—” he starts, then stops. His grip tightens around his chopsticks. None of his teammates push, all too wary of the dark look that passes over his expression. Seungcheol promptly tries to change the topic.

Mingyu finishes his meal in a foul mood, stabbing at his food with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten so absurd with him lately. Every interaction with you feels like a new test of patience, like one day you just woke up and decided to amp up all the ways you could make him miserable. He had almost started to believe, for one fleeting second, that maybe, maybe you weren’t that bad.

But no. The night at the reunion was just a fluke— when you’d danced together and he’d privately thought it was something he could get used to.

You were always meant to be his worst nightmare, and he resolves that he’s not waking up any time soon.

▸ S01E11: THE ONE WITH THE REASON.

The joint family meal is as lively as ever, voices overlapping in conversation, laughter ringing between bites of food. You, as always, have taken it upon yourself to make Mingyu’s life difficult today.

“Wow, even you managed to show up on time for once,” you remark as he slides into the seat across from you. “Did hell freeze over?”

Mingyu shoots you a deadpan look, clearly not in the mood for your antics. “Not today, Satan.”

You grin, but there’s something off about him. He doesn’t come back with anything more biting, doesn’t engage in the usual back-and-forth. His shoulders are tense, and there’s a blankness to his gaze that makes you wonder.

Your mother places a generous serving of food onto your plate, and you idly push some rice around with your chopsticks, gaze flickering toward him again. “What, got scolded for being too slow on the field?”

Mingyu finally looks at you properly. His frustration is clear. “Can you not today?” His voice is quieter than you expect, worn at the edges. “I had a shitty day at training, and I really don’t have the energy for you right now.”

The words catch you off guard. You could leave it at that, let him have his peace for once. A part of you— one you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge— almost wants to ask why, wants to pry into what’s bothering him and offer something resembling comfort.

Instead, you shove that impulse down. Whatever this is, whatever softening that night at the reunion did to you, needs to be stomped out immediately.

So you double down.

You spear a piece of your meat a little too forcefully. “Right, because I’m the problem here. You always find a way to suck at things all on your own.”

Mingyu’s expression shutters. For the first time ever— in all of your interactions with him— you feel something unpleasant coil in your stomach. He shakes his head and then goes back to eating without another word.

There’s a small, screeching voice in the back of your head that wants to demand an explanation. Not for Mingyu’s dismal mood, no, but for that flicker of disappointment that’d passed his face when he shook his head.

Why would he be disappointed over your cruelty? Why would he expect anything else from you?

The rest of the meal passes without his usual jabs in return, and you tell yourself that’s a victory. It feels like anything but.

As dessert is doled out, your mother calls out to the pair of you. “You two, go somewhere else for a while. The adults need to discuss business.”

You open your mouth to protest. You’re both adults already; surely you and Mingyu could sit in, rather than be forced into yet another awkward situation neither of you can run from.

But Mingyu is already pushing his chair back with a grumbled “fine.” The look your mother shoots you indicates that this is not about to be up for debate. You follow Mingyu out, both of you stepping into the cool evening air.

The restaurant’s outdoor area has an old playground— rusting swing sets, a chipped slide, and monkey bars that have seen better days. You walk ahead and hop onto a swing, the chains creaking slightly as you push off the ground.

Mingyu stands nearby, watching you for a moment. “Didn’t take you for the type to get sentimental,” he snorts, and that slight edge in his tone gives you just a bit of hope that he doesn’t completely despise you.

“I’m not. I just need somewhere to sit that’s far away from you,” you say matter-of-factly.

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he heads towards the monkey bars. He grips one, testing his weight against the metal. “Remember when you got stuck on these in second grade?” he asks as he free-hangs.

“I wasn’t stuck,” you sniffle in protest. “I was strategizing.”

Mingyu lets out a bark of laughter. “Strategizing how to fall on your ass?”

You drag the tip of your shoe against the dirt, narrowing your eyes. “If I recall correctly, you weren’t any help. You just laughed at me until my dad had to come pull me down.”

“Hey, in my defense, it was funny.” He swings himself onto the lowest bar, legs dangling. “You had snot running down your face and everything.”

You lunge half-heartedly to kick at his shin, but he pulls his leg away just in time. There’s a beat of silence, the air filled with the distant chatter of your families inside. It’s strange, this reminiscing. The usual bite to your exchanges is still there, but it’s smooth around the edges, tinged with something dangerously close to fondness.

Mingyu exhales, gaze fixed on some nondescript point in the distance. You think he’s gearing up for his next jab about something. Probably your embarrassing high school days, or that one summer vacation you hate talking about. Instead—

“Why aren’t we friends?” he asks. His voice is quiet, thoughtful.

You blink. The question is so absurd it momentarily stuns you. “What?”

“I mean,” he shifts, “we’ve known each other our whole lives. Shouldn’t we— I don’t know— be close?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was teasing. But the question doesn’t sound rhetorical, and he seems almost wistful.

You hate it.

You hate him.

Your chest tightens, unbidden memories surfacing. There were plenty of reasons. The bickering, the competition. But at the core of it, there was one moment. One day that cemented everything in place, whether Mingyu realized it or not.

You were seven. It was summer, the sun blazing high as the neighborhood kids gathered for a game of soccer. Everyone had been split into teams, and you had waited, jittery with anticipation, as Mingyu— the fastest, the strongest, the boy everyone wanted to follow— started picking players.

One by one, he called out names, grinning as kids ran to his side. You had stood there, heart pounding, willing him to say your name next. You were family friends! Sure, you were a girl, but surely Mingyu could see how fast and strong you were, too.

In the end, Mingyu had picked everyone but you. When there was no one left, you had been shuffled onto the other team by default. You still remembered the sting of it. The two of you were already acquainted, and yet he hadn’t even seen you as an option.

It was stupid. It was petty. And yet, that wound had never quite healed. Everything that came after was just a domino effect after that.

If you were a little meaner to Mingyu than you had to be, if you were much more curt and snappy with him than you were with anyone else? It all came back to that. That moment where Mingyu hadn’t seen you— worse.

He had pretended not to.

You swallow, dragging yourself back to the present. Mingyu is watching you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Because you didn’t pick me,” you say at last, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “That one time.”

Mingyu’s brows knit together. “What?” he asks, and it feels like a punch in the gut.

The look of confusion on Mingyu’s face— you don’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing. He doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

But you do. You remember, and you hold on to it for the lack of a better thing to hold on to.

Hating Mingyu is easy. Seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out.

Mingyu opens his mouth. For a second, it looks like he might protest. His brows pull together, his lips part, and there’s something foreign in his expression— something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. But before he can say anything, you hear your mother beckoning for you from the restaurant.

You stand up and brush nonexistent dust off your clothes. “Well, that’s my cue,” you say airily, praying to any higher power at all that Mingyu won’t call out the way your voice shakes. Just a little bit.

Instead, he remains by the monkey bars, watching you with an impassive look on his face. You can feel the weight of his stare even as you turn away.

You hesitate for half a second before glancing back at him. “We’re probably better off this way,” you say, because you always have to have the last word.

His grip tightens around the swing’s chains, knuckles going white. There’s a pause.

Then, finally, he nods. A jerky, forced thing.

“Yeah,” he says, voice strangely even. “Probably.”

You don’t acknowledge the way the word sits heavy between you, don’t let yourself linger on the way it sounds more like reluctant acceptance than agreement. Instead, you pretend not to hear it at all, turning on your heel and walking back toward the restaurant.

Hating Mingyu is easy. It’s all you’re good for. As you leave him standing alone, you hope it feels a little bit like that day in your childhood— when you’d been the name he hadn’t called.

▸ S01E12: THE ONE WITH THE SMILE.

Mingyu doesn’t get it.

He’s been off his game for days.

It’s not an injury. It’s not exhaustion. He’s been training the same way, eating the same meals, sleeping the same hours. And yet his shots don’t land the same. His passes are sloppy. He misses easy blocks he could have made blindfolded.

It pisses him off.

The ball soars past him yet again, hitting the back of the net with a dull thud. Vernon cheers and Wonwoo does a victory lap. Mingyu just stands there, hands on his hips, jaw locked tight. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to punch the goalpost out of sheer frustration.

Seungcheol, ever the captain, jogs over. “That’s enough,” he barks, voice edged with authority.

Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek. He knows what’s coming for him, and yet he still tries to protest. “One more round.”

“No. You’re done.” Seungcheol’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Go home. Figure out whatever’s got you playing like shit and come back when your head’s on straight.”

Mingyu has to bite back the retort that he’s not playing like shit, that he does have his head on straight. The numbers don’t lie. There’s no talking his way out of this one. With a sharp exhale, he yanks off his gloves and stalks off the field, muttering curses under his breath.

As he grabs his bag and heads toward the exit, he runs through every possible reason for his sudden slump.

Training? No. Diet? No. Stress? Maybe, but it’s never affected him like this before.

You?

You’ve been distant ever since that night at the playground. The constant quips, the snarky remarks, the way you always seemed to find a reason to pester him— it’s all dialed down to nearly nothing.

It should be a relief. He should be thriving with all this newfound peace and quiet.

Instead, he’s a goddamn mess.

Mingyu kicks a stray rock on the pavement as he walks to his car. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get you. And worse, he doesn’t get why it bothers him so damn much.

It’s entirely by accident, how he ends up spotting you. Maybe it’s some form of twisted divine intervention, some cruel twist of fate.

He’s at a red light, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, when he happens to glance to the side. And there you are, ripped right out of his scrambled brain, standing outside a café with a group of friends.

You’re wearing one of those preppy outfits he always mocks you for, all pristine pleats and crisp collars. It’s the kind of thing he’d usually say makes you look like you stepped straight out of some rich kid catalog. He tucks away the insult in his mind, filed for the next time you annoy him.

But then—

You’re laughing. Your head tilts back; your eyes crinkle at the corners. The street lights catch on the soft highlights in your hair, the gentle slope of your nose, the flush on your cheeks from whatever ridiculous joke was just told.

You look light. At ease. So effortlessly happy.

Mingyu watches, unseen, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He’s seen you smirk, seen you grin in that infuriating, self-satisfied way when you get under his skin. He’s seen you scoff, roll your eyes, pout. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile like that in front of him.

And what’s worse—

Why does he want it?

He presses on the gas pedal once the light turns green. By the time he pulls into his parking lot, his mind is still spinning. He kills the engine but doesn’t move, just sits there, glaring at the wall in front of him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A stray hair tie, wedged between the seats. One of yours.

He stares at it, his brain stalling. The last time you sat in his passenger seat… when was that? His mind scrambles, trying to pinpoint the moment, but he comes up empty. The fact that he doesn’t know unsettles him more than it should.

Something else comes, too. A stupid, fleeting burst of happiness. An excuse to message you, to return it, to say something anything just to get you talking to him again.

The realization slams into him all at once.

His frustration. His inability to focus. The way your absence has been gnawing at him. The way your happiness without him made his chest ache.

Mingyu slumps forward in his seat, his forehead resting against his steering wheel.

Not even the screeching sound of his horn is able to drag him out of the horrific realization that he’s off his game because he likes you.

He likes you, the one person in the world he shouldn’t. The one person in the world he can’t have.

“Fuuuck,” he grouses, banging his head on the steering wheel so that the beeps come in sporadic bursts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’s fucked.

▸ S01E13: THE ONE WITH THE PLANNING.

You don't know when it started— this weird, drawn-out awkwardness with Mingyu.

It’s not like you’ve stopped arguing. You're still giving him shit for his stupid hair, his dumb socks, his loud chewing habits. But lately, he’s... off. Slower to snap back. Not quite meeting your eyes.

Worst of all? He’s barely even tried to make fun of your outfit today.

It’s part of the Mingyu playbook. Some wisecrack about your clothes, some comment about how you should be running hell in Satan’s place. If he’s feeling particularly inventive, he even deigns to bring your course into it.

Today, though, it’s all painfully polite. Curt answers and absentminded nods. You know you’ve frozen him out since that night on the playground, but you didn’t expect to get the same chill in return.

“So what I’m hearing is,” you say, tapping something into your phone, “you’re fine with anywhere as long as there’s pasta. Are you five?”

Mingyu squints at you like he's struggling to come up with a comeback. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Wow. Riveting. Have you always been this dull or did I finally break you?”

He laughs, but there's no real bite to it. “I’m just being agreeable,” he offers. Even the snark in that is half-hearted, hesitant. “You should try it some time.”

“Oh, don't get all mature on me now,” you scoff, scrolling through the list of local restaurants your parents emailed. “God forbid you grow a personality overnight and forget how to argue.”

Mingyu mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “still better than yours.” He seems distracted, for the lack of a better term. The two of you have the unfortunate task of deciding on the next joint family meal’s venue, and he’s been uncharacteristically civil throughout it all.

Somehow, it unnerves you more than when he’s being an insufferable asshole.

“Seriously, are you okay?” you press, a touch of concern making its way into your tone. “You're kinda giving... robot with a mild software glitch."

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he grumbles. “Just tired."

“Tired or scared I’ll beat you in the battle of wits today?”

“Not scared. Letting you have the spotlight for once.”

“Touching. Very generous.” You know a lost battle when you see one, so you scroll down the list again before turning your phone so he can see it. “Okay, vote: Overpriced fusion place with truffle everything or rustic hipster café that serves lattes with art so complicated it should be in a museum?”

Mingyu squints. “The second one has better lighting.”

“... Lighting?”

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. “For your parents’ photos. You know how your mom gets.”

Something twists in your stomach.

The fact that Mingyu is considering your mother’s happiness, that he knows how she is and he’s not complaining— instead accommodating?

You feel almost grateful, almost admiring, but you shake it off with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Hipster café it is. Let’s go, then.”

“I’m literally only here because you begged me to come.”

“Yeah, but I begged louder. So I win.”

There it is— the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not quite a comeback. But closer.

It doesn’t quite explain why his ears have turned pink, but that’s a can of worms you decide you’re not ready to open up just yet. Instead, the two of you go to scope the venue, lest your parents call you out for not fulfilling your duty-bound obligation to this godforsaken tradition.

The café is aggressively quaint. All pastel walls and potted plants and menus printed in cursive. A waitress greets you at the door with a bright smile and a clipboard in hand.

“Table for two?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says.

She glances between the two of you, then beams. “Perfect! You're just in time for our couple’s lunch special. It comes with two entrees, a shared appetizer, and dessert for only half the price.”

For a moment, you wish you could see yourself through the waitress’ eyes. You can’t imagine a single thing that might give off the impression that you and Mingyu were a couple. There’s too much space between the two of you, and the look you two share is enough for you to gleam that he’s equally flabbergasted.

He turns to look back to the unassuming waitress. “Oh, we’re not—”

The world’s most brilliant idea strikes you then. You act on it before you can develop a semblance of shame.

“We'll take it,” you cut in smoothly, linking your arm through Mingyu’s before he can ruin it. You smile sweetly at the waitress, completely ignoring the way Mingyu goes rigid beside you.

As you’re led to a corner table by the window, he leans down to frantically whisper, “What the hell was that?”

“A good deal,” you respond cheerfully. “Unless you want to pay full price just to protect your ego.”

He glares. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You knew that when you got in the car.”

The waitress sets down your menus and tells you she’ll be back shortly for your order. Mingyu slumps in his seat, looking very much like you’ve told him he can never play soccer ever again.

“Cheer up,” you say, nudging his shin under the table. “If you play your cards right, I might even feed you.”

His eyes narrow. "You wouldn’t dare."

Ah, but you would dare. The moment the pasta arrives, you’re already grinning. You twirl the noodles with your fork; he tries to communicate with his gaze that he wants you dead.

“Say ahhh, loverboy,” you sing-song.

“Absolutely not.”

You kick him again. He hisses mid-sip of water. “Just pretend, Mingyu,” you say through the teeth of your smile. “God, have you never faked a relationship for free food before?”

“I have not, actually,” he retorts. “Fuckin’ cheapskate.”

Begrudgingly, he opens his mouth. He at least seems to know that you’re not about to let up. You shove the fork into his mouth; he retaliates by ‘feeding’ you some chicken piccata, though it’s more of him forcing the bite into your mouth even after you’ve protested the presence of peas.

The next half hour is full of increasingly absurd couple behavior. You fake gasp when he offers you water. He pretends to be offended when you steal his garlic bread. You stage-whisper pet names across the table just loud enough for the waitress to hear, coos of baby and sweetheart in between eye rolls and grimaces.

And through it all, there are moments— brief, fleeting— when his eyes linger on yours just a second too long. When his smile is a little too soft. When his hand brushes yours and he doesn’t pull away immediately.

You tell yourself it’s all part of the act.

But maybe that’s not the whole truth.

The meal ends as it should. Mingyu foots the bill, and he does it without complaint. On your way out, the waitress smiles at the two of you like you’re some couple to be revered.

Pride sparks like a flint in your chest. You douse it as quickly as you can manage.

Outside, the sun is bright and the sidewalk smells like coffee and car exhaust. With your joint scoping done, the two of you walk a little slower than usual. You’re unsure why you’re not rushing to get back to the car.

“Well,” you say casually, “you make a convincing boyfriend. Color me shocked.”

Mingyu gives you a flat look. “Glad to know my fake relationship skills impress you.”

“What can I say? Low expectations,” you chirp, then jab him lightly with your elbow. “Now that I think about it— you're pretty single, huh. Why is that, again?”

It’s a jab that you’ve delivered far better in the past. Jokes about him being unable to pull. Remarks of him not knowing the first thing about romance or women.

Today, though, it comes out as a query of genuine curiosity. One you typically might throw at someone you wanted to gauge interest in, and my God, how damning was that?

Mingyu doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He answers your question with frustrating casualness, toying with his car keys as he drags his feet. “Busy. Not looking. The usual.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Lame excuse. Try again.”

“What about you?” he counters, the attempt at evasion only driving you a little more crazy. “Still turning down anyone who doesn’t meet your god-tier standards?”

You tilt your chin up, mock-offended. “Absolutely. Only the best for me.”

“Yeah? What does that even mean?”

It’s obvious. You know the answer to this.

“Someone who’s funny. Smart. A little annoying but not, like, murder-worthy,” you ramble. “Tall, but not weird-tall. Knows how to argue without being a total asshole. Kind to animals. Can cook. Probably has nice hands.”

The words come out easily, too easily. You mean to keep it jokey, casual, but the list tumbles out before you can really filter it. It’s only when you hear it out loud that it hits you.

You know someone like that.

Your mouth goes dry. A beat passes.

You realize, too late, that you've gone quiet. That the silence between you has shifted. It’s not awkward, but it’s charged.

Mingyu bumps your shoulder with his, snapping you out of your reverie. “That’s oddly specific,” he taunts. “Anyone I know?”

You scoff and shove him away. “Shut up.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see him fighting down a teasing grin. You can feel your pulse thudding in your ears, can feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

You don’t dare look at him.

You hope Mingyu doesn’t know. You hope he doesn’t realize you just described someone that sounds suspiciously like—

▸ S01E14: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF MINGYU’S LIFE.

Mingyu knows better than anyone, just how true the platitude every second counts is.

He plays soccer. Of course he knows the value of a ticking clock, of a last-minute save, of seconds that tick by arduously slow.

The clock has always been his enemy. But, today, it’s his friend.

Every second that ticks by moves the hands on the clock. Every movement on the clock will end this game faster.

He had this coming, really. When Ryujin dared him to kiss a girl— any girl— in the circle, he had known he was being baited. They all wanted him to choose you, to confirm whatever stupid assumptions they’d made about your complicated relationship.

Mingyu lived to defy expectations, so he leaned over and pulled Chaeyoung into his lap, and he kissed her like it meant something. Did his eyes briefly flicker open to check if you were watching? Did he feel some sort of sick, perverse triumph when he saw that you looked annoyed?

He should have known that karma would bite him back fast. You had the tendency to do that— knowing just how to piss him off right back.

It’s been two minutes and thirty-five seconds since you stepped into that goddamn pantry with Yugyeom.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Jinyoung had teased when the bottle landed on you, giving you free rein to choose anyone.

And Mingyu knew immediately that it wouldn’t be him.

Your high school friend group had jeered and laughed and teased when you reached for Yugyeom. Mingyu was not an inherently violent person, but he wanted so badly, in that moment, to wipe the smug smirk off the other man’s face.

You didn’t even look at Mingyu as you slinked away with Yugyeom.

Mingyu is nursing a new bottle now.

Trying to focus on the game. Trying to ignore the empty spaces in the circle. Someone’s daring something scandalous, a strip tease of some sorts—

You’re wearing his jacket, Mingyu realizes. From the little spat earlier this night when you’d spilled rum down the front of your shirt. Before you could throw a hissy fit, he’d shoved his varsity jacket in your arms and told you to suck it up.

The thought of Yugyeom unbuttoning that piece of clothing— that one thing on your body that might mark you as Mingyu’s, if it mattered at all— has the keeper clenching his beer bottle a little tighter.

It’s been three minutes and twelve seconds. Mingyu doesn’t know why he’s counting it down, but he also doesn’t know how to keep his cool.

His brain keeps supplying him with images of what he might do if he were in Yugyeom’s place.

The realistic answer: You’d sulk, probably. Find a way to blame him for the situation. The two of you would bicker the entire seven minutes and then come out of the secluded pantry in foul moods. Seven minutes in hell, he would say sarcastically, when asked, and you’d flip him off.

Underneath the realistic answer, though, is something that’s close to a fantasy. His hands resting at your sides, his touch warm over your— his— jacket. Your fingers entangled in his hair. The way he'd have to lean down, to tilt his head.

Would you taste like all the alcohol you’d drank that night?

Would you taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of?

Mingyu shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer, his fingers trembling around the bottle. Eunwoo is stripping as part of a dare; Mingyu tries to focus on that, and not on the fact that it’s been five minutes and fifty-two seconds.

Jungkook lets out a loud squeal. The sound pierces through the pre-drunk migraine that Mingyu already feels coming on. The sound—

What would you sound like?

In his arms. Against his mouth. Underneath—

“Fuck,” Mingyu cusses lowly, the word spoken mostly to himself.

He’s drunk. He’s riled up. And you’re just so pretty tonight—

“Oi, lovebirds!” Jinyoung calls out in the direction of the pantry. “Seven minutes are up!”

Mingyu barely registers the sharp ring of the seven-minute alarm going off, or the jabs that everybody else throws out. His gaze is now fixed on the pantry door, the one he has to fight every urge to approach. Every second that ticks past the required mark has his head spinning with thoughts, with ideas that he would rather not dwell on.

Yugyeom emerges first, that smirk of his still in place. You come out right after, looking unruffled as you smooth out the front of your shirt.

You don’t waste a single beat. Your eyes find Mingyu’s face, where he’s poorly concealed just how much more intoxicated he's gotten in your absence.

A corner of your mouth tilts upward in a vicious smile. The action you give him next is so brief, he could have imagined it.

You pucker your lips.

A flying kiss.

Mingyu has never wanted you so badly.

▸ S01E15: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE.

Seven minutes.

You could do anything in seven minutes.

Say something stupid. Say something brave. Let someone kiss you. Let someone else go.

You step into the pantry and it smells like cinnamon and dust and maybe a little bit of regret. Yugyeom’s behind you, grinning like this is just another game. And maybe to him, it is. A dare. A kiss. A story to laugh about later.

The second the door shuts, the world dulls. Muffled cheers and drunken cackles blur into the walls, and it’s just the two of you in this cramped little time capsule. His hand grazes your arm. Your breath catches, but not for the reason it’s supposed to.

“Hey, pretty,” Yugyeom greets, and there’s some sort of vindication in knowing he actually does think you’re pretty.

This was an evening of unepic proportions, of high school friends coming together for a birthday party and bad decisions. In your head, there’s some small consolation to the fact that there’s not much light in the pantry.

Just the hint of fluorescence flooding through the door crack, reminding you of a loose circle where Mingyu is seated.

The thought of him makes your skin crawl. It’s bad enough that you don’t know how to act around him anymore. But then he went in to make out with Chaeyoung of all fucking people—

“Let’s get on with this, Kim,” you tell Yugyeom, trying to sound convincing, sultry.

Your voice wavers just a bit on the surname. Wrong Kim.

To give Yugyeom some credit, he laughs softly before leaning in. His lips are warm. Kind. And you think, briefly, that he must be good at this. The kind of guy who gets picked in these games a lot. The kind of guy who smiles and means it.

You wonder if you’ll feel anything when he kisses you.

You don’t.

It’s not bad. It’s just not… anything.

You try. You really, really do. Your fingers curl at the front of Yugyeom’s shirt; his own hands dance over your sides. Over the jacket, over Mingyu’s jacket, and you wince because you’re thinking of him, of the way he’d introduced himself to the unfamiliar faces with that winning smile and that nickname of his, the stupid Gyu you never get to call him—

“Mmm,” Yugyeom hums against your lips. He pulls back, eyes still closed, a lazy grin on his face. “Did you just say ‘Gyu’?”

Fuck.

You blink at Yugyeom, your brain slow to catch up. “No, I didn’t,” you sputter.

He opens one eye. “You totally did.”

You could say you said Gyeom. You could simply shut Yugyeom up with a fiercer kiss, maybe a little more action.

But it’s there, out in the open, curling in the space between you two like something dangerous and damaging

The slip wasn’t just a slip. It was your heart showing its cards. A royal fucking flush you can’t even begin to run from.

Your hand falls to your side. Yugyeom steps back.

No annoyance, no dramatics— just something soft in his smile that makes it worse. “You wanna try that again? With the right guy’s name this time?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Yugyeom,” you groan, because while you can’t bring yourself to try making out again, you can at least say the right name. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” he chirps. He shifts to lean on one of the pantry’s low shelves, hands tucked in his hoodie. “So. Mingyu, huh?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because what is there to say? That you’ve spent more than half your life wrapped in arguments and almosts and the kind of tension that should’ve burned out by now but hasn’t? That the sound of your name in Mingyu’s mouth makes you want to scream or kiss him or both? That he gave you his stupid jacket and you’re still wearing it like it means something?

“It’s complicated,” you gripe.

Yugyeom cackles. “That’s the most girl-who’s-in-love thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up.”

He doesn’t. “You know he was watching the door like a lovesick puppy, right?”

That shouldn’t make your heart flutter. It does anyway. “He was?” you ask, and you could kick yourself for just how giddy you sound.

It’s as close to a direct confirmation that Yugyeom is going to get. You think that he might be grinning, but it’s not something you can be sure of in the darkness. It’s something you hear instead, bleeding into his words. “Pretty sure he was ready to fight me.”

You sit beside Yugyeom. The shelf creaks. Your hands are cold in your lap, but your face is burning.

“Do you love him?” he asks, and it’s so straightforward you want to laugh.

You don’t say a thing. It’s one of those silence-means-yes moments, one of those things that should go unsaid.

The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and you’re in love with Kim Mingyu.

Despite how much the fact has simmered underneath your skin, it’s something you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. Because it’s not that easy. Because it’s him. Because you know the way he is— impulsive and stubborn and so good at pretending he doesn’t care when really, he cares too much.

And so you don’t answer Yugyeom. The two of you kill the remaining minutes in silence; it’s almost like your friend is letting you sit with the truth, the realization.

After a long moment, he leans in to press a chaste, friendly kiss to the top of your head.

“Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your hair, “he’s one lucky bastard.”

You let out a watery laugh. You hadn’t even realized you were tearing up— the sheer fear of the reality overwhelming you.

Jinyoung’s voice echoes from outside. “Oi, lovebirds! Seven minutes are up!”

“Come on. Gotta act like we had some fun in here,” Yugyeom urges. “You picked me to make him jealous, right? Let’s make it look like that.”

“I owe you my first born child,” you respond, genuinely grateful despite everything.

“Hopefully the one you’ll have with Ming—”

“Let’s not go there.”

He messes with your hair. You rumple up his shirt. It’s all a farce, a show, and Yugyeom is kind enough to play along. He throws you a conspiratorial wink as he steps out, that smirk of his slotting right back on to his barely-swollen lips.

You take a deep breath, and then you follow.

It’s almost like a magnet, how your eyes seek out Mingyu. He looks just a little more drunk; a feat, considering the fact you’ve been gone for only seven minutes.

You can’t help it. Your mouth twitches in a fond grin. The way his gaze is burning into you, the way he’s clutching his beer bottle just a little too tightly?

That might be what compels you. It’s a flicker of an action, a ghost of a tease. You throw him a flying kiss, giggling to yourself when his face flushes a shade of red.

You have never wanted Mingyu so badly.

▸ S01E16: THE ONE WITH THE ‘MISTAKE’.

He doesn't want to be mad.

Truly. Logically. On paper— whatever. Mingyu knows he started it.

He kissed Chaeyoung first. He played the game. He played you. And now here you are, sitting cross-legged on his couch in your usual over-the-top family dinner outfit. Like that one night at the party didn’t end with him counting down seconds that felt like drowning.

You’re humming some song under your breath. You’re so calm, so nonchalant.

Mingyu is not. He stomps and clenches his hands into fists and slams his drawer with more force than necessary.

You glance up from your phone. “Damn,” you say with a low whistler. “Did the closet offend you or something?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s pulling clothes out of his dresser like they all personally insulted him. Button-down, slacks, watch, socks. All too formal for something that’s supposed to be casual, but tonight everything feels like a performance.

He ducks into his room and dresses quickly. By the time he emerges, you’re already standing by the front door. It shoots a momentary panic through him, the thought of you leaving.

But then you’re quipping, “You said we had to leave at seven. It’s 6:55. Just reminding you before you start blaming me for being late.”

“I’m not blaming you,” he grunts, padding across his living room in search of his wallet.

He can see you looking skeptical in his peripheral vision. “Sure feels like it,” you huff.

“Can you not?”

“Can I not what? Breathe in your general direction?”

Mingyu exhales sharply. He should stop. He should apologize. He should not make this worse.

He does.

“Yeah?” His tone drips with derision as he finally shoves his essentials into the pocket of his trousers. “Maybe if you weren’t so good at pretending nothing ever touches you, I wouldn’t have to.”

You laugh; the sound is incredulous, sharp. Offended?

“Right, because clearly you’re the one who’s been suffering,” you jeer. And then, completely out of the left field—

“I forgot how hard it must’ve been for you, kissing Chaeyoung like your life depended on it.”

There’s so much to unpack. The way you’re bringing this whole thing up days after it happened, even after you and Mingyu have just kind of… bristled at each other a lot more. Mingyu wanted to think your patience was just a lot thinner than usual— as was his— but he hadn’t imagined it would be related to that night. Or to Chaeyoung.

It makes his heart, the traitor that it is, practically stop in his chest.

He knows where you’re getting at. He knows what this could mean. He just has to make sure, and it’s in the way he tries to keep up with his rage when he snaps, “What does that have to do—”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

And there it is.

The question cuts through everything. Your voice— loud at first, angry— is suddenly small. Wounded.

Mingyu’s head spins.

You wanted him to kiss you.

His mouth opens then closes. Your face is incandescent, burning with shame. He knows this about you, knows you’ve never been able to deny yourself a thing. You’re an open book, a heart-on-the-platter type of girl. As badly as he wants to try and figure out all the signs he might have missed, he’s more concerned with the fact that you’re already trying to take it back.

Your hand is on the door handle. You’re about to make a run for it, Mingyu realizes, and that’s not something he’s going to let happen.

Before you can get too far, his fingers are wrapping around your wrist and tugging you back.

When you look up at him, his expression is contorted into a mix of torment and want. You’re not looking any better yourself; you look caught between desire and fear, like all the years you’ve shared are bearing down on the two of you.

You look as crazy as Mingyu feels.

“I was waiting,” Mingyu breathes, his eyes wide and wild. “I was waiting—”

“For what?” you bite out. “What were you waiting for?”

His sharp response is softened by the desperation edging his tone. “For the perfect moment,” he snaps.

Mingyu tugs you into his space. He’s gentle, still, as he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer until you’re chest to chest. He has to tuck his head to press his forehead against yours, and he can’t breathe.

You’re holding your breath, too, like you’re fighting every instinct to kick up a fuss at how patient he’s being. He has to be. He has to be, or else he’s going to give you everything when the two of you have to meet your families for the night.

His breath ghosts over your lips, which are already parted so beautifully for him.

“But I guess,” he whispers, his heart in his throat, at your feet, in your hands, “my shitty apartment is as good as any for a first kiss, huh?”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait for you to answer.

He closes the distance and presses down into you, enough that you end up taking a step back. When your nails sink into Mingyu’s shoulders to hold yourself steady, he lets out a low hiss against your mouth but refuses to pull away.

He kisses you like he’s thought about doing it for years.

And maybe he has. Maybe it’s always been there— this prospect, this possibility, and he could’ve gone his whole life just wondering what it might be like.

Now that he has it, has you, he doesn’t know if he can go without it.

It might be a mistake. He knows that.

He’s crossed a line you’ve both danced around for too long. There's a part of him— rational and careful— that screams this could ruin everything.

But then you kiss him back.

You kiss him back like you mean it, like you’re angry about all the years wasted not doing this. Like you want to climb into the marrow of him and stay there.

Mingyu doesn’t know how long it lasts. Doesn’t care. Eventually, the space between you pulls taut again, and you're both left staring, dazed, stunned, as if the world has shifted under your feet.

His fingers ghost over his lips. They’re swollen, just like yours, and he knows there’s no going back from this. There’s no way he’ll ever be able to convince himself that you’re some annoying pest instead of the love of his goddamn life.

“We— we should go,” Mingyu says hoarsely, barely above a whisper. It’s all he can manage.

And for once, you don’t fight him.

▸ S01E17: THE ONE WITH THE PROMISE.

The bane of your existence drives you to your family’s monthly dinner in his car with its one working speaker, and a half-eaten protein bar wedged into the cupholder.

You complain about the lack of legroom. He snarks back about your giant tote bag taking up all the space. It’s almost impressive how easily the two of you slip back into the familiar routine of bickering.

If someone were to eavesdrop, they’d never guess you’d made out half an hour ago. That he’d kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing; that you’d kissed him like he had all the answers to the questions you’ve been afraid to ask.

Mingyu parallel parks like an asshole— too far from the curb— and you mutter something under your breath as you slam the door shut behind you.

“You could say thank you,” he says, locking the car.

“Thank you,” you echo. “For the trauma.”

He almost smiles. The sight of him fighting that back reminds you of his lips, how they’d been so soft against yours despite the heated, desperate way he moved.

Your brain is going to be in the gutter the whole evening. You’re sure of it.

Your families are already there at the vouchsafed hipster café when the two of you walk through the door. For a treacherous moment, everything feels like clockwork again. The smell of garlic bread wafts through the air. His mother greets you with a warm hug. His dad already has a story locked and loaded. Your parents give him the same doting affection.

It’s so normal you almost forget what’s changed.

Almost.

Mingyu sits next to you instead of across from you. He offers you the breadbasket first, tops your glass when nobody else is looking.

At one point, you arch a brow at him, suspicious. He says nothing.

It’s all suspicious.

Conversation flows easily enough. Your families are familiar, loud, opinionated. There’s some rapport between you and Mingyu; if your parents notice that it’s not as scathing as usual, they don’t point it out.

Under the table, something changes.

You feel it before you see it. Mingyu’s hand, careful and tentative, resting on your knee. His touch is featherlight, like he’s giving you a chance to move away.

You don’t.

It’s hidden by the table cloth, and you think you might be imagining it until you glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

His expression is half-agony, half-hope.

And that’s the thing about Kim Mingyu. He’s always been too much and never enough. Too loud, too cocky, too frustrating. Never thoughtful enough, never serious enough, never willing to make the first move until now.

You’re done keeping score. This isn’t a battle of wits, a challenge of who can hold out better. This is a game neither of you will win.

No. This is a game you no longer have to play.

You lace your fingers through his.

Mingyu’s shoulders drop like he’s been holding that breath for years. He squeezes your hand, and you think you could get used to this, to him. You’ll have to talk about it later, to decide; for now, though, the promise of it is more than enough.

You used to think there was no universe in which you and Kim Mingyu could ever get along.

But maybe— just maybe— this one will do.

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