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moonlitcelestial · 2 days ago

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Chapter 30

Beyond the Lens - Logbook Videographer!Reader x OT8 Ateez

W/C ~18,023

🎥 Series Masterlist 🎥

☽ Masterlist ☾

Inspiration Pictures

Pinterest Board Masterlist

Previous Chapter (Chapter 29)

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is not meant to assume or mock anything about Ateez, Atiny, or anything relating to what I do not know about being a videographer. This story will follow several of the events that Ateez have done in the past year for Golden Hour Part 2, that being said I will not be able to include everything.

Contains she/her pronouns.

The logo in the center is mine. Please do not reuse or copy.

I strongly recommend looking at the inspiration pictures and the Pinterest boards linked above (which will be updating as the story goes on).

General Warnings: cussing, conflict, angst, fluff, and obliviousness.

CHAPTER WARNINGS - Fluff, playful teasing, Yunho in glasses, alcohol mentions

Let me know what you think! <3 Moonie

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

You had finally landed in Tacoma, resituating yourself you looked over your team who were putting on their masks and hats. The staff started collecting everyone that was to exit first like teachers collecting unruly children. All chaos and barely organized. They were trying to be quick and efficient which would most likely help in the long run but it created some snags in the current flow. You had to step out from between Wooyoung and Yeosang, both of which offered a small squeeze to each of your hands in reassurance. A woman from Asher’s team followed the four of you out of the plane after you had grabbed all of your bags.

As soon as you stepped out the door and into the airport you were met with some flashes, your head immediately went down and you felt someone at your side. Aurora and Willow were next to you and Forrest had taken his spot in stride at the front while the woman was behind you. Nothing could have prepared you for the screaming when everyone caught sight of your boys. You made it out in front of them and didn’t have to worry about being mobbed while you were getting into the van someone was waving you into. You dropped your bags in the trunk and got into the car as quickly as you could.

A collective sigh left all of you as you slumped into the seats of the van. With a quick motion you took off your hat and fluffed your hair out of your face and put it back on backwards. Turning in your seat you watched as the boys were greeting Atiny with large smiles, how they had the energy for people after a long ass plane ride was beyond you. The van started moving and you looked over everyone. “That went a lot better than the first time, I think that’s what will need to happen from now on.”

“Asher said you might say that,” the four of you looked to the woman sitting closest to the door. She had taken off her mask and you finally got the chance to take her in without obstructions. Her light hair was up and you could see the waves trying to escape the perfectly slicked back hairstyle. Her eyes were like Aurora’s, a beautiful icy blue.

“I apologize, my name is Athena. I am a part of Asher’s team and have been for a few years, it’s wonderful to finally meet all of you. He has only ever said good things about you.” You were smiling at the woman sitting next to you.

“I assume you know our names, but I’ll introduce us anyway. I’m Y/n otherwise known as Onyx, behind us is Aurora, Forrest, and Willow also known as Moonstone, Topaz, and Amethyst respectively.” Athena nodded to all of them and turned back to you.

“So I have one question. I’ve seen how you are with the Ateez boys and from whispers I have heard you are with all of them, is that true?” You choked on air as the question left her mouth. “No no, I’m not asking like in a judgy way I swear, I was just genuinely curious.”

Athena was waving her hands in front of her in an apologetic motion. Well, at least you knew she got straight to the point; which you respected her for. Aurora was patting you on the back awkwardly trying to make sure you could get air to your lungs. When you recovered you looked back at Athena. She was watching you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “Sorry, no one has ever asked me that.”

“I didn’t mean to pry, I was genuinely just curious.” You checked who the driver was when she finished her rambling. It was Jiwoon, who was trying his hardest not to smile at you in the rearview. When you looked back to her she had been following your gaze to the front seat.

“You didn’t pry, it was an honest question. If I didn’t know that Asher trusts you I wouldn’t be giving you an answer. Yes, I am with all of them but not everyone knows. Although after the cuddle fest on the plane where everyone could see I’m sure they suspect something.”

”That’s so fucking cool!” Her outburst shocked all of you, even her as she audibly slapped a hand over her mouth. Jiwoon was snickering in the front seat. You were grinning at her the entire time she was staring at you mortified. That was one of the most genuine reactions that you would have hoped for in a person, unbridled joy, so much of it that words just slip from her mouth.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to censor yourself around us, if anything this sailor has everyone beat at the cursing game.” Your head shot over to look at Forrest who was grinning at you while reaching to pat your head like a child. With a quick move you smacked his hand away from you and Athena fell into a small giggle fit.

For the remainder of the drive all of you chatted amongst yourselves. It was almost weird speaking in complete English after all this time; you may have been a little rusty. Jiwoon even piped in with some of his takes on the topics you were discussing. You pulled up to the hotel and were immediately awestruck, this place was gorgeous, definitely not something you would have chosen; but amazing nonetheless. Jiwoon had pulled out a stop right outside the security gate and gave his name and the group name, the guards gave a curt nod before stepping back into their tiny booth and pressing a button.

“I am going to let all of you off at the front so you can get inside and sort through the luggage to find yours. When everyone gets here we will pass out the keys as the head will be the only one to get them.” The five of you chorused your acknowledgment before getting out of the car and grabbing your gear. When you entered the hotel it was extravagant to say the least, you would definitely be staying in style. True to form with many grand hotels there was a piano in the center of the waiting area. With a glance over to your team you were grinning. They watched you with raised eyebrows like they knew exactly what was going through your head as soon as you saw that piano. Athena looked downright confused, she would find out about your excitement soon enough.

No you have to be a responsible adult before you fall victim to your childlike wants.

You made your way over to the large group of suitcases and immediately clocked yours. Maneuvering around the scattered cases you grabbed your suitcases that were linked together and hauled them through the rest and behind the piano bench. When they were parked in a spot that wasn't sticking too far out in the way you put the bags you were holding on the raised handles so you didn't have to set them on the floor. Finally you took a seat on the bench and flourished your blazer behind you. Not too long after you started into a more classical piece feeling like it would be better since you were in a fancy hotel. You had kept your hat and mask on just because you could.

“Play something fun!” You turned and looked over to Forrest who was grinning like a madman at you. Stopping in the middle of the song you were playing and you began thinking about what you could play that would be considered fun, at least for you; but still sensible. Sensible because you were in a fancy hotel and near a restaurant filled with people.

The remainder of the people that were in your van were approaching you with their luggage. Your team took up residence on the long side of the piano waiting for you to start. Aurora was the closest, she always loved to watch you play, and was even more vocal about it after you reassured her that her pushing you to play was one of the only reasons you would have. Peer pressure at its finest. Forrest, situated himself next to Aurora and had taken off his facemask and hat since you last saw him. Willow was situated close to Forrest and was just leaning on the piano watching the entirety of the exchange. An idea came to mind that you knew would absolutely blow his socks off, and quite possibly anyone in the near vicinity. It might be a little over the top but it would at least help you kill time. You cracked your fingers to loosen them up, took off your hat and mask, setting them on top of the piano before looking back at Forrest with a wink. When you looked back at the keys you channeled everything that your Granny had ever given you, grace, class, a love for a challenge, and most of all; her love for music.

With a deep breath you launched into the song and were immediately met with a wave of excitement through your body. This was the first classical piece you learned in college without the help of your Granny, one of the hardest ones anyone could play, at least in your opinion. You wanted to show her that despite being away from home you still thought of her, and that you may have finally caught up with her expertise. When you came back during the summer after your first year of college, able to play this, you were surprised that she managed not to fall out of her chair when you began the piece.

You had spent hours and hours into the night drilling this song over and over, on top of your classes and other obligations. Some of the college students thought you were a music major for the longest time because you spent so much time in their building playing one of the pianos. Not to mention a couple of the professors had offered you scholarships if you would have joined them, every time you politely declined; much to their dismay. Some of them had even helped you just a little when it came to some of the more difficult pieces of the large puzzle that was this song.

All you could see was the notes in front of you. The lights of the room seemed to shift back into the shitty lighting in one of the practice rooms from college. You could feel your Granny at your shoulder just as she had been after discovering you were playing the entirety of this difficult song. You were back in the past, and it finally didn’t hurt like it had for the longest time.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

Music was flowing through the cracks of the doors while we approached the front of the large hotel. Of course it would be this way, someone playing the piano for people that were entering the hotel to make it seem fancy. When I stepped into the building my eyes naturally fell to the crowd surrounding the piano. Most of which were people from KQ and some random people were scattered about as well. There in the center, which shouldn't have surprised me, was our north star.

She was sitting poised and leaning into the music like her life depended on it; just like her Granny did. I exchanged glances with the rest of my boyfriends and smiles broke out on their faces if the crinkle of their eyes above their masks were anything to go by. I could feel my smile creep onto my face as well. Her unbound hair was moving with her while she played the intricate piece of piano music; something I had never heard before. Most of the staff was seated in the many chairs surrounding the piano just listening to her play. Maddox had somehow squeezed himself between Forrest and Aurora and was watching her with awe while leaning against the piano. Most of the other Edenary members were close as well but they seemed to be whispering amongst themselves about something completely different.

My feet carried me to her before my mind could catch up. Most of the staff had made a small hole for me to get through so I could get close. She hadn't even looked up from where her eyes were glued to the ivory keys like she normally did. She was entirely focused on the notes she was producing from the large all white piano; something that made her even more of a masterpiece in my eyes. In the time that I had known her she shines the brightest when she is either behind a camera or in front of a piano. Seeing her play the piano all that time ago made me fully realize how much I love her; something that does not come lightly for me. The music brings her to life, something I wouldn't say she was lacking before she started playing again, but a new kind of life; one that made her glow like a star.

Her fingers were moving with expert precision across the entirety of the piano. Sometimes her hands would cross over each other whilst she was playing, something that looked like it would be awkward, but it was like second nature to her. It was hard to believe that she hadn't played for so long before we met, she had fallen back into it so naturally; almost as if no time passed at all. I took a second to look over everyone’s faces. Most of them were watching her so intently, some were shocked like they had never heard someone play the piano like this but every one of them were swaying with the tune of the music. The ones who knew her story just looked at her with pride; including myself. How did we manage to snag someone so magnificent? Someone that brought calm to our storm; even while she was battling her own. How did we get so lucky to have this beautiful soul?

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

One minute turned into five, which turned into ten, and finally into twenty. You finished the song with a quiet grace and jumped when a loud applause greeted you. Your eyes peeled themselves away from your hands and the keys to see everyone clapping and smiling at you. The applause surrounded you in the best way, it was coming from in front of you and behind you, from familiar faces to people you had never seen; and most likely would never see again. The patrons that you didn't recognize took your hat on the top of the piano to mean you were asking for tips and before you could speak up to protest they had dropped money into it and left with smiles in your direction. You stood from the bench and watched with wide eyes as more and more people flocked to you to pat you on the back or to give you compliments. The smiles and polite bows to everyone came naturally, you were surprised you had caught this many people's attention when all you wanted to do was play.

“I didn't know you played! You’re amazing!” Your eyes fell to Maddox, he was grinning so widely you wondered how his face hadn’t split. You looked down to hide the bashful smile on your face, coming from him, that was one of the best compliments you could receive.

“We might have to recruit you to help with some of the piano music one of these days!” Your head whipped up to look back at him with wide eyes. He was watching you with a more tame grin this time, you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Alright, now that everyone seems to be in the vicinity, let's get everyone situated with their keys so we can get settled and prepare for our first day of the tour!” The head manager of the trip was standing fairly close to you because you had become the unofficial center of attention at this point; instead of the actual idols. Speaking of, you looked around to see if you could find your boys. Low and behold they were closer than you realized. All of them were standing at the edge of the piano. Their eyes had not left you since the moment they stepped into the hotel.

The woman next to you, who’s name plate read HyunJae, started listing off various names on her clipboard and handed them small packets with their keys in them. You patiently waited while fiddling with your rings and when you heard your name you tuned back into the conversation. She handed you a key and you glanced down at it, there was only one. Taking the opportunity you snuck a glance at your team and they were just watching you with curiosity as to your confused face. You shrugged and turned to grab your suitcases and started heading toward the elevator, a bellhop offered to help you but you declined. You pressed the button to go up to your designated floor and then placed the key against a small pad so it would start moving. Yet another thing you were impressed with about this hotel. The ride felt like forever but in reality it was short. As soon as you stepped foot onto the main floor of the hallway you realized there weren't as many doors as you thought there would be.

With a glance back at the keycard in your hand you chuckled at the irony; 1117 was your room number. A smile and half a hallway later you were in front of the door to your room, you slid the key into the slot and yanked it back out and pushed open the door. What you were met with took the breath out of you. The room was huge, but it wasn't a normal room, it was a damned living room. With cautious steps you entered and looked around. There were several seats in the main portion of the room, and a small kitchenette toward the right side of the large room. It had enough that if you really wanted to you could make something for a meal. On either side of the room were small hallways leading to what you could assume were the bedrooms and bathrooms. The thing that caught your eye was the large gift basket with a card that said Ateez on it in a fine script. You were grinning, happy that you were the first one here and got the first pick of rooms.

Wandering down toward the left you were met with two doors on either side of the hallway. You took the one on your left and dragged your suitcases in behind you. It was decorated with neutral tones and the window was spanning most of the wall and looking over the city. In the middle of the room was a king sized bed and on either side were bedside tables. A small desk, a dresser and a tv on top of the dresser were across the way from the bed. On the same wall was also a door to a bathroom as well. It was almost like a mini hotel room in a bigger hotel room. You set your backpacks on top of the desk and scooted your luggage to the wall closest to the door. Opening up your main suitcase you grabbed the first rolled up set you could get your hands on and smiled, one of your favorite slate gray sets. With quick movements you changed out of your more formal wear and into the sleeveless crop top and the matching shorts. You made sure to pull out the pendant from under the shirt, it fell perfect on you, with a small smile at yourself in the mirror close to the door you stepped back out into the hallway and closed the door behind you.

You were really curious about that basket, did it have more Korean snacks or was it going to be American snacks? Did they do salty or sweet or maybe even both? You meandered back toward the main room so you could investigate before the boys got here. When you made it out to the main room you approached the basket, before you could get too far into your investigation the door clicked open and you spun around as quickly as your body could take you. Wooyoung was so engrossed in his conversation with San, who was a step behind him, that when he caught sight of you he leapt back and nearly took San out in the process. A laugh escaped you. He started grinning before rushing toward you and picking you up with his own giggles falling out of his mouth. “My rose you scared me, I didn't think you would be rooming with us!”

He spun with you a couple of times before he set you back on your own two feet. He placed a kiss to your lips and before too much longer another set of arms wrapped themselves around you. “I was really hoping you would be with us jagi (sweetie), if you weren't I was going to hunt down your room and force my way in.”

Laughter bubbled up out of you again, “as if I wouldn't let you in thing 2.”

San separated himself from you and gave you the best glare he could muster without a smile breaking out on his beautiful face. You just stood there smiling at him and before you knew it he cracked and started smiling so wide his dimples had made their appearance. Both you and Wooyoung immediately poked his cheeks, and in sync you looked at each other in shock; almost as if you didn't share the same brain cell when it came to the buff man in front of you. Several snickers came from the surrounding men that had just walked in and witnessed the mutual love for San’s dimples.

“What’s this behind you, jagi (sweetie)?” You turned to look at the gift basket.

“I have no idea, it was here when I got here.” It was filled with snacks, a couple of small souvenirs from places you assumed were local, and there was even a couple of bottles of champagne in the center of it. As if just two could cover all of them; plus you for that matter. San picked up the small note and opened it before handing it to you.

“Am I your translator?” He nodded with a bashful smile. You reopened the letter and began reading it to the boys in front of you.

Ateez,

We are absolutely delighted that you chose our hotel to stay in during your time here in Tacoma. We have included some snacks and bottles of champagne for your enjoyment. If you need anything please let us know.

Enjoy your stay,

The staff of Hotel Murano

You looked up from the letter to the men who had inched closer to investigate said gift basket. The treats included were typical American things, things that they would most likely not eat to keep their swelling to a minimum. You dropped the note onto the table and picked up the bag of Reese's Pieces. They watched you like you were insane for even considering eating the sugar filled treat in the bright orange bag. You forgot that they didn't really know what exactly they were, or what Reese’s were in general. You dumped some in the palm of your hand and offered them to the curious men. Wooyoung was the first one to snatch a couple from you followed by Seonghwa and then the rest of the boys. Their eyes got big but you could tell they weren't quite sure what to think of them. With a snicker you popped the rest of them in your mouth and walked over to the kitchenette to see the contents of it as well.

“You have room assignments or are we just scattering and figuring it out as we go?”

“I’ve already picked my room, so you guys can split up and pick.” you opened the small fridge and there were a few water bottles and some other sugary drinks. There was more than likely nothing in the cabinets so you just stepped toward the stove to see how it worked. A glasstop stove, something you didn’t necessarily like for making food because of the residual heat it always kept. You much preferred a gas stove because you could actually keep a hold of the temperature better. When you looked back up the boys were playing a match of ka bi bo, for what exactly you had no idea. You walked over and rested yourself against Yunho who was so into the match he barely noticed you. A couple of the boys got out and started pouting and stomping around like children. Now you understood, they were doing it to see who got first pick of the rooms.

The match continued on for several more rounds until Wooyoung came out on top, he rubbed it in the other’s faces before he marched over to the right side and picked his room. He reappeared with a small pout, “didn't find what you were looking for?”

He shook his head and pouted even harder at you. Yeosang wandered off to the left, and took the room on the left, he put his luggage in the room and came back out with a straight face. Yunho had gone to the right followed shortly by Mingi, they chose to room together in the room opposite of Wooyoung. San was trying to decide where he wanted to be, you could see the conflict in his dark eyes. Wooyoung was practically begging him to pick his room, in the end he walked toward the left and stepped into your room. You watched with tight lips as Wooyoung threw himself into the chair closest to him, his hand over his chest at the betrayal. You knew it was an act that he would love to spend time with any one of your boys. He walked back out and stood close to Yeosang who stuck his tongue out at Wooyoung and wiggled his fingers in jest. You snickered at the exchange, that was so much like Hongjoong it was ridiculous. Seonghwa walked in the direction of the room opposite yours and Jongho followed closely behind him leaving Hongjoong to be with Wooyoung.

“Who got the room with Shutterbug?” you looked over to the smug pair that raised their hands. Yeosang had finally let his pretty smile stretch across his face. San’s dimples hadn’t had a rest since he got into the room, it made you wonder if his cheeks hurt.

“Yah! How did you know where she was rooming?”

“I just had a feeling, and when Yeosangie came out with a straight face I knew.” You laughed at San who was resting himself against Yeosang.

“It also smelled like Joongie’s cologne down the hall, and I knew he hadn't been that far.”

Your grin widened, smart man. “So loves, I think we need to go to sleep or at least rest a little more so we can adjust to the new time zone seeing as it is just about 3 a.m.”

“That’s a good idea, shutterbug,” Most of the boys murmured their agreement before scattering. You made your way over to the room you had chosen and flopped into the bed. San and Yeosang were just behind you. They had changed into more comfortable clothes before deciding it would be great fun to flop on top of you. A grunt turned into a giggle and you tried to squirm out from under them. The three of you were giggling messes. You half wondered if someone would come in the room and tell you to calm down like a disappointed parent. After a couple more seconds of torture they let you up, you gave them a half hearted glare which was met with twin smiles. San grabbed you and tugged you toward him to tuck you under his arm and Yeosang had scooted as close as he could to your back, effectively squeezing you into a sandwich.

“I love your giggles,” You looked up at San who was smiling down at you. He placed a kiss on your hairline.

“I love your dimples,” you looked back up at him and you had to wrangle your arm out from under his to poke his cheek where they had made their appearance again.

“And I love the both of you.” You struggled to turn around to look at Yeosang so you settled for grabbing his hand on your waist and giving it a squeeze instead. He returned the gesture before placing a kiss to the back of your head. You placed a kiss on San’s chest which you were now curled up to.

Your mind drifted. These two were both so different but so like minded when it came to loving you. San was loud and affectionate while Yeosang was the opposite, but both of them showed you how much you mean to them in similar ways. Pulling you closer, cuddling you, supporting you, loving you, even when you didn’t feel like you deserved it. With a content sigh you let yourself relax enough to fall into slumber.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

You woke up naturally a little while later, taking in your surroundings you noticed that San was the only one here. With a turn of your head you looked for Yeosang who was nowhere to be seen. That’s odd. When you turned back to San he was still peacefully asleep, you took the opportunity to study his face. Your fingers moved on their own accord to trace the outlines of his beautifully prominent features. You ghosted your fingertips along the sharp cut of his jaw and up over his cute cheeks. Smoothing your hand over his cheekbone and then into his hair you let your nails lightly run against his scalp. He twitched in his sleep and you completely froze hoping you weren't waking him up. He peeked one eye open at you and you moved your hand away quickly, he caught your wrist and brought it back to his face before placing a kiss to the inside of it. “If you are going to wake me up like that I am never letting you go to bed without me.”

“I’m sorry, I really didn't mean to wake you up, you're just so pretty I couldn't help it.” You let your fingers start tracing his face again, he leaned into your touch and closed his eyes; much like a cat would.

“I’ve been in and out since Sangie left a little while ago, when you turned to look for him I was between being awake and asleep. I just wanted to see what you would do, and the little smile you were doing when you did it made being awake worth it.” You did a mental check in with your own body and realized you had been smiling; and still were. It definitely came naturally when he was around.

“Such a sap,” he let out a huff of laughter through his nose and reopened his eyes. Before you could move your hand away from his face he gave a light nip to your fingers that had made their way to his lips. You wiggled your arm free and cupped both of his cheeks and squished his face between your palms before planting a kiss on his lips. He was trying, and ultimately failing, to hide his smile.

“Jagi (Sweetie) what are you doing?” His words were garbled because you were just holding his face in the squished position.

“Letting my cuteness aggression out in nonviolent ways.”

“If you squeeze any harder it will be violent.” At this point his lips were puckered and you could only imagine the kissy face emoji.

“Don't threaten me with a good time, I’m sure I look great in orange.” with one more squeeze you started planting kisses all over his face. His cheeks, where his dimples generally are, his nose, his forehead, his jaw; everywhere. He was trying to pull away from you, key word trying; but if he really was actually trying you were sure he would have gotten away from you. Giggles filled the room from the two of you, nothing could have been sweeter in this moment. His face was becoming a beautiful shade of red, one very similar to tipsy San. the door clicked open and you turned around to see who had come into the room. Yeosang and Jongho had appeared in the doorway and were looking at you with a tilt of their heads. You turned back to look at San who was still squished in your hands with one of the worst blushes you had seen on him.

“Sannie, are you being tortured?” He tried to nod his head against your hand and you released his face with a pout.

“You don't like my kisses?” A snort came from one of the men across the room while San tried to backtrack. Before he could grab you you scooted out of the bed and walked over to the two standing in the doorway. “Sannie doesn’t want my kisses.”

“I’ll take your kisses if he doesn't want them,” Jongho pulled you into a hug before kissing the side of your head, you produced a small fake sniffle for the dramatics. Jongho started gently pulling you out of the room with him, you could see the smirk as he took you away without even being able to actually see his face.

“Jagi (sweetie) I love your kisses!” The door clicked shut behind the three of you and you separated yourself from Jongho with a large grin. You placed your hands on his cheeks gently and gave him a lingering kiss. When you pulled away he was a cute shade of pink.

“Thanks for the help in my shenanigans Aegiya (baby).” he gave you a small nod before grabbing your hand and leading you out to the living room where most of the boys laid sprawled across the seats scattered around the room. You plopped onto Seonghwa’s lap dramatically and with a chuckle he wrapped his arms around you.

Hi dalnim (moon), did you sleep okay?” You tucked yourself farther into his arms and nodded. His arms tightened around you and you let out a small hum of contentment. When San appeared out from the hallway he glanced over at you before coming over to squeeze himself into the space closest to you next to Seonghwa.

He gave you a light kiss before resting against the two of you. You were grinning the entire time he was settling against you. Most of the afternoon continued in some kind of comfortable silence. The majority of the time you were curled up with one of the boys, they delighted in taking turns handing you around like a princess any time one of them had to get up. Generally there was some kind of noise going in the background, tv, tiktok, instagram, youtube the works.

You had just gotten back into the room from going to check that your cameras were charged, with a dramatic plop onto the couch you put your head in Hongjoong’s lap. He smiled at you before starting to run his hands through your hair gently. “Well boys do we have any plans for the evening, sightseeing, ordering in, watching movies, playing games, getting tipsy?”

“I have one! But it’s only for me and you Y/n-nie” Your gaze moved over to the man sitting on the other side of Hongjoong.

“What about the rest of us?”

“Having more than one of you out at the same time isn’t a great idea, especially because Atiny are flocking to the city for the concert tomorrow.” Mingi nodded with a small frown.

“What did you have in mind Haetsal (Sunlight)?” He was grinning down at you, his eyes were shining like the midsummer sun, warm and beautiful.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out Haebalagi (Sunflower).” Your eyebrows raised and he grinned wider.

“Go get ready and I’ll grab one of the makeup artists so they can cover up the artwork that they left on you.” You stole a glance at Hongjoong and Seonghwa and they were smirking at you. Menaces. You separated from Hongjoong and walked toward the bedroom. What was he up to? When you stepped into the room you grabbed your suitcase and set it back on the bed, honestly, you hoped you wouldn't have to get back out but at this point who were you to turn down Yunho. Yeosang had walked in the room a second later followed by San.

“Is he changing into something different?”

“Yeah, he’s going to be wearing a white shirt with black slacks. Why are you thinking about matching?”

“I was thinking about it, but I only really have one white outfit.” You snagged the only entirely white outfit that you brought with you and set it on the bed before grabbing one of the smaller suitcases and pulling out the shoes you had selected specifically to go with it. All in all you had really hoped that some of them would take you out on dates which is the entire reason you even packed this outfit. You also got into your travel jewelry case and grabbed your star and moon glasses chain, your moon hand chain, and your stars waist chain to go with the aesthetic. If you were going to go out you may as well do it in style like Yunho. When you had everything set out you looked back at both men who were watching you with a tilt of their heads. Like it was insane that you had brought more than black clothing; which you couldn't blame them for.

You turned your back to them and started changing, if they were going to be rooming with you you may as well get it over with; all of them were going to see you eventually anyway. A small noise of surprise came out of one of them, you could just picture the blush creeping up their faces. You quickly got everything on and turned back to the men in the room with you. Both of them were not completely looking at you, but when they did their jaws dropped. The outfit was not quite something you really saw yourself wearing, especially since you had gotten it not too long ago with some persuasion from Willow. It was a beautiful cinched top with puffy off the shoulder sleeves, the skirt had a cute tie on your right hip and it was hanging just above the floor with the shoes you had on. You checked out the slit up your right leg and was sitting in the perfect place to show off your dragon tattoo.

Their mouths were slightly agape and you could have sworn you saw them gulp at the same time. Stepping over toward them you reached out, “you guys okay?”

San moved first and settled his hands on your waist. “You're a masterpiece.”

“Really, absolutely breathtaking Kkulbeol (Honeybee).” Yeosang reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear gently. The heat you imagined on them had transferred to you, you could feel it creeping up the back of your neck to your face. Butterflies erupted in your stomach from the compliments, they had meant every word; their eyes spoke for them if they couldn't get any more words out. There was a light knock on the door and you stepped away before the other two could think about moving to open it, on the other side was Hongjoong. His eyes widened and lingered on your jewelry as he took you in, Seonghwa walked past to go into his room but stopped short and turned to double take.

“Dalnim (moon) you look beautiful.” He stepped past Hongjoong and gently took your hand inspecting the hand chain; Hongjoong was still frozen in the doorway. “Come on, the makeup artist is here for you.”

You followed Seonghwa, making sure to gently slide past Hongjoong letting your other hand linger on his waist a little longer than maybe necessary. When you were out in the main portion of the room the other four were nowhere to be seen but a woman, one you recognized, was sitting in one of the chairs nearest to the window. As soon as she caught sight of you she stood and offered you a large smile.

“Yunho-yah told me he is taking you out on a date and he wanted to make sure you were taken care of.” You nodded and returned her smile; Seonghwa pressed a kiss to your temple and made his way out of the room.

“He hasn't told me anything about what we are doing so you have free reign, I will warn you I don't wear makeup very often.” She nodded and motioned for you to come sit in her previous place. It was then that you noticed the large case close to her.

“My name is MiKyong, by the way. I am the one that handles Yunho-yah’s makeup.”

“I’m Y/n, it’s wonderful to officially meet you.” She gave you a small bow and turned to her case of makeup. She pulled out several products to begin covering the artwork of hickies on your skin.

“It’s almost as if you were attacked by a vampire Y/n-ssi.”

“I thought the same when I saw the damage, we have Seonghwa and Hongjoong to thank for that.” She let out a snicker while she started blending the makeup into your skin. Her touch was gentle while she worked, when she needed you to move she just slightly would adjust you and continue.

“With some of the things I have had to cover, nothing surprises me any more. It’s entertaining when they get all blushy about it like school boys; as if we all don't know that they are together. On more than one occasion I have had to cover a particularly large hickey on Yunho-yah, it is almost always in the same spot and when he complains Mingi just laughs.”

“I could definitely see that happening,” you were snickering just imagining the pout on Yunho’s face and Mingi smirking at him like the devil through the mirrors. “Well, if you can make it seem like Yunho has some of the clearest skin even when he has hickeys from Mingi then I trust you to cover the many I have.”

It was her turn to laugh. You were just smiling the entire time while the conversation continued onto the various woes of their makeup artists. She told you so many things about how the boys from how they were in the beginning versus how they are now. In the beginning they were super bashful and now they just grin when they get scolded. In your mind’s eye you could definitely see the smirk from Wooyoung when San would get scolded or vice versa. When she would take a step back from you you would look up at her as she surveyed her work.

“Would you like a little bit of makeup on your eyes to make them pop behind your glasses?” You thought about it, really you had no idea what you were doing when it came to eye makeup other than the basics so seeing something professionally done would be interesting to say the least. You nodded your head and took off your glasses letting them hang on the chain around your neck.

“I trust you, do what you think is best. I wouldn't mind a full natural face either.” A small squeal escaped the woman in front of you, you watched her with your blurry vision as she started digging around for something.

“I usually don’t get free reign and always have to conform to a concept, I’m so excited! I have had an idea since I saw your outfit.” You looked down at yourself and back to her, she had a pallet in her hands and was seemingly deciding which would suit the look she was going for best. When she decided you closed your eyes before she had to tell you to.

While she was applying the makeup you could feel her focus, as she needed to she would give you some simple instructions so she could complete what she wanted. When she was done she stepped back and looked at you, she clapped her hands together with one of the brushes in hand. You put your glasses back on and she squealed. “It looks so good! Yunho-yah is going to die when he sees this!”

She handed you a small mirror and you were immediately stunned. This was definitely not something you could have pulled off by yourself. The natural makeup accentuated your features perfectly and there was a shimmer of white that highlighted your cheekbones, end of your nose, and cupid’s bow. Your lips were painted a natural nude that went perfectly with your skin tone as well. The double white wing stood out against the dark of your glasses, your bottom row of lashes were white while the top row was black and lucious. You brought the mirror down and smiled so wide at her which she immediately returned. “MiKyong, this looks absolutely amazing! White isn't generally my color but I would absolutely make an exception for it if you did my makeup like this when I wear it.”

You reached out your hands and she gently took them, you gave her a bow and she was just giggling the entire time. “Don't tell Yunho-yah but you sit better than he does.”

You burst into laughter and pulled her into a small hug which she gladly accepted. “What’s got you two in such a giggle fit?”

When you turned around to look at Hongjoong he froze again, his mouth was just barely parted and you could see clear as day you had broken him and he needed time to buffer. You laughed harder and looked back at MiKyong, “Does he do this often? I've only seen it a few times.”

Her responding nod sent you into more hysterics. “Giggles, what are you up to?”

Jongho was leaning against the hallway wall. Your eyes met his and his responding smile was nothing short of admiration wrapped in a little bit of surprise. He immediately stepped forward and grabbed your hand to raise it above your head so he could twirl you. “My heart, you look stunning. White makes your tattoos pop. MiKyong-ssi you did an amazing job as always.”

She bowed to Jongho before giving you a smile. She started packing her things and you offered to help but she refused. You ended up just sitting and chatting with her while she packed, Jongho had taken the seat next to you and just stayed close. His fingers were intertwined with yours and every once in a while he would give your hand a squeeze, a small reminder he was here. “Before I go, would you be okay with me taking a picture of your makeup?”

You nodded and took off your glasses wholeheartedly expecting her to want them to be off. “Keep them on, it makes your eyes pop beautifully behind your frames.”

You did as you were told and she was grinning the entire time. Jongho was just watching the entire exchange with a small hidden smile. When she had finished taking her pictures she shot them off to you; after asking for your number and requesting you use her if you needed anything. You vehemently agreed and she gave you a light hug before taking her leave. Almost as soon as she stepped out of the room Jongho placed a light kiss on your cheek and tugged you up with him. “Hwa asked me if i would bring you to our room to show him the results.”

You nodded and followed him to the room opposite yours. You could feel the skirt flowing behind you as you walked with him; the entire thing made you feel like a million bucks.

Nothing would have prepared you for the absolute shock on Seonghwa’s face when you entered the room with the maknae. Like Hongjoong he froze but he recovered quicker than the captain. He immediately gently brought your face into his hands so he could inspect MiKyong’s work. You couldn't keep a straight face as he turned yours just barely to catch every angle he could of you. “You are as radiant as the moon and stars, Yeobo (Darling)”

That was something he hadn’t called you in a while, it made you smile even wider. There was a knock at the door and Mingi peeked his head into the room to let you know Yunho was back and ready. When did he leave other than to get MiKyong? You turned toward Mingi and his eyes widened before a giant smile overtook his face. He opened the door further and grabbed your hand in his before leaving a kiss on the back of it. “Gorgeous.”

Something told you you were going to be a blushing mess for the foreseeable future. Mingi tugged you close and placed a kiss on your hairline, careful not to touch the light makeup on your skin. “Yah! Come on Mingi I don’t have all day! I would like to see our girl now!”

Mingi stuck his head out the door and squinted at the impatient Yunho “Turn around and don’t look so I can bring her out to you then!”

You giggled lightly with the other two in the room at Mingi’s snappy tone, he had probably had enough of Yunho already. There was a small expletive that came from the other room and a chorus of laughter shortly after. Mingi turned back to you with a small smile reserved for just you. “He’s going to have a heart attack. I hope you’re ready for the absolute chaos it is about to turn into when the rest of them see you too.”

Your laughter got just a little louder at the thought, you could only imagine what was going to happen next. He placed a kiss on your lips and gently tugged you out of the way so Seonghwa and Jongho could go out to the other room as well. The two of you stood there just grinning at the other. You gave the other boys ample time to get settled and then Mingi led you out the door. When Wooyoung, San and Yeosang caught sight of you they were just standing there with wide eyes and beautiful smiles, laughter broke out among the rest of the boys that had already seen you. Honestly you were surprised that you hadn’t gotten nearly tackled by Wooyoung, but then you saw the arm wrapped around his waist from San. Your knight in shining armor was trying to keep Woo in check. If only he knew how thankful you were that he was because you most likely would have tripped over the long skirt if Wooyoung did tackle you.

You stole a glance at Hongjoong who was quietly appreciating you, actions spoke louder than any of the words he could have said. You knew before you started dating that he tended to be a little more closed off about his public displays, but he also may have just been a loser in love. His gaze was still catching on your jewelry, particularly the stars around your waist. A lingering thought tugged in the back of your mind on what he might be thinking. More than likely he was remembering the hickey he left that was just barely hidden right below the waist of your skirt.

“What are you laughing at? Why are you laughing? Is there something on me? Do I need to change again?” Again? You gently covered the bottom half of your face so you wouldn't prematurely give away you were right behind him. Everyone’s laughter echoed across the living room. The other boys were just watching him with glee while he started to squirm with anticipation. He was moving from foot to foot and had started to mess with the collar of his shirt.

He froze, “she’s behind me isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I am.” Yunho whipped around so quickly he nearly tripped over his own two feet. His face dropped into pure unadulterated shock before a grin stretched across his face. Before you could think or move he swept you up into his arms and twirled around with you. You were laughing the entire time, out of all the things you would have expected this wasn't quite the one you thought he would take. Really you thought he would have turned into a blushing mess like the rest of the boys had.

Yunho was muttering against your neck how beautiful you looked, he was also using every synonym that he could think of to express it. When he finally set you down you had to reach out to steady yourself, he took the opportunity to gently pull you closer and look at your makeup. “She always does so well, I’ll have to tell her that tomorrow.”

You were just grinning at the closeness of his face to yours without even completely thinking it through you leaned up and placed a peck on his lips. He fully stopped to process what just happened with a small look of shock before he broke out into a bashful smile. “Yah, can the rest of us see her closer now?”

Yunho turned around and gave Wooyoung one of the nastiest glares you had seen from him. Wooyoung had gone stock still and slowly retreated behind San, who was trying not to laugh at the entire thing. Yeosang was smirking the entire time like he knew something was about to happen. You stepped away from Yunho and moved closer to the trio of men. When you got close enough you placed your hand on San’s chest to peek around his shoulder at Wooyoung who had hidden his face in San’s back. There was a light kiss on the side of your head and you turned to look at San with a wide grin. “Whatcha doin Thing 1 can’t take the heat?”

His eyes lifted to meet yours and his smile was immediate before he launched himself out and around San, almost knocking into Yeosang in the process. “My rose, you look stunning.”

“Thank you Youngie,” he moved faster than you could process and placed a smacking kiss on your cheek before retreating back behind San. With a roll of your eyes you turned back to Yunho who was watching the entire thing with a squint of his eyes. Territorial puppy.

“I’m ready to go whenever you are Yuyu,” he turned back toward you and his expression immediately changed. He was back to being his normal golden retriever self.

“Alright, let’s say goodbye and then we can head out then.” You turned back to the men behind you and they were just smiling. You leaned in and gave the three of them kisses before moving on to the rest of the boys. One by one they gave you a kiss and large smiles. When you got to Hongjoong he pulled you into a hug.

“You look exquisite, our north star.” You gave the man a squeeze in response, when he pulled away he gave you a gentle kiss before letting you go. Yunho was standing close and as soon as you were out of arm's reach from Hongjoong he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together.

“Don’t have too much fun! Take lots of pictures!” You turned to Yunho with your eyes wide, before he could utter any form of question you let go of his hand and ran back to your room with a grin. You had packed your small camera for this exact reason, thank the gods for Yeosang who had unintentionally reminded you. When you reached your room you grabbed your small bag out of your accessories suitcase and flung your phone and wallet into it before moving over to the backpacks. You had tucked it away in one of the smaller pockets so you had it close just in case. When you pulled it free you settled it around your neck making sure to pull the glasses chain out from under it so you wouldn’t get stabbed by the jewels under the pressure. When you were situated you walked back out the door like nothing happened.

All of them were snickering at you when you waltzed back to Yunho’s side and tucked yourself under his outstretched arm. “I should have expected nothing less from you tiny.”

“You really shouldn’t have, do we need to wear masks?”

“I have a couple tucked in my pocket for us.”

“Perfect! Bye boys, don’t get into too much trouble while we are out.” There were some grumbles in protest as you walked out the door. Before it fully closed you stuck your tongue out at all of them and sent them into another fit of laughter.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“Please someone tell me you got a picture of her.” The rest of the boys looked over to Wooyoung. Seonghwa smirked and offered his phone to Wooyoung. There were several pictures of you. You were laughing while Yunho spun you around. Then you were peeking over San’s shoulder at Wooyoung; he managed to catch the second San had pressed a kiss to your cheek and immediately after he caught Wooyoung’s shocked expression when he realized you were standing there. The final picture was something out of a story book, it was you while you walked back to Yunho with a large smile on your face and a camera hanging around your neck. Your skirt was flowing behind you and the step that you just took showcased the tattoo down the side of your thigh perfectly.

“You better send all of those to our group chat.” Seonghwa squinted at the younger man.

“Yes, because I would keep them just for myself, like I wouldnt get absolutely scolded by someone if I didn't.” Seonghwa turned to look at Hongjoong then back to Yeosang and Jongho who had always demanded any of the pictures he snuck of you; at least the ones they knew about.

“That's right, he knows better. He found out the hard way after his date with her.” All of their eyes whipped over to Seonghwa who was smirking at every one of them. He had managed to keep that picture a secret until Hongjoong was looking for some of his own pictures. Wooyoung had started scrolling through the camera roll until he stopped and let out a laugh. You were in your cute cover up outfit with your beautiful tattoos on full display and spraying whipped cream in your mouth with a huge brownie on the plate in your hand. A second later all of their phones pinged and the rest of the boys were immediately laughing at you; endeared by the candid picture.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

“Before you ask Tiny, I’m not telling you what we are going to be doing.” You had barely opened your mouth to ask the question he answered. You closed your mouth and rolled your eyes. Someone stepped out of a room down the hall and you immediately recognized the dark hair with blue underneath it. She had just closed the door behind her and looked in your direction. Her mouth fell open and she dropped the key in her hand. You couldn't keep your smile at bay, she had immediately moved to pick up the key before practically banging on the door that she just closed. Willow opened it a second later with a glare at the younger woman. All she did was point at you and then her eyes met yours and she let a smug smile spread across her face. “I told you you would look good in white.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking toward the pair. Forrest and Asher had stepped into the hallway most likely wondering what the ruckus was about. When Forrest caught sight of you he immediately approached and grabbed your hand and tugged you away from Yunho to spin you around. “Damn girl, I didn't know you could get dressed up in anything other in black. Matching your man in white and everything.”

Yunho snickered at his tone of voice, that was one of the only times he could blatantly tell that Forrest was as straight as a circle. Asher had wandered past the two of you and reached out to give Yunho a fist bump. “You guys are lucky men, I haven't seen her dressed up like this since her awards ceremony.”

Yunho looked toward you with a large smile while he returned the gesture, “We really are.”

Aurora or Willow had said something and you had burst into laughter with them. Forest was pouting, it must have been something at his expense. The two men had watched the group with smiles, happy the team was having a good time; no matter the teasing. Yunho’s phone pinged and his eyes widened. “Moonshine we need to get going, our ride is here.”

You turned back to Yunho and gave him a nod before tugging your three best friends into a hug. When you retreated back to Yunho and Asher you gave Asher the high five he offered you and stepped under Yunho’s arm just like earlier. Yunho gave one more smiling glance at everyone before leading you to the elevator. He pulled out a white mask and handed it over to you, you settled it on your face and adjusted your glasses as he did the same. When you stepped into the lobby you were met with one of the managers in a suit. He offered the two of you a large smile and bow before proceeding outside and opening the door for the two of you.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

The ride was short, the manager pulled to a stop in front of a small shopping center, you looked at Yunho curiously and could tell he was smiling back at you. When the door opened he got out and offered you a hand to help you out; a true gentleman. Yunho led you over to a specific shop and you immediately knew what you were now in for, he had booked you an appointment at a nail salon. As soon as you got close enough to the front desk he let go of your hand and gave you a small gesture to stay there. You took in the shop, it was small and seemed to be done with rented out rooms instead of a large line of them like you normally saw. It was cozy but classy, most of the decorations were in neutral tones which made the colors lining the wall pop. “Moonshine you ready?”

With a nod and a tentative smile you followed the woman to one of the back rooms. She was polite and explained a couple of the things as she walked, really you hadn't paid her any attention; your gaze was locked on the tall man just barely in front of you with his hand in yours. He was wearing thin framed glasses that were most likely for some kind of blue light protection, they suited his face so well you were almost jealous. His knitted collared shirt had made him look cozy but stylish, and the slacks. Oh boy those slacks they hugged just enough of his butt that it made you grin with the thought of landing a smack to it like Wooyoung was prone to doing. The two in front of you turned into a room and you snapped out of your small trance. Yunho approached the woman sitting behind her station and showed her his phone before turning to you with what you assumed was a shit eating grin. He pulled out the chair for you and you took a seat when you were settled he pushed the chair in just enough so you would be comfortable.

“Here, why don't you give me your bag and camera princess.” His accent was thick but he had said it perfectly in English; almost like he had practiced just for you. Your face reddened as you gently took both of them off and handed them over. When you looked at him you saw the puzzle piece pendant hanging perfectly between the collar of his shirt and the strap of the camera. You really wished he didn't have your cameras otherwise you would have taken his picture. You turned to the smiling woman “you’ve got a good one.”

You looked down with a smile, “thank you, he’s definitely a keeper.”

“So he has already picked out what you are going to be getting so we don't have to worry about a complete consultation or anything. The only thing I need to know is how short you would like them and I can get started.”

“Uhh, I have a camera job and play the piano so as short as you can do them without compromising whatever he has chosen” She gave you a nod and started moving to grab several things. Yunho had grabbed a chair and settled himself close to you so he could watch the entire process.

“Want to tell me what I’m in for, love?” He had taken off his mask and opened your purse to set it inside, before you could move to take yours off he had already started to do it for you. His smile widened when he was immediately met with a smile from you.

“Nope, it’s a surprise, all you need to know is you’ll like it.” You rolled your eyes at him, his responding chuckle sent a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

Throughout the time you were sitting in the chair you watched the woman work; she was really good at what she did. Yunho was asking so many questions and when he couldn't find the word in English he gave you the word in Korean and you translated for her. He was doing really well so far other than some of the more uncommon words. She was so nice while she answered, eventually when he asked the umpteenth question she answered before turning to you and saying “He might try to steal my job with all the questions he is asking.”

You looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. His eyes were wide like she had completely figured him out. Laughter bubbled up your throat and he was sitting there with almost a pout, his arms crossed just under the camera resting on his chest. “Love, if you really want I can get the things and you can practice on me when these grow out.”

“Really? You would let me do that even if they come out bad?”

“You know I trust you, as long as they aren't bright pink I don't care what happens with them.” His responding smile was the most beautiful thing in the world. He pulled out his phone and started browsing to see what he could find. You shook your head at him with a smile.

“Girl, if I wasn't married and if the two of you weren't together I would steal him in a heartbeat.” Her muttered admission sent you into a small giggle fit.

“He’s pretty great, although I will say he can be a troublemaker sometimes. He showed me a piano he had at his apartment with his friends and I didn’t know it played itself until he turned it on just as I set my hands on it to play. It scared the daylights out of me and I refused to play the cursed thing.” Her laughter was immediate, you started snickering with her and you felt Yunho’s gaze on you. You turned to look at him and he was squinting at you before he rolled his eyes.

“What did you call the piano, wasn't it a gorgeous abomination?” It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“I can admire the way something looks without liking the contents of said thing.” he chuckled and looked back down at his phone. The rest of the appointment was spent with light banter between the three of you. When she was finished you held your hands up and investigated them. They were short, on top of the black she initially painted there was chrome and when it hit the light it was rainbow colored. There was a small four point star on your ring fingers and pinkies; it was very tour inspired.

“Oh my gosh, I love them! You did an amazing job!” She was smiling at you before looking over to Yunho who had leaned in to inspect them. He gently took your hand and was looking up at you through his lashes with a grin on his face. It also made you grin because it was a testament to who treated you to them; as he loved all of the colors under the sun.

“I just did what he showed me, he has excellent taste and very obviously knows you well. I mean, your outfit and the jewelry it matches perfectly!”

“It looks wonderful, thank you so much for taking such good care of my princess.” Yunho had pulled your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on the back of it. Your lips tightened and you could feel the small blush creeping up the back of your neck. She cooed at the two of you before getting up to escort you back to the front to pay for her services. You and Yunho slipped on your masks on the way. When you got to the front counter Yunho pulled out his wallet and handed his card over without even hearing the price. You shook your head at him and helped him figure out the prompts. When the two of you had your receipt he grabbed your hand and walked out the door, you were met with the manager that brought you over. Yunho muttered something to him and you rolled your eyes before opening the door and getting into the car. When the two were finished speaking Yunho slid into the seat and threw his arm around your shoulders.

“We are going to go to dinner and then head back after sound good?”

“Do I really have a choice in the matter, Yuyu?” The driver snickered at the two of you while he pulled onto the busy street. You were looking out the window at everything that was passing, it had been a long time since you had been here, so much had changed. Yunho had brought your hand into his lap and continued to admire your new nails, and maybe the rings that adorned your fingers. You had chosen the star set you owned for your left hand and the right was decorated with the three almost obligatory ones you always wore. ( 1 2 3 ) He had started spinning your pinky ring and you were grinning at him, he was entirely too focused on your hands that he hadn't noticed you watching him.

You leaned close to him, “If I didn't know any better I would say you have a thing for my hands Yunho.”

His head shot up and he looked at you with wide eyes and a rapidly forming crimson blush. You snickered at his reaction before giving his hands a squeeze. “Don't worry, the feeling is mutual darling; for you and the rest of our boys.”

He could barely even look at you at this point, which sent a shot of pride straight through you. His composed nonchalant facade was cracking the more time he spent with you. The car slowly pulled to a stop in front of a large building, you turned and looked at Yunho who was smiling so widely it threatened to split his face. He got out of the car first and offered you a helping hand just like last time. There was a decent line of people out in front of the building, he just waltzed right up to the front of the line and you gave some apologetic looks to the patrons already waiting. He spoke in a low tone to the person who was standing in front of the doors. A curt nod and a large smile later you were let right in. What in the fuck did he do?

The place was loud and music was flowing, taking a look around you saw the smiling people while they sipped on drinks. When the hostess caught sight of you and him she smiled in welcome. Yunho gave her your name and you were immediately shown to an upstairs private balcony. You leaned over the railing and took in the large place. Your balcony was in the center of the room overlooking all of the patrons. There was a stage in the center of the room below you with two pianos sitting on it facing each other. You looked over to Yunho who was smiling, he really brought you to a piano bar. He had made a special reservation for the two of you which included a couple of your favorite things, pianos and alcohol. On top of it all he had made the reservation cozy taking into account your social anxiety. It was perfect.

He, like the perfect gentleman he is, took out your chair and had you sit before pushing you up to the table after you were finished observing the room below. With quick steps he walked over to the opposite end of the table and took his seat. “What did you do to pull this off? This place is already hopping and it's barely past dinner time.”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” You rolled your eyes at the tall man who was most likely wearing a smirk under his mask. A woman approached your table and asked if you wanted any drinks, you looked over to Yunho and he nodded at you, an indication you could do whatever you wanted. You turned back to the waitress and ordered yourself a mudslide and you got him something you assumed he might like and a call to the nickname he had given you, moonshine. She nodded to the two of you and when your eyes fell to Yunho he was looking at you with a tilt of his head.

“You’ll like it, trust me,” he offered you a small nod before turning to take in the place. You wondered if he would take off his mask, you are up above everyone and no one was really looking up here anyway. He had unknowingly answered your question not even a second later. You took in his smiling face and couldn't not return the smile he was giving you. Your drinks arrived a couple minutes later, when Yunho tasted his he was seemingly surprised. You gave him an I told you so smirk before sipping on your mudslide.

Through the time you and he were sitting there you had spoken about anything and everything under the sun. You were particularly intrigued with why he decided to do this with you tonight, and how quickly he had pulled this off. No matter how many times you asked the questions phrased just a little differently he didn't give you the answers you were looking for. Your food arrived and you were grinning while you bit into one of the best greasy hamburgers you had in a long time. Americans did happen to have some of the best food like this, even if it was most definitely not healthy. While you ate there was a lot less talk, until someone came over the speakers announcing themselves.

Your eyes shot toward the pianos and two people were setting themselves up for the battle that was about to happen. The one thing that brought you back to the food in front of you was Yunho’s laughter. “Moonshine, you might lose your burger if you don't pay enough attention.”

You looked down to your food and it was nearly falling out of the bun. You set it down and bashfully smiled at him before turning to look back at the pianists. They had played a few chords before looking at each other. The banter between the two was immediate, it reminded you of the boys back at the hotel; more specifically WooSan. Both of the pianists took turns playing several different songs in a tag team fashion. Between their set of songs they had taken to arguing about the key something was supposed to be in. You were laughing the entire time while absentmindedly munching on your french fries. You may have been the only one to completely understand the argument.

You were really getting into the sets, most of the music they had played in this set was some of the older rock songs like Journey and Bon Jovi. The gentleman had stood up in an almost abrupt fashion before turning to the crowd. “Is there anyone here that thinks they can outplay us?”

The crowd started murmuring and looking around, before anyone else could speak up Yunho was immediate in his answer. “My girlfriend can!”

All eyes shot up to your balcony and you looked over to him in shock. What had he just gotten you into? “Really now? Does she want to come down and prove you right? The look on her face says she might not be able to.”

Yunho looked over to you with a huge smile, you were squinting at him. He knew you were prone to be competitive and now it was definitely a competition with the smack they were already talking. You got up and wiped your hands before sending one last glare at him. His laughter echoed as you were walking down the stairs. When you got to the main portion of the room everyone was watching you skeptically as they split to let you through. Your long skirt was flowing behind you with each step you took, your tattoo was also making its appearance. You knew that they would appreciate your tattoos more here, a couple of times as you were making your way to the stage you caught the people pointing to your leg. The looks and murmuring only added to your fire of confidence.

The people playing the pianos had been quite a bit older than you, you were young for being a pianist but it ran in your blood. As you stepped onto the stage you offered a grin to the man who was holding the mic. “Alright pretty lady, what’s your name?”

Someone from off stage offered you a spare mic, “I’m Y/n, Y/n Starling.”

“Where are you from Y/n?”

“Originally Oregon, but now I'm in Seoul, South Korea.”

“Wait, Starling and from Oregon?” You nodded to the man in front of you.

“Are you related to a certain famous pianist named Nell Starling?”

“She was my grandmother.” His jaw immediately dropped, he hadn’t expected that in the slightest, which only fueled your pride. If she were here with you she would have been thoroughly enjoying messing with him.

“So you’re a legacy,” He tilted his head at you in a small nod of appreciation. “What brings you back to the states Y/n? I know I wouldn’t come back if I had moved to South Korea.”

“Business mostly,” you shrugged your shoulders like you weren't here with a famous Kpop idol that had a concert tomorrow.

“I have a feeling I might know the answer but how long have you been playing?”

“A little over two decades,” the man standing in front of you looked at you with raised eyebrows and a barely parted mouth. You were smiling at his disbelief, with a glance at the patrons you noted their shock as well. Most of them had taken to murmuring even more about you. Yunho was just up above everyone leaning against the balcony watching with a now smug smile.

“And you are how old?” You let out a snicker.

“That’s not a very nice question to ask a lady.” His eyes widened and some of the women cheered at your answer; but you continued. “I’m 26 here and 28 in South Korea.”

“Well then legacy, lets see what you got.” You nodded and followed the man to his piano. When he offered you the seat you took it with a flourish. Some of the more tipsy patrons offered you a cheer when you sat. With a smile in their direction you situated the seat so you could reach the keys and petals correctly.

“So I’m not much of a dueling piano person, but I can play a few things.”

“The floor is yours.” You gave him a slight nod and turned to look at the piano, and then up at Yunho who was giving you an encouraging thumbs up and a giant smile. With a small smile in his direction you began the mashup of Havana and Senorita. When some of the female patrons had recognized the song they started cheering and hooting. Some of the more tipsy ones had gotten up to sing and dance to the song, you were laughing at the clumsy dance moves as you continued playing. When you got to the change up of the song they had turned around and stared at you briefly in shock before continuing to belt the lyrics like maniacs. By the middle of the song you had the entire female population of the bar up and dancing. Some of the women had also dragged their partners to the dance floor, they reluctantly danced but you could tell they were enjoying it too. Something you wish you could do with your boys without having to worry about their identities and your entire relationship being brought to the public.

When the song finished loud applause and cheering had taken over the entire bar. You could hear Yunho who was cheering so loud that he almost drowned out some of the people that were closest to you. Of course that could be because you recognized his voice over everyone’s. “Well done Y/n, but I don't think that was outplaying us. What do you guys think?”

Most of the bar cheered in agreement and you looked over to the man whose piano you were sitting at. “And what exactly counts as outplaying then? Should I pull out some more classical pieces for you to showcase my legacy status?”

Your eyebrows were raised and the crowd was jesting at him after your question, even his partner was laughing with the crowd. He turned back to you after offering the crowd a small glare in return for their poking fun at him. “Classical pieces are boring, do you have something to spice them up?”

“I might have something up my sleeve,” you pretended to dust something off your shoulder while you spoke. The crowd was eating your attitude up, and you definitely knew Yunho was too.

“Alright legacy, show us what you’re really about.” You cracked your knuckles and launched into another song you knew Yunho would recognize, one that he had stared at your hands the entirety of the time you played last time. When you began the bar was almost shocked into complete silence. The only thing other than your playing that could be heard was the clinking of glasses as people either set them down or as the bartenders continued to make drinks. It was as if the room had been deprived of its air, most of the people seemed to be holding their breath as the quick paced melody had traveled across the large space. As soon as Vivaldi’s Winter melted into Let it Go the patrons started cheering and singing the lyrics. This continued on a few more times, and by the end of it even some of the men were singing Let it Go into their glasses like microphones. You were laughing and singing along with them until the song had come to an end.

“Alright, now I think that was outplaying us. Legacy, I bow to you.” The man took a dramatic bow and the crowd had started cheering you on as you stood from the bench.

“Thank you. Now if you will excuse me I have a cute date to get back to.” You looked up at Yunho who was now trying to hide his face.

“You’re welcome back anytime legacy, it was wonderful to meet you. You would have made your grandmother very proud.” You looked over to the man with a grateful smile and bowed slightly to him, a habit that had been ingrained into your very being. You took a step off the stage and the patrons close gave you pats on the shoulders and excited cheers as you made your way back to the staircase. As soon as you were back up into the small balcony Yunho moved to hug you tight.

“You’re so awesome.” You gave a roll of your eyes in response.

“I can't believe you volunteered me for that.” He chuckled against your neck and separated from you to hold your shoulders.

“I knew you could, especially because they were mediocre at best, and it gave me an opportunity to show off my badass girlfriend.” You giggled at him before shoving him lightly.

“Whatever Yuyu,” it was his turn to roll his eyes at you before tugging you back toward him and planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Want to get out of here?” You gave him a light nod and he immediately picked up your purse and flung it over his shoulder. He already had your mask out and ready for you anticipating your affirmative answer. When the two of you were situated with your masks he offered you his arm. You took it with a small smile and let him lead you out of the bar. A couple of more people gave you large grins as you left. When you stepped out of the bar you were met with dark skies and warm streetlamps. You and Yunho looked at each other before falling into small laughter, you had completely lost track of time. The pair of you wandered away from the bar and more toward an alley so you could have a little more of a private place to be, you were really hoping that no one would recognize him. When you had wandered far enough that you were the only people around you slowed to a stop and reached over to your purse at his side to grab your phone and check the time. It was nearly 10 p.m. You showed Yunho the time and his eyes widened.

“Oops?” he shrugged his shoulders and brought out his phone from his pocket. He messaged someone, you assumed it was the manager, before pocketing his phone. You moved to take the camera from his neck and he bowed to let you take it. Before he could get very far you snapped a picture of him with it. He turned to look at you with a smile before he started modeling for you, he had briefly taken off his mask while you were waiting. You got several pictures with your camera and a few with your phone. All you could do was smile at him at this point, he had set his phone down and before you knew it he had grabbed your hand and started twirling you like a princess in the movies. You were laughing the entire time. When he pulled you close toward the building you were both standing by he just stood there with his forehead against yours and a smile on his face.

“I love you, so so much. I have been thankful for you and in love with you since you took care of one of the most important people in my life without batting an eye. You didn't see it at the time but when you held Mingi when he was in the middle of his panic attack, when he hadn't had one in months, the others were looking at you in shock. They didn't expect it from you, and I think all of us saw you in a brand new light that day; as someone who had their own struggles but would do anything for others. I saw a lot of you in him; and they did too. You offered him something that he sometimes would use to self soothe, not one of us had seen anyone use that method other than him. Mingi told me after you helped him calm down that he had felt so at home in your arms like he does in mine. I think I knew then that all of us had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with you; bar maybe one or two of us.” He let out a small chuckle at the thought of Jongho being the last to fall for you, but he was now one of your most staunch defenders.

“You have brought our chaotic group peace, and maybe a little bit more chaos, in the best way and I couldn't be more happy to have you with us. I thought it was just going to be the eight of us until the end but now it is the nine of us against the world.”

You were almost crying by the time he had finished his small monologue. You stood on your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. He had returned it instantly, you could feel his hands twitching to pull you closer to absorb the moment. Someone cleared their throat not too far away from you and you immediately flushed and pulled away from the taller man. Yunho gave him a small lighthearted glare to the manager before smiling and starting to escort you to the waiting car. He snatched his phone from the place he set it before helping you into the car.

After you were settled in the car you took out your phone and started sending the pictures you had caught of Yunho. It entertained you to no end that he was holding your bag in all of them. With a small snicker you pressed send and Yunho’s phone buzzed. He was grinning the entire time he opened up the messages, before you knew it your phone was buzzing with more fervor.

Both you and Yunho were laughing in the back seat. Why was it always poor Wooyoung that got picked on. The two of you were holding hands in the back seat the entirety of the ride back to the hotel. Yunho had taken to running his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand. It was really then that you realized how his hands dwarfed yours. You may have had hands on the bigger side for a woman, but nothing would compare to Yunho’s hands. He was just fiddling with your fingers, enamored by your choice of jewelry, you slid your thumb ring off and offered it to him like you had done with the others that messed with your hands. As soon as it was off and in his hand he inspected it closely before perfectly twisting it into the sphere. He let out a small noise of surprise that it actually worked while you let out a laugh. After a few more minutes of driving through the city the car rolled to a stop in front of the hotel and you looked at Yunho. “I guess it’s time to go back in and deal with the rest of the hooligans.”

He gave you a solemn nod, he was pouting but you knew deep down he was just as excited to get back to them as you were. He got out of the car and helped you out before offering his arm again. When the two of you walked into the hotel you were met with a smile and nod by the person behind the counter. While you made your way to the elevator you were getting more and more excited to see the rest of your boys and show them your nails. Yunho had escorted you into the elevator first before pushing the button and scanning his keycard. The two of you stood in the elevator in relative silence until you looked over at each other at the same time. When your eyes met you both burst into laughter, not even a few seconds later the doors opened.

As you stepped out of the elevator you spotted a mirror in front of the doors and your brain immediately went to taking pictures. Before Yunho could move you had grabbed your phone and pointed toward the mirror; thankfully he understood the assignment. You were standing in front of him and he was leaning into you and giving you a light kiss to the crown of your hair. With a quick movement you situated it so that neither of your faces were completely visible and snapped the picture.

“My turn moonshine,” he rotated you so your back was to the mirror before he wrapped an arm around you and settled his hand on your ass. You shook your head lightly at him while he situated the picture how he wanted it to be before leaning down to kiss you as you snapped the picture. He gave you an experimental squeeze before completely separating himself from you with a large smile.

“You send those to me, they’re going to be my new background.” He was staring straight into your soul with his dark eyes, it was almost too intense. You gave him a nod before looking down at your phone again to send him the pictures.

“There you go pup. Also thank you for today, I had so much fun.” he grinned at you and offered an almost shy “you’re welcome” after the fact he quickly took out his phone and saved both pictures you sent to him. Before the two of you could get much farther down the hall a door down the hallway opened. You and Yunho separated just barely before realizing it was Hongjoong. He raised his eyebrows at the two of you and the two of you burst into giggles like you were school children who had just got caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

You practically skipped to Hongjoong who was just watching you with a grin. “Songbird look what Yuyu did for me!”

You held out your hands and showed him your nails. His eyes widened before looking over your shoulder to the taller man. “They’re beautiful Shutterbug, he picked good for you didn’t he?”

You were nodding enthusiastically before turning to look over your shoulder at Yunho, who was looking at the shortest of your boyfriends with a bashful smile. Well that’s not something you would have expected from him. “Come on, let's go show the rest of the boys our treasure.”

“Wait, what did you come out here for?”

“I saw your locations and assumed you would be back soon and wanted to see you two before the other chaos gremlins did. They’ve been having entirely too much fun with the champagne and snacks in there.” You were snickering before you could stop yourself.

“What exactly are we going to be walking into?” Hongjoong stepped to the side and opened the door just enough to hear the men inside. You were immediately met with tipsy singing and giggles. It was more tame than you thought it would be. You looked over to your sober boyfriends with a large smile before pushing the door open all the way.

All eyes immediately fell to you and a couple of your boys almost did a spit take when they saw you; more specifically Mingi and Wooyoung. When you were completely in the room they almost tripped over each other to come see you with excited smiles and hiccuping giggles from the bubbly drink. San was surprisingly the first to get to you, he pulled you into a warm embrace and put almost all of his weight against you.

“You’re so pretty, pretty like my Y/n-nie,” a small snicker left you before you could cover it. You had almost forgotten how much of a lightweight San was.

“Sannie, it is your Y/n-nie.” He pulled himself away from you before squinting at you suspiciously.

“Nuh uh, she only wears black, you’re in white.” You tightened your lips so you wouldn't lose it. The two men behind you, and the other sober men behind San, fell into a tiny fit of giggles at San’s declaration.

“Sannie, my dearest, I think you’ve had enough for the night.”

“Nuh uh. You can't tell me what to do, you’re not my Y/n-nie.” He huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. You turned to look at Hongjoong and Yunho who were trying so hard to contain their own laughter. Seonghwa was the next one to get to you in his stupor.

“Y/n-nie, why aren't you in your pajamas? It’s past bedtime.”

“Hwa, I just got back from my date, I haven't had the chance to change yet.”

“DATE?!” Mingi was the one to almost flip the table in his haste to get to where you were standing with the other two nearly drunk boys.

“Yes, date, the one I am all dressed up for.”

“Why did you go on a date? Are we not enough for you?” Your jaw dropped. Out of all the damn things that could come out of his mouth that was nothing you would have ever even thought of him saying. You turned to look at the two most sober men and they were shocked too.

“Mingi, in the sweetest way possible. What the fuck?”

“You went on a date!”

“With Yuyu, you know, one of our boyfriends. The one who is also wearing white with me.” his eyes fell to Yunho who had come up closer to you and the three tipsy men.

“Why didn’t you bring us with you?” He was pouting like a puppy now. You could see right through to the man who just wanted to be included on the date.

“Mingi, we are in a completely different country, one that is not really safe for all of you to be out at once in.” he was pouting even more as you explained it to him, a clingy drunk to no end.

“We could have gone too! We can be sneaky too!”

“I explained the same thing to you earlier Mingles, it is not safe for our relationship to have more than one of you out with me at a time; especially in the states where assholes run rampant. I would have loved to go out with all of you, but we can't do that here.”

“But, we want to spend time with you too.”

“Mingi, I love spending time with you too, Yuyu just took me out for a fun afternoon, this was his one on one time with me just like Hwa had a little while ago.”

“Yeah, maybe if you get some balls and ask her out on a date you can go out on one with her.” Wooyoung was being an absolute sassmaster behind the group of boys in front of you. His arms were crossed over his chest while he was watching Mingi, Seonghwa, and San practically interrogate you.

“Woo, be nice, you have yet to do anything either. Now if you boys will excuse me I am going to go get out of this outfit, take off my makeup, and get ready for bed.” You turned around to Yunho who had rested a gentle hand on your back and gave him a pat on the chest. “Have fun answering their questions”

You walked out of the living room and toward your bedroom. When you closed the door you moved to change back into the set you had on earlier. As soon as you were situated in your comfy clothes you grabbed your night time routine bag and brought it with you to sit at the desk. You took off your backpacks that had been sitting on it and set them to the side gently.

You were almost surprised that the makeup hadn’t moved in the slightest throughout the night, but at the same time you should have known it wouldn't. The makeup that was applied to you was for idols who ran around and sweated off their makeup for a living. When it came to this kind of thing you had to be meticulous in cleansing because if you weren't you would break out, which was not something you wanted to do in the slightest. It took many cotton pads to get everything off, you went through so many you wondered if you would have enough to make it through the trip now.

A series of short knocks took your attention away from your mission to get all of the makeup off your face, more specifically off from around your eyes. “You can come in, I’m decent.”

Yeosang peeked his head into the room before fully stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Did you have a good date Kkulbeol (Honeybee)?”

You turned to look at him fully, he had approached and was leaning against the small desk you were sitting at. He seemed sober, of course his tolerance was leaps and bounds above the three interrogating you in the living room. “It was amazing, Yuyu took me to get my nails done and then he brought me to a piano bar.”

Yeosang held his hand out to you so you could place your hand in his. When you set your hand in his he closely inspected the chrome on your fingers. His eyes caught where the stars were; which made him smile widely. “They look beautiful, I’m glad he got these for you. Out of the other options I thought this would fit the theme the best.”

“You helped pick them out?” He gave you a small nod and a smile that brightened the room.

“You and him both have good taste, it goes with the theme very well. It’s almost as if you planned it to be like that.” Maybe if you questioned Yeosang he would give you a little more information. He smiled at you and shook his head.

“Nice try, I’m not telling you anything.” You offered him a pout and he just ran his thumb over your jutted out lip.

“You're no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun, I just don't want to get in trouble with Yunho. He made us swear to keep it a secret.” You rolled your eyes at that, of course he did. Yeosang let out a chuckle before sitting on the floor next to your seat.

“What are you doing, Sweets?

“Sitting,” you raised your eyebrow at him while he lightly snickered at his own joke. “I just want to be close is all.”

He rested his head on your thigh and you looked down at him with a smile on your face. A quiet love, one that didn't have to speak to be known.

“Do you want to help me with my routine?” He picked his head back up and looked at you with the cutest smile. With quick movements he got up and held his hand out to you, you grabbed it and he tugged you over to settle on the bed against the headboard. Once you were comfortable he grabbed all of your things and started sorting through them. You just sat there admiring the man in front of you, his quiet grace was something you always admired about him.

He put everything within reach and yet again surprised you when he settled in your lap to help. Between this and his birthday it might become a habit of his when you ask him to help with your makeup or skincare; which you wouldn't mind in the slightest. His hands were gentle as he took care of you, something quietly unspoken in the way he cradled your face. Your eyes had fallen shut while he worked to massage the moisturizer into your face, he was humming something to you while he worked. Then came the gentle pats of his hands against you, you opened your eyes and looked at him before promptly bursting into giggles at how close and concentrated he was. His tongue was sticking out just barely and his eyes were solely focused on his mission. You made him jump with your giggles which only served to make you giggle harder.

“What?”

“You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“Sure, whatever makes you happy sweets.” He lightly rolled his eyes at you with a tiny smile before continuing his mission. The two of you sat there for a while as he did what he had set out to do. When he was finished he placed the products down and scooted back just a little and settled himself between your legs with his head in the crook of your neck. You let out a huff of laughter through your nose at the man on top of you before sliding your hands up his back and to the back of his head. He was leaning into you so far you could feel the small smile on his face as you let your fingers run through his hair.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweets, so much.” Yeosang was just content in being there and able to listen to your breathing and heart; so much so that he fell asleep.

For what felt like the first time ever someone was asleep before you were. You sat there with him just cradling him the best you could, you had reached over to grab your phone which made him stir just slightly. You combed your fingers through his hair more and he immediately settled back into his languid state between consciousness and unconsciousness. With a quick movement you snapped a picture of the exhausted Yeosang and sent it off to the group.

You were trying hard not to laugh too hard as to not startle the sleeping man on top of you. You could hear the chaos of the men in the other room whisper arguing as they messaged you. When San had shot off his message you heard a loud thump and a couple of snickers. Your door almost immediately burst open and in piled the rest of your boys.

Seonghwa was immediately cooing at the two of you curled up on the bed before starting to help the other men get comfortable so all of you could fit on the bed. You were grinning the entire time at their doting and drunken hiccups. When everyone had their own space on the king sized bed they all let out some sort of sigh of relief. Mingi had somehow ended up by your head and was gently petting your hair while the rest of them had some kind of contact with you.

It might be a nightmare for soreness in the morning but it was totally worth it right now. With the warmth of your boys, the humming of Yunho and the gentle breaths against your neck from Yeosang you fell into a deep slumber with a smile on your face.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Next Chapter (Chapter 31 Coming Soon)

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moonlitcelestial · 2 days ago

Text

Silent vows| K.Y.S

Pairing: Mafia!Yeosang x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage, slight enemies to lovers, fluff

Word count: 22.4k

Warnings: forced marriage, emotional abuse, stalking, jealousy, implied violence, insecurity, yeosang is THE husband, we all want him

AN: Ok so happy belated birthday to my boy yeosang. The most prettiest, angelic mf I've ever seen. Like how can a man be so pretty and handsome at the same damn time. Also this was kinda like a prompt but I can't for the love of god find the comment. But you know who you are, thank you

Masterlist

“I’m not doing it.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and fast, cutting across the heavy air in the room like a blade. The study smelled like old leather and wood polish, the same way it always did when your father called you in for his lectures. But this wasn’t a lecture. This was something else. He sat behind that heavy desk, wearing the same expression he always wore when he made decisions for other people’s lives— calm, practiced, untouchable.

“This isn’t a request,” he answered, barely sparing you a glance. “It’s a responsibility.”

You could’ve laughed. Honestly, you almost did. Responsibility. That word sounded hilarious coming out of his mouth. What did he know about responsibility? The only thing he was responsible for was dragging this family name around town like it was some royal crest, acting like being respected by neighbors counted for anything real in the world.

“You don’t get to sell me off like I’m a—”

“Enough.”

Just that one word. Quiet. Heavy. And somehow louder than your shouting could ever be. Your mother was standing near the window, arms folded like she was cold even though the room was warm. She didn’t speak. She never did, not in front of him. Just stood there looking outside, twisting her rings like she could disappear into the carpet if she tried hard enough. You hated that you weren’t even surprised.

“This marriage will benefit this family,” your father continued, smoothing his sleeves like this was some business meeting. “We’ve built this name for generations. And you will protect it.”

You clenched your fists tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Your reputation doesn’t mean anything outside this stupid town.”

It slipped before you could stop it, but you didn’t regret it. You meant it. All these formal dinners, these family events, these endless talks about legacy— all of it felt empty. Like a dying empire pretending it was still a kingdom.

“This family has survived longer than you’ve been alive,” your father shot back, finally meeting your gaze with steel in his eyes. “And you’ll do your part to make sure it stays that way.”

You could feel the walls closing in. You could feel your freedom shrinking, curling in on itself, suffocating before you could even scream.

“Kang Yeosang.”

The name hit you like a slap. Sharp. Direct. Cold. You knew that name. Everyone did. Not because he was some loud, reckless criminal—no, worse than that. He was dangerous in a way that didn’t make noise. Dangerous in the way silent oceans are. You don’t notice how deep they are until you’re already halfway sunk.

“Why him?” you asked, throat dry.

Your father barely blinked. “Because his family’s name will keep ours alive.”

Alive. Like this was survival. Like marrying you off to someone you didn’t even know was a favor. Like it was a gift. You hated how calm he was about it. You hated how your mother still hadn’t said a single word. You hated how small you felt in that moment, standing in a house you used to believe was home.

“I’m not going to his house,” you muttered finally, stubbornness flaring even when your heart was hammering in your chest. “You can make me marry him, but I’m not moving in with some— some stranger.”

For a second, you thought maybe—just maybe—that would get a reaction. That something in him would soften, crack, break.

It didn’t.

Instead, he stood. Calm. Slow. Adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with careful precision, like he was bored of the conversation already. “You will,” he said softly. “You’ll go to his house, you’ll be his wife, and you’ll do what’s expected of you.” “And if I don’t?” you pushed, lifting your chin like you weren’t breaking inside.

His gaze sharpened just enough for the threat underneath to show, sharp and cold as glass. “Then I’ll handle it my way.”

You knew what his way meant. Not blood. Not mafia violence. But ruin. Reputation torn apart. Family turned against you. Friends pushed away. He knew how to break you the polite way, the respectable way. Quiet destruction in the form of shame.

You swallowed thick, hot air that didn’t want to go down.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

But your father was already walking away, steps quiet against the polished floor.

“I can live with that.”

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream, but only one thing came out. “What about my studies?”

It sounded small. Weak. But it was the only lifeline you could grab onto in that moment. Something that was yours. The one thing you had left that wasn’t part of their family dinners, or reputation games, or polite handshakes pretending to be alliances.

University was supposed to be your escape. Not glamorous. Not perfect. But it was freedom in its own, small way—early mornings, long commutes, paper deadlines, friends who didn’t care about who your father was.

Your father barely reacted.

“You can continue after the wedding,” he answered flatly, as if you were asking if you could have dessert after dinner.

You stared at him. “After?”

“Yes. You’ll still attend.”

But you knew what that meant. You knew the weight behind those words. After the wedding. After moving into a stranger’s house. After taking his last name. After your life wasn’t yours anymore. Technically, sure—you could go back. Physically, you could sit in the same classrooms, scribble in the same notebooks. But it wouldn’t be the same. Not with whispers curling behind your back. Not with people watching you like you were an exhibit. “That’s her—the girl who married into them.”

It would hang on you like invisible chains. Dragging behind you everywhere you went.

And worst of all—you wouldn’t be able to come home. Not really. Not to this family. Not to your old life. You’d have a new last name, a new house, a new set of rules written by someone else’s hand.

The walls of the study felt like they were closing in.

“I don’t want this,” you said, quieter this time. No yelling. Just raw honesty, like a last ditch effort to claw your way out. “This isn’t my life.”

Your father looked at you the same way he looked at accounts on paper. Math. Numbers. Problems to solve, not feelings to fix.

“It is now.”

Simple. Unforgiving. Final.

You could almost feel the weight of your choices shrinking down to nothing. Every dream you used to picture folded neatly into a little box, pushed aside for family names and legacy dinners with strangers in pressed suits. Your stomach twisted. Hot. Cold. Rage and panic mixing together until you couldn’t tell which was worse.

You wanted to shout, wanted to break something, wanted to drag this perfect little empire down brick by brick just to prove you could—but you stood there frozen, fists clenched, staring at a man who would never, ever see you as anything but his tool first.

Come to the house.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Yeosang sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Alright. Be there in twenty.”

It wasn’t unusual—getting called over like this. His father didn’t waste words, didn’t waste visits. If he was calling, it meant something needed handling.

By the time he got to the mansion, the gates were already open like they always were when they expected him. The house was quiet, the same way expensive places are—grand, but not loud about it. Just old money tastefully sitting in every piece of polished wood.

His father was already in the study when Yeosang stepped inside, standing by the window, one hand in his pocket like it was muscle memory by now. Glass of whiskey in the other. Of course.

“You’re early,” his father said without turning around.

“You said now.”

His father finally looked over, gave him that familiar once-over like he was assessing a report. “Fair enough.”

There was a beat of silence. Not tense. Just quiet.

Then—

“There’s going to be a wedding.”

Yeosang blinked once. “Yours?”

His father gave him a flat look, one eyebrow raising the way it always did when Yeosang was being difficult on purpose. “Yours.”

Yeosang huffed a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, stepping further into the room. “That supposed to be funny?”

His father didn’t smile. “I’m serious.”

Yeosang stood still for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Is that what you dragged me here for? Could’ve sent a text.”

“This isn’t a text conversation.”

“You’d be surprised what can be said over text these days.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his father’s mouth. Approval, maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell with him.

“It’s arranged,” his father said, cutting through Yeosang’s deflection cleanly. “Her family’s name still matters in this town. Not rich, not influential in our way, but solid. Traditional. The kind of people who care about reputation more than their own comfort.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly. “So… charity work?”

“Strategy,” his father corrected smoothly. “They need stability. We don’t need much from them, but it keeps everything clean.”

“Clean,” Yeosang repeated under his breath. He crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “And I’m guessing I don’t get a vote?”

“You get an understanding. That’s enough.”

Yeosang didn’t argue. Not because he agreed, but because he knew there was no point. This was how it worked. Give and take. Favors. Names. Quiet deals behind closed doors.

He exhaled through his nose. “Who is she?”

“Y/L/N’s daughter.”

Yeosang’s brow ticked. “Didn’t know they had one.”

“Not surprising. They keep her out of sight. Books, classes, family dinners. But they need her to secure their name before it fades.”

Yeosang thought about that for a second. Reputation marriages were common enough. Boring, mostly. People shaking hands over other people’s futures like it was stock trading.

“You’ve met her?” he asked.

“Briefly. Enough to know she’s going to fight it.”

“Great.”

His father glanced at him then, sharp. “Not your job to like it. Just your job to make it work.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Yeosang muttered, rolling his jaw. “I’m just saying… if she’s gonna be difficult, it’s gonna be annoying.”

His father’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a certain understanding there. “You’ll handle it.”

Yeosang let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “Guess I will.”

As he turned to leave, his father added quietly, “This isn’t punishment.”

“I know.”

And he did. This was just how things worked. Fair or not—his life wasn’t completely his own anymore. Yeosang sat behind the wheel, thumb tapping against the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway. Headlights cutting clean lines through the dark street, smooth turns, muscle memory driving him home while his mind drifted elsewhere.

Marriage. Arranged.

He scoffed quietly to himself, shaking his head once. What was he supposed to do with someone else’s family name attached to his life?

Some sheltered daughter of a traditional family, probably the kind who spent too much money on handbags and complained when the AC wasn’t cold enough. He could already hear the whining. Could already see the way she’d expect to live in his place, treat it like a hotel, float through his routine like an expensive perfume he didn’t ask to wear.

No, that wasn’t happening.

Maybe he’d buy her an apartment somewhere else. Nothing fancy, but decent enough. They could do the whole photo ops thing, wear the rings, play nice for the public, then go back to separate lives. Paper marriage. Clean. Or worse—she could be one of those girls who latched on for money. Gold digger. Probably already imagining his credit cards with her initials on the back.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek in irritation. God, he hated gold diggers.

Maybe she’d show up to the first meeting with some designer bag acting shy, but batting lashes like she knew exactly how to play the game. All wide eyes and fake humility. Great. Just what he needed—another headache in heels.

And the name—YN.

It felt familiar. Couldn’t place it, but the reputation was old enough to echo through town. Traditional. Reputed. The type of family that prided themselves on manners but ate each other alive behind closed doors.

The kind that smiled with their teeth.

He drummed his fingers once more, sharp taps on the leather, jaw set.

Alright.

If he was going to be stuck with this arrangement, he might as well know what he was dealing with. And he wasn’t about to walk into it blind. He had resources. Skills. Connections that didn’t come from LinkedIn profiles or polite family dinners. If they thought he was going to just sit back and play along without checking her first, they clearly didn’t know him well enough.

Fine. If she was going to be part of his life, even on paper, he’d find out exactly who she was—before she even stepped in the same room as him.

He flicked his blinker, turning toward his penthouse, already thinking about who to call first.

Let’s see what Miss YN was hiding.

By the time Yeosang finished, he knew more about her than her own family probably did.

University—small, local, nothing flashy. Biology major. Not exactly the typical rich family trophy daughter. No branded handbags, no influencer lifestyle. Her socials were barely active. Private, even. Most of her posts were old, nothing more than the occasional picture of a sunset or food she cooked. No thirst traps. No fake aesthetic feeds.

She liked drawing. Had an old art account that hadn’t been touched in months—messy sketches of flowers and animals, all pencil or black ink. Crochet too. Random photos of half-finished scarves stuffed in a drawer. Cooking—simple recipes, home stuff, not the kind of thing you post to show off, just to remember.

Her friends? A few from university. Small group chats. Normal conversations. Mostly about classes, complaining about assignments, nothing interesting. No clubbing pictures. No vacation shots with secret boyfriends tagged under fake accounts.

The further he dug, the more it annoyed him—not because he found anything bad, but because he didn’t. No scandals, no secret plans to social climb, no hidden motives that screamed gold digger or spoiled brat.

She was just… boring.

Boring in the way people are when they’re not trying to be noticed. And for some reason, that irritated him more than if she had been a problem.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table. Elbow propped on the armrest, hand running through his hair, frustration curling at the edges of his jaw.

Great. Now he was stuck marrying some quiet, awkward, crochet-making biology nerd who probably spent more time reading textbooks than thinking about designer clothes. Not exactly the chaos he was expecting.

But that was fine.

Boring or not, it didn’t change the situation. Didn’t change the fact that she probably didn’t want this marriage any more than he did. Didn’t change the fact that, like it or not, she was about to become his problem.

The small cafe tucked between two old bookstores smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, the kind of place you’d miss unless you were looking for it. Y/N liked it that way—quiet, steady, familiar. No loud music, no influencers with tripods. Just people who liked good coffee and minding their own business.

She stepped up to the counter, eyes scanning the pastries before glancing at the girl behind the register. “I love your hair,” she said softly, a small smile pulling at her lips. “That color looks really good on you.” The girl blinked, caught off guard, then smiled wide. “Oh! Thank you—I just dyed it last week.”

Y/N nodded, pleased. Compliments were easy. They made people softer. And the girl was pretty, her pastel blue curls tucked behind her ear like she wasn’t sure yet if she liked them. Little things like that made the world feel less sharp.

She ordered her coffee, tucked herself into the corner seat like she always did, pulling her notebook out of her bag. Pages filled with messy diagrams, doodles in the margins, recipes scrawled sideways between molecular structures.

What she didn’t notice—what no one noticed—was the man sitting at the table near the window, fingers idly circling the rim of his untouched cup, black baseball cap low over his brow.

Yeosang watched all of it with that same steady, unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too much. He wasn’t even sure why he was there. Habit, maybe. Curiosity. Boredom. The fact that the more he found out about her, the more it didn’t add up with what he expected. Normal girls didn’t compliment strangers just because. Normal girls—especially daughters of families clawing for reputation—were supposed to be fake polite. Smile, nod, move on. But she meant it. He could tell. You didn’t fake that kind of tone.

He watched the way she curled into herself, scribbling in that notebook like the rest of the world didn’t exist, lips pressed into a soft frown of concentration.

Just a quiet girl who looked like she was holding herself together with coffee and stubbornness.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, jaw ticking once. This was going to be annoying in a completely different way. Y/N didn’t notice him when she left.

He watched her go, watched the way she shrugged her bag higher onto her shoulder, thumb absentmindedly rubbing at a little ink stain on her wrist from writing earlier. She moved like someone used to being unnoticed, like she liked it that way. The door chimed behind her, soft and forgettable.

Yeosang waited a beat, then stood, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he stepped out onto the street. He wasn’t planning to follow her. Not really. That wasn’t his thing. He wasn’t the lurking type. But something about the whole thing felt unfinished—like he’d walked into a movie halfway through and now he needed to know how it ended, even if it was boring. Especially because it was boring.

She turned down one of the smaller streets, familiar paths clearly mapped in her head. She didn’t hesitate. Not once. Like she’d walked this way so many times her feet didn’t need permission anymore.

Normal. Predictable….Except for the part where, in a few weeks, her life wouldn’t be.

That was the thing gnawing at the edge of his mind. She didn’t know yet. Not fully. Probably knew about the arrangement, sure, but she didn’t know what marrying into his family meant. What marrying him meant. She looked like she still had hope things would be fine. Like she still thought she could negotiate her way out of it if she used the right tone with her father.

Cute.

He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t the type to tear down someone just because he could. But he wasn’t about to let someone walk into his life acting like it was optional.

This marriage was happening. She was going to be his. And the sooner she realized that, the easier it was going to be for both of them.

Yeosang sighed, pulling his cap lower as he turned the opposite direction, heading back toward his car. No point in being seen. Not yet. He’d play it properly, like he always did—let the introductions happen the way their fathers arranged, act like this was his first time seeing her. Civil. Normal.

For now, she could keep her quiet cafes and notebooks full of diagrams.

Soon enough, she’d be sitting across from him at a dinner table pretending she wasn’t thinking about escape routes.

And when that time came—

He’d enjoy watching the fight leave her eyes when she realized there weren’t any.

The dining room was too polished. Everything in it felt like it belonged in a magazine—heavy chairs, polished forks, crystal glasses that didn’t belong to people who used them often. It smelled faintly like expensive old wood and control.

Y/N sat straight, shoulders set, jaw locked like she’d been preparing for this her entire life. Polite daughter. Obedient. Chin slightly tilted up—not too much to look rude, just enough to show she wasn’t going to shatter on command.

Across the table, Yeosang sat with his elbow resting lazily on the armrest, fingers tapping slow against the tablecloth. His gaze was on her, not in the obvious way, not wide-eyed or curious—more like someone reading a file they already memorized but going over it again for fun.

“So,” his father started, formal tone sharp around the edges, “this is long overdue.”

Her father chuckled lightly, already halfway sunk into the leather chair like this was a golf meeting. “We’ve been meaning to sit down properly.”

Yeosang barely blinked. “Mm.”

Y/N didn’t look at him at first. Her eyes were trained on her plate, expression soft but unreadable, like she’d pulled politeness over herself like armor. When she finally did glance at him, it wasn’t shy—it was calculated. Brave. Probably spent the last week practicing it in the mirror.

Didn’t matter.

He knew everything already. Biology major. Draws on the side. Probably keeps her yarn stuffed in a drawer somewhere in that tiny bedroom of hers. Ordinary, and for some reason, that irritated him more than anything else could have.

Their parents carried the conversation like businessmen. Deals, family names, subtle remarks about strengthening ties. It wasn’t a dinner—it was a contract, disguised in roast chicken and overpriced wine.

Yeosang’s eyes didn’t leave her.

Y/N shifted her grip on the napkin under the table, folding it tighter in her palm. Eyes stayed low—not on purpose, not because she was scared—but because eye contact always felt like permission for people to ask more questions. And she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself to anyone at that table.

Yeosang sat across from her, speaking with her father like he wasn’t being sized up for marriage. Confident. Comfortable in a room full of expectations. His voice was steady, like someone used to being listened to, used to having the final word in a conversation. The kind of steady that didn’t need raising.

His father said something about ties between families. Her father hummed in agreement. Someone poured more wine. The edge of Yeosang’s gaze cut toward her briefly. He didn’t stare. Just checked. Like someone glancing at a watch to see how much longer they had to stay.

“So,” his voice finally reached her side of the table, low, smooth, without decoration, “biology.”

Her fork hovered, not quite raised, not quite lowered. “Yeah.”

He waited. No explanation followed. No polite rambling about how she got into it, what she wanted to do with it, how hard it was balancing studies with life. Just that quiet confirmation, like she wasn’t going to give him more than that unless dragged.

Something about that pulled a faint curve to the corner of his mouth—not a smile, not even close, just interest. Her fingers folded the napkin tighter.

“You gonna finish that?” he asked, eyes flicking to the untouched half of roasted potatoes on her plate.

Finally, her eyes met his. Not soft, not flirty—flat. Careful. “Do you want it?”

He shrugged once. “Didn’t think you were shy about eating.” “I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Good.”

Silence again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just two people used to not needing to fill it. Her father started speaking about how she could continue studying after marriage, casual, like saying we’ll paint the guest room next week. She didn’t bother correcting him, though the heaviness in her chest said she wanted to. No way it would actually work that easily.

She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal. Yeosang didn’t, either.

He just watched her, like a lion watching something small—not because he wanted to pounce, but because he was curious if it was going to run. Neither of them moved first.

Yeosang watched the way her fingers kept folding the napkin tighter and tighter, like if she could just make it small enough, she could disappear into it. But her expression didn’t match the tension in her hands. She didn’t look flustered. Didn’t look desperate. Just… controlled. Like someone who’d been living with locked doors their whole life and knew better than to jiggle the handle too loud. Interesting.

“Do you usually not talk,” he murmured, cutting into the silence, “or is that just for me?”

The faintest breath of humor pulled at her nose before she could stop it. “Depends.”

“On?”

She let her gaze flick up—not to his eyes, just above them. “Whether or not the person across from me deserves it.” His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and for a second, he almost laughed. Almost. This wasn’t what he expected. Spoiled daughters didn’t sit at tables folding napkins into perfect squares like they were holding knives in their laps.

And she didn’t look at him properly, not even once. Not because she was scared. Because she didn’t care. But she would.

Not in the way girls cared about him normally. Not wide-eyed or hopeful. No, she was going to care when she realized exactly how much of her life was about to be decided for her whether she folded napkins or full pages of essays. And the funny thing was—he didn’t want to break her. He just wanted to watch how long she could hold that line before she blinked first.

After the dinner dragged itself to its dull, polished conclusion, with the adults shaking hands over dessert like they’d just signed a treaty, Yeosang leaned back in his chair, elbow resting against the polished wood, fingertips brushing his jaw like he was thinking something over. And maybe he was. But the look in his eyes said this was calculated.

“So,” he said casually, but with the kind of weight that immediately drew the attention of both families, “how about next Thursday?”

The words dropped into the space between them with a deliberate softness, like a stone hitting still water. No one moved. His father raised a brow slightly, clearly pleased with the display of initiative. Her father smiled, the kind of smile fathers wear when they think their daughter’s life is finally falling in line. And Y/N—Y/N kept her fingers on the edge of her plate, eyes flickering up to Yeosang, finally, properly, but only for a second.

“Thursday?” she echoed, like she needed to make sure she heard him right, even though she absolutely had.

He nodded once, slow, composed. “Next week. You’ll be free, won’t you?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. Not with the way every eye at that table turned toward her, expectant, waiting for her to be agreeable. Marriage was already settled like property; a casual dinner date wasn’t going to shake the foundation of that, but somehow, this felt worse.

Her jaw tensed before she could stop it, irritation curling hot under her ribs—not because she didn’t expect him to test her, but because he chose Thursday. Her only weekday off. Her only breathing space. Her only time where nobody expected her to be anything, say anything, do anything. She studied late on Thursdays, sometimes sat in the library doing nothing but scribbling messy notes on scrap paper that didn’t mean anything, just because she could. And now he was looking at her like he knew that. Like he’d planned that.

“I suppose,” she muttered, voice clipped, polite, lined with quiet annoyance that no one but him seemed sharp enough to hear. “Since you’ve already picked the day for me.”

Their fathers chuckled, pleased at the display of future marital bliss like they were in on some great joke. His father gave him that approving glance—the good, take responsibility look that was passed between powerful men in rooms like this. But Yeosang wasn’t watching anyone else. Just her. Measuring. Testing. Curious how far she could fold before snapping.

“You’ll like it,” he said simply. No tease. No apology. No smile.

She didn’t respond. Just folded the napkin in her lap one more time before setting it neatly on the table like she was handling something fragile. She didn’t look at him again, not because she was shy, but because she knew better. If she did, it’d feel like she was giving him something.

And right now, she wasn’t in the mood to give him anything. But she was curious now. Why Thursday?

Yeosang saw everything. He wasn’t sitting there with that calm posture and steady gaze for show—he was trained for this, raised on discipline sharper than any blade, molded under the expectation that one day he would carry the weight of something much heavier than family name. He was observant. Always. And while everyone at that table was busy patting each other’s backs over the success of an arranged marriage neither party asked for, Yeosang was watching her like a map he was learning by memory.

It was the way she folded the napkin—not once, not twice, but over and over. Each time, pressing it smaller, sharper, tucking corners like she wanted it neat but not too neat, controlled but never pristine. People who folded things that many times weren’t trying to fidget—they were trying to manage something they couldn’t put words to. He’d seen it in tense meetings, watched rival leaders smooth the edges of cufflinks or touch their watches repeatedly when they were hiding nerves or holding in words they couldn’t say aloud.

And she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

But that wasn’t the only thing. He caught the tiny shifts in her posture whenever her parents leaned too close, a subtle lean away—not disrespectful, not obvious, just barely enough to create distance like muscle memory. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She managed it. As if that small separation was the only thing keeping her breathing steadily through this whole suffocating display of family pride.

Then there was her food. The careful way she pushed it around her plate, not because she was picky or entitled, but because eating under watchful eyes wasn’t the same as eating alone. Separating textures, shapes, colors, almost like categorizing parts of herself she wasn’t ready to share yet. It wasn’t disinterest—it was control. She was being studied, so she gave them nothing. Not even in the way she chewed.

Most people didn’t notice these things. Hell, most people didn’t even know they did them. But Yeosang saw it all like someone reading subtitles under a movie no one else could hear. And with every fold of that napkin, with every subtle lean of her shoulder, with every glance that never quite met anyone else’s fully, he knew one thing for certain—

She was no ordinary girl.

No spoiled daughter. No meek little thing waiting for a husband to save her from some sheltered life. There was something under that careful silence, something sharp, something waiting. Not the loud kind of defiance—but the quiet kind that made revolutions possible if left alone too long.

Yeosang didn’t know what that thing was yet. But he wanted to. Not to break her. Not to tame her. Not even to get under her skin. He just wanted to see what would happen if someone finally pressed back. And he was more than prepared to be that someone.

But he was no saint, either. Sure, Yeosang was observant. Sure, he was sharp, disciplined, raised on a steady diet of politics, violence, and strategy—but he was also his father’s son. And that bloodline came with one very particular curse: the chronic, unrelenting need to poke at things just to see what sound they made when they cracked. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t even personal. It was just in his bones.

And she—sitting there with her neat napkin folding and careful glances and that stubborn refusal to give him anything—was basically gift-wrapped for that exact kind of cruelty.

Admit it. He was intrigued by her, sure. But more than that, there was an itch under his skin when he looked at her, this annoying, bratty curiosity that made him want to press buttons just to see what she’d do. Not because he wanted to humiliate her. Not because he wanted to watch her fall apart. No, it was because she didn’t flinch. And that was interesting. Different. Everyone flinched eventually—but she just… adjusted.

And she looked cute annoyed.

Not the whiny, spoiled kind of cute. Not the bratty, helpless kind. The kind of cute that made him want to lean closer, just to see if her voice would crack the same way her napkin did under her fingers.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here, technically, wasting brainpower on reading into a girl he was being forced to marry by family names he didn’t even particularly respect. But here he was, running mental diagnostics on someone’s napkin folding like it was part of a case file, and liking it more than he should.

And if he was going to be dragged into this circus of arranged happiness, he might as well have fun while he was at it.

Testing her? It wasn’t just strategy anymore. It was entertainment. Annoying her? That was just hereditary.

She really didn’t want to go.

Like—borderline, jump-off-the-balcony level of not wanting to go. Not because she thought it would fix anything, not because she was dramatic, but because the sheer dread of giving up the one day that belonged to her made her stomach twist. It was Thursday. Thursday was hers. Her one breath in a week full of held ones. Her one clean, unclaimed square of time where no one asked her to smile, or marry, or fold herself into something palatable.

But she didn’t jump, because that wasn’t how good girls act.

Her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom as she brushed mascara through her lashes. ‘Be agreeable, Y/N. Don’t embarrass us. You’re not going to be one of those girls with tantrums and police reports. You’re better than that.’

Better. Whatever that meant.

So she got dressed. Pulled on clothes that said I didn’t try but I still look good because if she was going to be dragged into this, she was going to do it on her terms. She tied her shoes like she was tightening a tether around her own ankles. Did her makeup—not too much, not too little, just enough to look alive, to hide the exhaustion that simmered under polite nods and family dinners.

And when she finally looked at herself in the mirror, it wasn’t vanity staring back. It was survival. Thursday. Her Thursday. And now she was about to spend it across from him.

That annoying Yeosang with his sharp eyes and careful words, with his I’m watching you energy and the quiet smugness that didn’t need smiles or stupid flirting to make itself known. She could already hear his voice in her head, perfectly even, perfectly annoying.

And yet—she still tied her hair the way she liked it. Still put on her favorite necklace. Not for him. For herself. Because if she was going to war, she might as well wear armor.

She went down the stairs like muscle memory, footsteps light but steady, not really registering anything around her. Her parents said something—maybe a wish, maybe a warning, maybe one of those sugary “be good” reminders her mother loved so much. But it was all white noise, just the hum of life happening in the background of a mind that was already somewhere else entirely.

She didn’t ignore them on purpose. She was just zoned out. The kind of zoned out where you don’t even realize your keys are already in your hand, or that you locked the door behind you without thinking about it. Automatic. Like when you’re walking to class with music on and suddenly you’re already at the building, but you don’t remember crossing the street.

She didn’t remember leaving the front door. Didn’t remember if she’d even said goodbye, or if her mom had tried to fix the fold of her sleeve one last time like she always did. And she definitely didn’t see him until she stepped out onto the pavement and felt him.

There’s a specific kind of awareness that happens when someone’s eyes are already on you before you’ve noticed them. Like a silent tap on the shoulder. She glanced up—

—and there he was.

Leaning back comfortably in the driver’s seat of a sleek black car, windows down just enough to catch the breeze, one hand draped over the steering wheel like he had all the time in the world. Rap music playing in the background, not quiet but not obnoxiously loud. And that expression—not quite a smile, definitely not a grin, just that irritating curve of satisfaction people wore when they’d predicted something exactly right. Smug wasn’t even the word for it. It was too clean. Too Yeosang. Of course he was already here.

Of course he was watching her like he knew she wouldn’t have noticed him until now. She blinked once, slow, lips pressed in a thin line, and then kept walking. Didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t offer a greeting, just moved like she was late for something even though she wasn’t.

He leaned slightly forward as she approached, tapping his fingers once against the steering wheel, eyes glinting with that silent, irritating amusement.

You walked towards the car, your steps slower than usual, annoyance bubbling up at the sight of him sitting there, looking far too comfortable. You crossed your arms and leaned slightly against the door, giving him a flat look.

“I wasn’t aware you were picking me up,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. It came out a little sharper than intended, but you couldn't help it. This whole thing felt off, like you were being dragged into a game that you hadn’t agreed to play.

Yeosang just looked at you with that annoying, cocky expression, the one that always made your blood boil, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, you should've been. It’s not like you had many options."

You felt a flicker of irritation, but it quickly settled into a calm mask. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he got under your skin. Moving towards the backdoor, you reached for the handle, ready to slide in and get this over with.

Before you could even touch it, the car locked with a loud click.

You froze.

What the hell?

You looked up at him, surprised. He just sat there, still with that casual air, his eyes gleaming as if he was waiting for a reaction.

“Excuse me?” you said, narrowing your eyes.

Without missing a beat, he simply pointed to the passenger seat with an almost lazy gesture. "Sit there."

You blinked at him. You were about to say something—probably something rude—but you stopped yourself. There was no way you were going to let him mess with you like this. Still, you didn’t argue. You didn't have the energy to fight him over something so trivial. The car door opened with a quick swipe, and you slid in, your gaze still sharp but subdued.

Yeosang didn’t speak again as you buckled your seatbelt, his attention shifting to the road as he put the car in drive. The silence between you felt heavy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it. It was better this way. Better not to engage, better to keep things surface-level.

The ride was awkward. Well, for you, at least. Yeosang didn’t seem to feel it. His posture was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear, like he was driving down to the beach with friends and not chauffeuring his future wife to some forced date neither of you wanted.

But you sat there, arms crossed, eyes out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek. And then it hit you. Wait. Is that Kendrick Lamar’s Reincarnated playing?

You blinked, eyes flickering toward the dashboard like you could confirm it with just a glance at the stereo. The beat was unmistakable, that heavy bass, sharp snare, and those layered vocals riding smooth over the instrumental. Of all the people to be playing Kendrick Lamar at full volume—it had to be him.

The irritation in your chest shifted slightly, replaced by something… warmer. Familiar. For a second—just a second—you forgot you were on your way to spend your Thursday afternoon with the most annoying man alive. You knew this song. Knew it.

Mentally, you started mouthing the lyrics in your head, matching every bar, every breath, every sharp flip of cadence like muscle memory. Word to word. Clean. Like second skin. It wasn’t loud in your expression, but your mind was in full concert mode, rapping like you’d been waiting for this exact song to save you from the awkwardness.

And for the first time since you sat in that car, you didn’t feel bored.

Without even realizing it, your fingers had started tapping against your thigh, following the beat with this natural kind of ease that only happens when something feels right. The awkwardness melted just slightly—not completely, but enough that you didn’t feel like throwing yourself out of the moving car anymore.

But then—

The song ended, and before you could even mourn the silence—another Kendrick song started playing. Different album. Same vibe. Same unmistakable energy. You frowned slightly, eyes flicking to the stereo now like it had betrayed you. Two Kendrick songs in a row? Coincidence?

You sat there for a second, staring ahead, lips pressing into a thin line as your brain worked overtime. Sure, it could’ve been a coincidence. Everyone liked Kendrick, right? But this felt… deliberate. Like someone had put it on a playlist. Was he doing it on purpose? Is he a fan too?

You glanced at him, cautious, like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of catching you interested—but curiosity was starting to override irritation. He was just driving like usual, one hand lazily adjusting the volume like it was background noise to him. But something about how casual he looked felt rehearsed.

It didn’t sit right with you. Could’ve been random. Could’ve been a setup. Or… could’ve been both. But either way, you weren’t about to ask first. Nope. Not happening.

You just leaned back against the seat, eyes steady out the window, tapping your fingers again, this time not just because of the beat—but because you were thinking.

Yeosang was way too pleased with himself.

Not that he showed it outwardly—no smug grin, no teasing comments just yet—but inside? Yeah. He was damn near proud. Everything was going exactly how he wanted. Calculated. Controlled. Planned with the kind of precision that came from years of watching, learning, and frankly—being too damn good at reading people.

He knew everything he needed to know about you. Hell—he probably knew more about you than you did. He knew Thursday was your free day. Knew how you carved it out for yourself like it was holy ground. That’s exactly why he chose today to drag you out. Not because he wanted to ruin it. No—because it would be the one thing you couldn’t say no to. You’d either have to cancel your only peace of the week or face him—and he knew you’d pick facing him. Pride. Predictable.

He knew you didn’t like going out—not with family, not with friends, barely even by yourself. So, he came to you. Made it easy. Familiar car. Private. No excuses to back out last minute because “I didn’t feel like taking a cab” or “the bus was crowded”. Nah. He had you cornered, comfortably.

And the music? That wasn’t a coincidence, either. He’d seen the playlist. Hell, he’d memorized the damn playlist. Kendrick Lamar was your favorite in the rap genre, and it just so happened Kendrick was on his heavy rotation too, so it didn’t even feel forced. Just enough familiarity to make you settle in, just enough to make your fingers tap without realizing, to get you thinking maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

He didn’t need to ask you what you liked. He knew what you liked. Yeosang’s father didn’t raise fools—and Yeosang wasn’t about to start disappointing now.

He kept his eyes on the road, face clean of expression, like he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking. Like he hadn’t already played this scene out in his head a dozen times. You were stubborn, yeah—but he was patient. And precise.

He didn’t want to break you. Nah. That was boring. He wanted to watch. Watch how long you could act like you didn’t care. Watch how long you could pretend you weren’t curious. Watch how long it took before you realized—you weren’t the only one with sharp edges.

And yeah, he liked rap too. Lucky you.

The car rolled to a smooth stop, the hum of the engine cutting off and leaving behind the faint echo of Kendrick’s verse lingering in your head. You looked around, blinking slowly. Parking lot.

What kind of parking lot? You didn’t know. Big building, a few cars around, that slightly industrial vibe, but nothing familiar. You didn’t go out enough to tell which part of town this was, and frankly—you didn’t care. You just wanted to get this over with.

With a sigh, you reached for your seatbelt, pressing the button to unclip it…Nothing.

You pressed it again, harder this time, like maybe the extra force would convince it to listen to you. Nothing moved. “Oh, come on—” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap now with growing frustration. Typical. Typical. Of course this was happening. On today of all days. And the last thing you wanted to do—the very last—was ask him for help. But pride had limits, and you’d already used up most of yours agreeing to this disaster of a “date.”

You glanced at him reluctantly. “It’s stuck.”

He didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Didn’t flinch, didn’t chuckle—just leaned slightly toward you, unbothered, one hand moving with irritating ease to the buckle. The button clicked effortlessly under his fingers like it had just been waiting for him to do it.

“See?” he murmured, voice low, that smug little undertone threading beneath it. “I knew you’d need me eventually.”

Your jaw clenched, and you shot him a look that could’ve killed a weaker man on the spot. “It was broken.”

“Of course it was,” he replied, tone dripping with mock sympathy, before pushing his door open and stepping out like nothing just happened.

You sat there for a second, heat prickling at the back of your neck, wishing the ground would swallow you whole—but no such luck.

Fine. Whatever. You pushed your door open too, standing straight, brushing down your clothes like you hadn’t just been humiliated by a seatbelt. You wouldn’t let him have the last word. Not yet. Not ever.

You followed him, not knowing where you were going, but very aware of two things:

1. This was going to be a long day.

2. You hated how nice his stupid cologne smelled when he walked ahead of you.

But you had no intention of making this easy for him.

So, as soon as you both started walking, you slowed your pace—not obviously, not dramatically—just… enough. Enough to make it mildly irritating. Enough to make him notice. You weren’t even really doing it on purpose; he was just tall, and apparently, tall people had no concept of walking like normal humans. His strides were three of yours combined, and you refused—refused—to jog after him like some lost puppy.

If he wanted to drag you around, he was going to work for it. But the irritating thing? He didn’t say a word. Didn’t huff, didn’t throw a glance over his shoulder, didn’t tell you to hurry up like you half expected. He just walked, silent, hands in his pockets like this was the most casual thing in the world.

Until suddenly, about ten steps ahead, he stopped. Just stood there.

You narrowed your eyes, fully prepared for some passive-aggressive remark or maybe a sarcastic clap. You were ready for it. Bring it on. But instead—he just turned around and… held out his hand. You stared at it like it was something you didn’t understand.

The hell was that supposed to mean?

Your eyes flicked up to his face, searching for the usual sharp comment or hidden smirk—but nothing. He just stood there, hand out, expression unreadable but steady. “Grab on,” he said, like it was obvious. You blinked, caught between being offended and… genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re slow,” he said simply, like he was pointing out the weather. “So grab on.”

You stared at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not slow. You’re just fast.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said under his breath. “Now grab on before I make you.”

You didn’t move for a second. Pride screamed no, but practicality… well, it was tired of jogging every five steps to keep up. And something about the way he said it—firm, low, steady—not mocking, not playful, just… expecting—it made that prickling nervousness crawl up your spine again. You hated that tone.

But your hand moved anyway, slipping into his, your fingers curling awkwardly, like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. His grip was steady, firm—but not crushing. Not controlling. Just… leading.

Without another word, he started walking again, pulling you gently but efficiently alongside him, adjusting his pace—not entirely slowing down, but enough that you didn’t have to scramble. You hated how… easy it felt. Hated it more that your hand stayed there.

The deeper you both walked, the clearer it got—it wasn’t just some random building or a casual cafe. It was a restaurant. A fancy one.

Not just white tablecloth fancy, but crystal glasses, piano music playing softly in the background, waiters dressed better than your uncles at weddings kind of fancy. And honestly? It was too much.

Your dad never took you to places like this. Never. Said restaurants were a scam, said home food was better, cheaper, cleaner—but you knew better. You’d seen the unpaid bills, the receipts stuffed into drawers, the phone calls with that low, desperate tone he didn’t think you could hear. Gambling debt didn’t leave room for filet mignon or imported wine. You’d spent your life quietly excusing it, brushing it off, pretending you didn’t want this kind of thing anyway.

But standing here now, in this giant pristine place with soft golden lighting and tables spaced way too far apart, you felt like an imposter. Like you were wearing someone else’s shoes in a room you didn’t belong in. It was overwhelming. Too bright. Too clean. Too silent. Everyone here looked like they belonged. And you—you didn’t even know which fork to use first.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but your body did. Instinctively, without even thinking, you found yourself scooting closer to him. Not dramatically—not enough to look weird—but just enough that the space between you narrowed. Like proximity alone could make you smaller, safer, less obvious. The worst part?

It felt natural.

You hated that. Hated that the man you were mentally arguing with for the past hour was now also the one person here who felt vaguely familiar.

Yeosang noticed, of course he did. The tension of your shoulder brushing barely against his arm, the shift of your body tilting slightly toward his—he clocked it instantly. But he didn’t comment. Didn’t give you that teasing remark you were bracing for. Instead, his fingers adjusted slightly around yours, like he was anchoring you there. Silent. Steady. Just a solid presence beside all the marble floors and velvet chairs.

He didn’t say a word. But you felt it anyway. ‘I got you.’

Some guy—manager, waiter, whatever—showed up then, all polite smiles and expensive cologne, greeting Yeosang like they were long-lost friends or something. Said something about the table being ready, offered some words you didn’t really catch because your brain was too busy buzzing with nerves.

You weren’t listening. Didn’t want to. Everything felt too sharp around the edges. Before you could even process it properly, Yeosang had your hand again, guiding you forward with that same casual grip, not giving you the chance to hesitate. It wasn’t forceful, just… confident. Like he already knew you’d follow.

And you did.

He led you through rows of softly murmuring people until you reached a table—not entirely private, but tucked into a little alcove, partly hidden by frosted glass panels and low plants. Enough separation that you didn’t feel like fish in a tank, but not so hidden that it felt awkward. It was nice. Comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected.

Yeosang didn’t miss a beat. He stepped around you and—of course—pulled out the chair. You hesitated for half a second, eyes flickering up at him. No teasing expression. No sharp remark waiting. Just a simple gesture, like this was routine.

You sat down, the chair gliding smoothly beneath you, and he pushed it in with practiced ease. For a brief second, you hated how nice that felt. Not because of him. But because no one had done that before. Not dates, not family, not anyone.

You adjusted your sleeves awkwardly, trying not to fidget, while he walked around and took his own seat, leaning back with that effortless comfort like this was his living room and not a restaurant with menus you probably couldn’t even afford to read.

He picked up the menu with one hand, flipping through it casually like this wasn’t his first time here—which, judging by how the staff greeted him, you were sure it wasn’t. His eyes scanned the pages, sharp and focused, while the other hand rested lazily on the edge of the table. After a moment, he looked up, right at you. “What do you want?”

It shouldn’t have been a complicated question. Normal people would just… answer. Say pasta, steak, whatever. But for some reason, your throat tightened. It wasn’t nerves—not exactly. Just… indecision.

All your life, someone had chosen for you. Your mom, mostly. Always ordering for you at restaurants—never asking, just assuming. Always brushing off your opinions as “It’s not good for you,” or “You won’t like it.” Somewhere along the line, you stopped bothering to decide. It felt easier that way.

So you did the only thing that felt natural, default almost. “Whatever you’re having.” Yeosang paused.

His jaw ticked slightly, almost like he was holding back a sigh—but not in frustration. More like… patience. “That’s not how this works,” he said, voice lower, steady, like someone reasoning with a kid who was trying to eat candy for breakfast. “You don’t just copy.”

You shrugged, defensive, staring at the polished wood of the table. “I don’t know what’s good.”

“It’s not that deep,” he finished for you, lips twitching slightly—but not in mockery, just amusement. “It’s just food. Pick what you want.”

The thing was… no one had ever given you choices like that. Not explained them patiently. Not acted like your opinion actually mattered, even in something as small as dinner. It made your chest feel weirdly tight. Like you wanted to be mad, but couldn’t quite find the reason.

Yeosang didn’t press further. Just leaned back again, waving over the waiter with a lazy flick of his fingers, like this was the most normal thing in the world. But you sat there with the menu still open in your hands, staring at it…

That’s when it hit you—the slow, creeping embarrassment settling in the pit of your stomach.

You didn’t know how to read menus.

Not like literally not knowing how to read, but… you didn’t know how to understand them. Fancy restaurant menus weren’t in normal language—they were in that rich people language. Words like confit, beurre blanc, something-something reduction—you didn’t even know if you were ordering food or furniture. The more you stared at it, the worse it got. Everything blurred together until it just looked like noise on paper.

Your hand twitched slightly on the edge of the menu, the corners of it curling under your fingertips. You didn’t even know how to begin. Finally, you gave up. Quietly. Awkwardly. You placed the menu down and looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time all evening. Gone was the irritation, the stubborn defiance. Instead, it was something softer. Not defeated, but pleading.

“Can you just… choose?” you asked, voice low, almost hoping he wouldn’t make a scene about it.

For a second, he just stared at you. No teasing, no smug smile—just studying you. Calculating. Then, instead of making a big deal about it, he nodded once, sharp, like this was all perfectly normal. “Alright,” he murmured. “But you’re still gonna have choices.”

And then, like it was muscle memory, he listed things off. Simple. No complicated words, no long-winded chef specials.

“Do you want red sauce or white?”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Want dessert or not?”

Just basic questions, no extra fluff. Like someone breaking down rocket science to math tables. By the time he was done, it actually sounded like a meal, not a puzzle.

And without realizing it, you’d started folding the cloth napkin again. Neatly. Sharply. Fold, unfold, fold, unfold. It was muscle memory at this point—your fingers always needed something to do. Something to control, even when nothing else made sense.

Somewhere along the way, he’d passed you his napkin too. You didn’t even notice it. Just that at some point, your hands had another one to work with. Your mind didn’t register it; your body just accepted it, thankful for the extra fabric to keep you grounded.

It was quiet. Subtle. No words, no glances, no gestures. And while you kept folding and unfolding that napkin like your life depended on it, he just sat there across from you, arms resting lazily on the table, ordering both your meals in that steady voice like this wasn’t even a thing.

He didn’t act like he was helping. And you didn’t notice you were being helped.

While you were busy poking at the carefully cut chicken on your plate—eating but not really tasting—Yeosang sat across from you, trying not to lose his mind.

Cuteness aggression. That was the only way to describe it. Like he wanted to bite something or hit the table—not out of anger, but because you were just too much.

It wasn’t just the way you’d quietly surrendered, letting him order for you like it was nothing. It wasn’t just the way your fingers kept working that napkin like you didn’t even know you were doing it. It was the whole picture—the you of it all. Sitting there, looking like the softest thing in the sharpest world.

And that cardigan you were wearing? Please. He could tell by the stitching it was handmade. Probably by you. The unevenness of the cuffs, the slightly imperfect patterns—no brand could fake that kind of charm. You didn’t even know how much that cardigan was giving you away, how much of you was stitched into every row.

It made something in his chest tighten, like he wanted to tuck you somewhere safe. His pocket. A drawer. Somewhere you couldn’t get overwhelmed by menus and loud places and useless fathers.

But he still played it cool, leaning back a little, eyes glinting as he ran his thumb along the edge of his fork like he wasn’t thinking borderline insane things about a girl he just met. He glanced at the cardigan, then back at you, voice dropping casual but knowing.

“You make that?”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite. “What?”

“That cardigan,” he said, tone light, like they were talking about the weather. “You made it?”

You hesitated. Not because you were embarrassed—more because no one really noticed that kind of thing. Definitely not guys like him. But… you nodded. “Yeah.”

A lazy grin, sharp but not mocking, pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Figured. Looks like you.”

That sentence alone made your stomach flip in ways you didn’t have the energy to process. You didn’t even know what that meant. Looked like you? Quiet? Crocheted? Awkwardly stitched together? You didn’t ask. You just looked back down at your plate, busying yourself with another bite, folding that second napkin again like it was holding the fabric of your nerves together.

Meanwhile, Yeosang sat there, feeling way too satisfied with himself. You were dangerously cute. And he was dangerously aware of it.

He dropped you off, making sure you got to your front door before pulling away. You didn’t say much—a quiet “thanks,” barely audible—but you didn’t run away either. Progress.

But by the time he pulled into his father’s estate, parked the car, and stepped into the over-polished marble entrance, he was losing it. Hand over his mouth. Jaw tight. Muscles flexing like he was holding in a scream or something equally embarrassing. What the hell was that?

That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be annoying. Spoiled. Bratty. Some daddy’s princess with acrylic nails and too much perfume. You were supposed to be the type he could dump in a nice apartment and visit once a month with gifts so you’d stay quiet about the whole arrangement.

But you weren’t. You were a mess. An organized, pretty, cardigan-wearing mess.

And worse, you didn’t even know you were cute. You weren’t even trying. You just sat there in that chair at that fancy-ass restaurant, folding napkins like they were some secret escape plan, wearing that handmade sweater like it wasn’t making him feel like an insane person.

And now? Forget that whole buying-another-place plan. That idea was dead the moment he saw how small you looked sitting across from him. No way. You were staying where he could see you. Reach you. Annoy you on purpose if he felt like it. Which he did.

He stood in the foyer of his father’s mansion, hand dragging down his face, pacing a little in his boots.

God. He felt like squealing. Like actually kicking something, or punching the air, or rolling on the expensive carpet like a twelve-year-old with a crush.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, like saying it out loud would make it make sense. It didn’t.

You were in his head. Neatly folded like that stupid napkin you kept twisting around your fingers. And for the first time in a long time, Kang Yeosang didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, scream, or marry you right now.

The moment Yeosang stepped further into the house, hand dragging down his face, muttering like a lunatic, he heard it—the unmistakable voice of his old man echoing from the sitting room. “Why the hell do you look like a teenage girl who just got her first crush?”

Yeosang didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even stop pacing. Just waved his hand dismissively, as if to say don’t start. His father stood there in his usual crisp shirt, whiskey glass in hand like always, giving him that unimpressed look fathers reserve for sons who don’t follow in their exact footsteps.

“I’m serious,” his father huffed, stepping forward. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you here anyway? Thought you liked hiding in that overpriced shoebox you call an apartment.”

Yeosang finally dropped his hand from his face, side-eyeing him, unimpressed. “Renovation,” he grumbled. “It’s getting fixed up. You want me to sleep on the street?” His father scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “You could’ve stayed at one of the hotels we own.”

“Right. And let everyone think I’m homeless now. Good look for a mafia heir.” The older man narrowed his eyes, recognizing that tone. That annoying tone Yeosang always used when he was about to get smart-mouthed. “So why are you pacing around here like some lovesick idiot?”

Yeosang clicked his tongue, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You’re the one that set me up with her.”

His father’s brow lifted. “Did she bite?”

“She didn’t even blink.”

That made his father laugh. Really laugh. Like belly laugh, hand pressed to his chest, deep and loud in that expensive, echoey house.

“God,” Yeosang muttered under his breath. “You’re actually enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” his father smirked. “Finally met someone who doesn’t fall apart under your pretty-boy nonsense. Good. You needed that.”

Yeosang rolled his jaw, annoyed beyond belief, but honestly? His dad wasn’t wrong. His father waved his glass toward him. “What’s the problem, then? I thought you were going to dump her in a penthouse and get on with life.”

“Yeah, that plan’s dead.”

“Why?”

Yeosang just stood there, defeated. “She’s too—”

“What? Petty? Weird? Mean?”

“…Soft.”

His father blinked, confused. “Soft?”

Yeosang didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Soft in a way that made him want to ruin someone’s life if they made you cry. Soft in a way that made him want to drag you closer by the wrist when you got overwhelmed. Soft in a way that pissed him off because he liked it too much. His father just shook his head, amused, like he knew exactly what kind of hell Yeosang was walking into. “Good luck with that, Romeo.”

“Shut up.”

You did not expect this. A casual text? Fine. Him calling you just to “check in”? Annoying, but tolerable. Even him dragging you out on those stupid dates now and then—you could live with that. But this? Showing up to your university?

What the actual hell was wrong with him?

It wasn’t even subtle. Of course it wasn’t subtle. Not with that stupid black car of his parked right at the entrance, shining like a beacon of unwanted attention. Not with him leaning against the door like he was shooting a damn commercial, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses pushed into his hair, looking like every other man’s nightmare and every other woman’s distraction.

And people noticed. Oh, they noticed. Girls whispering, eyes widening, phones coming out to take sneaky pictures. A group of guys near the library basically breaking their necks trying to get a better look. And you?

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. He had the audacity to wave at you. Like this was normal. Like this wasn’t blowing up the very careful life of low attention, quiet exits, don’t talk to me I’m just here to graduate you had built for yourself.

You speed-walked. Not even pretending anymore. Walked up to him so fast it looked like you were about to commit a crime. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, shoving at his shoulder, eyes darting around like you were being followed by paparazzi.

“Picking you up,” he said, casual as you liked, like this wasn’t the most embarrassing moment of your life unfolding in real time.

“Get in the car,” you snapped. “Now.”

And, the bastard, he laughed. Laughed like this was a game.

Still, he obeyed, sliding into the driver’s seat like he was doing you a favor. You yanked the passenger door open, practically diving inside, head ducked like you were avoiding a sniper.

The moment the door shut you rounded on him. “Are you insane?”

“I missed you,” he said, like that explained anything.

“You could’ve— texted me or something! I don’t need the whole uni thinking I’m with someone rich”

“You are with someone rich,” he corrected, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the other resting over the gear like this was a Sunday drive.

The car came to a stop in front of this sleek-looking storefront, all black glass and warm lighting, like one of those places you only see rich people walk into on TV shows. And because your life apparently wasn’t embarrassing enough, Yeosang parked like he owned the building.

You looked at the place, then at him. “What is this?”

“Jewelry,” he answered flatly, already stepping out of the car. Jewelry. Jewelry. As if that explained anything.

Before you could argue or even think, he came around, opened your door, and like a villain from a drama, dragged you inside by the wrist—not harsh, but determined. The cold from the street clung to your clothes, your boots crunching against the salted sidewalk, but the moment you stepped inside—it was warm. Not just warm, but that kind of luxury warm, where the air smells faintly of expensive perfume and everything feels soft, even though nothing should be.

And you? You immediately felt your whole body loosen, just a little. It wasn’t even intentional. The cold had been biting, sharp against your ears and the tip of your nose, and this? This was dangerous. Comforting. You could rot here, honestly. Just melt into one of the velvet chairs and stop existing.

Yeosang noticed.

Of course he noticed. He didn’t miss anything about you. The way your shoulders relaxed. The way you almost—almost—let your head drop forward like you could fall asleep standing there.

He wanted to bite you. No, seriously. Bite. His jaw clenched just thinking about it. You looked too cute. With your knitted cardigan, snow-dusted boots, fidgety fingers already tugging at the sleeves. It was criminal. Illegal. Someone should lock you up for being this dangerous in public.

But he was strong. Barely. Barely holding himself back from grabbing you by the face and just—squishing. Maybe even kissing that stupid annoyed expression off of you. Would’ve been worth it. You were too busy shaking the snow from your sleeves to notice him battling for his sanity two feet away.

An employee walked over, all smiles and professional greetings, asking what you both needed today. You blinked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Yeosang spoke first. “Rings.”

You snapped your head to him. “What?”

“For the engagement,” he said calmly, like duh, obviously. Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You dragged me here for that? You could’ve warned me—”

“And ruin the surprise of watching you panic in real-time? No thanks.” You glared daggers into his skull, wishing you could teleport out of your own skin. “You’re evil.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes lazily drifting over the display cases. “Yours?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Ring size.”

“I—I don’t know!”

His lips quirked—not a smirk, you banned those, but just that annoying, knowing twitch that told you he was enjoying this too much. “Figures. Guess we’ll find out together.” You honestly might combust right there on the jewelry shop floor.

Yeosang walked toward the counter with the same energy as someone about to close a business deal. Calm. Focused. Casual power.

You stayed frozen for a beat, still stunned at the whole situation, until your feet moved on their own. Before you realized it, you were right beside him, eyes locking onto the display.

And that’s when it hit you. The rings. They were gorgeous. Not just shiny-for-the-sake-of-shiny—but delicate, beautiful. Rings with elegant stones, simple but detailed bands, not the overdone flashy stuff but the kind that made you think: if I wore that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so small.

You leaned in without realizing, gaze scanning over each one like a kid at a candy store—but also a little sad. You never let yourself want things like that. What was the point? Your parents could never buy you things like this. You grew up being handed the practical, the necessary. Wanting was a waste of time.

But Yeosang saw it. All of it.

The way your fingers twitched at your sides like you wanted to reach out but didn’t. The slight glassiness in your stare—not tears, but that lost look people got when they wanted something badly but were too used to swallowing it down.

To him? Your eyes were sparkling. Bright, full of that light people only showed when they forgot to hide. He couldn’t stop looking at you. The whole room could’ve caught fire, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

He leaned closer, voice lower. “See something you like?”

You snapped out of it, blinking up at him like you’d just been caught stealing. “I—I was just looking,” you muttered, instantly defensive, shoving your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan. “Didn’t say I wanted anything.”

But Yeosang wasn’t even listening to the words coming out of your mouth. He was too busy cataloguing everything you didn’t say. The spark. The hesitation. The soft way your lip pressed against your teeth when you held back from speaking. You weren’t loud, weren’t clingy, weren’t bratty like he thought you might be—you were quiet. Observant. Someone who shrank herself just to survive.

Yeah, no. You weren’t leaving his sight ever again. “Good,” he said, nonchalantly signaling to the employee. “Because we’re not leaving until you try some on.” You shot him a glare. “What is this, Pretty Woman?” “More like Pretty Annoyed Fiancée.” His eyes flicked down to you, sharp and amused. “C’mon. Humor me.”

You stared at the rows and rows of rings like they were mocking you. Every shape, every color, every shine — how the hell were you supposed to pick one? Your fingers hovered over the glass, not touching, just hovering, like maybe the right one would start glowing or something. But nothing did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. It was that you liked all of them, and also none of them, because your brain kept whispering, what if you pick the wrong one? What if you regret it? You didn’t get choices growing up, not real ones. Every decision was always someone else’s to make for you — your clothes, your food, even your damn hair. The few times you got to choose something, it was met with criticism or disappointment. No wonder your chest felt tight standing here.

“I can’t,” you muttered under your breath, frustrated. “They all look… I don’t know.” Yeosang watched, hands tucked in his pockets, silent. But not with judgment. More like studying. He could see it happening—the way you kept retreating into yourself, that familiar shrinking posture like you were bracing for someone to yell at you for being annoying or difficult.

He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Without warning, he stepped closer, leaning down near your ear, voice lower, firmer. “We’re not doing that here.” You blinked up at him. “What—” “We’re not doing that thing where you act like you’re a burden for existing,” he continued, tone steady but not harsh. “You like something, you say it. You don’t like something, you say it. You don’t have to know what you want right now, but don’t stand here apologizing for breathing.”

Your throat went dry. No one’s ever talked to you like that before. Not mean. Not fake sweet. Just… steady. Like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to move until you heard him. “I’m not apologizing,” you finally muttered, defensive. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re folding into yourself like someone’s about to slap your wrist.”

Your jaw tightened. “That’s just how I stand.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, not convinced for a second.

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to crawl under the display case and disappear. But somewhere deep down, embarrassingly deep, you also wanted to grab his sleeve and lean into him like a tired stray cat. But instead, you just shoved your sleeves up higher and looked at the rings again. “Fine. I’ll try some.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, barely loud enough to catch, but you caught it. And you hated that you liked how it sounded.

You picked up one of the rings, delicate and shimmering with tiny embedded stones. It wasn’t flashy in the way rich people wear things—it was pretty. Simple. Something you could see yourself wearing every day.

But then it hit you like a slap. The price. What the hell were you doing? Just choosing whatever looked nice like you weren’t broke half your life? Like your mom didn’t yell at you for picking snacks that were ₹20 more expensive than the local brand?

You started searching the display, eyes darting, looking for price tags like a madwoman. But it was one of those places. No prices on anything. Which only meant one thing—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Panic started tightening in your chest. You weren’t stupid. You knew this whole setup was expensive. Expensive coat racks, expensive chairs, expensive air. And here you were like some idiot playing dress-up, picking rings you couldn’t afford in three lifetimes. “Uh… what’s the price on these?” you asked quietly, almost hoping he didn’t hear you.

But of course he did.

Yeosang, standing beside you with his annoying posture of “I own everything I touch,” just glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Why?” You gave him a look. “What do you mean why? They’re probably… crazy expensive. I don’t wanna-” “You think I brought you here to worry about prices?” he interrupted, eyes sharp now.

You blinked. “Well, yeah? This isn’t a grocery store, I can’t just-” “Do I look like the kind of man who’s going to let you think about numbers right now?” His tone wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t soft, either. It was just… Yeosang. Calm, slightly amused, slightly annoyed, fully in charge.

You hated how warm your ears felt.

“I don’t—”

“I said pick.”

His voice was low this time. Not rude. Not cold. Just that tone that slides down your spine and makes your stomach clench in the weirdest way. Firm. Dominant, even. But not because he was trying to be macho—it was just who he was. You stood there frozen for a second before whispering, “They don’t even have prices on them—”

“They don’t have prices,” he cut you off, leaning closer so only you could hear, “because the people who shop here don’t need to ask.”

You swore your knees nearly gave out.

“And right now,” he added, hand lightly brushing your lower back as if guiding you forward, “you’re with me. So that makes you one of those people. Pick.” You swallowed hard, looked down at the rings, then up at him.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Or,” he added, eyes glinting, “do you want me to choose for you again?”

God help you—you almost said yes.

The wedding was hectic.

Not in the “fun chaos” way you saw in movies—no, this was suffocating. Your cheeks hurt from fake smiling at people you didn’t even know. The scent of flowers was so strong it made you lightheaded. The jewelry was heavy, and the outfit? Beautiful, yeah, but you could barely breathe.

After the ceremony, when the music was loud and people were starting to eat, you sat in a corner. Just existing. You were chewing blandly on some sweet, not even tasting it. The small cushion under you was probably worth someone’s rent, but you sat like you were at some boring family reunion.

Yeosang did ask you last month if you wanted to invite your friends. You had been fixing your cardigan sleeve at the time and barely looked up. “Don’t really… have any.”

It wasn’t sad when you said it. Just a fact. You said it the way someone says, “Yeah, I don’t like tea,” or “I’ve never been to Goa.” Just plain. But you felt it sting more now, seeing his friends—8 of them—laughing on the other side of the venue like this was just some party.

Meanwhile, you sat with your cousin. The only one in your family who didn’t belittle you constantly or make subtle comments about you being “too old to be unmarried” or “too quiet for your own good.” He didn’t say much either. Probably didn’t even care. But you preferred that. Quiet company was better than company with sharp tongues.

Your eyes wandered across the room. Yeosang was standing with his friends, of course. One of them threw his arm around Yeosang’s shoulder, laughing about something. And then Yeosang glanced at you. It was brief—but he looked. And when his gaze met yours, it wasn’t pity, or amusement, or even awkwardness.

It was… knowing.

Like he knew you didn’t want to be there. Like he understood exactly what it felt like to be surrounded by noise and not feel like you belonged in it. And for a moment—just a second—you didn’t feel alone in that room. Of course, the moment passed when your cousin nudged you and asked if you were going to eat your chicken.

You gave it to him without a word, gaze still lingering on the man across the room who, apparently, now belonged to you.

The ride home was torture. Your jewelry felt like chains, the embroidery on your dress scratched at your skin with every small shift, and your hair—oh god, your scalp was screaming. You sat awkwardly, pressed up against the door, knees at an angle because the fabric wouldn’t let you sit properly.

And Yeosang? He just drove like it was a normal day. Relaxed hand on the steering wheel, other resting against his thigh, occasionally glancing your way. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he noticed you shifting every two minutes like you were sitting on needles.

By the time the car pulled up at the apartment complex, you were two seconds away from just tearing the sleeves off like some dramatic soap opera character.

It was late—too late for nosy neighbors or anyone else to be hanging around. The whole building was quiet except for the low hum of the elevators. You followed him silently, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. And when the elevator doors opened to his place—

Yeah. Pinterest board aesthetic.

It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was intentional. Clean lines, warm lighting—not those harsh white bulbs like your home had. The couch looked like it cost someone’s college tuition, blankets folded neatly on the armrest like it was straight out of a home decor photoshoot. Shelves with actual books. Art that wasn’t mass-produced prints. Little ceramic things on the side tables that you didn’t know the use of but looked expensive anyway.

It didn’t smell like dust or old carpet or fried onions like your house did after your mom cooked. It smelled like sandalwood and something slightly musky. Like him.

You just stood there by the entrance like a misplaced sticker on a clean page. He casually dropped his keys in a tray by the door and started undoing the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up forearms first. “You wanna change?”

Did you wanna change? You were two seconds away from climbing out of your own skin. You nodded silently.

Without a word, he pointed to a hallway. “Third door. Closet’s in there. Pick whatever. Bathroom’s attached.” As if it was nothing to offer someone full access to his wardrobe. As if he hadn’t just brought his brand new wife into his home like someone bringing home takeout. You shuffled off like some fancy-dressed raccoon, already planning which oversized shirt you were gonna steal first.

You padded out of the bathroom, freshly freed from that suffocating dress, now wearing a soft oversized t-shirt that smelled like detergent and someone else’s cologne, paired with pajama pants that pooled a bit at your ankles. Your hair was a mess, makeup slightly smudged from your tired hands rubbing your face. But you couldn’t care less. Comfort first.

Yeosang was already lounging on the couch, changed into a black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right and grey sweatpants, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. Casual. Comfortable. Infuriatingly attractive. You stood there, awkward, arms crossed, twisting your fingers like you always did. “Where… where am I supposed to sleep?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Just pointed with two fingers toward the hallway. “Second room on the right.” You nodded and started walking, but something tugged at you. A gut feeling. Something wasn’t right. Second room…

Curiosity dragged you to peek, and when you opened the door, your stomach dropped. Black sheets. Black pillows. Black walls. Not pitch dark, but matte—sleek. Expensive. His room. You didn’t need to ask. That man screamed black-on-black energy. You stormed back into the living room, eyes narrowed. “That’s your room.”

He looked up from his phone slowly, mouth twitching—not into a smirk, just that faint amusement he always wore when he knew he was pushing your buttons. “Yeah. I know.” You stared at him, blinking. “Why did you point me there?” He set his phone down like this was about to be a full conversation. “We’re married now. Married people share a bed.”

You gawked at him. “That’s not a rule.”

“It is now.”

God, you hated that. That casual dominance. Not loud, not aggressive. Just matter of fact. Like he said it, so it’s law now.

“You’re annoying.”

“You married me.”

“We were arranged.”

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, turning on your heel to storm back to the room. And yet… you didn’t really argue more, did you? Because deep down, under the irritation, you couldn’t help but feel that same stupid warmth creeping up your neck.

If he wanted to be cocky, fine. Two can play that game.

You marched back to his room like you owned the place, plopped yourself dead in the center of the king-sized bed, limbs spread like a starfish, sinking into the expensive sheets like you were born for this. If he wanted drama, you were going to give him cinema. Moments later, the door creaked open, and you heard his footsteps approaching. You didn’t look. You just knew from the way the air shifted, from the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint smell of fabric softener on the bedding.

Silence for a second. Then—“Really?”

You cracked an eye open. He was standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, the faintest curve on his lips—not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “You’re gonna starfish in my bed?”

You yawned, stretching even further like a cat on a sunny windowsill. “You said it was our bed,” you said pointedly, throwing his own words back at him with venom-laced sweetness. “I’m just following instructions.”

He looked at you for a beat longer. Then, very slowly, very annoyingly, grinned. “Fine,” he said, voice deep and lazy. “But if you stay like that, I’ll just sleep on top of you.” Your eyes snapped open fully, heart jolting so fast it almost echoed in your ears. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

It wasn’t even a threat—it was a promise. That calm tone, that glint in his eyes—he meant it.

You groaned and scrambled to your side of the bed, flustered beyond measure, hating him more with every second and somehow hating yourself for feeling heat crawling up your neck. “You’re insane,” you muttered, adjusting the pillow aggressively.

Behind you, you could practically hear his satisfied smirk, even though you weren’t going to turn around to give him the satisfaction of seeing your face.

“Married life, sweetheart,” he murmured, climbing in on his side, making the mattress dip. “Welcome to it.”

You didn’t know what devil possessed you to say it, but the words just slipped out, dripping with faux innocence as you looked straight at him.

“I have weird sleeping habits,” you murmured casually, adjusting the blanket like it was the most normal conversation. “Like… I’ll keep rubbing my leg on yours until you put your leg on top of mine.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look at him yet, but you could feel the way his posture stiffened beside you, like your words short-circuited something in that annoyingly sharp brain of his. Then—softly, almost too casual—came his voice, deep and quiet, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You slowly turned your head to him, blinking, pretending to be confused. “What do you mean?” His jaw tensed slightly, like he was holding back a laugh—or something else. “I mean—” he leaned in just a bit, enough for his voice to drop that octave lower that made your stupid heart stutter, “—if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna start wondering if you want me to put my leg over yours.”

You hated that heat crawling up your skin, hated that he was good at this stupid game, hated that he was better at it than you, hated that you wanted to keep going anyway.

So you did.

“Why would I want that?” you shot back, voice steady, gaze sharp but your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s just a habit.”

“Right,” he said, laying his head on the pillow now, one arm tucked behind his head, looking absolutely unbothered. “Just a habit.”

You laid down too, facing the other way, stubborn. The tension between you two was thick, and you both knew it. Then, after a beat, you felt it—the slow weight of his leg draping lazily over yours. “I’m just helping with your habit,” he murmured, so close you felt the warmth of his breath by your ear.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice flat, not backing down. “It’s true. I can’t sleep unless someone’s leg is over mine. And I always hug something too. It’s like—comfort or whatever. Dunno. Been like that since forever.”

Honestly, you thought that would be the final straw. That he’d roll his eyes, scoff, maybe throw a pillow at you and head to the couch like any sane person would. Maybe you were hoping for that. Maybe you didn’t want to admit how weirdly safe this felt. Either way, you braced yourself for irritation, for that cocky remark, for something.

But nothing came.

Instead—you missed it—the way Yeosang stared at you like he was physically restraining himself. Like some internal monologue was yelling don’t say it, don’t call her cute, don’t ruin it, don’t scare her off. But how could he not? You? Looking like that? Saying stuff like that? In his bed? Wrapped in his blanket, in his shirt? Talking about hugging things like you weren’t already curled up like a goddamn kitten?

He was having a crisis.

“Okay,” he finally said, calm. Too calm. Suspiciously calm. You frowned, glancing back at him. “Okay?” “Yeah.” He adjusted slightly, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Leg’s already over yours. Go ahead. Hug something.”

You glared at him. “I don’t have anything to hug.” His lips quirked slightly at that. Barely. But you caught it.

“You’ve got two arms, don’t you?” You wanted to slap him. Genuinely. But also—not really.

Fine. FINE.

You stubbornly grabbed the pillow, hugging it tight to your chest and trying to sleep. Silent. Annoyed. Flustered. All of it. And Yeosang? He laid there, eyes on the ceiling, teeth sinking into his lip just to physically restrain himself from smiling like an idiot. If only you knew how close he was to dragging you into his chest just to see how flustered you’d get then.

Cute. Way too cute. He was so screwed.

You were out. Completely gone, knocked out like you hadn’t had proper sleep in weeks. Leg tucked neatly under his like you said you would, hugging his pillow like your life depended on it, your face mushed against the fabric, lips slightly parted in a soft pout you didn’t even know you had.

Yeosang was having a spiritual crisis. What was this? What was this feeling? Cuteness aggression? Probably. He felt like he could actually bite you. Not to hurt you—god no—but just to—argh—because how could one human look that cute doing absolutely nothing?

His jaw flexed, teeth grinding softly as he stared at you, eyes darting between the way your fingers curled into the pillow, to the little crease forming on your cheek from the way you were pressed against it.

It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be allowed. He felt like punching the wall just to let some of the weird, frustrated fondness out of his system. The urge to squeeze you like some plush toy was nearly overwhelming.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even know.

Didn’t know the way you’d completely tangled yourself around his leg without a second thought. Didn’t know how absolutely tiny you looked curled up in his bed. Didn’t know how soft your breathing sounded in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

Yeosang stared at the ceiling for a good minute, breathing slow, eyes closed, fighting the very cellular urge in his bones to scoop you up and just—keep you. Like, forever. Pocket you. Protect you. Instead, he carefully shifted, tucking the blanket around you a little tighter, letting your leg stay right where it was. He glanced at you one last time before shutting his own eyes.

Completely, utterly ruined by the universe. Absolutely smitten. And you? You just drooled a little on his pillow.

Perfect.

Morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, soft and annoyingly gentle. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brightness—and then it hit you.

You were holding something warm. Something that breathed. It wasn’t a pillow. It was him.

Your heart stopped for a solid second. Somewhere between falling asleep and now, the pillow had betrayed you—replaced by Yeosang. Your arm was across his torso, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt. Worse, one of your legs had completely decided that boundaries were optional and had hooked over his, practically hugging him like some oversized teddy bear.

What the actual—

You moved so carefully, like one wrong twitch would make the earth explode. Slowly untangling yourself, your breath hitched when you saw his hand resting lazily over your arm, like he’d pulled you closer in his sleep. That just made it worse.

Finally, finally, you untangled yourself, slipping out of bed like a secret agent on a stealth mission. The floor was cold beneath your feet, but your entire body was flushed with embarrassment anyway. Without sparing him another glance, you practically ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

The second you were alone, you let out a silent scream, face buried in your hands. God. Why. Why you. You turned the shower on, letting the sound of running water drown out your embarrassment. Maybe you could drown in it too while you were at it.

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Yeosang cracked one eye open, staring at the ceiling with the smallest ghost of a grin.

“Thought so,” he whispered to himself. That damn pillow never stood a chance.

Yeosang lay there, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. His hand absentmindedly touched the part of his shirt where your hand had been curled into just moments ago. The warmth was gone, but the imprint of it — of you — stuck like some permanent tattoo on his chest.

What the hell was this feeling? No, seriously, what was this feeling?

He had always thought love was supposed to be a slow thing. Like aging whiskey. Like taking your sweet time to ruin someone in a chess game. But this? This felt like a truck hit him. A small, anxious kitten-shaped truck with pouty lips and messy hair in the morning.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. You were barely in his life for what? Few months? And yet here he was, already thinking like some washed-up romantic lead in a drama. It wasn’t even funny anymore.

He dragged a hand across his face and groaned softly, staring at the bathroom door where steam was now rolling from the gap under the frame. The thought of you in there — wearing that sleepy pout, probably muttering under your breath about your parents or about how annoying he was — it made his chest feel tight in the weirdest, most annoying way.

Was this how his dad felt about his mom? Cause that man always did dumb shit just to annoy her, but never went a day without holding her hand.

He was whipped. Fully, entirely, embarrassingly whipped. And he wasn’t even fighting it anymore. Hell, he was enjoying it. “I swear to god,” he muttered to himself, eyes shutting like he was trying to meditate through the emotional breakdown, “if she ever figures this out, I’m finished.” But knowing you? You wouldn’t. You were too busy folding napkins, avoiding eye contact, acting like you weren’t the most precious thing to ever annoy the hell out of him.

And god—he liked having a wife. A wife.

He let that word roll around in his head like a marble, both terrifying and oddly satisfying. If you stayed in that shower any longer, he might just combust. And honestly? He’d die smiling.

You came out of the bathroom with damp hair sticking slightly to the sides of your face, the oversized t-shirt hanging loose on your frame, sleeves falling a little off your shoulders, pajama pants riding up slightly at the ankles. You rubbed your hand against your face, trying to wipe off the last remnants of sleep, but honestly, your head was still foggy. You weren’t even fully functioning yet.

And there he was. Still in bed.

Liar. You could tell he wasn’t sleeping anymore. Before, he was on his back, legs spread out like some rich brat on vacation. Now? He was on his side, perfectly composed like he was acting asleep. And he was good at it. But not good enough for you.

With irritation bubbling up — mostly because you were up, and why should you be the only one awake suffering in awkward new-wife-land — you stomped over to the bed and stood over him with crossed arms. You stared at the messy strands of hair falling into his stupidly handsome face. His lashes were thick, unfairly so. And his lips slightly parted like he wasn’t living rent-free in your nerves already. He looked expensive even while pretending to be unconscious. Ugh.

Annoyed, you bent down and gave his shoulder a shove. “Wake up.”

No response. Another shove. Harder this time. “Wake up.” Finally, his eyes opened. Lazy, slow, like he was waking up from a peaceful dream of girls feeding him grapes or something. His voice was rough from sleep, deep in that way that made your brain short circuit for a second. “What?” he rasped, like you were disturbing his peace.

Your mouth opened, about to say something snarky, but then you paused. Why was he hot like this? Who gave him permission to be hot right after waking up? Hair a mess, voice low, sleep still hanging off his features like a silk sheet draped across expensive furniture. You forgot what you were gonna say for a second. Caught yourself blinking at him like an idiot.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. A smug little grin spread on his lips, lazy and cocky at the same time, like he was the main character in every stupid romance movie. You cleared your throat and stood up straight again, brushing invisible dust off your pants. “What… what do you want for breakfast?”

You hated how quiet you sounded. Like you were suddenly soft just because he was attractive. Which — you were soft, but he didn’t have to know that. He sat up properly now, running a hand through his hair like he was in a commercial. “You’re making breakfast?” he asked, raising a brow.

You shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? I’m awake.” He leaned back on his arms, eyes not leaving you for a second. “I didn’t marry a housewife, you know.” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not—” you stopped yourself. “I’m just making breakfast because I’m hungry.”

“Yours?” he said suddenly, tilting his head.

You blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast. Yours or mine?”

You frowned. “...What’s the difference?”

He grinned, teeth showing this time. “Yours is probably, like, toast or boiled eggs or something. Mine’s pancakes, bacon, syrup. Fancy shit.”

You deadpanned. “Who the hell eats pancakes on a weekday?”

“I do,” he answered smoothly, without missing a beat. “I’m rich, remember?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your own brain. “Fine. Yours. Whatever. Pancakes.”

Yeosang stepped into the bathroom, the door creaking softly behind him as he entered the faint warmth she left behind. The mirror was still fogged at the corners, drops of condensation trailing down lazily like the room itself hadn’t quite woken up yet. The air smelled faintly of her—something floral, something sweet, and something unfamiliar but weirdly comforting.

He exhaled through his nose, steady and controlled, walking up to the sink. His eyes automatically landed on the toothbrush holder. His black toothbrush standing tall, firm, exactly where he always kept it.

And beside it… her pink one.

Smaller, softer looking, like it didn’t belong. But it did. It really did. He stared at them both for a second, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn faintly together—not confused, but thoughtful. Something about seeing them together in the same cup twisted something warm in his chest. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fireworks or explosions or heartbeats racing so fast he couldn’t breathe. It was… steady. Fulfilling. Quiet in the most dangerous way.

He loved it.

Not the pink color or the softness of it. He loved what it meant. Her using his things like they were hers now. The shared space. The toothbrushes leaning like companions. It was stupid—something small, something everyday—but it was theirs. And for someone like him, someone who always knew how to calculate every move, who always knew how to observe and stay steps ahead, this feeling was something he couldn’t predict.

He picked up his own toothbrush, fingers brushing against the handle of hers. He stared at that pink brush for a second longer, a lazy grin curling on his lips before shaking his head at himself. Who the hell gets soft over a toothbrush?

Apparently, him.

He started brushing his teeth, leaning over the sink, letting the familiar minty sting wake him up properly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought—he could get used to this. He wanted to get used to this. Her hair clogging the drain, her random skincare bottles invading his shelves, her leaving the bathroom all steamy and warm like this every morning.

It was stupid. Domestic. And yet… it felt like power in the quietest, most dangerous form. And Yeosang was nothing if not addicted to power. Especially if it looked like her.

He came down wearing a black fitted turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, paired with tailored dark slacks that hugged his waist just right. His silver watch gleamed faintly against his wrist, hair slightly messy from towel-drying but falling just perfectly like it was meant to. He didn’t put in effort—but somehow looked like he walked straight out of a photoshoot. Sharp jawline, long legs, expensive cologne that smelled like trouble and money.

And then—that smell hit him.

Pancakes. Sweet, buttery, thick in the air like a hug you didn’t know you needed. Warm vanilla mixed with something fruity. And then, there she was. (Do pancakes even have scents? Idk)

Hair tied up lazily, a few strands falling loose, wearing one of his black aprons that looked like it was made to fit her. Bare feet padding softly on the kitchen floor, navigating his sleek, modern, borderline cold kitchen like she’d been living there her whole life. She didn’t hesitate with the drawers, the utensils, even reaching up to grab plates from his overhead cabinets with a little difficulty like she knew where everything was. Like she belonged.

He leaned against the wall for a second, arms folded, watching her. His kitchen was matte black, sharp edges, minimalist design, way too clean for someone who actually lived here. It was the kind of kitchen that screamed money but not home. Until now.

Until her.

Now it felt warm, felt used. And for some reason, that domestic image made something stir in his chest. Not in a soft, sentimental way—no, Yeosang didn’t do sentimental. It was more like—possession. Admiration. Like—yeah, that’s mine. His quiet, irritating, soft-voiced girl, right there, using his kitchen like she owned it. And she didn’t even realize how good she looked like that. The apron tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up as she worked carefully over the stove, flipping pancakes with precision.

How the fuck did she even know where everything was? He barely cooked. Eating out was his thing. Restaurants. Friends. Loud tables. Fancy places. But this? This made him crave home-cooked meals in a way he didn’t know he could. Made him crave coming home to something like this. And the worst part? He didn’t know whether he wanted the pancakes more or her. Probably her.

Definitely her.

He didn’t even realize she’d caught him staring. Sharp reflexes, top of his class, trained to pick up on the tiniest shit—and yet here he was, caught like some lovesick loser at the doorway of his own damn kitchen. She didn’t make a big deal out of it though. Just glanced over her shoulder, flipping another pancake like it was routine. “Oh, you’re here. Sit down or something.”

He blinked for a second, caught between embarrassment and awe, and then muttered under his breath, “Yes, ma’am.” Low enough that she wouldn’t catch it. Good. His pride was intact. Barely.

When she finished, she casually served two plates—one in front of him, one in front of her. No big presentation, no waiting for him to start first like those rich girls he was used to. Just sat down, scooted her chair in, and started eating like it was another regular morning. Like they’d been doing this for years. God, why did that feel nice?

The pancakes were good. Like, scary good. Slightly crisp on the edges, soft in the middle, syrup on the side, not drowned in it like an amateur. She knew what she was doing. Each bite made him feel weirdly cared for, and he didn’t like that one bit. It felt… vulnerable. Exposed. He wasn’t used to this shit. Halfway through, she lifted her gaze to him. Not fully—just under her lashes, barely holding eye contact before glancing away again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” she said softly, cutting into her pancake with that annoying, neat little precision of hers. “What do you actually do? Like… all day?” He chewed slowly, buying time. No one ever asked him that. Not seriously. Everyone just knew who he was. Son of that family. Part of that business. It was understood. Expected. Even his friends didn’t bother asking.

But her? She didn’t care about any of that. She genuinely didn’t know—or maybe she did but wanted his version of it. Wanted to hear it from him, not just whispered behind closed doors or Googled with a headline next to his face. So, he swallowed, set his fork down carefully, leaned back slightly in the chair.

“What do I do?” he repeated, eyes glancing over her face like he was trying to decide how much of himself he wanted to give her. “I manage the boring rich guy stuff, apparently. Assets. Investments. Real estate. Help with family business bullshit.”

She hummed softly, almost dismissively. “Sounds annoying.” That caught him off guard. He huffed a laugh through his nose. “It is annoying.”

They sat in silence for a second, just the quiet sounds of cutlery scraping against plates.

Then she added, still not fully looking at him, “Sounds lonely too.”

That made something sharp twist in his chest. Annoyingly accurate. He stared at her, at the little crease between her brows as she focused on cutting another piece, at the way she subtly folded the napkin next to her hand without thinking about it. Always fidgeting, always folding.

She didn’t even mean it like that. It was supposed to be just a question. A throwaway thought while she was chewing, cutting another bite, syrup glistening against the fork like she was focused on literally anything else except him. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t going to completely rearrange the wires in his damn brain. “After I graduate… can I see your office or something?”

Just that. Simple. Plain. Like she was asking to borrow a pen.

But Yeosang? Yeosang heard that in HD. Dolby Atmos. Surround sound. Can I see your office echoed through his skull like she’d just proposed marriage again or something. Why was that affecting him so much? Why was his immediate internal response Yes. Yes, of course. Come sit on my lap in the stupid leather chair. Take over the entire desk, I don’t even like working, I’ll retire now, I’ll build you a whole new office, you can have my whole name—

He blinked. Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous. She didn’t even know what she’d done. But he couldn’t just say all that, obviously. He couldn’t wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she was the cutest thing alive for wanting to be in his space, in his world. He couldn’t tell her that no one—no one—had ever even bothered to ask about that part of his life. His office. His work. His real world outside of the titles and money.

So, he kept it cool. Cool and bored. Always the bored one. Mr. Nothing Affects Me.

“Sure,” he said, cutting another piece of pancake, stabbing it with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth like that would hide the feral urge he felt to grab her face and kiss the absolute life out of her. “Really?” she asked, finally glancing at him properly this time, eyes sharp and unreadable. “It’s not like a private office?”

Private office? Private office? Woman, you’re in my home. You cooked in my kitchen. You slept with your entire leg tangled around mine. And you’re asking about privacy?

He swallowed. “It’s my office. I decide what’s private.”

Another bite. Another casual shrug. Another act like he wasn’t two seconds from folding completely. Folding like the damn napkin she kept playing with next to her plate. “Sure,” he said again, this time softer. Almost like a promise. Almost like anything you ask me, ever—I’ll give it to you.

You both didn’t know one thing. You both were falling.

Maybe Yeosang knew it. Kinda. Somewhere in the background of his usually sharp, calculating mind — the same one trained to notice weaknesses in deals and flaws in contracts — there was this soft hum, like static turning into a love song. He knew something was happening. Maybe not fully, maybe not yet in words, but the pull toward you was starting to feel less like curiosity and more like instinct. Breathing. Natural. Familiar in a way nothing else had ever been.

But you? You didn’t know. You didn’t realize what was happening. You didn’t realise that while you sat here with syrup on your fork and pancake crumbs on your fingers, you were starting to heal something that he didn’t break.

Yeosang didn’t grow up with softness. His mother was the only person who offered that to him, that kind of gentle warmth that made a person feel safe, and when she left—so did that warmth. His father tried to raise him with ambition and success, not comfort. Not home. Yeosang had everything: wealth, education, sharp looks, friends who could buy out entire hotels on a dare—but not this. Not this thing he was starting to feel around you.

And you didn’t realize that you were going to get something you never thought possible, either. That here, you were healing too. Because all your life, you were raised in pieces. Your parents clipping parts of you before you could even grow. Told that your interests were silly. That your opinions didn’t matter because you were a girl. Always “too much” or “not enough.” They called it upbringing. Respect. But it wasn’t. It was shrinking. You adjusted. You bent around it like vines climbing a crumbling wall, finding space wherever you could, making a way even when there wasn’t one.

But here?

Here, no one was going to call you too much. Here, no one was going to shrink you down into something manageable. Here, no one was going to make you feel small for having hobbies or dreams or random thoughts that didn’t make sense. Here—you weren’t going to adjust anymore. You were going to thrive.

And you didn’t even know it yet.

Days blended into something that almost resembled normal life. Morning routines settled. Nights had their own rhythm. You handled your stuff—university lectures, deadlines, notes scribbled on the backs of receipts when you couldn’t find proper paper. He handled his—meetings, calls, those frustrating dinners where people tried to get on his good side for favors he never planned to give.

The two of you orbiting each other like satellites, not colliding, not quite distant either. Somewhere between strangers and something else you both refused to name yet.

But then there were nights like this.

Nights where assignments piled higher than your patience. Nights where caffeine felt like medicine, where eye bags were unavoidable, and sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with books spread around you felt like survival mode. The glow of your laptop screen threw harsh shadows across your face, highlighting the slight furrow between your brows, your bottom lip caught lightly between your teeth as you tried to figure out whatever academic nonsense your professor thought was appropriate for midnight.

Yeosang came home late that night. He had texted you. ‘Running late. Don’t wait up.’

He didn’t expect much. Maybe you’d already be in bed, curled up, hair a mess, hugging that ridiculous pillow you’d claimed as yours. Or maybe you’d be curled on the couch, knocked out with some random video playing softly in the background. But no.

He walked in, loosened his tie, and paused.

You were awake. Awake and working. Glasses slipping down your nose. Notebook covered in tiny handwriting, pages curling at the corners. For a split second, irritation sparked in him. Not at you—at himself. Why were you still up? He told you not to wait. And yet—

Then he saw it. The laptop open to some assignment, words scrolling by, academic jargon that even he didn’t have the mental energy to pretend to understand. You weren’t waiting for him. You were fighting a deadline.

Silently, he toed off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves, and went to the kitchen.

The machine hissed softly as the coffee brewed. The comforting, bitter scent filling the sharp black lines of his modern kitchen again. This time, coffee. Warm, grounding, familiar. He made it just the way you liked—two spoons of sugar, a splash of milk. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Balanced. Like you.

He poured one cup for you, one for himself, and padded back across the living room, setting the mug down next to your scattered pens and half-crumpled sticky notes.

You barely noticed at first, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you,” eyes still on the screen.

But Yeosang? He just stood there for a second, hand in his pocket, watching you. Watching how you stubbornly refused to give up, even with dark circles forming under your eyes, even with your knee bouncing from stress, even with your exhaustion creeping in like slow fog.

“Can I help?” His voice was soft, breaking through the quiet hum of the laptop fan and your messy thoughts. You blinked, finally tearing your eyes away from the screen to look at him properly.

Help? You weren’t used to that word being offered like that. Especially not for things like your work. No one really asked if they could help—you were always expected to figure it out yourself, get through it, push harder. Alone. You stared at him for a second, eyebrows furrowed slightly like you were trying to figure out if he was joking or being sarcastic. But he just sat there, leaning forward, coffee resting on his knee, expression neutral but serious. Waiting.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want help. Just… it felt weird. Someone wanting to take on something with you instead of at you or despite you. But you were tired. And behind all your stubbornness, you knew you could use it.

“…You can help with a couple things,” you murmured, barely above your breath.

His lips twitched slightly at that—almost a smile, almost—but he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. Just sat up straighter, pushed his coffee aside, and motioned for you to show him.

It wasn’t even difficult stuff. Mostly organization. Proofreading. Finding references. And Yeosang, for all his cocky behavior and sharp-tongue antics, was ridiculously smart. He picked up on things quickly, helping you untangle confusing parts, correcting small mistakes you didn’t even notice you were making in your sleepy haze.

With him there, the work didn’t feel like a mountain anymore. It felt doable. Manageable. Like he was one more set of steady hands holding up the mess before it could collapse.

You didn’t talk much. Just handed things to him, pointed at the screen when you needed help cross-checking something, let him scroll through research tabs while you typed furiously to finish the parts only you could write. By the time you reached the end, you realized it had gone faster than you expected.

And… it didn’t feel heavy anymore.

As you saved the file and finally let yourself lean back against the cushions, stretching your aching fingers, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His sleeves were still rolled up, tie loose, hair falling slightly over his forehead. He looked relaxed. Like this wasn’t a burden. Like he didn’t mind being here at all.

“Thanks,” you said finally, voice quieter than before.

He just hummed, reaching for his now slightly-cold coffee again. “Told you,” he muttered, taking a sip, “I’m not just here to look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at that, a small breath of laughter escaping despite yourself. And for the first time in a while, the stress didn’t feel suffocating. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were carrying everything alone.

But now you didn’t want to move. Not even a little. Your body felt like it weighed triple, bones filled with sand, limbs heavy from the hours of grinding through assignments, deadlines, typing until your knuckles hurt. The soft hum of the laptop fan was starting to blend with the background noise of the apartment—the occasional creak of the walls, the soft ticking of the clock. So you just laid down right there on the couch, curling slightly onto your side, pressing your cheek into the cushions like they could swallow you whole.

“You shouldn’t sleep here,” his voice broke through gently. Not nagging. Not demanding. Just a low, careful suggestion. “It’s bad for your back.”

“Yeah…” you mumbled. You knew. Of course you knew. But knowing and moving were two different things. The soft, tired sound of your own voice felt distant to you, like it was coming from somewhere underwater. “M’fine… Just…gimme a minute…”

And then, you felt it. Arms sliding under you, one beneath your knees, the other curling easily around your shoulders. The couch shifted beneath you as he moved, and suddenly, you were moving too. Your eyes snapped open halfway, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but sharp with shock. What the—

He picked you up. Like it was nothing. Like you weighed absolutely nothing. Effortless. Smooth. As if this was something he did on a daily basis, as if you weren’t dead weight with tangled limbs and messy hair and exhaustion practically dripping off your skin.

You knew he worked out. You’d seen his arms, the way his shirts sometimes hugged his shoulders, the way his forearms tensed slightly when he rolled up his sleeves or carried grocery bags with one hand like they were weightless.

But this? This was a whole new experience.

You blinked up at him, groggy but vaguely scandalized, too drained to fight him on it but still indignant enough to grumble, “I can walk, you know…”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he muttered back, voice lazy but steady, gaze fixed ahead as he carefully maneuvered you toward the bedroom. His jaw was set, clean lines of his face shadowed by the low lighting, and that stupid, faint grin on his lips—like he was enjoying this a little too much.

You were too tired to argue more, head lolling lightly against his shoulder, his cologne filling your nose. Clean, sharp, warm.

“Put me down,” you murmured weakly, only half meaning it.

“No.”

That’s all he said. Just no. Simple. Firm. No teasing this time. Just—no. Because you were tired, and because he wanted to carry you. Because whether you liked it or not, this was part of who he was now—your husband. And part of that role, apparently, included picking you up like a princess when you worked yourself to exhaustion doing university assignments at midnight.

You didn’t realize when your eyes slipped closed again, but the warmth of his hold and the soft shift of the apartment around you made it easier.

He set you down gently on the bed, the mattress dipping softly under your weight. The second you hit the covers, your whole body sighed in relief, muscles unraveling like thread, tension slipping out of your shoulders as your eyelids fluttered heavily.

You barely registered him leaving, the soft rustle of fabric as he changed, the faint clink of his watch being set down somewhere on the nightstand. The apartment was quiet except for those soft, everyday sounds—the kind that made a space feel lived in. Real. And then the bed dipped again, the warmth of him close, his scent following like gravity itself. Before you could fully register it, his arm snaked around your waist, firm but not rough, and he pulled you in.

Your eyes opened halfway, brows pinching lightly. “Yeosang…”

“No complaining,” he murmured, voice low, brushing near your ear. “I know you need it.”

That shut you up real quick—not because he was being cocky, but because… he was right. You did need it. And that annoyed you more than anything, how well he was starting to read you without effort. Like this connection was some secret language only he could pick up on while you were still figuring it out. You wanted to argue. Maybe just out of habit. Maybe because that independent part of you hated the idea of needing someone this badly. But… God, it felt good. It felt safe. Not like being trapped, not like obligation—but like comfort. Like warmth. Like someone saying, It’s okay. You don’t have to hold everything up alone tonight.

So you didn’t say anything after that. Just let yourself sink into the pull of his chest against your back, his hand splayed warm over your stomach, his steady breathing brushing against the back of your neck. Everything fit a little too perfectly, like puzzle pieces you didn’t even know belonged to the same set.

And that night… that night, you both slept better than you ever had since this whole marriage thing started. No weird dreams. No uncomfortable tossing and turning. No stress lingering sharp at the edges of your thoughts.

Just… sleep.

You didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, somewhere in the middle of the night, your body betrayed your stubbornness. You woke up curled against him, face pressed gently to his chest, his scent filling your lungs like something you’d been secretly addicted to. His arm—God, his arm—was draped around you, hand cupped protectively over the back of your head like instinct. Like he was shielding you, even in sleep. And it wasn’t awkward. That’s what surprised you most. It felt natural. Not forced, not weird, just… like safety.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, hear the soft, even rhythm of his breathing. And as much as you hated to admit it… he looked pretty like this. No, scratch that—annoyingly pretty. Long lashes resting against sharp cheekbones, lips slightly parted, hair tousled from sleep in that effortless way guys pull off without even trying.

Gross. Beautiful. Disgusting. Infuriating.

You blinked a few times, brain slowly booting up for the day, before carefully untangling yourself like a thief in the night. His arm loosened its grip like he was reluctant even in his sleep, but eventually let you go. You got up, showered, got dressed, doing your whole morning routine as quietly as possible. University wasn’t going to wait for you to bask in your soft domestic crisis. And you definitely weren’t about to stand there and gawk at his stupidly handsome sleeping face for too long. Absolutely not.

By the time you were adjusting the strap of your bag, tying your hair properly, you heard movement from the bedroom. A few minutes later, Yeosang walked out, freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, wearing that clean, crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled just enough to make you want to scream into a pillow. Grey slacks, black watch, rings back on his fingers, that usual lazy confidence laced into his posture.

He looked at you, eyes dropping down briefly to your outfit, then meeting your gaze again like it was nothing.

“I’ll pick you up later,” he said, fixing one of his cuffs. “After uni.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Date,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “We deserve one.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what reaction you were supposed to give. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, say something sarcastic—but another part… another part felt weirdly happy about it. Happy in that annoying, fluttery kind of way you weren’t ready to admit yet. So you settled for a quiet, “Okay,” adjusting your bag again, looking at the floor to hide the small smile trying to creep up on your lips.

“Good,” he said, smirking now—but this time it wasn’t cocky. It was something softer, warmer. “I’ll see you later, then.” And as you left the apartment, the weight of the day felt lighter somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t dreading things as much anymore.

Yeosang sat in the car, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping faintly against his thigh. The sun was starting to dip, casting that golden hour glow over the edges of buildings, making everything look softer, warmer, like a scene out of some movie. But Yeosang wasn’t paying attention to the scenery. Not really.He’d had a day. Meetings that dragged. Calls that felt like someone was reading tax documents aloud just to torture him. Endless signatures, fake smiles, the whole act. All he wanted right now was peace. Quiet. A good meal. And you.

A proper date with his cute wife, nothing more, nothing less. Just you sitting across from him in that way you always did—half avoiding eye contact, sleeves of your cardigan slipping past your wrists, probably fidgeting with your napkin again. That was the peace he wanted. Not luxury. Not power. Just that.

But then…

His eyes narrowed. He saw you. And you weren’t alone. There was a guy. Some nobody. Same-age, maybe older, walking beside you, too close for Yeosang’s liking, talking like he knew you well. And you—God—you were smiling. Not the full kind, not the ones Yeosang secretly hoarded like precious stones, but still smiling. Like you were comfortable. Yeosang’s jaw tightened. His fingers, the ones tapping against his thigh, stopped moving. What pissed him off wasn’t just the guy talking. It was the way he was talking to you. That casual, easygoing posture, like he thought he was funny. Like he thought he was charming. Like he thought he deserved to be walking next to you, making you smile like that.

And maybe you didn’t even realize. Maybe you were just being polite. But Yeosang saw it all. The way the guy leaned slightly in when he spoke. The way his hands moved while explaining something, animated like he wanted your full attention on him.

Yeosang didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The expensive black car, polished to perfection, stood out like a punch to the face in front of the university gates. People kept throwing glances, some doing double-takes, whispering. Whose car is that? Who’s that guy? But Yeosang didn’t care. Let them look. Let them talk. His gaze stayed locked on you and that idiot next to you. Calm on the outside. A storm brewing underneath. You didn’t know it yet.

You spotted him the moment he stepped out of the car. Yeosang wasn’t the type to make a show of himself, but somehow—he did. Maybe it was the way he stood, sharp lines of his suit catching the light, hair pushed back neatly, expression unreadable. Maybe it was the car behind him, polished black, practically humming money and influence. Maybe it was just him. Either way, heads were turning, eyes flicking between him and you like something wasn’t adding up.

You swallowed, nerves prickling up your spine. Before you could react, before you could even introduce anyone properly, he was already moving. His hand found yours—firm, warm, possessive without being rough. It startled you. Not because of the touch—you were used to that by now—but because of the timing. Calculated. Precise. Like everything he did. “This your friend?” he said calmly, looking not at you, but directly at the guy.

Before you could speak, Yeosang gave the poor guy a small, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, tightening his grip on your hand just slightly. “I’m her husband.”

And then, for good measure, he added his name. Kang Yeosang.

You could see the shift instantly. The recognition behind the guy’s eyes. The flicker of panic mixed with surprise. Everyone in this city knew that name—or at least the ones who mattered did. Not just because of the wealth, but because of what that name meant in certain circles. Reputation. Power. Authority. Not just a businessman—something more. Something sharp underneath the polished surface.

“Oh,” was all the guy could manage, awkward, unsure of where to put his hands now, stepping back half a pace instinctively. “Yeah,” Yeosang finished softly, expression pleasant, dangerous in its restraint. “Good talk.”

Without another word, he guided you toward the passenger seat, opened the door like a gentleman, helped you in, and shut it carefully behind you before rounding the car and getting in himself. He didn’t look at you at first. Just started the engine, pulled out of the lot with practiced ease.

What you didn’t see, however, was the slight tilt of his head down as he flicked open his messages. His fingers moved swiftly, effortlessly, typing out the guy’s name, sending it to an unknown number. No emojis. No fluff. Just a clean instruction.

A name and a dot. That’s all it took.

Then the phone slipped back into his pocket like nothing happened.

He glanced at you finally, features softening just slightly now that the irritation had passed, hand casually resting on the gear shift..

"You ready?” he asked, like none of that had just happened. You didn’t answer immediately. Your heart was still somewhere between confused, flustered, and maybe—a little impressed. And Yeosang?

He was perfectly at ease. Because no one touches what’s his.

The date itself was simple, nothing extravagant—just the way you liked it. Dinner somewhere not too loud, warm lighting, food you could pronounce, chairs that didn’t make your back ache. He didn’t drag you to some elite chef’s private villa or a high-rise with twelve spoons and seven forks. Just… normal. Comfortable.

But of course, it wasn’t normal, not with him sitting across from you like that. Rolling up his sleeves just enough to show off the veins in his forearms, leaning forward slightly when you spoke, giving you that attention that made your stomach twist in a way you’d pretend was annoyance—but you knew better now. You were far too aware of his every move, his subtle glances at your lips when you talked, his faint smile whenever you fidgeted with the sleeves of your cardigan or neatly arranged your utensils.

And he was losing it.

Internally.

Watching you talk softly about nothing—ordering dessert, choosing between tea or coffee, or even just adjusting your bracelet—like it was the most adorable thing in the world. You didn’t even have to try. That’s what drove him crazy. You could breathe and he’d be on the verge of melting into his seat like some fool.

But what really started creeping under your skin wasn’t the food or the conversation or even the comfort of the evening.

It was after.

Back in university, you started noticing something odd. The guy—the one from the parking lot—gone. No hellos in the hallway, no passing glances, no awkward waves after that weird encounter with Yeosang. Vanished. Just… gone.

You weren’t naïve. You noticed patterns. You noticed behavior. You might’ve been quiet, but you weren’t stupid.

So, you asked him. One evening, after he’d made both of you coffee, when the room was quiet and warm, you just casually dropped it like spare change on a counter.

“By the way… that guy I was talking to last week? Haven’t seen him around.”

His reaction was instant, which already gave him away. That sharp, barely-there twitch of his lips. His fingers curling ever so slightly around the mug handle.

And then—he laughed.

That annoying, deep, pretty laugh that was all throat and no apologies.

“Don’t know,” he said with a shrug, voice lazy, too smooth to be true. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Liar. Absolute liar.

And that’s what did it. That’s what made you fall.

Not the expensive car. Not the handsome face. Not even the whole husband thing.

It was that. That dumb, cocky, lying laugh paired with the soft way he helped you out of your coat or refilled your water glass without saying anything. The combination of someone who could ruin a man’s whole life in one text but still remember that you liked your toast slightly burnt.

It wasn’t fair.

And maybe, just maybe, you found yourself falling.

Not all at once. Just—a little more.

Dangerous. Warm. Annoying.

Yours.

Taglist: @jujusreader @nkryuki @lover-ofallthingspretty

Dividers from @/cafekitsune

#☾ moonie’s reblogs ☽#ateez #☾ moonie’s bias ☽#ateez x reader #kang yeosang

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