notkrispy

[notkrispy]

Too Good to be Fake

Pairing: Jaemin x reader Description: If there was one thing Na Jaemin was known for, it was being a fuckboy with no interest in commitment. If there was one thing you knew him for, it was being your best friend…and long-time crush. When his group of guy friends gets tired of the roster Jaemin seems to be running through, they propose a deal - they’d each give him $100 if he could settle down with one girl for at least three months. But that was easy money to Jaemin. After all, he could just fake-date you. Content warnings: swearing, talk about sex, mentions/consumption of alcohol, a panic attack (not the reader), one punch gets thrown, reader has a somewhat bad relationship with her parents, their obliviousness to the other’s feelings makes you want to slam your head against a wall, some angst but it’s mainly through unaddressed fluff. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything. Word count: 31,947 A/n: I didn’t know I could write this much, but after making my smau, I was ITCHING for written work ahahahhahahahaha. Please enjoy, though who am I to tell you what to do…as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. I love you :) also because I must tag @fullsunstrawberry in everything I do...here you go - I love you the mostest! Read the epilogue here!

The semester was in full swing for just over a month, and Haechan was already tired of the amount of girls Jaemin had brought over to their apartment. The first two years of university cemented Jaemin’s image as resident fuckboy, but no one cared about the fact that they couldn’t keep him for more than a night because he was hot enough to make the one night worth it. Similarly, Jaemin couldn’t care less about being labeled a fuckboy - at the end of the day, all it meant was that he was able to get his dick wet with no added pressure from the expectation to ever commit; the concept seemed like heaven to him.

However, the start of junior year had his best friends thinking it was time for a change. As Jaemin sat down in one of their usual cafés for lunch, all eyes were on him. “Alright, Jaemin, we figure you’ve had your fun for the past two years now,” Chenle said with a gleam in his eyes. 

“Too much fun…” Haechan adds under his breath.

Jaemin looked around at the group with furrowed brows. “Whatever is going on, can we stop it and just have our coffee and sandwiches like normal? Why am I being targeted for the amount of fun I’m having? You’ve all had your fair share of fun, too.” 

Jeno let out a small laugh at Jaemin’s defense. “Yeah, but we aren’t nicknamed the campus fuckboy. Plus, we’ve all been in actual relationships during our time in college.” 

Jaemin’s face drops, no longer interested at all in the conversation they were clearly wanting to have. “I could be in a relationship if I wanted to be, I just don’t want to,” he’s quick to mutter in reply. 

“Why not?” Renjun asks, raising his eyebrows in wait.

Jaemin lets out a scoff. “All that love and commitment is stupid. You guys put so much effort into your previous relationships and yet, we’re all currently sitting at this table single. There’s no one who makes me want to even try being in a relationship. Why would I want to risk wasting all that effort on someone?”

His six best friends eyed each other around the table, either not buying it or not caring. “Look man,” Mark starts, getting Jaemin to turn his attention over to him. “Regardless of how you feel about love, Haechan is tired of listening to you and whatever girl you bring home that night…and he’s especially tired of it always being a different girl to walk in on him while he’s singing in the kitchen making breakfast. So, to maybe help him out, and also to test your ability because honestly, I don’t know if any of us think you’re capable…in the nicest way possible, of course. We wanna propose a bet- or a deal is probably the better word for it.” Jaemin shoots his gaze over to the rest of them, but no one bore a look of amusement, they were all curiously locked in. “If you can get a girlfriend and settle down for at least three months, we’ll give you $600.”

Well originally, Jaemin had no interest in any part of this, but if everything worked out the way his brain was planning it, that $600 could potentially be easy cash…not to mention a lot of it.

“I’m in,” he pipes up immediately, truthfully stunning his best friends at the table. Nevertheless, they all shake on it, and then Jaemin only has one thing to do…after finishing his coffee and sandwich, of course.

One day later, you get a text from Jaemin. Free to catch up today? Your cheeks blush warmly at the message. It wasn’t anything special, but after being glued to each other’s sides during high school, college saw you and Jaemin having considerably less time for each other; so it was always nice to see you were still a thought in his mind because truly, you missed your best friend like no other. 

Free to catch up everyday :)) You respond, and Jaemin’s reply comes instantaneously.

Perfect ;) meet you at the café in two hours

You check the clock before mapping out how you would spend all your time in between now and then, quickly deciding most of it should be directed towards making yourself look presentable, seeing as you’ve done nothing but rot in bed all morning.

Fast forward two hours and you were already sitting at one of the café tables when the bell rang as Jaemin walked through the door. He scans the inside before his eyes find you and he lights up. “Hi, best friend!” He says overenthusiastically as he pulls out the chair across from you. You furrow your brows at his tone, not to mention his usage of ‘best friend,’ when you think you remember Jaemin calling you that only once before when you were both still in high school, and had since never labeled you like that again - not that it was an incorrect label, but one that he typically didn’t make a huge deal about unless…

“Oh, god,” you start sarcastically. “What mess did you get yourself into now?”

“Hey!” Jaemin shoots back in mock hurt, moving a hand over his heart as if you’ve just shot him. You let out a light laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, Jaem, please continue.”

He immediately ducks his head to face his lap, his tone bearing a fraction of the force it previously had. “Okay so, I got myself into a mess.” You can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes you as you shake your head. Jaemin whips his head up to face you in response, but as you manage to stop your laughter, all you can do is meet his gaze with a softness in your eyes that perfectly balanced the playful smirk on your lips.

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know,” you respond, and Jaemin rolls his lips inward to try and stop the smile as he directs his gaze somewhere off to the side. 

“Yeah, hoping you’re still thinking that after I explain,” he replies hesitantly, and your face falls in an instant.

“You got me into a mess?!” You ask in disbelief, and Jaemin lets out a light sigh.

“Not yet, but that’s kind of the goal,” he answers, scrunching up his facial features as he waits for your reprimanding. Though it never comes, and instead, you speak plainly through a sigh.

“An explanation needs to come out of your mouth in three, two-”

Jaemin curls himself into a ball as best he can while sitting in the café chair, wanting some kind of physical defense before explaining himself in a rush. “I need us to fake date for three months so can you please please please be my fake girlfriend?” When he doesn’t get coffee thrown at him, he takes a moment to unfurl himself and look over at you again, his gaze met with your indifferent expression. 

“Why?” You ask neutrally, and it seems to finally hit Jaemin that you were still the same sane, comforting presence you always had been, even if the two of you hadn’t properly hung out in over a year. He settles more decidedly into his chair, though he still frames his words through a lens of embarrassment, figuring that might be the best way to get you to agree - if you knew he knew he was stupid.

“$600 and to prove something to my friends,” he replies, his words light but his demeanor dead serious.

“And why me?” You toss back, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes as he throws his gaze off to the side again with a scoff. 

“Cause every other girl I know has a crush on me and it’d make this very weird. I’m not trying to actually be in a relationship. That’s the last thing I want.” His words this time are firm enough to match his demeanor, and it has you taking a sip of your coffee to fight back the awkwardness you would’ve otherwise choked on. 

“...Right,” you say in agreement, because out of all the times you could come clean about your huge crush on your best friend, right after he tells you that he doesn’t want a relationship is probably the worst time to do so. 

“So?” Jaemin inquires hopefully, snapping you out of your thoughts. You flick your gaze up to him before immediately darting it back to your coffee on the table, one of your hands messing with the straw absentmindedly. Then you give in, because you suck at saying ‘no’ to your best friend.

“...Fine, but then we’re making a contract,” you say plainly, swirling the ice around in your americano. Jaemin lets out something like a laugh, shaking his head.

“Y/n, you’re taking this so seriously-” He starts, but you whip your head back up to him in an instant, cutting him off with sincerity. 

“They’ll see right through it if we don’t,” you state, and you watch Jaemin’s adam's apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallows awkwardly. 

He shakes out of it before putting his hands up in defeat. “Okay, whatever. Go ahead,” he replies, disinterested. You roll your eyes, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from your backpack. Then you get to writing, because you were gonna need to set some intense boundaries if you were hoping to make it out of this alive. 

“Alright, I think this should be good for right now,” you say after a few minutes, sliding the piece of paper his way. He takes one glance at it before letting out a laugh and directing his gaze back to you with raised brows.

“‘No kissing?’ I don’t mean to alarm you, but that’s actually the quickest way for them to see right through it,” he quips. You run your fingers through your hair awkwardly as you dodge his gaze, finally nodding your head with a sigh. 

“Okay fine, we can change it. No kissing unless they bring it up or get suspicious. Good?” You ask, finally looking up at him again. He lets an amused smile paint its way across his lips as he stares at you across the table.

“Ha, we’ll keep it for now,” he agrees before turning his attention back to the paper and looking over the next thing you wrote. “‘No weird nicknames?’” He reads, popping his head back up to look at you for clarification. You roll your eyes, slightly embarrassed. 

“Yeah, like sugar, pumpkin, honey, buttercup, sweetie, sweetheart, cutie pie, baby, babe, darling-” You’re cut off by a genuine laugh from Jaemin, helping you realize you’ve missed the sound of it a lot, and not at all helping the awkward situation you’ve gotten yourself into. 

“Okay, you’re just naming every pet name imaginable,” he counters as though you were crazy. 

You roll your lips inward, hesitating on how to respond before opting with a near-whisper. “I don’t like them,” you admit quietly, and Jaemin’s demeanor falls from playful to understanding. He opens his mouth to reply but closes it again before any words get out, instead taking another moment to think. 

“They’re gonna expect me to call you something,” he finally says, speaking as though it were an apology. 

You sigh, knowing he wasn’t lying. Idly messing with your hands, you reply quietly. “...are they gonna expect me to call you something, too?” You ask, and Jaemin contemplates with a sorry nod.

“Yeah, probably. Look, you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with, and if that’s just ‘Jaem,’ that’s fine.”

A more lenient answer than you were expecting, you shoot your head up to look back at him again, though your brows slightly furrow as you address the part he didn’t. “What about you?”

Jaemin lets out a soft sigh. “How about I just limit my usage of pet names, and I won’t call you anything food-related,” he suggests lightly, figuring those nicknames having made up your first seven examples meant you hated them the most. You roll your eyes but a smile crosses your face regardless because he was right, after all…and caring enough to actually realize that.

“I can live with that,” you relent, and a big grin comes back onto Jaemin’s face at the progress. He moves his attention back towards the contract, but immediately is whipping his gaze back to you in hurt. 

“Why can’t I be the one to break it off?” He pouts, and you have half a mind to laugh, but you know he’s serious. 

“If you date me for exactly three months and then break up with me, no matter how believable we make it, they’re either going to know it was set up or they’re going to assume you learned nothing and probably not give you the money,” you explain, and Jaemin’s pout turns into an impressed nod.

“You have a point…” He breathes out, causing you to smirk.

“I know.” 

He bites on his bottom lip, deep in thought before turning back to you again. “We probably shouldn’t date for exactly three months then, either,” he adds, and you flash your eyebrows in recognition.

“That’s also true,” you say before putting together a calendar in your head. “Well, if today’s September 27th, three months is December 27th, so…we could have New Year’s Eve be our last night together?” You suggest awkwardly. Though, when you look back up towards Jaemin, he’s putting your timeline together with a nod.

“Works for me,” he cedes, scribbling your end date somewhere off to the side before continuing to scan down the list. His next question comes with the very last bullet point on the contract. “‘Come home with me for Christmas dinner?’” He reads before looking up at you in confusion. You shake your head with a laugh.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d do this for nothing in return, did you?”

Jaemin flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “Okay…so why Christmas dinner?” He asks, and you drop your gaze back to your coffee. 

“My family keeps riding my ass about not having a boyfriend. If you come back with me and pretend to be my boyfriend there, too, then even when we end things, they’ll at least be off my case for a while,” you admit, embarrassment tainting your voice before you rush to make the request sound more appealing. “And it’s not actual Christmas dinner! It’s that first weekend after finals week. You remember the big dinner we always had with other family friends and all that,” you drag off with an awkward laugh.

“Okay,” Jaemin agrees immediately, and you look back up at him in shock.

“Really? You’re agreeing to that?” You question, but he just shrugs his shoulders. 

“Y/n, you’re getting me $600, the least I can do is one dinner with your family. Besides, they’re practically my second set of parents. I’m pretty sure I had at least a hundred dinners with them during high school,” he jokes, and the tension in your shoulders falls. You guys were really doing this…all of this. The two of you left the café and parted ways soon after agreeing to the terms of the contract, Jaemin feeling $600 richer already with how easy this was going to be.

Jaemin picked you up from class on the first day you would be meeting his friends, five days after the two of you signed your contract to fake-date. He greets you with an easy smile outside of your classroom door. “Hey, you ready?” He asks, and you send a nervous smile back up at him. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” you reply with a laugh. He flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement, feeling much the same way seeing as this was probably the least conventional thing he’s ever done. 

He leads you outside and towards the guys’ regular lunch spot at one of the tables set up in the campus commons. Jaemin had told his friends beforehand that he had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend and thus, to start the three month timer, and they were the ones who begged him to bring you to one of the lunches so they could meet you, and now here you were - walking casually towards the lunch table with Jaemin…too casually, Chenle noticed, because you weren’t even holding hands. He keeps quiet, but lets an easy smirk come across his face as you and Jaemin sit down next to each other. 

“Alright, guys,” Jaemin starts as the rest of the friend group pins their full attention on you. “This is y/n. My girlfriend,” he says with a smile. The label sends ice through your veins. You could not believe Na Jaemin was introducing you as his girlfriend…it didn’t matter that the label was fake, the words sounded real coming out of his mouth. You turn your head to look at him, as if to get some kind of confirmation that it really was Jaemin next to you, calling you his girlfriend. By the time your gaze reaches him, he’s already looking over at you with a cheesy grin, nudging your side playfully with his arm and getting you to relax a little. 

The guys go around introducing themselves, but as they make their full way around the table, Jeno immediately speaks up.

“So, how did the two of you get together?” He asks curiously. A valid question, which is why the guys all lean forward in interest, because of course they would be dying to know how their fuckboy best friend got an actual girlfriend rather than a hookup. It was a horrible question though, because it was one you forgot would ever come up, and you had no game plan to go about answering this. Though, it seemed all you had to worry about was keeping your eyes from going wide, because Jaemin did have a game plan for this, and he answered smoothly.

“I just asked her out,” he says with a shrug. “It’s always been so easy with y/n, I take it for granted most of the time. Every time I’m with her, I’m reminded that it takes no effort to breathe, that I’m standing on solid ground. We met up for coffee the other day and she said she missed me and I-” He falters for a moment, and you finally bring your gaze up from your lap to face Jaemin, just to see him shake his head as if he were breaking himself out of a nostalgia trip. “I wanted to hear that again and again,” he finally says seriously, and you can’t stop the smile from reaching your face. “So, though now it just sounds embarrassing saying it out loud, I straight up asked her to be my girlfriend right after that,” he adds through a laugh. “I had been waiting for the butterflies that everyone always talks about, but the fact that I’ve never really felt that with her just made me more sure I wanna be with her - there’s no discomfort or anxiety,” he says, and with your head ducked back in to face your lap, you miss it when he turns to look at you softly. “She’s just always felt like home.” 

Jaemin’s answer seems to have done its job in convincing everyone, and it definitely did its job in reminding you that you were in deep trouble. Though, as the rest of the guys take in Jaemin’s words with an impressed nod, Mark tries to fill in his holes. “Wait, how long have you known each other?” He asks, which was another valid question seeing as Jaemin talked about you with history even though you had never met his friend group before.

“We’ve been friends since high school,” Jaemin says coolly, though this time, you’re the one to nudge him with a laugh.

“Best friends,” you add teasingly, and Jaemin chuckles as he looks over at your figure before nodding his head.

“Yeah, best friends,” he agrees fondly. “But, I’ve liked her for a while now,” he says, turning back towards the group as his face falls and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I just- obviously have the image that I do and I never wanted to get her tied up in it. She deserves more than being labeled as some fuckboy’s latest infatuation,” he says, and as you furrow your brows at him, he just shakes his head, moving on with a light smile. “Though, obviously, I saw her last week and couldn’t help it anymore.”

Sorry smiles cross most of the guys’ faces - they were no help when it came to keeping labels away from Jaemin, and he was sure putting on a convincing show, making it almost seem like it was their fault the two of you hadn’t already gotten together. 

Haechan swings his gaze over to you with raised eyebrows, shifting gears to try and not to let the dampened mood actually settle in. “And you? How long have you liked him?” He asks, and you have to stop the laugh from leaving your system. Instead, you just shake your head fondly.

“Forever,” you answer truthfully, turning to face Jaemin before immediately pulling your gaze back down to your lap in embarrassment. “Any girl will tell you, it’s impossible not to fall for Na Jaemin.” At this, all the guys roll their eyes, but Jaemin just turns to study you softly, biting on his bottom lip in contemplation as he tries to sort out whether any part of your statement was true or if you were just really good at acting.

However, with the rumbling of Jisung’s stomach, he quickly discards the topic of you and Jaemin, deciding that after all the intro questions were out of the way, food was much more interesting. The guys laugh along as Jisung rips through his paper bag lunch, but it does its job in getting them to focus on their own food in front of them, too. 

Casual conversation occurred over lunch, and you were pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t awkward at all. Not that you were expecting the guys to be awkward with each other, but you typically weren’t great at meeting new people; and now you were meeting six of them at once, somehow fitting right in, your occasional remarks causing the whole table to laugh - something you’d have to pat yourself on the back for later. The only disturbance comes from Chenle, who had begun leaning way back from the table, carefully balancing his weight on the bench as he seems to examine the ground by your feet. 

The entire friend group eventually catches on to his antics, turning their attention towards him with raised eyebrows. “What are you doing?” Renjun finally asks, the question coming out as though he thought Chenle were crazy…which probably wasn’t too far from his actual stance on the matter.

Chenle shakes his head, pulling himself back into a normal sitting position as he locks his gaze onto you and Jaemin. “Don’t most couples have a hand placed on the other’s thigh or something while sitting? Why are you guys like- a foot away from each other?” He asks plainly. Your face drops and your eyes widen.

“We are not a foot away from each other,” you remark firmly, but then Jisung peaks beneath the table as well, pulling back up with a shrug.

“Uh, you kinda are,” he says, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes.

“Didn’t think you guys were big pda enthusiasts,” he says, trying to laugh it off, but Chenle is relentless.

“Have you kissed yet?” He asks immediately, and you almost choke.

“What?!” You return in shock, but Chenle looks between the two of you with uninterested brows.

“You’ve liked each other for forever and you’re this awkward?” He shoots back in a taunt. You sigh, collecting yourself because you knew what you were about to have to do. 

“You’re right, Jaem,” you say, pulling his attention your way as you place a hand on his cheek and smile in disbelief. “Your friends are annoying,” you continue, and then you lean in and kiss your best friend and long time crush. 

Admittedly, you’ve imagined this moment more times than you could count, but none of those fantasies could have prepared you for what it actually felt like to kiss Na Jaemin. His lips were perfect, he was perfect, and you knew that already but now you felt it. You remind yourself of where you’re at, why you’re kissing him in the first place, and bring yourself to pull back after the one soft kiss, trying your best to make it seem as though that alone didn’t cause you to lose your breath.

As the two of you pull away from each other, Jaemin’s gaze locks on you, running over every inch of your face with an unreadable look in his eyes to contrast the softest of smiles on his lips. “Yeah, angel, they are,” he says through an exhale, and as your face goes completely pink, his smile eases into a familiar smirk. “But if you kiss me every time they piss you off, I might have to have them stick around.” 

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the side again as you focus on the playful banter and not on the fact that Jaemin just rewired your brain chemistry with one ‘angel.’ “Whatever, we both know I kiss you all the time anyways,” you tease, but as you try to shift away again, Jaemin catches your hand in his and looks at you as if you were crazy.

“No, I kiss you all the time,” he rushes to correct, and though you whip your head back to face him in offense, your eyes instantly soften upon contact, a tight smile playing at both of your features instead.

Your only thought was to kiss him again, and you’re thankful when Chenle cuts off any chance of that happening. “What is going on?” He asks in disgust, causing Renjun to laugh and shake his head.

“Hey, you were the one jumping their asses for their lack of public romance. This is your fault.” 

With the conclusion of lunch, Jaemin kept you company on the walk back to your dorm. As soon as you’re out of sight from the rest of the guys, you let out a heavy sigh and accompanying drop of your shoulders. “Well, there goes rule number one…” You say in defeat. If you couldn’t even follow the first rule during your first outing as a ‘couple,’ the rest of these three months were not going to bode well for you. 

Instead of matching your demeanor, Jaemin takes offense. “What, no! We changed rule number one to no kissing unless they brought it up or were suspicious, and they both, brought it up and were suspicious,” he claims firmly, but the playful tone underlying his words makes it so that all you can do is let out a small, wry laugh.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you say with a shake of your head, though the smile has made its reappearance on your face. Next to you, Jaemin stops walking, pausing for a moment as he stares at the pavement beneath your feet. As soon as you notice his absence at your side, you turn back around to face him and his small grimace.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says gently, and any remaining tension you were carrying falls away; because any time Jaemin fell softer, you were reminded of how you’d do anything for your best friend. “I don’t know if I really thanked you for letting me talk you into this. I know it’s stupid, but it’s nice to have them attacking me for whether or not I’ve kissed you rather than attacking me for my body count,” he finishes, and it feels as though all your joints had immediately locked up again. 

Jaemin’s title as the campus fuckboy was not lost on you, but talking about anything close to relationships was never a strong suit for you guys; and with him quickly finding his place within a new friend group here at college, it meant you were even less in the know of his whereabouts on any given day. The last thing you were expecting was for Jaemin to keep you updated on who he just fucked, but the entire realm of conversation was always so unreachable for you two. You knew nothing of what the campus fuckboy was truly getting up to; there was sometimes talk in your class when a girl would come in beaming as she told her friends she managed to spend a night with Jaemin, but instances like that were all you got informed by, and you never dared pry deeper into those overheard conversations. 

Sometimes your jealousy would damn near kill you - all these girls boasting about the fact that they had spent a night with Jaemin…you wanted to turn around half the time and tell them to forget about one night because you’ve spent countless days with him; that your entire high school career was covered in his handprints and bright smile which you were sure was laced with drugs - a smile you knew he wasn’t throwing around in the bedroom. 

You never did snap, though, because it was easier to keep your ‘best friend’ label with Jaemin under the radar at college, unless you wished for tens upon hundreds of girls to line up in front of you and ask your advice on how to win his heart. Jokes on them, you were still figuring that out, yourself.

“What is your body count?” You ask with a hesitant swallow, your curiosity getting the better of you now that he’s finally brought it up. 

Jaemin shoots his head up to face you but instantly dodges your eye contact again. For the first time since you’ve met him, he looks genuinely embarrassed. “Another time, y/n,” he says in soft dismissal.

You swallow harshly, in disbelief at what you were about to tell him, but as much as it would sting, it would keep your own feelings at a very needed bay. “If you still want to have sex, you can. I don’t mean to force you into celibacy. Just make sure it’s at the girl’s house so Haechan doesn’t find out,��� you say lowly, and Jaemin immediately makes wide eye contact with you.

“Really?” He asks in something like shock. You act as though it’s no big thing, and you’re sure it probably shouldn’t be, anyways.

“Yeah,” you respond with a shrug.

Jaemin takes in your words with a contemplative head nod, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before his eyes light up in alert, finding another caveat to address. “What do we do if the girl starts talking about the fact that she hooked up with me?” He asks seriously, but you’ve finally found humor in the situation, shaking your head as though there were hardly a need for the question. 

“Jaem, just about every girl wants to sleep with you, or at least make it seem like she did…a random girl claiming to have hooked up with you one day is just going to sound like she’s desperate for attention. No one’s gonna take it seriously,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. Absolutely nothing you said was wrong, and with a deep breath, Jaemin seems to accept that fact.

As he exhales, he resumes his continuation on the walk back to your dorm, a light nod of his head accompanying his next words. “Okay. Thank you-” His casual start is broken as he turns his head back over to you at his side in question. “Are you gonna be okay? Are you gonna like- hook up- uh…with other guys?” He asks curiously. All you can do is laugh at him.

“Casual hookups aren’t my thing and no way am I getting an actual boyfriend while we’re doing this, but of course I’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure your sex drive is at least ten times greater than mine. I can handle three months,” you reply lightly, and seemingly all of Jaemin’s worries about this new implementation fade away - it seemed perfectly doable without getting caught. 

As you get to your dorm entrance, you and Jaemin turn to fully face each other. “Thanks again for today. I think we got them somewhat convinced,” he says through a small laugh, and you flash your eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

“No reason to thank me for that - you did most of the talking,” you rebuttal playfully. 

Jaemin’s laugh turns into a knowing smirk. “You were the one who kissed me,” he teases, and you shake your head, but a wide grin spreads across your lips, regardless.

“It's not my fault that they both, brought it up and were suspicious,” you remind him, putting your hands up in defense. Jaemin takes a moment to laugh again before settling into a more fond look that was reminiscent of your high school days.

“We’re gonna have to start hanging out more again since they think we’re dating, but even before all that, I think it’d make me happy if we started hanging out more again just cause I’ve missed you…and I know it’s my fault we haven’t talked as often! I got a friend group of guys and an- agenda…with girls, and as such, my entire college career up to now has unfolded in that way. But I miss you because you’ve always been my friend, not because of some agenda or fake-dating scheme.”

“Mmmmmm, best friend,” you correct with a sure smirk, making Jaemin drop his head with a laugh of defeat.

“Yeah, best friend,” he cedes, and your smirk turns into a soft smile. 

“I never do anything, so just text me when you wanna hang. I’ll be there.” 

He looks back up at you with a small grin and a nod. “Same goes for you,” he replies. Then, all that was left was saying ‘goodbye’ in a much more awkward way than usual, before you went back up to your room to decompress from whatever the hell just happened. 

It was a week after that first lunch when you were alone and bored in your dorm. None of the guys mentioned anything about having plans for the weekend while at lunch, which you had begun to join in on every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So, although you just saw him, you figured Jaemin wouldn’t have anything better to do than hang out with you some more today. You shoot your gaze over to the clock, agreeing there was more than enough time left in the day to make a hang out worth it, and then grabbing your phone to text Jaemin.

Hey, I’m bored. Wanna do something? You send, and Jaemin’s reply is instantaneous.

With a girl rn

For a text that’s letting you know he’s following your directions, it hurts more than you thought it would to read. You know it’s for the best that this be your reality. Jaemin had been your best friend for so long now, the last thing you wanted was to ruin that with your feelings; and while fake-dating wasn’t helping, this reality-check definitely did. He’s not just your best friend anymore, he’s the campus’ heartthrob…the campus’ fuckboy. It was the entire reason behind the bet his friends made in the first place - a circumstance like this was only expected. So, you’d have to forget about the hollow feeling in your stomach right now and instead support your best friend in a best friend way, cause no matter how many times in the next three months he’s destined to call you ‘angel’ or look over at you softly every time you talk in the group, ‘best friends’ is all you are to each other. Oh, look at you go! I figure I’m your alibi, so I guess I’ll stay in for the rest of the night so there’s no possibility of one of your friends seeing me

His reply this time took about thirty minutes to get to you, and even his last text didn’t prepare you for the brick wall that faced you with this one. Thanks 

Jaemin isn’t selfish, Jaemin is busy. It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself, because you know he’s not selfish; and while you were expecting a reply more aligned with an apology for forcing your Friday night to be spent indoors and alone, taking the time to text that out probably was not something Jaemin could manage while another girl was surely sucking him off. 

The next Thursday, it’s Jaemin’s idea to hang out after classes. The two of you decided to chill at your place so that you didn’t have to constantly pretend around Haechan, should he be in their apartment. As you swing the door open to Jaemin’s presence, he looks at you with a big grin on his face. “Hey, angel,” he says, patting the top of your head as he walks into your dorm. You track his figure deeper into the living area, looking at him quizzically because the whole purpose of him being here was that he didn’t have to call you ‘angel.’ 

You just shake your head with a smile as he plops down on your couch. “Hey, Jaem.” 

He looks up at you with innocent eyes. “What did you want to do tonight?” He asks, and you shrug your shoulders with a laugh.

“You’re the one who wanted to come over; my plan was to do homework.” Your answer has Jaemin’s face falling, and you watch as he gets up from the couch and immediately walks out the door, leaving you completely dumbfounded. You didn’t think homework was that repulsive to him. Though, moments later, there’s another knock on your door, and you answer it to be met with Jaemin again, this time his own backpack slung across his shoulders. “Wha-?” You question with a laugh of disbelief.

Jaemin sends a smirk your way before once again walking past you and towards the couch, immediately unzipping his backpack and placing its contents on the coffee table. “Homework,” he says casually, looking up at you with raised brows and a smirk. “Best friend, fake girlfriend, study buddy…you get all the fun labels,” he teases, causing you to shake your head before relenting and joining him at the coffee table. 

It was an incredibly normal night. After the two of you finished up the last of your assignments - though getting distracted every five or so minutes with stupid jokes, complaints of coursework, or a sudden remembering of a story that needed telling did not help push things along, the two of you watched a movie. You ended up making hot cocoa, because the privilege of thermostats meant that it wasn’t a crazy option, regardless of the outside temperature, and then sat on the recliner, Jaemin taking up considerably more space on the couch in response. 

The two of you had always been good movie watchers with each other. You both liked to enjoy movies in the same way - the lights off, no talking, no distractions from phones…even if it was a movie you had seen a hundred times. The two of you took movie nights seriously, mainly because with each other, you could. At least, you had yet to find anyone else who would sit and watch Coraline with you and not take a break to say something about how they find it creepy or flatout don’t like the movie when it’s not even halfway over. Though, Jaemin always happily watched, saving his only comments (typically about how “they just don’t make movies like that anymore”) for the credits. 

Just like that, it was like a night from high school, and it ended much the same way - a side hug with Jaemin and his promises of getting home safe, though it was you rather than your mother that he was making that promise to now. 

Walking back into his apartment, Jaemin immediately catches the attention of Haechan, currently making late night ramen in the kitchen. “Did you just get back from y/n’s?” He asks, pulling his attention away from the stove to turn his head towards Jaemin.

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers casually as he makes his trek through the front space and towards his room, only getting distracted when Haechan speaks up again with a playful lilt and a matching smirk on his face.

“Good night?” He asks, causing Jaemin to furrow his brows before realizing what Haechan was actually getting at. 

“What-? Oh, shut up,” he dismisses. Turning back around to face Haechan revealed him to be completely distracted from his ramen - his back now leaning against the countertop as his casual crossed arms added to the tease in his raised eyebrow. Jaemin rolls his eyes at the antics, especially considering Haechan was the main reason this whole deal was made in the first place - because he was tired of Jaemin having sex. “We didn’t have sex. We did normal couple things,” he states confidently before turning around again to actually make his way inside his room and behind his closed bedroom door. 

This meant Jaemin missed the way Haechan’s playful brows furrowed in confusion, his face falling flatter as he spoke through a soft exhale. “What?” Any more time he could have had to actually question it was overridden with the need to tend to his now boiling over ramen; so Jaemin got off easy the rest of the night. 

Haechan was not as forgiving the next time he saw the guys at Monday lunch, though. With you still nowhere to be seen and Jaemin in his line of sight ordering food, he addresses everything in a more serious tone than any of the guys were expecting. 

“Does anyone else find it odd that they haven’t had sex yet?”

Eyes go wide at the rest of the table. “They haven’t?!” Jeno practically shouts before immediately getting embarrassed and making himself as small as possible. Haechan just shakes his head.

“They haven’t even spent the night at each other’s places yet. He always comes back home after hanging out with her and it’s always just him.”

“Maybe they’re taking it slow,” Mark replies with a shrug, but all eyes lock on him with ample skepticism. 

“Does ‘slow’ seem like a Jaemin thing?” Haechan rebuttals. “I mean, come on. We’re talking about the guy who’s notorious for getting his dick wet at any available opportunity.”

“So, we think they don't really like each other? They’re faking it?” Renjun asks with pursed contemplative lips. 

Haechan’s the one to shrug this time in mystery. “$600 is a hefty amount. He’d do anything he can for that, including but not limited to getting a fake girlfriend and lying to us,” he states more firmly, but that’s as Jaemin joins the table; his brows furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open as he looked around at the guys in something like disgust.

“What in the world did I just walk in on? Y/n is not my fake girlfriend. The deal money is nice but I’m at least honorable about these things,” he argues, and immediately all the guys whip their gazes towards him, varying expressions on their faces as Jisung speaks up in genuine question.

“Why haven’t you slept with her yet?” The seriousness of the question and the sheer interest in the rest of the guys’ faces gets Jaemin to roll his eyes.

“You guys are atrocious, you know that?” He says in place of an answer. 

Chenle raises his brows. “The question remains,” he taunts with a smirk.

Jaemin looks him dead in the eyes as he responds. “She means more to me than that.”

“Means more to you than that?” Jeno reflects back with a laugh. “Jaemin, are you forgetting your love language?” This is the first thing you can pick up as you finally get to the table after questions from your classmates held you for more minutes than should be allowed. Regardless, you immediately jump right into conversation.

“Love language?” You echo with a smile. “There’s something I’m knowledgeable about. How’s my words of affirmation boy doing?” You continue, all your attention directed towards Jaemin as you shed your backpack from your body.

He looks up at you still standing by his side, eyes soft and speaking through a small smile. “Better now that you’re here,” he answers, and you don’t stop the bashful smile from coming across your face as you finally get situated sitting down next to him. The gentle moment is broken, though, with Jeno asking a question in total shock.

“Words of affirmation??” He begs for clarification, and the rest of the guys lean in at the table some more in apparent interest. You look at them all as though there was some joke you weren’t getting. 

“Yes? What did you think it was?” You question back, and they respond in almost perfect unison.

“Physical touch.”

You can’t stop the small laugh from leaving your system as you look back at all of them seriously. “Jaemin’s good at showing love through physical touch, no doubt, but words of affirmation is by far his favorite way to receive love, it’s not even a question. And sure, part of that is how he smiles like an idiot whenever I tell him he’s the most handsome guy on the planet - which is stupid because ‘handsome’ honestly doesn’t even begin to describe it…” You trail off awkwardly before shooting your head back up to face everyone. 

“But have you ever seen him receive a compliment that has nothing to do with his body or looks? The way his eyes light up like something just clicked for him? I mean, he’s so many more things before he’s physically attractive, and all he was waiting for was someone to recognize that. Every time we meet up after class and I say something like ‘I’ve been longing to be in your presence all day,’ or ‘thanks for bringing me more happiness than I’ve ever known,’ he’s practically on the verge of tears every time. It’s why when I told him I missed him that one day, all he could think to do was ask me to be his girlfriend. He’s been waiting to be missed on a level that had nothing to do with his body. He’s been waiting to be affirmed in a way that isn’t physical.”

That seemed to get everyone else at the table to shut up, swallowing awkwardly as they instead turned their attention to their food. You let out a small sigh of relief as you dig into your own sandwich, but Jaemin doesn’t think he can even take one bite anymore; a weird feeling in his stomach and his mind going a million miles an hour. When he does pick up his sandwich, it’s not because he’s finally convinced he can keep it down, but because not eating now would be incredibly suspicious to everyone…including you. 

Jaemin walked you back to your dorm after lunch, something that became typical since it wasn’t always possible to pick you up from class for lunch. You were walking in comfortable silence; in fact, an element of awkwardness was only introduced once Jaemin spoke up with a strange sort of cough and hesitant words. “I didn’t know I was a words of affirmation guy,” he finally says after a couple of minutes. 

With the two of you out of sightline and earshot of the others, you let your actions and reactions express more naturally. So, you paused completely, making him eventually stop and look over his shoulder at you in question. “Oh…really?!” You say in light shock before shaking your head and resuming your pace so you could catch back up to him and continue casually. “I mean, maybe you’re not then, but just from what I know-”

You’re cut off with a small laugh from Jaemin as he shakes his head softly, matching his contemplative tone. “No, I think you’re right. Everything you said I- I think you’re right.” He says it as though he were almost embarrassed by the fact, and you decide that’s the last thing you’re gonna allow him to feel in this situation.

“Oh, well, would you like me to affirm you more often then?” You ask seriously. “We aren’t exactly meeting up after class everyday and I’m not exactly telling you I’ve been waiting for that very moment, but I can.”

Jaemin is quick to dismiss the idea. “No, it’s okay. No use doing that when this whole thing is fake. I mean, rule number three or something is that everything is immediately dropped when we’re in private,” he tries to play off with a laugh, and as you finally reach the entrance to your dorm, you turn around to face him solemnly. 

“Jaem, that’s not me putting on an act. You do know I love spending time with you, right? And-” You shake your head, frustrated with yourself that this is something you obviously didn’t do a good job of communicating earlier. “Take us out of this whole situation thing,” you command, finding your footing in what you’re wanting to say. “Just- as friends. I love spending time with you. I want you in my life forever, yeah?” You finish softly, and when you look back up at Jaemin, he’s quick to break eye contact. 

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks saw to it that you and Jaemin were hanging out more than ever. What you saw as insane luck meant that every time you texted asking if he could hang out, he was never ‘with a girl’ at the time; and Jaemin was texting you and being the one to make plans at a far greater rate than you were, anyways. Instantly, your relationship reflected that during your time in high school - the only difference was that sometimes in the midst of trying to pretend you didn’t have the hugest crush on your best friend, you were also having to pretend you did have the hugest crush on your best friend. 

Hang outs were still mainly at your place so that the two of you never had to worry about Haechan, though sometimes you’d purposely have a night in at Jaemin’s to keep Haechan convinced. This was not one of those times. Instead, you opened your door to Jaemin as you have for the past three Friday’s now, which the two of you decided would be ‘date night’ in everyone else’s eyes while really, you’d just keep a low profile and do whatever you wanted. Due to schedules, you always had an hour for homework before you’d be met with Jaemin’s presence, and he was right on time today. “Hey, Jaem!” You greet with a smile as you swing the door open and step back to allow him inside.

“Hey angel,” he replies casually, because calling you ‘angel’ was now a very typical occurrence, regardless of who was around to hear it. He flashes a smile in your direction, but instead of beelining for the couch like normal, he stops to stand kind of awkwardly in front of you before continuing hesitantly. “Mark is having a Halloween party if that’s something you’re interested in…we could go together. I know parties aren’t really your thing.” He speaks as though it were an apology, and all you can do is chuckle at his antics.

“Don’t worry about that. I am your fake girlfriend, aren’t I?” You tease in reply, and Jaemin raises his eyebrows as though he didn’t know where you were going with this.

“...Yes,” he draws out slowly, and you just shake your head at him fondly.

“So, if you’re going, then I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you answer sincerely, and though you’d never be able to convince yourself of it, you made Jaemin blush - just the tiniest bit. 

He lets out something like a sigh of relief before nodding his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, I’ll tell Mark we’re going, then,” he says happily, and then suddenly it’s right back to routine as he heads for the couch to chill before the two of you could decide what all you actually wanted to do that day. 

The next time you saw Jaemin was two days later when he asked if you wanted to accompany him to the store. It was all light and casual conversation as you strolled through the aisles, most of the time pointing at random items and saying ‘you’ to try and see who could get the other to laugh more. The bit promptly ended when you pointed at a Scrub Daddy to relate Jaemin to, but he instead teased you endlessly for using an item with “daddy” in the name. The only thing to veer his topic of conversation away from that was when you passed the aisle that had been repurposed into Halloween decorations and costumes, making him stop in his tracks.

“Have you decided on a costume for the party yet?” He asks curiously, and you turn back around to face him and redirect your path to peruse the Halloween aisle, touching random bits of costumes before dropping them back to the rack with a shake of your head. 

“Well, I was gonna go as an angel since that’s kind of what you call me now, but if we do it as a couple’s costume, then you’d end up as the devil or a demon or whatever, and I don’t love the idea of that. So…would you wanna go as Team Rocket instead?” You ask in return. Jaemin swallows awkwardly as he takes in everything you just said, but he can’t take too long to explore the slightly comforting feeling brought on by you saying the idea of him as a devil wasn’t your favorite…because that wouldn’t be very ‘I don’t care what anyone else thinks’ of him. Instead, he resorts back to a familiar tease, an eyebrow raised as a playful smirk crossed his lips.

“Who said I wanted to do a couple’s costume?” He shoots back and your face immediately goes red as you scramble for words.

“Oh! You don’t- I was just- it’s not-” You’re cut off with a warm laugh from Jaemin.

“Breathe, angel, I was just messing with you,” he reassures with a shake of his head.

“Maybe you would make a good demon,” you deadpan in return, and Jaemin’s eyes light with fire as his jaw drops.

“Hey!”

“Just messing with you, Jaem,” you banter back, and Jaemin bites on the inside of his cheek to stop a wide grin from making an appearance at your behavior. 

“I’m fine going as Team Rocket, as long as I get to be James,” he says with a mock seriousness, effectively getting you to smile as you roll your eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t going to suggest you be Jessie,” you assure in the same manner, and Jaemin nods his head, seemingly content with the plan before another question comes to mind. 

“Are we dying our hair?” He asks, and this time he’s actually serious. You think about it for a second before giving into the idea with a contemplative nod.

“We can get the spray that lasts up until you wash it,” you suggest, and with a nod from Jaemin, your Halloween costumes were set - all you had to do was make them. 

Fast forward a week and the only thing left to do was iron on the ‘R’ decal on Jaemin’s top, which was exactly what you were doing in his apartment as he took the time to spray blue in his hair. You look up from the heat press as Jaemin walks out of the bathroom. “Huh,” you let out involuntarily, and if you were any less close with Jaemin, you would’ve been embarrassed beyond words. However, he just looks at you with furrowed brows and a curious grin.

“What?” He asks, and you shrug your shoulders as though it were nothing big.

“You look good with blue hair,” you answer, trying your best to be casual about it.

Jaemin’s curious grin had turned into a shiteating one. “Oh, yeah?” He digs, trying to get under your skin; though, you thwart the attempt immediately, instead responding with nonchalance - the exact opposite of what he was reaching for. 

“Well, no more than normal,” you reply, and Jaemin’s brows raise impossibly.

“Now, what does that mean?” He asks playfully, but you just shake your head.

“You’re the fuckboy, Jaemin. You know what I’m getting at.” With that, your attention was back on the iron as it beeped and let you know his shirt was ready. You pull it out from under the heat and turn it around so Jaemin could see the final product, and with a nod of approval, he grabs it from your hands and heads back to the bathroom.

“Looks great, angel,” he finally says, studying his appearance in the mirror before walking back out to the living area. You just drop your head as you feel your face heat up at the compliment. 

“I’ll uh- go get ready,” you say quietly, and then you grab your own costume and hair spray before trading places with him in the bathroom. 

Jaemin doesn’t hide his small smile as he watches you walk back out to the living area in your matching costume with him, and you try your best to pin your focus anywhere other than his soft gaze. “Um- drinking at parties isn’t really my thing so- I can drive us back here afterwards. You can drink however much you want,” you get out awkwardly before moving to sit down next to him on the couch.

Jaemin chuckles lightly in response to your behavior. “Are you sure?” 

You nod your head profusely. “Of course. You enjoy parties a lot. I don’t want you to change an aspect of it just because I’m there, too. So, however much you normally drink…go for it.” 

Jaemin studies your figure with ample doubt covering his features. “I don’t know. Me drinking while knowing I have a ride home typically means I turn into too much to handle,” he jokes, but any form of negative self-talk from him always grounds you, and you’re quick to refute it.

“Not for me,” you say, turning your head to make eye contact with him. “Never for me.” Your soft reassurance has Jaemin simply staring at you, and you quickly turn your head back to face your lap as you overthink every little embarrassing thing you’ve already done tonight. On the other hand, Jaemin didn’t even think twice before leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

Your cheeks puff out with a smile in immediate response to the contact, but as you lift your gaze back up to face Jaemin, your attention is caught by Haechan, who had just walked out of his room in costume - a vampire costume that was already iconic and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Your soft smile turns into a full-on grin as you address him. “Woah, Hyuck. You look great!” You say with a laugh, and Jaemin whips his head around to face his roommate just to fall into his own bout of laughter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Haechan replies with a playful roll of his eyes as he walks towards the door. “Are you two gonna head out soon?” He asks more seriously, and Jaemin gives a light nod.

“Yeah, we won’t be too far behind you. Y/n just isn’t a huge fan of parties, so we opted for fashionably late rather than fashionably early.” 

Haechan flashes his eyebrows up in acknowledgement before turning back from the front door to face the two of you again. “Alright. Don’t violate the couch too much in the meantime. It’s my favorite couch,” he banters, and this time it’s you and Jaemin to roll your eyes.

“You fuck off,” you say through a grin, and Haechan drops his head with a loud laugh before bringing his gaze back to the two of you with a soft smile.

“I’ll see you guys soon,” he says happily, and with that, he’s out the door.  

It was about thirty minutes later when you and Jaemin entered the party house hand-in-hand. As soon as you got in, you realized your friend group was a lot more popular than you ever thought, because seemingly everyone you went to school with was here. For parties already feeling overwhelming, parties where you could hardly move without bumping into someone were even more so. Though, in the midst of the blaring music, a hundred different conversations, and all the dancing, your attention is turned to your interlocked hand with Jaemin as he gently rubs his thumb across the back of your hand.

You shoot your gaze up at him just to see he’s already staring back down at you softly. Unlike you, he looked completely at home in the party scene, though you figure one can’t truly get labeled a fuckboy without being so. That’s also why you assume he was able to tell you were already uncomfortable from the second you stepped inside. 

Hardly a few feet from the entrance, he leans down to you at his side, speaking slowly in your ear so you could make it out from the rest of the noise. “We’ll stay only as long as you want, okay? If you wanna turn back around right now, we can.”

You shake your head minimally, turning to face him and realizing that action placed your lips dangerously close together. You roll them inwards in hesitation before shifting your gaze to his own. “I’m not going to make you leave super early. You like parties.”

A smirk plays on Jaemin’s lips as he raises an eyebrow at you. “I like you more,” he replies playfully. 

You dart your gaze off to the side, ripping your hand away from his in the process. “I’m fine. Let’s just go find our friends.” You take a step out from the entryway but quickly notice Jaemin isn’t following. You whip your head around to face him just to see his hand outstretched for you again.

“If we’re going to go find our friends, your hand better be in mine,” he quips, causing you to roll your eyes before obliging and lacing your fingers back together. He gives your hand a light squeeze as he flashes you a wide smile and drags you to where he already saw Haechan, Jeno, and Renjun. 

“Hey, you guys look great!” Jeno says with a bright smile as the two of you join their circle. Jaemin finally slides his hand out of yours to instead place it on the small of your back. Despite yourself, a small smile comes onto your face, not at Jeno’s words, but at Jaemin’s touch, and you relax a bit more against his hand.

Jaemin is the one to actually respond as the other two guys turn their attention to the both of you as well. “Thanks! My incredible, beautiful girlfriend made the costumes,” he says, tossing his gaze over to you at his side. You roll your eyes at him, but your smile grows. 

“Making it is not the same as making it look good. You did that all on your own,” you shoot back earnestly. The three guys in front of you throw on a look of disgust, as if they weren’t the ones telling Jaemin he needed a girlfriend. Jaemin just looks over at you with a soft gleam in his eyes, his mouth straining as he tries to conceal a smile. He opts to just kiss you on the cheek instead, then reaching for your far shoulder and pulling you his way. He snakes his arms around you to keep you there in a hug from behind, his thumb gently rubbing up and down your waist. The five of you stood in a circle just talking for at least an hour. Occasionally, one of them would leave to grab drinks for the group, though you were sure to just stick to water the entire night as everyone around you became a comfortable state of tipsy. 

Eventually, Jaemin unwound his arms from your figure, causing you to turn your head and look up at him in question. He lets an easy smile paint his lips. “I’m just running to the bathroom real quick. I’ll come find you again in a few.”

You nod your head, and your eyes follow Jaemin for as long as they could before he became completely indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd. You turn your attention back to Renjun, Jeno, and Haechan. “I’m gonna go find Mark,” you start with an awkward laugh. “I don’t know if he even knows Jaemin and I are here.” The three of them nod at you, Renjun racking his foggy brain for where he thinks he last saw him. You nod, thanking them for their company so far, and then heading off towards the kitchen under the guidance of Renjun’s memory. 

When Jaemin steps out of the bathroom, he almost immediately runs into the body of another guy. Opening his mouth to apologize, the guest beats him to words.

“Jaemin, nice costume,” he says, and Jaemin loses his tension at the compliment.

“Oh, thank you-” He starts, but is quickly cut off again by the stranger.

“You got another one of your hoes to match with tomorrow?” He slurs with a smile, throwing an arm around Jaemin’s shoulder.

Jaemin’s eyes widen as he snakes out under the touch, guiding their hand back down to their side. “Uh, no, y/n’s my girlfriend. It’s just her and we’re just out for tonight,” he replies, turning his gaze away from the man to instead scan the crowd and try to lay eyes back on you.

“Ha! Good one,” the guy laughs out, and Jaemin snaps his gaze back to him in confusion.

“Good one?” He echoes back in question, but with a hard slap on his back that Jaemin thinks was meant to be playful, his conversation partner quickly leaves. Jaemin stands there for a moment puzzled, but he tries to shake out of the uncomfortable feeling as he directs his gaze back to the big crowd, looking for where you may have wandered off to once he sees you’re no longer with the previous group.

He quickly realizes he wouldn’t be able to find you by standing in one place, so he picks up his feet and starts weaving through the crowd again. When he feels a hand on his back, he assumes it’s you, and he whips around towards the figure. His face quickly drops when he realizes it isn’t you, and suddenly he’s extremely conscious of how everyone’s been touching him tonight. 

“Such a shame your costume shows so little skin,” the girl says with a small pout and a fake innocence in her eyes. Jaemin tries to take a step back, just to bump into more people dancing and forcing him back into close proximity. He swallows hard, accepting the fact that he was having to engage in this conversation now.

“My girlfriend picked it out,” he says firmly, and the girl in front of him just tilts her head to the side, now rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

“Well, she’s ruining the fun,” she replies, something like pity in her eyes as she looks at Jaemin. He furrows his brows, his breath getting heavier as the air seems to get thinner. 

“Um, I- I think I’m still fun without showing skin,” Jaemin fumbles out, and the girl just laughs, finally letting her hand drop from his arm as her doe-eyed expression turns mean.

“You’d like to believe that,” she says, shaking her head and walking off.

Jaemin stared after her in a weird mix of hurt and confusion that he hadn’t ever felt before. “What?” He asks in defeat, but there was no one there to give him any clarification. 

He desperately starts looking around for you again. If he could just get back to you, if he could just slip his hand into yours, he was sure the heavy weight that’s found its way onto his chest would disappear. He was shaking, he didn’t know when he had started shaking, but it seemed to take the place of his breathing, and now he was worried about whether or not he would even have time to find you before he suffocated. Almost all the effort he was placing into finding you was now being placed into holding back his tears. Everything was too loud, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, couldn’t hear his voice if he spoke aloud, suddenly not sure if he was even getting any words out when he opened his mouth, which only worried him more because he was dying and he couldn’t tell anyone. 

Holding your hand, it was the only positive thought he could seem to cling to, the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor in a ball - he had to find you, he wanted to hold your hand. He thinks it’s a miracle that his feet are able to start moving again, especially when someone definitely put 50 lb weights in his shoes without him knowing. 

He finally lays eyes on you, now in the kitchen talking with Mark, Chenle, and Jisung. Though you were maybe ten feet away, it might as well have been miles, as another hand gets placed on his chest from a random girl in front of him. “James, let me know if you get bored of Jessie later. I can give you a good time,” she says with a smirk, and Jaemin feels like he’s going to throw up; though he can’t quite tell if that was because of her words or the whirlwind of the past three minutes. In fact, if he knew just how badly he was shaking, he would’ve questioned how she didn’t feel it when she placed her hand on his chest. 

He shakes his head as quickly as he could without getting too dizzy to continue his trek towards you. “No, I quite like Jessie,” he says through hiccups, not sure when the first stray tear made its way down his cheek. He pushes past the girl without giving her time to respond and make him feel worse. All he wanted was you, and when he finally got close enough to place his shaky hand in yours, all he could manage were whispered words that he prayed would reach you, or at least leave his mouth at all. 

“Please don’t leave me.”

Still in conversation with Mark, Chenle, and Jisung, you don’t turn too much attention to Jaemin slightly behind you as you settle your hand into his touch, but that’s when you feel how badly he’s shaking. “Jaem, are you okay?” You ask at your side, though your eyes remained trained on Chenle as he told the least dramatic story in the most dramatic way.

“There’s a lot of people here,” Jaemin whimpers out, the answer confusing enough to pull your focus away from Chenle. 

“I know-” You start, your gaze following from your interlocked hands up his arm and to his face, but that’s when you actually see the state he’s in and your face instantly falls into worry. A steady stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes tightly shut to block out the extra stimulation, only opening them to look at you before promptly getting embarrassed and turning away. You immediately squeeze his hand a little tighter in your hold, getting him to train his eyes back on you. You pick up your words as he does so, careful to hide your immense worry in your tone and instead speaking softly for him. “Hey…let’s get you to a quieter room, okay?”

Jaemin nods his head minimally, able to let out a choked response. “Okay.” You take no extra time in telling the others that you were going to have to get filled in on the story later. Instead, you just make sure your grip on Jaemin’s hand is enough to not lose him while navigating through the crowd as you immediately lead him upstairs and into an empty room. 

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” You say, closing the door and turning on a soft lamp light before you whip back around to watch Jaemin pace the entire floor, his fingers running frantically through his hair. 

“I don’t know. Everyone keeps talking to me and touching me and everything is so loud and my head hurts and it’s so hot I’m sweating and dizzy and freaking out-” He spoke all at once, and you knew the last thing he needed was to run out of breath while explaining. You jump to cut him off, still trying your best to make your voice as calming as possible for him.

“Hey…it’s gonna be okay. Can you sit down for me?” The second you said it, Jaemin was on the floor, his heavy breaths visibly not making it to his whole body. Your eyes soften some more as you look at him. It didn’t take a genius to tell you he’s never been in this situation before, and all he knew to do was trust you. You let out a soft sigh as you move closer to him. “I know you said you’re hot and sweaty and overwhelmed with touch, but is it okay if I hug you?”

“Please.” The word comes out weak, riddled with enough tears to make you break. You sit down behind him, placing your legs out along his own outstretched ones as you gently hug him from behind.  

“You can close your eyes, just focus on my voice. You’re gonna be okay,” you state with confidence, rubbing a thumb gently up and down his side. Jaemin is quick to refute, shaking his head with an intensity you wish he wouldn’t right now.

“No, y/n, it feels like I’m dying,” he says, fear covering every aspect of his voice. You let out a soft sigh.

“You’re not dying, you’re panicking.” This, too, he refuses to accept. His response comes out as firm as it could through tears.

“I don’t panic. I’m the cool guy. I’m not panicking, I’m dying.”

Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you through an exhale, and you hug Jaemin to you extra tight. “Baby, no matter how cool you are, there’s not a person in the world completely immune to panic attacks.”

Jaemin stills for a moment, the sudden switch confusing you before he speaks and confuses you even more. “I thought you didn’t like that word,” he says, wiping his face of tears and then placing his hands on your own arms around his torso. 

You furrow your eyebrows, though with him in front of you, there was no point. “What word?” You ask. Surely he wasn’t talking about the word ‘panic attack’ but racking your brain, there was nothing else you said that wasn’t just a normal word.

“You don’t know you said it,” he says curiously, a small sniffle coming from his figure as he tries his own attempt at a light laugh. 

“What are you talking about, Jaem?” You question again. At this point, you were sure one of you was going crazy, and you really were banking on it not being you. Though, Jaemin just dismisses the subject, and with you sitting behind him, you missed the small smile that now covered his features.

“Nothing, please just continue holding me like this,” he begs softly, and you nod your head, squeezing him tighter for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply seriously, and there you and Jaemin sat for at least another ten minutes; the only noise to break the silence was his occasional cries as he still tried to rid himself of tears and calm down completely. 

When you couldn’t remember his last sniffle, you start to rub your thumb up and down a portion of his waist, disrupting the physical stillness before you spoke and disrupted the silence.

“I wanna get you some water soon,” you say gently, but any attempt to move from your position was shot down as Jaemin quickly fumbled to grab your arms and press them firmly back down across his torso, his body beginning to shake again at the idea of you getting up.

“No! Don’t leave! Please,” he chokes out, and almost all of the progress you thought he made in the past few minutes was erased.

You sigh, and refusing to think about the fact that you were practically breaking your own rule, you lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m staying right next to you, Jaem,” you start, and you watch as he basically forces his breathing to get back to normal at your words…or at least tries to. “Do you want me to call Jeno and get him to bring up water for you, or do you want to follow me down to the kitchen, grab a water bottle, and leave?”  

Jaemin thinks for a moment before dropping his head in what you assume was shame, which was the last thing he needed to be feeling. “I- can we leave?”

You squeeze your arms around his body once more in acknowledgement. “Yeah, come on,” you reply, and the two of you slowly make your way off the floor and into a standing position. As you let go of his waist, you immediately grab his hand in yours, looking up at Jaemin for confirmation that this was what he wanted to do. He stared back down at you with a teary smile and nod, and with that, you led him out of the bedroom and back downstairs. 

Thankfully, Mark, Chenle, and Jisung were still in the kitchen, meaning you had to cover no extra ground to fill Mark in on your departure. 

“Hey, I’m gonna take Jaemin home,” you say, turning to face Mark after grabbing a water bottle from the fridge he was standing next to.

Mark furrows his brows. “Everything okay?” He asks, knowing Jaemin wasn’t one to leave parties early, nor was he one to have tear streaks painted across his face.

You try to smile but it comes out more as a grimace. “Yeah, he’s just a little overwhelmed today. Thank you for inviting us, though. It was a blast.” 

Mark nods his head in understanding. “Thanks for coming. Are you driving?”

“Yeah,” you reply, and Mark forces some sobriety back in his system.

“You haven’t had anything to drink, have you?” He asks in worry, and you let a grateful smile paint your face as you respond.

“No, I’m okay.”

Mark nods before taking another sip of his own drink. “Okay. Be safe. I’ll see you guys soon.” You reciprocate his nod in acknowledgement and then immediately lead Jaemin towards the front door and back to the car.

You make sure he’s all taken care of in the passenger seat before you start messing with the controls in the driver’s seat to move it to where you could actually drive. You make a mental note to apologize about changing the position of his seat and mirrors tomorrow after everything’s calmed down, but as you start driving, Jaemin is the one to beat you to an apology. 

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, and you risk a quick glance over at him with furrowed brows.

“Huh, why?”

Jaemin fiddles with his fingers in his lap, unable to look anywhere else because of his embarrassment. “For making you leave the party. You were having fun,” he answers softly, and despite your best efforts, a small laugh escapes you.

“Jaem, I was having fun because all we did was hang around with our group of friends. I don’t care for parties in and of themselves, you know that. Truthfully, I’d rather just be with you right now,” you say, and as you pull up to a stop sign, you look back over at him again. Defeat riddled his features as he spits out a response.

“But I’m just crying.” He speaks those words as though he were mad at himself for it, and you don’t understand how your best friend came to believe that he always had to be some perfectly presented guy.

You let out a sigh before turning your attention back to the road. “It doesn’t change the fact that I like spending time with you. Besides, you’d be crazy to think I’d rather be anywhere else right now when you’ve got me so worried about you.” When the only response from Jaemin is another sob he tries to cover up, you frown. “I’m not mad at you for making us leave the party early, and I’m not mad at you for crying,” you add on, and Jaemin finally lifts his head to look over at you in his driver’s seat. He seems to scan your figure up and down, processing your words and the fact that you were actually taking care of him right now. He sniffles once more before abruptly turning his focus back to his lap, and the car ride is silent the rest of the way to his apartment. 

As soon as Jaemin gets into his own room, he already looks a thousand times better; the tension in his shoulders finally falls and his breathing gets more regular. You scavenge around his apartment for anything he may need during the night and next morning, because outside of his panic attack, he was still tipsy, too. 

With a fresh water bottle and ibuprofen set on his night stand, you bid Jaemin goodnight, running a hand gently through his hair as he laid down in bed. However, before you can fully turn around and leave, Jaemin catches the hand you just had in his hair. In shock, you whip back around, just to be met with wide pleading eyes.

“Please stay,” he says softly, and your breath hitches for a moment before you resume your cool, or at least try to.

“Jaemin-” You start, your tone already giving way to your refusal. Though, Jaemin cuts you off in an instant, his grip on you getting slightly tighter.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me,” he shoots back, and his voice is already shaky again from the sudden raise in volume of his claim.

You sigh, trying to slowly snake your hand out of his grip as you reply. “Yeah, but I was kind of meaning that for while we were still at the party, not…now, when you’re going to sleep.”

He refuses to let you out of his hold, and he pulls you even closer to the end of the bed. “What if Haechan comes back?” He starts, trying his best to talk normally. “He’d be really confused as to why you didn’t stay over after the night I had.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “There’s no shot Haechan makes it back tonight or is sober enough to think about anything but getting in bed himself. You’re just saying that to try and convince me.”

He finally lets his grip on you drop as he lets out a heavy breath bordering on the dividing line between defeat and hope. “Is it working?” He asks, and though you were finally free from his grasp, able to just say a final goodnight and leave to head back to your place, you don’t. Instead, you drop your head, speaking so softly you’re not sure Jaemin would even be able to hear.

“I want the side next to the wall.” 

With your gaze facing the floor, you couldn’t see the sudden warm glow behind Jaemin’s eyes as he pulled back the comforter on that side and pulled his legs up so you could crawl over by the foot of the bed, neither of you saying another word as you do. 

Jaemin didn’t know why he was so captivated by watching you fall asleep in his bed. The two of you must’ve been at least a full foot away from each other, as you immediately made sure to press up against the wall and make yourself as small as you could. That was fine by Jaemin. He wasn’t asking for the two of you to cuddle in the first place - this was still a fake relationship after all, and he was very much aware of that. In fact, that truth was probably more plaguing than ever at the front of his mind. Now instead of a reminder that he had to pretend to date you, it was a reminder that this was ending in two months. Jaemin’s tipsy brain couldn’t put together what the sinking feeling in his chest meant at the realization of that. So, he pushed it away, and just looked over at you sleeping peacefully right up against the wall. He didn’t need to have his arms around you - knowing you were next to him was enough, and for the first time that night since the party started, he was completely at peace.

When you wake up and realize you were more comfortable than usual in your bed, you open your eyes and figure out that it’s because you’re not in your bed. In fact, you’re hardly resting against a bed at all. Instead, one of your arms is lazily thrown over your best friend’s waist as your head rested comfortably, incredibly too comfortably, on his chest. The discovery that your legs were some kind of interlaced didn’t make things any better, and the full realization that you were practically on top of Jaemin had you jolt. This, of course, didn’t do anything but wake him up. With your head now propped up on his chest, you watch as he slowly peeks open one of his eyes, exhaustion still written over all his features. However, the second his gaze lands on you, he shoots open both eyes. Embarrassment quickly floods your being as you address everything. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

You’re cut off with a light chuckle and softly spoken words from Jaemin. “You’re okay.” Regardless of his response, you can’t shake the embarrassment. Jaemin’s arms fall from around your body as you try to get up, and that’s when you realize both of his arms were wrapped around you in the first place. You push the thought to the back of your head, turning to get off of his bed completely. 

You’re stopped by his hand grabbing yours. You quickly turn your attention back to Jaemin, who still had yet to move any part of his body but his arms as he looks at you softly, pleading. “Can we go back to sleep?”

You swallow awkwardly, your throat now suddenly dry. You dart your eyes around his room before sighing and just landing your gaze back on him. “Um, do you still need me here for that?” You ask genuinely. Jaemin breaks eye contact this time, as he just looks down at your two hands still holding onto each other. He gives a slow nod of his head, humming a little. 

You bite your lip to stop a smile from coming onto your face. It wasn’t often that you got to see your best friend looking as gentle and small as he did now. Jaemin, with the larger than life personality just wanting to stay in bed with you, it was hard to say ‘no.’ So, you don’t. “Okay.” Though when you move to resume your position back by the wall, he chuckles a bit and uses your still interlocked hands to pull you back onto him. 

The next two days after you woke up on top of Jaemin (again) were filled with an awkward period of zero contact between the two of you. You couldn’t blame him for not responding to your text to hang out the day after. You were both really good at never crossing lines back in high school, but Halloween put a blur on every single one…and it didn’t help that he was tipsy that night, too. Outside of whatever rules in your contract were broken, you were sure Jaemin was also just embarrassed to no end. 

There was a lot of pressure on him to be this man with no emotions; his label as a fuckboy meant people typically started and stopped all their thoughts about him at the sexual level, and he did his best to live up to their many expectations in that department, neglecting all the other parts of his being that needed tending to. Vulnerability was not a Jaemin specialty, largely because it’s never what anyone was looking for from him; and anything that lessened his sex appeal, and thus meant he couldn’t make a call and immediately have any girl he wanted, was a possibility he sought to avoid. 

You didn’t necessarily mind the no-contact, though. Your heart was doing flips and spins in Jaemin’s presence on Halloween, and you had to give yourself a cool-down period before seeing him so that you could act normal around him again - whatever it was that ‘normal’ looked like when you were having to convince a group of friends that you liked your best friend while convincing your best friend you didn’t actually like him. 

Jaemin made up an excuse for your absence at Monday’s lunch, but on Tuesday he finally messaged you again and asked you out for ice cream, which you of course said ‘yes’ to. He meets you at the entrance to your dorm and smiles at you with something like a sigh of relief when you smile back at him; though, with his messy hair, thick-framed glasses, and a hoodie adorning his figure, it was hard to do anything but smile - he looked criminally boyfriend. 

“Hey, I’m- sorry…for it being weird these past few days,” he gets out somewhat awkwardly as you start on your walk towards the best ice cream parlor by campus. 

You shake your head with a small laugh. “It’s okay. You’ve been going through it recently,” you joke, and Jaemin licks his lips before bringing himself to laugh as well. 

“Thanks for uh- putting up with me on Halloween.” He speaks as though the words were bitter on his tongue. “I’m sorry about forcing you to spend the night.” 

You let out a sigh. You wanted to stop and force him to see the sincerity in your eyes as you told him that you weren’t ‘putting up with him,’ but you knew you needed to keep this moment more casual so he wouldn’t find these vulnerable bits overwhelming and consequently shut down. So instead, you just keep walking with a small shake of your head.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. You just had a panic attack - if I didn’t spend the night, I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. I would’ve stayed up all night worried about you. It was better that I was with you.” 

Jaemin lets something like a grimace cross his features as he responds with a wry laugh. “You care about me a lot,” he points out, making you look up at him by your side with raised brows.

“Of course I do. You’re my best friend,” you say seriously, and Jaemin looks down to meet your gaze, giving away the distant look in his eyes.

“Ha, fair,” he begins. “I care about you a lot, too.” As he continues, he drops his head to face his feet. “But I don’t think I’d know how to take care of you while you’re having a panic attack,” he admits regrettably, but all you can do is give a soft smile.

“I’m not expecting you to. All I ask is that you let me be there for you again if you have another one…and that you stop being so embarrassed about showing emotions,” you tack on, causing Jaemin to laugh a bit in defeat.

“Okay, angel, but only with you. I have a hot guy persona to keep up in the real world,” he says through a smile, but you shake your head.

“You’re hot, regardless,” you deadpan, and Jaemin’s face lights up as he nudges you in the side playfully.

“Well, look at that! You sweet talker. Maybe I’ll pay for your ice cream today,” he banters, and soon the two of you are in shared laughter as you elbow him back. 

“Whatever. I’m 80% sure you were gonna pay for my ice cream even before that.”

“80%?” He echos, bringing a hand up to his chest as though he’s been shot. “Such little faith,” he tuts, shaking his head and making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Am I supposed to have more faith in a fuckboy than that?” You tease, and Jaemin’s face falls into a mock seriousness, holding open the door to the ice cream parlor for you as he looks at your figure with raised eyebrows. 

“No, you’re supposed to have more faith in your best friend than that,” he says as you pass through the door, and you look back at him to share matching small smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I have nothing but faith in you,” you reply as he, too, fully steps inside and lets the door swing closed behind him. The proximity has you looking almost directly up at him as he stares down at you in much the same manner; playful gleams in your eyes and fond smiles adorning your faces. At once, he nods his head towards the counter behind you.

“Go order, angel. It’s on me today.” 

You scrunch your face up at him with a big grin. “Thanks, handsome.” Then you promptly turn around and head towards where the cashier was waiting to take your order, not even taking one chance to look back and see how red Jaemin���s face had gotten in response. 

Jaemin knew it was coming, that was the funny thing. He just wasn’t expecting the disconnect between his head and his heart to be remedied all at once; but looking at you standing in line and pointing at what flavor you wanted, he had never wanted to do this with anyone else, but he really really wanted it with you, today and every day after that.

Sitting down and actually eating ice cream included the most normal of conversations between you and Jaemin. He wasn’t your best friend for nothing - the two of you could talk forever and never run out of things to say or comfort and joy to find in each other’s presence. As such, when you finished your ice cream cones and left the parlor, interaction flowed as it always had while he walked you back to your dorm…meaning the two of you looked like just best friends; close enough on the sidewalk to hear each other but far enough apart so that there was no possibility of accidentally grazing the back of each other’s hands or anything. You were hardly conscious of it, elated at the fact that you and Jaemin were so close and consistent again after the past few years, but Jaemin could practically only focus on the distance between the two of you.

You had basically just stepped foot back on actual campus when Jaemin abruptly stopped, grabbing your wrist and turning you towards him as he spoke in a rush.

“My friends are looking, kiss me,” he says in something close to a panic, and so you immediately oblige, pressing up on your tiptoes to kiss him firmly. You place your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you break away, catching your breath - something that Jaemin always seemed to make you lose - as you turn your head around to look at the surrounding area.

“Where are they?” You ask through a light pant, turning back to Jaemin once you checked and double checked but caught no sign of his friends. 

Jaemin licks his lips hesitantly, shaking his head. “They must have left already,” he says through an exhale, and you take a deep breath, finally allowing yourself to step away from Jaemin’s body as you face the ground, trying to regain your footing from the whiplash it felt you just went through. Jaemin lets out an awkward cough before speaking up again. “We should probably hold hands all the time when we’re in public, though. I’m pretty sure Chenle’s the only suspicious one still out of the friend group, but it’d throw anyone off if we’re dating and not holding hands. And if there’s one thing I learned from the Halloween party, it’s that people don’t know we’re dating, and that should probably change so it doesn’t just look like an act put on for the friend group…or Chenle’s never gonna believe it.” 

He wasn’t wrong, and you knew that - you knew that before all of this even started. Rule number three was that the act is immediately dropped in private, but that came with the other side of things being that you had to put on an act while in public, regardless of who was around to witness it. 

You nod your head slowly. “Yeah, okay,” you cede, and Jaemin’s hand immediately finds yours, the warmth from the contact making you realize how chilled your bones currently were. There was no more hiding it from girls in your classes now - you were Jaemin’s girlfriend to the general public, not just to his six best friends. You needed these next two months to pass by quickly, because with the promise of Jaemin’s hand being in yours more than ever, you were sure your chances of survival just decreased dramatically. 

That Friday, your date night was replaced with a night in at Jaemin’s apartment. As soon as he shot you a text saying he was home from class, you made your way over to his place. He opened the door with the bright smile he typically revealed just for you, stepping back to let you inside with a fond, “hey angel.” 

You step inside with a smile and small greeting in reply. “What do you wanna do today?” You ask, turning around to face him once you realize you were aimlessly crossing the span of his apartment for no reason. Already preparing for the question, Jaemin moves his hand from behind his back to reveal a thick blu-ray case in his grip.

“Harry Potter movie marathon?” He asks with a smirk.

You look back at him with raised eyebrows and a small grin of your own. “You know I can’t say ‘no’ to Harry Potter at any point in the Fall or Winter seasons,” you reply, and Jaemin’s eyes find a new glow behind them.

“That and Gilmore Girls; though I’m much more in the mood for Harry Potter because if we started rewatching Gilmore Girls now, we’d have to get through all those episodes with that floppy-haired jerk and really, Jess is so much better,” he adds on seriously, and all you can do is laugh. 

“Hey, Dean is at least better than Logan,” you respond, and Jaemin lets out an actual groan.

“Please don’t get me started on Logan…can we instead get started on Harry Potter?” He asks again, waving the disc case around invitingly and causing you to laugh some more as you walk towards the couch. 

“Just waiting on you,” you answer as you plop down on the couch, making Jaemin roll his eyes playfully before turning around to set everything up on the TV. As the familiar soundtrack fills the room, Jaemin places himself next to you like normal, handing you a blanket to make the cozy night-in complete. 

Two hours later, as Jaemin got up to switch out the discs from The Sorcerer’s Stone to The Chamber of Secrets, you got up for a bathroom break, and when the two of you sat back down, there was maybe an inch less space between you both than previously. Not much else changed. That is, until not even ten minutes into the second movie. You catch in your peripheral as Jaemin moves his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. You don’t think anything of it until that arm doesn’t come back down to his side, but instead wraps around the back of your shoulders.

“Is Haechan here?” You ask lightly, trying to talk over the sound of your breath hitching. Haechan’s room was closest to the bathroom, and you don’t remember any sign of life coming from nearby while you were in there, but nothing else explained this, because this was not normal between the two of you. 

“No,” Jaemin answers shortly, and all you can do is swallow hesitantly as you fight for words again.

“Then why is your arm around my shoulder?” You ask, trying to make it sound as though your words were a playful tease and not a desperate question. 

Jaemin looks over at you with raised eyebrows and a playful smirk. “Because what if he comes back?” He replies casually, and you try to roll your eyes in much the same manner, as though his arm around your shoulder wasn’t single-handedly making your heart rate spike. He was right, anyway - if Haechan came back, it would be weird for the two of you to be sitting any other way.

It was during Prisoner of Azkaban when Haechan inevitably walked into the apartment. Busy with locking the door behind him, he was caught off guard when locking eyes with the two of you as he turned back around. Though, all at once, his gaze softened as he looked between you, Jaemin, and the television. “Hey guys,” he says warmly, and you mentally high-five yourself not only for the fact that you and Jaemin seemed to have truly won Haechan over, but also that you had won Haechan over; the main reason this bet was even made was because Haechan couldn’t stand whatever girl it was that Jaemin had over, but here he was, excited to see you cuddled into Jaemin on the couch, and that win was not lost on you. 

“Hey,” Jaemin replied with a smile. “We’re watching Harry Potter if you want to join,” he continues, but Haechan shakes his head at the extended invite as he moves to grab something from the mess that was the kitchen counter.

“Tempting, but- I’m all good. I’m about to head back out, actually. Mark and I are gonna hit a few bars and try to unwind from this bullshit week,” he says with a weak laugh. You and Jaemin flash your eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

“Let me know if you need a ride back home. We’ll swing by to grab you and Mark, or- I will, at least, depending on what time it ends up being. Regardless, be safe. I enjoy having you as a roommate,” Jaemin says, his tone turning more playful with every word. 

Haechan rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t drink and drive. We all know I’m smarter than that,” he says, but when he makes eye contact with you and Jaemin again, he meets your wide-eyed stares of doubt, causing him to shake his head with a more hearty laugh. “You guys suck,” he says with a smile. “I’ll keep you updated throughout the night. It was nice seeing you, y/n,” he continues seriously, beginning to fiddle with the front door lock on his exit.

“You, too,” you reply genuinely, and with one more nod and wave goodbye, he was out the door. It wasn’t even five seconds later when Jaemin’s arm detaches itself from your shoulder, instead finding comfort at his side again. He didn’t pay any mind to it, his attention pinned solely on the movie. You do your best to not show any physical reaction to the absence of his touch, especially when you were the one giving him a hard time for it in the first place. You’re almost shocked by how well Jaemin is able to turn it on and off, though you figure the real problem was how poorly you were able to do the same. Jaemin was just doing his part, exactly as he said he would. 

Your heart had to stop looking for hidden meaning to every touch, every “angel,” because he was your best friend and crush, but you were his best friend and fake-girlfriend. Unbeknownst to you, Jaemin ran through the same spiel in reverse inside his own head, figuring if he kept his arm around you now with the promise of Haechan being gone, you would surely catch onto the fact that he craved your touch more than typical of best friends - which was exactly what you both were going back to at the start of the new year.

It was the first Tuesday after you and Jaemin agreed to ramp up your public dating facade, and you were already the center of attention as you walked into class at 11:00. You tell yourself no one’s gaze locked onto you as you opened the door for class - that you were making it up; but at least some percent of that story was false, because as you sit in your chair and start pulling out your notebook for class, your name gets called from the seat diagonal to you. “Y/n, rumor has it that you and Jaemin are actually dating,” this girl, Hana, says. You knew she was looking for a response, so you don’t give her one, instead focusing on your pen mindlessly rolling between your fingers. 

“You? With a guy like him?” She continues, adding more bite and disbelief to each word. You keep your gaze focused in front of you, jaw tightening as you try to hide more robust reactions. That is, until she continues. “You can’t be that good in bed.” Your fist clenches as you whip your head towards her; furrowed, taunting eyebrows matching the fire in her eyes and the smirk on her lips, the rest of her friend group snickering behind her. You have the patience for none of it - you were not going to sit here and take this.

“Actually,” you begin, your kind tone dripping in sarcasm. “I know this is something you don’t have experience with, so bear with me, but Jaemin genuinely likes me as a person and so I didn’t have to win him over with just my skills in bed. Yeah! He actually wants to hold my hand and tell me pretty things and I’m just so sorry that he never had the desire to do any of that with the likes of you!” You give her one last look before shrugging a bit, even your fake smile completely ridden from your face. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all.”

Hana looks mortified, her friend group in the surrounding desks all watching the exchange now with wide eyes. You don’t even think any of them saw it coming when Hana got up from her seat and lunged towards you, swinging at your face. “You bitch!” She yells at you, her fist making contact with the area around your eye. You wince slightly but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a bigger reaction - you’d leave that for when you were alone. You move your hand up to touch the area, making sure none of her rings caught your skin and drew blood, but when your fingers came back clean, you just move your gaze back to her in disinterest.

“Are you done now?” You ask monotonously. You catch her fist clench again in your peripheral and prepare yourself for another hit because seemingly none of the other students were concerned with stopping the exchange. However, your professor finally walks in before Hana can even get another word out, and instead she’s told to take her seat as you swing back to face the front of the room in your own chair. The throbbing that half of your face was currently experiencing would have to wait an hour and twenty minutes to be addressed, you weren’t letting her win.

Thankfully, that was your last of two classes for the day, so you were able to head back to your dorm directly after. You throw your backpack down in the entryway and immediately head for your bathroom to assess the damages. “Fuck,” you whisper under your breath. The hour and a half was enough time for a proper bruise to start forming, and it wasn’t necessarily the prettiest of black eyes. You move a hand up to touch the area again, this time just the light pressure already putting you in horrid pain. With a defeated groan, you leave the bathroom and dig through your freezer for an ice pack to hold up to the area instead. 

Settling yourself down on the couch, you decide the last thing you need is for Jaemin to see you like this. With a sigh, you open your phone and pull up your texts with him. Hey, just a heads up, I don’t have a lot of time to hang this week or make it to friend group lunches.  

Jaemin’s reply is almost instantaneous. Is everything okay?

You frown at the message. You hated lying to your best friend, but explaining what was up would defeat the whole purpose of saying you couldn’t hang out anyways. Yep! You reply instead, thankful when Jaemin didn’t press any further. You’d give yourself a week to heal, and then you were sure makeup would be able to cover what little would be left of the bruising by then.

Those plans didn’t even last twenty-four hours. There was a knock on your door after classes on Wednesday and you figured it was your RA here to remind you not to leave your windows open while out at class with the chances of snow ever increasing. Though, when you lazily throw your door open, it’s your best friend on the other side. Your eyes go wide and you immediately move a hand up to cover the left half of your face where your black eye was still very much at its peak. “Jaemin, what are you doing here?!” You ask in a rush, but he doesn’t match your demeanor at all.

Instead, he shrugs, a light smile painting his lips. “I missed you, angel-” He answers as he brings a hand up to your wrist and gently guides your own hand down away from your face…and that’s when his energy completely flips, eyes going wide as he rushes to place a hand on your cheek and assess the damage himself. “Oh my god, what happened to you?!” He asks in a panic. You shake your head adamantly, trying to move his hand away from your face as you reply with a serious bite.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you reply dismissively, and Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow as he scans your entire face.

“Is this why you said you couldn’t hang out?” He asks, almost mad if you had to put an emotion on it.

You shake your head, dropping your gaze to face the floor. “Jaem, don’t worry about it-” You start indifferently, but he cuts you off with enough emotion for the both of you. 

“What happened?” He questions again, this time his tone much firmer than any of his previous questions. His gaze bore into you, and you knew there wasn’t any getting out of this. You let out an annoyed sigh, shrugging like it was nothing as you go to reply.

“This girl in my class found out we were dating, and apparently that pissed her off because she didn’t think I deserved you or I was taking her spot and all that. And I snapped back so she punched me,” you finally answer, and Jaemin’s body language immediately softens as he looks over you once more with a frown and wide eyes.

“Y/n…” You don’t want to deal with his sorry tone. Instead, you move to meet his gaze again as you shake your head, the frustrated tears in your eyes rather revealing themself in your fractured tone.

“Please just sleep with her, Jaem. Tell her we broke up or something and then sleep with her. Or pretend you’re cheating on me with her…she’d love that, and no one would believe her if she said so, so we keep our cover,” you suggest in a rush, and Jaemin looks at you as though you just committed murder.

“No. Absolutely not,” he replies instantly.

“Jaem-” You start through a defeated exhale, but hearing you out was currently the last thing on Jaemin’s mind.

“I’m not fucking sleeping with someone who hurt you,” he states with force, and you don’t know why this is such a big deal to him, not when the solution was this simple.

“I would just rather have her satisfied and dealt with,” you respond hollowly, and Jaemin actually lets out a laugh.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to deal with her, don’t worry.” His angry promise makes you sigh, and all you can do is respond in defeat.

“Jaem-” You begin, and you’re not given any time to decide how you want to continue as he cuts you off. Passion still courses through Jaemin’s body as he shakes his head, taking a break from clenching his jaw to speak again.

“She should know better than to lay a hand on my girl,” he argues, and now you absolutely know you need to get him to calm down.

“I’m not really your girl,” you state plainly, and if you weren’t already feeling deflated, you sure did now as you admitted that. Jaemin seems to react to your statement in much the same way, his features softening for a moment as he looked at you again, bringing a hand up to run through his hair in frustration; though this time, the frustration was aimed towards himself. 

“I- I know. I’m sorry, I never should have asked you to do this for me. I was so selfish, goddammit,” he rambles under his breath absentmindedly as he begins to pace back and forth. You shake your head softly, reaching out to catch Jaemin’s wrist and force his movements to still.

“It’s fine, handsome,” you state firmly, and you watch as a million emotions run over Jaemin’s face, him just sucking on his bottom lip in hesitation. The hand that was previously caught in your grip comes up to cup your cheek again, his thumb lightly grazing your bruise as he studies you with a sad look on his face. 

“No, angel,” he begins with a sigh. “It’s really not.” 

You falter under his soft gaze and sure words, shaking your head as you fumble for words of your own. “It will be fine, then. Just let me lay low for a bit. I probably won’t be at lunch on Friday…I don’t necessarily need your friends seeing me beat up like this,” you try and laugh off.

Jaemin looks at you quizzically. “They wouldn’t-” He begins, but you cut him off with pleading eyes.

“Jaem, please,” you counter, and he just nods his head solemnly. 

“Okay.” He lets out a breath before darting his gaze around from you to the rest of the living area, locking eyes with your backpack and giving him a reason to stay in your presence for a bit longer. “Can we do homework together?” He asks, and you lightly sigh as you nod your head, guiding his hand down from your cheek so you could instead head towards the couch and set everything up on the coffee table for the two of you. 

Your main distraction from homework came in the form of whatever was on the television. Jaemin’s main distraction came in the form of you; he could hardly finish one part of an assignment without turning his head to look over at you, chewing on his bottom lip as he studied you softly, then whipping his gaze back to his laptop before you could ever feel his eyes on you. It was the least productive he's ever been.

Friday was the next time you saw Jaemin, when he came over as per usual for your ‘date nights.’ However, with you missing the friend group lunch for the second time this week, he immediately greeted you with a related request. “Hey, the guys miss you. They wanted to know if you were down for a movie night tomorrow,” he says casually as he closes the door behind him. 

You turn to face him with a straight face. “Jaem, my black eye isn’t going to be-” You watch as Jaemin rolls his lips inward and dodges your eye contact, and all you can do is let out a heavy sigh. “You told them, didn’t you?” You ask instead, and Jaemin’s hidden lips reappear to form a weak don’t-be-mad grin. That is, until he meets your eyes again and lets out his own sigh, shrugging his shoulders as he resets his facial expression to something more casual again.

“They wanted to know where you were,” he says in defense. You watch as the memory of lunch replays behind his eyes and he tilts his head slightly as he looks at you with an anticipatory cringe in how you were going to respond as he continues. “…and now they’re all pissed and want to be there to make you feel better, too,” he finishes with a dorky smile, as though his full set of teeth would fix everything. Unfortunately, he was right about that, and all you can manage is a huff of laughter as you shake your head. 

“Oh my. Sure, we can have a movie night,” you give in with a smile, and Jaemin lights up before pulling out his phone to text the group that the plans for tomorrow are a go. Then, your Friday night with Jaemin consisted of a large pizza, red wine, and board games. 

That Saturday night, Jaemin came to pick you up and take you back to his apartment where the movie night was being held, insisting that Haechan could hold down fort as he came to pick you up…and that no boyfriend would let his girlfriend drive herself over to his place when he had a perfectly good truck and an excuse to kiss you under the porch light before joining all the guys; you told him he was an idiot, but he met that with a kiss on your cheek, claiming that you were the idiot for not taking a free kiss under the porch light with the Na Jaemin…a low blow considering the reason behind your bruising eye. 

When you step inside his apartment, the rest of the guys silence mid-conversation, instead turning all of their attention to you. Their shoulders drop as your black eye comes into the light. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you turn into Jaemin’s chest, and he wraps his arms around you lightly with a warm laugh, kissing the top of your head before turning his attention to his friends. “I’m pretty sure you guys promised me you would be chill about this if she came over,” he states playfully, causing the rest of them to drop their heads with a small laugh of their own.

“Our fault for caring about her,” Jeno banters back, and all you can do is sigh and pull away from Jaemin’s chest, facing the rest of the group again. He was right, not about it being their fault, but for the fact that their frowns just meant they cared about you, and it wasn’t like you didn’t feel the same way towards them - you’d frown, too if one of them walked in battered and bruised. 

You roll your eyes playfully with a mellow shake of your head. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” you assure, turning your gaze to Jaemin before tossing your head side to side with a small smirk. “Besides, I’d say Jaem’s worth a punch or two.” The guys in front of you laugh but Jaemin furrows his brows.

“Or two?” He echoes worriedly, making you turn to him again with a soft, sure gaze. 

“One,” you promise him and watch as a bit of relief washes over his figure, nodding his head as he takes it in. 

“Um, you guys wanna watch Transformers?” Jisung speaks up awkwardly, shattering whatever tension you and Jaemin just created and instead making everyone chuckle. 

Mark whips his head over to Jisung. “I thought we were watching Spider-Man…?” He adds sulkily. Jisung’s jaw drops, because apparently he had been looking forward to a Transformers marathon nonstop since the plans were made; but Chenle cuts off any chance of a response from him, instead just shaking his head rapidly.

“It doesn’t matter. Just choose anything before they take the pause in activity to make out,” he says as though he were horrified by the possibility, and Renjun lets out a sure laugh as he places a hand on Chenle’s shoulder.

“Still traumatized by the pda you asked for at that first lunch?” He asks, and Chenle looks at him with wide eyes.

“Can you blame me? So, they’re in a relationship…that’s great. Slightly cringe, but whatever. You know what’s not cringe? Spider-Man.”

“The Transformers!” Jisung corrects adamantly, getting everyone to laugh again.

“Sure, the Transformers,” Chenle agrees automatically, and Haechan rolls his eyes with a soft smile as he moves to set up the TV. 

The eight of you got situated before another beat could pass. Mark on the recliner, Chenle and Jisung on the small couch, and then you, Jaemin, Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun taking up the big couch in the middle of the room. You cuddled easily into Jaemin as he threw an arm around your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on the side of your arm. 

For the group of you typically being a mess of chaos when you were all together, the eight of you somehow all followed the same unspoken rules when it came to movie night. There was no talking and, surprisingly, no one distracted by their phone. However, the peace of the perfect movie night was broken maybe twenty minutes into the first movie, when a chill ran through your body and the resulting shiver didn’t go unnoticed. “Do you want a blanket, y/n?” Mark asks softly. All at once, the guys whipped their heads towards him, furrowed brows adding to their glares at his disruption. That is, until it registers for them what Mark just asked, and all their gazes soften as they draw their attention to you in wait for your answer, Haechan pausing the movie entirely. 

You let out a laugh under your breath, shaking your head at Mark with a grateful smile. “No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, trying to get everyone’s focus back on the movie because one shiver was not enough reason for concern. The guys all flash their eyebrows at your answer, immediately accepting it as they turn their attention back to the movie. 

It isn’t long though before you shiver again, and while your attempt to cover it up was stellar, it wasn’t enough to get past the man holding you in his arms. Jaemin leans down so his lips are by your ear. “Go put on one of my hoodies,” he whispers slowly.

You shake your head minimally in response, eyes still trained on the Transformers. “I’m okay-” Your whispered words are cut off when the movie pauses, and you whip your head over to face Jaemin now, remote in hand and raised brows as he stares back at you seriously. A chorus of complaints erupt from the rest of the guys but Jaemin is only focused on you, and you can’t do anything but let out a light sigh. “Are you sure?” You ask, and Jaemin’s brows go from raised to furrowed.

“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. You’re my girlfriend. Please go dig through my closet and wear my clothes,” he replies firmly, nodding his head now in the direction of his bedroom. You dodge any further eye contact with him as you instead slip out of his arms and towards his room. You don’t spend too much time in there, more than aware that they were all still waiting on you before unpausing the movie. You throw on the first hoodie you see, trying to ignore how much it smelled like him - how comforting it was to be wrapped in that scent. 

You put on a straight face as you walk back out to the living room, though you begin to think it was unnecessary considering their reactions, or- Jaemin’s, at least. He immediately broke from the idle chatter he was having with Jeno as he instead locked his gaze on you, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. You fall shy under his gaze, looking around at the rest of the guys to see if you missed something before accepting the fact that it was just Jaemin who had the answers. “What?” You ask hesitantly, and it forces Jaemin to snap back to reality and collect himself.

He lets out something of a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he concludes his look up and down your body. “You should’ve been swimming in my hoodies for the past two months already,” he answers seriously, and suddenly your cheeks are on fire. You hide your face in your hands and the rest of the guys let fond grins paint their face at the interaction between the two of you. That was the first time it truly hit all of them that they were each about to lose $100 soon. Though it was hard for them to even be mad about it, because in everyone’s eyes but your own, Jaemin was whipped, and that was all they ever wanted for their best friend. 

The group got through three movies before everyone started fading, eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. Renjun was the one to turn the lamp on at the side table beside him, putting everyone on the same page as they all got up from their seats and started getting ready to leave. Chenle is the first to say his goodbyes and head for the door, but as he places his hand on the knob, he whips back around. “Oh, wait!” He starts, louder than any of you were prepared for as you stare back at him in question. He shakes his head, the volume of his voice apparently even getting to him, but then he looks back at you all seriously. “I’m having my big New Year’s Eve party again. You’re all invited, obviously. I don’t know anyone’s plans after finals week, so I figured I’d just tell you now before we’re all in different places - if you wind up back at NCIT by December 31st, I’d love to have you, and if you wind up back at NCIT even earlier than that, please please please please please-” 

“Chenle,” you all cut him off in unison, and he gives an awkward laugh.

“Please consider helping set up,” he says flusteredly. You all let out fond chuckles as you nod your head at the boy, and he lets a wide smile grace his features before finally opening the door and leaving with a soft ‘thank you.’ 

Dropping you off at your dorm, Jaemin fumbles for words before you can even open the door back to your place, and you turn around to pin all your attention on him instead as he speaks up awkwardly. “Uh- about Chenle’s party…”

“Yes, I’ll go. We said that would be our last day together so we might as well be…together,” you say, and Jaemin nods his head slowly. 

“Okay; and for next weekend…?” He leaves the question at that and that’s when you realize you truly hadn’t given him much to plan with yet. You shake your head with a small laugh. 

“We’ll leave Saturday morning for my parents’ house. I have finals up until Friday anyways. The big dinner you have to be there for is Saturday night, so you can do whatever you would like with your break after that.” 

Jaemin processes the information with a distant expression before pulling it into a smile. “Alright, angel. Good luck with finals next week. I’ll be ready to go Saturday morning,” he says happily, and all you can do is match his smile.

“Good luck on your finals, too-” You start, but as you move to wrap him in one last hug, you catch sight of the hoodie covering your arms and jump back. “Oh! I’m still wearing your hoodie. Sorry-” You speak in a rush as you work to try and slip out of it, but Jaemin shakes his head.

“Don’t worry. Keep it,” he responds seriously, making you whip your head up at him and causing him to laugh. “It would be really suspicious if I came back home with the hoodie that I just said you looked cute in, and I’m not taking any chances with us so close to the three month mark now. Just don’t lose it…it’s my favorite hoodie.” 

You let out a flustered laugh. “Well, are you sure you don’t want it back, then? Haechan is probably asleep already-” You reason as you start pulling one arm out of the hoodie again. 

“Just keep it,” he cuts you off with a warm chuckle before continuing more somberly. “Our three months are almost up. I’ll get it back in no time.” If the words were bitter on his tongue, you didn’t notice. You were too preoccupied trying to neutralize your own emotions at the notion of this all ending soon. 

You’re scared your voice would betray you if you opened your mouth again to speak, so instead you just nod your head, finally wrapping him in that goodbye hug and then turning to let yourself into your dorm. 

Finals week somehow went by in a flash, and you’re scared to add up how many hours of it you spent in Jaemin’s hoodie. Though, the atypical schedule meant that you didn’t really have to worry about that - you only ever ran into Jaemin on campus for friend group lunches, and those were canceled this week since half of you would be in the middle of finals during the usual span of time; so, Jaemin never had to find out that you were practically living in the very same hoodie you had tried so hard to give back originally. 

Come Saturday morning, that hoodie was packed with all of your other clothes in your suitcase, currently in the trunk of your car as you drive over to pick Jaemin up before heading to your house. He places his luggage next to yours before opening the passenger door and sliding in. “Hey, angel! Ready to pull all this off for your parents, too?” He asks with a devious smirk. You roll your eyes, trying to buy into the playfulness to forget about the dread filling your system at the idea of heading back home right now.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Thank you again for agreeing to this,” you say seriously, and Jaemin looks at you as though you were crazy.

“Of course I’d agree to do this. Do you realize how much you’re doing for me?” He banters back, effectively getting you to laugh a bit as the tension in your shoulders drops. “Besides,” he continues more thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see our hometown again.” His words are much more mellow this time, and you look over at him with a sad grimace before shifting into drive and actually getting out on the road. 

As soon as Jaemin went to college, his family moved to Jeju Island, and for as often as the two of you talked about traveling there one day, it was much less exciting of an idea when it was already Jaemin’s home base and it’d just be you traveling to visit him. Even outside of that, you knew he missed the city - moving away from everything you know is only nice if it’s your choice, and moving to Jeju was definitely not his choice. 

It’s not like his relationship with his parents was impacted, though. He understood, and was very appreciative of the fact that they held out on the move until he graduated high school. Truly, if they were wanting to move, this was the time to do it. He’d graduate college and get his own place wherever he wanted; it’s just that now his place to go back to was Jeju rather than Seoul.

On the other hand, your family stayed put in the same house from childhood, but your relationship had gone through rough waters since you started college; something not even Jaemin knew, and now you were wondering how oblivious you could keep him of your current home-situation.

The verdict was ‘not very long.’ As soon as the two of you walked in your front door, your parents seemed shocked to be laying eyes on Jaemin with you. You push past them and towards your bedroom to put your stuff down, sending just a meek ‘hi’ their way. Jaemin watched you disappear with ample confusion, but his face quickly straightened up into a smile as he greeted your parents with hugs and gratitude for having him over. 

Your mom pulls back from the hug with a look of disbelief, shaking her head solemnly. “Jaemin, it’s wonderful to see you. I apologize for not having a space set up for you to stay. To be honest, when y/n said she was bringing a guest home, the last thing we were expecting was for it to be a guy,” she laughs off, and Jaemin’s eyebrows immediately furrow. Your own muscles tighten as you move to close your bedroom door, deciding that was already enough for you to hear. 

“Why?” Jaemin asks in return, trying to match the laugh from your mom, though his was half-hearted at best. 

Your mom shrugs it off like it’s nothing new. “Well, you know our y/n…doesn't exactly have a lot going for her-” 

“Y/n’s gorgeous, actually,” Jaemin cuts off with force, now taking a full step back from your mom and causing her hand to drop from where it was still at his forearm. “And sure, she has her guard up most of the time but that doesn’t change the fact that once she’s comfortable enough to be herself, she’s incredibly easy to love,” he continues, brows furrowed as he makes sure to get his point across. 

Your mom passes her gaze from Jaemin to her husband, taking a moment to exchange strange smiles with him before turning back to Jaemin. “Sorry, I seem to have offended you. I didn’t know you cared about my daughter that much.” She speaks every word as though she’s only half serious, and all it does is frustrate Jaemin even more. 

“Of course I care about her but that’s not even the point. You shouldn’t be saying that about your child and you used to know that, cause you never said anything like that when we were growing up. So, I don’t know what changed but I can tell you it wasn’t the worth of your daughter.” Setting all your stuff down, you open your bedroom door enough to catch his last sentence and immediately let out a heavy sigh, knowing you had to go out there and do something.

“Jaem?” You start, walking back out from the hallway. His face instantly changes from disgust to warmth as he snaps his head in your direction.

“Yeah, angel?” 

You nod your head back towards where you just came from. “My room is still the same one it’s always been. Since we’re apparently bunking together, if you want to go put your stuff in there so you’re not carrying it around throughout the house, you know where to go,” you say casually, trying to make it seem as though the sleeping arrangements were all you caught of his conversation with your mom.

Jaemin nods with a tight smile. “Alright, I’ll be back in a second,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he passes you in his walk to your room and you take his place with your parents in the living room. You and your mom both watch as your dad looks between the two of you before immediately leaving to go outside, shaking his head as he does so and leaving just you, your mom, and the suffocating tension in the room.

You drop your head to face the floor and your mom is the first one to speak. “I didn’t know he liked you,” she says plainly, eyes darting towards the room Jaemin was currently in before landing on you again, your head now whipped up to face her with raised brows.

“Didn’t know he liked me or didn’t think I was capable of having him like me?” You ask in return, and your mom falters for a moment.

“Y/n…” She starts, but you shake your head.

“Am I good enough now? Is this enough for you? That I brought an attractive guy home who cares about me? Are you even the tiniest bit proud of me now?” The fire in your eyes soon matches that of your mother’s, her disproving gaze that you knew so well baring into you.

“Y/n, that’s not fair and you know that,” she counters, her voice raising with every word.

Your jaw drops as you look at her in disbelief. “What’s not fair is you judging me by the man I do or do not have to hold my hand at any given time.” You’re thankful when the words come out firm; you’ve never stood up to her like this, and when your mom studies you with intensity, it’s as though she doesn’t know the woman in front of her this time. 

“Well,” she breathes out, bringing her gaze back to your own. “Being with him has apparently given you some confidence…or a voice, at least.” Her tone borders between indifference and slight disgust, and all you can do is shake your head, unsure of how your relationship with your mom ever turned into this.

“I refuse to believe that you find an issue in the fact that he makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world,” you say in almost a plea for her to tell you it’s not true, but she never does; instead, it’s just Jaemin’s breath hitching in the hallway that he tries to cover up so you wouldn’t know he was listening. When neither you nor your mom turn your heads towards him, he realizes he was still under the radar. So, he prepares himself to walk back into the living room as though he just got done putting everything away in yours.

When he gets back by your side, he lightly kisses your temple, turning to face your mom as he sneaks a hand to rest on the small of your back; your mom stares at the physical contact and you think her eye actually twitches. Jaemin opens his mouth to start casual conversation back up but your mom cuts him off before he can even begin. “Your father and I are going out for the day. We will be back to cook dinner,” she states, and your eyebrows furrow immediately.

“You haven’t seen Jaemin in years and you’re just gonna leave right when he gets here?” You ask in shock, and your mom glares back at you.

“Dinner,” she replies sharply, and then she’s out the door. 

Jaemin’s hand on your back begins to rub lightly up and down, and as you turn to bury your face in his chest, he wraps you in a full hug. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, and Jaemin shakes his head. With one hand, he lightly guides your chin up so that you make eye contact with him, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at you. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, angel. It’s all okay. How about we just watch TV or something, go outside maybe…what’s gonna destress you?” He asks, his hand that was underneath your chin maneuvering to instead caress your cheek. 

You shrug, doing your best to dodge eye contact as you reply. “Anything in your presence,” you say seriously, missing the way warmth just reached every corner of Jaemin’s being at your words. 

“Okay,” he responds surely, and that’s how you found yourself walking the streets of your hometown, hand-in-hand with Na Jaemin. You visited his old house, the old playground, anywhere you could before the cold air finally caught up to you and you had to retreat back inside for some hot chocolate and more Harry Potter from your last unfinished rewatch session. 

Jaemin never brought up the obvious tension between you and your mom, something you were thankful for, but it also left you feeling guilty because you knew it was on his mind - the equation of where things went wrong between you and your mom after he left Seoul was continuously being worked out behind his eyes. When you explained this part of the fake-dating contract, he wasn’t expecting for your parents to actually be on your ass about not dating anyone, but stepping into this house was like a minefield, and any conversation around the topic turned into an explosion.

He wasn’t gonna make you talk about it though, you obviously weren’t ready to. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around you as best he could, making sure you and your cocoa were always kept warm throughout the duration of your latest movie marathon. 

Surprising you, when it was finally dinnertime, the atmosphere was lighter by the tiniest bit. Your parents were engaging with Jaemin, at least, and the presence of other long-time family friends put you at ease, too, because you knew a big fiasco is the last thing your parents would allow to happen in front of others. 

“Are you staying with us all of break?” Your mom asks as she puts her fork down and places all of her attention on Jaemin. He gives a sorry grin in return as he shakes his head.

“No,” he begins, and your face immediately drops, forcing you to take another bite so it’s less noticeable. “I was thinking I would surprise my parents. I haven’t seen them since the summer, and I figure that means it’s time to fly out and see them again,” he continues with a light laugh. “Though, when y/n asked me to come back with her for this dinner, I- well,” he drags off, taking a moment to turn and face you at his side, a fond smirk on his lips before he turns his head back to face his lap before you can notice. “I realize I’ve gotten incredibly bad at saying ‘no’ to her,” he finishes, his own light chuckle following his words.

Gazes soften all around the table as they listen to Jaemin, but you can’t bring your head up to look at him, sure the look in your eyes would give away how desperately you were wishing for those words to be real.

Your dad is the one to pick up the conversation again. “Well, we’ll be sad to see you go so soon, but it’s sure been a pleasure having you fill our house again,” he says with a tight nod that Jaemin reflects back to him, slightly softer in his perfect Jaemin way. 

That night, you and Jaemin went to bed before the rest of the adults did, but they had the advantage of alcohol to keep them occupied, and while that option was technically open to you and Jaemin, you both decided it would probably be best to stay under the label of ‘innocent youth’ with your parents and family friends.

You walk back into your bedroom after washing your face and putting on pajamas to see Jaemin already laying down. You trace his outline underneath the covers and sigh when you realize how little room was left in your full size bed. You slip under the covers and begin to turn on your side so you could take up the smallest space possible, but Jaemin evidently has other plans as he reaches over and pulls you so that you’re laying against his chest. “What are you doing?” You ask, propping your head up on his chest as you stare at him in confusion. 

He looks back at you as though there were no need for the question, his smirk playing lazily against his lips. “If you’re going to end up on top of me anyways, I’d rather just hold you there,” he replies, and all at once you’re vividly reminded of Halloween night. You don’t argue back, instead just rolling your eyes and resting your head back against his chest as you try to hide most of the blush on your cheeks. 

Jaemin idly draws shapes on your back as he watches you fall asleep on him. He swallows awkwardly, remembering what your mother said about you…what you said to your mother, and a kind of frustration fills his chest. He listens for any signal that you were still awake, and when he finds none, he presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head. “You’re so beautiful, y/n,” he whispers. His mortification comes when he feels you tense under his hold.

“You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us, you know,” you whisper back, and his heart breaks in his chest. His tone is firm as he replies, because if you were going to be awake to hear him say that, he might as well get his point across. 

“Some stuff I never had to pretend for. Some stuff is just a fact.”

You let out a heavy sigh, flipping which way your head was facing on his chest before speaking softly. “Go to bed, Jaemin,” you say, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling of defeat that arose knowing you don’t believe him. He thinks about saying more but he figures now is not the time for it…that in your friendship, it may not ever be the time for it. So, he lets out his own light sigh, his grip around you going slightly tighter as he gets to work on actually falling asleep. 

The next day, all you really had time for was breakfast before you had to drive Jaemin to the airport. As you pull up to the curb for departures, Jaemin doesn’t even think twice before leaning over the center console to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for dropping me off,” he says sincerely amidst the rustling of him gathering his bags from various spaces of your car. You laugh as you open your own door, sliding around to the back of your car to pop the trunk and grab his suitcase.

“I’m coming inside with you, you know?” You tease lightly, missing the way Jaemin’s eyes soften at the care before he quickly vetoes your carrying of his luggage and rips his suitcase from your grip, causing you to laugh some more as you turn to face him now at your side. “But, of course, it was no problem,” you say genuinely, stepping inside the airport with him and too quickly facing the security checkpoint where you’d finally have to split. “Have a safe flight,” you continue, and with each word he’s now taking a step further than you dare to. “Tell your family I said ‘hi.’” 

Jaemin looks over his shoulder to smile back at you. “I will,” he promises firmly with a matching nod, and you throw a grin and final wave his way as he turns back to actually face where he was walking towards the entrance for security. As soon as you’re out of his line of sight, you allow your face to drop slightly alongside your gaze, letting out a light sigh at the feeling of him walking away from you. However, your attention is caught by the increasingly loud sound of heavy footsteps. You shift your gaze back in front of you to see Jaemin had changed his path and was instead heading straight for you again. 

“Jaemin-?” You question, but you’re cut off the second he gets close to you because he wastes no time in dropping his bags, cupping your cheek with his hand, and pressing a sure kiss to your lips. You melted right into it, something you would have to kick yourself for later, but at the present moment, all you could think about was his soft lips still lingering against yours.

“I’ll see you in a week, okay?” He says in a near-whisper. His words weren’t so much a statement as they were a reassurance, like he needed you to know that all you had to bear without him was a single week, like he intended to never leave you again once he came back. All you can do is swallow awkwardly, nodding as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah.” 

Jaemin’s gaze roamed over your entire figure as best it could with the two of you still in close proximity. You wanted to press up on your tiptoes and kiss him again for the hell of it, or maybe for the comfort of it, but Jaemin is the one to take action first, simply running his thumb gently across your cheek with a small smile before immediately turning to grab his bags and actually make his way through the security checkpoint. All you can do is stand and watch helplessly as he walks away from you. You’d see him in a week, sure, but then it’d be New Years before you knew it and all of this would slip right out of your hands…it practically already had. 

You were back at NCIT before Christmas, trading in family-time for time with Chenle, who was the only other one of your friends on campus for most of that duration. He tried to pretend that he needed to meet up with you to talk about plans for his New Year’s Eve party, but most of it was just excuses to hang out when he got lonely. One by one, the guys all made their way back to NCIT, Jaemin being the last to do so, coming in on the evening flight December 26th. 

You had brought Chenle with you to go pick him up, mainly because Chenle begged you to let him tag along. The two of you stood at the baggage claim for maybe fifteen minutes, Jaemin’s hoodie adorning your figure and providing you with comfort amidst Chenle’s constant nagging that you guys should have brought a sign saying that Jaemin was coming back from prison or something else more embarrassing. 

The baggage claim carousel had already begun spinning for Jaemin’s flight, and eventually even Chenle stops talking to instead join you in a frown as the two of you search for Jaemin. The verdict was that he must have just been the last person off the plane, because around five minutes later, you catch sight of his figure. “There he is- what’s he doing?” You ask confused as you look at Jaemin speed in your direction.

“Running towards you,” Chenle answers as if it were the most casual occurrence ever. He tosses his gaze over to you with raised eyebrows before continuing. “And I think you should probably start running towards him unless you’re prepared to catch his weight, cause I’m pretty sure he’s ready to jump on you.” 

Your eyes go wide at his words as you shake your head. “God, having a lunatic boyfriend is a lot of work,” you respond, feigning exhaustion. Chenle throws his arms up in defense.

“Hey, you chose him, not me,” he quips, making you smile before realizing you really had to start on your run towards him, because of all the things you were prepared for, catching Jaemin’s weight was not one of them.

You take off from where you and Chenle were standing, running up and meeting Jaemin somewhere in the middle as he lets go of his carry-on and puts his arms out for you. “Jaem!” You exclaim, jumping into his arms and wrapping around him like a koala.

“Angel!” He replies just as enthusiastically; hugging you tightly and spinning around once with the momentum.

“Chenle’s here so you have to kiss me,” you whisper in a rush, cupping his cheek with your hand as Jaemin steadies himself again.

He lets out a genuine laugh, catching your gaze with the brightest of smiles in his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t gonna run all this way towards you for nothing,” he says surely. Then he presses his lips to yours, and the resulting warmth in your body should’ve made the snow outside impossible. 

Jaemin breaks away from you when he feels a tug on his shirt sleeve, and the two of you turn to make eye contact with Chenle. “You’re being cringe now, can you please take me home?” He asks plainly, making you and Jaemin laugh as he puts you down on the solid ground again, slipping his hand in yours as the next best option. Then, after making sure Jaemin had all of his things, the three of you were on the road back to NCIT.  

The next day, Jaemin and the guys went out for lunch, one you weren’t invited to because it was one you “couldn’t know about.” Sitting around the table in a perfect reflection of the start of the semester, the guys around Jaemin all wore a mixture of looks on their faces, ranging from impressed to sulky…though that last one was only Chenle, who despite having the most money in the group, hated giving it out. 

Mark is the one to finally address the reason they were all there. “Well, you did it. I’m sure we don’t need to be the ones to tell you that you’ve been dating y/n for three whole months now,” he says with a light laugh. Jaemin can’t bring himself to join in on the smiles and playfulness around the table.

“I can’t believe it’s been three months already,” he says hollowly, but both his tone and the distant look in his eyes go unnoticed by his friends, their tunnel vision on their childish bet covering over Jaemin’s anguish at winning. 

“Here’s your $600,” Haechan says after having collected everyone’s shares from around the table. “Can't wait to have a new PS5 in our apartment,” he quips, but Jaemin whips his head up at him, grabbing the $600 from his hands defensively. 

“I’m not spending it on a PS5…” He begins, dragging off as the fire dies from his tone and he returns to a contemplative state of being. “I’m gonna buy y/n something nice.”

Gasps are heard from quite literally everyone else at the table, all of them looking at Jaemin with wide eyes. “Really?” Jeno asks in disbelief, and Jaemin makes passing eye contact with all of his friends, giving them all odd looks for being so caught off guard.

“Yes, really. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and I don’t know how to give her the world, but I can at least get her the best that $600 will buy,” he explains surely, and the rest of the guys all exchange glances with each other before turning back to him, Renjun being the one to take a jab this time through a hesitant laugh.

“Are we still talking to Na Jaemin?” He asks, making the rest of the guys laugh as well. Jaemin just lets out a sigh, finally able to find a bit of humor as well as he shakes his head, tucking the money away and turning the afternoon into a regular lunch hang out. 

Two days later, you get a call from Jaemin sometime after dinner.

“Angel?” He says softly once you pick up, his tone making you smile on the other end.

“Yeah, handsome?” You respond warmly. 

“Wanna go on a drive?” Jaemin asks, giving away no hints as to his current state of emotions, and your eyebrows furrow as you pry more.

“No destination?” You ask, and Jaemin shakes his head, not that you were able to see it anyways. His response is sharp.

“No.”

“Everything okay?” You question, the warmth in your tone turning into concern.

“Yeah,” Jaemin responds immediately. You let a beat pass in silence and it’s enough for Jaemin to want to fill it again on his own. “Just want some more time with you,” he explains shyly, and you let out a small breath of laughter as you oblige. 

“Let me get my shoes on.”

“I’ll be there to pick you up in five,” he replies firmly before immediately hanging up. 

True to his word, it only took five minutes before you’re opening the door to Jaemin. “Hey,” he says as soon as you make eye contact, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey,” you reply, your face hurting as you try not to smile too widely at his actions. Jaemin wouldn’t have noticed if you did, though, because he immediately turns to face the floor sheepishly. 

“Sorry if you were in the middle of something,” he finally says, making you furrow your brows at him - this wasn’t a Jaemin you were used to.

“Nothing that couldn’t wait,” you assure him before prying some more. “What’s up?”

Jaemin pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he shakes his head hesitantly. “Nothing. It’s just our last few days together. Figured we could hang out before you go off and get an actual boyfriend and I-” You watch as he fumbles for words, eventually giving up with a shrug as he finally makes eye contact with you again. “Go back to doing whatever it is I do.”

His answer doesn’t relieve you of any worry, and you move a hand up to cup his cheek as you tilt your head in study of him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Jaemin nods his head slightly against your hand, a fond smile at your touch replacing the distant expression he previously held. “There’s just a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about. Just wanted to hang out with you and kind of escape it all for a bit,” he explains casually, eventually bringing both hands up to guide your own back down from his face, idly playing with your fingers as he asks his next question. “Do you still like cloud watching?”

“You know I do,” you reply with a laugh, and Jaemin finally bares his teeth as he smiles back at you. He checks to make sure you actually did put your shoes on already before switching his grip so that he was just holding your hand as he walked the two of you to his truck.

You ended up at one of those nature parks, where the fields are preserved for fields-sake rather than playgrounds. The two of you got out and made your way around to the tailgate of his truck and you register that he already had blankets and pillows in the back, completely reminiscent of high school. 

You both sat in silence for a while, staring up at the sky and giving yourselves a chance to be at peace, at least somewhere away from the false sense of urgency that always seemed to be around. Eventually, you move your gaze from the clouds above to where your arms were wrapped around your knees, debating with yourself before finally breaking the silence.

“Jaem?” You call softly, and he turns all of his attention towards you.

“Yeah, angel?” He replies in much the same manner. You dart your tongue out to lick your lips, anything you could do to prolong your question - which you were currently thinking should’ve lost in your inner debate.

You finally let out a sigh, still focused in front of you as you talk. “You know you’re much more than the image you’ve picked up around campus, right?” 

Jaemin’s face immediately whips back to the front so there would be no chance of making eye contact with you. “Um…” He begins, but that was the only word he could come up with before forfeiting with an awkward swallow. You know that means it’s up to you to continue.

“I know that day I first met your friend group, you had to make up a ton of stuff on how we got together and everything, but I don’t know if you were necessarily lying when you were talking about how I deserve better than getting tied into your fuckboy image. I just- wanna make sure you know, in case that has ever been your thought process for anyone you’ve had a crush on, that there’s so many more sides to you than that. An image is an image, okay? Don’t let it get to you.” Your courage is built with every word and you finally turn to face Jaemin as you continue softly, surely. “They don’t know you like I do.”

Jaemin’s lips part with a heavy exhale before he rolls them inwards in hesitation. “Do you mean it?” He finally asks, and there’s just a trace of sadness riddling his voice.

“Of course I do,” you say firmly, and Jaemin takes in your answer with a slow nod.

“It’s been hard. I-” He grimaces before letting out an awkward laugh. “Oh, this is kind of weird to talk about with you,” he continues, making you laugh, too as the atmosphere lightens.

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s me.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to do it, because the tension in Jaemin’s shoulders falls as he lets out a light sigh and finally finds his words for what seemed to be the first time that night. “I used to not care. If they wanted to label me as a fuckboy, that was fine. Truthfully, if I was getting my dick wet, I was good-” He cuts himself off at the sound of a slightly louder exhale than normal from you, and he whips his head your way with a pout. “Don’t laugh, I’m being vulnerable.”

You stare back at him with a fond smile on your face and raised brows. “I’m not laughing,” you assure, and Jaemin turns to face his knees again as he accepts your denial of the claim without a fight. Then he starts back up with his explanation, his tone heavy and contemplative.

“Lately though, I’ve just been thinking I want so much more out of life. But, I spent so long under the fuckboy label I didn’t know if I would ever be able to break free from it, if I could ever be more.”

Your gaze on him softens but your eyebrows furrow; there was something so weird about knowing he’s never viewed himself in the way you do. “Na Jaemin, you’ve always been more,” you respond firmly. The lightest of exhales escapes as laughter from Jaemin, and he lets a weak smile play at his lips before responding. 

“And you’ve always felt like home…” He says, matching your tone as he finally turns to look at you again. “That’s another thing I wasn’t lying about that day.” 

You immediately dodge eye contact, knowing it’d reveal to him in milliseconds your real emotions towards all of this…towards him. Probably against your better judgement as well, you lean into him at your side, resting your head against his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’ve had a nice three months with you,” you say, your own weak grin making an appearance.

“Yeah,” he agrees, wrapping his arm around you casually. “It hasn’t been too bad, has it?”

There it was, the reason you needed to snap out of it, because for Jaemin, it just wasn’t ‘too bad,’ and meanwhile you’ve been over the moon these past three months. You’d come to your senses eventually - remember that ‘breaking up’ was the plan all along, that the last thing Jaemin wanted was to be in an actual relationship, and that you were going to have to be as okay with that as ever. However, for now, you figured you’d just lean into him a bit more while you still can. 

The next day saw all eight of you at Chenle’s place, helping him decorate and prepare for the big party, and then it was New Year’s Eve. Only you and Jaemin knew that it was your last night together before the ‘break up;’ and neither of you knew that the other didn’t want it to ever end, meaning when you placed Jaemin’s hoodie in his backseat as a way to return it before the party, you didn’t know the idea of giving it back nauseated him possibly more than it did you. As such, the air was tense and awkward between the two of you, trying to keep hidden how devastated you knew you were going to be at the end of the night, and too dumb to realize the best thing you could do is talk about it. 

Hand-in-hand with Jaemin, the two of you join the rest of your friend group, already standing around in a circle somewhere on the outskirts of the set up dance floor. They greet the two of you with bright smiles, none of them plagued with the knowledge that their favorite relationship was ending tonight. However, with the eight of you chatting about anything imaginable, the night became incredibly casual, despite the overwhelming amount of people flooding in around you all.

Eventually, the group divides up, deciding a range of different activities sounded best for the time being. You ended up with Chenle and Jisung, the three of you indulging in the indoor s’mores kit that was set up. Jaemin never moved from where the big group of you originally were. Instead, he let the crowd all pass around him as he stayed focused on you, gaze aimed in your direction with a fond smile as he watched you interact with his friends.

The only thing to break him from his staring is when Mark taps him on the shoulder and hands him a cup of water. “Man, I hope you know you’ve turned into a completely different person,” he says as he does so, making Jaemin furrow his brows in question; though Mark shakes his head as though it were no big thing. “You got this glow about you that scares me, and the look in your eyes when you’re staring at her…I didn’t think I’d ever see that from you - you know, being so against relationships and everything,” he ends with a light laugh.

Jaemin drops his head, his own laugh escaping his lips. “It’s just what happens when you’ve found your person, I guess,” he replies seriously. “I mean, to me?” He begins, finally looking up at Mark in sincerity before throwing his gaze your way. “For her?” He shakes his head, his smile turning into a dumb grin on his face as he finally admits to what’s been on his mind for three months. “Everything’s worth it. All the risk, all the effort, I’d do anything for her.” He looks your way once more before his gaze turns distant and he lets a grimace slip across his features. “It just took being with her to make me realize…I want to believe in love,” he finally says, meeting Mark’s eyes once again. 

Mark’s smile was painted widely across his face, though he stared at his best friend in something like disbelief. “Want to believe it? Jaemin, you’re in it,” he says firmly, and Jaemin immediately lets his gaze fall to his feet as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“It’s less scary than I thought it’d be,” he finally says, and Mark’s smile turns fond as he gets a glimpse at how his best friend operates. He puts on his best voice of comfort as he replies.

“You said it yourself, it’s what happens when you’ve found your person. You should tell her,” he says, tossing his head in your direction casually, but Jaemin’s muscles tense up.

“No, I can’t,” he says in a rush, and Mark lets out a laugh.

“From the one who says he isn’t scared,” he teases, but Jaemin shakes his head - it wasn’t that.

“I- it’s a weird situation,” he says, letting out a huff with his bad explanation. “I can’t tell her. Not tonight, anyways…she won’t want to hear that from me,” he concludes, dragging off miserably. Mark’s face completely flips as he stares at Jaemin quizzically. 

“But- she looks at you the same way, you know?” He says surely, but Jaemin shakes his head again.

“No, that’s just how she looks at me. Even when we were in high school.” He takes a moment to pause, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips before continuing with conviction. “No, she doesn’t love me. Not like this,” he says, and then he’s walking away, leaving a very confused Mark standing there with parted lips.

“...I thought she’s liked you since high school,” he says under his breath now that he knew there was no way Jaemin would hear anyways. He looks between you and Jaemin before shaking his head - the last thing he needed on New Year’s Eve was to engage in overthinking.

You had just broken away from where you were talking with Chenle and Jisung to instead make your way over to the punch table. Grabbing yourself a glass, when arms wrap around you in a hug from behind, you know the only person it could be. “Hey, handsome,” you say with a smile, turning your head to the side to try and lay eyes on him.

“Hi, angel,” Jaemin replies, taking the opportunity to place a small kiss on your cheek before continuing. “Are we kissing at midnight or are we ending things before then? I’m not sure if you want to start the new year with me or not.” His tone borders on defeat, and you turn around in his arms to stare at him with raised eyebrows and a playful smirk.

“I’ll be your new year's kiss if you’ll be mine,” you reply, and Jaemin lets out a small chuckle. “Besides,” you continue more seriously. “Ending this doesn’t mean you aren’t still my best friend. You’ll be a part of my new year no matter what. We can kiss and just pretend that was our way to say ‘bye’ to dating, cause you know, I guess it will be.” For a moment that you always knew was coming, admitting its near occurrence now felt like you just had the wind knocked out of you. Jaemin just stares down at you with a wide grin, nodding his head along to your words in approval. 

“Alright best friend, then I’ll make sure to find you again before midnight,” he replies, the entire thing making you swallow awkwardly as you nod your head back at him slightly.

“Yeah…” You respond in something like a whisper, and with one light kiss on your forehead, Jaemin vanishes again into the crowd. 

The rest of the New Years party was a blast, no doubt, but the knowledge of what was coming, or more so ending, plagued your thoughts and eventually you just needed to slip away from the rest of the noise. You ended up on the balcony attached to some random bedroom, the cool air something of a relief for your current state.

The only pull back into reality was when the ever-present loudness turned into synchronized cheers, and you catch as the entire party starts counting down from fifteen seconds. You whip around to start on your rushed journey back inside, realizing you never told Jaemin where you would be; but as you turn, you make eye contact with him, just stepping onto the balcony himself, an easy smile crossing his features. “No need to rush. I told you I’d find you before midnight,” he says with a light laugh, and you drop your head with a small exhale as your own form of laughter. “Ready to say ‘bye’ to all this pretending?” He asks, stepping up to where he was directly in front of you.

No. “Yep,” you respond with the best fake smile you could. You already made it this far with no problems, you refused to let it slip that your heart was fully in this right when it was about to end. 

Jaemin matched your smile, and as the crowd’s counting reached the ‘3, 2, 1,’ his hand came up to find its favorite spot at your cheek again. Then he leaned in and kissed you right as the party erupted with cheers of ‘Happy New Year.’ 

Your hands gripped tightly at his shirt, keeping you steady and keeping him close to you; though he wasn’t necessarily going anywhere with one hand cupping your cheek and the other placed firmly on your waist. Unlike any of your other kisses, this one…lingered. The two of you kept steady pace with each other, you gently sucking on his bottom lip and figuring for as long as he’d let this go on, you would take it for all it was worth, trying to pretend you could ever kiss him enough for a lifetime. 

When you think he’s breaking away, you’re instead met with the feeling of his tongue running across your top lip, asking for permission - permission all too easily granted by you as you open your mouth to let him explore. Your New Year's kiss turned into a greedy make out session, which was probably the last thing you were expecting, but you couldn’t take the time to question it because you were too busy drowning in his taste. You loved the taste of Jaemin on your tongue, and his own soft moan - which he tried so desperately to cover up but that you still very much heard, let you know he was currently feeling the same way; and you’d mark that down as a tiny win in the midst of the huge loss you were about to incur. 

Against your better judgement, you finally break away when you truly couldn’t breathe anymore, and Jaemin rests his forehead against yours. The air was just filled with the sound of panting as the two of you tried to catch your breaths. You swallow awkwardly once you do, taking a small step back as you process what just happened, Jaemin’s hand running down your body until you were no longer in reach. “You’re awfully good at ‘goodbye,’” you say in between breaths.

Jaemin immediately dodges your gaze, facing somewhere off to the side as his adam's apple bobs up and down. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he responds quietly, to the point where you were practically just reading his lips, and then he’s gone, leaving you alone on the balcony to deal with your flooding emotions on your own…not that you could do so in his presence anyways. 

You hated that it hurt this much - that a goodbye you knew was coming still seemed to blindside you. You had allowed your heart to indulge in his every romantic gesture, and while on the surface you knew they meant nothing, you held onto hope in some deep dark corner of your heart that maybe it wasn’t all just pretend; and yet here you were, grouped in with the vast category of girls he’s said ‘goodbye’ to in the way he knew all too well. You were his best friend but you were no one special, and you didn’t expect the resurgence of a fact that you already knew to affect you as much as it did - to make it feel as though you had been hollowed out, bones chilled from the empty space your soul used to occupy. 

You and Jaemin weren’t in contact the entire first day of the new year, though you couldn’t complain because talking to him right away was not something you figured your heart could handle. Instead, you went to work out at the gym and run errands and all those other things people do when they’re single and making a point to say they’re okay with that. To be fair, it kind of worked. Not that you were okay with whatever you and Jaemin had gotten yourselves into coming to an end, but that day of productivity and endorphin-inducing activity helped you ground yourself - these past three months were you helping out your best friend, that was all it was ever supposed to be. 

The next day was far less productive, but you were still functioning like normal. The only disruption from your typical daily routine came with a phone call from Haechan. As soon as you pick up, he starts speaking.

“Why did you go and break Jaemin’s heart all of the sudden?” He asks angrily.

You furrow your brows, though it wasn’t like he could see it anyways. “What do you mean? The breakup was mutual,” you counter in confusion, and Haechan lets out an actual ‘HA’ in disbelief before he replies with animosity.

“I need to know what the hell your definition of ‘mutual’ is because Jaemin hasn’t stopped crying for the past twenty-four hours.” 

You think he’s kidding, like this is one last stupid test of whether your relationship ever added up - but you shake the idea away, he already got the money, it was a week past three months, there wasn’t anything for you to mess up now, the story you’ve been telling would work as it always had. “Crying? What? We both agreed we worked better as friends,” you reply instantly, confusion adequately painting your voice. 

Haechan cannot believe his ears, and he makes sure to let you know so. For as much as you were confused, he didn’t understand why you were acting this way, ten fold. “No, I don’t believe you at all now. He wouldn’t agree on that. I don’t know how Jaemin talked to you, but he talked about you as though he’s never held anyone’s hand before until he held yours. Y/n, it was like you were the one to put every star in his night sky, I swear there’s no way this breakup was mutual.” Your whole world stops and you go speechless on the other end. Haechan was being dead serious, or else he wouldn’t be angry, he wouldn’t be pushing the subject. His words turn over and over again in your head. Jaemin talked about you, evidently when you weren’t around. You were fake-dating and yet Jaemin went out of his way to speak of you fondly to his friends. Jaemin, who never saw the point of getting romantically attached like that, doing more than what was needed in expressing his feelings about you. You push down the feeling of nausea and instead let out a deep sigh.

“I’ll be over in five minutes,” you say quietly, and then you hang up the phone before ever getting a reply from Haechan.

You race over to their apartment, and before you could even knock, Haechan is swinging the door open for you. The two of you make eye contact and about a million emotions pass between you, but it was easiest to pick up on the uncertainty. Haechan opens his mouth as if he’s about to bombard you with questions, or maybe yell at you again…you weren’t sure, but instead he just lets out a breath, nodding his head back in the direction of Jaemin’s room with a soft, “in there.” 

You throw a thankful smile his way, not that you were necessarily guessing at where Jaemin could be, but you were very grateful he was letting you off so easily. Even by looking at Haechan, you could tell Jaemin had truly been crying for the past twenty-four hours…Haechan looked exhausted. 

You lightly tap on the door of Jaemin’s room before entering, breath hitching as you lay eyes on his figure, curled up in a ball and clad in his favorite hoodie that you had given back - the hoodie he now knew you had lived in for the past few weeks because he already caught your own scent on it. Tears raced down his face, and he immediately turned away from you to hide them as he squeaked out choked words.

“Please go away,” he says, and reality hits you all at once. It wasn’t like you thought Haechan was lying, but now you truly had to face the fact that you were the cause of Jaemin’s tears; he wanted you to go away. 

“Jaemin, I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly, shaking your head to emphasize the point. Though, as you do so, your gaze catches onto a gift bag on his dresser, a label with your name written on it in his stupid perfect handwriting. 

You walk up to it, swallowing hesitantly as you turn your attention from the bag to Jaemin and back again. “What is this?” You finally ask. Jaemin shoots his gaze your way, not having previously realized what had caught your intrigue.

“Please don’t-” He rushes to say, but in the pause, you had already pulled out a diamond necklace, holding it gently between your shaking hands. You shake your head, eyes wide and jaw dropped as you’re unable to form a coherent thought. You turn back around to face him, your gaze darting every which way because you’re not sure you can confidently hold eye contact with him.

“Jaemin, what-? Why is this in a gift bag labeled for me-? When did you-?”

He cuts you off, visibly annoyed. “It’s what I used the bet money on. Now please go away,” he demands more firmly, but you wouldn’t be able to follow through on it even if you wanted to, because as you process his words, you lose the ability to move. 

“You spent the $600 on this?” You ask in disbelief, turning your attention fully towards him to try and find any cue that he was lying. “On me?” 

Jaemin turns his head to the side, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs up and down with an awkward swallow. When he finally answers, his voice has lost its tension, his words instead coming out as though he were ashamed. “$700,” he corrects. “I didn’t want it to feel like I was just gifting you something from the guys.”

You think you’ve gone crazy, or maybe Jaemin has, but all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. “I-”

He quickly finds his fire again, apparently having had enough embarrassment for a lifetime in those few seconds. “Please leave,” he spits out. He dares look up to make eye contact with you before immediately regretting his decision and staring back down at his bed again, wiping more stray tears from his eyes as he fumbles out his next words. “You can take the necklace if you want but just- please leave.”

“Jaem-” You say softly before he can cut you off.

“What?!” He quips, though when he shoots his gaze back to you in irritation, he realizes you’re no longer standing at his dresser, but sitting at the edge of his bed with him. Your fingers barren of the necklace, you instead occupy one hand by placing it on top of his own.

“You could’ve told me you fell for me, too,” you say seriously, and Jaemin stops breathing for a moment as he looks up at you with wide teary eyes.

“Too?” He echoes weakly, and all you can do is give a tight smile, moving a hand up to wipe under his eyes as you try to hold back your own tears.

“I refuse to believe I played off my huge crush on you since high school that well.” You reply with a hoarse laugh.

Jaemin finally recovers his ability to breathe as he lets out a heavy exhale. “You like me?” He asks through tears, and you finally break, having to wipe your own stupid tears off your face before nodding at him with an embarrassed smile.

“I always have. Why do you think I made all those stupid rules to try and make sure we acted like a couple as little as possible?” A bittersweet laugh gets caught in your throat as you think back on it. “If I had to listen to you call me cute names all the time, I wouldn’t have survived knowing it was eventually going to end,” you continue seriously.

Jaemin’s finally able to let out a bashful smile and sorry laugh. “...I called you cute names all the time anyways.”

You nod your head with a fond smile. “I know.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he explains as more tears rush down his face, though this time, they’re at least sliding down next to an embarrassed grin. 

You look at him with playful raised eyebrows. “Just like how you couldn’t help it when you kissed me every time you saw me? Or looked over at me super fondly?”

Jaemin softens as his eyes trace over your figure, the distant look in his gaze letting you know his mind was rather preoccupied with reliving the past three months. “Exactly like that,” he says lowly, and you let out a breath, forcing your gaze away from Jaemin as you instead focus on the way your fingers were idly fidgeting with each other.

“God, Jaem. I’m sorry. I should’ve realized-” You speak apologetically but Jaemin cuts you off again.

“No, I should’ve communicated. Well…” He lets another soft laugh leave his system, the tears finally drying on his face as he works towards fully collecting himself. “I should’ve communicated when you knew I was serious.”

You smile at his words, shaking your head again as you relive every moment of the fake relationship. “I didn’t even know you had time to catch feelings for me,” you begin with something like wonder in your tone. “I mean- weren’t you still hooking up with-”

When Jaemin cuts you off this time, it’s with the most flustered of cheeks and the weakest of laughs. “Um, about that…the very first girl I hooked up with after we added that rule-” He shakes his head with a small smile as he corrects himself. “Well, I say that…she was also the last girl I hooked up with.” Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you process the information, but Jaemin doesn’t give you much time to do so before throwing in another wrench. “I uh- accidentally moaned your name.”

Your head whips in his direction, your wide eyes straining against your dropped jaw. “Jaemin! You did not!”

“Why would I make that up?!” He quips back with a hearty laugh. You move a hand over your gaping mouth, unsure at what exactly you were supposed to do with this news. You shake your head in disbelief.

“Oh my god, what did she do?” You ask, curiosity dripping from your voice. Jaemin bites on the inside of his cheek before giving in again with a light sigh.

“Well, we immediately stopped because we were both mortified, I think. She said something about how I obviously had to go figure some things out, to which I agreed, but for different reasons than she thought…” He drags off a bit but instead just shakes his head and goes in a different direction. “I practically begged her not to say anything about it, but she laughed and said I was crazy if I thought she was going to tell that story and humiliate herself,” he finishes with a small chuckle, and you just stare at him with no less shock than before.

“I can’t believe this,” you manage to get out playfully. 

Jaemin flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement before his eyes light up and he rushes through more words. “Oh! The best part is, a week or so later, she saw us holding hands in public and texted me saying that she’s rooting for us,” he recalls with a shiteating grin. 

“Stop!” You get out, the idea of it damn near killing you. Though, before you can end up dying of laughter with Jaemin, another piece of information fits itself into the puzzle and you come back to your senses in seriousness.

“Wait wait wait,” you begin, focusing your gaze fully on Jaemin again. “So, you’ve been celibate for like…three months now?” You ask in shock. Jaemin isn’t even the tiniest bit regretful as he responds with a shrug, his sincere gaze meeting your own.

“I only wanted you. Wasn’t going to waste mine or anyone else’s time pretending any different.”

Your gaze softens immediately as a fond smile plays against your features. “Jaem…” You aren’t necessarily sure where you were going from there, but Jaemin picks it up anyways with a small shake of his head; his own weak smile making an appearance again as he recounts those first few moments.

“You kissed me that first day and I assumed I was fucked,” he explains casually. “Everything felt like it changed, and not because it was affection but because it was you.” His cheeks puff out again with a bigger grin as he continues. “Then I had that slip up and I knew I was fucked. Couldn’t get you out of my head for even a moment. It was starting to drive me crazy how much I wanted to make you happy.”

His eyes meet yours again as he finishes, and you search them for answers you knew you would have to ask for. “A good crazy?” You question hesitantly, but Jaemin is quick to shut down any worries.

“The best,” he assures, moving his hands so that he could interlace them with yours. He moves his gaze from your physical contact back up to your face before continuing seriously. “I love you, y/n.” 

You swallow hard, trying to not let any more tears run down your face, albeit happy tears weren’t so bad. You squeeze his hands in yours as you nod your head. “I love you, too.”

“Can we date for real?” He immediately asks, his wide pleading eyes making you chuckle.

“It’s been ‘for real’ for a while now,” you say warmly, but Jaemin shakes his head, not having it. 

“Yeah, but we’re currently broken up if you don’t remember. The entire reason you’re over here is because I couldn’t stop bawling my eyes out…which was the worst feeling in the world, by the way,” he banters back with a weak laugh. You let a grimace cross your face before pulling it into a fond smile. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll never break up with you again,” you assure him softly. Jaemin doesn’t hide his wide smile as he shifts himself so he can easily lean in and kiss you softly, resting his forehead against your own as he pulls back to smile against your lips.

“I’m holding you to it, angel.”

[notkrispy]

𐔌 아이엔 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ how to braid a heart.

YANG JEONGIN! ⓘ when you walk in on him learning to braid hair.. for you?

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 4300wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, cursing, unfunny jokes, bickering, rain (again). ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ and back again with another mini drabble! I'M SORRY IT KEEPS GETTING LONG. I CAN'T HELP IT. I SWEAR I TRIED MY BEST OKAY. happy reading!

it starts on a rainy afternoon.

the sky’s an overcast blur, cottony grey and soft like the hush of a lullaby. outside the window, the rain’s been drizzling for hours—persistent, gentle. the kind that makes people want to curl into themselves and disappear under a hoodie. the kind that fills a boy’s bedroom with the scent of petrichor and lazy light and something warm, something waiting.

inside, the air is thick with the hum of effort and youtube hair tutorials.

yang jeongin is frowning.

deeply. intensely. so much that the tiny crease between his brows could write a thesis on how absolutely ridiculous this is.

his long legs are folded awkwardly on his bed, laptop perched dangerously on a too-fluffy pillow, volume turned down low like he’s committing a crime. on-screen, a chipper woman with shiny nails is explaining, once again, how to start a simple three-strand braid. he doesn’t know what “detangle thoroughly” is supposed to mean when the practice mannequin he bought off some shady online store came tangled, like the thing had beef with him in a past life.

jeongin sighs. sharp and dramatic. like a man defeated by plastic hair.

"why am i doing this," he mutters, though it's the twentieth time he’s said it and the answer never changes.

his fingers, ringed and slender, hover in the air like he’s diffusing a bomb. he’s watched four videos already—two american vloggers, one british lady, and a girl named chloe who made it look suspiciously easy. they all say the same thing: divide the hair, cross one over the other, repeat.

but his fingers? his fingers are traitors. they fumble. they hesitate. they grip too hard, twist the strands weirdly, somehow create a knot so intense it feels personal.

"great," he deadpans, staring down at the mess he’s made. “it looks like i braided a broomstick with anxiety.”

still, he doesn’t stop.

not even when his phone buzzes with a message from seungmin in their group chat.

[minimin]: iyennie what are you doing you’re too quiet [maknaeontop]: cry-typing bc love makes me stupid [minimin]: ew [minimin]: oh wait are you actually

he locks his phone without replying, because yes, he is actually. and he’s not ready to be bullied about it.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. model face, they always say. sharp jawline, perfect skin, annoyingly symmetrical.

and yet here he is—sitting cross-legged in neon pyjama pants with strawberries on them, practicing braiding on a fake head like he’s training for the olympics of soft boyfriend behaviour.

he looks back at the wig head. it sits on his desk, propped up like a little goblin staring into his soul. its blank eyes challenge him.

“don’t look at me like that,” jeongin says flatly. “you’re the one who’s not cooperating.”

but the thing is—he’s serious about this.

it started two weeks ago, the first time you’d complained that your hair was being "super annoying" and you just wanted to 'chop it all off and live like a boy in the 2000s.'

you’d said it in passing, curling up against him on the couch, head tilted, the glow of the tv painting shadows across your cheek.

and he’d looked at you then. really looked.

the pout on your lips. the strands falling over your eyes. the quiet frustration under your breath as your fingers tugged a bit too roughly at a knot.

something about it stuck.

that night, after you’d fallen asleep, soft breathing tangled in his hoodie, the loverboy here had stared at the ceiling and thought.. 'i wish i could help. i wish i could do that for her.'

and that was that.

now he’s five videos deep, wrist aching, knees numb from sitting weird. his fingers are shaking, not from exhaustion, but from how hard he’s trying. his tongue sticks out in concentration—just a little, just the tiniest sliver of pink against the sharp lines of his mouth. adorable and determined.

outside, thunder rolls lazily. the window fogs up from the warmth of the room. he smells the faint citrus of his candle—the one you picked out, teasing him for liking “bougie scents” before sneakily smelling it three more times. the one he keeps lit when he misses you. which is often.

the mannequin head tilts slightly as he tugs on a finished braid. it’s not perfect. it’s kinda uneven. a few strands are sticking out. but—it's a braid.

his first real one.

he stares at it for a moment, expression unreadable, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. the kind that almost doesn't make a sound. just breath, and pride, and affection leaking out through the cracks in his self-deprecating walls.

“y/n,” he mumbles to himself, “you better bawl when i do this on you.”

a beat. he stares down at the wig, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“…or at least pretend to be impressed. i’m emotionally fragile.”

and with that, he hits play on the next video. french braids this time. no one said love was easy. but jeongin's always been the type to take his time with the things that matter.

and you?

you matter most of all.

. . .

the braid unravels the second he blinks.

one second, he’s staring at it—fingers suspended mid-air like he’s diffusing a bomb, heart beating with the gentle anticipation of accomplishment—and the next, the strands slip like water through his hands.

and the softest little “nooo…” escapes him.

it’s quiet. gentle. like a child watching their sandcastle wash away.

jeongin sighs, slow and guttural, tilting his head back until it thumps softly against his headboard. the rain outside has softened to a drizzle, the kind that clings to windows like a lullaby. the sky is still grey, but there’s a warmth in his room now—a lemony-citrus kind of haze, mixing with the cotton scent of fabric softener from the blanket twisted around his legs. a comfort cocoon. a secret mission cave. the jeongin love lab™ (unofficial name. do not repeat this to anyone).

he’s surrounded by crime scene evidence: a bobby pin clamped between his teeth, a broken hair tie hanging from his wrist, a video paused on the screen of some lady who braided her own hair in twenty seconds. with french flair. while smiling.

jeongin narrows his eyes at her like she owes him money.

"she's mocking me,” he says under his breath, chewing dramatically on the bobby pin.

his phone buzzes again.

[minimin]: are u ok [sooniedoongiedori]: is the kid crying over love again [hyuniret]: what happened to my baby [maknaeontop]: get out [hyuniret]: not until you tell mama what’s wrong [hyuniret]: i’ll bake you cookies [hyuniret]: i’ll kiss your cheeks

jeongin’s nose scrunches, but his heart does that annoying soft thing. the warm thing. the “ugh i guess i like you idiots” thing.

he hesitates only a second before tapping hyunjin’s name. video call.

it rings once.

twice.

and then—

hyunjin answers dramatically. black buzzcut adorned with a pink headband, face glistening from what looks like a very intense skincare routine, lips pursed like a mum who’s just been told her son failed math.

“iyennie!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “you look pale. did someone break your heart? was it seungmin? i’ll kill him.”

“i’m literally fine,” jeongin deadpans, leaning back against the pillow mountain behind him. “this is not a therapy session.”

hyunjin gasps again, but more offended this time. “how dare. first of all, every call with me is a healing experience. second of all—what’s that behind you?”

jeongin freezes.

too slow.

too suspicious.

hyunjin leans in on the screen like a hawk. “is that a… wig head? is that… blonde hair? are you—are you braiding something?!”

silence.

jeongin stares blankly at the screen. “this call is over.”

“nope—nope—not a chance—explain yourself,” hyunjin screeches, kicking something off-screen and nearly knocking over his phone in the process. “wait—is it for y/n? you’re learning to braid for her aren’t you—”

“keep your voice down!” jeongin hisses, darting to shut his bedroom door like a teenager caught sneaking out. “what if she hears you? she’s not even home yet but still—what if the walls are thin or something.”

“my precious soft romantic noodle.”

“don’t.”

“my little handsy craftsman—”

“i will hang up, hyung.”

“so you are braiding! oh my god. you’re literally adorable. i knew you loved her but this is like—baking-level devotion. you're spending too much time with the main loverboy. aka me.”

jeongin mutters something unintelligible and grabs the mannequin again. its plastic eyes haunt him. “i’m just trying to get it right. my fingers keep slipping and she has this one little piece that always falls loose—she tucks it behind her ear, like—like this.”

he mimics it, almost absentmindedly. his eyes soften.

hyunjin notices, and for once, doesn’t interrupt.

there’s something about watching jeongin like this. all his sharp little edges dulled into domestic softness. not performing, not teasing, not being the chaotic maknae or the class clown or the guy who always says something sarcastic when things get too sincere.

he’s just… quiet. and trying.

and that’s the most vulnerable thing of all.

hyunjin clears his throat, gentler now. “okay, listen. i used to braid my hair all the time before i chopped it off, remember?”

jeongin perks up. “yeah, you were like… weirdly good at it.”

“still am, thank you very much. i even practiced on lixie a few times. he giggled the whole time like i was tickling him with angel wings.”

“of course he did.”

“anyway,” hyunjin continues, flipping his camera to demonstrate on a random knit scarf from his bed. “it’s not about making it perfect. it’s about rhythm. breathe with it. like—left, right, center. it’s a heartbeat, not math.”

jeongin raises an eyebrow. “that’s… kinda poetic.”

“i’m kinda a genius.”

“you’re kinda a nerd.”

“you’re kinda in love.”

he doesn’t deny it.

instead, jeongin copies him—slowly, carefully, the way you reach for something delicate in the dark. one strand over. then another. he’s holding his breath again. his knuckles are tense. but his fingers don’t slip this time.

the braid takes shape like a secret blooming.

“hey,” hyunjin says after a minute, voice quieter, eyes warm through the screen. “she’s gonna love it, you know.”

jeongin looks down at the messy braid in his hands. it’s still a little uneven. a little frayed at the end. but it holds. it stays.

he exhales.

“yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “i think so too.”

hyunjin smiles like he knows something ancient. “text me when she cries.”

“i’m not trying to make her cry.”

“no, no, like in a good way. like happy tears. you’re gonna ruin her standards forever.”

“…that’d be kinda iconic, actually.”

“that’s my boy.”

and for once, jeongin lets himself grin.

just a little. just enough.

the screen dims as the call ends. the room is quiet again—only rain against glass, the soft fizz of his candle, the faint smell of vanilla-laced cotton, the memory of your voice somewhere in the fabric of his hoodie.

the braid rests on the mannequin’s shoulder, gentle and crooked and completely real.

and somewhere in his chest, jeongin feels it.

the heartbeat of it. left, right, center.

you, you, always you.

the front door sighs open with the softest creak.

it’s after 6pm—the kind of dusky grey that makes everything feel like it’s been filtered through nostalgia. your arms are full—bag slipping off your shoulder, scarf unraveling from your neck, a paper coffee cup still lukewarm from earlier. you’re tired, windblown, and ever so slightly damp from the rain, which now smells like petrichor and wet pavement and the faint trace of ozone.

“iyennie?” you call out softly, toeing off your shoes, already craving the warmth of him.

no reply.

you frown a little, peeking into the hallway. there’s no music playing. no clatter of a game controller. no fake scoffing at your outfit or teasing demand for a bite of your snack.

nothing. just quiet. thicker than usual.

the lights are on in his room, though. warm, gold-toned. inviting. like honey melting across the walls.

you pause.

knock lightly. “jeongin?”

still no answer.

and so—curious, maybe a little concerned, you push the door open.

what you find… isn’t something you could’ve imagined in a hundred years.

jeongin—model-faced, sharp-jawed, fashion-manicured chaos incarnate jeongin—is on the floor. legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, face scrunched in deep concentration. his tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth. a wig head with synthetic blonde hair rests in front of him like a bizarre shrine, and his long fingers are tangled awkwardly in the strands.

he doesn’t notice you. not at all. he’s whisper-counting under his breath.

“left, right, center… center, left, wait—fuck—no, that’s not center, wait—why is this so hard?”

he groans. not dramatically. genuinely. like this braid has personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entire yang bloodline.

you blink.

and then you do the only logical thing in that moment.

you burst out laughing.

jeongin jumps so violently he flings the poor wig head across the carpet. his eyes fly up, wide and accusatory, like you’re the villain in his villain origin story.

“what the fuck— oh my god.”

you’re already wheezing, hand to your chest, leaning against the doorframe. “oh my god. oh my god. you were talking to it. you were braiding a mannequin—iyen-ah, what the hell?”

“i was not—shut up—get out!”

you stumble in further, nearly dropping your coffee. “no way. you can’t erase this from my brain. this is permanent. this is my core memory now.”

jeongin scoffs, snatching the wig like it’s a bomb he’s shielding you from. “why are you even home already? you said six-thirty!”

you blink through your laughter. “it is six-thirty.”

he freezes.

then mutters, “…traitorous clock.”

you drop your bag with a dramatic thud and crawl onto the bed like a predator, face lit up with delight. “oh my god, this is amazing. who were you gonna show? or were you just planning to become a secret braid master and drop it casually in conversation like, ‘oh yeah, i do complicated french braids now, no big deal’?”

“shut up,” he mutters again, cheeks visibly pink.

you hum, sitting cross-legged like royalty, chin in your palm. “so who’s the lucky client, hm?”

jeongin glares. “it’s not for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

you lift an eyebrow, unbothered. “oh no?”

“no,” he says, entirely too fast. “your dumb hair’s always falling everywhere. like a goddamn waterfall. it’s annoying.”

you press your lips together to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “right. so naturally, your first instinct is to learn an entire skill set to deal with my dumb hair.”

he throws a pillow at you. you catch it easily.

“you’re so—ugh—you’re so full of yourself,” he grumbles, yanking the hoodie sleeves back down and refusing to look at you. “not everything i do is about you.”

you lean back against the headboard, stretching with a content little sigh. “except when it is.”

he groans again, flopping backwards like a teenager in agony. “i hate you.”

you smile, impossibly fond. “no, you don’t.”

he peeks at you from one eye. “no. i really do.”

you stretch your leg out and nudge his thigh with your socked toe. “you were doing so well, too. you almost had it.”

“whatever. i didn’t even care.”

you nod solemnly. “of course. you were just… having a casual braid session with your… headless friend.”

“she has a name,” he says without thinking.

you gasp. “oh my god, you named her—”

he lobs another pillow, this one stronger. “get out.”

but you’re both laughing now—open and loud and soft around the edges, like this room has folded in to make space for something warmer.

your laughter fades into a smile. your eyes meet his, and there’s a lull, a hush, like the rain’s listening too.

“yennie,” you say, softer now, “you’re actually kind of a genius.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t hide the way his lips twitch upward. “took you long enough to realize.”

you crawl closer, curling up beside him, the scent of your shampoo mingling with the faint cinnamon-sugar of his hoodie. your knee brushes his. your fingers reach out, tangle lightly in the edge of the messy braid still clinging to life.

he watches your hand.

you watch him.

and he says, low, quiet: “i just wanted to get it right.”

your heart does something dumb and fluttery. “why?”

he shrugs. doesn’t meet your eyes. “just figured… you let me touch your hair so much. i should at least learn to do something useful with it.”

silence.

heavy. sweet.

you lean in, press your forehead to his shoulder. he stiffens, then melts.

you murmur, “you’re a dumbass.”

“i know.”

“…but like, my favourite one.”

he grins—smug and shy all at once. “i better be.”

and the rain keeps falling.

and the mannequin keeps watching.

and you—two kids tangled up in love, in sarcasm, in shitty synthetic braids and soft secret affections—just stay there, skin against skin, laughter still echoing like thunder trailing behind lightning.

and you think—this must be what it feels like.

true love, in a room full of pillows and mistakes and too many words.

braided gently between your hearts.

. . .

the next morning is gentle in a way only weekend scan be—slow and sticky, syrup-dripped around the corners.

the room smells like jeongin: bergamot and laundry detergent, worn cotton and leftover vanilla candle from last night. he’s sprawled across your shared bed like a prince who owns the morning, blanket kicked halfway off, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of tan skin above his waistband.

you’re already awake, curled into your corner of the mattress, pillow hugging your chest.

watching him.

thinking.

the image of him practicing braids on a wig still lives in your brain rent-free. it flickers behind your eyes every time you look at him now. and you can’t stop smiling. can’t stop remembering the way his fingers fumbled through strands like they were secrets. how he muttered to himself like the mannequin had personally offended him. how he told you, with his whole heart and no eye contact, “i just wanted to get it right.”

you’d kissed his cheek before bed.

he hadn’t brought it up again.

but now—

now, as golden light curls through the curtains and your boyfriend begins to stir—grumbling softly, smacking his lips like a grumpy cat—you decide it’s time.

“hey,” you whisper, reaching to nudge his side.

he flinches, groans. “don’t touch me.”

“it’s ten thirty.”

“i’m asleep.”

“you’re talking.”

“sleep talking. stop flirting with me.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “get up, braid-boy.”

he cracks one eye open, all sleepy lashes and morning puff. “say that again and i’m breaking up with you.”

you crawl closer, lips brushing his temple. “get up. braid. my. hair.”

he stares at you for a long, suspicious second.

then sighs, dramatically. “you’re serious?”

you nod.

and now he’s sitting upright—barely—but upright, hoodie sleeve wiping at his puffy face like a child. his voice is rough and low and wholly unimpressed. “fine. but don’t blame me if you end up looking like a scarecrow.”

“i will cry.”

“you always do,” he mutters, standing up and stretching like a sleepy cat. his hoodie lifts again. you stare. you’re only human.

you grab your brush and sit cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him. “you’re going to regret saying yes when i post this on instagram with the caption; ‘my boyfriend is a hairstylist now.’”

from behind you.. “post that and i’m deleting your animal crossing island in your sleep.”

you gasp. “that’s evil.”

he plops down behind you, cross-legged, his knees brushing yours. his fingers skim your shoulder blades as he gathers your hair in his palms.

“you’re evil,” he murmurs, and somehow it sounds loving.

your breath catches.

there’s something about the way his fingers move through your hair—careful, cautious, reverent. jeongin is often clumsy with affection, never sure what to do with the way he feels things. but now? with your head bowed, his hands sifting through strands like wind through grass?

it’s almost reverent.

almost sacred.

“you’re being weirdly gentle,” you mumble.

“shut up. your hair’s delicate. like a baby angel’s.”

you snort. “i’m going to vomit.”

“you asked for this.”

his fingers begin to work—slowly, hesitantly. a tug here. a curse there.

you feel his knuckles brush your scalp, his thumbs press against your crown.

it’s quiet, but not heavy.

your eyes close.

you breathe in: the crisp cotton of his hoodie. the faint smell of coffee from the kitchen. the feel of his breath ghosting the back of your neck.

then:

“ow—jeongin!”

“you moved!”

“i breathed.”

“well, breathe quieter.”

you twist around just enough to glare at him. “you are insufferable.”

he meets your eyes, lips twitching. “and yet, you’re letting me braid your precious princess hair.”

you frown. cross your arms. sulk.

jeongin pauses.

“oh no,” he says flatly. “the pout’s out. god save us.”

you jut your bottom lip farther out.

he groans, head dropping against your shoulder. “you’re going to milk this forever, aren’t you?”

you nod, slowly.

he laughs softly into your shoulder. “god, i’m in love with an actual cartoon character.”

you whisper, teasing, “you love me.”

he breathes, “so much it makes me stupid.”

and he doesn’t say it like a confession. he says it like it’s already been written somewhere in the sky, like it’s just fact. like “the sun rises,” or “your hair always gets stuck to his hoodie,” or “you make him soft without trying.”

you swallow.

your pout melts.

you whisper, “then make it pretty.”

he smiles. “always.”

and he keeps braiding.

the rest is gentle chaos.

he loses a strand. swears. starts over. pulls too tight. apologizes. yells at the hair. tells it to behave. tells your hair to behave.

you nearly cry laughing.

he finishes eventually.

“it’s awful,” he says, smug.

you glance at the mirror. it’s crooked. a little lumpy. possibly about to fall apart.

you beam. “it’s perfect.”

he rolls his eyes. “you’re such a liar.”

you grab his hoodie and yank him toward you. “no. i’m in love.”

he blinks. all that sass melts from his face like butter in sun.

“i—”

you press your forehead to his, breath tangled. “you don’t have to say it back.”

he does, of course.

“but i do. and i'm in love with you, too.”

you’re still turned toward him, knees touching, the scent of his hoodie weaving its way through your senses like thread through needle. the room hums with the afterglow of laughter, the kind that’s still stitched into the corners of your cheeks, still warming the undersides of your ribs.

you giggle—forehead brushing his, your breath ghosting between the spaces where his lashes flutter.

soft.

sacred.

“it is really good,” you whisper, like it’s a secret meant for no one but him. “you should become a hairstylist—”

and suddenly, he moves.

not away.

toward you.

he grabs your wrists with gentle fingers, tugging you forward so fast your balance tips. a startled squeak leaves your lips as you tumble into his chest, all cotton warmth and steady heartbeat, your hands pressed flat against the soft fabric of his hoodie, your nose bumping against his collarbone.

he laughs.

of course he laughs—rich and golden and boyish, like the sound of sunlight finding a windchime. you’re still gathering breath, blinking up at him, when his arms wrap around you—tight but not suffocating, possessive in the softest way. like a secret folded into a sweater. like a kiss that already happened, even before lips met.

“don’t—” you breathe, muffled into his hoodie, “ambush me.”

“you were being cute,” he murmurs, somewhere near your hairline. his voice is velvet and sin. “i couldn’t help it.”

“warn me next time—”

“nope,” he says, smiling into your scalp, “i like this method.”

and then—he pulls back just enough to see your face.

his fingers curl beneath your jaw. his thumb brushes a stray hair behind your ear. your breath hitches—because his eyes, usually full of mockery and sass, are now soft. unsharpened. like dusk settling into the horizon.

“say it again,” he smirks.

you blink. “say what?”

“that it’s good. the braid.”

you roll your eyes, pretending your heart isn’t melting like butter on a stovetop. “you’re really fishing for validation, huh?”

“i braided human hair for the first time. i deserve a grammy.”

“that’s not how that works—”

he silences your teasing with a kiss.

gentle.

melting.

a touch of lips that feels like a promise made without language.

you don’t realize your hands have slid up to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the warm dip where his neck meets hoodie. his skin is soft there. familiar. yours.

the kiss deepens—not in pressure, but in emotion. it stretches long, like honey poured slow. like time forgot to tick forward.

and when he pulls back, it’s only enough to whisper, “thank you.”

you tilt your head. “for what?”

“for letting me touch your hair.”

you blink, thrown off by the sincerity.

his grin is lopsided, his thumb still drawing lazy circles into your skin. “it’s… i don’t know. it feels like… trust.”

you go silent.

because it is.

because he gets it.

and that’s how you know—really know—you’re in love. with him.

you lean forward and rest your forehead against his again, both of you folded in like an origami heart—quiet, intricate, impossible to untangle.

“i love you, you know,” you whisper.

he hums. smirks. presses another kiss to your nose like punctuation. “i know.”

then adds, smug, “you love my braid skills and my face. admit it.”

you groan. “you ruined it.”

he snickers, pulling you closer again, your braid getting smooshed between your shoulders and his hoodie.

“baby.”

“what?”

“you’re stuck with me.”

you grin against his shoulder. “yeah. i know.”

and the world, for one small moment, feels like a soft pillow, a warm hoodie, and the safest arms to ever exist.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbaee @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

[notkrispy]

can i request for a mafia/ceo wonwoo fanfic!

BILLIONAIRE

(mafia boss!Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*MafiaAU, slow-burn, intense yet romantic setup, romantic*

They called him The Billionaire Ghost. Jeon Wonwoo, the man who owned half the city yet remained a shadow within it. He didn’t attend galas. He didn’t sign his name. And no one who crossed him ever did it twice.

You hadn’t meant to meet him.

You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near his world.

But when your brother got into debt with the wrong people, and you stormed into their headquarters demanding they not lay a finger on him he was there.

Sitting behind a marble desk in a sleek black suit, sipping wine like a king in his court.

"Brave," he murmured, looking you up and down. "Or stupid."

You didn’t flinch. “He didn’t mean to cross you.”

“I don’t care what he meant.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, he set his glass down.

“But I’ll make you a deal.”

That was the beginning.

You worked for him now not as a maid, not as a secretary, but as his. You ran errands, sat beside him in meetings, traveled with him, and, slowly, became something of a confidante. Others feared him. You saw something different.

How he carried grief in his quiet moments. How he drank coffee only after 10 a.m. How his voice dropped when he was tired. How he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

He never touched you. Never crossed a line.

But his eyes whispered things his lips never did.

And it was driving you insane.

One night, the city was silent under the weight of a summer storm. You were in his penthouse, curled on the velvet couch as thunder cracked the sky. He stood near the window, a cigarette between his fingers, staring into the dark like he owned it.

“Why did you let my brother go?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t turn around.

“Because you walked in.”

“And that’s enough reason?”

“It was for me.”

He faced you then dark hair messy, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and something unreadable swimming in his gaze.

“I don’t care about debt,” he said. “I care about loyalty.”

“And do you think I’m loyal?”

“You haven’t run yet.”

A beat.

Then two.

You rose from the couch, walked over, and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said.

“I know.”

Another beat.

“I’m afraid of how I feel around you.”

His voice was so quiet you almost missed it.

Your heart tripped.

But before you could reply, a knock shattered the moment.

Wonwoo’s face hardened. Business again.

Days passed.

Things changed.

He kept you close, closer than ever. Every night he returned home to you. You shared space, laughter, even silence. But something kept pulling him back. A line he wouldn’t cross. You felt it when your hands brushed, when he leaned in too close only to pull away.

Until one night

Gunshots.

He came home bloodied, hands trembling, barely able to stand. You screamed his name, catching him as he stumbled.

“Wonwoo!”

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “Just a scratch—”

“Lie down, now!”

You stitched him up with trembling fingers, tears falling silently down your cheeks. He watched you.

“I’m not letting you die on me,” you snapped.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not until I tell you.”

You paused.

Tell you what?

His hand gripped yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

The world stopped.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked into my hell and made it feel like home.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

So you kissed him instead.

And he kissed you like he was starving.

Since that night, everything changed.

He still ran the empire. Still made enemies disappear. But now he had you.

He bought you your favorite pastries every morning.

Told you you were the only person who could look into his soul and not flinch.

Built you an art room in the penthouse because he saw you sketching once.

And whenever he had to leave, he’d whisper, “You’re the reason I come back.”

But the world didn’t like seeing him happy.

One night, a hitman sent a message your name written in red across his car windshield.

Wonwoo was gone in an instant, hunting the traitor, setting fire to everything in his path.

When he returned, blood on his hands and a storm in his chest, you waited by the door.

You didn’t ask what happened.

You just hugged him like he wasn’t a monster, but a man.

And he broke in your arms.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“You never will.”

He proposed in the least dramatic way possible.

A quiet dinner.

Your favorite dish.

A single black velvet box.

“I could buy the world,” he said, “but I only want one thing.”

You opened the box simple, elegant, perfect.

“Yes,” you breathed.

And he smiled, finally, like he had everything.

[notkrispy]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (4)

stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except—this time around—you’re not the one who needs saving. previous chapter + masterlist.

📄 Minutes of strategic information meeting, filed by Kim Mingyu (Mafia Soldier, Logistics & Recon)

Date: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9, Undisclosed City Perimeter Time: 03:17 HRS

ATTENDEES:

Yoon Jeonghan (Underboss)

Lee Chan (Combat Unit Leader)

Chwe Hansol (Surveillance Division)

Kim Mingyu (Logistics & Recon; Recording Officer)

Civilian Target [REDACTED] (Unauthorized Attendee)

AGENDA:

Contingency Plan for Retrieval of Boss (S.Coups)

Chain of Command During Absence

External Threat Assessment

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

JEONGHAN: We go in through the east dock. Two snipers posted by 03:40. Chan leads breach. Hansol, your eyes stay on thermal—no improvisation this time.

HANSOL: I never improvise. My brilliance is structured.

CHAN: Can we not do this right now?

JEONGHAN: [ignoring them] Mingyu, once we get him out, you're on evac. Full blackout route. No trackers, no chatter.

MINGYU: Copy.

HANSOL: Any updates on who turned? Someone had to leak coordinates.

CHAN: There’s a list. We’ll handle it after we bring the boss home. One fire at a time.

[DOOR SLAMS OPEN. SOUND OF HIGH-HEELED FOOTSTEPS. SILENCE.]

CIVILIAN TARGET: You’re planning this without me?

JEONGHAN: [visibly tense] You weren’t invited.

CIVILIAN TARGET: He’s my belo—my boyfriend, Jeonghan. You think I’m just going to sit around while you play war games?

JEONGHAN: This isn’t a movie. You’re a civilian. You don’t belong in this room.

CIVILIAN TARGET: No, I’m the reason he still believes in soft things. I belong more than half the people at this table.

CHAN: She’s got a point.

JEONGHAN: Chan.

CHAN: I’m just saying. She’s not exactly fragile.

HANSOL: She did rewire one of my bugs with a paperclip. That was... not unimpressive.

JEONGHAN: [sighs] This isn’t about guts. It’s about blood.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Then you should know mine’s already on the line. Every second he’s gone, I feel it. And I’m done being sidelined. I’m not here to ask. I’m here to help.

[BEAT OF SILENCE. THEN—]

JEONGHAN: You get one job. And if you screw it up, I’ll personally drag you out.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Deal.

JEONGHAN: Hansol, give her the map. Mingyu, loop her in.

MINGYU: You’re going to need a comm. And a bulletproof vest.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Got both. And a knife in my boot.

CHAN: Okay, badass.

[MEETING CONTINUED UNDER LEVEL-2 SECRECY PROTOCOLS. TRANSCRIPT REDACTED. END OF MINUTES.]

FINAL NOTES:

Civilian Target formally added to Operation Homecoming roster.

Jeonghan authorized conditional field involvement.

Morale status: heightened.

Risk level: astronomically high.

🗂️ Operation Homecoming: Field Notes & Briefing Report, compiled by mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Clearance Level: Top Confidential Date Logged: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9

SUMMARY: Boss (S.Coups) was captured 48 hours ago following the receipt of a falsified emergency ping traced back to the civilian target’s encoded channel. The ping claimed she’d been injured and was en route to an undisclosed hospital in Sector D. According to surveillance logs, the Boss diverted course alone, abandoning standard security protocol. We believe he was intentionally isolated through signal jamming, then intercepted at the underpass beneath Route 14.

AUTOPSY OF THE TRAP:

Fake GPS tag mimicked civilian target’s bio-signal pattern

Voice distortion software replicated her distress call

EMP deployed upon vehicle arrival to disable tracking

Tactical unit waited with sedation-grade rounds

CURRENT LOCATION OF BOSS: Confirmed. Underground storage facility, formerly Syndicate-aligned. Defected cell now controls the zone. Reinforcements on site. Boss presumed alive—last thermal footage confirms faint movement.

INTERVENTION STRATEGY: OPERATION HOMECOMING

Phase One – Extraction:

Entry through east dock (03:40 HRS)

Chan leads breach unit, Hansol on thermal, Mingyu handling evac

All units silent channel only

Phase Two – Internal Sweep:

Civilian target assigned distraction and misdirection role (see below)

Two-minute window to locate and stabilize Boss

Phase Three – Extraction + Fade:

Mingyu initiates blackout route

Decoys deployed on west perimeter to delay pursuit

Rendezvous at Site Echo

CIVILIAN TARGET: PERFORMANCE LOG

Arrived wearing borrowed Kevlar and jeans tucked into combat boots. Asked if bulletproof vests same in women’s sizes. Did not wait for response.

Showed immediate enthusiasm, zero tactical finesse. Hansol gave her the map. She held it upside down. Twice.

Informed her she’d be working as the visual diversion. Her response: “Like bait?” Followed by: “Cool. I’m good at being annoying.”

Surprisingly effective. Created a loud enough ruckus on the perimeter to draw three guards off their posts. Managed to bluff her way past checkpoint by pretending to be a lost food delivery driver. Claimed she had gluten-free soba for a man named Kevin. There is no Kevin.

Still not sure how she pulled it off.

When Boss was found, he was semi-conscious but breathing. Whispered her name first.

END STATUS:

Boss retrieved.

Minimal casualties (1 injured – not fatal)

Facility compromised but not traced

Civilian target cried in the van. Then threatened to punch me for writing that down. I'm writing it down anyway.

FOOTNOTE — for Seungcheol’s eyes only: You’re reckless, stubborn, and impossible to reason with. But apparently, that’s your thing. You’re also luckier than most of us ever will be.

She didn’t sleep. Not once. Kept looking at every door like you might walk through it.

When you did, she didn’t even say anything. Just threw her arms around you like gravity stopped working.

Try not to make her go through that again.

– YJH

📱 Phone history log, filed by mafia soldier Chwe Hansol

Device: S.Coups' Personal Line (Encrypted Channel #017) Status: Outgoing Messages Only – Blocked by Signal Jammer Timestamp Range: ██:██–██:██ (Time of Abduction)

NOTE: Texts never reached intended recipient. Recovered during post-mission diagnostics. For archival purposes.

[01:12 AM] Where are you? They said you were hurt. I'm on my way.

[01:15 AM] Which hospital? No one's answering. This isn't funny. Call me.

[01:17 AM] Your signal keeps bouncing. Something's wrong. Stay where you are.

[01:21 AM] I swear to god if they laid a hand on you

[01:24 AM] No ambulance ever came.

[01:25 AM] This is a setup.

[01:27 AM] I'm so stupid. They used you. Fuck fuck fuck

[01:28 AM] I should've followed protocol. Should’ve sent Mingyu. Should’ve sent anyone but me.

[01:30 AM] If you get this, lock all the windows. Call Jeonghan. Stay put.

[01:34 AM] They knew I’d come for you.

[01:36 AM] This isn’t your fault.

[01:39 AM] Don’t come after me.

[01:41 AM] Love, beloved, please. Don’t try to save me.

[01:45 AM] You always do this—you throw yourself into fires you don't understand.

[01:49 AM] If they hurt you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

[01:52 AM] Tell Jeonghan to burn everything. Get out. Go far.

[01:54 AM] Forget me if you have to. Just live.

[02:01 AM] I love you. Please, please, please, don’t be stupid.

[END OF RECOVERED LOG]

📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: Love in the Line of Fire", a follow-up think piece by Xu Minghao

... If leadership within organized crime is already an ethical minefield, then love within it is something more volatile still: a paradox of vulnerability embedded in violence. New whispers surround the figure known only as S.Coups—the alleged mafia boss whose name, until recently, conjured images of discipline, domination, and an empire forged in precision.

Now, another narrative has emerged. One that reshapes how we understand not just the man, but the very myth he embodies.

According to rumors sourced from both within and outside the organization, S.Coups may have a romantic partner. Not a fellow operative, nor a political alliance. But a civilian. Someone unaffiliated and—crucially—untouched by the bloodied logic of the underworld.

If this is true, the implications are vast.

To love in his position is a risk. It is weakness, some would say. Yet others might argue that such love is the only thing capable of keeping a man like him from becoming monstrous. If the rumors are accurate, she is the reason he looks over his shoulder less. The reason he checks his own wrath. The reason his most trusted lieutenants have stopped fearing him and started worrying about him.

Love, here, is not a diversion. It is discipline.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating ethical twist of all: that this boss, so often theorized as either tyrant or savior, might be both—because of her.

Some say he texts her between assassinations. That he buys her gummy bears because she mentioned liking them once, months ago. That he has started folding her laundry and learning her aunt’s dietary restrictions. These are, of course, unconfirmed. They seem almost laughably mundane. But within the shadowed world of syndicates and secret wars, what could be more radical than tenderness?

Others claim that when he was taken. There are now verified reports of a failed abduction and his eventual rescue. She was allegedly involved. They say she showed up unarmed, untrained, and utterly unafraid. They say she demanded to be part of the rescue mission. They say she was reckless, infuriating, and ultimately, instrumental.

And that when he saw her again, he wept.

To be loved, it turns out, is not always soft. Sometimes, it is brutal and inelegant and wildly inconvenient. But in the context of a life built on violence, to be loved is to be saved. Again and again. In the ways that matter.

Whether S.Coups is worthy of that love is not the question. The question is whether it has already changed him. Whether, in the end, the girl outside the syndicate might be the only thing real in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

And whether that, more than power or fear, will be his lasting legacy.

Mafia boss S.Coups is many things. Protector, manipulator. Brother, enemy, friend.

It seems we must add two more things:

Lover, and loved.

FIN. THANK YOU FOR READING CHERRY ON TOP!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[notkrispy]

a series of phone calls with increasing time zones, proving that not even distance can break true love

idol!seungmin x reader, 5k words, fluff, long-distance au (seungmin on tour), angst, one argument, suggestive themes but not graphic!! (implied masturbation, sexual intercourse)

you both knew tour was going to be a challenge. the time zones, the silence between texts, being apart for too long. the kind of distance that makes you wonder if it’s still as warm on the other side.

but real love sticks. real love dials in the middle of the night with a sleepy voice and a hotel duvet pulled up to his chin. seungmin is in australia. one hour ahead of you.

“hey, baby” seungmin whispers, the sound barely above the static. “you still awake?”

you roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling like it might answer for you. “yeah.”

“did you cry?” he asks gently. not mocking. just—curious, like he’s asking about the weather.

“a little,” you admit, voice barely holding. “why are you so hard to sleep without?”

he exhales, soft and slow. “i don’t know,” he says, “maybe i cursed you.”

“maybe,” you whisper back.

there’s silence for a while. not awkward. just full.

then, “han jisung is asleep like two feet away, and if he hears me say sappy shit he’s gonna roast me into another dimension.”

you smile a little.

“but,” seungmin adds, quieter now, “i miss you too. like. a lot.”

you close your eyes. “don’t whisper like that. it makes it worse.”

“oh? does it?” his voice dips lower, playful. “what, like this?”

“seungmin.”

“i can picture your face right now” he says with a light chuckle.

you groan into your pillow. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” you sigh. “i don’t.”

“i’ll call you again tomorrow night,” he murmurs, yawn crawling into his voice. “maybe i’ll read you the hotel shampoo ingredients like poetry.”

“that’s so romantic.”

"i know. i’m basically shakespeare,” he whispers, smug and sleepy.

you let out a soft laugh. “then what’s your sonnet about tonight, romeo?”

“hm.” there's a pause. you hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts, the soft creak of the bed frame. “ode to the cotton bed sheets that smell like lavender.”

you snort. “beautiful. truly moving.”

“i try,” he hums. “for you.”

your throat tightens at that. it’s so quiet on the other end, and you can almost picture him—eyes half-lidded, phone pressed to his cheek, hair messy from the long day, the glow of the hallway light slipping through the crack under the hotel door.

“you should sleep,” you murmur.

“you should stop sounding like you’re about to cry again,” he says.

you blink fast. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says. “i miss you too. more than i wanna say out loud because jisung has ears like a bat.”

“tell him i said hi.”

“i will. in the morning. right now, i’m all yours.”

you smile into your pillow. “even if you’re like... thousands of miles away?”

“distance isn’t real,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you’re in my phone, in my head, and in my stupid heart.”

you murmur, fingers curling in the sheets. "i love you."

you can hear him smile. not the smug kind. the quiet one—the one he saves for you.

"i know," he whispers. "i know, baby. i love you too."

your eyes sting again.

“i wanna hear you say goodnight, before i go,” he says softly. “like i’m still right there.”

you tuck your face into your pillow, pretending he is.

you whisper, “goodnight, seungmin.”

he exhales, long and slow. “again.”

“goodnight, minnie.”

“one more time,” he murmurs, voice already halfway to sleep.

you grin, heart squeezing. “goodnight, love.”

“mmm,” he hums, already slipping under. “that one’s my favorite.”

the call doesn’t end. he never hangs up first. not when he’s on tour. not when you’re the only quiet thing that feels like home.

seungmin was always your plumber. doing it alone felt harder than it should’ve.

"okay, okay—stop. stop touching it. you're gonna break it."

"i have to touch it, kim seungmin.” you huff in frustration.

“not when you’re doing it like that.”

“how would you know? you’re in a limousine.”

on the other end of the call, there’s a soft rustling of leather seats, then a distant snort of laughter—probably changbin. then hyunjin’s unmistakable voice, teasing in the background.

you roll your eyes and crouch down by the sink again. “just walk me through it.”

you hear him sigh dramatically. “you're gonna need both of your hands. you’re holding the flashlight with your mouth, right?”

“yeah.” you say, slightly muffled

“cute,” he says, like it’s automatic.

you smile.

“okay, now reach in with your left hand—gently—and find the little hex socket.”

“the what?”

“the six-sided bolt, babe.”

you find it. “got it.”

“good. now take the wrench— the L-shaped one. the baby wrench.”

you laugh around the flashlight. “you mean the allen key?”

“i said what i said.”

you fit it into place, and it clicks. "what now?"

“turn it slowly. coax it back to life.”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re smiling.”

he’s right. you are.

the background laughter comes again, through your phone. you take the flashlight out of your mouth and furrow your eyebrows, now glaring at the phone.

seungmin huffs. “ignore them. they’re just mad no one calls them to fix things with love and precision.”

you grin and go back to work. “why love?”

“you think i’d be guiding you through garbage disposal in a limousine if i wasn’t in love with you?”

you pause. heart full. “i love you too, minnie.”

“i know,” he murmurs. “now finish the job, so you can text me a picture when it works and i can brag to those idiots about how you’re the best mechanic alive.”

“deal,” you grin.

"and hey?"

"yeah?"

“don’t go getting too good at this independent thing without me, alright? you’ll end up not needing me anymore.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “bye, seungmin.”

“bye, love.”

your phone buzzes unexpectedly—no text, no facetime request, just a straight-up call. that never happens unless something’s wrong.

“hello?”

there’s a beat. then a shaky inhale on the other end of the line. not panicked, but definitely not seungmin’s usual snarky hello either.

“minnie?” you answer, sitting up straighter. “everything okay?”

he exhales again, this time more controlled, like he’s trying to reset himself mid-breath. “yeah, sorry, i just—sorry, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

“are you okay?” you ask again, softer this time.

“yeah. yeah, i just—” he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “we were walking into this venue, right? and i wasn’t thinking, just messing around with jeongin, and suddenly…”

he trails off.

“suddenly?” you prompt.

“i caught this scent. like perfume. i don’t know who it was, just someone walking by, but it—” he lets out a shaky breath. “it smelled so much like you.”

your heart clenches. “me?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s embarrassed. “and i just—god, i didn't know i could recognize it so easily, y’know? i never paid attention to that stuff before. but it hit me so fast. like my brain was like, oh, she’s here, and i looked around like an idiot.”

you’re quiet, lips curling into something helpless and warm. “you’re so cute.”

“shut up,” he mutters, and it sounds half-defensive, half-melting. “i was just—i don’t know, kind of spiraling.”

“i should’ve given you the bottle before you left,” you murmur. “you could’ve sprayed it on your pillow or something. maybe your hoodie. made it easier.”

“okay well, actually,” he says, suddenly brisk. “i’m in a fragrance store right now.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “what?”

“i literally walked away from the guys and came in here. i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “so you called me to ask what perfume i use?”

“maybe,” he says quietly. “maybe i just wanted to hear your voice while i looked for you in a bottle.”

you bury your face in your hand. “seungmin.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he grumbles, but his voice is soft again. “just tell me what it is. i wanna spray it on my wrist or my hoodie or something, and maybe then i won’t look around every time i smell it.”

you tell him, and he repeats it back softly, twice—like he’s memorizing it.

“okay,” he says, “i found it.”

you smile into the phone. “go on then, give it a try. you gotta confirm it’s really me.”

there’s a little silence. the soft pop of the sample nozzle. then—

he gets quiet.

too quiet.

you wait, lips parted, holding your breath like the silence might break if you exhale too hard.

“minnie?” you say gently.

on the other end of the line, there’s a small rustle—like he’s pulling the test strip closer—and then a faint breath, nearly soundless.

“...yeah,” he says, but it’s barely there. hushed. careful.

“is it the right one?” you ask, smiling even though you can’t see him.

another pause.

“it feels like you’re right here.”

you chest tightens.

another rustle—probably him turning away from the counter, footsteps echoing as he walks deeper into the store.

“i need to hang up.”

you blink. “wait, what? why—”

“just—thank you,” he says, quickly, like it hurts. “seriously. thank you.”

“min—”

but the line clicks before you can finish.

your phone rings just as you're brushing your teeth, screen lighting up with minnie calling. it’s early—too early for your brain to do much thinking—but your heart wakes up faster than the rest of you.

you swipe the call and press it to your ear, foam still in your mouth.

“hi, seungmin,” you mumble around your toothbrush, voice muffled and lazy.

he doesn't answer right away. just… breathes.

low. slow. deliberate.

you pause mid-brush. “...minnie?”

“baby,” he says, and something about his voice makes your hand freeze midair. deeper than usual. lower. like he’s under the covers, talking into the pillow.

“what time is it over there?”

“past midnight.”

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

a quiet chuckle. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

your cheeks warm instantly as you flicked the light switch and made your way to your bedroom.

“earlier today, your scent,” he adds, voice dragging a little now, like he’s letting each word settle before moving on. “you really messed me up with that.”

you sit down on the edge of your bed, heart pounding. “what are you doing?”

he inhales, slow—like he’s giving you a hint without actually saying anything.

“mm… i'm in bed,” he says, voice velvety. “lights are off. window’s open a little.”

you smile, because he’s playing. “and?”

he’s silent for a beat. then—softly, “jisung’s not here.” his designated hotel roommate.

you lean back into your pillow, a little breath catching in your throat. “where is he?”

“went to see chan. they’re doing a livestream in his room.” a pause. “won’t be back for a while.”

you don’t say anything—can’t, really—but the line’s quiet in that loaded kind of way. your breath hitches just enough.

he hears it.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t know what i’m doing?” he says, voice dipping into something firmer, smoother. “or are you gonna be good and ask me what i want you to do?”

your legs press together on instinct, pulse suddenly very loud in your ears.

“we haven’t had a call like this yet,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i know, baby. for now just stay with me.”

distance could do terrible things to people who loved each other. it stretched silence into assumptions, turned waiting into resentment, made every little misstep feel like betrayal.

and tonight, it was doing its worst.

“i just don’t get why you didn’t say anything,” you snap, hands gripping the steering wheel. “you waited until now to bring this up?”

“because i knew you’d react like this,” seungmin fires back, voice tight, like he’s trying not to be overheard.

“like what? like i have a problem with you being honest?”

“no,” he says, “like you twist it into something about you. like you always do.”

“wow.” you pause. blink. “you’re backstage, aren’t you?”

“yes.”

“then why the hell did you call me now if you don’t even have time to talk about this properly?”

“because it’s been eating me alive and i didn’t want to go on stage feeling like this, okay?” his voice wavers. not loud. just frayed.

you exhale, eyes stinging. “i’m not your emotional dumping ground.”

you suck in a shaky breath, throat tight.

“and you could’ve talked about this without raising your voice at me,” you say, quieter now.

there’s silence on the line.

you hear him shift, maybe press his palm over the phone. muffled voices in the background—staff calling him.

“anyway,” you continue, forcing the tremble out of your voice. “i don’t want to bring you down before your show.”

he’s still silent.

“i’m sorry, seungmin. i really am.” your voice softens further. “i love you. are we good?”

a beat. then—

“yeah. we’re good.”

your heart clenches.

you wait.

just for a second.

just long enough to hope he says it back.

but he doesn’t.

the line goes dead.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing.

it’s been hours. half a day, maybe more.

you haven’t heard from him since.

you’re at your desk, legs curled under your chair, coffee cold, unread emails glowing in tabs you haven’t touched.

your phone buzzes.

seungmin: just got back. wanna call?

you stare at the message, thumb hovering.

you: it’s past midnight over there.

a few seconds later:

seungmin: it’s alright. are you busy?

you glance around your office—empty, quiet, dim with the afternoon light pooling through the blinds. the answer’s obvious.

you: no.

the typing bubble appears. disappears. Then your screen lights up.

incoming call: seungmin

your heart skips.

you hesitate just a moment but you answer anyway.

“hey,” he says softly, voice scratchy, tired. like he’s been sitting in silence just waiting to hear you.

you don’t say anything right away.

he waits.

“you should be asleep,” you murmur.

he chuckles faintly. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

you exhale, shoulders dropping just a little. “me too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you rest your chin on your hand, eyes tracing the little scratches on your desk, voice still quiet. “how was the concert?”

he breathes out a small laugh. “we did well. it was great.”

“were you tired during the dance sets?” you ask gently, genuinely. “you didn’t sound winded, but i know you’ve been pushing your knee too hard.”

there’s a pause.

he says, voice low with something like awe. “yeah, it was sore. but i iced it after. chan made me”

you laugh.

then, soft again, he says, “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “me too.”

and it’s not everything, not the whole conversation. but it’s enough for now.

“I love you,” you whisper, trying again.

you can hear him smiling, even through the static.

“i love you too,” he says. “so much.”

you smile back, cheeks warm and aching in the best way.

but then—softly, almost before you mean to say it.

“i don’t wanna get used to this.”

there’s a pause. the kind that makes your throat tighten.

“used to what?” he asks gently.

you swallow. “being apart from you.”

he breathes in through his nose. slowly. “you think that’s happening?”

you shrug, even though he can’t see you. “some days it’s easier. and i hate that. like… am i supposed to be okay with not hearing your voice until midnight? with seeing you through screens more than in person?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just listens.

so you go on, voice smaller now. “are we starting to miss each other less?”

and then he says it, soft but sure.

“no.”

“i’m scared i’m gonna,” you admit, a little too quietly.

he exhales. “you won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’m still here,” he says. “and every time you call, every time you say my name, it still feels like the first time. i’m never gonna be something you forget how to want.”

you blink fast, throat thick.

“even if it gets easier,” he adds, “it doesn’t mean it means less. it just means we’re learning how to carry it better.”

you nod, tears prickling—but this time, they feel okay.

safe.

like love you can live inside of.

“you’re still the first thing i think about,” you whisper.

“good,” he murmurs. “same.”

you pick up and immediately the screen is sideways, showing a very blurry Jisung laughing so hard he’s bent over the hotel bed.

"hellooooo," jisung yells directly into the phone.

you blink. "uh… hi?"

the screen rights itself. seungmin appears—barefaced, hair messy, eyes way too shiny to be sober. he’s lying on his stomach, chin squished into a pillow, voice soft and dangerously sweet.

“hi, baby,” he says, all low and slurred and dangerous.

“oh no,” you whisper. “how drunk are you two?”

“not drunk,” he insists.

“he’s drunk,” jisung confirms helpfully, popping into frame again and waving.

“shut up,” seungmin mumbles, blindly swatting at him.

you snort. “what’s happening over there?”

“he has something to tell you,” jisung says smugly.

seungmin groans, burying half his face in the blanket. “jisung…”

“tell her what you told me,” jisung insists.

“han jisung, shut your entire mouth.”

“too late. he said—” jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘if she were here right now I’d let her ruin my life.’”

a beat of silence.

then seungmin smacks him off camera with a pillow.

seungmin flips back into frame, completely disheveled and pouty. “seriously, come over sweetpea.”

“i’m in a different country.”

“weak excuse,” he grumbles, already rolling over onto his side like the call’s exhausting him.

jisung peeks in again, holding up a half-eaten macaron. “if you were here, we’d give you one of these.”

you laugh, full and warm, cheeks sore from smiling.

“save some for me then,” you say, voice soft but playful.

seungmin doesn’t hear it—he’s already buried back into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent about what the bed smells like.

but jisung hears it.

he freezes, mid-bite, eyes snapping to the screen.

you meet his gaze.

he widens his eyes, mouthing: really?

you bite back a smile and give the tiniest, most deliberate nod.

his entire face lights up, but then he clamps his mouth shut, physically slaps a hand over it, and glances at Seungmin, who’s currently face down and humming the mario kart theme into the blanket.

“oh my god,” Jisung mouths again, silently losing it.

you put a finger to your lips, shhh.

he nods rapidly, then mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key.

seungmin groans. “why is it so quiet now? what—are you guys passing notes like it’s high school?”

“no,” jisung says, biting into his macaron and struggling not to beam. “just studying. real academic vibes over here.”

seungmin rolls over again, squinting. “weirdos.”

you just smile.

“see you soon,” you whisper, quiet enough that only jisung catches it.

and he grins like he’s holding the world’s best secret. because he is.

the screen lights up with a familiar facetime ring.

you answer, already smiling. “hi.”

his face appears—dim lighting, hoodie up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. he’s lying on his side in bed, camera slightly tilted. there’s a stillness to him tonight. the kind that feels heavier than silence.

“hey,” he says, voice low. a little tired. a little distant.

you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch. “how long’s it been now?”

he doesn’t even pause to think. “five months.”

you nod. “we’re halfway.”

“only halfway.”

your breath catches at that. you weren’t expecting him to say it like that—like it’s a sentence.

you sigh, fingers tightening around your phone. “yeah.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

“i know you’re tired,” you say gently.

“i’m fine,” he replies, but there’s no weight behind it. like he’s used to pretending. “it just… feels really far tonight.”

you nod slowly, throat tight. “i know. it feels far for me too.”

he looks at you for a second longer—eyes a little glassy, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

but he does.

“i miss you, sweetheart.”

your breath catches in your chest.

he rarely calls you that. only when he means it. when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to explain in full sentences.

you swallow hard. “soon.”

he nods, slow. “yeah. soon.”

he has no idea just how soon.

no idea that your suitcase is already packed. that your flight lands tomorrow morning. that the hotel front desk already has your name and a keycard.

and as he murmurs, “i wish i could hold your hand right now,”

you smile.

“you will,” you say softly.

you keep replaying it in your head—seungmin’s face when he saw you in the crowd. that second of shock, then the dumbest grin as he stumbled over a lyric and tried to play it off like he meant to do that. you’d almost cried. almost.

and now it’s past midnight, the concert hours behind you, and you know he’s taken his time wiping off the sweat and glitter of it all, probably still tangled in post-show chaos and crew goodbyes.

which is why, when you hear the knock at your hotel room door, your heart does that annoying fluttery thing. you don’t even hesitate—you’re off the bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor, and you already know who it is before you check the peephole.

you open the door.

and there he is.

hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder. tired eyes—but shining. always shining when they’re on you.

most of his face is hidden in the shadows of the hood, just the curve of his cheekbone catching the hallway light. you can’t really see him, not fully. but you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

you don’t even get a word out. he drops his bag, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him like you’re the only thing holding him up. you let out a small squeal, laughing, your arms looping around his neck just as he lifts you straight off the ground.

“seungmin—!” you giggle as he spins you in a circle, your feet kicking in the air.

“i missed you,” he breathes into your shoulder before setting you down slowly. “i missed you so bad.”

once your feet touch the carpet, you're grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him inside. the door swings shut behind him with a soft click, and before he can blink, you’re kissing him.

he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all night for this because he has. his hands slide back around your waist, pulling you in tighter and you giggle into it—completely overwhelmed and completely in love.

he stumbles forward a little, still kissing you, until your back hits the wall with a muted thud. you gasp softly into his mouth, grinning now as he presses into you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, dazed.

“what…” he breathes, his lips brushing yours, “…what are you doing here?”

you blink at him, still catching your breath, still grinning. “i wanted to come surprise you.”

he just stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real. then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “you’re a crazy, crazy girl, you know right?”

“you think i’d let you go out of the country for ten months and not visit you?” you say, voice light, teasing, warm. “you really thought i could go that long without seeing your dumb face?”

he doesn’t answer. just lets out this soft, wrecked little sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—as he wraps his arms around you again, tighter this time. he buries his face into your hoodie, right against your collarbone, his breath warm through the fabric. you hug him back instantly, arms wrapping under his and holding him close. he clings. like he’s cold and you’re the only source of warmth he’ll ever need.

“come on,” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head gently. “let me see you, now.”

he shakes his head against you, just the tiniest movement. doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t lift his head.

“seungmin,” you whisper again, a little firmer, leaning back slightly so you can reach up and tug his hood down.

the fabric falls away. his hair’s tousled, still a little damp from a shower or maybe the rain outside, and his face is hidden—tilted down, eyes trained on the floor. he still hasn’t looked at you properly.

all he does is lift his hand up to his face. wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. you catch the tremble in his fingers.

a sniffle.

“oh, minnie…” you whisper, your heart cracking wide open.

despite the way he towers over you, his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed low like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

you coo softly, barely a sound.

that does it.

he lets out this weak, shaky sigh like he’s been holding it in since the moment he saw you at the concert, maybe longer—and your chest seizes with it. he turns his face just slightly, burying it into your shoulder again, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he's scared you'll vanish if he lets go.

your hands are already moving—one smoothing over his back, the other stroking his hair—your body swaying with his as he starts to let out shaky, quiet gasps.

he sniffles again, shoulders still trembling, but when he finally speaks, it’s muffled into your hoodie. “the members were betting on me. on whether or not i’d cry when i saw you.”

you let out a little laugh and reach up to cup his cheeks, gently swiping away the fresh tears still clinging to his lashes. “and who said you wouldn’t cry?”

he hesitates. “me.”

you laugh again—soft and a little breathless—as your thumbs brush gently under his eyes. “of course you did,” you murmur, fingers sliding up to smooth through his damp hair.

he lets out a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. he leans into your hand for a second before straightening up a bit, pulling his shoulders back like he’s trying to regain a sliver of composure.

even now, red-eyed and sniffling, there’s still something solid about him. the way he holds you, the way he stands just a bit in front of you like he’d shield you from the world if it even looked at you wrong.

seungmin's lips part, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come. instead, he just stares at you, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to take in every inch of you he’s missed. like he’s scared you’ll be gone if he blinks too long.

“you have no idea how much i needed this,” he whispers.

you step closer, hands finding his again. “that's why i'm here.”

he shakes his head, fingers tightening around yours. “no, like—” he exhales hard, eyes shining as he glances down at your joined hands. “you don’t get it. every night, i’d come back and just... lie on the hotel bed and pretend you were next to me. i missed everything. your voice, your stupid little yawns, the way you poke me when i zone out.”

you let out a laugh, watery and soft. “i do not poke you.”

“you do,” he insists, eyes wide like it’s the most important fact in the world. “you go like this—” he imitates a dramatic jab to your side, making you laugh and swat his arm. he chuckles, bright and breathless, and then quiets.

your heart flutters and you don’t even try to hide how it shows on your face. you tug his hand and backpedal toward the bed, flopping onto it with a gentle bounce. propped up on your elbows, you tilt your head at him. “c’mere.”

seungmin shrugs off his backpack, then tugs his hoodie off by the back—grabbing it near the collar and pulling it over in one smooth, practiced motion. he holds it in front of him for a second, then slips out of the sleeves with the opposite hand.

his t-shirt clings in places and hangs loose in others, fabric soft and worn and framing the lean lines of his torso in a way that’s criminally distracting. your eyes fall on the way it shifts with every movement—subtle dips of collarbone, the slight curve of his waist.

your fingers curl slightly in the blanket beneath you as he steps closer, and your breath hitches without permission. god, you missed him. not just his face or his voice, but all of him—how he moves, how he fills the space around you like no one else can.

seungmin crawls onto the bed, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. the mattress dips under his weight and the second he's close enough, your hands reach up instinctively—fingertips grazing his forearm, his side, like you’re checking if he’s really here.

he smells like his body wash, clean and warm with something a little woodsy. familiar. comforting. so him.

then he leans in, arms bracketing either side of your body, and your whole world narrows to just the space between you, until finally—finally—his lips brush against yours.

it’s soft. barely even a kiss at first, more like the ghost of one, like he’s still afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. but you kiss him back, and then he presses in more fully, and it’s everything. warm and slow and full of all the things you’ve both been trying not to say out loud.

he kisses you again, and again, each one a little deeper than the last—like he’s making up for every single day you were apart. one hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping tender over your cheek.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. like it still stuns him just how badly he felt it.

you nod, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, and then he kisses you once more—slow, full of longing—and you swear you feel the world right itself a little, just because he’s here.

he pulls away, just slightly, and rests his forehead against yours. your noses bump, and he closes his eyes, smiling so softly it barely lifts the corners of his mouth. “i was scared you’d forget about me.”

you shake your head, hand settling over his heart. “you’re impossible to forget. trust me, i tried.”

“i know,” he breathes. “me too. it was unbearable sometimes.”

you tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, slow and lingering. his skin is warm under your lips, and you feel him exhale shakily, his body softening against yours like your touch is the thing holding him together.

his hands wander a little now, like he can’t help it—tracing slow lines along your back, the dip of your waist, smoothing down your arm and back up again. his hand slips beneath the shirt under your hoodie, smoothing over bare skin, and your breath catches.

you let him pull the layers of fabric over your head. let him take his time. he kisses down your neck, your chest, soft and focused, every press of his lips asking, are you sure?

and every answer you give is yes.

you wake up slowly, warm and hazy, the kind of rest that only comes after feeling completely safe. the curtains are still drawn, soft light peeking through just enough to glow against the sheets.

and then you feel it—his hand, resting on your waist. his thumb tracing little circles on your skin, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

you blink your eyes open.

he’s already awake, head propped on one arm, looking at you with the calmest expression you’ve ever seen on him. the kind that makes your heart ache just a little because you know how much he doesn’t show easily.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

“you’re pretty when you’re confused and squinty,” he says, lips curving just barely.

you smile, still half-asleep, but it turns real fast when he leans in and kisses you—soft and unhurried, his fingers brushing your cheek like he’s still making sure you’re real.

“good morning,” you whisper.

“technically almost noon,” he teases. “but yeah. it’s good now.”

he pulls back, just enough to give you room as you sit up, blanket tugged up to cover your chest. your fingers instinctively rake through your tangled hair, and he watches you with a little too much amusement.

then he shifts, reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his bag.

“i have something for you,” he says casually.

and then he turns back around—with a box of macarons in his hand.

you gasp, grinning instantly. “you didn’t.”

he takes one out, leans in with the smuggest little grin, and holds it to your lips.

“if you were here,” he says, softly now, “you’d be eating one of these. and you are. so.”

you roll your eyes, but open your mouth anyway, taking a bite—and he watches you like he just won the lottery.

“sweet enough?” he murmurs.

you swallow, cheeks warm. “almost.”

he leans in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“now?” he asks.

“perfect,” you whisper.

and he smiles like he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

[notkrispy]

chase the cut - jeon wonwoo imagine

hello~ i've been wanting to write a med au for so long, i tried my best here so i hope you like it!🤍

alsooo i opened an acc on x. you can follow me there, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You bolt out of the room like your life depends on it.

Behind you, heavy footsteps follow, growing louder with each second. "Come back here!" Wonwoo’s usually calm voice has a sharp edge, but you don’t dare slow down

"It’s just a scratch!" you yell over your shoulder

"A scratch?!" Wonwoo sounds offended. "You’re a surgeon, and you’re bleeding! Do you hear yourself?"

Mingyu and Seokmin barely react as you sprint past them. Mingyu, sipping his coffee, raises a brow. "What did she do now?"

"She got a cut," Wonwoo answers, still in pursuit

Seokmin blinks. "A cut? We’re literally surrounded by scalpels and needles every day—why is he freaking out?"

You duck behind a chair, panting. "Because he’s a pediatric surgeon," you whisper dramatically. "He deals with tiny humans, not full-grown surgeons with minor injuries!"

Wonwoo rounds the corner, eyes locked on you. "You. Sit. Down."

Mingyu, ever the agent of chaos, casually blocks your escape route. "Just let him patch you up. Or keep running—I’m entertained either way."

Seokmin grins. "I say we take bets. Five bucks says he tackles her."

You glare at them. "Some friends you are."

Wonwoo takes a step forward, and you take a step back. It’s a ridiculous standoff in the middle of the hospital lounge.

"Do not make me chase you around the hospital," he warns.

You make a break for it. Seokmin and Mingyu laugh as Wonwoo groans and sprints after you. He catches you in less than five seconds. He’s faster than he looks, and before you can dodge, an arm wraps around your waist, effectively trapping you.

"Gotcha," he mutters, his breath warm against your ear

You squirm uselessly. "This is unfair! You have long legs!"

"You have terrible decision-making skills," he counters, steering you toward the nearest chair with ease. Seokmin and Mingyu watch like it’s their favorite reality show, Mingyu even grabbing a snack.

Wonwoo lets go just long enough to grab the antiseptic wipes, and that’s when the real panic sets in.

"Wait, wait, wait—just let me mentally prepare—"

"You had plenty of time to do that while you were running," he deadpans

The moment the antiseptic-soaked wipe touches your skin, you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted. "Ow, ow, OW—"

Wonwoo sighs. "You literally cut people open for a living, and you’re whining over this?"

Seokmin snickers. "Zero pain tolerance. It’s honestly embarrassing."

Mingyu nods sagely. "Every time she gets a paper cut, she acts like she’s been stabbed."

You glare at them through watery eyes. "This hurts—"

"It stings," Wonwoo corrects, holding your wrist firmly as you try to pull away. "Stay still before you actually make it worse."

You groan dramatically, but Wonwoo, ever patient, finishes patching you up despite your flinching and whining. When he’s done, he presses the bandage down with a little more force than necessary, just to be petty.

"There. All better," he says, finally letting go.

You cradle your injured hand and pout. "You’re mean."

Wonwoo exhales, exasperated. Then, softer, "You should be more careful." 

For a second, something unreadable passes between you. Then Seokmin ruins it. "So, who owes me five bucks? I said he’d tackle her, but technically, it was more of a grab—"

"Pay up, Seokmin," Mingyu smirks. "A catch is a catch."

You groan, while Wonwoo just shakes his head, rubbing his temples like he regrets ever being friends with you three.

As soon as Wonwoo walks out, probably to regain some of his sanity before starting his rounds, you finally relax. Big mistake because the moment the door clicks shut behind him, you feel it—the shift in atmosphere. You don’t even have to look up to know that Mingyu and Seokmin are staring at you with that look. The one that spells trouble.

Seokmin grins. "Sooo…"

Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. "Are you two dating, or is Wonwoo just your personal on-call nurse?"

You groan. "Oh my god, not this again."

"Look, I’m just saying," Seokmin continues, leaning back like he has all the time in the world, "Wonwoo doesn’t act like that with anyone else."

"Yeah, I mean, I literally saw him step over a crying intern last week," Mingyu adds. "But the second you get a tiny little cut—"

"A painful cut," you interject

"—he’s running after you like you just lost a limb," Mingyu finishes, ignoring you

You roll your eyes. "He’s just like that."

Seokmin scoffs. "No, he’s not."

Mingyu hums. "Do you ever see him chase me down when I get hurt?"

"You get hurt on purpose for attention," you deadpan.

"Fair," Mingyu concedes. "But still. Wonwoo’s different with you."

You shake your head, standing up. "Whatever. I have patients to see."

As you reach for the door, Seokmin calls out, "Hey, don’t run too fast—wouldn’t want to scrape your knee. Wonwoo might carry you to the ER next time." Mingyu cackles as you slam the door on your way out.

It’s way past midnight—closer to 3 AM, when Wonwoo finally walks into the on-call room. His hair is slightly disheveled, white coat draped over his arm, and dark circles under his eyes deeper than before. It’s been a brutal shift.

Seokmin, who’s sitting at one of the desks, barely acknowledges his entrance, too focused on some patient charts. But Wonwoo doesn’t need to say anything. He just walks over to the bunk beds, takes one look at Mingyu—who’s sprawled out, snoring on the bottom bunk—and wordlessly yanks him off. With a loud thud, Mingyu hits the floor.

"Huh—?!" Mingyu startles awake, flailing like a fish out of water. "What the—?!"

"Get up," Wonwoo says flatly.

Mingyu groans dramatically, rubbing his eyes. "Dude, what is your problem—"

Wonwoo ignores him, already turning toward you. You’re curled up awkwardly on the couch, using a rolled-up hoodie as a pillow, arms folded in a way that guarantees you’ll wake up with at least three different cramps.

Wonwoo sighs. Then, in a tone much softer than the one he used on Mingyu, he murmurs, "Get in the bed."

You don’t stir at first, still half-asleep, but then you mumble, "‘M fine here…"

Wonwoo doesn’t buy it. "You’ll complain about back pain tomorrow, and we both know it."

Seokmin finally looks up, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. Mingyu, still half on the floor, blinks at Wonwoo, then at you. Slowly, a knowing smirk creeps onto his face.

"Ohhh," Mingyu hums. "This is why you pulled me off the bed."

Wonwoo doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he reaches down and lightly taps your arm. "Come on, just sleep on the bed."

You grumble but finally crack your eyes open, too exhausted to argue. Wonwoo steps back as you groggily push yourself up, stretching. You shuffle toward the now-empty bottom bunk, collapsing onto it with a sigh.

"See? Much better," Wonwoo murmurs, pulling the blanket over you without a second thought.

Mingyu and Seokmin share a look.

"Dude," Mingyu says once Wonwoo turns around. "You could’ve told me to move instead of dragging me off like a sack of potatoes."

"You wouldn’t have moved fast enough," Wonwoo replies.

Seokmin smirks. "So, she gets the ‘gentle tuck-in’ treatment while Mingyu gets yeeted off the bed? Interesting."

Mingyu nods, still rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, Wonwoo. Interesting."

Wonwoo gives them both an unimpressed look before muttering, "I’m going to sleep," and heading toward the other bunk.

Even with his back turned, he can feel their teasing grins.

You’re pretty sure you’ve ascended to another plane of existence. Or maybe you’ve died and are currently haunting the hospital as a sleep-deprived ghost. Either way, you’ve been awake for way too long over 32 hours, to be exact and your body is done.

Mingyu isn’t faring much better. He’s slumped over the shared office desk, forehead pressed against an open patient chart, lightly snoring. You’re half-sitting, half-melting into the couch, cradling a lukewarm coffee that does nothing to fight the exhaustion clawing at your soul.

And then because life isn’t unfair enough already, Seokmin walks in. Bright-eyed. Energized. Well-rested. The worst kind of person.

"Good morning, besties!" Seokmin chirps, stretching like he didn’t just take a whole day off.

You don’t even look at him. "I will kill you."

"I second that," Mingyu mumbles into his chart.

Seokmin gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Why the hostility? I thought you’d be happy to see me!"

"We hate you," Mingyu groans.

"You’re dead to us," you add.

Seokmin grins. "Wow, so much love in this room." He walks over and purposefully ruffles Mingyu’s hair, making him whine in protest. Then he turns to you, poking your cheek. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," you mumble. "Exactly what I needed to hear."

Seokmin flops onto one of the chairs, grinning. "You know what I did yesterday? Slept a full eight hours. Went out for brunch. Touched grass."

Mingyu lifts his head just to glare. "Leave. Now."

Before Seokmin can keep being insufferable, the door opens again. Wonwoo walks in.

And unlike Seokmin who is obnoxiously loud about being well-rested Wonwoo looks just as exhausted as you and Mingyu. His coat is slightly wrinkled, his tie is loosened, and there’s an untouched coffee in his hand that he’s clearly forgotten about. He glances at Seokmin who looks too refreshed to be tolerable then at Mingyu, who is back to pretending to be dead.

Then his gaze lands on you.

You blink at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Hey."

"Hey," Wonwoo murmurs. He steps closer, eyes scanning over you in that way he always does when he’s subtly checking if you’re okay.

"Did you sleep?" he asks.

You let out a weak, humorless laugh. "Did you?"

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets his coffee down and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Seokmin—who has been watching the whole thing like a spectator at a soap opera—leans back with a smirk. "Wow, this is so interesting."

Mingyu groans, flopping back onto the desk. "Not now, Seokmin. I’m too tired for this."

Wonwoo ignores them both. He looks at you again, eyes softer now. "Eat something and get some rest."

"You too," you mumble, already sinking further into the couch.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

Seokmin wiggles his eyebrows. "Ohhh, this is fun."

"You know what else is fun?" You finally turn your head to glare at Seokmin. "Murder."

Wonwoo just sighs again and walks over to the bunk beds, mumbling something about how all of you are hopeless. Mingyu groans like he’s been personally attacked when his pager starts beeping. He doesn’t even look at it just slams his forehead against the desk.

"No. No, no, no. I reject this," he mumbles against the wood.

You barely have the energy to process the noise until of course yours goes off too. You and Mingyu make eye contact, equally dead inside.

Seokmin, the only one without a pager going off, grins. "Wow. Couldn’t be me."

"I will end you," you mutter, already reaching for your coat.

Wonwoo watches silently as Mingyu sluggishly gets up, flipping his pager over to check the message. He sighs. "ER’s a mess. Multiple traumas incoming."

You check yours, blinking slowly as the words process in your sleep-deprived brain. "OR needs backup. Guess I’m heading there."

Mingyu looks at you, eyes drooping. "Want to switch? I don’t want to talk to families."

"Absolutely not."

Mingyu pouts but doesn’t argue. He drags himself to his feet, rubbing his face aggressively like that’ll give him the will to live.

Seokmin claps his hands together, looking way too cheerful. "Well, have fun, kids! I’ll be here. Rested. Thriving."

Mingyu flips him off on the way out.

You barely register Wonwoo standing beside you until he tugs at your sleeve. When you look up, he’s frowning slightly.

"You sure you’re okay?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You exhale. "No, but I don’t have a choice."

Wonwoo’s frown deepens like he wants to say something else, but before he can, a voice crackles over the intercom calling for additional surgeons.

You sigh, giving him a tired half-smile. "See you later."

Wonwoo watches as you head out, his jaw tightening.

Seokmin hums as the door closes behind you. "You know," he says, stretching out on the chair, "for someone who refuses to admit his feelings, you really don’t do a good job of hiding them."

Wonwoo shoots him a glare, but Seokmin just grins.

A few more hours later, Wonwoo rubs at his eyes as he shrugs on his coat, his shift finally over. He grabs his bag from the office, shoulders aching from exhaustion. Just as he’s about to leave, the door swings open, and Mingyu stumbles in, looking like he’s barely holding himself together.

"ER was hell," Mingyu groans, dropping onto the couch with a loud thud. "I think I aged five years."

"You already look thirty," Wonwoo says, deadpan.

Mingyu glares at him, too tired to argue. Instead, he waves a lazy hand. 

Then Wonwoo asks "Where’s she? OR still has her hostage?"

The other doctor nods "She hasn’t come back yet. She’s probably running on caffeine and spite at this point."

Wonwoo hesitates for a second before speaking. "Make sure she eats and gets some rest when she’s done."

Mingyu cracks one eye open, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. "You like her."

Wonwoo stares at him blankly. "Make sure she eats, Mingyu."

"You like her," Mingyu repeats, grinning now. Wonwoo doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Mingyu calls after him.

"Home," Wonwoo mutters.

"Liar!" Mingyu shouts, but Wonwoo is already gone.

What feels like hours to Mingyu before you entered the room. You trudge into the on-call room, every bone in your body protesting. Your scrub top is slightly wrinkled, your hair is a mess, and you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower at this point.

Mingyu is already knocked out on the bottom bunk, snoring lightly. You barely spare him a glance before collapsing onto the couch.

That’s when you notice it.

On the small coffee table, there’s a neatly packed meal. Your favorite.

You blink, staring at it like it’s a mirage. There’s even a bottle of water next to it, condensation still fresh, like someone just left it there.

Curious, you reach out and poke at the food, half-expecting it to disappear. When it doesn’t, you frown.

"Who…?" you murmur to yourself.

Mingyu shifts on the bed, groaning. "Shut up and eat."

You glance at him. "Did you get this?"

He grunts, eyes still closed. "Nope."

You pause. "Then who—?"

Mingyu cracks one eye open, smirking lazily. "Who do you think?"

That stops you. Your brain, sluggish from exhaustion, takes a moment to process.

Then it clicks.

Wonwoo.

You stare at the food, heart doing something weird in your chest.

Mingyu snickers before rolling over. "Just eat, dumbass."

You don’t argue. But as you take the first bite, you can’t help but think about a certain pediatric surgeon who definitely isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.

You exhale, shaking your head to yourself. Subtle, Jeon.

Mingyu shifts on the bed again, cracking one eye open. "You’re thinking too hard about this," he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

You stab at your food with your chopsticks. "No, I’m not."

"Yeah, you are."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. "Go back to sleep."

Mingyu hums lazily, but then he adds, "He does this all the time, you know."

You pause mid-bite. "What?"

Mingyu smirks, barely awake but still committed to being a menace. "Making sure you eat. Checking if you’re okay. Wonwoo’s always been like that… but only with you."

Your stomach does something stupid at that. "That’s not true."

Mingyu chuckles, shifting onto his side. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

You open your mouth to argue, but Mingyu’s already passed out again, snoring softly. You sigh, leaning back on the couch. The food is warm, comforting, and frustratingly thoughtful.

You try not to think about it too much. You fail.

It’s another long shift for you.

After parting ways with Seokmin, you make your way to the nurses’ station, hoping to check on some charts before heading back to the on-call room. You’re running on fumes at this point, but the habit of making sure everything is in order before you crash is too strong to ignore.

As you approach, you hear a group of nurses talking in hushed but excited tones. You don’t think much of it until you catch a familiar name.

“Dr. Jeon is so amazing,” one of them gushes, practically sighing. “Did you see him with that little boy’s parents? He was so gentle and reassuring.”

“I know! And he’s always so calm, no matter how bad things get.”

“Not to mention how good he looks in scrubs,” another nurse adds, and they all giggle.

You freeze mid-step, blinking.

Are they seriously—?

“I swear, if he wasn’t so intimidating, I’d totally ask him out.”

“Right? But he’s always so serious. Like, have you ever seen him smile?”

“Only sometimes. But guess what?” The first nurse leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I did see him smile today.”

“No way. When?”

“When he was talking to Dr. Y/N.”

Your stomach drops.

Oh no.

“Oh my god, wait, you’re right! He actually looked... softer?”

“And she’s the only one he ever seems to talk to outside of work stuff.”

Another nurse sighs dramatically. “That’s so unfair. Do you think they’re, like, a thing?”

Your brain short-circuits. You have got to get out of here. Clearing your throat loudly, you step into their line of sight, making them jump. “Hey, uh… I just need to check some charts.”

The group scrambles, trying to look busy, but you can feel their eyes on you, filled with curiosity and knowing looks. Great. Just great.

As you grab the nearest patient file, you swear you hear one of them whisper, “Oh my god, she totally heard us.”

You pretend you didn’t.

You nearly drop the patient file when a rolling chair suddenly appears beside you.

“So,” Seokmin drawls, arms crossed as he lazily spins in the chair, “how do I break it to them that Wonwoo is a total softie for you?”

You glare at him, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”

Seokmin grins, completely ignoring your complaint. “Seriously, though. They think he’s this untouchable, brooding genius, but we both know he turns into a golden retriever when it comes to you.”

Your eye twitches. “He does not—”

Seokmin cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, you’re in denial.”

You slap his arm with the patient file. “I am not.”

He just laughs, rubbing his arm. “Y/N, I literally watched him rip Mingyu off the bottom bunk just so you could sleep comfortably.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Okay, fine. That was suspiciously caring behavior.

Seokmin smirks, clearly enjoying your inner struggle. “And let’s not forget how he tells Mingyu to make sure you eat and sleep. Or how he leaves food for you. Or how he only ever gets flustered when it involves you.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you.”

He pats your back like a supportive older brother. “No, you hate that I’m right.”

Before you can argue, one of the nurses clears her throat loudly, and you glance up to see them all very obviously pretending not to listen.

Seokmin leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “They’re totally listening.”

“I know, Seokmin.”

“Wanna give them a show? Maybe dramatically sigh Wonwoo’s name?”

You grab the patient file again and smack him with it. That’s when another doctor—Dr. Lee from orthopedics—walks up beside you.

"Dr. Y/N," he greets smoothly, offering a smile. "Haven’t seen you around much. Busy saving lives?"

You glance up, slightly caught off guard by the sudden conversation. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

Dr. Lee leans casually against the counter, watching you with interest. "You should take a break sometime. Maybe grab a coffee?"

Oh. Oh.

Is he… flirting?

You don’t get the chance to react before you hear a loud, exaggerated cough from nearby. Seokmin is sitting just a few feet away, blatantly eavesdropping with zero shame. He’s pretending to look at a chart, but his expression is screaming Oh? What’s this?

You try to ignore him, forcing a polite smile at Dr. Lee. "That’s nice of you, but I’m actually running on negative sleep right now."

Dr. Lee chuckles. "All the more reason to step away for a bit. It’s just coffee, no pressure."

Seokmin lets out another obnoxious cough. "Thirsty, huh?"

You whip your head toward him, glaring. "Do you need medical attention, Seokmin?"

He grins. "Nah, I’m just—" he gestures vaguely between you and Dr. Lee "—observing."

Dr. Lee, bless him, is oblivious to the absolute menace that is Seokmin. "No worries. If you change your mind, let me know," he says with an easy smile before walking off.

The moment he’s gone, Seokmin wheels his chair over at full speed, stopping right beside you.

"So," he drawls. "Are you gonna tell Wonwoo, or should I?"

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. "Seokmin, I swear to god—"

Of course it didn’t take long. Mingyu and Wonwoo are lounging in the on-call room when the door slams open. Seokmin bursts in, cackling like a maniac, running full speed across the room.

And right behind him. You.

"LEE SEOKMIN, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Before he can reach the safety of the bunk beds, you launch yourself at him, nearly tackling him to the ground. Seokmin barely stays on his feet, wheezing through his laughter.

Mingyu, sitting up from the bottom bunk, blinks in confusion. "…Do we want to know?"

Wonwoo, sitting at the small desk, doesn’t even look up. "No."

Seokmin, still trying to escape your grip, gasps between laughs. "I—I was just helping!"

"You were eavesdropping and causing problems on purpose!" you yell, tightening your hold around his waist as he tries to wriggle free.

Mingyu perks up at that. "Ooh, what happened? Spill."

Seokmin dramatically falls onto the couch, bringing you down with him. "Our dear Y/N here was getting flirted with."

Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

Seokmin grins, panting slightly. "Dr. Lee. Ortho. Real smooth. Asked her to coffee."

Mingyu gasps like this is the most dramatic thing he’s ever heard. "And you tackled him over this?!"

"No, I tackled him because he ran in here to tell you two like a gossiping old lady!" you snap, still half on top of Seokmin, who is not helping by laughing even harder.

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo, who has yet to react. "Wonwoo. Thoughts?"

Wonwoo, still not looking up, simply flips a page in his book.  Seokmin wheezes. You groan, letting your head drop onto the couch.

Mingyu clutches his chest, looking between you and Wonwoo with pure delight. "Oh, this is better than a telenovela."

You push yourself up from where you were half-crushing Seokmin, brushing off your scrubs as you glare at him. Before you can properly scold him for being the absolute worst, Wonwoo finally speaks—completely nonchalant, like this whole thing isn’t ridiculous.

"He asked if you wanted coffee?"

You pause. Seokmin and Mingyu do not. Seokmin looks thrilled. Mingyu straight-up leans forward, eyes sparkling with interest.

You narrow your eyes at Wonwoo. "Why do you sound like that?"

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his book. "Like what?"

Mingyu grins. "Yeah, like what, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo flips a page. "Just asking."

You scoff. "You buy me coffee all the time"

Wonwoo hums. "Exactly."

Your brain short-circuits. "…Wait. What does that mean?*"

Wonwoo, still infuriatingly casual, finally glances up. "Nothing. Just seems unnecessary to get coffee with someone else when you already get it from me."

Seokmin and Mingyu explode.

"OH, THAT'S RICH—"

"DID HE JUST—"

You groan into your hands as they lose their minds. Wonwoo, unbothered, closes his book and stands. "I’m going to get coffee. You want one or not?"

Mingyu is on the floor laughing. Seokmin is gasping for air. And you—you are never going to hear the end of this.

Wonwoo, as unbothered as ever, grabs his ID badge and heads for the door.

Mingyu and Seokmin are still wheezing from his last comment, but you’re too busy processing to move.

He’s almost out when he pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Not coming?"

You cross your arms, still suspicious. "I think I’ll stay here and recover from whatever that was."

Wonwoo shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He steps out. You don’t follow but right before the door swings shut, you shout after him

"Caramel macchiato, extra shot, not too sweet!"

Seokmin and Mingyu stare at you. You stare back.

Then Mingyu loses it, laughing so hard he nearly falls off the bunk. "OH, SO YOU’RE NOT GONNA FOLLOW HIM, BUT YOU’RE STILL MAKING HIM GET YOU COFFEE?"

Seokmin clutches his chest, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Unbelievable. Absolutely shameless."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "I hate you both."

Mingyu wipes fake tears. "No, you hate that you’re in too deep and we’re just here to witness it."

It’s your well-deserved day off, which means the hospital is not your problem for once. But unfortunately for Wonwoo, it means he is the problem of the two very nosy individuals stuck with him today.

Mingyu and Seokmin have been relentless since morning, waiting for the perfect opportunity to grill him—and the second they’re all in the on-call room, Seokmin strikes.

"So... you and Y/N."

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his tablet. "What about her?"

Mingyu flops onto the couch dramatically. "You know exactly what about her."

Seokmin leans forward, grinning. "You act different around her."

"I don’t."

"Oh, you absolutely do," Mingyu says, propping his chin on his hand. "You let her get away with things you’d never tolerate from us."

Seokmin nods enthusiastically. "Like running away when she has a cut?"

"Or demanding coffee like she’s a queen and you’re her personal barista?" Mingyu adds.

Wonwoo finally glances up. "She doesn’t demand. I offer."

Silence.

Mingyu and Seokmin gasp.

"HE ADMITS IT!" Seokmin nearly topples over. "HE VOLUNTARILY GETS HER COFFEE!"

Wonwoo sighs. "You two have too much free time."

"And you have too much denial," Mingyu shoots back. "Be honest, if she asked for your left kidney, you’d at least consider it."

Seokmin laughs. "He’d have it prepped and ready before she even finished asking."

Wonwoo rubs his temples. "You’re both insufferable."

"And you’re in love," Mingyu sing-songs.

"I am not," Wonwoo deadpans.

Seokmin smirks. "Would you say no if she asked you out?"

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately, making the two guys exchange another look.

"Oh my God," Mingyu whispers. "You wouldn’t say no."

"Pack it up, folks, we got him," Seokmin grins. "That’s a wrap."

Meanwhile it’s your day off, technically you were supposed to be having a relaxing day off. No pagers, no surgeries, no Mingyu whining for coffee or Seokmin launching into dramatic gossip. Just a simple grocery run—bread, eggs, maybe even some overpriced snacks if you were feeling indulgent.

But fate, as usual, had other plans.

The sound of screeching tires and the crash of metal on metal jolts you from your thoughts as you step out of the store. A small crowd is already forming near an intersection, the sight of two badly dented cars making your stomach drop.

Then you hear it—panicked voices.

"She’s pregnant!"

Your body moves before your brain fully catches up. Pushing past stunned bystanders, you rush toward the most damaged car, where a man is frantically trying to pry open the passenger door. Inside, a woman—clearly pregnant—clutches her stomach, her face contorted in pain.

"Ma’am, can you hear me?" you ask, voice sharp with urgency.

She gasps, nodding weakly. "M-My baby—"

You glance around. The fire department isn’t here yet, neither are the paramedics. The door is crushed in, and she’s stuck.

Your pulse pounds, but you push the panic aside. Focus.

You turn to the man still struggling with the door. "We need to get her out, but carefully. Do you have something I can use to break the glass?"

He nods shakily, rushing to his car. Meanwhile, you crouch by the woman, speaking in a soothing tone even as your mind races through possible complications.

"You're doing great. Just keep breathing, okay? Help is coming."

She nods again, but her grip on her belly tightens.

You don’t have your scrubs, your hospital badge, or even your gloves. But right now, none of that matters because doctor or not—you have to help her.

You refuse to leave her side. Even as sirens wail in the distance and bystanders are urged to step back, you stay crouched next to the woman, monitoring her breathing, checking for signs of distress.

"You're okay. Just hold on," you murmur, your hand steady on her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your fingers. The first responders finally arrive, moving quickly to assess the scene. 

A firefighter rushes toward you. "Ma’am, we need to extract her now. You should move back."

"Not until she’s safe," you insist.

They're working on prying the door open when it happens—

An explosion.

A sudden BOOM rocks the area as flames burst from the wreckage. The force knocks you backward, and before you can react, shards of glass and debris fly straight toward you and the pregnant woman.

Your first instinct is to shield her. You duck, arms raised, making sure not a single piece touches her. She screams, but the paramedics quickly cover her with a thick emergency blanket.

You barely notice the sharp stings as glass embeds itself into your arm, your shoulder, a few grazing your cheek. The pain is secondary.

"She’s stable!" one of the EMTs shouts, carefully moving the woman onto a stretcher. "Let’s transport her now!" You exhale in relief, watching as they wheel her toward the ambulance. You step back, feeling a slight dizziness, but shake it off.

"Doctor?" One of the firefighters eyes you carefully.

"I’m fine," you say automatically.

The ambulance ride is a blur of flashing lights and hushed urgency. The paramedics work efficiently, monitoring the pregnant woman’s vitals as you sit beside her, keeping her calm. You press a gauze pad against one of the deeper cuts on your arm, but otherwise, you don’t acknowledge your injuries.

When the ambulance finally arrives at the hospital, the woman is rushed into the ER. You climb out right after them, rolling your stiff shoulders, determined to go check on her—

Only to run straight into Mingyu.

"Hey, we got a—" His usual laid-back tone vanishes the moment his eyes land on you. His brows shoot up. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I’m fine," you say immediately, waving him off. Big mistake.

The moment you move, dizziness washes over you. You stumble slightly, catching yourself against the wall.

Mingyu lunges forward. "Yeah, okay, fine people totally do that."

His eyes sweep over you. Your torn sleeve, the cuts littering your arm, the faint streak of blood on your cheek. "Are you serious right now?"

You sigh. "It’s not that bad—"

"Not that bad?" He gestures wildly at you. "You were supposed to be on your day off, not playing action hero in the middle of the street!"

Mingyu groans, already reaching for his pager. "Seokmin and Wonwoo are going to kill me."

Mingyu barely has time to react before your knees buckle.

"Oh, for—okay, nope, you’re done," he mutters, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands grip your shoulders, guiding you onto a nearby gurney despite your weak protests.

"I—I'm fine," you mumble, though the dizziness makes your head swim. The pain you’ve been stubbornly ignoring is very much making itself known now, sharp and stinging from every cut.

"Uh-huh, tell that to your blood loss," Mingyu huffs as he quickly assesses the wounds. "How are you this dumb?"

You try to glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. He just sighs, guiding you to the nearest vacant bed then grabbing antiseptics and bandages from a nearby tray.

"This is gonna sting," he warns, dabbing at the gash on your arm.

The burn makes you flinch. "Mingyu—"

But before you can complain, the door to the ER slams open.

"Where is she?"

Your stomach drops.

Wonwoo stands at the entrance, still in his scrubs, his chest rising and falling like he ran all the way here. His usual composed demeanor is nowhere to be seen.

The moment his eyes land on you—bruised, bloodied, and definitely not fine—his expression shifts into something dark.

"You have got to be kidding me," he mutters, storming over

Mingyu looks up but barely gets a word in before Wonwoo cuts in, voice tight. "What the hell happened?"

You open your mouth, but Mingyu beats you to it. "She was out running errands and decided to become a damn superhero. Got caught in a car explosion or something—"

"It wasn’t an explosion—" you try, but Wonwoo turns his glare on you so fast you shut up.

"You refused to tell anyone you were hurt?" Wonwoo’s voice is low, laced with barely contained frustration. "Do you even know how reckless that is?"

You blink at him, a little caught off guard. Wonwoo gets annoyed, sure—but this? This anger? This fear simmering under his words?

Mingyu shifts awkwardly. "Uh, so, I’ll just—keep cleaning these wounds?"

Wonwoo ignores him.

"You should’ve been treated immediately," he snaps. "You could’ve gone into shock, Y/N. You could’ve—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

You swallow, voice quieter now. "I had to make sure she was okay."

Wonwoo stares at you for a long moment. His jaw clenches. Then, without another word, he grabs the antiseptic from Mingyu’s hand and kneels down beside you.

"Hey, I was—" Mingyu starts

"You’re taking too long," Wonwoo says flatly, inspecting your arm.

Mingyu throws his hands up. "Oh, I’m the problem? Sure, yeah, okay."

But you don’t pay attention to Mingyu anymore—because Wonwoo is suddenly so close, his fingers gentle as he carefully tends to your wounds. The frustration is still in his eyes, but his touch is steady, precise.

You wince when he presses the gauze against a deeper cut, and his grip instinctively tightens around your wrist. His voice softens, just a fraction.

"I don’t care how capable you are," he mutters. "Don’t ever do that again."

You bite down hard on your lip, willing yourself not to cry. But the antiseptic burns, and the way Wonwoo presses down on your wounds with such precision makes it impossible to ignore the sharp sting.

Your eyes start to prickle. You will not cry. You refuse.

Mingyu, ever the observant one, notices immediately. He leans in slightly and mumbles, “Hey, man, she’s already injured. You’re making her cry.”

Wonwoo freezes.

Your head snaps up. “I am not crying.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You kinda look like you’re about to.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Wonwoo sighs, rubbing his temple. “Mingyu, stop talking.”

Mingyu just shrugs, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just saying, maybe be a little gentler? You know, since you care so much.”

Wonwoo pointedly ignores him, but his grip on your arm loosens just slightly, his movements becoming even more careful. He still looks pissed, but his touch is softer now, like he’s trying to make up for it.

You try to focus on anything other than the fact that your face feels ridiculously warm.

Mingyu stands, stretching with an exaggerated groan. “Alright, I’m gonna check on the woman since someone needs to be useful around here.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “I’m useful.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to your blood loss.” He waves you off, throwing Wonwoo a quick glance before walking out, leaving the two of you alone.

The silence that follows is heavy. Wonwoo is still focused on cleaning your wounds, but his jaw is tight, and his movements though gentler now are still a little too precise.

You watch him for a second before speaking. “You’re really mad, huh?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “No.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

His grip tightens just slightly before he lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “…Yes.”

You shift a little, suddenly feeling weird under his gaze. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Wonwoo finally looks up at you, and the way his eyes darken makes you shut up real quick.

“Not that bad?” he repeats, voice low. “You were in an accident, Y/N. You got caught in a literal explosion.”

You try to brush it off. “It wasn’t that big—”

"You were bleeding and didn't even think to get yourself treated first."

You falter. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, like he’s trying really hard to rein himself in.

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen people come in, thinking they were fine, only to collapse later?” His voice is quieter now, but it’s laced with something heavier. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Wonwoo’s gaze softens—just barely—before he looks back down, carefully placing the last bandage over your arm. His hands linger for a second, his fingers warm against your skin.

“…Just don’t do that again.” His voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “Please.”

You sniffle, trying to hold it in, but a few tears betray you, slipping down your cheek before you can stop them. Wonwoo notices immediately. His hands, still hovering near your arm, tense.

“Hey—”

You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling again. “I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles, completely betraying you.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, and before you can react, he’s reaching for the tissue box nearby, wordlessly handing you one.

You take it, mumbling, “Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in a small voice, you ask, “Is the woman okay?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you carefully before finally saying, “She’s stable. Mingyu’s checking on her now.”

You nod, squeezing the tissue in your hand. “That’s good.”

Wonwoo still doesn’t look away. His lips press together like he wants to say something else, but in the end, all he does is let out a quiet sigh.

“You should rest,” he says softly. “You lost some of blood, you might feel light headed”

You huff, forcing a weak smile. “You sound like me when I tell my patients that.”

He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he reaches out, hesitates, then gently presses his hand against your head, smoothing down a stray strand of hair. The touch is so light, so careful, that it nearly makes you tear up all over again.

“Then take your own advice for once.”

Before you can even process the warmth of Wonwoo’s touch, the door bursts open.

“OH MY GOD—YOU’RE ALIVE!”

Seokmin practically lunges toward you, arms wide like he’s about to hug-tackle you, but Wonwoo smoothly steps in his way, stopping him with a single hand to his chest.

“Seokmin.” Wonwoo’s voice is flat. “She’s injured.”

Seokmin blinks, then gasps like he’s just realized something. “YOU’RE INJURED?!”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Did you think I was just here for fun?”

Seokmin dramatically grips his chest. “I—I just thought maybe you were being dramatic again! But you actually got hurt?!”

Wonwoo sighs, stepping aside because, at this point, there’s no stopping Seokmin. Sure enough, he leans down, carefully inspecting your bandages like a concerned mother.

“How bad is it? Are you dizzy? Do you need water? Do you need me to spoon-feed you soup?”

You groan, pushing his face away. “I’m fine.”

Seokmin ignores you and turns to Wonwoo. “Doctor, will she survive?”

Wonwoo looks unimpressed. “She lost blood but nothing major. She just needs to rest.”

Seokmin gasps again, gripping your hand. “BE STRONG, MY FRIEND.”

You shove him. “You’re the worst.”

Seokmin sniffs dramatically, wiping an imaginary tear. “If you do die, can I have your favorite pen?”

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose while you grab a pillow and throw it at Seokmin’s face.

After everything that happened, of course Wonwoo refused to let you out of his sight or atleast have someone watching over you while the three guys finish their shift.

After work, the four of you go to a barbeque place you're a regular at.

You’re all starving by the time you reach the restaurant, exhaustion from the day momentarily forgotten at the sight of sizzling meat and bubbling stews.

Mingyu and Seokmin are loud, bickering over who gets to grill first, while you just lean back in your seat, still pretending to sulk.

Wonwoo, sitting beside you, wordlessly places some meat on your plate before you can even lift your chopsticks. Then, as if it’s second nature, he reaches over and rolls up the loose sleeve of your hoodie, neatly tucking it to make sure it doesn’t dip into the sauces.

Mingyu pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Seokmin, in the middle of arguing over dipping sauces, suddenly stops and squints.

The most shocking part?

You don’t even react. You just pick up your chopsticks, casually eating the food Wonwoo put on your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Mingyu slowly puts his chopsticks down. “Okay, hold on.”

Seokmin leans in. “Have you always been like this?”

You blink. “Like what?”

Mingyu gestures vaguely at you and Wonwoo. “That.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, sipping his water. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Seokmin waves his chopsticks between you two. “You’re basically a married couple and she doesn’t even blink when you baby her.”

You scoff, but before you can argue, Wonwoo speaks first. “She’d spill sauce on herself if I didn’t.”

Mingyu stares. “So you admit you’re babying her.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “She doesn’t complain.”

You shove a piece of meat in your mouth to avoid answering, but your reddening ears don’t go unnoticed. Seokmin and Mingyu exchange knowing looks before grinning at each other.

Oh, they’re never letting this go.

The two of you are crammed into the back of a small van, bumping along a dirt road on the way to the rural clinic. It’s too early, you’re running on barely any sleep, and Mingyu has already decided now is the perfect time to interrogate you.

“So.” He leans back against his seat, arms crossed, looking far too entertained. “You and Wonwoo.”

You groan immediately. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”

Mingyu grins. “Oh, we’re definitely doing this. We have, like, four more hours to go.”

You glare at him, but he just continues. “I mean, come on. He feeds you. He rolls up your sleeves. He practically tracks your movements in the hospital without even trying. And you don’t even react anymore.”

“Maybe I’m just used to it.” You shrug.

Mingyu narrows his eyes. “That’s what I’m saying! You’re used to it. As in, it’s been happening for so long that you don’t even notice.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just how we are.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Please. If Seokmin tried to do that for you, you’d stab him with your chopsticks.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, Seokmin deserves it.”

Mingyu ignores that. “Just admit it. You like him.”

You pause. Then, after a beat, you say, “Of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

Mingyu groans dramatically, flopping onto your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You shove him off. “And you’re annoying.”

He smirks. “I know. But I’m also right.”

You refuse to answer, choosing instead to look out the window. But you can’t shake the way your stomach flips at Mingyu’s words.

Mingyu stretches out his legs, looking way too comfortable for someone who’s supposed to be working. “Alright then, since you’re so sure it’s nothing—explain this to me.”

You sigh. “What now?”

He smirks. “Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone since med school?”

You blink. “What?”

Mingyu tilts his head, looking far too smug. “I mean, Seokmin and I have dated around. You’ve had, like, two almost-relationships. But Wonwoo? Not a single girlfriend. No dates. No flings. No nothing.” He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that weird?”

You scoff. “Maybe he’s just not interested.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Nah. I asked him once, and you know what he said?”

You hesitate. “…What?”

Mingyu grins. “‘I don’t have time for that.’” He leans in, lowering his voice dramatically. “But I think the real reason is that he’s been too busy looking after you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.

Because now that you think about it… Mingyu’s kind of right.

Wonwoo has never once shown interest in dating. Even during med school, when everyone else was either in relationships or at least going on dates, he never did. He was always around, always steady, always—

You shake your head. No. No way.

Mingyu watches you, eyes glinting. “Oh my god, you’re actually thinking about it.”

You shove him. “Shut up.”

He cackles. “I love being right.”

You groan, turning to the window to ignore him. But your heart is beating just a little too fast, and your mind keeps replaying Mingyu’s words.

Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone?

And more importantly, why does the answer make your chest feel tight?

Once you’re done with the medical mission, you go back to the hospital. You push open the door to the on-call room, utterly drained from the long day. Mingyu had peeled off somewhere to check on the ER, but you went straight here, hoping to collapse onto the couch for at least a few minutes.

The room is dimly lit, quiet except for the faint ticking of the wall clock. At first, you think it's empty—until your eyes land on Wonwoo. He’s at his desk, head slightly tilted down, eyes closed.

You pause, debating whether you should leave him be. But before you can take a step back, his voice—low and a little rough from exhaustion—breaks the silence.

"You're back."

You blink. "I thought you were asleep."

He opens his eyes, looking at you with that unreadable expression of his. "Just resting my eyes."

You scoff lightly, stepping further inside. "You say that like it’s any better."

Wonwoo watches you as you drop your bag onto the desk, stretching your arms over your head with a tired groan. You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers, just for a second, before he leans back in his chair.

"Long day?" he asks.

You sigh, rolling out your shoulders. "Very. Mingyu was extra annoying, as usual."

Wonwoo hums, amused. "What did he do now?"

You hesitate, suddenly remembering the entire conversation about him. About how Mingyu basically implied that Wonwoo hasn’t dated anyone because of you.

You glance at Wonwoo, who’s waiting for your answer with a neutral expression. And for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to bring it up.

“Just the usual nonsense,” you say instead.

Wonwoo doesn’t press, just nods before looking back at his desk. There’s a brief silence—comfortable, familiar. The kind you only get with someone you’ve known for years.

Then, softly, he says, “You should eat before you sleep.”

You glance at him, arching a brow. "Did you just give me my own advice?"

A small smirk tugs at his lips. "You never follow it yourself."

You shake your head, but there’s something warm in your chest that wasn’t there before.

Damn Mingyu. Now you can’t stop noticing things.

You drop onto the couch, exhausted but still watching Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. He hasn't moved from his desk, but now you notice the way he's rubbing his temples, his brows slightly furrowed.

His glasses aren’t on, which is rare. Wonwoo without glasses usually means one of two things—either he’s about to sleep, or he has a headache.

Judging by the way he keeps pinching the bridge of his nose, it’s definitely the latter.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Mhm." He doesn’t look up, still rubbing slow circles into his temples.

You frown. "Did you even rest today?"

"I did," he says, but you don’t believe him for a second.

With a sigh, you push yourself up and walk over to him. He barely reacts when you place a hand on his shoulder, but he finally opens his eyes when you gently pull his hand away from his forehead.

"You have a migraine, don’t you?" you ask, squinting at him.

Wonwoo blinks at you, then exhales through his nose—something between amusement and surrender. "Just a small one."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Small enough that you’re sitting here rubbing your head like an old man."

He gives you a flat look. "Thanks."

Ignoring his sarcasm, you reach for his desk, rummaging through one of the drawers. You know he keeps medicine in here somewhere—he’s always prepared for everyone else’s headaches, just never his own.

After a few seconds, you find what you’re looking for and shake two pills into your palm before grabbing his forgotten water bottle. You hold both out to him expectantly.

"Take these."

He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with that unreadable look again.

"Wonwoo," you say, more firmly. Finally, he sighs and takes the pills from your hand, swallowing them with a sip of water.

You nod, satisfied. "Good. Now go lie down before you pass out at your desk."

He exhales slowly, then mutters, "You’re bossy."

You smirk. "And yet you listen to me."

He doesn’t argue. Just shakes his head with the smallest hint of a smile before standing up. And for some reason, as he moves toward the bunk beds, you feel that warmth in your chest again.

You leave the room after turning the lights off to let him rest. You find Mingyu, maybe grab some late night snacks. As you and Mingyu walk through the hospital corridors, making casual conversation, a familiar figure approaches.

It’s him—Doctor Lee, the one who had flirted with you before.

Mingyu notices the way your shoulders tense and immediately perks up, eyes darting between you and Doctor Lee with barely concealed interest. "Oh, this should be fun," he mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a look. "Shut up."

Before Mingyu can tease you further, Doctor Lee reaches you, flashing that same confident smile.

"Hey, fancy seeing you again." His tone is smooth, casual, but there’s something pointed in the way he looks at you.

"It’s a hospital," you reply dryly. "You’ll probably see me a lot."

Mingyu barely hides his laugh behind a cough.

Doctor Lee, unfazed, chuckles. "Right. Still, I was hoping I’d run into you. Thought maybe this time I could convince you to grab a coffee with me?"

Mingyu freezes beside you, his head snapping toward you so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. He is way too interested in this.

You open your mouth to respond—politely decline, of course—but before you can, a voice cuts in.

"She already has a coffee supplier."

You turn your head just in time to see Wonwoo standing a few steps away, arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something just sharp enough that it makes both you and Doctor Lee pause.

Mingyu, of course, is thriving.

"Oh, do you now?" Doctor Lee glances between you and Wonwoo, one eyebrow raised.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "Wonwoo, don’t—"

"She never has to ask. Her coffee order just appears," Wonwoo continues smoothly, ignoring you. "Sometimes with snacks too."

Mingyu wheezes.

Doctor Lee blinks, clearly trying to figure out if there’s something more to Wonwoo’s words. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what he’s doing, but before the other man can press further, you exhale and take a step back.

"Anyway, I have rounds to finish," you say quickly. "See you around."

Before Doctor Lee can respond, you grab Mingyu’s sleeve and yank him along with you, leaving the poor guy standing there confused.

Mingyu is absolutely dying.

"Wonwoo totally just alpha-blocked that guy," he laughs, struggling to keep up with your fast pace. "Like, not even subtle. That was lowkey territorial."

You groan. "Don’t start."

"Oh, I’ve already started." Mingyu grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "So… your coffee supplier, huh?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you walk even faster, pretending you don’t hear Mingyu’s continued teasing all the way down the hall.

As you speed-walk down the hall, Mingyu still snickering beside you, you hear the sound of familiar footsteps following behind. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

You sigh dramatically, slowing your steps just enough to glance over your shoulder. "Weren't you suffering from a migraine?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, walking at a completely casual pace as if he didn’t just interrupt an entire conversation to assert his place in your life, simply shrugs. "It went away."

Mingyu claps a hand over his mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. He fails.

"Ohhh, interesting," Mingyu chokes out between laughs. "So you had a migraine, but the moment Doctor Lee showed up, you were suddenly fine? Wow. Almost like it wasn’t that serious to begin with."

Wonwoo shoots him a blank look. "Or maybe I just recovered."

"Right, right," Mingyu nods, "or maybe you just didn’t like what you were seeing."

You groan, rubbing your forehead. "Mingyu, please—"

"No, because listen," Mingyu continues, fully ignoring you now, "if I had a migraine, I would not be up and walking this fast just to make sure my ‘friend’—" he even throws up air quotes, "—wasn’t having coffee with someone else."

"I wasn’t walking fast," Wonwoo deadpans.

"Okay, but you were there," Mingyu counters. "Like, right there. That’s suspicious, man."

You throw up your hands. "Oh my God, both of you, stop."

Wonwoo just blinks, completely unbothered. "Do you still want coffee?" he asks, as if the last five minutes of chaos didn’t just happen. Mingyu wheezes again.

You groan even louder. "You are so annoying."

Later Wonwo drove you and Mingyu home. The car ride is quiet after Mingyu gets dropped off, leaving just you and Wonwoo. The city lights blur past the window, and you drum your fingers lightly on your thigh before finally speaking

"Hey."

"Hm?" Wonwoo doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but you know he’s listening.

"That thing Mingyu said … about you not dating anyone since med school—"

Wonwoo glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "What about it?"

"Is it true?" you ask, shifting slightly to face him. "You really haven’t dated anyone all these years?"

He doesn’t answer right away, but you notice the way his fingers tighten slightly around the wheel. "I was busy," he finally says, voice even.

"We were all busy," you counter. "Mingyu dated. Seokmin dated."

Wonwoo exhales softly through his nose. "And you?"

You blink, caught off guard. "What about me?"

"Did you date?" He doesn’t look at you, but there’s something in his voice, something careful, deliberate.

You hesitate, then shrug. "Not really."

That makes Wonwoo glance at you, just for a second. "Why?"

You huff a quiet laugh. "Why are you answering my question with another question?"

"Because you’re deflecting," he replies easily.

You frown, arms crossing. "Maybe I just didn’t feel like it."

Wonwoo hums, the sound low and thoughtful. "Then I guess we’re the same."

That makes you pause. He’s right, in a way. You never thought much about dating, always too caught up in the chaos of work, of life. But hearing that he was the same—that he never even tried—makes something uneasy stir in your chest.

"So…" you start carefully, "was there really no one? Not even someone you liked?"

The streetlights cast long shadows over his face, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then, softly—so softly you almost don’t hear it—he says,

"I wouldn’t say that."

Your breath catches, but before you can press further, the car slows. You realize, belatedly, that you’ve already arrived at your place.

Wonwoo shifts into park and finally, finally looks at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes, something deep and quiet and there.

You swallow. "Wonwoo—"

"Go inside," he says gently, cutting you off.

You hesitate. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken.

But in the end, you don’t push.

"Okay," you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Drive safe."

He nods, watching as you step out and close the door behind you.

As you walk up to your building, you don’t turn back snd inside his car, Wonwoo stays parked for a long time, staring at where you were.

You’re never like this.

You’ve known Wonwoo for years, been friends with him for so long that his presence has always felt natural, something you never had to think about. But now? Now, after what Mingyu said, after what Wonwoo didn’t say, you’re noticing everything.

The way he automatically sets a coffee cup in front of you in the morning, the way he subtly reaches out like he’s ready to catch you when you take a sharp turn in the hallway, the way his eyes linger when you’re talking—like he’s listening to every word, even the useless ones.

It’s worse in the on-call room.

Wonwoo’s at his desk, writing notes, glasses perched on his nose. It’s a normal sight, something you’ve seen a thousand times before. But for some reason, today, you can’t stop looking. The way his brows furrow slightly in focus. The way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk. The way he reaches up to push his hair back, exposing his forehead just a little more.

Seokmin, lying on the bottom bunk, suddenly snickers. "You good over there?"

You snap your head toward him. "What?"

He grins, flipping through his phone lazily. "You’re staring."

"No, I’m not."

"Uh-huh."

Wonwoo, completely unaware, flips to the next page in his notes. You glare at Seokmin before quickly grabbing your own chart, pretending to focus. But even then, you’re way too aware of the fact that Wonwoo is right there.

And maybe you have been staring.

The moment you walk out, Seokmin doesn’t even wait.

He turns to Wonwoo with a slow grin, tossing his phone onto his chest. "So…"

Wonwoo doesn’t look up. "So?"

"She was staring at you."

That gets Wonwoo’s attention. He finally lifts his eyes from his notes, blinking at Seokmin. "What?"

"She. Was. Staring." Seokmin emphasizes each word like Wonwoo is dense. Which, honestly, he kind of is. "Like, full-on eyes stuck on you. If I wasn’t here, she probably would've burned a hole through your head."

Wonwoo frowns, shifting slightly in his seat. "You’re exaggerating."

"Am I?" Seokmin smirks. "I don’t think I am."

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that. He just exhales through his nose and turns back to his notes. But Seokmin knows him too well—sees the way his ears go just the slightest bit red.

Seokmin grins. "Dude, I’m telling you, she’s noticing things. That’s a good sign."

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, flipping a page in his notes. "Go to sleep, Seokmin."

"Oh, I will. But just so you know…" Seokmin stifles a laugh. "I think you’re in trouble, man."

The rest of the day is… annoying. Not because of any difficult surgeries or unbearable patients, but because you are now painfully hyper-aware of Wonwoo. It’s stupid.  Like when he rolls up his sleeves before scrubbing in for surgery, and you catch yourself staring at his forearms for half a second too long.

Or the absolute worst—when you’re eating lunch with the others, and Wonwoo absentmindedly pushes the side dishes you like closer to you. It’s such a small, automatic thing, and normally you wouldn’t even blink at it. 

But today? Today, you almost drop your chopsticks.

"You good?" Seokmin asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Fine!" you say way too quickly, shoving food in your mouth to avoid talking.

Mingyu, the menace that he is, narrows his eyes at you. "Are you sure? You’ve been kinda weird today—"

"She’s fine," Wonwoo interjects smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.

And just like that, you’re spiraling again. Because now you’re overthinking that. He just said you were fine. That’s normal, right? That’s just Wonwoo being Wonwoo. But now it sounds like he knows something, like he can see how much you’re overthinking him—

You hate this.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted—not just physically, but mentally from all the overthinking. So when Wonwoo casually says, "Let’s go," and gestures toward the exit, you don’t even question it.

It’s routine, anyway. You don’t drive, and if Mingyu isn’t around to make you suffer through his questionable playlist, it’s usually Wonwoo who gives you a ride home.

The car ride is quiet at first, just the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing some late-night ballad. You try to focus on anything else, but of course, you’re hyper-aware of every small thing he does. 

"You were weird today," he says suddenly.

You stiffen. "No, I wasn’t."

He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe you. "If you say so."

You scowl, slumping in your seat. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re terrible at hiding things."

You whip your head toward him. "Excuse me?"

Wonwoo glances at you with the tiniest smirk before turning his attention back to the road. "You keep staring at me."

You nearly choke. "I— that’s not—you—"* You shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself even more.

"Don’t overthink it," he says, like he can hear your brain short-circuiting.

You glare at him, crossing your arms. "I’m not."

"Sure."

He pulls up to your place, and before you can even reach for the door handle, he beats you to it, leaning over to unlock it from the inside. You freeze for half a second because he’s too close, and you swear he hesitates too before leaning back.

"Get some rest," he says simply.

You step out, and just as you close the door, he rolls down the window. "And stop staring so much. It’s obvious."

"I WAS NOT—!"

But he’s already driving away, leaving you standing there, burning with embarrassment.

Wonwoo didn’t mean to say it.

But the way you froze, the way your eyes widened in sheer panic before you tried to deny it—yeah, that reaction was worth it.

He’s not stupid. He noticed the shift in you over the past few days. The way you’ve been watching him more, like you suddenly started paying attention. Like you were seeing things for the first time that have always been there. It would’ve been amusing if it wasn’t also kind of frustrating.

Because he’s been looking at you like that for years.

He doesn’t usually let things slip. He’s careful, measured. But with you? It’s always been a little different.

As he drives away, he catches a glimpse of you in the rearview mirror—still standing there, fuming, probably cursing him under your breath. He exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle he allows himself.

"Took you long enough."

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches his own reflection in the mirror. And he definitely doesn’t realize that his fingers tap against the steering wheel the entire way home, like he’s buzzing with something he refuses to name.

After that you try to avoid him. Not in an obvious way, just enough to make sure you don’t end up alone with him again. It’s stupid, but you can’t help it. Unfortunately, Mingyu and Seokmin have noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” Mingyu says while stuffing his face with food.

Seokmin leans in. “Super weird. Suspiciously weird.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not acting weird.”

“You literally just turned around when you saw Wonwoo walking this way,” Seokmin points out.

Mingyu snickers. “Yeah, and you ran in the opposite direction.”

“Okay, first of all, I had places to be.”

“You went to a supply closet.”

“…Shut up.”

Mingyu and Seokmin exchange a look before turning back to you, both wearing the same smug expression.

“You’re doomed,” Mingyu says with a grin. Seokmin agrees.

Before you can threaten them, someone clears their throat behind you. You turn around—and there’s Wonwoo.

His eyes flick between the three of you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, grabbing your tray and bolting.

From behind you, you hear Mingyu snicker, “Yup. Doomed.”

Later after another very long shift, you all but crawl out. There you see him. Wonwoo is standing outside the hospital entrance, hands in his coat pockets, glasses perched on his nose, looking completely unbothered by the cold night air. His eyes flick up the moment you step outside, and your heart does a stupid little flip.

“I thought you went home,” you say, stopping in front of him.

He raises a brow. “You were gonna chase the bus, weren’t you?”

You cross your arms. “Maybe.”

He huffs out a small laugh, then tilts his head toward his car. “Let’s go.”

You hesitate for half a second before following him. Because, well—this is Wonwoo. And he’s always been there, hasn’t he? Even when you didn’t notice.

You freeze halfway to the car. Wonwoo stops too, turning to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight furrow in his brows, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets.

"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice is steady, calm—but you know him well enough to hear the shift in his tone.

"I’m not," you lie, immediately looking away.

"You are," he counters easily. "You barely look at me during rounds, you leave the on-call room the second I walk in, and you suddenly act like you're allergic to coffee when I offer."

Okay, maybe you were being a little obvious. You shuffle your feet, gripping the strap of your bag. "I—it's nothing."

Wonwoo doesn’t budge. He just stares, waiting, and you swear the silence between you feels louder than anything right now.

Then, quieter, he says, "Did I do something?"

That makes you look at him. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something in his eyes—something careful, hesitant. You shake your head quickly. "No! You didn’t—You never—" You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. "It’s just… I don’t know."

That’s a lie. You do know. It’s because of everything—Mingyu’s words, Seokmin’s teasing, the way you suddenly can’t stop noticing every little thing Wonwoo does. And the way it’s making your heart act in ways it shouldn’t.

But how the hell are you supposed to say that?

Wonwoo studies you for a moment, then sighs, shaking his head. "Get in the car," he says, walking ahead. "We’re not doing this while you're sleep-deprived."

You stare after him, a little dumbfounded, before scrambling to follow. Because, well. This is Wonwoo. And he's always been there, hasn’t he?

The car ride is quiet. Not the usual comfortable silence, but something heavier. You glance at Wonwoo from the passenger seat—his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, eyes focused ahead, his expression unreadable. He looks deep in thought.

And so are you.

Something stirs in the back of your mind. A memory, hazy but persistent.

It was years ago, after a long semester. You remember celebrating—too many drinks, too many laughs. And then… nothing. Just the aftermath. A raging headache, and the strange shift in Wonwoo’s behavior.

The day after that night, he started avoiding you. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but it became obvious—he wouldn’t meet your eyes, he stopped sitting next to you in class, and any conversation felt painfully awkward.

It lasted for weeks.

You never knew why.

Now, sitting next to him again, the memory presses into your chest. You glance at him once more, debating whether to ask.

But before you can, the car slows to a stop in front of your place.

"We’re here," Wonwoo says, voice even. He finally looks at you, and for a split second, there’s something in his gaze—something almost hesitant.

You swallow the words sitting on your tongue.

"Thanks for the ride," you mumble instead, pushing the door open.

But even as you step out, the question lingers.

It’s been bugging you for days. You try to brush it off, but the memory keeps surfacing at the most random moments—during surgeries, in the on-call room, even when you’re just grabbing coffee.

So, on a completely random day, when it’s just you and Wonwoo in the break room, you finally blurt it out.

"Why did you avoid me back in med school?"

Wonwoo, who was in the middle of sipping his coffee, freezes for a second. He lowers his cup slowly, eyes flickering to yours. "What?"

"You know," you insist, leaning against the counter. "After that one night out. The next day, you just—" You wave a hand, frustrated at how much this has been bothering you. "You barely talked to me for weeks. I thought I did something wrong, but I never knew what."

Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to brush it off or change the subject. But instead, he exhales and places his cup down.

"You don’t remember anything from that night?" he asks carefully.

Your brows furrow. "Not really. Just that I drank too much, and I felt like death the next morning."

Wonwoo is quiet. Too quiet. Now you’re nervous.

"What did I do?" you ask cautiously.

He hesitates, then sighs. "You… said something."

Your stomach drops. "What did I say?"

"You were drunk. I didn’t think you meant it, but—" He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "You told me you liked me."

Your brain short-circuits You what?

Wonwoo keeps going, voice softer now. "I didn’t know how to react. I thought maybe you’d forget, or that you didn’t mean it. So I just… avoided you." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It was stupid. I know that now."

You stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You think your brain might actually shut down.

Wonwoo looks down at his coffee cup, almost like he's debating whether to continue. Then, with a small sigh, he says it—

"And you kissed me."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. You kissed him?

Wonwoo glances up at you, his expression unreadable, but you can tell he’s waiting for your reaction.

"I—" You swallow, scrambling for any memory of that night. But all you can remember is drinking too much, maybe laughing too loud, and then waking up with the worst hangover of your life. "I what?"

"You kissed me," he repeats, slower this time. "Just once. It wasn’t… it wasn’t a big thing. But you looked at me like—" He stops himself, shakes his head. "I don’t know. I didn’t think you meant it, so I thought it was better if I just avoided you until things went back to normal."

Your heart is hammering now. You kissed him. You kissed Wonwoo. And he never said a word about it.

"Why didn’t you ever bring it up?" you ask, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo lets out a short, humorless laugh. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, do you remember kissing me that night?' You never brought it up either."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around this. It’s not just the fact that you kissed him—it’s the fact that he’s looking at you now like this matters. Like maybe it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to him.

And the worst part? You’re starting to think that it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to you either. You hesitate for a moment before asking, "Is that why you weren’t dating?"

Wonwoo blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. His fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup before he exhales and leans back against the chair.

"I don’t know," he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. "Maybe. Part of it, yeah."

You feel something twist in your chest.

"What does that mean?" you press, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo looks at you then, really looks at you. Like he’s debating whether or not to say what he actually wants to say.

"It means," he finally murmurs, "that maybe I was waiting."

Your breath catches. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. You can read between the lines. And suddenly, everything—the way he always looked out for you, the way he always made sure you ate, how he was always there—feels different. Feels heavier.

Like maybe you were supposed to notice a long time ago.

"I told you I liked you," you say, your voice sharper than you expected. "And you never told me."

Wonwoo doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, unreadable, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.

"You were drunk," he finally says.

You let out a frustrated scoff. "And? That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true."

He exhales slowly, looking away. "I thought you wouldn’t remember. Or that maybe you’d regret it."

Your jaw clenches. "So you just decided that for me?"

Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn’t want to risk losing you."

You let out a breath, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. You’re mad—at him, at yourself, at the way this conversation is only happening now.

"That’s so stupid," you say, shaking your head. "That’s so—you’re so—"

You stop, because you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You just know it makes you angry.

Wonwoo gives you a small, almost apologetic smile. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Maybe."

You push past Wonwoo, your head spinning with frustration, and storm out of the room. You make your way to the surgery ward, still replaying the conversation in your head. Your steps are heavy, your thoughts even heavier.

Seokmin is at the nurses’ station, casually flipping through a patient chart when he sees you approaching. He immediately notices your expression and sighs. “Alright, what did Mingyu do this time?”

You shake your head, dragging a chair and plopping down beside him. “Not Mingyu.”

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you just found out your whole life was a lie?”

You groan, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the desk. “I did find out something. From med school.”

Seokmin hums in interest. “Go on.”

You lift your head slightly, hesitating before mumbling, “Apparently, I told Wonwoo I liked him back then.”

Seokmin freezes. Blinks. Then leans forward dramatically. “You did what?”

“I don’t remember, okay?” you hiss, slapping his arm. “I was drunk. But he remembered. And guess what? He never said anything.”

Seokmin lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s tough.”

You slump back in your chair. “I don’t even know why I’m mad. Am I mad at him? At myself? At the universe?”

Seokmin clicks his tongue. “I’d say all of the above.”

You glare at him.

He chuckles before getting serious. “Look, you’re mad because it meant something. Even if you don’t remember confessing, the fact that he never responded—never even acknowledged it—hurts.”

You bite your lip, looking away. “Yeah.”

Seokmin nudges you. “So, what are you gonna do?”

You exhale sharply. “I have no idea.”

Seokmin grins. “Well, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

And so, you do what any reasonable person would do. You avoid Wonwoo.

You’re not dramatic about it—at least, you tell yourself that. You’re just busy. Too busy to sit in the on-call room when he’s there. Too busy to grab coffee at the same time. Too busy to share a ride home.

Mingyu and Seokmin notice immediately.

Seokmin corners you first, casually blocking your way to the scrub room with a patient chart. “So, avoiding your not-boyfriend now?”

You groan. “I’m not avoiding him.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head. “Then why did you suddenly start doing your post-op notes in this hallway instead of the lounge?”

You cross your arms. “I like the lighting here.”

Seokmin snorts. “Right. Because overhead fluorescent lights are so flattering.”

Mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t even bother being subtle. He slaps a tray of food down at your table during a late dinner break. “So, what’s the plan?”

You blink at him. “For what?”

“For whatever mess you and Wonwoo have gotten yourselves into.” He waves his chopsticks. “It’s been days. Wonwoo looks like he’s about to lose his mind, and you look like you’re trying to ascend into another plane of existence just to avoid eye contact.”

You scowl. “I just need time to think.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you thinking about?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Everything? The fact that I apparently confessed years ago and he never told me? The fact that he’s acting like it doesn’t matter? The fact that maybe it does matter, but I don’t know what to do with that?”

Mingyu chews thoughtfully, then points his chopsticks at you. “Sounds like you’re not over him.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the table.

He pats your shoulder. “Just talk to him. Before one of you explodes.”

The moment the hospital alert blared through the speakers, it’s like everything was put on hold. A mass casualty incident. Multiple vehicles. A bus, a few cars.

The ER instantly became chaos—stretchers being wheeled in, nurses and doctors shouting orders, the smell of antiseptic and blood thick in the air. Wonwoo moved on instinct, running toward the commotion just as Mingyu turned to him, face pale.

“She took the bus today,” Mingyu said.

Wonwoo’s stomach dropped. He didn’t even need to ask who she was. His feet were moving before his brain caught up. He barely heard Mingyu yelling for him as he shoved past people, making his way to the hospital entrance. Paramedics were still unloading patients. Some were conscious. Some weren’t moving at all.

He turned, gripping the arm of a paramedic. “The bus—where is it? Was everyone taken out?”

“There are still people at the site,” the paramedic said. “Some are trapped. First responders are working on it.”

Wonwoo didn’t wait to hear the rest. He ran.

The crash site was a scene of wreckage—twisted metal, shattered glass, the air heavy with smoke and the sharp scent of gasoline. Emergency lights flashed red and blue against the darkening sky, casting eerie shadows over the scene.

Wonwoo barely registered the shouts of firefighters and paramedics as they worked to extract victims from the wreckage. His mind had narrowed to one thing—you.

He scanned the scene frantically, his pulse hammering in his ears. People were being pulled from the bus, some dazed, some unconscious. His breath hitched when he saw a familiar figure slumped against the pavement, a paramedic crouched beside you.

"Y/N!"

His voice was hoarse, nearly breaking as he sprinted toward you. Your head turned sluggishly at the sound of his voice. Blood streaked down your forehead, a cut splitting just above your eyebrow. Your white coat was smudged with dirt, torn at the sleeve, and you had one hand pressed to your side, wincing.

“Wonwoo?” you murmured, blinking up at him, disoriented.

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering over your face, your arms, as if afraid you’d shatter at his touch. “What the hell—why—why are you still here? You should’ve been in the hospital already—”

“Dr. Jeon?” The paramedic beside you spoke up, recognizing him. “She’s stable for now, but we need to move her. There might be internal injuries.”

Wonwoo clenched his jaw. He knew that but it was different when it was you, when he was staring at your bloodied form and realizing how close he’d come to—

No. He refused to think about it.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice tight, as he helped lift you onto the stretcher.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, gripping weakly. “Wonwoo,” you murmured.

His heart stuttered. “What?”

“Don’t look so sad.” Your smile was faint, barely there. “I’m okay.”

He exhaled sharply, gripping your hand. “You better be.”

Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, the pain dulling into exhaustion. The sounds around you—sirens, shouts, the rustle of movement—were starting to blur together.

“Hey, hey—no.” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with panic. His grip on your hand tightened. “Stay with me.”

You hummed, barely nodding. “Just… tired.”

“I don’t care. You’re not sleeping right now.” His other hand cupped your cheek, the warmth grounding you. “Look at me.” You tried. Really, you did. But the weight behind your eyes was unbearable. Your head lolled slightly, and that’s when his voice broke—

“Y/N, please.”

Something in his tone made you fight harder to stay conscious. Your blurry vision focused just enough to see his face—his usual calm was gone, replaced with pure, raw worry.

“You’re always… so bossy,” you mumbled, forcing a weak smirk.

“And you never listen,” he shot back, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So listen now—stay awake.”

The paramedics lifted your stretcher, and Wonwoo moved with them, never letting go of your hand. “We’re almost at the hospital,” he told you, voice softer now. “You’ll be fine.”

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the pain, or the way he was looking at you, but for a moment, you believed him. Wonwoo’s heart nearly stopped when your body went limp. He swallowed hard, his mind racing even as his training kicked in. You’d lost blood. Too much. Your skin was too pale, your breathing too shallow.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath.

As soon as they reached the ambulance, he climbed in with you, pressing two fingers to your wrist again just to reassure himself that your pulse was still there.

"Stay with me," he murmured, more to himself than to you snd when the ambulance doors shut, sirens wailing as they sped toward the hospital, he didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.

The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and the doors flew open. Wonwoo barely waited for the paramedics before he moved, helping guide the stretcher out.

“Female, late twenties, sustained injuries from the crash site,” one of the paramedics called out. “Multiple lacerations, possible concussion, and significant blood loss—she lost consciousness on the way.” Mingyu was already there, his eyes widening the moment he saw you. 

“Shit—Get her inside. Now! Bay 7!”

Mingyu paled but immediately snapped into action, helping the nurses prep you for assessment. Seokmin rushed in a second later, his expression shifting from relief to worry in an instant.

“Her BP’s low,” a nurse reported. “We need fluids started now.”

Wonwoo knew he should step back, let the trauma team handle it. But his feet refused to move. His pulse was racing, hands clenched at his sides.

“You need to get checked, too,” Mingyu said, glancing at the blood on Wonwoo’s scrubs—not his own, but yours.

“I’m fine.” Wonwoo’s voice was tight. “She—” His words caught in his throat. “Just take care of her.”

Mingyu exchanged a glance with Seokmin, who rushed down the ER the moment he heard about the accident, before nodding.

“Wonwoo,” Seokmin said carefully, “let them work. She’s in good hands.” he pulls Wonwoo out the hallway to let Mingyu and his team do their work.

Wonwoo’s jaw locked. He knew that. He did. But watching you, lying there so still, covered in bruises and blood—he’d never felt this helpless before. His mind was a mess. He should have driven you home. He should have made sure you weren’t avoiding him. He should have—

The doors burst open. A nurse rushed past him. Then, through the small window of the ER, he saw Mingyu and the rest of the team working frantically around you. Something was wrong.

He stepped forward, but Seokmin was suddenly there, blocking his way. “They’re doing everything they can,” Seokmin said, his voice firm but laced with worry. Wonwoo barely heard him. His eyes were locked on the room, on Mingyu pressing down on your chest.

You had coded.

A sharp breath left him as he staggered back, hitting the wall. Seokmin’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Wonwoo’s hands were shaking. He curled them into fists. He’d never been this scared before. Not once in his life.

Wonwoo tried to push past Seokmin, but Seokmin held him back, gripping his arm tightly.

"Wonwoo, stop," Seokmin said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension in his face.

"I need to be in there," Wonwoo snapped, his breathing uneven. "I need to—"

Seokmin shook his head. "Mingyu’s got this. Do you think he’d let anything happen to her?"

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, his entire body tense, but he didn’t push forward again. He knew Seokmin was right but knowing didn’t make it easier. All he could do was stand there, watching through the window as Mingyu fought to bring you back.

Mingyu gritted his teeth, his hands steady even as the tension in the room thickened. The sound of the flatline rang in his ears, drowning out everything else.

"Charge to 200," he ordered, his voice sharp and controlled.

The nurse complied, handing him the paddles. Mingyu placed them on your chest, his heart hammering. "Clear!"

Your body jerked slightly as the shock coursed through you.

He checked the monitor. Still flat.

"Again! 300!"

Another shock.

Nothing.

Mingyu refused to let panic settle in. His friend was on this table. No, not just a friend. You were family.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, sweat forming at his brow. "You're not done yet."

He pressed his hands to your chest, beginning compressions. "Give me one milligram of epi!"

Time blurred. His arms burned from the force of CPR, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

Then A blip. Another. A weak, slow rhythm appeared on the monitor.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We've got a pulse," he announced, his voice hoarse but firm. The tension in the room eased slightly, but Mingyu knew it wasn’t over yet. He looked at you, unconscious but breathing, and exhaled sharply.

"You scared the hell out of us," he muttered under his breath. Then, he turned to the nurse. "Get her to the ICU. I'll update the others."

As the team moved into action, Mingyu pulled off his gloves, exhausted but relieved. Now, he just had to face Wonwoo.

Mingyu stepped out of the ER, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his hair. The hallway felt suffocating with tension, and the moment he looked up, his gaze met Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo was still pacing, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes dark with worry. Seokmin stood nearby, watching carefully in case he had to physically restrain him again.

The second Wonwoo saw Mingyu, he froze. "How is she?"

Mingyu sighed, pulling off his surgical cap. "She coded."

Wonwoo’s face drained of color.

"But we got her back."

The relief was visible—Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped for just a second before he straightened, jaw tight. "Where is she now?"

"ICU. We stabilized her, but she’s not awake yet."

Wonwoo didn’t wait for another word. He turned on his heel, heading straight for the ICU.

Seokmin let out a breath. "I’m going after him before he scares the nurses."

Mingyu didn���t stop him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, exhaustion hitting him full force.

"You better wake up soon," he mumbled to himself. "Or he’s gonna lose it."

Wonwoo barely made it past the ICU doors before the nurses blocked his way.

"You can’t see her yet, Dr. Jeon," one of them said firmly. "She’s still unconscious, and we need to monitor her closely."

His jaw tightened. "I just need to see her—"

"Wonwoo."

Seokmin grabbed his arm before he could push past them. "Stop."

Wonwoo turned sharply, eyes flashing. "She almost died, Seokmin. I—" He clenched his fists, unable to finish.

Seokmin’s grip didn’t loosen. "I know. But you barging in there isn’t going to change anything. Let them do their job."

Wonwoo’s breathing was heavy, his body tense as if he was holding himself together by a thread. His gaze flickered toward the door, frustration clear on his face.

Seokmin sighed. "Come on, man. Let’s sit for a second. You’re no good to her if you pass out from exhaustion."

Wonwoo didn’t move for a long moment, but finally, he exhaled sharply and let Seokmin pull him back toward the waiting area.

Still, he kept his eyes locked on the door, like sheer willpower alone could wake you up.

Hours passed, dragging on painfully. Wonwoo sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly they were turning white. Mingyu and Seokmin were on either side of him, equally exhausted but keeping watch.

No one spoke much. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavily in the air.

Then, finally, a nurse stepped out of the ICU.

"You can see her now."

Wonwoo was on his feet instantly, not even waiting for the others as he rushed through the doors. His heart pounded as he stepped into your room, his breath catching at the sight of you.

You were stil unconcious, but you were breathing. There were bandages wrapped around your head and arms, an IV hooked up beside you. But your chest rose and fell steadily. 

"You’re an idiot," he muttered, voice hoarse. But even as he said it, his hand hovered over yours, hesitant, before finally resting gently over your fingers.

Hours passed before you finally regained consciousness. The first thing you notice is the hand holding yours. The weight of everything sinking in. 

You gently squeeze his hand making Wonwoo sit up and look at you, “Hey you” you mumble at him. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking at you. Making sure he isn’t dreaming, he takes your warm hand pressing it against his cheek

“You scared me” he whispered

“Sorry”

He shakes his head. He stands up, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. His lips lingering there for a while like he’s savoring every second. When he pulled back, his gaze met yours, filled with something unspoken.

“You should rest,” he murmured, voice still rough with emotion.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Only if you do too.”

“I’m not leaving.” You already knew that. Even if he didn’t say it, you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going anywhere.

The door swung open, and Seokmin practically burst in, arms spread wide. “She LIVES!” he announced dramatically, as if you had risen from the dead.

You gave him a tired glare. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, plopping down in the chair beside you. “Do you know how much stress you caused us?”

Mingyu walked in behind him, arms crossed. “You had me working overtime,” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “And I don’t even get paid extra for that.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll schedule my near-death experience at a more convenient time.”

Mingyu clicked his tongue. “That’s all I ask.”

Seokmin gasped. “Excuse me? That is not all we ask! How about you don’t get into life-threatening accidents at all?”

You sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Noted.”

Wonwoo, who had been quiet this whole time, just exhaled, shaking his head. “They’re never gonna let this go, you know.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, but your chest felt lighter. Because as much as they nagged, you knew it just meant they cared.

Your recovery days were… frustrating, to say the least. As a surgeon, you were used to being the one treating patients, not being the patient. And the worst part? Your own friends were your caretakers, which meant zero chances of slipping out of bed unnoticed.

Seokmin was the worst about it. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked one afternoon when you tried to stand up.

“For a walk,” you said.

He pushed you back down with one finger to your forehead. “You’re on bed rest, doctor.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled.

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “You coded! You died for a minute, and now you want to go for a walk?”

Mingyu walked in just in time to hear that. “Wait, she tried to get up? I knew we should’ve strapped her down.”

You scowled at both of them. “I’m not a psych patient—”

“Then stop acting like one,” Mingyu shot back.

But it wasn’t just them. The nurses were in on it, too. They absolutely loved watching the usually stubborn and independent surgeon get bossed around. Every time Wonwoo came to check on you, you swore you saw them watching from the nurses’ station, whispering to each other.

And speaking of Wonwoo…

He was quiet but relentless. While the others nagged, he just watched you, making sure you ate, making sure you took your meds, making sure you rested. He didn’t have to say anything—his mere presence was enough to keep you in place.

But one evening, when the others had left, you finally had enough. “Wonwoo, I swear if you tell me to ‘take it easy’ one more time—”

“I won’t,” he said simply, sitting beside your bed.

You blinked. “Oh.”

He looked at you for a moment, then exhaled. “I just… I was really scared.”

Your throat tightened. “Wonwoo—”

“I almost lost you,” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “…Okay.”

He gave your hand a light squeeze. “Good.”

“But that’s unfair, you can’t use that on me everytime”

Wonwoo’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk. “Use what?”

“You being all—” you waved your free hand vaguely, “—soft and serious. Making me feel bad for worrying you. That’s not fair.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “It’s not fair that you keep scaring me either.”

You groaned, sinking further into your pillows. “Fine. Truce?”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider it. “…Only if you promise to stop being reckless.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Define reckless.”

He sighed. “I hate you.”

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t,” he admitted, his voice softer this time.

You stretched your arms as you walked into the hospital, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief. Being back at work after weeks of recovery felt oddly normal, except for the way your friends hovered around you like you were made of glass.

You sat across from Wonwoo at a quiet restaurant near the hospital, picking at your food while he watched you like a hawk. He had already subtly pushed a side dish closer to you twice, and when you slowed down again, he raised an eyebrow.

"Eat," he said simply, taking a bite of his own food.

You sighed, shoving a spoonful into your mouth to appease him. “Happy?”

He hummed in approval before sipping his drink. The meal went on in comfortable silence, but your mind kept drifting back to the last real conversation you had before the accident. 

“Wonwoo.”

“Hmm?”

You hesitated for a second, then pushed forward. “Before the accident, when we were talking… You said I kissed you.”

His grip on his drink tightened slightly. “Yeah.”

“And you never told me,” you continued, voice steady but firm. “I told you I liked you, and you never said anything. Is that… is that why you never dated anyone?”

Wonwoo let out a slow breath, placing his drink down carefully. “I thought you were drunk.”

“I was drunk,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t lying.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I didn’t know that.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “So what, you avoided me for weeks, pretended like nothing happened, and then just… never dated anyone because of it?”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. He stared at you for a long moment, like he was deciding something. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I thought if I told you, it’d change everything. And I didn’t—I couldn’t—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. “And what about now?”

He met your gaze, something softer in his expression now. “Now, I think I almost did anyway.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and for the first time in weeks, maybe years, you felt like you were finally getting somewhere.

You stared at him, processing everything he’d just said. The years of friendship, the silent moments, the things left unsaid—all of it led to this.

“So,” you started carefully, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass, “you spent all these years… what? Waiting?”

Wonwoo let out a short, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s not like I planned to. I just—no one else ever felt right.”

Something in your chest tightened. “Wonwoo.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. “Do you regret it?”

You blinked. “Regret what?”

“Telling me you liked me back then.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“I don’t regret it. What I regret is not remembering anything”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You really don’t?”

“Not even a little,” you admitted. “If I had, we probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”

“And now?”

You held his gaze. “I don’t want to waste any more.”

For the first time in weeks, Wonwoo smiled—not the small, fleeting ones he’d been giving you, but a real one, the kind that reached his eyes.

“Then let’s not.”

The moment stretched between you two, something unspoken settling into place. Wonwoo didn’t say anything else instead he reached for your hand across the table, his fingers brushing yours before curling around them. It was such a simple gesture, but your heart still stuttered at the warmth of his palm against yours.

“You’re really doing this, huh?” you murmured, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Wonwoo’s thumb traced lazy circles over your skin. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

You squeezed his hand, rolling your eyes playfully. “You should’ve.”

After your shift of course he waited for you to drive you home, the drive was quiet. Like how it usually is. But this this there's a sense of peace, something more comforting. Wonwoo made a thoughtful hum before, to your surprise, he reached over at a red light, fingers brushing against your hand. Then, in the most unexpected act of affection, he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“What—”

“I like holding your hand,” he admitted casually, as if this wasn’t the first time he was doing something like this outside of a life-or-death situation. “It’s warm.”

You blinked at him. This man. “Wonwoo,” you deadpanned, but your grip on his hand tightened, betraying you.

“Do you have any idea how confusing you are?” you muttered, squeezing his hand.

Wonwoo chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I think I’m making it pretty obvious now.”

Your face heated up. You turned to look out the window, trying to hide the giddy feeling bubbling up in your chest. And just like that, the rest of the ride home was spent with your fingers still laced together, neither of you letting go.

You swallowed, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. Wonwoo's hand was still in yours, warm and steady

“If I’m reading this wrong,” he said, voice softer than before, “we can stop. I don’t want to force anything on you.”

You turned to him, watching how he kept his eyes on the road, his usual unreadable expression now laced with something else—something hesitant, something careful.

Your chest tightened.

“You think you’re reading it wrong?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo sighed through his nose, thumb unconsciously brushing against your knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to assume anything. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to go along with me just because…” He trailed off, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with his other hand.

Just because he’s Wonwoo? Just because he’s been there always, in ways you never fully understood until now?

Your lips pressed into a thin line. You weren’t used to this—him being the one doubting things when it was usually you who overthought.

The car slowed as he pulled up in front of your place, but he didn’t make a move to let go of your hand. His fingers curled around yours loosely, like he was giving you the chance to let go first.

You didn’t.

Instead, you took a breath and turned to face him fully. “You’re not reading it wrong,” you said, firm but not unkind.

Wonwoo finally looked at you, the flickering streetlight outside casting shadows on his face.

“You’re not forcing anything,” you added, squeezing his hand. “I like this, okay? I like… us.”

Wonwoo just smirked, giving your hand a squeeze. “This is years in the making,” he murmured, like it was the simplest fact in the world. “Let me hold my girl’s hand for a minute more.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head, but your heart was doing something completely different—stumbling over itself at the way he said my girl.

You swallowed, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. Years in the making. You’d never thought about it like that, but now that he said it, you realized—he was right.

All those late-night study sessions, the quiet moments in the on-call room, the way he always made sure you ate, the way he was just… there. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t new. It was just something that had always been there, waiting for the two of you to finally stop dancing around it.

“…Fine,” you muttered, fighting the smile but failing miserably. “One minute.”

Wonwoo chuckled, and instead of arguing, he just laced his fingers through yours, holding on like he never planned on letting go.

[notkrispy]

if ur taking requests ~ could i ask for a svt fic where the members are out drinking, then one of them keeps mentioning “baby” and the boys are like ??? who - only for him to lead them to y/n and basically discover their rs!

hellooo had fun writing this one, hope you like it!🤍 i added the morning after hangover 😅

for my other svt fics, check them here

my x acc - niniramyeonie 😊💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

It wasn’t every day that Mingyu got absolutely hammered. In fact, it was so rare that when it did happen, it became an event.

An event that Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were currently witnessing firsthand.

“Cheol,” he mumbled against his shoulder. “You smell good.”

Seungcheol shoved him off with a look of pure disgust. “Get off me, you drunk idiot.”

Mingyu pouted, rubbing his cheek dramatically. “That was mean.”

Mingyu was draped over the table like a man who had fought in battle and lost. His usually sharp eyes were unfocused, his head swaying slightly as he lifted his glass. “To my baby,” he slurred, raising it to absolutely no one before taking another wobbly sip.

Seungkwan blinked. “Your what?”

Mingyu slammed the glass down (a little too hard) and sighed dramatically. “My baby. My love. My girl.”

Silence.

Seokmin leaned forward. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

Mingyu squinted at him. “Since…forever?”

Soonyoung gasped. “Forever? You mean you’ve been dating someone this whole time, and you never told us?”

Mingyu groaned, leaning his heavy head onto Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Cheol knows.”

Seungcheol, who had been silently observing, suddenly stiffened. “I what?”

Mingyu nodded aggressively. “You know. You’re her brother.”

Mingyu blinked up at him, slow and dazed. “Your sister.” he repeats

Seungcheol froze.

Seokmin spat out his drink. Soonyoung choked on air. Seungkwan just screamed.

“My what?” Seungcheol growled.

“My baby,” Mingyu repeated, dreamy-eyed and completely unaware that he had just signed his own death certificate.

Mingyu, oblivious to the chaos he had just caused, fumbled with his phone. His fingers moved with all the precision of a newborn deer as he typed something, grinning as he hit send.

“What did you just do?” Seungcheol asked warily.

“I texted her to pick me up,” Mingyu said proudly, holding up his phone like a trophy.

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung immediately turned to Seungcheol. “YOU KNEW?!”

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face. “I did not know.”

Right on cue, his phone buzzed, and he clumsily held it up. “She’s coming to get me,” he giggled, looking way too proud of himself. Seungcheol, meanwhile, was experiencing every stage of grief in real time.

“HOW LONG?!” he suddenly demanded

Mingyu shrunk back, blinking owlishly. “Uhh… a while?”

Seungcheol’s eye twitched. “Define a while.”

Mingyu thought for a second. “Maybe a year?”

“A year?!” Seungcheol exploded

The entire bar turned to stare, but no one dared to intervene. This was a war only they could fight

“You mean to tell me,” Seungcheol seethed, jabbing a finger at Mingyu’s chest, “that you’ve been dating my sister for a whole year, and you never told me?!”

Mingyu hiccupped. “To be fair, I thought you knew.”

“I DIDN’T KNOW.”

Mingyu giggled. “Well, now you do!”

Seungkwan leaned over to Soonyoung. “He’s got about five minutes left to live.”

Soonyoung nodded solemnly. “I’d say three.”

But before anyone could interrogate him further, the door to the bar swung open, and in walked you. The table fell silent.

You sighed, scanning the scene. Mingyu was grinning like a fool, Seungcheol looked ready to murder him, and the other three looked like they were watching the best drama of their lives.

You sighed again, hands on your hips. “Which one of you let him drink this much?”

Mingyu immediately perked up, his entire face lighting up like a puppy who just saw its owner come home. “Baby!”

He tried to stand up, but his knees gave out immediately, forcing you to catch him before he face-planted.

Mingyu is now clinging to you like a koala. “Baby, tell them. Tell them you love me.”

You rolled your eyes but patted his head. “I love you.”

Mingyu beamed. “See? She loves me.”

Soonyoung looked like he was about to pass out. “I can’t believe this is what takes down Kim Mingyu.”

Seokmin clutched his stomach. “Oh my god, he’s so whipped.”

You sighed, adjusting Mingyu’s weight. “Alright, I’m taking him home before he does something stup—”

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Seungcheol cut in, arms crossed like an angry father. “Not before we have a talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A talk?”

“Yes.” Seungcheol turned to Mingyu, who was happily nuzzling into your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to get a verbal beatdown.

“YOU,” Seungcheol barked, pointing at Mingyu like he was scolding a misbehaving puppy. “HOW DARE YOU DATE MY SISTER AND NOT TELL ME?”

Mingyu blinked, startled. “Uh… sorry?”

“SORRY? YOU’RE SORRY?!” Seungcheol scoffed. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GUYS I’VE SCARED AWAY FOR HER? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I’VE HAD TO BE AN OVERPROTECTIVE BROTHER? AND YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE, SNEAK IN UNDER MY NOSE?”

Mingyu let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, it’s not sneaking if—”

“SHUT UP.”

Mingyu immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking like a child being scolded by their teacher.

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “Have you been treating her well?”

Mingyu straightened up, suddenly serious. “Of course. I love her more than anything.”

Your face warmed, but before you could say anything, Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “Do you open doors for her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you pay for her meals?”

“Obviously.”

“Do you make sure she gets home safe every night?”

“Always.”

Seungcheol squinted. “Do you let her carry heavy things?”

Mingyu gasped in offense. “NEVER.”

Seungkwan wiped away a fake tear. “I respect it.”

Seungcheol exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But if I hear you’ve done anything to hurt her—”

“I never would,” Mingyu cut in, looking serious despite his drunken state. “She’s my everything.”

You sighed, adjusting your grip on your very drunk, very affectionate boyfriend. “Alright, I’m taking him home. You guys deal with the emotional damage.”

As you dragged Mingyu away, he suddenly turned back, eyes barely open. “Cheol, I love your sister. She’s so pretty.”

Seungcheol groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna kill him when he sobers up.”

Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Nah, man. He’s too far gone.”

And judging by the way Mingyu was nuzzling into you as you struggled to get him through the door, they were probably right.

Come next morning, Seungcheol woke up bright and early to drive at your place. Still in his sweatpants and hoodie, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had one goal: interrogate his sister and make sure that drunk idiot Mingyu had made it home safely.

He wasn’t even mad. He was just disappointed. the two of you kept it a secret.

Actually, no. Scratch that. He was mad as hell.

But the moment you opened the door, rubbing sleep from your eyes, he knew something was wrong.

One, you looked way too tired for someone who should’ve had a peaceful night after dropping Mingyu off. Two, the moment he stepped inside—he saw the lump on your couch.

A very large, snoring, familiar lump.

Seungcheol froze. “No. Way.”

Mingyu, completely unaware of the incoming doom, was sprawled out on your couch, mouth open, one leg dangling off the side. His shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing his stupidly toned stomach (which, if Seungcheol was honest, was annoying in itself).

The worst part? He was hugging one of your pillows like it was you.

Seungcheol’s eye twitched.

“KIM MINGYU.”

The apartment shook from the sheer force of his voice.

Mingyu jolted awake so hard that he nearly rolled off the couch. “H-HUH?”

“What. The. Hell. Are you still doing here?” Seungcheol growled, arms crossed.

Mingyu blinked, looking around like he was trying to remember where he was. His eyes landed on you, then back on Seungcheol, then back on you.

Then he grinned.

“Good morning, baby.”

Seungcheol lunged.

You barely managed to step in front of him, placing your hands on his chest before he could grab Mingyu by the collar. “Choi Seungcheol, relax.”

“Relax? RELAX?” Seungcheol looked personally offended. “You told me you were taking him home last night! You lied to me?!”

You sighed. “I tried to take him home, but the moment I parked in front of his building, he whined about how he didn’t want to leave me. And then he passed out.”

Seungcheol slowly turned his glare toward Mingyu. “Are you kidding me?”

Mingyu, still groggy, only shrugged. “Sounds like me.”

“YOU HAVE A WHOLE APARTMENT. WHY DIDN’T YOU GO THERE?”

Mingyu yawned. “Your sister’s place is comfier.”

Seungcheol took the deepest inhale of his life. “I will kill you.”

You groaned, stepping between them again. “Seungcheol, nothing happened. I put him on the couch and went to my room. Alone.”

Mingyu pouted. “Unfortunately.”

Seungcheol saw red.

“YAH!” He smacked Mingyu on the back of the head.

“OW—HYUNG!”

“You—” smack “—better—” smack “—watch—” smack “—your—” smack “—mouth!”

Mingyu ducked, shielding himself with a pillow. “Why am I getting attacked?!”

“Because you’re a menace! You’re dating my sister and you didn’t tell me! And now you’re sleeping over?” Seungcheol threw his hands in the air. “What’s next, huh? Marriage? Kids? Am I gonna wake up one day and suddenly be an uncle without any warning?!”

Mingyu rubbed his head. “I mean, we talked about kids once, but—”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, KIM MINGYU—”

You smacked Mingyu’s arm. “Stop instigating!”

Mingyu chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No kids yet, hyung.”

Seungcheol sat down, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “I need a drink.”

“It’s 8 AM,” you deadpanned.

“I don’t care.”

Mingyu sat up properly, finally looking a little guilty. “Look… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, hyung. I really am. But I swear, I love her, and I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

Seungcheol lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You better not”

Seungcheol leaned back, rubbing his temples. “I need coffee.”

You sighed, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make some.”

Mingyu got up to follow you, but Seungcheol yanked him back down by his collar.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mingyu blinked. “To help?”

“No. You stay right here,” Seungcheol ordered. “We’re gonna have a little chat about what it means to date my sister.”

Mingyu paled. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

From the kitchen, you could hear Seungcheol start another lecture while Mingyu whined like a scolded puppy. You just sighed, shaking your head. This was going to be a long morning.

Mingyu was sweating not from a hangover. Not from embarrassment but from sheer, soul-crushing terror because Seungcheol had officially entered strict, overprotective brother mode—arms crossed, gaze sharp, eyebrows furrowed like he was a detective about to crack a case.

Mingyu, on the other hand, was sitting on the couch like a kid in the principal’s office. He wasn’t even allowed to sit comfortably. No, Seungcheol had made him sit up straight, hands on his knees, like he was in military training.

You, the supposed love of Mingyu’s life, were casually sipping your coffee in the kitchen. Not helping at all.

Seungcheol cleared his throat, flipping to an imaginary new page in his mental interrogation notebook. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning.”

Mingyu gulped. “O-Okay.”

“When did you take my sister on your first date?”

Mingyu straightened up. “Uh, last summer! I took her to—”

“What date?” Seungcheol cut in. “Day, month, time?”

Mingyu blinked. “H-Hyung, I don’t even remember what I ate yesterday—”

“WRONG ANSWER.” Seungcheol slammed his hand on the coffee table, making Mingyu flinch. “If you really love her, you’d remember the exact moment you took her on your first date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oppa, even I don’t remember the exact date.”

Seungcheol turned to you dramatically. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. He does.”

Mingyu’s jaw dropped. “Why am I the only one being interrogated?!”

Seungcheol shot him a glare. “Because you’re dating my baby sister.”

You scoffed. “I’m the same age as Mingyu—”

“Baby. Sister.” Seungcheol repeated, emphasizing each word with another slam on the table.

“Alright, next question,” Seungcheol continued. “Who confessed first?”

Mingyu hesitated. “Uh… technically, she did?”

You gasped. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Mingyu panicked, hands waving in the air as if it will magically turn back time and undo what he just said “WAIT, NO—I MEAN—”

Seungcheol’s glare deepened. “So you tricked her into confessing first?”

Mingyu looked horrified. “NO, NO, HYUNG, IT’S NOT LIKE THAT—”

“You’re telling me you had months, maybe years to confess, but you made her do it first?!”

“I WAS NERVOUS!”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Nervous? Nervous?! You’re six feet tall and built like a tank, but you were scared to tell my sister you liked her?”

Mingyu pouted. “Feelings are scary, okay?”

Seungcheol shook his head in disappointment before jotting something down on his invisible clipboard. “Alright, next question. When did you first kiss?”

Mingyu finally perked up, smiling fondly. “Oh! I remember that one! It was when—”

Seungcheol raised a hand. “SPARE ME THE DETAILS.”

Mingyu immediately shut up.

You sighed. “Oppa, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being thorough.” Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Next question, Mingyu. What are your intentions with my sister?”

Mingyu hesitated. Then, with full confidence, he said, “I want to marry her.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. Seungcheol? He nearly flipped the entire table.

“WHAT?!”

Mingyu threw his hands up in surrender. “W-Well, not now obviously, but one day—”

“ONE DAY?!” Seungcheol looked personally offended. “You’re already thinking about MARRIAGE?! HAVE YOU EVEN MET OUR PARENTS?! DO THEY KNOW”

Mingyu blinked. “Yes? No? I mean I haven't asked them ofcourse but remember your dad went out for drinks with us...”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened even further making Minyu stop talking

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I need another coffee.”

You snorted. “Need some alcohol instead?”

“DON’T TEMPT ME.”

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Hyung, please. I love her, okay? I swear on my life, I would never do anything to hurt her.”

Seungcheol looked at you, eyes softening just a bit. Then he turned back to Mingyu with a sigh. “Fine. But if you ever—ever—make her cry…”

Mingyu gulped. “You’ll kill me?”

Seungcheol leaned in, voice dangerously low.

“No.”

Mingyu blinked. “No?”

“I’ll make sure you wish I did.”

Mingyu turned pale.

You just sighed, shaking your head. “Okay, enough. Oppa, go home. Mingyu and I are going back to sleep.”

Mingyu’s head snapped up. “Wait, together—”

Seungcheol grabbed a cushion and threw it at Mingyu’s face.

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT FINISHING THAT SENTENCE.”

[notkrispy]

bend the brake - choi seungcheol imagine

istg i would have posted this days ago BUT I HAD TO RE-EDIT SO MANY TIMES bcs it wont fit here. so finally finalllyyy here you go🫠🤣

you can follow me on x, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The fluorescent glow of the convenience store flickers slightly as you step outside, a bag of snacks in one hand, a cold drink in the other. The streets are quiet, the late hour settling over the city like a thick blanket. You should probably be at home, curled up in bed, but the craving for something sweet had been too strong to resist.

You flip the snack over in your hands, eyes scanning the label, not really paying attention to where you're going.

And then the deafening screech of tires rips through the silence.

Your head snaps up just in time to see headlights cutting through the night, blinding and too close. Your breath catches in your throat, your body freezing in place—

The car stops mere inches from you, the force of its abrupt halt vibrating through the pavement.

For a moment, nothing moves then, the driver’s side door swings open with a sharp click.

A man steps out.

Dressed in black, broad shoulders tense under the dim streetlight. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, framing sharp, striking features. Even in the low light, his presence is overwhelming, like a force of nature. His gaze locks onto you—dark, intense, and filled with irritation.

“What the hell were you doing?” His voice is low, edged with frustration.

You blink, your breath still uneven. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Looking?” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “You were too busy staring at whatever’s in your hand to notice you almost walked into a moving car.”

You shrink back slightly, gripping the plastic bag tighter. “I didn’t mean to…”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, it looks like he’s debating whether to say something else. But instead, he just shakes his head. “Be more careful.”

He turns on his heel, already reaching for his car door.

You should just let him leave. This is already embarrassing enough. But before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Um—thank you for stopping.”

He pauses. Just for a second. Then, without a word, he gets into the car, the engine roaring to life. You stand there, heart still pounding, staring after him.

Who was that?

You push open the door to your apartment, still slightly dazed from what just happened. The faint scent of the vanilla candle Jihyo always insists on lighting.

Jihyo is sprawled on the couch, her legs tucked under a blanket, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on her lap. She barely glances up from her drama before doing a double take.

“Why do you look like that?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

You blink. “Like what?”

She points a finger at you. “Like you just saw a ghost. Or like you committed a crime. Did you commit a crime?”

“No! What—why would that be your first guess?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, you do look suspicious. And you’re clutching that bag like it’s your last meal.”

Only then do you realize how tightly you’re holding onto your convenience store snacks. You exhale, finally setting them on the counter before collapsing onto the couch beside her.

“I almost got run over,” you mumble.

Jihyo gasps, sitting up so fast the blanket slides off her shoulders. “WHAT?”

You wince. “Okay, maybe not that dramatic. But this really fancy car came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t looking, and he had to brake really hard.”

She stares at you, horrified. “Are you okay?! Did he yell at you? Wait—was he hot?”

You sigh, sinking further into the couch. “He looked scary.”

Jihyo raises a brow. “Scary how? Like, actually scary or hot scary?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Why are those the only two options?”

“Because that’s how the universe works.”

You groan again. “Jihyo.”

“What? I’m just saying.” She waves a hand. “Did he at least make sure you were okay?”

You pause, remembering the way he had sighed before telling you to be more careful. The brief hesitation before he drove off.

“…Kind of?”

“Did you get his name?”

“No.”

Jihyo pouts. ��Ugh, tragic.” Then, after a beat, her expression brightens mischievously. “But don’t worry! If fate wants you to meet your mysterious scary-hot man again, it’ll happen.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the tiny smile on your lips as you retreat to your room.

Fate? Well, hopefully, fate lets you not embarrass yourself next time.

Turns out fate is not on your side at all. Either that or you have a knack at embarrassing yourself.

Balancing a stack of art supplies and teaching materials while pushing open the café door is not your smartest idea. But your kids needed these for their next activity, and you were too stubborn to make two trips.

You shift the weight in your arms, carefully maneuvering your way inside and walk straight into someone.

“Whoa—careful.”

The deep voice sends an odd shiver down your spine, familiar in a way you can’t place right away. You look up, breath catching slightly as you meet dark eyes framed by sharp features and messy black hair.

It takes him half a second to recognize you.

“You.”

Your eyes widen. “M-me?”

His gaze flickers over you, and something shifts in his expression—mild surprise, a trace of amusement. “Yeah. You almost walked into my car the other night.”

Your stomach twists in a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. Of course, fate just had to throw you into his path again.

“I—uh—” You flounder for words, cheeks burning. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

You glance down, pretending to readjust your grip on the supplies. “Thanks for catching that.”

“You should really work on watching where you’re going.”

You scowl, but it lacks any real bite. “I do watch where I’m going.”

He tilts his head slightly, clearly unimpressed. “You sure about that?”

You huff, adjusting your things. “I was just in a rush.”

He eyes the stack in your arms, then sighs before reaching out and effortlessly taking half of it from you.

Your mouth falls open. “What—wait—you don’t have to—”

“Just tell me where you’re going,” he says, already turning toward the counter. “Unless you want to drop everything in the middle of the café.” You stare at him, completely thrown off by the unexpected gesture.

Who is he?

You follow him toward the counter, still slightly dazed by how effortlessly he took half of your things.

“I—I can carry it myself,” you mumble, though the words come out weaker than intended.

He doesn’t even glance back. “You were barely holding onto them a second ago.”

You press your lips together, feeling your face heat up. The café is comfortably warm, but somehow, standing next to him makes it feel ten degrees hotter. As you reach an empty table, he sets your things down with ease. 

A beat of silence stretches between you before you clear your throat.

“Um… about that night,” you start hesitantly, shifting on your feet. “I—I never really got to say it properly, but… I’m really sorry. For, you know, almost getting run over.”

He leans against the chair, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at you. His dark eyes hold something unreadable, something that makes you feel even smaller under his gaze.

Then, to your surprise, his lips twitch slightly. “At least you admit it this time.”

You duck your head, flustered. “I admitted it before…”

“Mm. Not really.”

You peek up at him, only to find that he’s watching you with mild amusement, as if he finds your reaction entertaining.

The realization makes you even more shy, and you quickly look away, fiddling with your sleeves. “W-well, I mean it. I’ll be more careful next time.”

He hums, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Good.”

Another brief silence. You wonder if you should say something else, but before you can, a voice calls from behind him.

“Cheol, let’s go!”

You blink as a familiar figure strolls toward your table. Your eyes widen slightly. They know each other?

Seungcheol—Cheol?—glances over his shoulder before turning back to you. “You good with your stuff now?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yeah! Thank you.”

He gives you one last look, then, without another word, he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, still flustered, still trying to process everything.

As Seungcheol and his friend head toward the exit, you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But then you notice it. The way the café has gotten quieter. The way people are looking at you.

“…That was Choi Seungcheol, right?”

“Yeah! And Jeonghan was with him…”

“What’s a racer like him doing here?”

You blink, confusion washing over you. Racer?

Your gaze follows theirs, staring at the door as it swings shut behind the two men. The image of Seungcheol’s sharp features, the way he carried himself, the confidence in his stride—it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t just some random guy you almost walked into that night. He was someone. Someone famous. And you, completely oblivious, had apologized to him like he was just any other stranger.

The moment you step into your apartment, exhausted from the day’s events, Jihyo barely gives you a chance to breathe before she’s dragging you onto the couch.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, again” she says, eyeing you suspiciously. “What happened now?”

You sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor. “You remember the guy I almost walked into the other night?”

Her expression sharpens. “Scary-hot guy? Yeah, obviously.”

“Well…” You shift uncomfortably. “I ran into him again today. At the café.”

“And?”

“And then I found out who he actually is.”

Jihyo narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip. “He’s—um. He’s kind of famous?” 

You tell her everything, from that night to meeting him again at the cafe to the stares of everyone there. She blinks. Once. Twice. Then, when realization dawns, she screams.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IT WAS CHOI SEUNGCHEOL? YOU ALMOST DIED UNDER CHOI SEUNGCHEOL’S CAR?!”

You groan, flopping onto the couch. “I did not almost die!”

Jihyo looks absolutely betrayed. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Do you know who he is?”

“I do now!”

“He’s not just famous!” She grips your shoulders. “He’s the Choi Seungcheol! The biggest name in racing right now! Literally the best in the circuit! People would sell their souls just to meet him!”

You blink. “Oh.”

Jihyo groans, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it like it personally offended her. “This is so unfair. People dream about meeting Seungcheol and you—you almost became a headline without even realizing it!”

You groan again, covering your face. “Can you not say it like that?”

She huffs, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. You, the one person in this city who doesn’t know anything about racing, are somehow fated to cross paths with Choi Seungcheol.”

You peek at her between your fingers. “I don’t think fate is the one messing with me. I think it’s you.”

=

It’s the weekend. Your first free day in what feels like forever. 

Your plan? Stay in bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, and maybe only move to grab snacks. A perfect, peaceful day of doing absolutely nothing. That is until your bedroom door slams open.

“Get up!” Jihyo’s voice pierces through your sleepy haze.

You groan, barely peeking out from your covers. “Go away.” She does not go away. Instead, she marches over, grabs your arm, and starts pulling.

“Jihyo—what the—”

“You’re coming with me,” she declares, already rifling through your closet. “There’s a party. We’re going.”

You blink, still half-asleep. “Party?”

The bar is already alive with music and laughter by the time you and Jihyo step inside. You barely have a chance to get your bearings before Jihyo is leading the way, greeting people left and right like she owns the place.

“Jihyo!” Someone waves her over, and soon, you’re being pulled into a group of her friends.

As you settle in, ordering a drink and chatting with the group, you remain completely unaware of the set of eyes that have landed on you from across the room.

At a booth near the back, a group of men sits comfortably, drinks in hand, their presence naturally commanding attention. Jeonghan, leaned back with a lazy smirk, is the first to notice.

“Well, well.” He nudges Seungcheol, nodding toward the bar. “Look who it is.”

Seungcheol follows his gaze, and his eyes land on you. You, standing with your friends, laughing at something someone just said, unaware of the attention you’re drawing.

Minghao, sitting beside Jeonghan, raises a brow. “Who?”

“That,” Jeonghan hums, “is our little crosswalk girl.”

Vernon, who’s been sipping his drink quietly, looks over too. “The one from the café?”

“The very one.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, his gaze unreadable. He watches as you take a sip of your drink, eyes bright as you talk with your friends, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve somehow, unknowingly, wandered into his world again.

The conversation flows easily, laughter spilling into the air as the music hums in the background. But eventually, your drink runs low, and you excuse yourself, weaving through the crowd toward the bar.

You squeeze into a spot near the counter, waiting for the bartender’s attention, when a voice speaks beside you.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”

You blink, turning to find a man leaning casually against the bar, there’s nothing immediately alarming about him, but something about his approach makes you instinctively straighten your posture.

You offer a polite smile. “Someone like me?”

He chuckles. “You don’t really look like the bar-hopping type.” His eyes flick over you, assessing. “First time here?”

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “Something like that.”

“You should let me buy your next drink, then,” he offers smoothly, setting his glass down. “I can show you around.”

Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol has already risen from his seat.

“I appreciate the offer,” you say carefully, shifting slightly in place. “But I’m good, thanks.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Come on, just one drink. No harm in that, right?”

The bartender finally makes his way over, and you take the opportunity to place your order, hoping the stranger will take the hint and leave it at that. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he’s telling you some grand secret.

“You look a little lost,” he muses. “Let me keep you company.”

Your polite smile tightens. “I’m really not—”

A presence shifts behind you and suddenly, the atmosphere changes.

It’s subtle at first just a flicker in the air, the feeling of something shifting before you can put a name to it. Then, before you even realize what’s happening, a hand lands on the bar beside you. Close, but not touching.

The stranger’s eyes flicker up, his smirk faltering slightly. You don’t have to turn around to know someone is standing there.

And then

“I think you’re the one lost, man”

A voice. Low. Smooth. Amused, but with an edge sharp enough to cut.

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head aand meet Seungcheol’s gaze. He’s standing behind you, close enough that his presence is unmistakable but not intrusive.  The man studies Seungcheol for a moment, then exhales through his nose, clearly weighing his options.

“Didn’t know she had company,” he says, raising his hands slightly. “Just making conversation.”

Seungcheol doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “She’s good.”

It’s not a threat. Not outright. But it doesn’t have to be. The stranger seems to understand that.

Only then do you fully turn to Seungcheol. For a second, neither of you speak. The music thrums around you, the dim bar lights casting sharp shadows across his features.

You clear your throat. “Thanks for… scaring him off, I guess.”

His lips twitch slightly. “I didn’t scare him.”

You give him a look. “You definitely scared him.”

Seungcheol shrugs, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

You blink. It’s a simple statement, but something about it makes warmth creep up your neck.

“…Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down. “I wasn’t a fan either.”

A beat of silence passes before you glance at him again.

“So…” you start, tilting your head. “Do you just happen to be everywhere I go, or…?”

His eyes flicker with amusement. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t even go anywhere.”

He smirks. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Against my will, for the record.”

“You should stick with your friends.”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “Huh?”

He nods toward where Jihyo and the others are, still laughing and drinking, completely unaware of your interaction.

“If you don’t like dealing with guys like that,” Seungcheol says evenly, “don’t wander off alone.”

You frown. “I wasn’t wandering—”

He gives you a pointed look.

You hesitate, then sigh. “…Fine. Noted.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else, just takes another slow sip of his drink. For some reason, you can’t help but smile. A strange guy, a rescue, a drink, and an oddly protective professional racer.

Your night just got a lot more interesting.

As Seungcheol steps away from the bar, making his way back to their table, he can already feel the stares. Sure enough, when he reaches the booth, Jeonghan is the first to speak, leaning forward with a knowing smirk.

Seungcheol doesn’t react, just takes a slow sip, gaze flicking toward the bar where you’ve rejoined Jihyo and your friends, seemingly unaware of the conversation happening across the room.

Jeonghan hums, following his gaze. “She’s cute.”

Seungcheol shoots him a look. “Don’t start.”

Jeonghan grins. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Minghao leans back, watching him curiously. “What’s the deal with her?”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, setting his glass down. “Nothing. Just a familiar face.”

Jeonghan snorts. “A familiar face you’ve run into three times now.”

Vernon glances at Seungcheol. “Fate?”

“Coincidence,” Seungcheol corrects.

Jeonghan nudges Minghao. “He’s in denial.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Jeonghan just smirks, eyes flickering back to you across the room. “Maybe.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe we’re just paying attention.”

Jeonghan barely leans forward, a teasing glint in his eyes, before he starts, “But she’s really cute, so if you’re not interested—”

Seungcheol’s gaze snaps to him. Sharp. Instant. Jeonghan doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Seungcheol’s stare shuts him down. Minghao raises an eyebrow, glancing between them.

Jeonghan, ever the troublemaker, tilts his head slightly. “Oh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just holds his gaze. For a second, the tension lingers.

Then Jeonghan chuckles, leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond this time, just shifts his gaze back to the bar where you’re still standing, laughing at something Jihyo said, completely unaware of the conversation that just took place across the room.

The cool night air is a relief after the warmth of the bar, the buzz of conversation and music fading into the background as you stand on the sidewalk with Jihyo.

She leans against you slightly, humming to herself. She’s not completely out of it, just tipsy enough to be giggly, swaying lightly as she scrolls through her phone.

“You good?” you ask, steadying her when she wobbles.

She grins up at you. “Perfect.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your grip on her arm. “Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

Your group had started heading home one by one, slipping out with quick goodbyes, and now it’s just the two of you waiting for a cab. 

Jihyo hums again, tapping at her phone. “Ugh, the wait time’s so long.”

“We’ll just have to be patient,” you sigh, rubbing your arms against the slight chill.

You don’t notice the familiar figures stepping out of the bar behind you.

Jihyo sighs dramatically, resting her full weight against you. “You’re so warm. You should let me borrow your body heat.”

“Or, and hear me out, you could stand on your own two feet.”

“No fun,” she whines, wrapping an arm around you in a lazy hug. “This is why you need a boyfriend. Someone to carry you when you’re drunk.”

You scoff. “I’m not the one who’s drunk.”

She ignores you. “You’d be so cute with a boyfriend. Someone big and strong.” She giggles. “Like one of those K-drama leads who act all tough but secretly—”

A throat clears behind you.

You both freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head. And there, standing a few feet away, is a group of some familiar and unfamiliar men. Seungcheol. Jeonghan. And two you’ve never met before but you’re assuming are their friends.

You blink.

Jihyo blinks.

Then

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, a little too loud.

You immediately slap a hand over her mouth. “Jihyo—”

She pries your hand away, eyes wide as she leans in close, whispering (badly), “Why didn’t you tell me they were right behind us?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” you hiss back, mortified.

Meanwhile, the guys just stare, the silence between both groups growing increasingly awkward. Jeonghan, of course, is the first to break it.

“This is entertaining,” he muses, crossing his arms. “Don’t stop on our account.”

You groan, wanting the sidewalk to swallow you whole. “We’re done talking.”

“Oh, no, no—please, continue,” Jeonghan grins. “Something about K-drama boyfriends? Big and strong?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate this.”

Jihyo, suddenly regaining her confidence, narrows her eyes at them. “Wait, why are you guys here?”

Vernon shrugs. “Same reason you are. Leaving.”

“You followed us,” she accuses.

Minghao snorts. “You were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. We walked out and saw you.”

“…Oh.” Jihyo deflates.

Seungcheol, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally exhales. “You two waiting for a cab?”

Jihyo nods. “Yeah, but the wait times suck.”

He glances at his car parked nearby, then back at you. “We could drive you.”

Jihyo perks up instantly. “Really?” You shoot her a look. “No, that’s okay—”

She elbows you. “We should say yes.”

“Jihyo,” you grit out, horrified.

“Think about it,” she whispers. “Free ride. Faster than waiting.”

Then Jeonghan, because he’s the worst, leans in slightly. “Unless you don’t trust Seungcheol’s driving?” Your eyes dart to Seungcheol. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

You purse your lips. “I never said that.”

“So you do trust him?” Jeonghan smirks.

You scowl. “I didn’t say that either.”

Jihyo groans, gripping your shoulders. “Oh my god, just say yes so we can go home!”

Jihyo grabs your arm in a vice grip, pulling you slightly away from the guys, though her balance is… questionable at best. She leans in, eyes wide, and whisper-shouts, “He’s a good driver! He’s very famous and hot! SAY YES!”

You freeze. She thinks she’s whispering. She’s absolutely not.

The silence behind you is deafening. You close your eyes, inhale sharply, then turn your head only to find all four men staring at you. You want to die.

Jihyo, still blissfully unaware, gives you another shake. “Why are you not saying yes?! He’s right there! He knows how to drive! He’s a racer! Do you know how many girls would kill to be in this position?!”

You force a strained smile. “Jihyo.”

“What?!”

“They can hear you.”

A beat of silence. Then—she smiles, nods, and says, “Good.”

And then she turns back to you, whisper-shouting, “So now that he knows, say yes.”

Seungcheol sighs. “Get in the car.”

Jihyo beams. “See? Told you.” You shoot her a glare but begrudgingly follow Seungcheol toward his car.

You hesitate for a second, eyeing the car. Maybe if you move fast enough, you can slip into the backseat next to Jihyo and avoid—

Click.

The sound of a door opening. You turn your head and—of course—it’s Jeonghan, holding open the front passenger door with a perfectly innocent smile.

“After you,” he says smoothly.

You narrow your eyes. “I was going to sit in the back.”

He tilts his head. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it? You’re the guest, you should take the best seat.”

“I don’t—”

Jihyo, behind you, shoves your back. “Just get in!”

You shoot her a glare before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat, cheeks burning. Jeonghan shuts the door behind you with an annoyingly satisfied look before moving to take his own seat.

Jihyo plops into the back, sighing in content. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”

You swear you hear Seungcheol let out the faintest chuckle. And then, without another word, he starts the engine—trapping you in a car with him, your tipsy best friend, and the most annoying man alive.

in the backseat, Jihyo is completely at ease. She hums along to the radio, legs crossed, looking like she’s being chauffeured. Next to her, Jeonghan has that smug little smirk the one that says he’s enjoying this way too much.

And then there’s him. Seungcheol, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, jaw set in quiet focus. 

You shift awkwardly, clearing your throat. “Uh… thanks. For, you know… driving us.”

He nods slightly. “It’s fine.”

You nod too, staring straight ahead. “Cool. Yeah. Fine.”

Another pause and then Jihyo ruins everything. She leans forward between the seats, squinting at the dashboard. “Wow. This car is nice.”

Seungcheol hums. “Thanks.”

“What’s the top speed?” she asks, poking at random buttons.

You slap her hand away. “Stop touching things!”

“I just wanna know!” she pouts. “What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven?”

“Not answering that,” Seungcheol replies flatly.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t need to know.”

Jihyo huffs, slumping back. “Boring.”

You sigh in relief, thinking that’s the end of it but of course, Jeonghan isn’t done. He props his chin on his hand, looking over at you. “You still don’t know who he is, do you?”

“I—uh.” You fumble. “I mean. Jihyo kind of told me?”

Jihyo snorts. “I did not ‘kind of’ tell you. I screamed it at you.”

Jeonghan grins. “So? What do you think?”

You blink. “What do I think about what?”

Seungcheol exhales quietly. “Jeonghan.”

But Jeonghan ignores him, still watching you expectantly. “About him. Y’know. The Choi Seungcheol.”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling like you’re walking into a trap. “Uh… cool?”

Jeonghan leans closer. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?!” you exclaim, flustered.

Jihyo, still tipsy but ever the enabler, chimes in: “You could mention that he’s hot.”

You whip around. “Jihyo!”

“What? It’s true!”

You slap a hand over your face, groaning. “I hate you.”

The car rolls to a smooth stop outside your apartment complex, and you exhale, relieved to finally escape this nightmare.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say quickly, reaching for the door handle before anyone can make this worse—

But, of course, Jihyo beats you to it.

She dramatically stretches in the backseat. “Ahhh, that was nice. Good company, smooth ride—” she winks at Seungcheol through the rearview mirror, “—great driver.”

You slap her thigh. “Get out.”

She laughs but obliges, pushing the door open and stepping out. You scramble out too, making your way onto the sidewalk, fully prepared to run but then Jeonghan’s window rolls down.

“Hey,” he calls out. “Try not to get hit by any cars this time, yeah?”

You glare at Jeonghan. “I hope you stub your toe when you get home.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” And with that, the car pulls away, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as your best friend drags you toward your building laughing all the way.

As soon as the car pulls away, Jeonghan casually switches seats, sliding into the passenger seat with a content sigh. Seungcheol, jaw tight, doesn’t even look at him.

“…Are you mad I called her cute?”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan grins, turning to face him. “It’s an honest question.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. “Drop it.”

Jeonghan tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “So that’s a yes.” Seungcheol doesn’t respond, gaze fixed on the road.

Jeonghan, delighted, leans closer. “You are mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Seungcheol says flatly.

Jeonghan hums, unconvinced. “Hmm. Sure. Not mad. Just gripping the wheel like you wanna break it.”

Seungcheol ignores him.

Jeonghan watches him for a second longer, then smirks, leaning back in his seat. “You know,” he muses, “she is really cute.”

Seungcheol exhales, long and slow, like he’s summoning every ounce of patience in his body.

Jeonghan grins. “Relax, man. It’s not like you’re jealous or anything.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. “I said—”

“Uh-huh.” Jeonghan props his chin on his hand, looking way too pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice.”

=

You’re comfortably settled at your desk, working on some lesson plans for your class when Jihyo bursts into your room, nearly giving you a heart attack. Before you can even react, she shoves her phone into your face.

You blink, leaning back. “What—”

She jabs at the screen. “This!”

You squint at the display, confused until you realize what you’re looking at. Choi Seungcheol’s Instagram profile.

Jihyo crosses her arms, looking at you like she just caught you. “So this is what you’re denying yourself?? Explain to me why you are not all over this man.”

Your brain bluescreens. You quickly shove her phone away, face burning. “Shut up!”

She sighs dramatically. “Babe, if it were me who bumped into him that night, best believe I would not have come home.”

You groan, covering your face. “Jihyo—”

“I mean—” She swipes to another photo, this time of him in his racing suit, looking stupidly good. “Look at him. He’s got that whole broody, ‘I’ll ruin your life but in the best way’ vibe.”

She shakes her head in awe. “That jawline should be illegal.”

She grins. “Admit it. You think he’s hot.”

You make a strangled noise. “I’m going to bed.”

Jihyo cackles, watching as you dive under your blanket in pure defeat. “Oh, babe,” she sing-songs. “You’re so done for.”

Despite Jihyo’s endless teasing and your absolute denial, the days pass and nothing happens. No accidental run-ins. No mysterious black car pulling up at the right moment. No smug Jeonghan popping out of nowhere to torment you.

You’re just at the convenience store, minding your business, waiting in line with a basket full of snacks, when you hear it

“Yeah, Seungcheol’s overseas for the big race.” Your ears perk up.

“Oh, right,” another guy says, grabbing a drink from the fridge. “Dude’s been training like crazy for this one. He’s got a good shot at winning.”

You stare blankly at the row of gum in front of you. He’s not even in Korea?

One of the guys chuckles. “I saw a clip of the press conference. He looked so serious, man. Like, no distractions, all business.”

“Hah, that’s Choi Seungcheol for you.”

You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling very silly because here you were, half-expecting some dramatic encounter, maybe another near-death experience (not that you wanted one), or at the very least, something. You pay for your things, walk out of the store, and absolutely do not check your phone for race updates.

It starts with a simple search. Just one harmless search. You’re curled up in bed, snacks within reach, telling yourself it’s just curiosity. And yet the moment you hit enter, you realize you’ve made a grave mistake.

Because there he is.

Choi Seungcheol.

Not just one picture, but thousands. Articles, interviews, highlights from races, candid photos at events. He’s everywhere.

You stare, entranced.

This is the same guy who caught you almost getting run over. The same guy who watched you squint at a menu like an old lady. The same guy who bought your coffee without a word.

You’re still deep in your self-inflicted spiral, scrolling through every article and picture you can find. And then you see it.

The latest update.

Choi Seungcheol Wins International Grand Prix!

You find yourself smiling a little. You don’t even know this guy properly, but still… it’s nice to see.

Then you scroll down. And stop.

Because there’s a picture of him not with his team, but with a girl. She’s standing close to him, a hand on his arm, smiling up at him while he looks at her.

Oh.

You stare at the image, a weird, sinking feeling settling in your chest. She’s stunning. The kind of gorgeous that makes you feel like you should sit up straighter, fix your hair, do something. 

You quickly exit out of the tab, tossing your phone onto the bed like it burned you. What did you expect? Of course someone like him would have a girlfriend.

A few days passed. Not that you’re sulking. You’ve decided to move on. You’ve accepted reality. Choi Seungcheol is just a passing encounter in your life. 

It’s fine. What’s not fine is this stupid bag of snacks that won’t open.

You frown, wrestling with the plastic as you step out of the convenience store, fully focused on your struggle. You huff, gripping it tighter, about to really go for it when

A loud honk blasts through the air.

You freeze.

The next second, the sound of tires screeching fills your ears. A bright flash of headlights and then a strong hand grabs you, pulling you back just as a sleek black car zooms by. Your breath catches. Heart hammering, you slowly lift your gaze to the person who just saved you

And your brain short-circuits.

Because standing there, gripping your wrist, looking at you like you’re the single biggest headache in his life is Choi Seungcheol.

Fresh off his international win. Back in Korea. And very much here. “Seriously?”

You blink up at him, mind racing, struggling to process the fact that he’s here. Right in front of you. 

"Seriously?" he asks again. Before you can even think of a response, another voice speaks behind Seungcheol, and you turn just in time to see Jeonghan

“Oh my god,” he lets out a laugh, looking between you and Seungcheol. “Again?”

“I—” you start, but Jeonghan just shakes his head, looking at Seungcheol. “Be honest. Is she actually in danger all the time, or do you just have some weird sixth sense for when she’s about to get hit by something?”

Seungcheol scoffs, finally letting go of your wrist. “I don’t have a sixth sense.”

Jeonghan tilts his head. “I don’t know, man. That’s twice now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were her personal bodyguard.”

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumble, gripping your stupid snack bag tighter.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“I was distracted—”

“With what?” he snaps. “Your life flashing before your eyes?”

You scowl, shoving the bag toward him. “This wouldn’t open!”

Seungcheol stares at it. Then at you. Jeonghan bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, doubling over. “You almost died over potato chips?”

“I wasn’t going to die—”

“You weren’t even looking,” Seungcheol cuts in, eyes narrowing. You freeze, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. 

You swallow, suddenly feeling small. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

His jaw tightens, but he exhales, shaking his head like he’s trying to let it go. “Just—be more careful.”

You nod, looking down at your feet. Jeonghan, sensing the shift in mood, clears his throat. “Anyway,” he drawls, clapping a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Before you fully commit to your new job as her official savior, can we go? I’m running on fumes, man”

Jeonghan grins. “We can drop you off”

Seungcheol glares at him. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan shrugs

You hold up a hand, shaking your head frantically. “I—no, it’s okay! I was just—”

Jeonghan grins wider. “See? She didn’t say no.”

Seungcheol sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Jeonghan slaps his back. “That’s fair. Now, come on, mystery girl. Let’s get you home in one piece”

And before you fully process what’s happening, you find yourself being pulled toward the car—toward another unexpected run-in with Choi Seungcheol.

Fate, it seems, isn’t quite done playing with you yet.

You don’t know how this happened. One second, you were nearly flattened by a car (again), and the next, you were being dragged by Jeonghan who apparently has no concept of personal space or asking for permission.

Now, you’re in the backseat of Choi Seungcheol’s car, clutching your still-unopened bag of chips like it’s your last lifeline.

“So, really, where were you looking?” he asks, turning slightly to glance at you. “Because if I was about to get hit, I’d at least want to see it coming.”

You glare at him. “I told you. The bag wouldn’t open.”

Jeonghan laughs. “I still can’t believe that’s what almost took you out. You know they put little notches for easy tearing, right?”

“...Not all of them work.”

Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head. “Natural selection is really out here working overtime.”

Seungcheol, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly exhales sharply. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan grins. “I’m just saying, it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

You sneak a glance at the rearview mirror, catching his reflection. He looks… tense. One hand on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road.

You wonder if he regrets stopping for you. Your stomach twists. It’s stupid, but you still feel a little weird about it. And now, sitting here, in his car, after all that unnecessary sulking? You feel… even weirder.

You shift uncomfortably, fingers fidgeting with the chip bag. You barely know these guys. One of them is a literal international racing champion, and the other is his unreasonably charming best friend. Meanwhile, you’re just… you. A kindergarten teacher who almost got flattened over snacks

The contrast is almost laughable.

“…You good back there?” Jeonghan’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, realizing you’ve been sulking again. “What? Yeah. Totally fine.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Uh-huh. You definitely look fine. Real picture of peace and happiness.”

You scowl, but before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks up his voice calm but firm.

“Jeonghan. Shut up.”

Jeonghan grins. “Ohhh. He’s using his serious voice.”

Seungcheol sighs, gripping the wheel tighter. “I should’ve left you on the sidewalk.”

“And yet,” Jeonghan says smugly, “you didn’t.”

Seungcheol glares at him. You feel like you’re witnessing a very old, very repetitive argument.

“Anyway,” Jeonghan continues, ignoring the daggers being stared into his skull, “since you’re so fine, tell me—how do you feel knowing you’re currently in a very expensive car, sitting behind a very famous race car driver?”

You hesitate. Then—

“…I feel like I should’ve taken the bus.”

Jeonghan bursts out laughing. Even Seungcheol’s lips twitch slightly, though he hides it well.

“Alright,” Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. “I like you.”

You don’t know why, but your face warms a little at that. You ignore it, focusing instead on the bag in your hands. Your stupid, unopened bag of chips. The red light feels like it’s taking forever to change.

With a sigh, you look at Seungcheol. “Can you open this?”

For the first time since you got in the car, he fully turns his head to look at you. His expression is blank.

“Seriously?”

You pout. “It won’t open.”

Seungcheol stares for another second before muttering something under his breath. Then, with one hand still on the wheel, he takes the bag from you and effortlessly tears it open with zero struggle.

You stare. He hands it back without a word, eyes back on the road.

Jeonghan looks between the two of you, then shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”

You hesitate for a second, fingers tightening around your newly opened bag of chips, before finally mumbling, “Congratulations, by the way.”

It’s so quiet that you’re not even sure he hears it

“…Thanks,” Seungcheol says after a beat, voice softer than before.

“Cute girlfriend, by the way.” It just slips out.

Jeonghan, who had just taken a sip of his drink, makes a sudden choking sound. “Oh—oh my god.”

Seungcheol’s fingers twitch. You freeze, realizing what you just said, how you just said it, and immediately regret everything. You look up only to find Seungcheol’s eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and unreadable.

“…What?” His voice is flat

You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “The girl. In that picture. Looked… cute.”

Jeonghan, recovering from his near-death experience, turns fully in his seat to look at you, a wicked grin stretching across his face. “Oh wow. This is amazing.”

You glare at him. “What?”

“So, you did look him up.”

Your soul leaves your body. Seungcheol is still silent. 

“I—no—I just—” You scramble for a response, but Jeonghan is already grinning like the devil himself.

“You did.” He laughs, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is good. This is so good.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, face burning.

“I mean,” Jeonghan continues, completely ignoring him, “I knew you weren’t completely oblivious, but this confirms everything—”

“Jeonghan.” This time, there’s a warning in Seungcheol’s tone. Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, but his smirk remains.  You, meanwhile, are trying very, very hard to disappear into the seat.

Seungcheol finally glances at you again, eyes unreadable. “It’s not what you think.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The picture.” His fingers drum against the wheel. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you quickly school your expression into something neutral. “Oh. I mean—I didn’t—” You clear your throat. “I wasn’t assuming anything.” Lies.

Jeonghan is watching the exchange very closely, eyes flicking between the two of you with amusement.

“Right,” he drawls. “And you totally weren’t sulking when you saw it, huh?”

Your soul leaves your body for the second time in five minutes. Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head. You, meanwhile, are seriously considering rolling out of the moving vehicle.

=

It’s Friday afternoon, and you’re in the middle of prepping lesson plans when your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen.

Seungcheol: Do you have plans this weekend?

Your heart does a little skip. Which is dumb. You ignore that.

You: Why?

Seungcheol: Race this weekend. Sending you a pass if you want to come.

You: Can Jihyo come?

Seungcheol: ...Do I have a choice?

You snort. Nope. He sends an exasperated-looking emoji. Then: Fine. I’ll send two.

You grin, typing back. Thanks, Cheol :)

Seungcheol leans against his car, phone in hand, watching as the dots appear and disappear on his screen. When your reply finally comes through, he stares at it for a second.

Thanks, Cheol :)

His grip tightens on the phone. The hell was that?

His brows furrow. He wasn’t expecting a nickname. Or the stupid little smiley face. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. 

“You look stressed.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw as Jeonghan appears beside him, sipping an iced coffee like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Jeonghan peeks at his phone screen, then grins. “Oh? You invited her?”

“Mind your business.”

Jeonghan just laughs, patting his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see her. She’s cute.”

Come the day of the race. You clutch the pass in your hand, eyes wide as you stare at the sectioned-off area in front of you.

Jihyo whistles lowly beside you. "Damn. You got connections."

You elbow her. "I do not."

She smirks. "Oh, but you do—VIP passes, babe. Not just regular seats. VIP."

You’re still trying to process it. You thought maybe some decent seats but no. This is practically in the pit area, near the teams, where you can see the racers up close.

You fidget with the hem of your sundress, trying to keep it down as the wind playfully tugs at the fabric. Jihyo had insisted you wear it, claiming it was perfect for today. And sure, it’s cute, but you’re not used to wearing something like this.

Your eyes follow the cars as they weave and speed around the track, and even though you can’t see his face, you somehow know which one is Seungcheol. He drives with such control, such confidence it’s ridiculous. It’s nerve-wracking, but thrilling at the same time. When the checkered flag waves, signaling the end, the crowd erupts in cheers.

Seungcheol won.

Then someone is standing beside your seat. He glances at a clipboard, then at you. "Mr. Choi asked me to bring you down to the pit."

"Wh—" You blink. "Me?"

The guy nods. "Yeah, you."

She gasps dramatically. "Oh my God, you’re getting the main character treatment."

You glare at her. "Shut up—"

"Come on." The team member jerks his head toward the entrance leading down to the pit area. "He’s waiting."

Jihyo shoves you forward. "GO, OH MY GOD."

You stumble, gripping your dress, and follow behind the guy as he leads you down. The pit area is loud. 

"Hey." You turn at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol is standing a few feet away, unzipping the top half of his racing suit, revealing a black sleeveless undershirt. His hair is messy from the helmet, and he looks like he just stepped out of an action movie.

Your brain empties.

"Hi."

One of the other racers whistles. "Cheol, why didn’t you tell us you had a good luck charm?"

Seungcheol glares at the guy, and he immediately shuts up. He turns his attention back to you, eyes scanning your expression. "You okay?"

You nod way too quickly. "Yes."

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Y-Yeah!" You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to compose yourself. "It was… really cool. Kind of scary, but mostly cool."

A beat passes. He watches you for a moment before he shifts slightly closer. "You sure?"

You swallow hard. "Yeah." 

Before you can say anything else, someone calls his name from across the pit. He sighs, glancing toward them, then back at you.

"Good."

Just as Seungcheol turns to leave, one of his team members hands him a jacket—a sleek black one with his name embroidered on the front. 

The wind picks up right at that moment, making your dress flutter. Seungcheol exhales, a small shake of his head, then without warning he moves closer. He holds out his jacket.

"Here."

"W-What?"

He lifts a brow. "You keep fidgeting."

"But—"

"Just take it." His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, your fingers twitching at your sides. "But won’t you need it?"

"I’m fine," he says simply. "You, on the other hand, are obviously cold."

The sleeves are way too long, and the jacket itself is so oversized that it practically swallows you. But the moment you wrap it around yourself, a wave of warmth washes over you—both from the fabric and the fact that it’s his.

Seungcheol watches you pull it tighter around yourself, then nods in satisfaction. "Better?"

You nod frantically, voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Yeah."

He smirks slightly. "Good."

Then, before you can even process what just happened, he turns around and walks away leaving you standing there in the middle of the pit, drowning in his jacket, and burning with embarrassment.

By the time dinner ends, it’s late, the streets quieter as most of the city starts winding down for the night. One by one, the group starts heading out. Vernon and Minghao take off first, and Jeonghan lingers only long enough to throw one last smirk your way before disappearing too.

Then it’s just you, Jihyo, and Seungcheol standing outside the restaurant.

Jihyo stretches, humming in satisfaction. "Alright, how are we getting home?"

Seungcheol pulls out his keys. "I’ll drive you."

Jihyo, ever the social butterfly, starts the trip off chatting about the food, the restaurant, Jeonghan’s nonsense but after a few minutes, she slowly starts dozing off. By the time you reach the highway, she’s out cold, head slumped against the window, completely knocked out.

So now, it’s just you and Seungcheol. And the silence.

You shift in your seat, sneaking a glance at him. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gear shift.

You clear your throat. "Thanks for the ride."

"Did you have fun?"

"Huh?"

He keeps his eyes ahead. "The race. The dinner. The whole thing."

You hesitate. Then, feeling a little shy, you nod. "Yeah. It was fun."

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "Good."

The rest of the drive was quiet. You're lost in thought when suddenly you hear him,

"We’re here."

You blink and sure enough, the car is parked right in front of your apartment complex. You don’t even think. You just unbuckle your seatbelt, practically launch yourself out of the car

"Thanksfortheridegoodnight!" Then you shut the door behind you, making your escape.

Seungcheol watches, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his chin. His lips twitch.

From the passenger seat, Jihyo stirs, barely cracking an eye open. "She’s so down bad," she mumbles sleepily.

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh.

=

The week had been brutal.

You loved your job but spending all day surrounded by energetic little humans could be exhausting.  And now, finally, finally, you had a moment to yourself. Which was why you were out again, wandering the quiet streets, enjoying the cool air.

And before you even realized it—

You were calling Seungcheol.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Where are you?" His voice was low, direct.

You blinked. "What?"

"You don’t usually call," he said. "Where are you?"

"Oh, um." You rubbed your arm, glancing around. "I’m just out on a walk."

"Alone?"

You frowned. "…Yeah?"

Seungcheol sighed. You could practically hear him shaking his head. "Of course you are."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Stay there. I’m coming to get you."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, what—"

Click. He hung up. You stared at your phone. "…Did he just—"

Before you could even process it, headlights approached from down the street.And there he was. You blinked. Then blinked again.

"How did you—"

Seungcheol gave you a look as he rolled down the window. "You take the same route every time."

You blinked again, your brain still catching up. "I—what?"

"That’s dangerous, by the way, Someone could easily figure that out."

You stared at him. "You just did."

"Exactly. Get in the car."

You huffed, rubbing your temples. "I was just taking a walk."

"And now you’re taking a ride," he countered smoothly. "C’mon, before I get out and make you."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You wouldn’t."

Seungcheol unbuckled his seatbelt.

Your eyes widened. "Okay! Okay!"

You hurried to the passenger side, pulling open the door and climbing in. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he deadpanned, putting the car back in drive. You sat there, hands tucked into your lap, the hum of the car filling the silence. 

You swallowed. "So, uh… now what?"

Seungcheol flicked his turn signal on, eyes still on the road. "Dunno. You tell me. You’re the one who called."

You bit your lip. "Right. About that."

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

You hesitated, suddenly regretting all your life choices. "It was an accident."

Seungcheol scoffed, amused. "That’s a lie."

You groaned, throwing your head back against the seat. "Okay, fine! I just—" You sighed, watching the streetlights blur past. "I guess I just wanted to talk to someone?"

"Rough day?"

"More like a rough week," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "The kids have been so hyper lately, and I’ve just been so tired. But it’s not even a bad tired, you know? It’s just a lot sometimes."

Seungcheol hummed, a small nod. "Yeah. I get it."

"You do?"

"Mhm." His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Racing’s fun. I love it. But there’s always a pressure to be on top, to perform well. Sometimes it gets overwhelming."

Seungcheol sighed, stretching out one hand before gripping the wheel again. "I go on night drives when I need to clear my head."

You stared at him, something clicking into place. "That’s why you knew my route."

He smirked slightly. "Guilty."

"I take walks, you take drives. Same thing, different speeds."

"Guess so." A comfortable silence settled between you. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights glow in the dark.

"Hey, Cheol?"

"Hm?"

"…Thanks."

You glanced at him again, blinking. He was focused on the road, but his grip on the wheel had tightened just slightly. 

"For your information, I survived just fine before, you know. And i take different routes like the convenient store"

Seungcheol scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. "You almost got ran over because you were too busy sulking over a picture of me with a girl and almost died"

You choked. "I— What—"

He smirked. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

"I was not sulking!"

"Right. Totally explains why you looked like you were mourning when we saw you"

You groaned, peeking at him through your fingers. "Okay, but seriously. Who was she?"

"Told you already. A model for the brand we were promoting."

You pursed your lips. "And you just let people think she was your girlfriend?"

"Why would I care?"

You blinked at him. "Because rumors like that spread?"

"And?"

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "And they can cause misunderstandings!"

"Only if you believe them. You believed them?"

Your face heated again. "N-no!"

He smirked. "So you were sulking for no reason."

"Oh my god, I’m jumping out of this car."

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head. "You’re so easy to mess with."

You scowled at him, but your heart was doing that weird thing again. You ignored it, sinking into your seat with a grumble.

"Whatever," you muttered. "I survived just fine without you, anyway."

Seungcheol didn’t say anything to that, just tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. A few seconds passed before he muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear

"Yeah. But I still worry"

=

It was just another normal day or at least, that was what you thought.

You were on your way back from grabbing lunch when you passed by a group of girls near the coffee shop. You weren’t intentionally eavesdropping, but the name Choi Seungcheol caught your attention.

"Did you see the pictures?" one of them gushed, holding up her phone. "He looks so good."

"I know, right?" another sighed dreamily. "And the model is there again. I swear, they have to be dating."

Your step faltered.

"She literally flew out just for the event," one of them continued. "If that doesn’t say girlfriend, I don’t know what does."

"They look so good together."

"I bet they’re just keeping it private."

You stared down at your drink, suddenly losing your appetite. Of course the rumors were back. Of course. You weren’t even sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like Seungcheol owed you an explanation. He could date whoever he wanted.

You shook your head, scolding yourself. It doesn’t matter. It’s not your business. And yet, as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like a rock had settled in your stomach.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Seungcheol.

You debated ignoring it. You weren’t in the mood. But your thumb betrayed you, swiping to answer.

"What."

There was silence on the other end. You never greeted him like that. Usually, it was your usual bright, shy "Hello?" or a nervous "Hi." But this? This was new.

"...Are you okay?" he finally asked, voice slower than usual, as if testing the waters.

You sighed, pushing open the door to your workplace. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why?"

"You sound—" he hesitated. "Different."

"I’m busy," you muttered, balancing your drink in one hand as you fumbled with your things. "What do you need?"

Seungcheol didn’t reply immediately. You could feel him trying to figure you out, and for some reason, that made you more annoyed.

"I was just calling to check on you," he finally said.

That caught you off guard. Your grip tightened around your phone.

You huffed. "I’m good. Enjoy your event."

You weren’t sure what this feeling was, but damn, it felt good to be glaring at everything.

The printer that took forever? Glare. The kid who knocked over their juice box? Squint. Your coworker asking if you were okay? Tight-lipped smile that was anything but a smile.

Maybe it was childish. Maybe you were overreacting. But at this point, you didn’t care. You didn’t even know why you felt so off. It wasn’t like you and Seungcheol were anything.

Meanwhile, across town, Seungcheol was still staring at his phone, completely thrown off. He wasn’t used to hearing you like that. You were always soft-spoken, shy, a little hesitant—but never cold. Never distant.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself.

"That," came Jeonghan’s amused voice beside him, "was a very pissed-off woman."

Seungcheol shot him a look. "She said she was fine."

Jeonghan snorted. "And you believed her?" He leaned in, glancing at the phone. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Seungcheol bit out, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah? Well, she clearly thinks otherwise," Jeonghan mused, nodding toward the crowd of cameras flashing in the distance. "Think it’s the rumors?"

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. The articles, the fan speculation, the model that everyone kept trying to link him with. He never paid them much attention before.

But you… you might have.

"She knows it’s not like that," he muttered.

"Does she?"

You had just clocked out of work, exhausted, ready to take the bus home and forget about the ridiculous thoughts swirling in your head. But then you saw it. A familiar black car parked near the bus stop.

Hard to miss. And even harder to miss was the very famous racer leaning casually against it, hands in his pockets, watching you like he was waiting for you.

Then, the annoyance you’d been holding in all day came rushing back. You stomped over, stopping right in front of him, arms crossed tight against your chest.

"What do you think you’re doing?" you demanded, eyes narrowing.

Seungcheol barely blinked, like he had expected this reaction. "Picking you up."

"Why?"

"Because you hung up on me," he said simply, pushing off the car. "And you sounded mad."

"I'm not mad," you scoffed, which was a total lie, and he knew it.

"You’re always bad at lying, but that was just embarrassing." The confidence. The nerve. You wanted to stomp your foot like a child. You glare at him, arms still crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground. 

Seungcheol watches you, then takes a slow breath, like he’s surrendering. The cocky smirk fades just a little, his posture shifts, and this time, when he speaks, his voice is softer.

"Let me take you home." Not a demand. Not an assumption. A request.

Your glare wavers, just a little.

It’s annoying, really, how easily he throws you off. Just a second ago, you were ready to fight him in the middle of this parking lot, but now? Now your heart is doing that stupid thing again, beating way too fast just because he asked instead of told.

You purse your lips. "You didn’t have to come all the way here."

"I know."

"You’re busy."

"Not right now."

You shift on your feet, fingers gripping your bag strap. You know you should just say no, get on the bus, and pretend none of this is affecting you. But Seungcheol is still standing there, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

"...Fine," you mumble, looking away.

He opens the passenger door for you, and for some reason, that makes your face heat up more than it should. For a while, he doesn’t say anything neither do you.

You keep your eyes trained on the window, stubbornly refusing to look at him. The tension sits heavy between you, thick enough to choke on.

Eventually, you sigh. "Just drop me off."

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. "You’re mad."

You scoff. "I’m not mad."

You huff, annoyed at his calmness, annoyed at how he isn’t even trying to argue with you, and most of all, annoyed at how that bothers you more than it should.

After a few minutes, Seungcheol speaks again, voice low and even.

"Are you gonna tell me why you’re mad, or do I have to guess?"

You scoff. "I already told you, I’m not mad."

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. "Right. And I’m a kindergarten teacher."

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your lips almost twitch at his sarcasm. "I’m just tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Everything."

The silence stretches again, filled only by the occasional honk of a passing car and the low music playing from his stereo. The red light ahead slows him down, and when the car comes to a stop, he finally turns his head, fully looking at you.

"You heard something, didn’t you?"

Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, like he’s trying to be patient. "You’ve been acting weird since this afternoon. And now you won’t even look at me."

You swallow, feeling trapped. He isn’t wrong. You had heard something—those girls talking, mentioning the rumors, the event, the model. And even though it shouldn’t have affected you, it did but there was no way in hell you were about to admit that.

"It’s nothing," you mutter. "Can we just drop it?"

Seungcheol studies you for a long moment, then makes a sound in the back of his throat—something between frustration and resignation.

"How can I make it better if you won’t tell me?"

You shift in your seat, unsure how to respond. "What?"

"You heard me," he says, sparing a quick glance at you. "If something’s bothering you, tell me. I’m not a mind reader."

"It’s not—" You start, but the words tangle in your throat.

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair before resting it back on the wheel. "Look, I don’t know what people said, but if it’s about that event, the model, or whatever rumor’s floating around, just ask me."

"Why does it matter?"

"What?"

"Why does it matter if I believe the rumors or not?" You glance away. "It’s not like we—" You stop yourself before you can finish.

The air shifts. Seungcheol doesn’t immediately respond, and when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You regret speaking at all.

"It matters," he finally says, voice quieter. "Because it’s you."

Your breath catches. The words settle deep in your chest, making your heart stutter. You don’t know what to say. And he doesn’t push you to.

Later, you’re just getting your lunch ready for tomorrow to bring to work when Jihyo comes stumbling out of her room

"YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!"

"Jihyo, what—"

"Just look!" she insists, shoving the screen toward your face.

You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the brightness. It’s an Instagram story.

Seungcheol’s Instagram story. It’s just a simple black background with white text:

Don’t believe everything you hear. The rumors aren’t true.

That’s it. No explanation. No clarification. No dramatic reveal. Just a straight-to-the-point denial.

Jihyo, however, is losing her mind. "OUT OF CHARACTER BEHAVIOR! THE CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, POSTING ON HIS MAIN?!?"

"What—" You’re still processing.

"WHAT?!?" Jihyo gapes at you like you’ve just declared the sky isn’t blue. "BABE, THIS MAN NEVER POSTS. EVER."

"Maybe he just wanted to clear things up—" you start, but Jihyo flails.

"CLEAR THINGS UP?!?" She throws her arms up. "HE COULD’VE LET HIS AGENCY DO THAT! HE NEVER ADDRESSES RUMORS. EVER."

You chew on your bottom lip, scrolling back to look at the post again. It’s true—most celebrities would ignore baseless gossip, or let their team handle it. But Seungcheol? He chose to say something himself.

Before you go to sleep, your inner demons won and dialed his number.

The phone barely rings twice before he picks up. "You’re not mad anymore?"

"What—"

"You called me, figured that means I’m out of the woods."

You hesitate, picking at the hem of your sweater. "I wasn’t really mad…"

"No?"

"I mean—" You huff, flopping back against your pillows. "I don’t know. It was annoying, hearing people talk. Seeing things that weren’t true. It just felt… I don’t know. Weird."

Seungcheol, of all people, probably knows what it’s like to have strangers talk about him like they know every detail of his life. To have people assume things, spread stories that aren’t real. It makes your irritation feel almost… silly in comparison.

"I saw your post," you mumble after a moment. "You didn’t have to do that."

"I know."

You frown at your ceiling. "Then why?"

"Because I didn’t want you to deal with it."

Your breath catches. It’s such a simple statement, said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t just Seungcheol, famous racer, untouchable to the world—but someone who noticed when you were uncomfortable. Someone who actually cared.

"…Oh."

"You’re really easy to fluster."

Your face burns. "I— That’s not—*"

"Are you blushing right now?"

"I am not blushing—*"

"You totally are."

"I—" You groan, rolling onto your side. "I should hang up on you."

There’s a grin in his voice when he adds, "Goodnight, trouble."

You hang up. And then promptly shove your face into your pillow, because what the hell is he doing to you?

He laughs under his breath when you hang up. Not because he’s teasing you but mostly because he can hear how flustered you were. How you probably rolled onto your side, buried your face in your hands, maybe even kicked your legs a little in frustration.

And it’s adorable.

It’s been a long time since someone reacted to him like that. Since someone called him without any agenda, just because they wanted to talk to him. Since someone didn’t treat him like Choi Seungcheol, the racer, but just… Seungcheol.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. His phone is still in his hand, your name staring up at him from the call log. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

=

You don’t know how you ended up here again.

One moment, you were just going about your usual routine, and the next, you were somehow standing in the middle of a VIP section at one of Seungcheol’s races.

This time, it’s just you. No Jihyo. No buffer. The area is packed with celebrities. All of them seem so effortlessly put together, exuding a confidence you can’t even begin to fake.

And then, suddenly a strong arm wraps around your waist. Before you even have a chance to react, you’re pulled against a firm chest, warmth pressing against your side. You don’t need to turn your head to know who it is.

Choi Seungcheol.

“W- Wait, wait… where are we going?” You struggle slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

“Somewhere else,” is all he says.

You don’t know what’s more overwhelming the way Seungcheol is leading you away, the weight of his arm still firm around your waist, or the fact that people are definitely watching. The moment he starts walking, it’s like the entire event slows down just to focus on the two of you. 

“Seungcheol,” you hiss, trying to tug yourself free, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“Just keep walking,” 

Your heart is pounding. “People are staring.”

“So?” He finally stops once you reach the edge of the track, right where his car is waiting, gleaming under the floodlights.

His expression is unreadable. “You don’t want to be seen here or something?”

Your throat dries. “I wasn’t—”

He tilts his head. Just slightly. “Why?”

You shift on your feet, feeling unbearably seen. “I don’t know.”

“You really don’t know?” The weight of his stare has your pulse stuttering. 

“I just...” you start, then hesitate, voice soft, “I don’t know how I fit in this world of yours.”

Something in his gaze shifts. His fingers flex at his side. Then, just loud enough for only you to hear, he says,

“You don’t have to. I’ll fit my world into you” 

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you for a second longer before his hands find your waist again, then he gives a light squeeze, almost reassuring. Almost like a promise. 

Before you can process it, he’s already shrugging off his racing jacket and casually throwing it around your shoulders.  He lifts a hand, already signaling to someone.  Within seconds, a staff member appears, all professional smiles. 

“I’ll take you somewhere more private to watch the race, Miss.”

Miss. Oh. You’re that girl now.

It’s the final lap when you step outside again.  

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mix of cheers, camera flashes, and the hum of engines still cooling down. You barely register what’s happening before Seungcheol is out of the car, helmet off, hair a sweaty mess but he doesn’t even care. The moment he spots you, he reaches for you without hesitation.

A startled yelp escapes your lips as he twirls you around effortlessly, his laughter vibrates against you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

"You did it," He grins, eyes gleaming under the bright pit lights.

"Of course I did. Had something good to race for."

Jeonghan, standing a few steps behind, clicks his tongue. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just won more than a race, Choi"

Seungcheol only smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders for a brief second before finally walking toward his team. And even as the celebrations begin around you, you can’t shake the feeling that, somehow, everything has changed.

You just got home after the race, staring at the ceiling trying to take everything in when suddenly

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

You whip around to see her clutching her phone like it holds the secrets of the universe. She looks at you, then back at the screen, then at you again. “Babe. You need to see this.”

“What now?”

Wordlessly, she shoves her phone toward you, and your breath catches. It’s Seungcheol’s latest Instagram post. The first picture isn’t of his trophy. It’s not of his car. It’s not even just him.

It’s you and him.

A candid shot. His arm still slung around you from earlier. The caption is simple:

"A good day."

The second photo is of his team, the third of his car, and the fourth—finally—is of him actually holding his trophy. But it’s too late. Everyone has already seen the first picture.

Jihyo is vibrating. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?!”

Seungcheol posted you. Not a soft-launch, not a story that disappears after 24 hours—an actual post. A permanent, undeniable statement.

You clutch the phone, heat creeping up your neck. “He—he’s actually insane.”

=

Weeks passed and things settled in just right, He calls or drives you around when he’s not busy. Often he finds himself taking slow walks with you. 

Meanwhile you usually text after work or just before you go to sleep. None of it feels forced, or too much too fast. Just you and him, on your own pace. 

Today Seungcheol has another race, and while the crowd is as hyped as ever, something feels slightly off.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not there. The race went well. Another win under his belt but as soon as the post-race interviews start, he can already tell where this is going.

“Seungcheol, congratulations on another victory! You’ve been on an amazing streak lately. How do you feel?”

He adjusts the cap on his head, exhaling slightly before offering the standard answer. “Thank you. The team’s been working hard, and I couldn’t have done it without them.”

“And, of course, I have to ask… Fans have been buzzing about your recent post. The picture from your last race—it wasn’t just of you and your car, but someone else as well. A mystery girl. Care to comment?”

Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He just tilts his head slightly, thinking. He could shut this down in an instant. Give them a short, clipped answer, move on.

But he doesn’t really want to.

He glances to the side, as if considering his words. “She’s someone important to me.” His tone is relaxed but firm, leaving no room for doubt.

The interviewer leans in slightly. “So, are you confirming the dating rumors?”

“I’m saying I posted what I wanted to post. People can take that however they want.”

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So you’re not hiding her.”

Seungcheol gives a small smirk. “Never said I was.”

The response is vague—intentionally so—but it’s enough to send the media into a frenzy. Tthe thing is he doesn’t need to explain it to anyone else. He knows who you are to him.

Seungcheol steps off the interview platform, pulling his cap lower over his face as he walks through the paddock. The post-race adrenaline is still buzzing in his veins, but his mind is already shifting elsewhere.

Then he sees you.

For a second, he thinks he’s imagining it. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had work, a full schedule, a whole list of reasons why you couldn’t make it today.  And yet, there you are, standing just past the pit lane, scanning the crowd.

He slows his steps, blinking, wondering if maybe the exhaustion is making him see things.

But then you spot him. And suddenly, you’re moving. When you got closer, he reaches out his hand finds the curve of your waist instinctively, his grip firm, steady, as if making sure you’re actually real.

“What are you doing here?”

You hesitate for a second, slightly breathless from hurrying over. “I—”

And that’s when he notices you’re still in your work clothes. Something in his chest tightens.

“I couldn’t just not come,” you finally say, voice quieter now

Seungcheol watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with zero hesitation, he pulls you closer not caring who’s looking.

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmurs, his hand pressing against the small of your back.

You laugh softly, like you can’t believe him. “Would you have let me surprise you if I did?”

He huffs, amused, forehead almost touching yours now. “Probably not.”

Then, just loud enough for only you to hear

“But I’m glad you did.” His grip on your waist tightens just slightly before he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you more than enough time to pull away. But you didn’t. 

So he closes the distance. The warmth of his lips grazes your cheek but then, at the last second, he shifts ever so slightly. The corner of your lips.

The touch is featherlight, barely there, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to send a shock of awareness through your body. 

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice amused, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes when he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

Your face is burning. “Oops?” you echo, scandalized, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol grins, all too pleased with himself, before he tugs his cap lower over his eyes and casually tucks you further into his side.

“Too late now,” he muses, leading you away as more cameras flash in the distance. “Might as well give them a show, right?”

You have a feeling this isn’t the last time he’s going to pull something like this. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder, the flashes still going off, the murmurs growing louder.

“Cheol,” you hiss, tugging lightly at his hold. “You do realize what you just did, right?”

He doesn’t even slow down. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away. “Yeah,” he says, entirely unfazed. “What about it?”

You gawk at him. “You kissed me.”

He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, not the teasing one he usually gives you. He tugs his cap lower again before guiding you around a corner, finally stepping out of the media’s direct line of sight.

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing,” he muses.

You scowl. “I’m acting like someone who wasn’t expecting that in front of hundreds of people.”

His steps slow, his teasing smirk softening into something unreadable. “Would it have been different if we were alone?”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t let you answer right away, though, because suddenly, the door to the team’s private area swings open, revealing Jeonghan leaning lazily against the frame, arms crossed.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol. “The internet is about to explode, you know that?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Seungcheol, however, just sighs, like he knew this was coming.

=

It had been a few days since The Kiss—as Jihyo so dramatically called it—and the media was still buzzing. Your social media (which you barely used) had gained a suspicious number of new followers, and even your coworkers had started looking at you differently.

But the strangest part? Even the kids were catching on.

“What are you doing here?” you mumble the moment you see him in the lobby of your work

“Bringing lunch.”

You stared at the containers. “For… me?”

“For everyone,” he corrected, smirking. “Figured your kids might like a treat. And you’ve been too busy to eat properly, haven’t you?”

Your coworker let out a dramatic sigh. “Where do I sign up for a man like this?”

You ignored them, still trying to process the fact that Choi Seungcheol, famous race car driver, was standing in your workplace like this was a totally normal thing to do.

Meanwhile, one of the kids had wandered in, stopping short when they saw Seungcheol. Their mouth fell open.

“OH MY GOSH,” they shrieked, running back out. “GUYS, HE’S REALLY HERE!”

Within seconds, a stampede of tiny humans came rushing in, swarming around Seungcheol with wide eyes and excited whispers. Seungcheol crouched down, meeting them at eye level. “You must be her students,” he said with a grin.

The kids giggled. One particularly bold little girl tugged at his sleeve. “Are you her boyfriend?”

Seungcheol just laughed, ruffling the nearest kid’s hair before handing you one of the food containers. “Eat,” he said, his voice softer. “You’ll need the energy for all the explaining you’re about to do.”

Later you sighed as you slid into the passenger seat, tossing your bag onto your lap. Seungcheol was already watching you, a smug little grin playing on his lips as he leaned against the steering wheel. He was waiting.

“…Not a word,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Oh? Nothing to say? Not even a thank you for the food?”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “Thank you. Now drive.”

He didn’t move, still looking way too pleased with himself. “So… ‘Are you her boyfriend?’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clearly enjoying himself. “That was a good one.”

You, on the other hand, seethed in silence. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“You didn’t answer though.”

“Hm?”

“When they asked if you were my boyfriend,” you clarified, staring out the window. “You didn’t really answer.”

“Does it bother you?”

You hesitated. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

You felt his gaze shift to you for a split second before turning back to the road. He was so annoyingly calm, like he wasn’t the least bit fazed. Meanwhile, you were seconds away from combusting.

“It’s just—” You struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve denied it outright.”

Seungcheol made a soft hum, like he was thinking.

“Could’ve,” he admitted. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “And why not?”

This time, he did glance at you, his expression unreadable. “What if I didn’t want to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re cute when you’re worked up.”

“Choi Seungcheol.”

At that, he sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes when he glanced at you. “I just meant exactly what I said.”

“That you didn’t want to deny it?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s—” You fumbled for words. “That’s not an answer.”

He let go of the wheel with one hand to shift gears as he smoothly changed lanes. “It’s an answer.”

“No, it’s not. It’s cryptic and vague and you’re doing it on purpose.”

He chuckled again, but this time, when he spoke, his voice was softer. “You really don’t get it?”

You hesitated, the way he was looking at you making you squirm. “Get what?”

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the road. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply.

“I like you.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“Wait—” Your head snapped to him, eyes wide. “You—what?”

He was still looking ahead, but you could see the small smirk on his lips. “Did I stutter?”

You were reeling. “But—you never—”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not.”

“I kissed you infront of hundreds of viewers, you’re the first face they see the moment they look up my profile and I’m not being obvious?” he chuckles 

You stared at him, absolutely at a loss for words. He liked you? Seungcheol—the ridiculously famous racer, the one who was so effortlessly confident, the one who had somehow made a place in your life before you even realized—he liked you?

“Wha—how—why??”

Seungcheol let out a small laugh, glancing at you before turning back to the road “Are you asking me how feelings work?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” You were spiraling. “You’re—you’re you! And I’m just me—how does that even make sense?”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “You think it doesn’t make sense?”

You groaned, sinking into your seat. “I mean, you’re a famous racer, Cheol. You could have anyone.”

“Could doesn’t mean want,” he said simply. “I want you.”

You were malfunctioning.

Seungcheol glanced at you again, smirking at your stunned expression. “That enough of an answer for you?”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Seungcheol wanted you.

There was no teasing in his voice this time, no cryptic answers or vague implications. Just a clear, straightforward confession that had your brain struggling to keep up.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you immediately shut your mouth.

Seungcheol chuckled. “That’s a first. You’re speechless.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, pressing your hands over your face.

He laughed, clearly thoroughly entertained by your reaction. “No, you don’t.”

=

On weekdays, you were just you. Going to work, wrangling kids, taking your usual walks at night. But on weekends? That was a whole different story.

It was like you were living a double life. One moment, you were worrying about snack schedules and nap times, and the next, you were standing in the middle of a race pit, surrounded by roaring engines and a team that now knew you by name.

Like today.

“Here comes our good luck charm,” one of the team members called out when they spotted you walking in.

“I don’t know where you guys got that idea from.”

Jeonghan, who had been leaning against the car with his arms crossed, smirked. “Maybe because every race he’s had since meeting you, he’s won?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your face warmed. “Pretty sure that’s because he’s good at what he does, not because I’m standing here.”

Seungcheol appeared then, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t be modest. You are my good luck charm.”

And just like that, your heart did an embarrassing little flip. Seungcheol’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the bustling pit lane, it all fades into nothing when he turns to look at you.

That boyish, handsome smile of his appears, the one that makes your heart stumble over itself. “Stay here, okay?” he says, squeezing your fingers gently.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah, okay.”

His gaze lingers, scanning your face like he’s committing every detail to memory before a race. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He grins, lifting your joined hands just slightly before finally letting go, heading toward his car. And even as he walks away, helmet in hand, you can still feel the warmth of his touch lingering against your skin.

“Cute,” Jeonghan drawls, suddenly appearing beside you like he always does

You nearly jump out of your skin. “God, can you not?”

He smirks, arms crossed as he watches Seungcheol get into his car. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

Jeonghan hums, tilting his head. “You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

You glance at him. “Like what?”

“You didn’t see him before you got here—he was all serious, barely speaking. But then he saw you, and suddenly, bam, he’s smiling like an idiot and holding your hand in front of the whole team.”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he adds, “I give it two more races before he fully caves.”

You frown. “Caves?”

“Into admitting he’s in love with you.”

Seungcheol, who had been adjusting his gloves and getting ready to step into his car, catches your gaze just before ducking inside. And then—he winks.

Jeonghan lets out a low whistle beside you. “Oh, never mind. I take it back. I said two races, but at this rate?” He gestures vaguely toward Seungcheol, who is now in his car, looking entirely too smug. 

“I’d give him until later.”

After the race, which he won again, he still insisted to drive you home despite saying you can just catch the bus since he must be tired. 

He parked the car but you notice the street is a little farther from your building. You step out a little confused but taking his hand anyway. His palm is warm against yours, steady and sure, and you let him guide you down the quiet street.

“Where are we going?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just keeps walking, his fingers absentmindedly squeezing yours like he’s grounding himself. Then he stops, looking around.

It takes you a second to realize where you are. The dim glow of a streetlamp flickers slightly, casting long shadows over the pavement. It looks different now—quieter, less chaotic—but you recognize it immediately.

“This is where—”

“Where I almost ran you over,” Seungcheol finishes, turning to you with a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Why… are we here?”

His gaze flickers to the ground before meeting yours again. “I don’t know, I just—after the race, I kept thinking about how everything started. And I ended up driving here.”

“You almost hit me with your car,” you point out, trying to lighten the mood, even though something about the moment feels heavier than that.

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Not exactly the best first impression.”

“And yet here I am, getting into your car willingly.”

“Here you are.”

A beat of silence passes between you, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re stepping closer. The streetlamp flickers again, casting a warm glow over his face. His eyes search yours, as if waiting for something. 

And then, in the place where you first met, where he almost ran you over, Seungcheol lifts a hand to your cheek, his touch hesitant but deliberate. His fingers brush against your jaw, his touch featherlight, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in slow, giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t.

And then, finally, finally, his lips meet yours.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But when you don’t push him away, when you let out a quiet breath against his mouth, he presses in a little more. It’s warm, gentle.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been wanting to for a while now. Your hands grip his jacket instinctively, grounding yourself as your knees feel dangerously weak. 

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. His thumb strokes your cheek, and he exhales a soft laugh.Seungcheol chuckles, tilting his head slightly so he can press a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, then another, as if he can’t help himself.

“Were you mad at me when we first met?” you ask him jokingly

“No”

“Liar,” you tell him

Seungcheol laughs, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. His arms are still loosely wrapped around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist.

“Annoyed?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe a little.”

You scoff, pushing at his chest lightly, but he doesn’t budge. “See! I knew it.”

He smirks, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “But I was mostly surprised. You just walked off without a care in the world after almost getting run over.”

“What was I supposed to do? Stand there and cry?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, but maybe at least look back? Maybe acknowledge the handsome guy who almost ended your life?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Handsome is subjective.”

He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “That hurts.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and Seungcheol watches you, his smile softer now. His fingers brush against yours before he intertwines them together, his grip warm and steady.

“I wasn’t annoyed at you,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “But you did leave an impression.”

“Oh?”

He nods, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. I don’t normally go around remembering people who almost get hit by my car.”

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for not running me over, I guess.”

“Anytime.”

Seungcheol presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head before simply continuing to walk, your hand still firmly in his. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. His grip on your hand is enough. 

The way he slows his pace to match yours, the way he swings your hands slightly between you casual, effortless, like this has been a habit for years.

You glance up at him. “You do this often?”

He hums, tilting his head toward you. “Do what?”

“Take late-night walks,” you say. “You seem… natural at this.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Not really. Usually too exhausted after training or races.”

“So why are you doing it now?”

He squeezes your hand lightly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you like them.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that. 

How do you respond when someone like Seungcheol, who has an entire world waiting on him, cheering for him, chasing after him, chooses to slow down just to walk with you?

You tug on his hand, making him stop mid-step. He blinks at you, a little confused but patient, his thumb still brushing against your skin.

“What?” 

“You’re…” You hesitate, suddenly shy. “You’re really unfair.”

His brows furrow. “Huh?”

You huff, letting go of his hand to cross your arms instead. “You just—” You motion vaguely toward him. “You do these things, say these things, and then expect me to just… hust be normal about it?”

You groan, turning your face away, but he just leans in, amused.

“You’re blushing,” he teases, voice low, warm.

“Shut up,” you mumble. You bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to form, but Seungcheol sees it anyway.

“This,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “This is worth more than any trophy.” 

He remembers the first night. The near collision, the way you glared at him, completely unafraid. The way he should have just driven off but instead found himself watching you walk away, something inexplicable settling in his chest.

Then came the second meeting. The bar, the stranger who had gotten a little too close, and the way he stood up without thinking. He hadn’t even known why he did it then.

And then, the countless moments after. The dinner where you sat across from him, red-faced and shy but undeniably present in a way no one else was. The quiet phone calls, the late-night walks. The race where he had looked up into the stands and seen you there, fidgeting in your sundress, not quite used to this world of his but still showing up.

He remembers the moment it hit him. 

The night he couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he realized it wasn’t just amusement. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name but felt all the same. 

And fate, as if conspiring against him, kept bringing you back.  

Again and again, until there was no denying it.

“You were never supposed to happen to me. I didn’t think I had time for this. For… you. But somehow, no matter what I did, I kept finding you.”

Your breath catches, lips parting in surprise. You don’t know what to say, but maybe you don’t have to because Seungcheol is already stepping closer, already looking at you like you’re the finish line he’s been chasing all along.

Seungcheol has spent his entire life making calculated moves. On the track, in his career, in the way he approaches every decision with precision and control. He’s built his success on strategy, on knowing exactly when to push forward and when to hold back.

And yet, here he is, standing on the very street where fate first threw you into his path, admitting defeat not in the way he ever expected, but in the way that matters most.

Because for all his careful planning, he never planned for you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anything just… happen to me before,”

“And now?”

His lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—something softer, something unguarded. “Now, I think I want to see where this takes me.”

The weight of his words settles between you, heavy with meaning. He, a man who has always dictated his own path, is choosing to let fate take the wheel.

And as he pulls you closer, the city moving around you, the distant hum of life filling the air, you realize—maybe this was always where you were meant to end up.

[notkrispy]

how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But babe—”

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

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

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

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

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

And god help you, you say yes.

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

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

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

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

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

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. My girl?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

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

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

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

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to walk you out?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

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

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

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

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

You tilt your head. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

=

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

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

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

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

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

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A message from you.

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

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

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

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

He hits send before he can think better of it.

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

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

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

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s vague as hell.”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This a date now?” he throws back.

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

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

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

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

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

“Too late.”

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

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

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

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

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re impossible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan.

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

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh really?”

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

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you think I’m boring?”

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

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

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

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

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

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

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

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

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

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

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

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

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

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

“I could say the same about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

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

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

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

You freeze just for a second.

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

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

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

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

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

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

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

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

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

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

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

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

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

And you don’t argue.

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

It’s just the prelude.

=

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

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

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

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

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

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

Actually, smiling.

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

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

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

They both watch him a beat longer.

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

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

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

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

“Y’all are dramatic.”

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

“There’s no she.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

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

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

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

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

Hence: the smile.

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

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

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

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

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She liked them.”

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

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

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

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

Flowers again?

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

And your heart absolutely stutters.

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

It’s him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your morning?”

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

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

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

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

“Because you were texting me?”

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

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

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

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

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

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

The bar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel it, the shift. Again.

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

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

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No questions.

No where to?

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

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

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

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

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

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

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

=

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

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

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

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

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

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

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not waiting long.

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

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

And then he steps out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

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

He kisses you.

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

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

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

“Finally,” you whisper.

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

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

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

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gape at him.

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

“If she’ll let me.”

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

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

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

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

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did she finally kiss you?”

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

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

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

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

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

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

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

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

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

“She liked me.”

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

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

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

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

But he’s still smiling.

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Seven okay?”

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

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

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

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

Then he turns around.

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” 

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

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

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

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

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

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

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

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

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

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

And somehow, you believe him.

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

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

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

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Only for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love the guy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She raises a brow.

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

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

=

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

“Hey, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“Too late.”

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

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

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

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

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, eyes locked with his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

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

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

=

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

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

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it. 

Like there never was. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

[notkrispy]

Table Four

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: college au, strangers to lovers, angsty fluff

summary: when he sees you at a campus café on a random tuesday, he knows he has to know you. but you’ve sworn off love after a brutal breakup and want nothing more than to focus on yourself. what starts with a croissant and a crooked smile slowly turns into study sessions, spontaneous adventures, and a love story neither of you saw coming.

warnings: college setting, soft fluff ☺️💕, mutual pining, slow burn, a tiny sprinkle of angst, mentions of academic stress, an emotionally devastating finals week, and EXCESSIVE flirting by one very persistent taehyung.

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: yes, the cover picture is huge af & in your face because…i mean he’s MY MAN, why wouldn’t i want to look at him all big and up close? 🤨💟

word count: 7,478

Taehyung wasn’t even supposed to be there.

He had an econ lecture in ten minutes on the other side of campus, a half finished paper on his laptop, and a group chat that was slowly imploding over whose turn it was to make the slideshow.

But all of that faded into static the moment he got a craving for a croissant. Not just any croissant—one from Bean There, the cozy little café tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore. The one with honey butter, flaky layers, and, according to his friend Jimin, the best ratio of pastry-to-price-to-aesthetic.

He slipped through the front door, brushing damp curls from his forehead as the warm air hit him. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso, and he let the scent wrap around him as he approached the counter.

That’s when he saw you.

Table Four.

You were hunched over a psych textbook the size of a baby elephant, one earbud in, matcha latte sweating quietly beside your planner. A purple pen danced between your fingers. The other hand tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie every few seconds like your body needed something to do while your brain focused on neurotransmitters or Freud or whatever madness you were dealing with.

You didn’t notice him. Not at first. But Taehyung noticed you.

He felt it in his chest—the kind of jolt that said wait. You had a look about you—sharp but tired, soft in a way that people probably didn’t give you enough credit for. Like someone who carried their own weight and still offered to help others with theirs.

He stared a second too long, then caught himself and turned toward the counter.

“Can I get two croissants?” he asked, and then, almost without thinking, “And… those mini wildflower bouquets. That one with the yellow ribbon.”

The barista looked amused but didn’t question it.

Maybe they were used to college boys doing dumb things for pretty girls. Taehyung took his haul—two pastries and the little bouquet that looked slightly wilted but still sweet—and made his way over to your table like a man with a mission.

He cleared his throat gently.

You looked up slowly, pulling out your earbud, blinking like you were trying to place him in a memory you didn’t have.

“I’m Taehyung. Taehyung Kim,” he said, flashing his best smile.

You blinked again. “Okay?”

“These are for you.”

You looked down. At the croissant. The flowers. Back up. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly, shifting his weight. “But I think if I give them to you, you might tell me your name.”

You stared at him like he was an essay prompt you weren’t prepared for.

Across the room, two girls at a corner table were watching and whispering, clearly invested. One of them mouthed, shoot your shot, and made a tiny fist pump.

He stayed where he was, not pressing. Just offering. The croissant was still warm. The flowers bent a little in the draft from the door, petals fluttering.

“You’re serious,” you said.

“Deadly.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re bold.”

“I’m Taehyung,” he repeated with a wink.

You looked him up and down like you were trying to decide if this was real life or a fever dream brought on by lack of sleep and too much caffeine. “No,” you said finally, returning your focus to your textbook. “But… thanks for the snack.”

It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a full no either. It was a door left open just a crack.

Taehyung picked up the untouched croissant, unwrapped it, and placed it gently on top of your notes.

“For your brain,” he said with a grin.

And then he walked away.

Out the door. Back into the cold.

And for the rest of the day, you occupied way more space in his mind than his paper, his class, or his very irritated group chat.

^^^^^^^^

Taehyung burst into their shared suite like a man possessed.

Jimin was upside down on the couch, legs draped over the back cushions and phone resting on his chest. Hoseok was perched cross legged at the breakfast bar, scrolling through notes while stress eating fruit loops. Seokjin was in the tiny kitchenette, slicing fruit like he was auditioning for a cooking show.

All three looked up as Taehyung slammed the door, breathless.

“I met someone,” he announced dramatically.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “You met someone last week. And the week before that. And the week before—”

“No, no. This is different.” Taehyung threw his bag on the floor and spun like a theater major mid monologue. “I didn’t even know her name and I bought her flowers.”

Hoseok dropped his chopsticks. “You bought someone flowers?”

Seokjin squinted. “Is this an emergency?”

“Yes,” Taehyung said, dead serious. “I’m in love.”

Jimin groaned. “You say that every time someone breathes near you with good eyebrows.”

Taehyung pointed at him. “She had a psych book the size of a small country and a matcha latte. She said no to me. With full eye contact. No. Like I was a door to door salesman trying to pitch essential oils.”

Hoseok choked on a fruit loop. “Damn.”

“And she took the croissant,” Taehyung continued. “But not the flowers. She just left them on the table like a message. Like—‘thanks, peasant, but I am not to be wooed today.’”

Seokjin looked mildly concerned. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, but she could. And I would thank her for it.”

Jimin sat up, rubbing his face. “You don’t even know her name?”

“Not yet. But I will. Table Four, Bean There café. Every day if I have to.”

“God, he’s spiraling,” Hoseok muttered, passing Seokjin his bowl.

“I’m fine,” Taehyung said. “I’m just… invested. Emotionally. Spiritually. Academically.”

“She’s a psych major, huh?” Seokjin asked, sipping from his water bottle. “Explains why she’s not falling for your chaos.”

“I think she’s been through something,” Taehyung murmured, more serious now. “She had that look. You know… like she’s trying really hard not to believe in good things anymore.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then Jimin said, “You’re so whipped already. I haven’t even seen her and I want her to give you a chance.”

Taehyung grinned. “Same.”

^^^^^^^^

Taehyung had a reputation for forgetting important things—his dorm key, due dates, what time class started—but he remembered you.

The curve of your lips when you told him “no” like it was a complete sentence. The slight twitch of amusement in your brow when he insisted he was serious. The way you stared back like you were used to brushing people off, like you were tired of being looked at like a puzzle someone could solve with a smile.

You didn’t know it, but you haunted him.

So, he went back to Bean There. Every single day.

Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe in a slightly weird way. But he sat at a different table each time, ordered something new, and kept one eye on Table Four like a man casually waiting on fate to show up with her purple pen and unbothered energy.

Day two: no sign of you.

Day three: a glimpse. You walked in, spotted him already sitting at your usual spot with a croissant and a hopeful smile—and turned right around and left.

He blinked. Sighed. Took a bite of the croissant and muttered, “Bold of you to resist destiny.”

But day four?

You sat down across from him.

“I’ve decided I’m not going to let you win,” you said plainly.

Taehyung blinked, startled. “I’m sorry—what?”

“You’re obviously playing the long game. Showing up here every day, waiting around like you’re in a romcom montage. It’s textbook persistence. I won’t be manipulated.”

Taehyung pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking. “Is… is this your way of saying you missed me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then why are you here?”

You looked at him then. Really looked. “Because I’m tired. And you’re… persistent. And I have a lot of reading to do and this place has the best quality drinks my money can buy.”

He leaned back in his chair, beaming. “I’ll take it.”

You rolled your eyes but stayed put.

You didn’t tell him your name. Not yet. But you accepted the croissant and took his pen when yours ran out of ink. You let him sit beside you instead of across from you, and when he asked if he could see your textbook—“just to check if it’s cursed”—you didn’t say no.

Progress.

^^^^^^^^

Later that week, he found you outside the library in a study circle with three other students. He nearly walked by—he didn’t want to be annoying—but then he heard you laugh.

Taehyung stopped mid step.

You were glowing in the late afternoon sun, head tilted back, cheeks flushed from something someone had said. The group looked tight knit. Comfortable. Like you’d known each other for a while.

He stepped forward anyway.

“You guys studying for Abnormal Psych?” he asked, backpack slung over one shoulder.

The girl with the buzzcut nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m in the class,” he lied smoothly. “Mind if I join?”

You looked up. Eyes narrowed.

“You’re not in this class.”

“I learn fast,” he said, already sitting down on the edge of the blanket someone had thrown across the grass. “Name’s Taehyung.”

Buzzcut girl perked up. “I’ve heard of you. You did karaoke dressed as an anime character at the bio major mixer.”

“Guilty,” he grinned.

“Didn’t know you were in psych, though.”

“Oh, I’m more of a… community learner.”

You snorted softly despite yourself. “This is a closed study group.”

“Not anymore,” Buzzcut girl said, pulling out her flashcards. “He brought gummy bears.”

Taehyung passed the bag to you first, catching your eye. “For your brain.”

You shook your head—but didn’t refuse them.

^^^^^^^^

Over the next two weeks, he became a fixture in your orbit.

He never asked for more than you gave, but he was always around—texting you helpful mnemonics, scribbling dumb doodles in the margins of your notes, bringing lattes and whispering jokes during tense study sessions.

You didn’t realize you’d started waiting for him until one day he was late and your stomach felt weird.

He showed up five minutes later with windblown hair and a sheepish grin. “Sorry, spilled yogurt on my pants and had to change. Very heroic story, I’ll tell it in full later.”

You didn’t say anything. Just nudged your shoulder against his as he sat down beside you.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t say a word. He just smiled.

Because you still hadn’t said yes to dinner. You hadn’t said yes to “just one date.”

But you’d stopped saying no.

^^^^^^^^

It was the kind of party that smelled like sweat, cheap beer, and bad decisions—one of those “someone’s cousin knows the guy who owns this place” situations where no one really belonged but no one got kicked out either.

The porch was packed. The lawn was wrecked. Someone had already duct taped a traffic cone to the roof.

It was a Thursday.

Your roommate had dragged you out. She was currently glittered from head to toe and sipping a vodka cranberry like it was a rite of passage.

“This is exactly what you need,” Nia said over the music. “One night. No textbooks. No overthinking. Just vibes.”

You weren’t sure if just vibes was medically advisable, but you’d worn your favorite jeans, a cute little corset Nia let you borrow, and actually styled your hair. So you were halfway committed.

And then he appeared.

Taehyung, standing in the hallway like he knew he was the main character—dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, rings glinting in the dim light, curls wild and his grin wilder. Jimin was beside him, all smirks and shoulder shrugs, clearly playing wingman for the night.

You caught Taehyung’s eye.

And he lit up.

“Look who finally decided to be fun,” he said, weaving through the crowd like he had a spotlight following him.

“You’re everywhere,” you muttered, sipping your drink.

“I contain multitudes,” he replied, offering his hand with zero irony. “Dance with me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just one song?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet…”

You let him pull you in.

Just one song. One dumb, thumping remix with bass that shook the walls and made your teeth buzz. Taehyung danced like no one was watching—and if they were, he didn’t care. Loose, confident, chaotic in a way that made you laugh more than you should’ve. He pulled you into it without thinking—hands on your waist, forehead nearly brushing yours, smiling like you were already his.

Then it turned into two songs. Then three.

You pretended not to notice how close he got. How your body moved in sync with his. How his hands never strayed too far, but also never let you drift.

When the music shifted into something slower, more nostalgic, you ducked out with a mumbled, “Need some air.”

Taehyung followed. Of course he did.

The backyard was quieter. Cooler. The string lights hanging between trees buzzed softly, casting a golden halo around everything. You leaned against the porch railing, drink in hand, and tried to act unaffected.

“You’re good at that,” he said after a minute.

“At what?”

“Pretending you’re not having a good time.”

You glanced at him. “Maybe I’m not.”

“You are.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You laughed three times. Snorted once. That’s a strong indicator of fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I’m just easy to amuse.”

“I don’t think you’re easy at all.”

That pulled your gaze back to him.

Taehyung didn’t look away.

He wasn’t smiling now. Not exactly. Just… watching you, like he was waiting for something.

“Why me?” you asked softly. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Not like this.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I mean it.”

The words sat heavy in the air between you. Not overwhelming. Not demanding. Just there—a quiet truth.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

So you leaned in, just a little. Just close enough to tempt fate.

And then Nia called your name from across the yard, voice bright and urgent.

You stepped back.

Just enough to make Taehyung smile—small, understanding, but with a flicker of disappointment he didn’t quite hide.

“Almost,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You didn’t respond.

Because almost was already more than you meant to give him.

^^^^^^^^

Inside, as the night wore on, Taehyung sat on the arm of the couch nursing a beer while Jimin hovered beside him.

“You okay?” Jimin asked, nodding toward the door you’d walked through.

“Yeah,” Taehyung said, eyes still on the space where you’d stood. “She makes me nervous in a good way.”

“Oof, that’s the scariest kind.”

Taehyung nodded. “I know.”

^^^^^^^^

The first day of summer was supposed to taste like freedom.

You’d graduated with honors, your cap decorated in glitter and photos, your cheeks sore from smiling. The night before, you and Damian had promised to meet at your favorite coffee spot to plan everything—dorm lists, road trip playlists, countdowns until move-in day. You were so ready for the next chapter.

He was fifteen minutes late.

That should’ve been your first clue.

You were halfway through your iced vanilla latte when he finally walked in, hands in his pockets, hair still wet from his morning shower. He didn’t kiss your cheek like he usually did. Didn’t smile like he had the night before when you slow danced to no music in your driveway.

He just slid into the booth across from you and looked down at his hands.

You remember the cold bloom of instinct in your gut. The kind that whispered, something’s wrong before anything had even been said.

“Babe?”

He didn’t look at you.

“I got into UCLA,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“I applied in secret. Early decision.”

“But…” You laughed, confused. “We were going to State. We both committed—”

“I didn’t sign anything,” he cut in. “I waited.”

The room spun.

“Why?”

Damian looked up then. Not cruel. Not angry. Just… removed. Like he’d already made peace with the explosion and was just waiting for the dust to settle.

“Because high school sweethearts is cute,” he said softly. “But it’s also… high school. I want to see what college has to offer.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling like your lungs had forgotten how to breathe right.

“I don’t want to be tied down,” he added.

That part hit the hardest.

Like all your plans—every phone call about future dorm setups, every hand squeezing moment when college felt scary—had been your fantasy, and he’d just been playing along. Like your love had an expiration date, and he’d already circled it in red.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and asked the only question you could manage:

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess… today.”

You nodded slowly, as if your heart hadn’t just been cracked down the middle.

“You could’ve just said you didn’t love me anymore.”

He winced. “It’s not that. I do. Just… not enough to stay.”

That was worse.

You didn’t cry. Not in the booth. Not in front of him.

You just stood, left your untouched drink on the table, and walked out into the summer sun that suddenly felt all wrong.

That night, you packed away every picture. Deleted every message. Blocked his name from your college folder. And when Nia came over with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of tequila, you didn’t say a word.

You just shook your head and promised yourself:

Next time, it’ll be different.

If there even was a next time.

^^^^^^^^

The rain started around sunset—soft at first, like a whisper against the windows. But by nightfall, it was pouring, steady and rhythmic, turning the sidewalks into mirrors and the air into something heavier.

You were at the library, third floor, tucked into a booth that always smelled faintly of printer ink and pencil shavings. A hoodie swallowed your frame, sleeves pushed past your knuckles as you clicked between tabs on your laptop. Notes, study guide, quizlet, back to notes.

You were trying to be productive.

Trying not to think.

But the words blurred together, and your chest felt tight, and your coffee had gone cold an hour ago.

You thought about texting Nia.

You thought about crying.

Instead, you just sat there, headphones in but no music playing, watching the cursor blink like it knew how close you were to breaking.

I want to see what college has to offer.

You could still hear Damian’s voice. Calm. Certain. As if you hadn’t spent two years memorizing each other’s schedules and picking out twin bedspreads. As if you hadn’t built an entire future together only for him to drop it in your lap like a stone and walk away.

You blinked fast. Swallowed hard.

And then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You looked up.

Taehyung.

Dripping wet from the rain, curls flattened against his forehead, hoodie dark with water around the shoulders. He grinned through it all, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a lumpy, too bright bouquet in the other.

“Emergency snack delivery,” he said, voice muffled by the air pods still in your ears.

You tugged one out. “What are you—how did you know I was here?”

“You’re a creature of habit,” he said. “And you said you study here during exam week.”

“I could’ve gone anywhere.”

He shrugged. “But you didn’t.”

He sat across from you, no hesitation, already pulling things from the bag: chocolate covered pretzels, sour gummy worms, two croissants, and a lavender canned tea. Then—like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat—he produced a single, rainbow gel pen.

You blinked. “Is that mine?”

“I found it in your psych notes.”

“You stole my pen?”

“Borrowed. For morale.”

You stared at the offerings on the table.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now. The smile hadn’t disappeared, but it had softened, curved at the edges with concern.

You hesitated. “Just tired.”

He nodded. “Tired sucks.”

And somehow, that made it easier.

You let him stay. Let him quiz you in a silly voice. Let him dramatically act out memory devices like you were cramming for a Broadway audition instead of a midterm. You laughed. More than once. He caught you smiling down at your notebook and said nothing—but he noticed.

Like he always did

At one point, you let your head fall against the window. He reached across the table and tucked your pen behind your ear like it was something precious. His fingers brushed your cheek, just for a second, and your whole body sparked like a struck match.

You didn’t pull away.

But you didn’t lean in either.

He didn’t push.

When the library announced its closing, you packed your things slowly. He waited. Held your laptop sleeve without asking. Walked beside you in the rain without offering an umbrella—just held it high enough for both of you to huddle under.

When you got to your door, you turned to face him.

The porch light flickered above your head. He looked at you like you were made of stardust.

“This the part where you kiss me?” you asked softly.

Taehyung smiled. “Nope.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because I want you to kiss me,” he said. “When you’re ready. When it’s real. When it’s yours.”

You looked at him.

The kindness. The care. The way he never pushed, never pried, never reached for more than you offered.

Your chest ached.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know,” he repeated. “But I can promise I’ll stay.”

You blinked.

He smiled. Tipped his head. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

And he walked away.

You stood in the doorway for a long time after he was gone.

Not thinking.

Just feeling.

^^^^^^^^

The text came on a Tuesday, sandwiched between a group project meltdown and a mediocre dining hall salad.

Taehyung [1:04 PM] important question: do you believe in spontaneous joy, glitter, and road trips with questionable wifi? 🙃

You frowned.

You [1:06 PM] …what are you planning?

Taehyung [1:06 PM] music festival. this weekend. us, jimin, nia, a few others. tents. loud music. bad decisions. snacks. it’s practically self care!

You didn’t answer right away. He waited a whole ten minutes before sending another.

Taehyung [1:16 PM] i’ll bring gummy bears and the collapsible desk. and i’ll make you a playlist. please come🙏🏻 i want to dance with you under ugly lights and yell lyrics off key.

You stared at the message longer than you should have.

Nia leaned over your tray. “Is that the chaotic guy with the eyebrows and the emotional support snacks?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want to.”

“…Yeah. I think I do.”

^^^^^^^^

On Friday, when the sun was just barely making its daily debut, you stood on the curb in front of the dorm with your duffel bag, hoodie pulled tight, trying not to look excited.

The van was chaos in motion—Jimin behind the wheel in yellow sunglasses and a mesh tank top, Hoseok in the passenger seat playing DJ, and Taehyung in the backseat waving at you like he hadn’t seen you in years instead of twelve hours ago.

“You came!” he shouted, throwing the side door open like a golden retriever greeting its favorite person. “You came.”

“You said there’d be snacks.”

“I said there’d be magic. Snacks are a bonus.”

Nia climbed in behind you, flopping over a pile of blankets. Someone tossed you a warm muffin. Hoseok handed you a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, no explanation. It was perfect.

^^^^^^^^

The drive was loud, messy, and full of laughter.

They passed around instant cameras and took blurry photos at gas stations. Played Taehyung’s Mixtape Mayhem game, your movie montage song: Cigarette Daydreams; his: SexyBack, with no shame whatsoever. Someone kept losing signal. Someone else lost a shoe.

You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time.

And Taehyung? He watched you with this soft awe, like every time you smiled it made something in him settle deeper. He didn’t cling, didn’t crowd, just found you with his gaze every so often like he couldn’t not.

When you sang along to a song you loved, he watched your mouth like it was art.

When your head drooped against the window, he tucked your hoodie hood up without a word.

And when you caught him looking?

He just smiled.

^^^^^^^^

The air buzzed with bass and heat, the kind of energy that stuck to your skin. You pitched tents between strangers and strung fairy lights between trees. Someone spilled a soda on your blanket. Jimin got into a debate with a guy selling handmade jewelry about astrology. You danced under colored lights and neon fog and laughed until your cheeks hurt.

At some point, Taehyung disappeared and returned with glow stick crowns. He placed yours gently on your head like it was something precious.

“There,” he said. “Royalty.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

He blinked. “Am I not always?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

^^^^^^^^

Later that night the fire pit had burned down to a sleepy glow. Everyone else had drifted off to their tents, leaving you and Taehyung in the silence of stars and smoke.

You lay on your back in the grass, his arm close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Your glow stick crown still flickered faintly. His curls were tucked under a beanie now, damp from sweat and fog.

“Tell me something real,” he said suddenly.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Anything. Doesn’t have to be deep. Just real.”

You hesitated for a few minutes before deciding to push past the fear.

“I think…I’m afraid of how much I like you.”

His breath hitched.

You didn’t look at him.

You just stared at the sky and added, “Because last time I liked someone this much… it didn’t end well.”

He was quiet.

Then his fingers found yours in the grass, slow and careful.

“I’m not him,” he said.

You finally turned.

“I know,” you said. “That’s what scares me.”

He didn’t kiss you.

He didn’t rush.

He just held your hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like maybe you’d been holding his this whole time without realizing it.

^^^^^^^^

Finals week feels like the inside of a pressure cooker.

Sleep becomes optional. Meals turn into vending machine runs and half eaten granola bars that disappear somewhere in your bag. The library is open 24/7, and somehow still always full. Even Taehyung looks frayed at the edges—hoodie pulled low, dark circles under his eyes, curls tucked under a beanie he refuses to take off.

But he still checks in.

He texts you every day. Drops off snacks when you forget to eat. Leaves sticky notes in your textbooks with doodles and cheesy pep talks in his messy handwriting. On the morning of your hardest exam, you find a neon green post it tucked into your notebook:

you’re gonna crush this. and when you do, i’m taking you to celebrate. wear something that makes me weak.

You laugh out loud. Then immediately choke on your coffee and have to explain to your roommate why you’re smiling like the post it just confessed its love to you.

^^^^^^^^

It was past one in the morning, and the world outside your window had gone still.

Finals were less than two days away, your laptop fan was groaning like it was on its last breath, and your study guide looked like a crime scene—scribbled notes, scratched out equations, desperate reminders written in red pen.

You sat on your bedroom floor, a monstrously oversized t-shirt, bare legs tangled in a blanket, surrounded by empty coffee cups and open tabs you couldn’t bring yourself to close.

Your brain was fogged.

Your chest was tight.

The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.

You stared down at the mess of your planner, blinking back the hot sting in your eyes, and then reached for your phone without even thinking.

You [1:23 AM] can you come over..if you’re awake

You didn’t expect an answer right away. But thirty seconds later his reply came.

Taehyung [1:23AM] already halfway there

^^^^^^^^

You barely had time to drag your fingers through your hair and put on some shorts before there was a knock on the door.

You opened it to find him standing there in gray slacks and a too big sweater, and his backpack hanging off one shoulder like he’d come from war.

“Hi,” he said, voice soft.

You just nodded and stepped aside.

He looked around your room—saw the chaos, the barely contained panic—and didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he set his bag down, pulled out a warm croissant wrapped in foil and a little folded paper crane he’d clearly scribbled something onto.

You opened it.

you’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. let’s keep the streak going.

The tears came so fast you didn’t even feel them build.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered.

Taehyung was already crossing the room.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, pulling you into his arms like he’d done it a thousand times. “You’re just tired. You’ve been carrying the world on your back for weeks. Let someone hold it with you for a minute.”

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in that warm, cozy scent that had become your favorite thing.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask for anything in return. Just rubbed your back slowly and let you fall apart.

When the tears slowed and the silence stretched, he spoke again—low and gentle.

“Can I say something, or will it make you spiral more?”

You sniffed. “Depends. Are you about to tell me you failed an exam?”

He smiled against your hair. “No. I was gonna tell you I think I’m falling in love with you.”

You froze.

Not in a bad way. Just in that whole body still way that happens when something hits too deep to move.

You leaned back just enough to look at him.

“Why would you say that now?”

“Because I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he said, searching your face. “And because I think you need to hear something true right now. Even if it’s scary.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

And then slowly, carefully.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t cinematic, No swelling orchestra, no perfectly timed wind. Just his sweater against your skin, your hands in his hair at the nape of his neck, your breath hitching when he cupped your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you pulled away, he was smiling like he’d just solved a riddle no one else could.

“You… kissed me,” he whispered.

“You said you were waiting,” you murmured back.

“I would’ve waited forever.”

You leaned your forehead against his, voice barely there. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave. Don’t change your mind. Don’t do what he did, please.”

Taehyung kissed your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then your mouth again.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

^^^^^^^^

Finals week hit like a freight train.

The library turned into a second home. Cafeteria food lost what little appeal it had. Everyone walked around with under eye circles and iced coffee IVs. You were running on four hours of sleep, two protein bars, and blind academic panic.

But somehow, Taehyung made it feel almost survivable.

He didn’t hover—he just showed up exactly when you needed him. A text when your brain fogged. A forehead kiss on his way to class. A note slipped into your textbook that read:

you don’t have to do this alone. but I know you can.

Every time you felt yourself unravel, he helped you stitch yourself back together.

And he never asked for anything in return.

^^^^^^^^

The night before your last exam, you sat side by side in his dorm’s common room, surrounded by half open notebooks and the distant sound of someone crying over a chemistry final. Your head rested against his shoulder, your body warm beneath a shared blanket.

You hadn’t kissed again since that night.

Not because you didn’t want to—but because something about the pause felt sacred. Like the next time it happened, it would mean everything.

“I had a dream last night,” you whispered. “That we were back at the café. You walked in and didn’t recognize me.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe because I wasn’t… this version of me. I was still the girl from the first day of summer. Still waiting to be chosen.”

He turned toward you, eyes soft. “I’ve been choosing you since the second I saw you.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Because the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full of everything.

He reached for your hand, weaving your fingers together slowly.

“I know you were hurt,” he said quietly. “And I know I can’t erase that. But I swear, every part of me wants to give you something better. Softer. Real.”

You looked at him.

At the guy who bought you croissants just to learn your name.

At the guy who stayed.

Who always stayed.

“Ask me again,” you said.

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“Ask me again to go out with you.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sure smile.

“Will you go out with me?”

You leaned in.

Kissed him like you were sealing something that had already been written in stone and yet brand new at the same time.

“Yes.”

^^^^^^^^

Two days later on the campus lawn, post exams, the sun was shining too bright. Students were lounging like survivors after battle. Nia had collapsed onto a blanket with iced tea and a victory playlist.

You were half asleep, head in Taehyung’s lap, as he read a graphic novel with one hand and played with your curls with the other.

“So what now?” you mumbled.

“Now?” he said. “Now we do summer. We do late night drives and brunch and museums and maybe even a weekend at that lake house my cousin keeps bragging about.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” he said. “And it’s all with you.”

You closed your eyes, smiling.

Because for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.

It felt like a promise.

^^^^^^^^

You didn’t even need a destination.

Just Taehyung behind the wheel of his silver coupe, music low, the windows cracked open to let in the breeze. The sky stretched wide overhead, pale blue with streaks of clouds that looked like brushstrokes.

“You packed four pairs of jeans,” he said, glancing at your duffel bag in the backseat. “We’re gone for two days.”

“I like options,” you replied, flicking his sunglasses down over his eyes. “And you brought five different notebooks.”

“Those are creative tools.”

“Sure.”

He grinned, reaching for your hand across the console. His fingers laced with yours so naturally it felt like you’d always done it.

The road was empty. Just the two of you, the hum of the tires, and a playlist you built together that morning—equal parts indie slow burn, R&B, and old songs you both secretly knew every word to.

You leaned your head out the window and yelled into the wind just to feel it bite at your cheeks.

Taehyung watched you with a smile that made your stomach dip.

“Wanna stop?” he asked after a while, eyes flicking toward a peeling road sign that read:

EXIT 41 – Scenic Overlook | Fruit Stand | Antique Store

“Fruit stand?”

He wiggled his brows. “Adventure.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But if this turns into a weird horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind.”

“Noted,” he said, already flipping on the turn signal.

^^^^^^^^

Twenty minutes later you stood at the edge of a hill, hair whipping in the breeze, holding a strawberry soda in one hand and a bag of peaches in the other.

The overlook was quiet, just a small gravel lot with a single picnic table and a stunning view of rolling hills and wide open sky. The woman at the fruit stand had called you two honeymooners and given you an extra apple “just in case.”

Taehyung climbed onto the table and stretched his arms behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to make you look away and then look back a second later.

“This feels fake,” you said, settling beside him.

“What does?”

“This.” You gestured at the view. “Us. The quiet. Everything.”

“It’s real,” he said simply. “Just rare.”

You sat in silence for a while, sharing sips of soda and stealing bites of fruit, letting your bodies lean into each other without needing to say anything.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Marry me.”

You choked.

Taehyung was grinning, not serious, but not exactly joking either.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Someday. If you’re bored. If you need someone to keep bringing you snacks and calling you pretty forever.”

You looked at him.

At his messy curls and his sun kissed skin and the way he was watching you like he knew how to wait a lifetime for the right moment.

And for the first time, the idea didn’t terrify you.

It made your heart ache in a way that felt good.

“Maybe,” you said.

“Maybe?”

“Ask me again at another fruit stand.”

He leaned in, kissed your temple, and whispered, “Deal.”

| 3 years later |

The first chill of autumn always brought you back to the beginning.

It made the air sharper. The coffee stronger. The campus quieter, like it was exhaling after the noise of summer. And tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore, Bean There Café still looked the same—wobbly table legs, moody lighting, a playlist that always seemed to know how you were feeling.

Table Four hadn’t changed.

Still near the window. Still a little crooked. Still yours.

Taehyung sat sideways in his chair, sketchbook resting on his knee, his left foot nudging yours under the table every few minutes like he couldn’t help it. His curls were longer now, his rings flashier. But his smile? Still exactly the same.

Across from him, you were highlighting a research article, one AirPod in, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder in that way that always made him pause.

He watched you for a long time before speaking.

“You’re really gonna make me sit here and suffer without saying hi to me properly, baby?”

You didn’t look up. “We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. That’s twenty minutes of missed affection. I’m traumatized.”

You set your pen down and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a sticker or a kiss?”

“Yes.”

You leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.

“Greedy,” you said.

“Hopeless,” he corrected. “Hopelessly greedy for you.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, and Taehyung felt something settle in his chest like a song finishing its final note.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper—worn at the edges, carefully smoothed out. He slid it across the table without ceremony.

You opened it slowly.

Inside was a new sketch. A recreation of Table Four—but not the one from the past. This time, there were two mugs. A laptop. Your favorite pen. A shared pastry. You were looking down, focused. Taehyung had drawn himself mid smile, eyes only on you.

In the corner, in soft graphite:

Still my favorite seat in the world.

You blinked hard.

“This is unfair,” you whispered.

“It’s accurate,” he said, already reaching for your hand. “You saved my heart when I didn’t even realize I’d given it away.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest.”

You looked up at him. Your Taehyung. The man who once brought you croissants for no reason. Who waited. Who never asked for more than you could give, but always gave you more than you knew to want.

You squeezed his hand.

“I’m glad I sat down that day.”

“I’m glad I saw you.”

Outside, the wind rustled golden leaves against the glass. Someone near the register was humming along to a soft acoustic cover of a love song you both knew. The coffee still wasn’t great. The wi-fi still glitched near the counter. But none of it mattered.

Because this table—this moment—this love?

It was yours.

And it always would be.

| 6 years later |

It was a Thursday night in late spring, and the city had finally started to bloom again.

You and Taehyung had gone to dinner at your favorite spot—quiet, candlelit, familiar. He’d been soft all evening, affectionate in that barely contained way he got when something was brewing behind his eyes. The kind of soft where his hand found your lower back for no reason. The kind of soft where his eyes never stopped smiling, even when his mouth did.

“I still say I could’ve made better risotto,” you teased, tugging on his sleeve as the two of you walked back toward the car.

“Untrue,” he said. “You would’ve burned the pan and added too much salt.”

You gasped. “You love my over salted cooking.”

“I love you, baby,” he corrected. “The cooking is a side quest.”

He kissed your temple and opened the passenger door for you, sliding into the driver’s side a second later like he hadn’t been checking the time on his phone every five minutes during dinner.

You didn’t notice.

Too busy pulling off your earrings and mumbling about whether or not you left the porch light on back at the townhouse.

^^^^^^^^

Ten minutes into the drive, you pass it.

A fruit stand.

Small, rustic. Just off the edge of a quiet road near your neighborhood. The wood was painted with soft lavender accents and little twinkle lights strung above it. There was a handwritten chalkboard that read:

Fresh Strawberries • Homemade Peach Jam • Love Optional

You blinked. “That… wasn’t here last week.”

Taehyung’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Wanna stop?”

You hesitated.

He looked over, a small, unreadable smile pulling at his lips. “Adventure?”

Your heart kicked up—familiar, fond, warm.

You smiled. “Sure. But if this is another horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind again.”

“My beautiful creature of habit.”

^^^^^^^^

The stand looked even more whimsical up close. There were bunches of baby’s breath in tiny mason jars, a crate of freshly baked mini pies, and baskets of strawberries that still smelled like sun.

You wandered toward a basket.

Taehyung stayed a few steps behind.

You reached for a peach. “This is so weird, who puts a random fruit—?”

When you turned, he wasn’t beside you.

He was kneeling.

One knee to the earth. Holding a ring box that looked like it had been in his pocket for weeks, like it had been waiting for the right moment. For the right stand.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You barely registered the wind.

Or the smell of strawberries.

Or the sound of the breeze rattling the twinkle lights.

“I asked you once at a fruit stand if you’d marry me,” Taehyung said, voice quiet but steady. “You said to ask again someday. At another stand.”

You blinked fast. “Tae—”

“I knew then. I knew before then. Before croissants. Before gummy bears. Before that first party and the first road trip and the first kiss you gave me when you didn’t even believe in love anymore.”

His voice cracked.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until a tear landed on your thumb.

Taehyung smiled—shaky, bright. “I’ve spent every day since just being lucky enough to love you.”

The ring was delicate. Gold band with a peach colored diamond. Your style, down to the last glimmer.

“So now,” he continued, “I’m asking again. One more time, with no expiration date, no more waiting.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining.

“Will you marry me?”

Your knees gave a little.

You nodded, too fast. “Yes. Y-Yes, I will.”

The ring slid onto your finger like it had always belonged there.

You barely had time to breathe before Nia screamed from behind a car, “SHE SAID YES, Y’ALL—COME ON!”

Laughter and cheers exploded around you.

From behind every parked car friends and family poured out, cheering and shouting, phones up, cameras flashing. Jimin was in tears. Hoseok threw confetti that stuck in Taehyung’s hair. Seokjin was already handing out mini champagne bottles.

You covered your mouth in disbelief as your world rushed forward in color and light.

Taehyung pulled you into his chest, arms around your waist, spinning you slightly.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered into his shoulder.

“I would’ve shut down the whole city if you asked,” he said. “But this felt more like us.”

And it did.

A quiet road.

A handmade sign.

The kind of love that started with a croissant and a ‘maybe’ at table four.

masterlist

[notkrispy]

original post [x]

[notkrispy]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (3)

being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder. previous chapter + masterlist.

💰 Expense report filed by mafia financial officer, Lee Seokmin

SUBJECT: Personal Expenditures – S.Coups re: Civilian Target

CATEGORY: GIFTS / SURPRISES

Custom Silk Scarf (Monogrammed with "S.C.") – $1,350.00 └ Ordered from Paris boutique. Civilian target wore it once, commented: "It's soft, but why is his name on it?"

Limited Edition Vinyl Record (Frank Ocean – Blonde) – $880.00 └ Gifted after argument #7. Civilian target was seen smiling while playing track 14.

Midnight Ice Cream Delivery – From Rome, Italy – $4,700.00 (incl. private courier) └ Civilian target said: "You could've just gotten Häagen-Dazs." Boss replied: "This has basil. It’s romantic."

CATEGORY: DAMAGE CONTROL / APOLOGIES

Floral Arrangements (x12) from 12 Different Florists – $2,160.00 └ Delivered over 48 hours post-miscommunication re: "flirting waiter" incident. One bouquet was left untouched in the hallway. The rest were used as Instagram story props.

Therapist Retainer (Anonymous Booking, Civilian Target) – $3,000.00 └ Civilian target has not claimed these sessions. Boss insists it's "just in case she realizes she needs help processing me."

Reimbursement for Civilian Target’s Broken Mug (accidentally knocked over during jealous argument) – $25.00 └ Mug was shaped like a cat. Boss replaced it with an expensive glass tumbler. Civilian target was not amused.

CATEGORY: SMALL & QUESTIONABLE EXPENSES

Custom Engraved Bullet Pendant ("So You Think I’m Scary, Huh?") – $300.00 └ Intended as ironic gift. Civilian target laughed, wore it once to annoy him. Boss framed photo.

Spotify Premium (Family Plan – Only One Member) – $15.99/mo └ Boss created 17hr playlist titled "if i die it’s her fault but i’d still thank her." Civilian target unknowingly listens to it often.

Gluten-Free Baking Class (Online, Gifted to Civilian Target’s Aunt) – $220.00 └ She mentioned her aunt wanted it. He took notes. Civilian target unaware of mafia-funded culinary education in progress.

Donation to Shelter Where Civilian Target Volunteers – $5,000.00 └ Made anonymously. Boss requested they name a puppy after her. They did. Civilian target unsure why a rottweiler named "Beloved" exists.

CATEGORY: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL SPENDING

Rental of Entire Rooftop Restaurant for "Casual Talk" – $12,000.00 └ Civilian target refused to show up. Ate ramen alone at home. Boss sat through three-course meal with two phones: one for business, one specifically for her texts and calls.

Suit Tailoring (New Lapels for Better Hug Experience) – $900.00 └ Boss: "She said my suits were stiff. I made them hug-friendly."

Jet Fuel Surcharge – Roundtrip to Seoul, 3 hours total visit – $15,700.00 └ Purpose: "To see her smile."

TOTAL EXPENSES TO DATE: $49,250.99

RECOMMENDATION/S: Immediate financial intervention or a mandatory sit-down with Boss regarding boundaries, budgets, and basic human dating behavior.

👂 Surveillance transcript filed by mafia soldier, Chwe Hansol

DATE RANGE: ███████████-███████████ LOCATION: Civilian Target's Apartment, Unit 13S BUG #7: Living Room Lamp (Active)

TRANSCRIPT 001 – 23:43 HRS

S.COUPS: Why is there a toothbrush that’s not mine in your bathroom? YOU: Because I live here. And sometimes people visit me. It’s called having a life. S.COUPS: Who visits you? Give me names. Socials. Blood types. YOU: You are so exhausting. [SOUND: Footsteps. Fridge opens.] S.COUPS: Don’t change the subject. That toothbrush has a blue handle. Blue is a masculine color. YOU: Oh my god, are you jealous of a toothbrush now? [SOUND: Prolonged silence. Soft muttering.] S.COUPS: ...It’s suspiciously ergonomic.

TRANSCRIPT 004 – 07:12 HRS

YOU: Why are you folding my laundry? S.COUPS: Because you do it wrong. YOU: What does that even mean? S.COUPS: You mix textures. Cotton with wool. It’s chaos. This is what chaos feels like. YOU: You literally blow up cars for a living. S.COUPS: Yeah, but strategically.

TRANSCRIPT 008 – 14:09 HRS

YOU: Why is there a bag of gummy bears on my pillow? S.COUPS: You said you liked them. YOU: Once. In passing. S.COUPS: I take notes. On everything. You also like your coffee with oat milk and you talk in your sleep about octopus documentaries. YOU: That’s creepy. S.COUPS: It’s called “caring.” YOU: It’s called surveillance. [SOUND: Muffled laughing, presumably from YOU.]

TRANSCRIPT 015 – 00:03 HRS

YOU: Did you pick a fight with your own underboss because he liked one of my photos? S.COUPS: He put a heart and a fire emoji. That’s a double reaction. It’s aggressive. YOU: You are so—so emotionally constipated. S.COUPS: You say that like it’s a bad thing. YOU: It is a bad thing! [SOUND: Struggle noises, unclear. Presumed YOU threw a pillow at S.COUPS and he retaliated by tackling YOU on to the couch.] NOTE: Possible physical altercation turns to intimacy. Redacted for discretion.

TRANSCRIPT 017 – 01:26 HRS

YOU: Stop staring at me. S.COUPS: I’m memorizing your face. Don’t make this harder than it is. [SILENCE FOR 13 SECONDS.] YOU: ...Why is there a tiny blinking light in my lamp? S.COUPS: Oh no. YOU: Did you seriously bug my apartment?! S.COUPS: Okay, first of all, you’re being very judgmental right now. YOU: Because you’re a lunatic. S.COUPS: I'll give you one guess as to whose fault is that. YOU: Take the damn bug out of my lamp, you psycho! NOTE: S.COUPS neglected to turn bug off. Argument ensued; redacted for discretion. Intimacy ensued. Also redacted.

END OF AVAILABLE TRANSCRIPT. ADDT'L NOTE: REQUESTING TO BE MOVED OUT OF SURVEILLANCE DIVISON ASAP.

📓 Therapy session notes filed by Dr. Boo Seungkwan, licensed psychiatrist affiliated with ████████ Syndicate

SESSION: 3rd of prescribed 10-week cycle

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS: Patient arrived precisely on time, wearing a tailored black suit, slightly wrinkled as though he'd been pacing before arrival. Hair unkempt, hands clenched for most of the session. Eyes noticeably tired. Declined water. Brought a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, claiming "They calm me down. She likes them too."

Presented with guarded posture, alternating between overconfidence and sudden emotional vulnerability. Exhibits hallmark signs of high-functioning control dependence, paired with emotional suppression and limited interpersonal processing tools.

SESSION THEMES

1. Obsession with Control: Patient admits to bugging the civilian target’s apartment ("It was for her safety") and maintaining a detailed log of her daily habits. Claims these measures are a form of care. When asked what he fears would happen without this control, he replied, "She might stop needing me."

Expressed frustration when civilian target expressed autonomy: "She does things without telling me. Like she has a life or something." Tone was sarcastic but undercut with genuine confusion.

2. Difficulty Processing Emotions

Patient struggles to name his emotions beyond anger and protectiveness. When prompted to describe how he feels when civilian target smiles at him, he paused for 47 seconds before muttering: "Like I'm about to combust, but in a good way?"

Displays discomfort with perceived emotional weakness. Used humor and territorial possessiveness to deflect.

Quote: "She called me emotionally constipated. That's unfair. I feel things. I just don't show them. I'm not a chihuahua in a sweater." (Analogy unclear.)

3. Devotion to Civilian Target

His attachment is intense and deeply internalized. He referenced at least eight specific events he organized to make her life easier, ranging from "tailoring suit lapels for better hugs" to "funding her aunt’s gluten-free hobby."

Refers to her as "the only thing that makes me think twice before pulling a trigger."

Appears to be undergoing identity shift: from feared mafia boss to a man attempting—often poorly—to be emotionally available. Indicates willingness to grow, albeit via unconventional and often unhinged methods.

Notable Quote: "I don't know what being a boyfriend means. But if it means checking all her windows are locked and ordering her ice cream from Italy when she's sad, then I'm already trying."

TREATMENT PLAN

Begin cognitive restructuring around concepts of emotional intimacy vs. surveillance.

Introduce grounding techniques for obsessive behaviors.

Assign weekly "emotional vocabulary" journaling.

Strongly recommend cessation of all illegal tracking devices.

PROGNOSIS: Patient displays exceptional loyalty, obsessive commitment, and a deep desire to improve for the sake of the civilian target. Progress will be slow, as foundational emotional processing tools are underdeveloped. However, signs of potential are present.

Patient left session saying, "Don't tell her I cried. But also, maybe do. I don't know. What would make her like me more?" Then insisted that I forward these notes to her, threatening to cease sessions otherwise. Will have to consult with mafia leadership.

DIAGNOSIS: High-functioning attachment disorder with control dependency and romantic maladjustment. Currently treating with compassion, sarcasm, and an iron will.

NEXT SESSION SCHEDULED: ████████

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[notkrispy]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (2)

as the song goes, you can never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you. or in this case: you're not about to get away from a woman who knows your boba order. previous chapter + masterlist.

🧾 iPhone note of mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Signs CSC is probably in love*

Smiled at his phone today. Not a polite smile. A dumb one. The kind that makes his dimples show.

Forwarded me her text asking if he liked brown sugar boba or taro. Asked what the right answer was. Pretended it was a strategic question. (It was not.)

Replied to her selfie with a thumbs-up. Then stared at the screen for ten whole minutes. The man who makes snitches disappear in under three???

She called him handsome during Tuesday’s drop-off. He didn’t say a word, just blushed. Blushed. Then tripped on the curb. Painful to watch. 🙃🙃🙃

Keeps the cup sleeves from the boba drinks she makes. I found three in his desk drawer. One had her number written in pink pen. He already has her number.....

Denied knowing what her favorite snack was. Later that night, personally threatened a supplier for not having it in stock.

She joked that he was her favorite mafia boss. He muttered "I'm your only mafia boss" under his breath. Looked smug for the rest of the day. This is getting sickening. 🤢

*Never thought I'd see the day.

📁 Mission report filed by mafia soldier Kwon Soonyoung

Mission Report penned by HOSHI Suggested edits, redactions by G4M3B01

Subject: Surveillance – Operation: First Date (S.Coups & ███████, referred to as civilian target) Date: ███████

18:03 – Target (S.Coups) arrives at civilian’s residence at ██████████████, wearing a three-piece suit. No tie. Hair done. Nervous. Spends four minutes fixing collar in side mirror.

18:08 – Civilian exits home wearing a simple dress. Smiles like she’s already won. Calls him "Cheol." He mutters something I can’t hear. Probably already flustered.

18:17 – They arrive at location #1: exclusive rooftop restaurant, namely █████████████. S.Coups booked out the entire place. String quartet. Candlelight. Wine list that costs more than my monthly paycheck.

18:30 – Civilian barely touches the foie gras. Eyes light up at the garlic bread. Tells S.Coups it reminds her of the bakery near her apartment. S.Coups discreetly makes a note on his phone. DINO will probably be sent out to secure the recipe.

18:52 – S.Coups tries to act cool while explaining the city skyline. Civilian leans in close and points out he’s holding the map upside down. S.Coups blushes. Again. S.Coups never blushes.

19:21 – They move to location #2: luxury boat ride along ███████ River. S.Coups helps her aboard. She says "Wow, this is all for me?" and he says "Don’t flatter yourself." But he's smiling. Boat was acquired two days ago explicitly for this purpose. Simp.

19:35 – She makes him sit beside her instead of across. S.Coups stiffens, then leans just slightly closer than necessary. He lets her rest her head on his shoulder. Confirmed: smitten.

19:50 – Boat ride ends. S.Coups guides her to location #3: surprise firework show from ██████████████. She gasps. He watches her the whole time. Not the fireworks.

20:06 – Fireworks end. She thanks him and offers him a candy from her purse. He says he doesn’t like sweets. Eats it anyway. Doesn’t even chew for the first minute.

20:12 – They walk. Civilian finds a stray cat. Names it "Mini Coups." He pretends to be annoyed but watches her pet it for ten minutes.

20:39 – S.Coups drives her home. Opens the door for her. She says, "You’re sweet when you’re not busy threatening people." He scowls. Looks proud anyway.

20:45 – Civilian kisses his cheek. S.Coups stands completely still for seven seconds. Then says, "Tch. Go inside." I have reason to believe she also said ██████████████, because S.Coups stares at her door for seven whole minutes after she closed it on him.

21:01 - S.Coups drives off, with this song blasting from the car. The music was so loud that it could be heard from the street. We get it, man.

Conclusion: S.Coups is completely compromised. Civilian has him wrapped around her finger. Recommend light surveillance moving forward. Also recommend betting pool on when they'll ████.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[notkrispy]

Contract, Cooked & Kissed | C.Seungcheol

Pairing: Chef!Seungcheol × Journalist!Reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 8256 words ; Reading Time: 30-ish mins

Trope: Arranged Marriage | Strangers to Lovers | Mutual Pining | Secret Softies

Warnings: angst, mentions of family pressure, suggestive language, slow burn, Mingyu is cheol's bestie and woozi is the the reader's bestie, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: A rising journalist. A quiet chef. Thrown into a contract marriage to please their families, neither expected the late-night meals, soft silences, or stolen glances. But what happens when pretend becomes too real… and time runs out?

Author’s Note: This one’s for the foodies and the pining girlies. Cheol is soft, hot, and fully whipped—just how we like him. Hope you fall in love bite by bite.

The scent of freshly baked bread hit you before anything else. But it wasn’t the comforting, cozy kind that made you think of home, of cinnamon and shared laughter. No, this was the suffocating kind—the kind that followed a man who showed up forty minutes late to a dinner you didn’t even know was a marriage meeting.

You stared across the meticulously set table, chopsticks frozen mid-air, the half-eaten plate of what your mother had enthusiastically described as "a very auspicious pasta with a secret family sauce" suddenly tasting like ash. The front door creaked open, and in walked him.

Rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms dusted with a fine layer of white. A flour-dusted apron was still tied firmly at his waist, a testament to whatever culinary emergency had delayed him. Dark hair, usually neat in the photos your mother had subtly (and not-so-subtly) shown you, was ruffled like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly in the car. His expression didn’t read "sorry I’m late." More like, “I’d rather be elbow-deep in fish guts than here.”

Same. A silent, emphatic agreement settled in your chest.

Your mother turned to you with that practiced smile—the one she only pulled out when she was scheming, a smile that promised both sugar and a hidden agenda.

“Y/N, darling, this is Seungcheol. Seungcheol, this is my daughter.” Her voice was saccharine sweet, the kind that usually preceded a request to call some distant relative you’d never met.

You managed a tight smile, the muscles in your cheeks protesting the forced pleasantry. “Wow. What a totally casual and not-at-all-orchestrated dinner. The surprise element really adds to the charm.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Did you also get tricked into this elaborate carb-loading session?”

“Absolutely. I was promised jjajangmyeon and a quiet evening with Netflix, not a proposal disguised as a pasta night.”

A snort escaped him, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you. His eyes crinkled at the corners, softening his otherwise sharp features. “Good. Then we’re on the same sinking ship.”

You didn’t expect to laugh. But there it was, bubbling up like a secret understanding between two strangers thrown into the same ridiculous, sauce-splattered situation.

Dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation that felt anything but. Your mom gushed about your burgeoning writing career, exaggerating your freelance articles into the next great literary sensation. His father, a stern-faced man with kind eyes, boasted about his son’s Michelin-starred potential, his words painting a picture of a culinary prodigy. You exchanged increasingly bewildered looks with Seungcheol every five minutes, a silent language passing between you that translated to: is this real life? Are our parents actually serious?

And then came the bombshell, delivered with the same casual sweetness your mother reserved for offering you a second helping of suspiciously healthy vegetables.

“We’ve drawn up a six-month agreement,” your mother said, her smile unwavering. “Live together. Get to know each other. See if… compatibility blossoms. If it doesn’t work, no harm done. We’ll simply consider it a well-intentioned experiment.”

Your wine glass hit the table a little too hard, the clink echoing in the suddenly tense silence. A splash of red stained the white tablecloth like a dramatic punctuation mark. “I’m sorry—what agreement?”

Cheol didn’t look surprised. Just… resigned. A weariness settled on his face, etching lines around his mouth.

“They talked to me about it last week,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the tablecloth. “I said no. Several times.”

“So did I,” you echoed, the absurdity of the situation hitting you with the force of a rogue wave.

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken expectations and parental determination.

Then:

“We’re still doing it,” your mom said, her tone leaving no room for argument. That was that. The finality in her voice was a familiar, frustrating force of nature.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of hushed phone calls between your parents and his, logistical nightmares disguised as helpful suggestions, and a growing sense of surreal detachment. You found yourself signing papers you barely read, nodding along to conversations you only half-heard. It felt like you were sleepwalking through a bizarre play where you’d somehow landed the lead role in a romantic comedy you definitely hadn’t auditioned for.

Then came the day you found yourself standing in a sterile, brightly lit room, the scent of industrial-strength cleaner overpowering even the nervous sweat prickling your skin. A justice of the peace, a woman with tired eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, droned on about the legalities of marriage. Your parents beamed from the front row, their faces radiating a triumphant “we know best” glow. His parents, while less overtly enthusiastic, offered polite, if somewhat strained, smiles.

Beside you stood Seungcheol. He looked… surprisingly calm. He wore a simple but elegant dark suit, the flour long gone, his hair neatly styled. He looked like he belonged here, in this official setting, taking these serious vows. You, on the other hand, felt like an imposter in the borrowed cream dress your mother had insisted on, your hands clammy as you clutched a small bouquet of white roses.

You hadn't had a proposal, no romantic declarations, no whispered promises under a starry sky. Instead, you had a late dinner, a shared sense of being tricked, and a six-month agreement. Yet, here you were, about to legally bind yourself to a man you’d met less than a month ago.

The justice of the peace turned to you. “L/N Y/N, do you take Seungcheol to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Your throat felt dry. You looked at Seungcheol, really looked at him. Beyond the initial annoyance and shared disbelief, you saw a flicker of something… else. A quiet understanding, a shared burden, maybe even a hint of reluctant curiosity.

Taking a deep breath, you said, your voice surprisingly steady, “I do.”

Then it was his turn. “Choi Seungcheol, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

He met your gaze, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t noticed before. There was a seriousness there that went beyond the absurdity of the situation. “I do.”

And just like that, with a few signatures and the exchange of simple, unadorned silver bands that felt more like handcuffs than symbols of love, you were married.

The apartment you moved into together a week later was bigger than you expected. Minimalistic, all neutral tones and clean lines, with a kitchen so pristine it clearly belonged to someone who knew how to use it. Aka, definitely not you.

“You take the left room,” he said, lugging in a surprisingly heavy box labeled “Spices – Handle with Extreme Care.” “I’ll take the right.”

“Thanks. Also, no offense, but if you burn something past midnight and set off the fire alarm, I will throw you and your precious spices and you off the balcony.”

“Fair. And if you leave so much as a single strand of your hair in the drain, I’m reporting you to the housing gods for crimes against plumbing.”

You smiled, a genuine smile this time, as you set your suitcase by the door of your designated room. “Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful fake marriage.”

He turned away, his shoulders slightly hunched as he wrestled with another box. But not before you caught it—a small, real smile playing on his lips.

That night, you lay in bed, the unfamiliar silence of the apartment amplifying the frantic spinning of the ceiling fan. From the kitchen, a soft clinking of pots and pans drifted through the thin walls. Maybe he was cooking, a late-night creation born out of habit and passion. Or maybe, like you, he was stress-baking his way through the sheer, unbelievable reality of it all.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Woozi : please tell me this isn’t real please tell me he’s not hot You sighed, picking up your phone and typing back, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. You: he showed up with flour in his hair and he made me laugh. and yeah… he looked surprisingly decent in a suit today. so yes. I’m doomed.

Deadlines felt less like a ticking clock and more like a pack of rabid badgers gnawing at your sanity. You’d been surgically attached to your laptop for what felt like a geological epoch, the blue light from the screen tattooing itself onto your retinas.

Eight hours. Eight glorious hours spent wrestling with the elusive nuances of Seoul’s underground supper club scene, a world apparently fueled by more secrecy than the CIA and questionable amounts of soju. Your editor, bless their demanding soul, had graced your inbox with a string of three increasingly frantic question marks.

Your stomach, meanwhile, had long since moved past rumbling and was now emitting a low, mournful groan that echoed the general state of your existence. You were too caffeine-addled and deadline-induced to even register hunger as a tangible sensation.

So, when the unmistakable aroma of garlic sautéing in sesame oil began to snake its way under your door and infiltrate your cramped office-slash-bedroom, your initial reaction wasn’t a Pavlovian surge of appetite.

No, it was a sharp pang of guilt, the kind that usually accompanied forgetting your best friend’s birthday or accidentally liking a tweet from 2012. This guilt, however, had a distinctly culinary origin. You knew exactly who was responsible for the tantalizing scent assaulting your senses.

With the slow, deliberate movements of a zombie emerging from its digital grave, you swiveled your chair around.

The kitchen lights blazed with an almost aggressively cheerful brightness, illuminating Seungcheol as he navigated the small space with an unnerving level of calm. Olive oil hissed gently in a pan, a soft sizzle that spoke of practiced hands and controlled heat. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent a shower of perfectly diced carrots into a gentle, aromatic tumble.

He looked… composed. Unflustered. Like he wasn’t currently orchestrating a meal for a roommate who had communicated with him solely through a series of increasingly desperate Slack messages to her editor and the occasional frustrated sigh that probably vibrated through the shared walls.

“I… didn’t ask you to cook,” you mumbled from the hallway, your voice raspy from disuse and the sheer effort of forming coherent words.

He didn’t even glance up, his focus entirely on the sizzling vegetables. “Didn’t ask for your permission either.”

You blinked slowly, the sarcasm bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “Wow. How utterly… romantic. Should I expect a serenade next? Perhaps a sonnet dedicated to the exquisite aroma of sautéed onions?”

“I’m not trying to be romantic,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of any playful inflection. “I’m trying to prevent you from collapsing face-first onto your keyboard and leaving a permanent imprint of the ‘shift’ key on your forehead.”

His bluntness, while undeniably practical, still managed to make your ears burn with a faint blush. You opened your mouth to deliver a suitably withering retort, something about the inherent dangers of unsolicited culinary interventions, but the way he was now meticulously plating fluffy white rice into a bowl stopped you. There was a quiet focus in his movements, a deliberate care that seemed at odds with the forced nature of your cohabitation.

Then, with a silent grace that felt almost theatrical, he slid the filled bowl across the countertop towards your designated spot at the small kitchen table.

You froze, halfway between the hallway and the kitchen. The aroma hit you then, fully, and it was like a punch to the gut. It was your comfort food, the culinary equivalent of a warm hug on a bad day. Soy-braised beef, cooked the way your mom used to make it.

The meat was impossibly tender, glistening with a hint of honey in the rich, savory glaze. And the carrots… the carrots were cut into perfect little stars. Your mom had always insisted on that flourish, a ridiculously time-consuming detail that had annoyed your younger self to no end, but now… now it just felt like a memory, warm and unexpected.

“How did you—?” The question hung in the air, a mixture of disbelief and something akin to… gratitude? You weren’t entirely sure.

He finally wiped his hands on a clean kitchen towel, his expression still neutral. “You mentioned it in passing last week. Something about childhood comfort food and the psychological benefits of star-shaped vegetables. I Googled a bit.”

“You… Googled the recipe of my childhood comfort food?” The absurdity of the situation almost made you laugh, a dry, humorless sound.

You sat down slowly, the wooden chair scraping against the linoleum. You picked up the offered chopsticks, the smooth bamboo feeling strangely foreign in your hand.

You didn’t say thank you. The words felt too inadequate, too… real for this bizarre, orchestrated reality.

But you cleaned the bowl. Every last morsel of tender beef, every star-shaped carrot, every grain of rice soaked in the sweet and savory sauce. You even used a stray piece of lettuce to mop up the remaining glaze, a testament to your unexpected hunger and the undeniable deliciousness of the meal.

Later that night, the glow of your laptop screen finally fading, you padded out of your room in search of water, your bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor. Sleep clung to you like a heavy blanket, blurring the edges of your vision.

The faint sliver of light emanating from beneath Cheol’s closed bedroom door caught your attention. You were about to shuffle past, heading straight for the blessed oblivion of the kitchen sink, when a soft sound made you pause. The rhythmic click-click-click of a mouse. And then… a familiar headline.

Your name.

Curiosity, that insidious little gremlin, nudged you forward. You stepped closer to his door, your ear pressed lightly against the cool wood. The soft glow intensified, illuminating the space just beyond the frame.

He was reading your article. The one that was currently three frantic question marks away from being submitted.

You peeked just enough to see his screen. Your opening paragraph, the one you’d rewritten approximately seventeen times, was highlighted in a soft blue. His head was tilted slightly as he read, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth quirked in that thoughtful way you’d briefly observed during your disastrous first dinner. Then, a small, almost imperceptible huff escaped him. Was he…? Was he actually… smiling?

Panic, swift and sharp, shot through you. You backed away from the door as if it had suddenly become electrified, your bare feet padding silently back towards your own room.

Once inside, you leaned heavily against the closed door, the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

He made you your mom’s ridiculously specific dish.

He was reading your work.

You were so utterly and completely screwed. This wasn't just a bizarre living arrangement anymore. This was… something else. Something unsettlingly domestic. Something that threatened the carefully constructed wall of sarcasm you’d erected around your unwilling participation in this matrimonial farce.

Whereas, cheol's phone kept buzzing.

mingyu: sooooooo mingyu: she licked the plate clean, didn’t she? Those star carrots really did the trick, huh? You're practically a culinary Cupid. cheol: shut up mingyu: OH MY GOD HE RESPONDED. The silent chef speaks! And with such eloquence! This is progress, my friend. Next thing you know, you'll be holding hands and gazing longingly at each other over a shared bowl of tteokbokki. cheol: blocked

This was going to be a long six months. A very, very long six months filled with unexpected acts of kindness, the lingering scent of delicious food, and increasingly uncomfortable eye contact that hinted at a reality far more complicated than a simple agreement.

Next Morning <3

You’d barely managed to peel your eyelids apart when the email notification chimed, a digital herald of the day’s impending absurdity.

Subject: New Series: Love in the Everyday—Couples Who Cook Together, Stay Together Your marriage is adorable. Myself as a editor, I am obsessed. First article & content due next week. Go wild, Mrs. Choi ❤️ Your lovely, Unhinged editor!

You stared at the glowing screen, the word “adorable” practically dripping with saccharine irony. Your contract marriage. Adorable. The sheer audacity of it made you want to bang your head gently against the headboard.

This was supposed to be a strategic alliance, a mutually beneficial arrangement built on tax breaks and convenient cohabitation, devoid of any genuine sentiment. Yet, your professional life was now hinging on convincing the world that you and your fake husband were the poster couple for domestic bliss.

Your life had officially devolved into a poorly written rom-com where the leads were constantly improvising a love story they weren’t actually living.

You found Cheol in the kitchen, a serene island of culinary focus amidst your internal storm. He was meticulously chopping vegetables, the rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of his knife a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in your brain. He looked effortlessly domestic, a stark reminder of the role he was about to play.

“Hey,” you began, the laptop clutched under your arm like a shield against the impending awkwardness. “So, about this video series… the editor really wants us to lean into the ‘adorable married couple’ thing.” You cringed internally at your own words.

He didn’t look up, his concentration unwavering. “Adorable, huh? Should I start wearing matching aprons with little hearts on them?”

“Please, no,” you pleaded. “Just… you know… the usual. Cooking, maybe some light banter. But she specifically mentioned wanting to see the ‘husband and wife dynamic’ shine through.”

Cheol finally paused, wiping his hands on a pristine kitchen towel. “So, more… ‘my wife this’ and ‘my wife that’?”

You nodded, a wave of secondhand embarrassment washing over you. “Pretty much. Apparently, the readers are eating it up.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Eating up a lie. Fascinating.”

“It pays the bills,” you reminded him, a weak justification for the charade.

“True,” he conceded with a sigh. “Alright, Mrs. Choi. Let’s give the people what they apparently crave: a heaping serving of marital fiction.”

The first video shoot felt like a masterclass in forced intimacy. Every time you fumbled a step, Cheol would smoothly step in, his hand briefly covering yours as he corrected your technique, murmuring a casual, “My wife always struggles with this part.” The phrase felt foreign and yet… strangely natural coming from him.

“My wife has a particular fondness for extra garlic,” he’d declare to the camera, adding another clove with a knowing smile that wasn’t directed at you.

“Actually, my husband here sometimes overdoes it,” you’d retort, forcing a playful eye roll that felt about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

By the third video, a strange rhythm had developed. Cheol seamlessly integrated the “my wife” moniker into his explanations, his tone a casual blend of affection and mild exasperation that, you had to admit, sounded surprisingly convincing.

“My wife insists on adding this much chili,” he’d say, holding up a generous pinch of red pepper flakes, a slight shake of his head that somehow conveyed years of loving compromise.

“Well, my husband has the taste buds of a toddler,” you’d fire back, a genuine smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

The fan comments exploded with even more fervor. @ KitchenGoddessFan: OMG the way he says “my wife” # marriedlife # soinlove @ KDramaObsessed: Their chemistry is OFF THE CHARTS! He’s totally whipped for his wife! # husbandgoals @ SwooningStans: Every time he calls her “my wife” I get butterflies! This is the cutest couple ever!

You tried to remain detached, reminding yourself that it was all an act, a carefully constructed performance for an audience that believed your carefully curated online persona. But with each casual “my wife,” a tiny crack seemed to appear in the wall you’d built around your emotions.

One evening, while filming a particularly chaotic attempt at making homemade pasta, flour dusted both of your faces. Cheol reached out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge from your cheek.

“My wife is a disaster in the kitchen,” he said to the camera, his voice softer than usual, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he looked at you.

Your breath hitched. The warmth of his touch lingered, and the casual endearment, spoken so naturally for the camera, resonated in a way it shouldn’t have.

Later, while editing, you replayed that moment countless times. The way his eyes had crinkled at the corners. The almost imperceptible tenderness in his touch. The easy, possessive way he’d said “my wife.”

It was all for show. You knew that. But a small, treacherous part of you couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere beneath the layers of performance, a sliver of something real was starting to emerge.

Your phone buzzed.

Woozi : okay that “my wife” compilation your fans are making is genuinely concerning it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion You: tell me about it i think i need to move to another continent Woozi : maybe just… stop letting him call you his wife so much on camera? You: easier said than done bestie the editor is OBSESSED with the “husband and wife dynamic” i think i’ve created a monster

One month after the “Love in the Everyday” videos had inexplicably turned your bizarre contractual arrangement into internet gold, you found yourself wishing for the sweet oblivion of a root canal. Family gatherings on your mother’s side were less about familial warmth and more about a meticulously orchestrated judgment parade, with you and your life choices invariably taking center stage.

And tonight’s special guest of honor? Your husband. Your arranged husband. Choi Seungcheol. The chef. The infuriatingly talented, quietly observant, and undeniably attractive man who had a disconcerting habit of positioning himself just slightly behind you in social situations, as if unsure if he’d been granted permission to occupy the spotlight.

Apparently, some things never changed, even with a burgeoning online fanbase and articles dissecting your “adorable” marriage.

“Ah, the literary sensation graces us with her presence,” your Aunt Hyemi sang out as she greeted you at the door, her arms opening wide in a gesture that felt more performative than welcoming. “Still churning out those little think pieces that set the internet ablaze, dear?” Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, which held a familiar glint of condescension.

Then, her gaze slid to Cheol, lingering for a moment as if he were an unwelcome piece of furniture she hadn’t noticed until now.

“And the… husband,” she drawled, the word stretched out like a particularly unpleasant note in a poorly sung song. “Still… playing with food?” The implication hung heavy in the air: while you were out conquering the world with your intellect, he was merely toiling away in a kitchen.

Your grip on Cheol’s hand tightened instinctively, a silent offering of solidarity. He, as always, responded with a gentle squeeze and a polite bow, his expression serene.

"Still cooking, yes, Auntie. Someone has to ensure Y/N eats something other than lukewarm coffee and deadline-induced anxiety,” he replied, his tone even and devoid of any defensiveness. “Her work is important. I’m just here to… support her endeavors.” His choice of words, “support her endeavors,” felt deliberately understated, a subtle deflection of the implied slight.

You knew that smile. It was the carefully neutral mask he wore when people became too loud, too invasive, too prone to making assumptions based on outdated societal norms. It was the smile that preceded his polite but firm deflections when people asked him what it felt like to be married to someone “more successful” or when they patted him on the back and told him he’d “landed himself a good one.”

Your aunt tilted her head, her gaze sharp and probing. “Mm. Must be… peculiar, though. To be constantly in your wife’s shadow. A man… defined by his wife’s accomplishments.”

You choked on the lukewarm tea you’d just been handed, a sputtering cough escaping your lips. Cheol, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

He simply chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly genuine despite the underlying tension. “I find immense satisfaction in Y/N’s achievements. Being ‘in her shadow,’ as you so eloquently put it, doesn’t bother me in the slightest. We’re a team. Her wins are my wins.”

You weren’t sure if the sudden heat rising in your chest was pride at his quiet strength or a simmering fury at your aunt’s blatant rudeness. Perhaps it was a volatile cocktail of both.

Your aunt snorted, the sound akin to a cat hacking up a hairball. “That’s what men with no ambition say. A man content to stir pots while his wife ‘conquers the world’ with her… little articles?” She punctuated her statement with a loud, brittle laugh that echoed through the suddenly hushed living room. “He’s practically dirt under your heels, sweetheart. A charity case you keep around for the cooking and… well, whatever else a docile husband is good for.”

The room went utterly silent. Forks paused mid-air, halfway to pursed lips. Snippets of conversations died mid-sentence. Every eye in the room swiveled towards the unfolding drama.

Something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was holding itself together with frayed edges, finally snapped. It didn’t crack subtly; it shattered into a million sharp pieces.

You stepped forward, your grip on Cheol’s hand tightening until your knuckles were white. Your voice, when it finally emerged, was low and sharp, each word clipped and cold as glass. “Say that again, Auntie.”

Your aunt blinked, her painted eyebrows arching in feigned surprise. “What, dear?”

“No, I want you to repeat it. Every single condescending, belittling word you just spewed about my husband. Go on. Say it again so I can hear just how utterly pathetic and small-minded you sound.” The polite facade you usually wore at these gatherings had completely crumbled, replaced by a raw, protective anger.

She recoiled slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Excuse me, young lady—”

“No, you excuse me,” you interrupted, your voice rising slightly. “You think because he chooses to work in a kitchen, because his passion lies in creating something tangible with his hands, that he’s somehow less of a man? He runs a kitchen that feeds hundreds of people every single day. He manages a team of skilled individuals. He knows more about the complexities of human nature in an hour of observing his diners than you’ve learned in a lifetime of judging others over lukewarm tea and stale gossip.”

You could feel Cheol’s steady gaze on your back, a silent presence of support.

“He has more strength, more integrity, more sheer grit in his pinky finger than half the men in this room who are currently trying to impress each other with their fancy business cards and hollow boasts. And if you genuinely believe that the size of someone’s bank account is the sole measure of their worth, the only reason to marry someone—then frankly, Auntie, I’m eternally grateful that your husband chooses to sleep in a different room, likely to escape your poisonous opinions.”

A stunned silence descended upon the room, thick and heavy. Your aunt’s perfectly painted mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Someone coughed nervously. Another relative muttered a low, impressed “damn.”

Cheol was still quiet, but the tips of his ears were flushed a delicate shade of pink, a rare outward display of his usually well-contained emotions.

You took his hand, your grip firm and possessive, and turned to address the rest of the room, your gaze sweeping over their stunned faces. “Anyone else have something they’d like to add? Any other insightful commentary on my husband’s chosen profession or his supposed lack of… backbone?”

They didn’t. The silence remained unbroken, save for the faint clinking of silverware as someone nervously resumed eating.

Later that night, after the tense atmosphere had (somewhat) dissipated and you’d retreated to the guest bedroom, you found a small tray outside your door. On it sat a bowl of still-warm stew, the comforting aroma filling the hallway. A neatly folded napkin lay beside it, and beneath it, a simple, handwritten note.

“You’ve been standing for me since day one. Let me be your place to fall. – Cheol”

You found him in the kitchen, the familiar quiet of his sanctuary enveloping him. His elbows were resting on the cool countertop, his dark hair tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance.

He didn’t look up when you walked in, his posture radiating a quiet weariness. “I didn’t expect you to go that hard.”

“I didn’t expect her to be that… cruel,” you admitted, the anger from earlier having receded, leaving behind a hollow ache.

“She’s your family,” he said softly, a statement of fact, not an excuse.

You walked over to him, the silence between you comfortable and understanding. You pulled out the chair next to his and sat down, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor.

“You’re my husband,” you said, the words spoken softly but with a newfound conviction that surprised even yourself.

Cheol finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours. For the first time since the ink had dried on the ridiculous contract, his carefully guarded expression cracked, just a little. A flicker of something vulnerable, something real, softened the sharp angles of his face. It was as if the lines between the performance and the unexpected connection you shared were finally starting to blur beyond recognition.

He smiled. Not the polite, reserved smile he offered to the world. This was a different smile. A real one. A smile that reached his eyes and held a hint of something… more.

You didn’t sleep in the guest bedroom that night. You found yourself drawn to the quiet comfort of the hallroom's couch. You fell asleep with your legs tangled together, your head resting on his steady chest, his hand gently resting on your waist, a silent promise of support and understanding passing between you in the darkness.

Next day, you find woozi's texts, you had vented to him….you always did. After all he is your bestfriend.

💬 Woozi : You defended him in front of your entire family? Like a freaking knight in shining armor? 💬 You: I wasn’t about to stand there and let her talk about him like he was disposable. Like his worth was tied to a paycheck. 💬 Woozi : Girl. You are so screwed. You know that, right? This isn't just some cooking show anymore.

The silence in the apartment had become a tangible thing, a heavy blanket suffocating the vibrant energy that had once flickered between you. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet of shared understanding, but a hollow echo in the spaces where laughter used to bounce off the walls. A silence that felt stolen, a temporary reprieve before the inevitable storm.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours ticking down with agonizing slowness until the contract expired. Until the apartment keys were exchanged, his worn leather apron would be folded away into a box, the subtle, comforting scent of his cologne would vanish from the bathroom counter, leaving behind only the ghost of his presence.

You’d meticulously constructed a narrative of readiness in your head, a mental checklist of practicalities and detached acceptance.

It was a lie. A pathetic, paper-thin fabrication that crumbled a little more each day.

You felt his absence in the way your hand instinctively reached for his when you navigated crowded spaces, only to grasp empty air. In the way your footsteps hesitated outside his closed bedroom door at night, a silent plea for connection warring with a stubborn refusal to acknowledge the ache in your chest. It intensified with the muffled sound of his laughter during phone calls with Mingyu, a pang of longing twisting in your gut because that unrestrained joy wasn’t directed at you.

And then Woozi, bless her oblivious heart, had dropped a conversational grenade with the casualness of commenting on the weather.

“You gonna write about his Paris job in the last article?”

Your feet had slammed to a halt in the middle of the living room, the mundane task of watering the wilting basil plant suddenly forgotten.

“His what?” The question hung in the air, laced with a dread you couldn’t quite articulate.

Later, with a trembling hand, you’d navigated to his open laptop, the screen glowing with an email that felt like a betrayal waiting to be discovered.

Subject: An Invitation to Paris – Chef Choi Seungcheol Chef Seungcheol, We are thrilled to extend an invitation to join our esteemed team in Paris… Our establishment boasts three Michelin stars… We offer a long-term residency with full creative freedom…

It was everything a chef of his caliber dreamed of, the pinnacle of his profession. A chance to truly shine.

And you hadn’t heard a single word.

He walked in later, the familiar comforting scent of cinnamon and star anise clinging to his clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the familiar dusting of flour, his dark hair endearingly messy, his cheeks flushed a healthy pink from the kitchen’s heat. He looked vibrant, alive, on the cusp of something extraordinary.

You stood frozen at the counter, his laptop screen a silent accusation between you.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his easy smile fading as his gaze landed on the open laptop.

“You got an email,” you stated, your voice flat, devoid of inflection.

Cheol didn’t move, his eyes locked on the glowing screen. “You… you read it?”

You nodded, your fingers gripping the cool edge of the marble countertop as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“You weren’t going to tell me.” The words were a quiet accusation, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

“I was going to,” he said, his voice low, defensive.

“When?” you pressed, the question laced with a bitter edge. “Before you packed your knives? Or after the plane took off, with a casual postcard saying ‘Wish you were here, wife’?”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly. He finally broke eye contact, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your shoulder. “Why does it matter? This… this was always fake. Right?”

The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken, the comfortable warmth replaced by a glacial chill.

“You made it very clear from day one,” he continued, his voice tight. “We do the contract. We play the part. We get what we need. Then we leave. No strings. No… expectations.” He still wouldn’t meet your eyes, and the avoidance felt like a physical blow.

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny the sudden, sharp pain that pierced through your carefully constructed indifference, but the words caught in your throat. He was right. That had been the agreement.

But the agreement hadn’t accounted for the unexpected warmth of his smile, the quiet understanding in his eyes, the way your lives had inexplicably intertwined in the shared space of your fake marriage. The agreement hadn’t factored in the terrifying realization that you were falling for the man you were contractually obligated to leave.

That night, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime of shared meals, you cooked. You hadn’t done it in months. Not since the wedding, a distant, surreal memory. Not since he’d started anticipating your hunger, feeding you without a word, without expectation. Not since you’d realized how much you’d come to rely on his quiet care.

You made something simple, something that tasted of home before home became this strange, temporary space with him. A comforting kimchi jjigae, the familiar spicy aroma filling the silent apartment.

He took one tentative bite, his eyes closed, and then slowly, deliberately, set the spoon down.

“What?” you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the echoing silence.

He shook his head, his gaze distant. “Tastes like… distance.” The word hung in the air, a heavy, unspoken truth.

The apartment became a battleground of unspoken words and averted gazes. He retreated to the comforting chaos of the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans a stark contrast to the heavy silence emanating from your closed bedroom door where you furiously typed words that refused to capture the storm raging within you. Dinners were eaten hours apart, cold and solitary affairs. Your carefully synchronized routines, once interwoven like delicate threads, now lay untangled, frayed at the edges.

But your heart, that stubborn, foolish organ, never stopped searching for him in the empty spaces.

Two nights later, with a heavy heart and trembling fingers, you submitted the final article draft. The one your editor had eagerly anticipated – the grand finale of “Love in the Everyday,” featuring you and your adorably, undeniably real-seeming husband.

But the words on the screen weren’t the lighthearted anecdotes she expected. You didn’t write about the joy of shared cooking, the enthusiastic fan comments, or the viral videos that had chronicled your fabricated romance.

Instead, you wrote about him.

About the quiet strength with which he carried your world, never demanding center stage. About the way he’d wait patiently outside your office with a packed lunch, a silent gesture of care amidst your chaotic deadlines. About the fierce, unwavering support he’d offered that night with your family, standing steadfastly behind you, unflinching in the face of their cruel judgment.

You wrote about the terrifying, gut-wrenching realization of falling in love with someone who had never explicitly stated if he was allowed to love you back, within the confines of your bizarre, temporary arrangement. You poured your raw, vulnerable truth onto the digital page, a confession disguised as a farewell.

You hit send before your courage failed you, the click of the button echoing the finality of the impending goodbye.

💬 Mingyu : You really gonna leave without telling her how you feel, you idiot? She practically went to war for you. 💬 Cheol: What if… what if the ‘my wife’ thing was just for the cameras? What if the comfort food was just a nice gesture? What if I’ve completely misread everything? The contract ends in two weeks, Mingyu. Two weeks and this whole… performance is over. 💬 Mingyu : She made you dinner, Cheol. After finding out you’re leaving for Paris. A home-cooked meal filled with the taste of… distance, according to you. That’s not just a friendly gesture. That’s practically a declaration in Y/N-speak. She might as well have proposed with a side of kimchi. Don’t be a fool.

--

Choi Seungcheol, a man who could coax flavor from the simplest ingredients, had become a master of emotional suppression, a skill honed in the demanding heat of Michelin-starred kitchens where sentimentality was a weakness.

He had meticulously constructed a fortress around his burgeoning affection for Y/N, each brick a layer of logic, practicality, and the stark, unyielding reality of their contractual arrangement. Mingyu’s hopeful pronouncements, filled with the saccharine optimism of a K-drama fanatic, had been dismissed as mere fantasy. Love? A dangerous delusion.

Their entire relationship had been a carefully orchestrated performance, a series of “my wife this” and “my wife that” delivered for the insatiable gaze of the internet, a cruel pantomime of intimacy. The absence of a single genuine kiss, a fundamental act of connection, underscored the hollowness of their charade.

And a persistent, agonizing question gnawed at him: did she even need him beyond the occasional recipe critique and the shared performance of marital bliss?

And so, with a heart heavier than any cast-iron skillet, he had adhered to the cold, unyielding terms of their agreement. On the fourteenth day, the expiration date circled in his mental calendar since their first disastrous dinner, he had placed the signed divorce papers on the pristine kitchen counter, the crisp finality of the document a stark counterpoint to the messy tangle of his emotions.

The silence as he’d closed the apartment door behind him had been a deafening testament to the chasm he was leaving behind. The gleaming promise of a prestigious kitchen in Paris, a lifelong ambition realized, felt like ash in his mouth, the bitter taste of what he was sacrificing lingering on his tongue.

The journey to forget Y/N, the woman he had sworn to protect his heart from, stretched before him, a desolate and seemingly endless road.

Your final article went live at 7:00 a.m., a digital ghost released into the vast echo chamber of the internet. You didn’t refresh the page, didn’t dare to scroll through the comments section, a battlefield of opinions dissecting a love story that had never truly been yours. Woozi’s frantic texts remained unanswered, each unanswered ping a testament to your profound emotional exhaustion.

Instead, you remained on the cold kitchen floor, a fetal curl of despair amidst the sterile normalcy of the apartment. Your gaze was fixed on the empty space where Cheol’s favorite skillet had hung, a phantom weight pulling at your chest.

He was gone. The silence he’d left behind was a suffocating shroud, each breath a painful reminder of his absence. You replayed the soft click of the closing door in your mind, a sound that had severed the fragile thread connecting your lives. The image of his neatly packed suitcase leaning against the door the night before was a fresh wound.

And so, as the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the empty rooms, you didn’t move. You simply let him go, the unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings a leaden weight in your soul. The future stretched before you, a vast and terrifying expanse devoid of his quiet presence.

But what you didn’t know, as you sat amidst the ruins of your almost-love story, was that miles above the earth, suspended in the sterile cabin of an airplane, your raw, vulnerable words were finding their mark.

[YOUR ARTICLE: EXCERPT] "He always used to say the right meal could mend a broken spirit. I was skeptical, a cynic of grand gestures and easy comfort. But then there were nights when the weight of the world pressed down, when the carefully constructed walls around my heart threatened to crumble, and he would simply offer a warm bowl, a silent presence, a tangible act of care that spoke volumes without uttering a single word of forced comfort. He held space for my anxieties, my exhaustion, the messy, unfiltered parts of myself that I usually kept hidden from the world. He saw the cracks in my facade, the vulnerabilities I fought so hard to conceal, and instead of recoiling, he offered a quiet understanding, a shared meal that tasted of acceptance. He never demanded explanations, never pushed for vulnerability I wasn’t ready to offer. He simply was, a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of my emotions. And now, the thought of a future without the comforting aroma of his cooking filling this apartment, without the quiet strength of his presence a constant reassurance, without the unexpected warmth of his hand brushing mine in a fleeting moment of shared laughter… the thought is a vast, echoing emptiness. The idea of navigating life without his quiet support is a chilling prospect, a flavor of profound loss that no amount of professional success or fleeting internet fame can ever hope to mask."

Seungcheol sat rigidly in seat 14A of his first class, the leather of his worn satchel digging into his clenched fists. The plane remained stubbornly grounded, the pre-flight announcements a distant, meaningless drone. Outside the window, the grey expanse of the tarmac mirrored the desolate landscape of his heart.

His gaze was fixed on the illuminated screen of his phone, your words a searing indictment of his carefully constructed logic. Each sentence was a fresh wound, tearing through the layers of denial he had so painstakingly built. He saw the quiet moments you described, the unspoken language of shared meals, the fragile connection he had so readily dismissed as mere performance.

A wave of agonizing regret washed over him, a bitter taste of what he was so carelessly leaving behind. He had prioritized a lifelong ambition over the quiet, unexpected love that had bloomed in the most unlikely of circumstances. He had chosen the glittering promise of Paris over the raw, vulnerable truth reflected in your words.

With a sudden, visceral certainty, he knew he was making a catastrophic mistake. The Michelin stars, the accolades, the culinary triumphs – they all paled in comparison to the simple, profound connection he had shared with you.

He unbuckled his seatbelt with a trembling hand and stood abruptly, his bag clutched like a lifeline.

“Sir, we are now preparing for departure—” the flight attendant began, her voice laced with professional concern.

“I can’t,” he choked out, the words a raw whisper torn from his throat. “I have to go back.” He didn’t meet her questioning gaze, his focus solely on the urgent, desperate need to return to the woman whose quiet strength had unknowingly become his own anchor.

You heard the hesitant knock around noon, a fragile sound that barely penetrated the heavy silence of the apartment. You remained curled on the floor, a hollow ache where your heart used to be.

Then another knock, slightly more insistent, followed by the soft, hesitant murmur of your name. His voice. The sound, so familiar yet so unexpected, sent a jolt of disbelief through your numb despair.

With a slow, almost agonizing movement, you pushed yourself up, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. He stood in the doorway, his breath ragged, his dark hair disheveled, the familiar fabric of his apron peeking out from beneath his rumpled jacket. He looked like a man who had run across continents for a single breath of air.

“I… I came back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity.

A single tear traced a lonely path down your cheek. “Why?” The question was barely a whisper, laced with a fragile hope you didn’t dare to believe.

He held up the small bento box, his hands trembling slightly. The warmth radiating from it was a tangible reminder of his quiet care. Inside, nestled amongst the carefully arranged ingredients, was the simple, comforting stew he had made on the night your carefully constructed world had threatened to shatter.

“I made you this,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Because… because you once said it helped you survive. And… and your words… they made me realize… I don’t want to just survive without you, Y/N.”

He took a hesitant step closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his dark eyes filled with a raw vulnerability you had never witnessed before.

“You… you’re more than just someone I cooked for. You… you help me breathe,” he confessed, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. “I was so afraid… afraid of ruining what we had, even if it was… unconventional. I didn’t know if I was allowed to feel this… this real. I was so terrified of being rejected, of misreading every small gesture…”

Before he could unravel further, you reached for him, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his jacket, your face pressing into the familiar comfort of his chest. The scent of him, a blend of spices and something uniquely his, filled your senses, a lifeline in the suffocating emptiness.

“You always were,” you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears, the words a fragile affirmation of the feelings you had both tried so hard to deny.

He leaned down, his lips finding yours with a desperate tenderness, a kiss that tasted of regret, of longing, and finally, of a hesitant, burgeoning hope. It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful, wasn’t a performance for an audience. It was real, raw, and a promise of something more than a contract.

That night, the silence in the apartment was finally replaced by the comfortable hum of shared presence. He moved around the kitchen with a familiar grace, preparing a simple meal while you sat on the counter, legs swinging, watching him with a newfound tenderness. You stole bites from the simmering pans, and he didn’t stop you, his gaze lingering on you with a soft smile. When you burned your tongue on a particularly eager taste, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that tasted of forgiveness and the promise of a future finally worth savoring.

💬 Woozi : So… real marriage now? No more pretending for the internet? 💬 You: Real everything, Woozi. Finally. And it tastes so much better than any viral video. 💬 Woozi : My best friend’s finally whipped. Beautifully, irrevocably whipped. About damn time.

THE END.

[notkrispy]

double kisses ⟡ csc

wc: 5.7k+ | pair: idol!seungcheol x nonidolf!reader | genre: angst, fluff | tags: 65% sadness & 35% fluff, breaking up but getting back together, mention of divorce as a lighthearted joke, mention of being in the public eye, long-distance relationship, it is cute til it aint and then its cute again

summary: you and seungcheol, the leader of a world-famous boygroup, come up with a signal that he can use to let you know he's thinking of you even in front of the whole world... but is it enough?

authors note: i have reborn. yeah we rushed it but it's still something noooooo?

No one said dating an idol was easy. Probably because doing so would be admitting that they were dating an idol, and risk their partner's career.

However, you are dating an idol, specifically Choi Seungcheol. You of all people would know that it was challenging. Not only was he the leader of Seventeen, but Seventeen was taking over the world at a rapid pace— demand for them was at a high. This meant that you basically had to share your boyfriend.

The irregular schedules made it hard to see him. When he wasn't with you, he was either working or touring. Hours were irregular, and being apart never got easier.

You spent many nights alone wondering if this was all worth it. You had someone who you found to be your other half, who was devoted and loyal to you like no other. You desperately wanted to shout it out from the rooftops:

Seungcheol is mine!

Yet the world would come down upon the two of you if a whisper of your relationship came out. As sweet as Carats are, you feared the paparazzi or sasaengs who would take advantage of something so special to you. Most of all, you didn't want to risk Seungcheol's career. It was a dream that he worked so hard on ever since he was a teenager.

In front of the TV, his body is snuggled to your side, his head a welcome weight on your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek as you glance down at him, to his lashes and down his nose. It's a reminder, physical evidence that he's right here with you.

You aren't paying attention to the screen. You know he isn't either.

His tour starts tomorrow. Two nights in Incheon, then he's off to Japan, and then the rest of the world. Two months of touring in a completely different continent, and then he's back for a month to promote the group's next comeback. Then he's back on tour once more.

You had a list of clocks, all set to each country that he'll be visiting on your phone. The both of you shared locations. You even had the widget app that lets you draw or write little messages to each other.

Seungcheol's left a whole basket full of his clothes for you to wear when you miss him. He has a bottle of your fragrance, one of your beanies, and a pair of your favorite Gentle Monster sunglasses.

The two of you have prepared the best you can to be apart for months on end– little pieces of each other to make up for the oceans that will separate you.

You've been trying to remain optimistic, but you know it wouldn't be enough. Knowing that it's 3am in Singapore won't make up for the loss of his arms around you. Seeing his cute little drawings appear on your phone screen won't make up for the lack of his sweet kisses.

A pressure presses from behind your eyes, and you quickly blink the moisture away. It doesn't work. A tear escapes. And then another. With your eyes squeezed shut, you bury your face in your lover's hair and inhale his scent, the one you've associated to home.

You don't want to cry. To leave Seungcheol with this image of you – unhappy and upset, is cruel. You need to be excited for him to travel the world and meet people who adore his group. He's going to be doing what he loves every night! Being on stage and performing with his family! Why are you crying?!

It's not like he's going to be gone forever. He's told you that he wants a future with you. One day, he'll retire. You'll get married, have a tonne of kids, and travel the world for as long as you want.

You just need to be patient. Don't be selfish.

Except you are.

All you want to do is beg him to stay, not to leave you. You want to tell him that you're scared he'll forget about you. You trust his loyalty, but you can't help the doubt that tickles the back of your mind.

A ragged breath escapes you, and Seungcheol's head immediately jerks up. His hand is on your wrist before you can block your face from his view.

"Baby," he breathes.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimper pathetically, and then you're immediately gathered in his arms. Now that he knows that you're crying, it's as if your body has given you no choice but to let the floodgates open.

You grip his shirt, just above his heart as he tries to soothe you. Sobs rack your body. Seungcheol squeezes you close to him and presses his lips to your head.

Deep down, in the deepest, ugliest depths of your conscience; you want to beg him to quit. You want him out of the public eye and to live a quiet life with you.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you immediately shove it away. Shame floods you. You knew what you were getting into when Seungcheol asked you to be his girlfriend. He warned you.

Don't be selfish.

Your sobs eventually evolve into whimpers and sniffs. Seungcheol's hand smoothes circles across your back, and it helps you pull yourself together.

The two of you are silent for another five minutes. The sounds coming from the TV fills the room, the noise becoming a little clearer while the thundering of your pulse in your ears quiets.

Seungcheol, ever so patient, murmurs 'I love you's repeatedly, and presses kisses into your hairline.

When he sees that you've calmed down, he cautiously asks if you want to talk about it. When you look at him and see the concern in his gaze, you almost cry again.

But you don't. Instead, you nod quietly.

You explain your fears of him being away. Won't he forget about you? Won't the time apart make him bored of you? He'll be too busy to think about you, let alone set time aside for calls and messages.

Seungcheol immediately stops you. His thick brows are furrowed, as he wills you to look at him. He makes sure you're looking into his eyes. "There is never a moment when you aren't on my mind. When I'm on stage, I think about you and hope that you're watching. When I exercise, I think about how I want to impress you with my muscles. When I'm on a plane, I wonder if you've eaten and if you're safe."

Your heart squeezes. Every word sounds like a vow. You believe him. How could you not? His expression is imploring, imploring you to believe him because he desperately wants you to know it's true.

"When I'm with the guys, I think about how much you'd be giggling if you were there to witness their bullshit. They always ask about you, so I can't even forget about you even if I tried! When I go through hair and makeup, I think about the looks that you liked and ask the stylists to recreate it.

I don't want you to ever think that I'll forget about you. You are my life. Everything I do is for you."

Your lips quirk up into a small smile. "You're my life too." Yet, a part of you is still unsure. "Two months is a long time."

"It'll feel like years. But you'll be on my mind for every second."

"I'll be watching every single one of your fancams that gets posted," you warn playfully. "Don't flirt too hard with the fans."

He throws his head back to laugh, and it's a beautiful sound. A giggle of your own joins it.

He looks to you once more, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling with what could only be described as adoration. "We should come up with a signal for me to use."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"You said you'll be watching every fancam of me. Give me a signal I can use to show you that I'm thinking about you."

You suck in a gush of air as your chest warms at his eagerness to make you happy, even while across the world from you.

"You'd do that?"

"You seriously think that I wouldn't? C'mon! Give me something."

You rack your brain for an idea. You think about the little habits that you both have, and ways in which you can turn them into a gesture that can easily be overlooked, but unique enough to know that it's purely for you.

Immediately think about his habit of kissing you twice.

His lips press against yours once. "One kiss for you." He leans in once more. "One kiss for me."

You're walking in the park at night, when there is hardly anyone out. He brings your joined hand to his lips, pressing two kisses into the back of your hand.

As soon as he steps into your apartment after a long day at work, you're in his arms. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and kisses it twice: once to let you know he's home, and again to let him know that he's finally reunited with you.

With your hand flat, you tap your fingers to your lips twice and bring your arm out as if blowing a kiss.

His gaze softens as he recognises where you got your idea from. One for you, and one for me. He double taps his lips then brings his arm away to blow a kiss in one fluid move. "Like this?"

"I think it's good. Looks natural."

⟡

It's the first song of the concert, and as soon as the camera shows Seungcheol on screen, he's sends a double kiss.

You're sitting next to Jeonghan dressed like you're part of the staff. The face mask you have on hides both your identity, and your blush from the cheeky gaze of Seungcheol's right hand man.

"Can't believe you find him more attractive than me," Jeonghan teases. You knock your shoulders with his. "I might be doing my military service, but at least I'll still be in the same country as you."

As the concert goes on you look out for your signal and you're impressed by the way Seungcheol makes it look so natural. Sometimes he only double taps his lips, looking into the camera with a knowing look.

He'll explain to you later on that if he only does the original signal, it is a little repetitive but he still wants you to know that he's thinking of you. You'll tell him that he doesn't have to do it for every song or every time the camera's focused on him. He'll pout and tell you that he's brainstorming of other ways he can do your signal without completely transforming it.

At the end of the concert for the encore, all Seungcheol can do is send double kisses to the camera of every fan he can see. As Aju Nice turns into Fighting, he starts sending double kisses to the upper floors of the stadium.

Finally, he sends them to the balcony. The fans think that he's sending them to Jeonghan but you know they're for you. Some of the other members notice and join him. Most of them simply blow kisses but some of the other observant members, like Mingyu and The8, send double kisses the same way Seungcheol does. Dokyeom in particular makes a show of blowing kisses in an excessively flirtatious manner, only stopping when he sees Vernon’s confused stare from the corner of his eye.

The sight has you feeling like you're glowing. This is enough, you decide. To see Seungcheol surrounded by his dearest friends, doing what makes him happy, reminding you that he's thinking of you.

⟡

"Hi baby!" Seungcheol greets you, it's awfully bright wherever he is. The phone lights up your darkened room.

"Hi Cheollie," your voice is hoarse. It's four in the morning, where you are. You have a few hours of sleep left before you have to wake up for work.

"Shit, were you sleeping?" Seungcheol's concerned expression fills the screen. "I'm sorry baby, I thought the clock said it's four pm in Korea... Go back to sleep baby, I'll call you later."

"Okay... I love you." You nod, already feeling sleep come to you.

"I love you," he responds. Your eyes flutter close. Faintly you hear the sound of Seungcheol kissing the phone twice, and the sombre sound of the call ending.

⟡

"How many fancams did you find today, baby?" Seongcheol asks.

He's snuggled in bed just as you're walking home from work.

"Hmm, around eight I think. I didn't get to look properly because of work," you hum. "I don't think it works for Super."

Seungcheol laughs. "I told you, I'm thinking of an alternative for the cooler songs. I even enlisted Hoshi to help me."

"Great, so now Hoshi knows that I'm insecure and needy," you joke with a pout.

"No love. To Hoshi, I'm the one who's insecure and needy. Did you see my sign during God of Music?"

You laugh, "I did! You were so cute."

Seungcheol preens from your praise. A drunken smile is plastered on his face, one that lets you know that he's exhausted. His words are slurred together. "I miss you baby."

"I miss you more," you promise. "Nine days to go, but who's counting?"

Cheol smirks. "Time will fly. I can't wait to have you sit on my face again."

"Cheol!" You scold.

He cackles into your AirPods. "Hey! Two months is a long time! Lotion and my hand are nothing compared to my gorgeous, stunning girlfriend. You've ruined me."

"Gross!"

"I miss you," Seungcheol sighs again once the comedic air of your banter settles.

I miss you so much more. It hurts so much. I don't ever want you to leave again, you want to say. Spend a week in bed with me to make up for your absence.

Instead, you ask about his schedule once he gets home. You want to see if you'll have at least a full day with him. You don't even need to go out or do anything special. You just want to be with him.

The upcoming comeback schedule ruins your hopes. Every day, there is something happening. Between practice, fittings, music show pre-recording, variety show filming, and radio interviews; the only time you'll get to spend with him is whenever he's home. There are days where he won't even be able to go home to sleep.

You carefully control your facial expressions from showing betrayal, and grief. You nod slowly, and try to give him a genuine smile. He sees through your act, but stays quiet. He knows there's nothing that he can do to help. Instead he tells you a funny story from tour that he hopes will distract you. It works.

⟡

The grief of your heartbreak is consuming.

It's been a week since you and Seungcheol have broken up. A week since he left to go back on tour, and a week since you've told him that you can't handle him leaving again.

You couldn't eat, or sleep, or let alone breathe ever since you left your shared apartment with a duffle bag of your things. Seungcheol insisted that you stay since he's going to be gone for a while anyway but you refuse. To be surrounded by your memories, by what could've been your future, was to torture yourself.

On the day that he flys out, you try to forget that he won't be in the same country as you. The members send you messages as well but you try to be brief in your messages in case they find a way to convince you to get back together with Seungcheol. You try to stay busy, but he seemed to live in your mind.

In the month that he was back in Seoul, you hardly got to see him. His schedule was so jam packed that he might as well have been overseas again. Most nights, sometimes well after midnight, you'd hear him come into your room. He'd press two kisses into your temple, and tell you that he loves you. You'd pretend to be asleep. You didn't want him to deal with you crying after being at work for long hours.

He leaves to sleep on the couch, so as to not disturb you.

In the morning he's gone once more.

You had a massive fight on the last night that Seungcheol was in the country. He tells you that he knows you've been pretending to sleep. You tell him that he should've slept in the same bed as you. You don't know what you want from him, since he can't do anything for you. It's a bitter truth that the both of you have to face. You're the one who brings up the idea of breaking up, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't want Seungcheol to deal with the ball and chain he's left back home. Seungcheol doesn't want you to deal with waiting around for him to return.

Now, an ever repeating cycle continues. You wake up, realize that you and Seungcheol have broken up. You give yourself a minute to cry, or just stare blankly at the bedroom wall. You remember that said wall doesn't belong to the home you had with him. You get out of bed, get ready for work, and then work. Sometimes you have dinner with friends or family. Other times, you have dinner alone. You go for walks, or play badminton. Badminton reminds you of Seungkwan, and thus reminds you of Seungcheol. You stop playing badminton.

Sometimes, the days are long. Those days are the days where the Seungcheol's absence are even more profound and you grieve what could have been your future with him. Other times, the days fly by and you wonder what you're doing with yourself.

On the tenth day since your breakup, you give in to the need to see Seungcheol. You open your social media for the first time in a while and are immediately presented with a fancam of Seungcheol from the night before.

The familiar chaos that is Aju Nice fills your room, as you watch Seungcheol interact with fans. He does his signature lopsided smile, looks into the camera, and sends a double kiss... It's unmistakable. He taps his lips twice, before swinging his arm out towards the camera.

'his energy seems a little down today... i hope he's okay :(', one of the replies say.

'scoups has been interacting with fans like crazy this time! i'm so jealous'

In another fancam, he tilts his head back, taps his lips twice with both of his hands and thrusts them towards the ceiling. Briefly, his face is cracked with vulnerability and remorse before it is fixed back into his charming, idol smile. Some will interpret it as him as thanking whatever deity for allowing him to live the life that he has. Really, he's just asking for a second chance.

Your heart twinges when you watch it happen. More than heartbreak, you feel the devastating guilt of breaking Seungcheol's heart when he's done nothing wrong.

What was the point of breaking up if you were happier together? But that's the thing isn't it? You wouldn't actually be with him. He's timezones away, and hardly around for you to truly feel like you're with him. You couldn't let yourself go through that. However, was not having him at all better than having pieces? Fragments?

Certainly, it hurt to be away from him during the first two months of tour. But now that you've broken up with no contact, the pain is even worse.

⟡

A week later, your phone lights up. You expect it to be your friends, or one of the members who’ve decided to call themselves ‘children of divorce’.

Instead, it’s Seungcheol. Your heart lurches at his name, and your mind shuffles through a million different reasons as to why he's texting you.

cheol 💕: hey, just checking in… how are you?

you: i’m good, how about you? how’s tour?

cheol 💞: could be better. tour’s been fun, just got to italy. the kids want to drag me to the colosseum so i can experience rome the way they did.

Your heart warms, knowing his members are taking good care of him. He tells you about what's been going on. You tell him about work, and what's going on with your own friends. It's like you haven't broken up at all, and you almost ask him to FaceTime before you remember that you're no longer entitled to that privilege.

Ten minutes of catching up quickly pass by before he has to leave. You immediately wonder if he'll text you again soon. Or if you should.

⟡

You're at Dongdaemun, doing some shopping for some new clothes. Retail therapy didn't work, but it was a nice distraction. You try not to think about what Seungcheol would think of the top you're holding up. He'd like it... Not that it matters. You throw the garment over your arm, deciding to buy it but not because your ex would like it.

Ex... You hate having to call him that. You haven't texted him since he reached out after the break up. You try not to be sad about it, you broke up with him after all.

Over your shoulder, you hear someone call your name.

"Mr Choi," you start in surprise.

"Please," his smile is warm. As if he doesn't know his son's heart is broken because of you. "I told you to call me abeoji. Dad."

"Abeoji," you correct yourself hesitantly.

“How are you? It’s been a while,” the man asks gently.

"I'm..." Broken, hollow. Irrevocably sorry for hurting Cheol. "Okay. How are you?"

"Could be better. I'm going to get myself something to drink. Would you care to join me?"

The cafe is located on the upper floors of Hyundai City Outlet. It overlooks the entrance to the building, and allows you to look at Dongdaemun Plaza. At night it's a beautiful sight.

"Seungcheol told me about what happened," Seungcheol's dad says, getting your attention.

Your heart skips a beat upon hearing Seungcheol's name. The hollowness in your chest deepens. Immediately you look down at the beverage in your hands, afraid to see the disdain you expect on his dad's face. "Oh. I-It was the hardest decision I've had to make. I want you to know that I didn't want to hurt him, but I think this is how things should be."

"I know, I warned him about this happening," Mr Choi responds.

You look up at him, and his smile is still warm. There's a tinge of sadness, or pity. But no hatred. The similarities between Seungcheol and his dad has your heart squeezing painfully. You miss him so much.

"I don't know how you do it. Having a son who is hardly there to see you..."

"The way I see it, my blood runs through him, so I'm with him wherever he is... My wife on the other hand? She's my other half. When we're apart, I can't even breathe. As Seungcheol's partner, you must be going through something similar.”

You note the way he doesn't say 'ex'.

"How is he?"

"Looks as heartbroken as you, probably feeling the same as well."

Nausea mixes with the guilt in your stomach. You don't know how to respond.

"I'm not telling you what to do, but wouldn't it be better to have him in your life than not at all?"

At your silence, he sighs and goes quiet for several beats. “His mother and I are flying out to watch his concert in LA in three weeks. If you want to come with us, we’ll get the company to organize something. He doesn’t even have to know. You can just go to see how you feel.”

“Abeoji…”

“His mother misses you, you know. If not for him, consider going for her. Call it a family trip.”

⟡

It’s been three weeks since you broke up with Seungcheol. On the days when your reserve is weak, you give in to watching recent fancams of his. Unfalteringly, he continues to do your signal.

He hasn’t forgotten you at all. The thought crushes you inside.

If you got back with him, what would have to change? You’ve been telling yourself that there was nothing either of you could do. Were you okay with dealing with the irregular schedules? The fans? All eyes on him?

You've come back to your apartment with the intent of picking up a change of clothes and doing some laundry. The left side of the closet has all of your things, while the right has Seungcheol's. You suck on your bottom lip in contemplation as you consider taking one of his jackets. It's not like he'd know since he'll be gone for another couple months.

Your broken heart encourages you to give in. So you do. You pull out one of his cardigans, your favorite, from the back of his stuffed closet. Your heart squeezes at the familiar scent, and you hug it to yourself. Then you hear the sound of something crinkling in the pocket.

It's a balled up piece of paper with faint pen markings. Flattening it out, your breath is drawn from your lungs.

All across the page are random words and scribbles, but they manage to make you choke out a sob nonetheless.

park?

restaurant?

holiday?

jewellers — ask uncle

sizing – to check

seungkwan sing? > Get tissues for him

diamond > check her ig and pin > bigger = better ㅋㅋ

family? private

mr and mrs choi

honeymoon locations?

mrs choi.

my wife ♡

⟡

The distant sound of screaming fans seem to embody how you're feeling perfectly in that moment. Eomeoni, Seungcheol's mother, has her arm linked with yours and her warmth, weight, and energy are grounding. Abeoji is next to her. The three of you are walking down the private hallway to enter the section with your seats.

Eomeoni sits between you and Seungcheol's dad, the woman constantly turning to you as if checking that you haven't run off yet. She places a warm hand on your knee, gently soothing your jittery leg.

Joshua's family comes to join your section, sitting in the row behind you. Josh's mom and Eomeoni appraise each other after being apart for so long. They turn to you.

Eomeoni leans in to say something to the other woman, but you can hardly hear because of the pre-show music blasting from the speakers. Whatever she says though, Josh's mom looks intrigued.

You introduce yourself to Joshua's mom and family just as the show begins. The show goes as well as it did back in Incheon. You notice minor differences, improvements that the guys have made after months of touring. You try to train your expression when you spot Seungcheol.

He doesn't do the double kiss for every song, but it takes your breath away every time he does. Your gaze flickers to his parents, and they hardly react. The signal really is something only for the two of you.

Towards the end of the show, you forget that you know the group personally and become absorbed as a Carat. You borrow Abeoji's light-stick and wave along to the songs. You laugh in delight as you jump with Seungcheol's parents to the encore song and translate the members' English ments for the non-English speaking family members.

Later on you can’t keep your eyes from the door of the waiting room. Waiting inside with Seungcheol and Joshua’s families, the conversations milling around you is all white noise.

“Mom!” Dokyeom wails as he spots you as soon as he steps inside. The others greet you with a mix of happiness, excitement, and apprehensiveness.

“You guys did really well,” you say as you grab the phone off Eomeoni, who silently gestured for you to take a photo of her and Abeoji with Chan and Seungkwan.

“Oh let me in too!” Dokyeom yelps as he stumbles into the frame.

You don’t even bother taking a photo with the members, too concerned about the one that is the sole reason you’re even here in the first place. So you sit in a corner of the room that has a set of sofas, joined by a couple of Joshua’s cousins.

You’re asking about one of the cousin’s outfit for a party they’re going to as you do a quick headcount of the boys, and of the managers. One manager missing, one member missing.

“Where is he?” You sigh to yourself.

“Doing leader stuff,” Mingyu says as he sits on the arm of the couch beside you. You smile at him in greeting and he pats your head softly, knowing why you’re here.

You sink into the sofa, letting your head fall back on the headrest of the couch and letting Mingyu’s large form block your view of the door.

He’ll come when he’s ready.

But then you hear the delighted exclamations of Eomeoni and you couldn’t stop your head from perking up even if you tried.

All sound fades as you watch Seungcheol enter the room. He’s smiling about something with the manager accompanying him as he rips out his in-ears and grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table. Then he spots his mother and his face lights up with the toothy grin that you haven’t seen in so long.

You can't stop the tears the well up, or the sudden tightness in your chest as it brims with emotion. The loss that you've managed to sweep under the rug is suddenly coming back to you full force.

He reunites with his parents, accepting their kisses and warm embraces. Abeoji rubs soothing circles into his child’s back, and Eomeoni has Seungcheol’s face in between her small hands.

Sound comes back to you while you watch the family of three catch-up.

Mingyu nudges you. “You gonna say hi or what?”

“Nope. I think I’ll hide.” You slump in your seat and duck your head behind Mingyu’s knee. You rub a soothing palm over your chest… Has your heart ever beaten this fast before?

Mingyu chuckles and gets up. You watch with growing horror as the tallest member approaches the Chois, clapping a hand to Seungcheol’s shoulder and muttering something into his ear. When your ex-boyfriend’s gaze darts over to where you sit, you smile awkwardly and then your eyes dart down into your lap to avoid seeing his reaction.

In your peripheral, with much fear, Seungcheol’s form slowly grows closer to you, until his feet are placed in front of yours and you can see his legs are standing in front of you. And then he squats down to look up at your face.

“Hello,” his voice is precious. It’s so full of warmth, and hope… And fear.

You look at him and suck in a breath. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him. His eyes gleam as they gaze up at you and his lips are spread thin in contemplation.

“Hi,” you whisper, sending him a timid smile.

“You wanna go somewhere to talk?”

You nod, despite the nerves that set in as soon as you hear his words. He stands up and offers you his hand, and you take it. As your palms meet and fingers slide into place, it’s like you’ve completed a jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are fitting into place and your heart warms. How were you crazy enough to give up on this? On him?

Looking up, Seungcheol’s bittersweet smile seems to express the same sentiment.

⟡

1.5 YEARS LATER

“Whatcha doing?”

You pointedly rustle the magazine in front of your face. “Doing some light reading.”

“Oh yeah? What about? Looks interesting.”

“Yeah there’s this super hot idol who just announced his engagement to this amazing, stunning, angel-on-earth of a woman…”

“Wow, what a lucky man,” Seungcheol settles onto the sofa next to your feet, pulling them onto his lap.

“Seems like his fiancée’s the lucky one: ‘I’ve always said that my members and my family come first before anything else’,” you say in your best imitation of your future husband. He laughs then shoves your shoulder lightly.

The engagement band that he proudly wears on his left ring finger catches the light, and your chest never fails to warm at the sight.

In the fire-escape of the venue where Seungcheol just performed a sold-out concert with his group, the two of you sat on the stairs for what must've been an hour. In short, you both agreed to never go for that long without the other ever again. For the rest of your lives.

Things didn't work out immediately. For a few months, your relationship still struggled as the two of you worked out how best to go about your long-distance relationship, but when you figured it out? Oh, was it good.

At the end of that year, on Christmas Eve, Seungcheol proposed to you. It was adorable; the two of you bundled up in thick puffer jackets with wooly scarves and beanies and masks so that only your eyes were visible. You were taking a walk along the Han River, a ridiculous idea since it was winter, but the festive lights made it all worth it.

You cried as he bore his heart out to you, his beautiful round eyes glistening with tears. You knew that the hand holding up the little velvet wasn't trembling from the cold, but from nerves.

As soon as the ring slid onto your finger, Seungcheol was immediately tackled into a conveniently placed pile of snow nearby.

A little while after the proposal, you propose to Seungcheol as well. Call it feminism, or equality. Really, he just told you that he wanted an engagement ring of his own.

Immediately, news agencies hear tips about a peculiar silver band that never seems to part from Seventeen's S.Coup's ring finger. Fans notice his latest contents include him having a cute, dazed smile. His instagram posts always seem to feature a photo of his left hand.

The one thing that hasn't changed though, is that he continues to give you all of his double-kisses.

[notkrispy]

from the vantage point of death

summary. when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed. pairing. hades!choi seungcheol x f!persephone!reader genre/tags. fantasy/mythology, reverse hades and persephone au, bastardizing mythologies to form my version of it, unhinged mc (but we love her), NO STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, implied weirdo suitors, one crude joke, yearning, mdni (borderline nsfw ending) wc. 13.8k suggested listening. arsonist's lullabye, hozier // nfwmb, hozier // would that i, hozier // 난 (me), 에스쿱스 (s.coups) // me and my husband, mitski // dust to dust, the civil wars // my love will never die, hozier // work song, hozier

notes. sorry for the delay hnnng—it was a mix of bad timing (again) and overshooting the wordcount (again). not fully satisfied but this is probably the best i can manage atm. hades!csc is suprisingly pouty and morally upright. shoutout to hozier, my main sponsor for this videyow.

It is true what they say about whispers thriving in darkness.

Seungcheol hears them constantly, finds them woven into the fabric of the air, waiting to be unraveled. The whispers crawl in from the edge of his realm, carried by the rivers and into his ears. They keep him abreast of what is happening above ground, sometimes even more than the news Jeonghan would bring when he reports news from the Pantheon.

Some days, he tells himself it would not do to listen. The job of the King of the Underworld is endless; the dead do not stop dying. But listening to the whispers from elsewhere is the only way to distract him from the ones that plague his own mind; the curling, insidious darkness that is not the one he has made a home in, but rather one that threatens to consume him. So he finds the whispers, entertains the rumours that find the darkness. Seungcheol beckons them forward, pushing his own demons to the back of his mind. 

One of them is particularly persistent, sneaking past even the drapes of his chambers, the one place all the other whispers should not reach. It curls around him, flirts with the curve of his earlobe. The message is the same, every time it comes:

The Goddess of Spring is sick.

The first time he had heard it, he called Jeonghan immediately; as the God of Death, he was more in touch with its threads than even he. Despite the gold thread that marks one as immortal, the luster is slowly and surely fading. Both of them confirmed this, even as Jeonghan had mused that it did not make much sense. Seungcheol agreed.

There are precious few things that make immortals fall; for minor deities, it is almost always the lack of devotion, the slow death that comes with the fickle memory of mortals. Yet a goddess of spring would not have the same problem, even if she were not one of those graced to have a seat at the Pantheon. There are still temples undoubtedly to this Goddess’ name, incense and wine poured to honor the first sowing of seeds before the planting season.

The whisper soon reached his other trusted companions. It was Jisoo, the ferryman, who reported what he heard by the riverbank: by some mistake, the Goddess ingested mortal food, and the disease was now infecting her immortal blood.

The urge of duty beckons him, a voice in his ear reasoning that if a Goddess were indeed about to cross over to his realm, the least he could do was be the one to escort her there. He could ask her how this happened, if she were ready to speak to him, perhaps even bring her case to the High Palace to ask how the balance of the world were to be maintained.

Decided, he grabs his travelling robes.

For the first time in millennia, Seungcheol walks above ground. 

As expected, the Goddess of Spring’s domain is a lush garden, nothing but Life as far as the eye can see. He enters much more easily than expected; the wards have weakened concerningly so, even as the lingering magic in the air hint at their former strength. 

As he ventures in, the leaves sway to some invisible wind, a smidgen more alive-seeming than they would be in the mortal realm. Still, there is yellowing on some trees. Dead petals litter the floor, and he feels the crunch of leaves under his shoe as he moves forward—further pieces of evidence that point to the weakening of the Goddess’ magic.

“Goddess, are you here?” He calls.

In the distance, he hears a hacking cough. 

Seungcheol breaks into a jog, alarmed. He plucks at the threads of death that he senses, filtering them out until a single golden string remains, though its luster seems to dull with every minute that passes. He follows it forward.

“Goddess?”

“Here,” he finally hears a weak voice croak, and he turns, finding you sprawled on the floor, a few feet shy of what is evidently your bed. 

Seungcheol does not hesitate to lift you in his arms, walking up the steps you were collapsed on. Your breath escapes your mouth in reedy pants, eyes hazy as you gaze at him without recognition. His heart aches.

“Oh Goddess, how did this happen to you?” Seungcheol lowers you onto your bed, fluffing and adjusting the pillows the best he could. He finds a jug of water and a cup resting on a nearby table. Filling the cup, he helps you tilt it up your lips. “Here. Drink.” You take small sips, holding not the cup, but his hands as he feeds the water to you. He feels your fingers trembling. Once a small noise of protest leaves you at the water still falling past your lips, Seungcheol quickly sets the cup aside, swiping the droplets on your chin with his sleeve and easing you into a lying position. 

You close your eyes, breathing finally steady. Sorrow tugs at his heartstrings as he dabs at the sweat off your brow with a cloth he had conjured.

It has been many centuries since the last time an immortal crossed the River. He wonders if the Underworld would be to your taste, absent of Life as it is. Only the lands of the blessed are lush with any kind of greenery, as it is near enough to Life, housing souls getting ready for reincarnation.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not notice the string of death that guided him to you suddenly wink into brilliant gold and disappear.

The Goddess’ eyes snap open, and Seungcheol startles. All too quickly, he feels strong hands grasp at his forearms and push. He stumbles back, almost tripping over his robes, but before he is able to resist, he lands in the middle of what he realizes is a ritual circle. The runes around his feet burst into brilliant gold light, washing the world in their glow. Vines rapidly begin to sprout, curling, tangling, and twisting above and around him. From beyond the light, he hears a faint voice chanting. 

It is magic, but one entirely foreign to his eyes. 

Finally, the glow fades. That same force he sensed earlier seems to be binding him in place, making his limbs ten times heavier than normal. Seungcheol fights to stand, grasping at the structure in front of him to help himself up. A great tangle of vines surrounds him; despite their flimsy appearance, they refuse to break or wilt with any amount of magic he forces into them.

In fact, they only seem to grow stronger.

Confusion gives way to realization, and then dawning fury. He zeroes in on the woman on the other side of the cage. The haze in your eyes has disappeared, replaced with a sharp gaze and a triumphant smirk. Around you, the air crackles with power.

“Caught you.”

“Goddess,” Seungcheol begins, raising his hands, palms up. “I mean you no ill.”

Everything had happened so quickly that he could not get a good look at you. Now, he not only feels, but he sees. Your magic lingers in the air, a sharp crackle of citrus undercut by the heavy, warning weight of wood. When he first saw you, you had been seconds away from becoming another shade to bring to the Underworld. Now, power thrums from you everywhere, even on the thin skin under your eyelashes. Your robes almost seem to glow.

You approach his cage with a fluid, almost feline grace. He feels your eyes cataloguing him, taking in his garb and the stiff, straight-backed posture he carries himself with, even outside the throne room. “I had certainly many assumptions of whom my trap would attract, but even this is unexpected. Let us hear it then: what brings the Unseen One into my domain?”

“I had received word of your illness, goddess, and thought it a duty and courtesy to escort you to my realm.”

“Escort me into your realm? Duty? I’ve heard of dowries and courtesy, but never duty,” you muse. Your eyes remain ever-scrutinizing; he resists the urge to squirm. Has he been so out of touch with the Pantheon norms that he no longer knows how theoi treat each other? Heat rushes to his ears at your intent gaze. “It must be true that there is no love in the Underworld. Your attempts at wooing are unconventional, but ineffective.”

“Excuse me?”

“Certainly new,” you continue, almost to yourself. “Out of all the suitors sent my way, or the ones that would take advantage of the rumours I had spread, your approach is the most unique.”

“Have your plants overtaken your mind?” His mouth twists in derision. “I have told you; I am here only out of my duty.”

“Not a suitor then? Hm.”

“As there seems to have been a misunderstanding,” he sighs, already tired, “If My Lady would be so kind to release me, we can leave this all behind us.”

You stare at him, head tilted. After a moment, a small smile pulls at your features. “I think not.”

Disbelief floods him, and he cannot hold back the scowl that pulls over his features. Seungcheol’s eyes flash dangerously. “That was not a request, Goddess.” He expects you to give in; no being of the Pantheon can bear to be around Death for so long, much less a minor goddess.

Then you do something entirely unexpected; you throw your head back and laugh.

“My, you are interesting! I do not think you are in a position to make your demands in my domain.”

For fuck’s sake—he inhales through his teeth, biting back the anger that has been steadily rising with the length of his stay in this vined cage. He tries phasing into shadow—you could not keep him here if he could simply slip back to his realm—but more vines wrap around him, absorbing his magic, rendering it null. Your grin just stretches wider. 

“On what grounds do you keep me?” He hisses.

“First, as I said, you are interesting.” You shrug. “Second, perhaps your presence will ward off all the other suitors the Pantheon has been attempting to send my way. Third, my domain seems to react to you in interesting ways.” You look pointedly at his hand, the locus where his magic seems to be siphoning into your realm.

“My powers are those for the dead,” he informs you. “They will do nothing for Life, certainly nothing for the Goddess of Spring.”

“Well, we shall not know until we conduct some more investigation, no?” 

He tries a different tactic. “Goddess, you must let me return. The Underworld cannot be parted with its King.”

You wave a hand, dismissive. “Oh please. No one misses Death. Perhaps those poor souls will even be glad for their judgement to be postponed.” The thought seems to please you, as you release a satisfied little huff.  “It is settled. You are mine for the time being, Lord of the Dead.”

Seungcheol tried phasing into shadow again, only for the realm to absorb his magic. It seems that being held by a being that controlled Life, any magic relating to his return could not work. You had informed him, somewhat gleefully, that the wards of your realm have been refashioned to mimic a smokescreen—drawing from some of the magic that the realm had absorbed from him. It does not block visitors; rather, you boasted, it was a mix of concealment and compulsion charms to urge them to respect your privacy as you suffer through your malaise.

His magic, aside from this strange new affinity to life, is most prominently for keeping the barrier between his realm and the rest of the world intact. If you had borrowed from that…he is well and truly stuck.

It could be worse. He could have been captured with the intent of harming the Underworld, or weakening the barrier between the living and the dead. It could have been someone who demanded he give up his hound.

But he cannot call himself an oppressed prisoner. The heaviness of his limbs had quickly been resolved after a modification of the runes outside his prison. You also insisted on ensuring all his needs are met, including bedding, pillows, water—both for bathing and drinking—and food, which you have taken to cooking in front of him, to prove there is no poison.

He accepts the bedding and pillows, as well as the water; he pours the drinking water into the same basin he uses for his baths. But nothing passes his mouth. Seungcheol is not sure why you are putting in the effort; your kind need little food and rest, after all. He does not know how much time has passed, only that he is utterly miserable. He considered yelling, crying out for help, but no one would hear him. 

Meanwhile, he feels your realm draining away at his reserves. Vast as they are, even a drop of water against a rock eventually wears it down. He could only imagine what Jeonghan must be thinking now, at his prolonged and unplanned absence. Seungcheol grits his teeth, resisting the urge to lay down at the ever-creeping fatigue that grows as his magic wanes. He found out the hard way that the more of his body was in contact with your realm, the faster he would waste away. It is a battle to just stay awake.

“Your Grace!” He hears, and it feels vaguely far away. You are running to him, robes fluttering around you as you move, light-footed, across your realm. Seungcheol bites back a grimace, self-conscious of the way his draining magic must make him look paler and sicklier than usual. “Please hold onto a vine.”

At his refusal, you roll your eyes. “Let me try something, Your Grace. I think I know how to replenish your magic; I swear on your River that I mean no ill.”

Seungcheol’s distrustful stare does not cease, but he does relax his shoulders and hold out his right hand, palm facing up. Taking a deep breath, you wave a hand.

A thorn grows from where his hand is gripping the vine. Though ichor drips from his wrist down to his elbow, golden and oozing, Seungcheol refuses to flinch. Even as he bleeds, his palm is already beginning to heal, the tissue stitching itself around his wound and ejecting the thorn from his skin. Your focus is not on him though. As you watch, his blood is absorbed into the vine. 

Almost immediately, moss begins to grow under his hand. Flowers bloom at his feet from where the ichor drips onto the earth. Excited, you move a few steps closer, touching the new life now growing on your vines.

“This is…” he removes his hand from the vine, eyes flitting from between his now-healed hand and the vine he had held earlier, which now had not only moss, but flowers blooming from where his blood had touched the plant. He opens his mouth, but no words come.

“It worked,” you murmur, almost wondrously. “Ha! It cannot be true that your magic is only for the Dead.”

Seungcheol is stunned.

Certainly not an emotion he has ever felt very often, much less to this degree. You don’t seem to be done. Stepping forward, you clasp his hand in between yours. He startles, feeling the Life-magic from you rush into him. Slowly, he feels his reserves begin to return. When you let go, his magic has not fully returned to its full capacity, yet there is enough that he feels sufficiently energized.

“Spring,” you declare, looking at the astonished god, “is simply Life that follows after Death, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”

“A clever trick,” he says eventually. “You have had your fun, then. Now release me.”

You just smile. “Actually, this little experiment has just proven an interesting point. You are not my prisoner, Your Grace. Though it would be a shame to let you go, I will not keep you here against your will. The Lord of the Dead must be busy, after all.”

The change in your script has him dizzy. “I am not your prisoner?”

“It would seem so. That is what my investigation says.” You shrug. “I made a mistake with my earlier oath to the River, and now I have to mean you no ill in everything. So I can no longer lie to you. Not that I have, ever, anyway.”

Seungcheol tugs at the vines, ignoring how they now curiously seem to sway into his touch. But even as they do, no matter what he tries, they do not break. “So release me, then.”

“Now, where is the fun in that? I have given you a clue on how to release yourself, did I not? Spring is Life that follows after Death. And I have replenished some of your reserves, since you do not wish to bother with my cooking.”

At his confused silence, you huff a little laugh. “Oh, Your Grace, what am I to do with you?”

Seungcheol tucks his irritation behind his teeth, exhaling long and slow. “You could release me.”

“I told you, Your Grace is no prisoner of mine. You can very easily break this cage if you wished to. That is no longer my problem.” You shrug. “I swear it on your River and my magic. But do send messages to the Underworld, should you feel your absence take even longer. My wards will accommodate the correspondence.”

Days pass. He does indeed end up sending messages to the Underworld. To Jeonghan, to be exact.

While concerned, the God of Death’s immediate reaction is one of amusement, even admiration. It does nothing to quell Seungcheol’s irritation, especially when Jeonghan points out that you were right, the River binds you to tell only the truth, and mean no ill. He is just unlucky that no ill is not the same as goodwill.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watches as you tend to your gardens, conversing merrily with the spirits as you move around your domain. The spirits are curious of him too, yet he bats them away with impatient huffs and vaguely imperious commands to leave him alone. They do, but he feels faintly guilty for the way they seem to wilt as they drift away.

He still cannot claim to be an oppressed prisoner. You reminded him that he is not—and arguably has never been—the latter, and correctly guessed that releasing him from the cage after swearing that he can get out himself would hurt his pride. He is also not the former, as your constant providing of bedding, water, and food has continued. Seungcheol’s practice of accepting everything but the food has also continued. True enough to your claim, the lack of sustenance in your realm seems to be correlated to his dwindling reserves, though it seems his blood had satisfied your domain enough to be much slower in dwindling your reserves.

Still, nothing passes his mouth. After every meal, you wordlessly claim the untouched bowls of your cooking—whether stew, bread, meat, vegetables, or rice. Even the casket you had received from the God of Wine and deigned to share with him is refused, even as you remind him repeatedly that you cannot harm him.

At each refusal, your lips would purse tighter and tighter.

Finally, one night, you have had enough. Standing at the other side of his cage, you do not move to get his untouched dinner.

Instead, new vines wrap around his wrists and legs, pulling him forward to the edge of the cage. Seungcheol’s choked exclamation of surprise cuts itself short as you grab his robes from the other side. He has to slam his hands, bound as they are, against his cage to brace himself. Your face is a mask of barely-controlled fury.

“I remember telling you, Your Grace,” you snarl, “you are not my prisoner.” The air around him crackles with magic. The smell of grapefruit fills his nose—but incredibly bitter, as though the taste of its pith became a scent. Your face is twisted in anger, and dare he say hurt. “I swear a vow of no malice. I show you the potential of your power, and promise freedom is within your grasp. I offer you kindness. I allow you to send your correspondence in good faith, not knowing if you have actually been plotting your revenge against me. I give you food from my garden, and cook it in front of you!

“And you repay me with distrust,” you spit. “You refuse the fruits of Spring and her goddess’ labor. My Lord must know that only realms of the major theoi have enough latent magic to bind those who partake of its bounty. But if your strategy to free yourself is to anger me to oblivion, I will simply allow my realm to suck the magic out of you. The Lord of the Dead, my personal fertilizer. See if you like that.” Your voice cracks.

Any response boiling behind his throat dissipates at the sight of tears rimming your lashes. Weakly, he tries to rebut. “You cannot. You swore no ill will.”

“And yet you do not eat.” Suddenly, it seems the strings have been cut from your body, and you release his robes with nothing more than a half-hearted shove. Turning away, you pick up his untouched food. Despite your anger moments ago, you remain gentle with the bowl of cold stew.

Seungcheol watches, the weight in his chest growing, as you set it in front of your table and grab a spoon. With a wave of your hand, the stew is warm again, steam rising in gentle spirals from the bowl. The guilt he had felt spurning the innocently curious spirits is nothing compared to seeing the Goddess who had brought him to his knees fighting back her tears, spooning his dinner into her mouth.

“I did not know you could warm it again.” He speaks quietly, unable to raise his voice above a murmur.

“Why,” you reply dully. “Would you eat it if I did?”

Seungcheol does not reply, despite the apologies crawling up his throat. As you leave for your evening ablutions, he calls for you softly.

“Do not bother apologizing,” you reply, without stopping or turning back. “Just eat the food tomorrow.”

And so he does.

After another handful of days, a visitor arrives. 

“Erm, Lord Seungcheol?” He looks up, trying to place the voice. Your head pokes up from a hedge, vaguely panicked. A figure alights by the gazebo, where he had first found you. He recognizes the messenger god by the dark red hair and winged sandals on his feet. 

He is about to call out, but your hand closes into a fist quickly. The air clamp his lips shut, and silences the muffled shout that escapes his mouth. The god looks around, realizing Seungcheol is not there. Realizing this, the god slumps, calling a different name instead with a mix of exasperation and concern. Seungcheol tilts his head, wondering whose it is, until he sees your head snap to the god’s direction. 

With a jolt, he realizes he only knew your title—Goddess of Spring—but not your name. The messenger god begins to rant.

“I only just managed to sneak past the Lord Father’s nose—said you were not to be disturbed while the Lord of the Dead tended to your illness, but I had to see you, if only to confirm which rumours are true—what on earth happened to your wards, by the way, I had to ask a sprite for help in removing the soot—”

The god parts the curtain by your bed, and promptly swears. “Shit!”

Seungcheol watches, mildly bemused, as the god flutters from one nook to the next, looking more and more distressed as you are nowhere in sight. Any amusement he feels vanishes the moment the young god finds him, tending to a patch of plants a few feet away from your bed. Seungkwan trips as he stumbles backward in shock.

“L-Lord Seungcheol,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. “I—Your Grace—”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol inclines his head with all the dignity he can muster.

“Seungkwan,” you finally call. He whips around, a noise of both agitation and relief escaping him when he catches sight of you.

“You! What in hell’s name are you doing out of bed?! Er,” he glances sheepishly at Seungcheol before turning back to you with a wide-eyed glare, expression clearly demanding you to explain.

“Surprise!” You chuckle feebly. “Whatever happened to ‘I am glad you are well’?”

“Last everyone has heard, the Lord of the Dead was preparing for your passage to the Underworld—” Seungkwan begins, before his expression morphs, the pieces coming together in his head in real time. He looks as though he is one revelation away from pulling his hair out. “Tell me Lord Seungcheol is not your prisoner and this is all in my head.”

“Lord Seungcheol is not my prisoner and this is all in your head,” you parrot obediently. 

“Is this why you were so sick? You were saving your magic for—for ransoming the God of the Underworld?”

“That is not why I—”

“You know everyone will realize he is missing, do you not? There are already whispers that the Underworld is without its King.” He waves his hands, emphasizing his words. Your voice remains genial.

“This is all harmless fun,” you wave a hand. 

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. “Is it? The Underworld—”

“I have allowed correspondence between him and his comrades—”

“Some already think your illness is too convenient,” he warns. “You will not be able to hold this charade for long.”

You snort. “The fact that gossip of both my faked illness and impending death coexist speaks to the stupidity of the divine rumour mill.”

Exasperated with your blasé responses, Seungkwan turns to Seungcheol. Biting his lip, his fingers fidget at his staff. You just watch, eyebrow raised at the sudden change in demeanor. “My Lord, do you, erm, need help—that is, if you are held against your will—”

“I shall be free soon enough,” he says shortly. “The Underworld will not be long without me.”

“You will hurt his pride, ‘Kwan,” you interject, smothering a laugh. “He needs to free himself for his ego’s sake.” 

Seungcheol levels a glare at you, thoroughly unamused. You just raise an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise. Seungkwan’s gaze flits between the two of you, cycling through numerous expressions of skepticism and concern.

Eventually, the god just sighs, running a hand again through his hair. The tension in Seungkwan’s shoulders returns; his sandals flutter restlessly, picking up on the unease of their master. “The Pantheon only knows that you have been wasting away from eating mortal food, and that there is something strange about the Underworld because of His Grace’s absence. The others may start putting the pieces together.”

Your gaze shifts from rage into something more calculating. “Let them, then. See if they can outsmart a goddess that outsmarted the Unseen One.”

Seungcheol does it again and again, slicing his hand and watching the growth from where his ichor drips on the earth. Since first time he tried it without you to interfere in any way, the same result were yielded. Yet there is no more understanding with this attempt than any other before it.

Frustrated, he looks at you. “My blood does not cause life, and nor does my magic. Millennia have proven this. Your garden must be an anomaly.”

From the other side of his cage, you huff, not looking up from your pruning. “You are not listening to me, Your Grace; I said Life follows after Death, not that Death causes Life. Perhaps, yes, your blood dripping onto mortal soil would yield different results. But this is my garden, the Heart of Spring. Life is constantly following after Death. An endless loop.”

“The ichor,” he tries. “The things Godly blood can do, even now, have never been fully known.”

“Your Grace, you say your magic is one of Death, yet not a single blade of grass has wilted in your footsteps,” you point out. “It is not just your blood that can bring Life, but your magic itself. I am the Spring that follows after Death. You carry the power of Death itself.”

“No, Death is Jeonghan,” Seungcheol murmurs absently.

Evidently, you had not been expecting that, as you pull up short and twist to face him, face contorted in surprise. “Jeonghan? Oh my. Do I have the wrong god?”

“No! No.” Seungcheol pauses, surprised at his own vehemence. Clearing his throat, he continues in a more subdued tone. “I am Lord of the Dead. Jeonghan is the God of Death, the Reaper.”

“Oh,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Spring does not come immediately after the reaping. My point stands. Spring is the Life that follows from Death. My realm has already been responding to you, gaining life from your power.”

Seungcheol has felt, since getting into this cage, the power draining from under his feet, as though the earth were a great straw drinking from his reserves. He had assumed it to be because of the runic circle at his feet. “Is this not you draining my power to keep me prisoner? You said so yourself.”

“I lied. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you roll your eyes at his expression. “I swore to mean you no malice, not to speak the truth. Not at that point yet, anyway. It is true that your power is feeding mine, but that is not just mydoing. My domain has latent magic, though the runes augment it. It has been responding to yours, making more Life out of Death. Pushing your magic outward will only make it worse. And why do you think my magic flowed so easily into your reserves?” You give him a gaze that is both meaningful and exasperated.

A thought strikes him then, one so obvious now that Seungcheol wonders why it had not occurred to him earlier. He lays his hand back onto the vines in front of him. Instead of pushing, however, he pulls, bringing magic inward and back to himself. 

The realm responds in kind.

His prison’s vines begin to weaken under his touch, the tangled cords thinning until the braids barely hold together. Above him, the great ceiling of his cage falls as a wilted mess. Instinctively, Seungcheol lifts his hand, and the wilted stems disintegrate, falling around him like ash. The air smells distinctly earth-like.

He stands before you, dead leaves in his hair, more invigorated than he has been in a long, long time.

“Well, it took you long enough,” you rest your hands on your hips, utterly pleased with yourself. “Aren’t I a splendid teacher? I imagine if you do the same thing with your feet, you will no longer be so drained in my domain.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol murmurs to himself. “Death claims Life, not the other way around. It has been so long since I left the Underworld that I have forgotten.” 

Something in your expression softens. “Then remember with me. If it cannot be remembered, we shall find out more. You felt it, did you not? Our magics are drawn to each other.”

Seungcheol cannot deny that. Even now, with you a little more than an arm’s length away, he aches to have you closer, to feel again that rush of Life, as though he were perpetually being reborn.

“So, what will it be, Lord of the Dead? Will you find out with me?”

Seungcheol resists the yearning that claws at his chest, tamps down the yes that instinctively rises up his throat.

“What do you get out of this?”

“Hm?”

“It seems terribly altruistic for you,” he drawls. “My captor caging me purely for her amusement, and now that I have passed, I am offered to learn of magic I did not know I could wield.” He narrows his eyes at you. “What do you get out of this?”

You tilt your head at him, confused. “Do you think you are the only one benefiting from this arrangement? My realm has never been stronger. Our magic’s compatibility is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And your suitors?”

“Your presence would certainly deter the rabble, but I imagine the rumours of your capture alone will set me up for a good few millennia of quiet.”

“What of my duties? No matter how capable my brothers are, the Underworld falters without its king.”

“Return to the Underworld if you must, Your Grace, but contract with me the period of your stay. I will swear on the River that it shall be upheld.”

You snap your fingers, and a gentle breeze flutters over him, rustling his hair and clothes off the dead leaves and bits of stem. And though he is free, longing clings to his ribs, the offer not just of power, butcompanionship, of a kind that is different from the one he shares with his brothers belowground. It was only when Seungkwan had arrived that he remembered the usual demeanor leveled at him—the immediate fear and distrust, the whispers that had pushed him toward seclusion in the first place. Outside of his brothers in the Underworld, you had been the only other one to not treat him this way.

For so long, the thought of Life had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Seungcheol had never held it in his hands, never felt the rush of a beating heart nor a sapling’s head breaking from the soil. Yet he experienced all of that, numerous times, in this garden, without feeling like a harbinger of despair. 

“Well? What say you, Your Grace?”

Much planning is needed. His comrades were more receptive to the idea than he expected; he could not help but feel a little betrayed at their willingness to shoo him off and insist on a so-called vacation, even if the pretense remained to be that he was tending to a goddess at her sickbed.

To Seungcheol’s chagrin, you insisted on tagging along to the Underworld, brushing aside his protests that nothing alive can enter his domain. 

“Death claims Life; I am telling you now, the Underworld will take a much bigger toll on a minor goddess compared to the Lord of the Dead in your garden.”

“How unfair. We are partners, are we not? For all you know I could use some Death magic myself. We will not know until I am there.” You bat your eyes playfully. “The Lord of the Dead must have enough power to save a minor goddess, no? Especially in his own domain.”

He pinches his nose, a headache beginning to form. Surely there are much better ways of ensuring he upholds your arrangement.

“Fine. Fine, but if your magic is dwindling, you tell me immediately.”

You bounce on your toes, excited. Excited! Seungcheol does not bother to think about the teasing that he is sure to receive. Once his brothers see him descend with a girl on his arm, much less one very much alive, he is never hearing the end of it.

True enough, the first to see them is Jisoo, on the edge of the riverbank. The twinkle in his eye bodes nothing good. “Oh? This is no dead goddess. Have you abducted her? I must remind you that I only ferry the dead. Unless you plan on finally taking a Queen.”

You merely smile. “Hello, ferryman.”

Jisoo smiles, eyes crinkled into crescents, charm dialed up much more than necessary. Seungcheol tamps down the grumble that crawls up his throat.

“Hello, Goddess. Blink twice if you need help.”

Seungcheol cannot help his scoff. “Oh, please. I am not holding her hostage. If anything, it was the other way around.”

“It is true.” You nod solemnly. “I would like passage, as the Lord of the Dead’s abductor. We are here to sort his affairs before he begins his contract in my domain.”

Jisoo blinks, taken aback. “My lady,” he begins, “As I mentioned earlier, I only ferry the dead. You are very much alive.”

“Even if I were the guest of your Lord?” He nods. “Hm. I suppose I could dip in the river, then?”

“Do not even joke about that,” Seungcheol snaps. “You will die. Anyone who bathes in the River, immortal or mortal, will die.”

“That is entirely the point.”

“The Pantheon will have my magic. Your mother will have my head. Poor Chan will be worse off, since it is his river you have chosen to bathe in.”

“Chan? Is that the name of your river deity?” Your eyes are alight with interest. “How fascinating.” Seungcheol rubs a palm against his forehead; the headache has taken over in earnest.

“Knowing the name of the river spirit will not help your case, my lady.” Jisoo gently pulls the conversation back. “I cannot let you cross.” You ponder the dilemma, crossing your arms and lifting a hand to your mouth in thought. 

“I have claimed to be on the brink of death before,” you muse, “Spring is…no, that will not work. Well then.” You turn to Jisoo, tilting your head. “Do you accept bribery, ferryman?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Certainly, if it came from a goddess as pretty as you.” 

Seungcheol chokes, looking at his friend with wide eyes. “Absolutely not—” In the blink of an eye, Jisoo’s smile shifts from charming to cheeky, and you respond with a bright grin of your own.

His protests are ignored. The familiar wildness of your magic tinges the air, and in your hands, three daisies emerge, their white and yellow colors a stark contrast to the blackish-brown mud of the riverbank. “For you, ferryman. Three is a magical number, after all.”

Jisoo’s expression is surprisingly soft as he accepts the flowers. “Oh. I have never received flowers before.”

“Never?” you frown. “That simply will not do.” With a deep inhale, your eyes scrunch shut. The scent of your magic grows stronger—the mix of florals and citrus already in the air is joined by the bite of wood, and something else, distinctly earth-like. Soil. A collection of flowers bloom where your hands are cupped: pink and purple roses, daisies, azaleas, and a whole slew of plants Seungcheol has seen before but cannot name. You tie the bouquet with a long piece of leaf, presenting it to him with a flourish.

“The daisies were my bribe, but this is a gift. What do you think, ferryman?”

Jisoo’s smile is the widest Seungcheol has seen in a while. “Come aboard, my lady.”

For the first time in a while, you are wrong; the Underworld is too much. You feel the magic rapidly draining from you, even as Seungcheol asks you to stay outside his bedchambers while he gathers his things. You bite your lips to force color back onto them.

As you wait, the presence of another makes itself known. Two others, you realize, turning to see a man—a god—and a dog-creature in his arms. The god tilts his head. 

“You must be the goddess Seungcheol was supposed to collect, then.” You hedge a guess.

“Jeonghan?”

The god’s eyebrows raise. “Indeed, lady.” 

The God of Death is intimidatingly beautiful. His magic pulses around him, eerily similar to the Lord of the Dead. Yet where you find solace in Seungcheol’s, even a sense of excitement, this man’s magic makes you vaguely uneasy, even as it has some synergy with your own.

Where Seungcheol reigns over the Dead already put to rest, Jeonghan’s domain is the reaping itself, the act of claiming. So close to Seungcheol’s, yet very far from yours.

He observes you, gaze knife-sharp. “If our Lord is to stay with you, I ask that you adjust your wards to let me in as well. He may need to communicate regularly with the Underworld.”

“Everyone is alright with this?” you ask, surprised. “I was prepared to fight for his temporary transfer.” The ferryman was one thing, especially since he could simply not grant you passage out, but his closest lieutenant agreeing so easily is unexpected.

“Our Seungcheollie needs a vacation,” Jeonghan waves a hand, deceptively dismissive, but his eyes burrow holes into your confidence. “And I trust his judgement, even if I have my own concerns.”

The dog in his arms barks, and Jeonghan’s tone shifts to a soothing coo. “Kkuma-ya, shh.” 

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, ignoring Jeonghan’s disapproving stare. Kkuma sniffs at your hand, pauses, and begins to lick with great aplomb. Jeonghan’s eyes widen slightly.

“I think she recognizes His Grace’s magic,” you murmur, a little embarrassed. Yet with every pass of Kkuma’s tongue on your fingers, you feel some magic return to you.

“Perhaps, but she only does that if she really likes you.”

“Or she senses my magic weakening. May I?” You hold out your hands, and Kkuma is quick to paw at Jeonghan’s arms, impatient. You accept Kkuma, giggling as she licks your cheek, still transferring magic to you.

Jeonghan’s gaze remains sharp, but considerably less cold. “You are not dead. But you are dying.”

“Indeed, it seems I miscalculated my entrance into his domain.”

“The living cannot stay,” he agrees. “I will tell Seungcheol to hurry.” Jeonghan excuses himself with a short bow.

“Your Goddess is growing weaker.”

Seungcheol starts, whipping around to see Jeonghan striding into his chambers. “What?”

“We spoke briefly outside. The Underworld is rejecting her presence.”

Seungcheol purses his lips, quickly packing the last of his essentials before lifting his bag over his shoulder. “She would have been less tired had she not made that huge bouquet for Jisoo.”

“He is quite endeared, by the way. Planted them by the riverside almost immediately, at the edge of the Isles. Chan likes them too.”

“And you?”

“Hm?” Jeonghan’s tone is too innocent. Seungcheol groans.

“Do not tell me you scared her.”

The God of Death shrugs, a little pout on his face as he reproaches him. “How little you think of me. I like her, actually. Finally a woman with a spine, though it is funny to know that you were her prisoner. How did you solve her puzzle?”

Seungcheol explains the direction of flow as the deciding factor, how claiming life was the answer and not pushing magic outward. “Though of course, you probably already know that, being around Life magic as often as you are,” he concludes.

Jeonghan listens, interested. “I have been told that our magic is similar. Perhaps—”

“I asked that too,” he interjects quickly. “She said something about Spring not coming right after the reaping.”

“Oh? Clever girl.” Jeonghan’s eyes gleam. Seungcheol points his finger at him, warning.

“Do not.”

“Goodness, how long have you known her? So protective already. I like her more and more.”

Absently, he runs a hand along the fine cloth of his pillowcase, already missing the luxury of his bedsheets. “I will not be away for long.”

“Of course.” Jeonghan inclines his head. As he leaves, his friend calls out from behind him, “Do try to have fun, though!”

It is decidedly not fun.

“Again.”

Seungcheol kneels down, brushing the tips of his fingers against the sapling. “Agh!” The little plant explodes with a wet pop, scattering little pieces of green on top of the dirt.

“Too much.”

Seungcheol looks up, meeting your eyes from where you stand, right across him. You tilt your head, holding his gaze before gesturing to the next sapling. He uses a single finger this time, focusing on letting out a steady stream of his power. The little plant blooms, briefly, until it too explodes.

“Too much, still.” Amusement colors your voice. “Trickle your magic in. Do not let it flow so strongly.”

“I am trickling it.” Frustrated, he curls his power inward, watching the little sapling wilt and then rot into the ground. Around him, the spirits titter, some small voices letting out soft squeaks of dismay. You tut.

“Your control over your magic is lacking, Your Grace. When was the last time you had to use your power like this?”

“I cannot look back on the day.” He grits his teeth. You merely hum in response, remaining where you are, arms crossed and leaning against a nearby tree bark. Your patience too, is much longer than his.

“It could be either your control or the size of your reserves. It could also be both. Though I suppose kings do not have to work to hone their magic if they can overpower others through sheer force.” He grits his teeth, glaring holes into your impassive stare. “Again.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Hm?” You look back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are fixed on the knife on your hand. Right now, there is rice bubbling by the fire, and you are readying an array of vegetables and meat to be mixed in with the freshly-cooked rice. It had always been just you cooking while he applied himself to continuous attempts at controlling his power.

“It seems remiss to leave you to hostess’ work,” he clarifies. At your blank stare, he feels the foreign sensation of heat rushing to his cheeks, and the urge to raise his shoulders and hunch them inward.

Eventually, you offer him the bowl of sliced cucumbers in your hand. Your eyes are clear of any judgement; the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat. “Here. Drizzle some oil, then a spoonful of the garlic and a pinch of salt.”

Eager for an easier task than honing his paltry control over his magic, Seungcheol accepts the bowl. You continue like this, him following your instructions until two steaming bowls of rice with overlaid meat and vegetables are laid before you. The cucumbers are in a separate dish, seasoned by him and with your guidance. You reach for one, popping into your mouth with a thoughtful hum.

He mirrors your movement, but makes a face almost immediately. He put too much salt. Nonplussed, you eat your third cucumber, shrugging even as he picks at his work. He gives you a skeptical frown, which you only respond to with a smile.

“You will learn.” No shred of doubt can be found in your voice.

Seungcheol does not respond. Instead, he digs into his rice, allowing warmth to fill him.

“Perhaps,” you begin, “we have been looking at this wrong.” You cup his hands between yours.

His magic sparks at your touch, and the power under your skin responds in kind. Seungcheol’s knuckles brush against your wrist, and he startles a little at the strength of your pulse. Almost immediately, a bud grows, fed not by soil, but your joint magic. In seconds, a fully-bloomed daffodil rests on his hand. He stares at the yellow petals, mouth parted in wonder.

“Concentrate on your magic, Your Grace. How does it feel?” You prompt him gently. Reluctant, he shakes off the awe, pursing his lips as he feels the flow of the magic. Seungcheol marvels at the feeling of it, how alive it feels to have your magics intertwine. It feels—

“Like dancing,” he murmurs, gazing down at your joined hands. Another daffodil has already begun to bloom.

“I see.” you murmur, gazing down at your hands, a soft smile on your features. Your fingers trace the ridges of his palm almost affectionately. Despite himself, Seungcheol revels in the touch; he is sure that even without your magic meeting and intertwining, his skin would tingle at the novelty of any kind of contact with Life. The flowers remain on his hands, but he feels the loss of warmth on his skin as you release him and step back. Your bare foot twists in the soil, and a sapling pops up from the ground. 

“Remember the feeling, Your Grace. Not pushing nor pulling, but dancing.” You gesture to the little stem popping from the ground. “Now try.”

He kneels down, resting his pinky on the little shoot. He exhales slowly, narrowing his world to the point where his finger touches Life. It grows a few inches, shedding its first, small leaves and allowing new, larger ones to grow. His success doesn’t last long, however, and the plant promptly pops into small pieces of greenery scattered around the dark soil. He twists his up head to you, eyes wide, lips pouted in dismay. You are already clapping delightedly. 

“Yes!” You clasp his hands again, excited. Despite himself, he revels in the touch; “That is much better than all the other attempts thus far! That is the answer, then. Life and Death dance together.” Magic buzzes under his skin, already reaching out to yours on instinct. You must feel it too, as the smell of flowers and citrus spikes in the air. At your feet, a small patch of bouvardia bursts into bright bloom.

Grinning, you just grasp his hands tighter.

Seungcheol yanks a few carrots out, wiping the soil away with a spare rag before laying them beside the other vegetables. They join the peppers and lettuce already filling the basket.

“You are different from what they say.” He looks up, meeting your eyes. You nestle a head of newly-harvested cabbage. “Gloomy, perhaps. But there is nothing cruel about you.”

“How magnanimous of you to say,” he responds dryly. You gesture to his part of the harvest. 

“I imagine this all must be very new.”

“It has been many millennia since I have been with Life this long,” he acknowledges. They are only distant memories, blurred and softened by the passage of time.

“What is the Underworld like?”

“Have you not seen my domain, goddess?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh, but that was just your River and the Palace; it must be much more vast than that.”

“Nothing grows in my realm, except the lands of the blessed, which houses those shades to be reincarnated.” 

Your nose wrinkles as you try to imagine it. “No sunlight makes for a dreary place indeed. Truly nothing grows?”

“Well…” An idea occurs to him, and he places his hand on the soil, concentrating. Sure enough, the earth pushes up a fist-sized emerald onto his waiting palm. He presents it to you. Your eyes sparkle as you accept the gift, turning it this way and that, observing how the uncut jewel gleams as it reflects the sun. You turn back to him, inquisitive.

“Do these grow on your trees? Or do you just will them from the ground?”

“Oh! No, I merely—” Seungcheol clears his throat. He feels heat burn his ears red. “We have these, as well. It is not just an expanse of grey despair.”

You look at him curiously, likely catching the way he squirms under your gaze. Eventually, you just level him with a grin.

“I’d forgotten that the Lord of the Dead is also the God of Wealth. I would like to see this…jeweled garden of yours next time.” The emerald reflects a small, bright spot of green light on your cheek, like a little divine dimple. Somehow, he thinks he would not mind if you visit again.

Meals have quickly grown to be his favorite time. You are softer here, the less forgiving mask of researcher and instructor having been traded in favor of the genial goddess.

Today, he finally mastered his first dish—not merely balancing the seasoning ingredients like you had asked him with the cucumbers, but a full-blown, steaming bowl of stew. He did not expect to be filled with so much satisfaction at the smile that bloomed on your face at the first bite.

“This is perfect, Your Grace.”

He just nods, suddenly bashful, picking up his own spoon. As he eats, you watch him, particularly bright-eyed. There is something almost like wonder in your gaze—and he doesn’t know what to do with it. No one has ever looked at the Lord of the Dead with wonder, of all things.

Seungcheol is not quite sure what your duties are, only that you have not left your domain since your trip to the Underworld. Even while he was your captive, he had only seen you here. It is only when you flit around, uncharacteristically restless, that he even realizes you have obligations outside your realm.

“I received a message from Seungkwan yesterday,” you confess, catching his questioning look. “The mortals’ fields are suffering from my absence. Harvest is my mother’s domain, while Spring is mine; at this rate there will be little bounty.”

“You have been neglecting your duties.” His tone is more disapproval than a question.

“It would be strange for a sick goddess to be out and about, would it not?” Pointedly, you raise an eyebrow. “If I attend to them now, the gossip mill will grind anew. Not that the Pantheon is not already suspicious.”

Seungcheol glares at his feet. He hates those voices more than anything else. They were the reason he chose to sequester himself in his realm in the first place—the domain of the dead had always been regarded with fearful reverence, and Seungcheol had never bothered to contest those narratives. Even if it did mean the occasional offering from mortals who seem to think that more death will come if they do not worship, or worse, that he can have killed specific people if they bribe him with enough sheep.

“Will you be alright alone?”

He scoffs, shooing you away with a hand. “I am no blushing bride.” You look at him askance; something in your eyes tells him you are not persuaded by his act. Still, you sling your rucksack over your shoulder. 

Your disbelieving gaze shifts into something more teasing, though it seems slightly strained, as though you yourself are reluctant to leave your realm. Foolishly, he hopes that it is you being reluctant to leave him.

“Do not miss me too much, Your Grace.”

Idly, you weave gerberas and little chrysanthemums into a crown, inserting some daffodil blooms as you go. Once you are satisfied, you gesture at Seungcheol, and he hunches down, allowing you to nestle the crown on his head. It has become your routine between your return from your duties and the start of supper preparations, and always under the cherry tree that is your pride and joy—the first and largest thing you had grown with your combined powers.

“Your turn.” Against his will, Seungcheol feels heat creep up his ears and cheeks.

“It is poorly done, goddess—” You tut, cutting him off.

“I will be the judge of that.” Expectantly, you lower your head.

His own creation is much clumsier, the ranunculus drooping from where he left the weave loose in fear of the soft stems breaking. You had suggested he pair it with roses, so that the structure could be reinforced, but the romantic implication had flustered him too much.

He arranges it carefully, maneuvering the blooms to something a bit more dignified. When there is nothing more he can do to salvage it, he steps back, breath catching a little when you look up at him from where you are seated under the tree. Hastily, he looks away, praying that the flowers hide the red creeping up his ears.

Perhaps you don’t, as you waste no time, standing up and tugging his sleeve until you reach the edge of the pond. Looking down, you admire his work, turning your head this way and that, a delighted smile on your face.

Your reflection’s gaze shifts to him.

“The gerberas match your robes, Your Grace.”

“Seungcheol,” he corrects. “Please.” 

“Seungcheol,” you echo, even as your eyes briefly widen at his request. At the pointed raise of his eyebrow, you repeat yourself, amusement coloring your voice. “The gerberas match your robes, Seungcheol.”

He smiles, inclining his head. “So they do.”

The petals tickle his scalp, but he does not mind.

You tell him of your flowers—what each one means, and how to care for them, pointing out how sprites gravitate toward certain flowers depending on their tastes and even moods. He tells you of the rivers—it is not just the Styx, no matter how people like to just call it the River—and the fields, how each shade is assigned their place after they are tried before him and his Council. He tells you stories of Jeonghan and Jisoo, including how they came to be his comrades and closest friends in the Underworld. You are a better listener than he had expected.

It is a gentle existence.

Seungcheol should have known that it would not last forever.

A visitor arrives while you are away.

The thunder startles nearly all the sprites in the grove. For the first time in months, the patch of asters he had been trickling his power into explodes with a leafy pop, scattering bits of stem and purple petals into the air. Seungcheol scowls, recognizing the figure before him. King of the Pantheon he may be, but at the end of the day, his little brother remains to be a coward. And rude, to boot, swaggering in while the mistress of the realm is absent.

“Baby brother,” he acknowledges.

“It is true then,” he muses. “You are contracted to remain in her realm. She must be truly ill if even I cannot feel her presence.” 

Seungcheol does not bother to correct the assumption. He only says, “she is well enough to begin attending to part of her duties, but not to the extent of her full power.”

“Did she trick you into staying here?”

“She did not,” he replies shortly. 

“How…quaint. And clever, since the girl cannot be punished if it happens that you are here by your will.”

“My domain has remained functional in my absence, and I have attended to the concerns that have been brought to me by my comrades.”

“Indeed,” the thunder god muses. He begins to walk; Seungcheol notes the flowers trampled under his brother’s heavy footsteps, already planning how he will coax them back to life. “But what you did not anticipate was the frailty of the kingdom itself.”

“What?”

“Oh yes,” his brother seems pleased to have caught him off-guard. “It will take a while to set in, but your prolonged absence will crumble your kingdom, especially one so elaborate as yours. Your expansion projects will not hold for long, brother. The magic grows thin.”

Seungcheol grits his teeth, eyes flashing with warning. “We three have sworn an oath not to meddle in the realm affairs of another. I suggest you honor your part before the River forces that choice upon you. I will be conferring with my men on whether your observations are indeed true.”

The god before him just shrugs. “Do what you must. But do not think you can renew your contract here just because you could not heal her enough to bed her. Or even, heavens forbid, fell in love.”

Before he can reply, the god has left.

“Do you miss the Underworld?”

It has been just over three months since he had left. The Underworld is not just his domain; it is his home, the one he had ruled over for most of his existence. He chooses his words carefully. “I am needed there, just as the balance between the realms of Life and Death is needed for this world.”

“If you could,” your voice is quiet, “would you leave it?” There is the faintest tremble as the words leave you. You do not look up from the lake, eyes fixed on the still rippling surface. Your reflections remain distorted, even as he sets a gentle hand on your cheek, coaxing you to face him. He has gotten better at the flower crowns; the pink cherry blossoms resting above your brow, woven together with baby’s breath, is one of his favorite sights yet. 

“My place is there, dear Goddess, just as yours is here,” he reminds you softly. 

Even as your face is held to face him, your eyes dart away. The silence lasts entirely too long.

He bites back the urge to tell you of his conversation with his brother, and the one he had with Jeonghan right after—it is true that the Underworld, in a few months, will be in a precarious position. He cannot stay longer than what he had agreed to; he was just lucky that he did not have to breach your terms. The sunset paints the white flowers orange and your face golden. Perhaps it is for the best that there is no sun in the Underworld—the warmth will only make him remember you. 

Eventually, you sag, leaning into his touch with a sigh.

“Very well.” 

Not agreement, but acquiescence. He wonders which would have hurt more.

With every day that passes, your contract’s end creeps ever closer. You say as much, laying beside him under the cherry tree, watching the blossoms sway gently in the wind. The moon peeks from behind the flowers, pale and lovely.

“I would not mind if you visited every once in a while,” you admit. “It would be an honor to have some of the Lord of the Dead’s time, in between his busy functions as King.” 

“Consider it done,” he finally says. After a beat, his lips quirk upward into a faint smile. “And if you send my way any poor suitor that dared touch you, they will suffer Punishment tenfold,” he promises. You laugh, the sound soft against the night.

“I can handle my honor myself. Life can be much crueler than Death, Seungcheol. I have no qualms making fertilizer of lesser men.” Your grin turns into something wicked. “It is the only use I would have of their seed, after all.”

It takes a moment for the joke to land, but when it does, Seungcheol chokes on a startled laugh. You know you are toeing the line of what is acceptable banter with one of the Three Kings, but here, he is just your Seungcheol. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. While no sunlight in the Underworld is a shame, you think that it is equally a loss that no moon shines its glow over his domain; where the sun turns him golden and godly, night renders him achingly beautiful.

In the moonlight, he is almost just a man. 

“Well then,” he says, “if they are coming to my domain either way, you may find solace in the fact that there will be no love lost once they face judgement.”

You laugh again, though it sounds already wistful. 

“When Your Grace leaves, I shall keep that in mind.”

You try steal a glance, only to find that he is already looking at you. 

“We could marry,” he offers suddenly, breaking the silence. “You need not worry about suitors any longer.”

You blink at him for a moment, wondering how to respond to that. Even he does not seem to have expected the words that left his mouth. He does not seem drunk, either. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, the air charged with something that is beyond any magic.

Eventually, you exhale with an almost obnoxiously loud laugh. “You would make a fine God of Spring, Your Grace.”

Seungcheol just blinks, amused and lost in equal measures. “God of Spring? Not Queen of the Underworld?”

“I am no queen,” you brush the notion away, perhaps a little too quickly. “Me? On a throne? I would be more annoyance than ruler.” Seungcheol’s brow furrows. Instead of replying, responding to your bait, he regards you thoughtfully. You try not to fidget under the weight of his gaze. 

Surely this is alright; a non-serious offer must merit a non-serious response. Surely even he must know that the offer is absurd, even as your heart had jumped traitorously at his words. 

“For what it is worth,” he murmurs, entirely too sincere for a god whose domain is Death, “you would be a wonderful Queen.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look away abruptly, fighting back a sniffle. He is being entirely unfair. Blue camellias have already begun to bloom around you, encircling the entire tree. Hope is the realm of mortals, not of the gods. Or perhaps hope is the realm of love, and you had just been too foolish to dig yourself too deep into the soil. Now there are roots.

“You must marry for love, Your Grace, not for misplaced selflessness. Besides, we each have our own roles, do we not?”

Seungcheol gazes at the flowers, and then at you, a knowing look in his eyes even as your words betray the part of your heart that your realm had laid bare.

“Very well, dear Goddess,” he eventually murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully at his voice, so quietly defeated.

Not agreement, but acquiescence. You wonder which would have hurt more.

He leaves past the bloom of the cherry tree, just in time for the first batch of its fruits. The sprites flutter around him, distressed even as he attempts to make his goodbye. As you approach, they finally release him from their tittering.

“My realm will always be open to you, Your Grace.” He accepts your proffered basket of cherries with a quiet thank you, even as his body and magic screams in protest at the notion of leaving. Seungcheol feels torn in two—a part of him ready to return to the familiarity of his domain, and the other insisting that there is too much of home here for him to turn his back to it. 

There is a spot of dirt right by your cheek that he cannot seem to tear his gaze from. He thumbs it away, catching the hitch in your breath as his fingers ghost past your lips. 

It really cannot be helped. 

Seungcheol leans in, close, so close, feeling the magic thrum down to his bones. Still, he pauses, eyes flicking up from where they had been focused on your lips to ask this silent question. Instead of answering, you close the distance for him. He had meant for it to be sweet; a goodbye kiss, just one sip at the forbidden fruit before he was to part ways. He had hoped that he could have the kind of love that worked better at a distance.

He was a fool for thinking that could ever happen with you. 

You arch against him with a gasping moan, nipping at his lip with a vicious tenderness that prompts an answering groan. His hands grasp your hips, greedy, demanding, crushing you even harder against him. He had forgotten the wild goddess, the one who had first captured him by way of magic before even setting sights on his heart.

“Say my name,” he gasps.

“Seungcheol—Cheol—” He swallows your whimper into his mouth. 

Later, he will wonder how much of it was him, and how much was the magic that had burst to life when he kissed you. Later still, he will be reminded that there is no relevant distinction between the two in that moment. The smell of grapefruit lingers, faint, but notes of bergamot and blackcurrant, undercut by wood and patchouli, dominate the air.

“Follow me if you dare, goddess,” he whispers it against your lips, breath ragged.

“That is—” You break away with a gasp, your next words muffled by the second kiss he steals from your lips, “mm—entirely unfair. How am I to let you go now? There will be no other God of Spring but you.”

“It is the same for me,” he confesses. You close your eyes, burrowing yourself against his chest. Your hands grip at his robes. For a long moment, you do not speak. 

“How cruel of you to kiss me right as you are about to leave me behind.” He feels your shuddering inhale against his chest, the subtle hitch in your breath that could only come from a sob. It takes a few seconds before you release him, taking a step back. 

This has made him weak; it is what he would have said, months ago, before he understood what the humans in front of him must have felt when they begged on their knees in the name of love. Already blooming at your feet are patches of forget-me-nots and heliotropes, cruel reminders of what he is leaving behind.

“My tending to your malaise has ended, goddess. I have fulfilled my terms under the contract.”

You straighten, schooling your features into a stoic expression, even as tears linger at your eyelashes, and your lips are still swollen. Your voice is steady, almost steel-backed, as you end your River-sworn oath.

“I release you, Lord Seungcheol, from your contract, and attest that all terms have been fulfilled. I and my realm thank you for your help, Your Grace.”

As his body phases into shadow, right past the edge of your realm, you call his name, then five words that make his heart leap in hope despite himself. “And I accept your challenge.”

Jeonghan, uncharacteristically, refrains from teasing him about you, even when he had returned that day with red-rimmed eyes and a still slightly swollen lip.

Since your first encounter, there was a niggling thought at the back of his mind; that you are oriented toward some pursuit. You understood Life magic, applied yourself to it, sought more, and did not let even his position in the Underworld deter you from testing your hypotheses. In contrast, his knowledge of Death’s magic indeed rivals yours, but he has not once tried to expand it past what he already knew from millennia ruling his domain.

But if there is anyone who can solve that riddle, it would be you.

He tells himself this even as he immerses himself back into the monotony of being King, judging souls and plotting expansion projects as the need for more space grows. Hope is the realm of mortals, or, indeed, for places the sun touches. Yet he cannot help but hold onto it, amid his familiar darkness, calling on the warmth to keep the old voices at bay.

Moons later.

Seungcheol wakes by way of being hoisted up from his bed and slammed into the ground. He blinks his eyes open, groaning. If Seungkwan had enough strength to harm him, he would likely be in real trouble. As it is, the messenger god looms before him, looking more terrifying than he has ever been in all the time he has known him. Behind him are Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Chan, who all watch with varying degrees of horror and concern.

“Where is she?”

“Seungkwan, she is not—” Jisoo is there, pulling back at his robes, but Seungkwan holds fast, ignoring the God of Death. The caduceus floats dangerously near; he is not interested in finding out what he could do with it.

Amid all this mess, he still does not know what anyone is talking about. “What in the Fields is all this?”

Seungkwan’s lips pull back in a snarl. “Stop playing dumb, Your Grace,” he spits out the last word. 

“It is not Seungcheol’s fault,” Jeonghan interrupts firmly. His face is uncharacteristically grim. “He did not know of this.”

Dread begins to gnaw at him; there are precious few reasons why Seungkwan would be here, and even fewer things that would make him so angry. But it must be impossible—he parted ways with a challenge, but surely—

“She is dead?” He wrenches Seungkwan off him, breath coming out in harsh pants. “Impossible. I would have felt it.”

“Well she most definitely is not in her realm. No one has been able to reach her. There is only one other place she could be.”

Behind Seungkwan, Chan is shaking like a leaf. Seungcheol’s eyes move to him, and he shrinks under his gaze. He turns his head to look at Jeonghan and Jisoo. Jeonghan looks unsure, but defiant, while Jisoo averts his gaze, guilty.

“Where is she?” Fury and sorrow war over his heart.

“The throne room.” It is Jisoo who speaks. “She insisted that her first audience be with you.” Seungkwan turns his fury on him, already shouting something, but it is all mush in his ears. Seungcheol leaves them all, stumbling out of his bedchambers and breaking into a sprint.

“Took you long enough.” 

It’s a voice he never thought he’d hear, never so soon. Shock lances through him like a bold of lightning.

You are seated on his throne. Draped across it, more like, knees slung on one armrest and your back leaning against the other. The bowl of cherries he had been keeping beside his throne rests on your stomach. In place of your normal garments, you’re wearing a deep red robe, which shimmers like fine satin under the torchlight.

His magic sings in a way he never thought possible again. It is as though his dreams had decided to form his own version of temptation as punishment.

“What,” he croaks. “—are you doing?” 

“Sitting, of course.” 

“You are not supposed to be here.”

“No? You issued a challenge. I merely responded. You should know better than to underestimate me.” You tsk. “Jeonghan helped. Unlike your synergy with my domain, I needed to be reaped first. Death before spring, as it were. Then Chan and Joshua stepped in for the rebirth.”

You hold your hand up high, letting the sleeve of your robe drop, revealing your arm. Seungcheol inhales sharply. Spidery cracks run across your skin, pulsing gold with godly blood, but lined with mud. Looking more closely, he notices more about your appearance. The color of your irises is more faded than usual, almost translucent. A lock of hair from behind your ear is now brilliant white.

“You survived the River?” Seungcheol should have known that you would surprise him.

“Well, dear Chan planted Joshua’s flowers on his riverbank. Did you know?” Yes, he did; he visited them every day, tended to them as much as he could with the new wielding of his magic that he learned from you. “There was enough of myself for the River to recognize me. Enough in the soil to help me push the fragments of my spirit together.” 

Picking a cherry from the bowl, you hold it to the torchlight for inspection. A beat passes. You promptly pop the cherry into your mouth. 

Seungcheol lunges forward. “Stop—!” 

Your eyes narrow at the bowl of fruit as you chew thoughtfully. “Are these the cherries you stole from my orchard? I could have sworn they were a much better batch than this.” You pop the seed out onto your fingers. Red stains your lips as you lick the juices that spill from your mouth, thumb catching the drop that spills to your chin before your tongue flicks out to get that as well.

He almost falls to his knees then and there. 

Seungcheol watches, in panicked and confused desire, as you swing your legs from the armrest and stand, holding the bowl of cherries. There is a bulge on your cheek where the meat of the fruit remains. 

“It is such a shame,” you begin, his robe swishing down the steps as you descend, “that the Goddess of Spring’s illness, even with the Lord of the Dead’s tending, never did abate.”

The fabric moves like water over your body, flowing and dipping into curves he has been aching to touch for months. Stopping in front of him, you tug Seungcheol in by his robes, slotting your lips against his. He gasps, and you push the meat of the cherry into his open mouth, urging him to accept it. As the fruit lands on his tongue, you pull away, smirking when he chases your lips unconsciously. You run your tongue along the seam of your mouth, savoring his taste as you speak again.

“In his wisdom and compassion, he proclaims that the only way to preserve as much of her life as possible would be to stay with her for six months, as death is where Spring begins.” You pop another cherry in your mouth, maneuvering the fruit until another seed pops from your lips.

Seungcheol begins to see where this is going, his smile growing until his cheeks ache with the force of it. Oh, you glorious, glorious goddess.

“So the goddess blesses her fruit, mimicking the latent magic of his realm—” His mouth is already open as you lean your weight into him, accepting the fruit with a teasing nip at your bottom lip. Seungcheol revels in the way you whimper against him, in the knowledge that in matters of desire, you are evenly matched. He grasps your hips, pulling you toward him while walking you backwards. Your mouths part with a soft smack.

Hoarsely, you continue, “—And he eats six cherries to bind himself to her and her realm for half a year, as the God of Spring.”

You startle as your knees hit the edge of his throne, but he makes sure to ease you down gently. The remaining four kisses are a blur of lips, teeth, and tongue, and he swallows each pitted cherry right alongside your gasps and moans.

As the sixth passes his throat, he picks up the bowl before looking at you with a wicked smirk.

“But the Lord of the Dead, who also was her lover, could not bear to be away from her. So,” he waves a hand at the fruit, releasing your spell and allowing the latent magic of his realm to bind it to him, “he asks her, in turn, to rule with him in the Underworld for the remaining six months, as Death cannot exist without Life.”

Out of all reactions you could give, Seungcheol does not expect you to be quiet. There is something terribly vulnerable about your gaze, made all the more devastating by the slightly translucent quality of your irises. “Really?” you ask, voice small. As though you had not expected him to do this.

Seungcheol melts. “I am wholly yours, darling,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. He grasps your waist with both his hands, thumb tracing reverent circles on your stomach. “If you want to, stay with me too. Be my Queen. Or just be with me, as my love.”

You kiss him deeply, twisting your fingers in his hair, the cherries in his hands forgotten. “My King,” you murmur against his lips. “My God of Spring. My Seungcheol. You are all the same to me, I love you as you are.” He surges against you, crowding you against his royal seat, too busy reveling in the fact that you are here, in all your cunning and wild beauty.

It takes much longer than before, each cherry-bearing kiss dragging out much more than strictly necessary, but eventually twelve pits are scattered around you, even as your hands remain in his hair and his fingers dig bruises into your ribs.

When you finally pull away, the cracks on your skin are fully gone. Your eyes have returned to normal. The only thing that remains different is the lock of hair by your ear, so white it almost glows in the low light of the throne room. He runs his fingers through it gently, and you lean into his touch with a blissful sigh.

Seungcheol cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “How I have missed you, my darling.”

“None of that,” you murmur,  “Did I take too long?”

Later, you will face Seungkwan, hands clasped, and he will see the white streak in your hair and demand answers—later, you will talk of whether the story you had spun will be what is known, or if you will both come out with the whole truth—later, you will debate on what ritual he must fulfill for your realm to accept him—and later still, he and you will have to face the Pantheon, loath as you both are with their rules—

But that is later. Nothing could come before this—the magic the hums against his lips as he drags them across your skin, realizing he has time, so much of it, to learn, even as he has already loved you before he could keep you. And you have him, claimed him first, found a way for all the fragmented parts of him to fit, even if it meant reshaping your soul in the process.

There is only one response to that: Devotion. Completely. Utterly. You have always been entirely too lovely for him to know what to do with. But he has forever to try his damnedest.

Seungcheol leans his forehead against yours, finally content. “It does not matter. We are here now.”

“The way to see how beautiful life is, is from the vantage point of death.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

notes. quote is extremely out of context so if u read dispossessed dont come at me. with enough persuasion you may or may not have a) an nsfw epilogue throne sex, and/or b) a shorter but slightly more morally questionable version

[notkrispy]

now or never pt. 5 (finale)

xu minghao x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 (finale)

word count: 12.3k

synopsis: when you make a chance encounter with your ex, you end up saying that you're engaged to your estranged neighbor xu minghao. when you find out your ex is coming to your friend's wedding, you've only got a month to become a convincing couple.

warnings: cursing, oral sex, slight dumbification, alcohol, asshole ex!joshua, fighting, mostly domestic shit idk lmao

notes: after 5 months of restarting and almost giving up on this chapter entirely, the now or never series is complete. thank you all for loving this story so much, now or never is unlike anything I've ever written and I am so happy that it's finally done. I was scared that making the story so simple would turn people away, but I am grateful for all the support! shoutout to @maijunejuly + @flowerwonu for supporting this story so much <3 and thank you all for loving these two and watching them fall in love! I hope this is a satisfying ending, longtime readers I'm giving you a big smooch on the cheek

taglist: @kwonranghae @butterfliesinthenightsky @sugarrimajins @cosmicwintr @lztespring @justasoftstan @lilactangerine @jeongiegram @hoohoohope @trashygigi @itzelise06 @bonsaijoons @playboygeniusphilanthropist @thedeeppoet @mo-onlar @kyoko-22 @thesunsfullmoon @jungish @twancingyunhao @knucklesdeepmingi @crystal-phoenix-and-silver-fox @jaehyunfilms @awyunh @fiantomartell @milk-leaves @junoluvr @rhia-clyde

The morning of the wedding is particularly quiet in your shared hotel room. Since the wedding didn’t start until later that afternoon, it gave both of you an opportunity to settle into the day.

Thus, you’re not rushing out of bed, you’re interested in watching the sunlight filter through the curtains instead, insisting on letting yourself wake up slowly. You eventually turn your attention to your lover who is still sleeping peacefully beside you. You decide to stir up some movement with slow touches to his hair, trying not to move too harshly against his skin. 

He replies with a soft hum, idly turning his head towards you. His eyes are still closed though, it seems like a silent invitation for you to keep going. 

You decide to kick it up a notch with a few kisses along the side of his face, you feel his cheeks pull into a smile from the contact and you launch into giggles, resting your head on his neck.

“Well, good morning,” His voice is raspy in the way you love it, right on the edge of sleep. 

“Good morning,” You reply, you can’t help but kiss his neck and he lets out a gentle sigh.

“Big day, huh?” He asks softly. The anticipation stirs in your chest, but truthfully a medley of emotions seems to swarm there. 

You hum in confirmation, but it wasn’t your big day, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, your mind tries to play out all possible outcomes to the evening’s events due to your anxiety.

First, you could confront Joshua, verbally or physically, but likely the former since you don’t want to be kicked out of the wedding over him. You could approach him or he could come to you, it’s a matter of how the events unfold. 

Second, he could try to initiate confrontation, but you could refuse to engage. You could argue it’s not the time or place to hash out personal drama, especially not at a friend’s wedding, which would be correct. Sure, there would be about 100 other guests there and the booming music could cover up the conflict so seamlessly that no one is made aware of the situation, but you fear that it’s not worth the risk.

Third, you could end up avoiding each other altogether. Again, there were enough people attending that you could somehow not cross paths the entire night. This was the most likely option, as you probably wouldn’t muster up the courage to do anything. The tension would remain unaddressed and you’d likely still have a good night watching your friend get married, bolstered by free alcohol and Minghao’s companionship.

Fourth, the entirely fantastical option, Minghao would confront Joshua himself.

The odds are quite slim, but Minghao might not have the patience to engage in Joshua’s fake niceties. You don’t think it would turn physical, but Joshua would likely leave with his feelings hurt. Although you’ve never been caught in the crossfire of Minghao’s anger, it was best to avoid this option if at all possible. 

He adjusts himself so that he’s partially sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his eyes meeting yours. “Are you feeling okay about everything?” He inquires with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

“I am. Are you?”

“Yeah. Whatever you want to do, I’m fine with that,” He offers. Minghao had been quite compliant with your feelings about the situation in the past month, enough that it wasn’t surprising that he’d go full throttle on Joshua if needed. 

“So if I ask you to beat him up, you’ll do it?”

“Not sure about that,” he scoffs, “but if you want to escalate things, I’m fully supportive.” 

You nod to yourself in satisfaction, it was enough to push the fears to the back of your mind temporarily.

He ended up getting out of bed before you, of course, but you’re up soon enough, the both of you naturally weaving between each other to get ready for the morning. Before going to bed last night, you both agreed to ditch the hotel breakfast in favor of exploring the local restaurants in order to maximize your vacation time. 

You both settle on a seaside cafe with sweeping windows that overlook the coveted ocean, the main attraction of the small town. It’s not as busy as you expected, but there’s still lots of movement once you arrive. The combination of patrons talking over pastries with hot drinks, baristas manning the noisy coffee machines, and the indie pop music in the background are all just tolerable enough to make the venture outside of the hotel worth it.

You decide to indulge in chocolate chip pancakes while he opts for oatmeal with assorted berries on top. While eating across from him, it occurs to you that being out with Minghao in public is still such a foreign sensation.

The past month of getting to know him had been so insular, so concentrated on the apartment complex that you were almost enveloped in the relationship completely, it almost felt suspicious for it to exist in the real world.

Sure, you’ve been out in public together numerous times.

Yet, there’s a way his eyes fixed on yours, the way he dissolved into giggles just from looking at you. When you ask him what’s wrong, he just shakes his head and looks down at his plate again, but you’re sure it’s love.

His hands aren’t hesitant when they grab yours out of habit, forcing you to place down your fork.

He plants kisses on the back of your hands, insisting that he had to do it right that second. Yet, he concedes by feeding you a few bites of your pancakes.

You’re sure it’s love by the way you move his hair out of his eyes, you call him handsome when he least expects it just to see the blush creep onto his cheeks.

It was a quiet yet showy affection all at the same time. There was a silent sense that you were both waiting to change the trajectory of your relationship, but you decided it can’t happen in the café.

As you finish the meal and the check is handled, it’s back to holding hands with a tight grip, barely restraining your romantic thoughts through such a simple gesture.

The walk back to the hotel is once again quite short, but any moment spent with Minghao felt worthy of experiencing.

—

“Can you zip me up?” 

“Of course,” Minghao is behind your back before you can get the question out, hands gently tugging up the black zipper. The late morning had slowly spun into the afternoon and he decided it would be best to start getting ready earlier rather than later.

You aren’t in a position to argue, seeing as your routines took a considerable amount of time no matter how formal or casual an event was. You figure it’s just him accounting for the inevitable second-guessing about accessories or the possible existential dread about attending the wedding altogether. 

Your dress is still incredibly bold, you think to yourself as you study your figure in the mirror. Minghao decided to make you a matching pair of gloves that only emphasized the beauty of the look.

“You look so beautiful,” He emphasizes it with a gentle kiss on the lips, craning his neck slightly to meet your face.

“Thank you,” You reach up to cradle his head and turn him toward the mirror. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” You tease, but it was a complete understatement. He was nearly done getting ready by the time he walked over to see you, but his black suit made him look even more handsome than you expected. 

He opted for his regular middle part, letting his shaggy black hair hang in front of his eyes. You asked him a few days ago if he wanted to get it cut for the wedding, but he knew you liked it too much to do anything. 

“Let me see your piercings,” You touched his ear and he moved to reveal the few pieces of silver jewelry that led down the shell of his ear. His piercings are something you always forget are there until he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, but he lets you pick out the set he would wear today.  

“Gorgeous,” you affirm with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Do you have everything in your bag?” He gestures toward the desk, it currently has too many things strewn across it in your efforts to get ready.

“Shit,” You rush over to fill your clutch with the essentials you needed for the night and he laughs at your frantic energy.

“Relax, baby, we won’t be late,” He reassures you with a quiet voice. You notice that you’re clutching the lip gloss in your hand a bit too tight and relax your grip, dropping the item into your purse before zipping it up.

“Right,” you shut your eyes for a moment.

“We’ll be fine,” You feel his hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He could sense the tension in your muscles, he steadies your breathing with his own deep breaths, and you naturally follow his pattern.

“Thank you,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you take another moment before turning around in his arms. 

“I just have to tell you again how sexy you look right now,” He admits with a sly grin. It makes you laugh with your whole body, nearly falling out of his arms from the combination of embarrassment and joy. 

You cock your eyebrow at him. “Don’t praise me too much or else we’re not making it out of here at all,” He lets out a short laugh. 

“I have no problem with that,” He grabs your face and peppers kisses all over your cheeks, despite your immediate protests.  

It helps you remember that no matter what happens at the wedding, this is what’s waiting for you afterward.

—

The venue is only a few minutes away from the hotel, so the drive is much shorter than you wanted it to be. You tried to wrench away the last of your nerves as you stared at the entrance of the country club, you noticed the other well-dressed guests and their occasional stares at you, your chest, and your hips.

He catches on and squeezes your hand. “Come on, we don’t wanna be late,” He pulls you gently into motion, and you instinctively wrap your arm around his. 

The venue is stunning, if not expensive, it definitely costs an arm and a leg to get married near the beach during peak wedding season. The wedding ceremony is outside, and the heat hits you the moment you make it through the back exit with Minghao. The late afternoon sun bore itself down on the guests, but you couldn’t exactly be upset when the atmosphere was so beautiful.

The space was a converted lawn that overlooked the nearby beach, the venue’s most anticipated view, and now prime wedding location. 

The arch, aisle, and individual seats were ivory-colored, each adorned with white floral arrangements. Most of the guests had filed in by the time you made it to your seats, but Minghao led you both to seats right near the aisle toward the back of the seating arrangements. 

There were a few things to keep your interest within the scenery itself, but Minghao mostly stayed quiet. Besides checking in once to see how you were feeling before the ceremony, he mostly observed the people around him. 

Namely, a baby that was in the row ahead of you. The infant was slightly fussy, understandably with the heat and noise from the live orchestra. The mother seemed slightly flustered trying to keep the baby under control, but Minghao’s interest seemed to catch the baby’s focus once he made himself known.

He babbled and made funny faces that made the baby stop crying, their watery eyes watching him in surprise. The cries soon turned to laughs as he gently pinched the baby’s cheek with his fingers, his cooing soothed their nerves almost instantly. There was something that stirred in your chest at the sight of him, your “not really fake” boyfriend being so gentle with the baby and the sight of his engagement ring could’ve made you cry on the spot.

It was almost like a glimpse into the future, a memory that you captured in your heart instantly. You hadn’t discussed anything past marriage yet, but this made you want to have the conversation soon.

Not that anything could happen in the immediate future, but something in you wondered if he would want to start a family with you someday. You’re snapped out of the daydream when you hear the mother thank him and he turns his attention toward you.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing,” You choose not to elaborate, to keep the feeling sacred in your chest. 

He notices how high your cheeks are from smiling and clutches your hand tighter than before.

A few minutes pass before the procession officially begins, the guests all rise from their seats and watch as the bridesmaids, groomsmen, the ring bearer, and the flower girl each have their moment walking down the aisle.

Mingyu is then escorted down the aisle with his mother, and you realize this is the first time you’ve seen him in so long.. He settles at the altar and anxiously waits for his bride to join him, the entire crowd also holds an air of anticipation.

Once she steps into view, Mingyu looks absolutely enamored with the bride, he can’t stop beaming while watching her. You even see a few tears fall from his cheeks and it makes the moment even more precious.

You wonder how that feeling would settle into your bones, knowing that you’ve built such a strong bond with someone that there’s no other option than to marry them. 

Despite your initially rash decision, the longer you were living with the concept of getting married, the more it started to scare you.

Sure, you liked the idea of wedding planning, picking out a dress, and all the other decisions that were meant to be a dream come true, but being at a wedding was completely different. It was a visualization of months of effort to bring so many different elements together that you feel almost intimidated by it.

Yet, there’s no reason for you to even have cold feet, you two aren’t even formally in a relationship! You have all the time in the world to let the relationship bloom completely, you know he wouldn’t jump into anything too quickly.

You sit with all these feelings as the ceremony goes on, their vows to each other are filled to the brim with adoration and care for one another. 

This was a result of years invested into a relationship, but how could you feel nearly the same way, truly feel the descriptions of being cared for and protected beyond measure, after a few weeks? 

You tear up at how they speak so highly of each other because you love Minghao in this way, you love this person who has enriched your life so deeply that you can’t even recognize yourself from a few weeks ago.

As soon as they’re pronounced husband and wife, you watch them exchange that first kiss as if their bodies couldn’t bear to be apart for another second. You cry silently as you watch them through slightly blurry eyes, the realization is all a bit too much to bear at the moment. 

You force yourself to keep sniffling occasionally until the ceremony is over, but the moment Minghao holds your hand as the rest of the crowd disperses, you lose the rest of your composure. 

Minghao glances over at you in slight shock. 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone is especially warm tonight, and you know you can’t wait any longer to tell him.

“I love you,” You face him and cup his face in your hands. “I love everything about you and I mean that,” Your voice is choked by sobs, but you manage to get it all out.

You wanted this moment to be more private, but when you see the relief hit his face, the tension melts from his shoulders and he smiles so wide that you know he’s only focused on you.

“I love you too,” He can’t stop grinning, he’s on the brink of tears when you observe his eyes and you pull him into your arms immediately.

You stay there for a little while, just silently rocking each other in a tight hug. 

He finally whispers in your ear. “I think we’re missing the party,” He looks back at the brightly lit venue before facing you again. You finally hear the music thumping and come to your senses.

“Yeah, I think so. We don’t want to miss the speeches, right?” You ask with a tilt of your head, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

—

The inside of the venue feels especially cozy now that the ceremony is over, the room is dimly lit and almost lulls you into a false sense of security. 

You’re acutely aware of Minghao’s hand around your waist, his fingers are idly running across the fabric of your dress and it eases your nerves once again. The room is lively, music and conversation fill the space to a decently loud volume that you still have to adjust to. You don’t spot Mingyu or the bride, but you’re sure they’re mingling happily amongst their guests. 

Your eyes scan across the room to find your table, but you turn to face Minghao in confusion. “Do you remember our table number?”

“It was 13,” He speaks over the music and turns to look for the table in question, letting out a quiet hum when he spots it. He points to the table and you both head over, not seeing the other guests in view quite yet. You can tell it’s fairly full, and you decide that you weren’t against getting to know new people. 

That’s what you tell yourself until he’s the first person you spot at your table. 

Fucking hell. 

Of course, he’s at your table, looking at you expectantly. You can almost see a glint of regret in his eyes when you adjust your posture, but you look at her before you can fixate on his expression for too long. 

She’s glowing in that expectant mother kind of way, you almost feel uneasy when she offers you a smile. You’re certain that your thoughts are pulling you too far back into your brain when Seokmin makes himself known.

“Look at you two, it’s been a while,” He chats excitedly, eyes disappearing with that brilliant smile of his. He directs his attention at you first.

“You look absolutely stunning!” He opens his arms for a hug and you happily oblige, placing your arms on his back in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” You’re nearly breathless by the time he pulls away, but still happy nonetheless. 

“I need to know where you got this dress, I can’t get over it,” Seokmin gushes, he gives you a once over before smiling up at you again. 

“Oh, he made it for me,” You respond easily, you’re determined not to shy away from the compliment. You look at Minghao briefly and he returns a smirk, but it’s affirming, you’re grateful that your confidence has yet to waver.

“I’m not shocked at all,” He pulls Minghao into a hug and pats him on the back, “he’s always had a good eye.” Minghao laughs and pulls himself into conversation with the journalist easily. You realize that it’s rude to not at least acknowledge the other people at the table, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the sight of Soonyoung and Chan, who are both equally excited to see you.

The table arrangement is overwhelmingly positive besides the obvious, but it was likely out of convenience that Mingyu’s college friends were all arranged together at one table. 

Soonyoung and Chan sweep you away from the table in a hurry, giving you no room to look at Joshua for even a second longer. “I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” Chan is beaming when he pulls you into a tight hug. Weeks felt like months now that you were out of the hypothetical bubble, but you start to feel guilt in the pit of your stomach. 

“Yeah, your man really pulled you away from your friends,” Soonyoung jokes as you embrace him toward your chest. You laugh into his suit jacket, but the fact still remains. You hadn’t updated them nearly enough on the situation recently, especially not about your revelation toward Minghao. 

You didn’t want to become that person who neglected their friends once you got into a relationship, you didn’t want to be consumed by him that you forget to live outside of him. You pull away from the hug and look at both of them with wistful eyes. You don’t have any excuses, to be honest. 

“Sorry that I’ve been hiding, it wasn’t intentional,” You shake your head pathetically, shifting your eyes down to your feet before looking up at them again.

“It’s not okay, we’ve been starving for details,” Chan replied with a cheeky grin. “But we’re happy you’re okay,” Soonyoung interjects. 

“You two look like you’re in love,” Soonyoung leads the two of you further away from the table to make sure Minghao is completely out of earshot. 

“Wait, are you in love with him?” Soonyoung clutches your arm and you see that Chan is anxiously awaiting the answer too. 

You chuckle lightly and lower your voice. “I confessed to him earlier,” you whisper. The men both gasp in excitement, giving you proud smiles that invite you in so easily. 

“I knew it,” Chan pats Soonyoung’s shoulder as a sly smile plays on his lips. 

“We both did,” Soonyoung puts a hand on your shoulder, “there was no way you were getting out of this without catching feelings.” You start to blush and look for a way out, taking a glance around the room.

You want to focus on other guests, what they’re wearing, the gossip that’s on their lips, but you can only look for him. He’s not too far, of course, but your heart can’t slow until you see him. 

You lock eyes with him and his face noticeably softens. You watch his smile spread to his cheeks before turning away. “Let’s get drinks before the speeches start,” You nod in the guys’ direction and they approve the decision immediately.

You settle on a vodka soda from the bar and lazily nurse your first drink in your hand, occasionally taking a sip while talking to Soonyoung and Chan.

It was ultimately a good idea to drink now, you thought it best to have your senses slightly blurred when facing the elephant in the room. 

You needed just a bit of liquid courage, not too much to make it through whatever the night had yet to present. Once all three of you had mingled to your heart’s content, you made your way back to the table with a newfound confidence. 

As you took a seat next to Minghao, his hand found your thigh instantly. 

He leans in to whisper against your ear. “Enjoying yourself?” 

You feel yourself blush. “Yeah, just needed a little pick me up,” You reciprocate the action and he runs his hand along your leg in affirmation.

“Good,” He pulls away with a nod. It’s a bit cheeky, but you wouldn’t fold for him like this, not yet at least.

“More importantly, how are you holding up?” You place your chin in the palm of your hand, gazing at him softly. The upbeat music and distant conversations from other tables make you feel a bit fuzzier while making eye contact with him.

“I’m good, Seokmin kept me pretty occupied thankfully,” He sucks his teeth and lets out a sigh. You nod in a silent understanding, you wish you had the ability to diffuse tension like he could. 

“Hopefully it’s smooth sailing,” You reassure him with a gentle smile, one that he accepts with a small grin. You say it in an effort to soothe the hint of doubt in your own mind, but you were getting ahead of yourself. 

There weren’t any problems yet, so why create them out of thin air? 

You only had to idle for a few more minutes before the speeches got into full swing. The maid of honor and best man both had emotionally touching speeches that kept everyone’s spirits high. It was emotional for both the bride and groom, who you noticed wiping stray tears on occasion while listening to their loved ones. It was clear that they were surrounded by a supportive circle who were excited to send them off on their new journey as newlyweds. 

The real trouble was dinner.

You learned that Mingyu loved cooking, so the spread for the meal was quite thorough enough to suit a variety of dietary restrictions and tastes. Once each of you had gone up to get food, and in your case extra alcohol, you could no longer delay the inevitable.

The tension was unbearably thick.

The sound of utensils scraping against plates and the occasional clink of glassware were the only noises that filled the silence amongst the table. 

As much as your second and third drinks were continuing to soothe your nerves, the presence of alcohol could only do so much. Each person at the table had varying levels of familiarity with the situation at hand, but it wasn’t their place to instigate anything, so the silence endured.

“How was your trip up here, Y/N?” Joshua asked suddenly.

“It was fine, we drove up,” You held your composure at the question, making eye contact with him briefly before looking down at your plate to take another bite of your food.

“Nice, so you got to prepare how you were going to lie to everyone, right?”

“What?” You look up at him with a deadpan expression. You notice Minghao shifting in his seat  next to you. He seriously wasn’t trying to do this over dinner, right?

“You know what I’m talking about, Y/N, don’t play dumb,” He scoffed at you. You glance at Seokmin, who is clearly confused at his apparent line of questioning. Soonyoung and Chan both seemed to catch on immediately.

“No, Joshua. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Enlighten me,” You smile at the end of your response. You lean back in your chair and tilt your head slightly.

If he wanted to embarrass you, he was going to have to work for it.  

“When did you get engaged, Y/N?”

“Joshua, what the hell are you doing?” His girlfriend interjected.

“No, it’s okay,” You reassure her with a nod but she still looks concerned on your behalf. “It was 2 months ago. He set up a picnic for us like our first date, it was lovely.”

“When are you getting married?”

The detail you discussed with Minghao during the road trip immediately came to mind. “This time next year, so sometime during the summer, we’re still early in the planning phase. Anything else?”

“You didn’t even have your ring on when I met him with you,” Joshua stutters through his words.

“I knew I had a long day of work ahead of me without much sleep the night before so I naturally forgot. Minghao told you that I forgot it. You knew I had terrible sleep issues while we were together, or did you conveniently forget that so it could fit your narrative about me?” You tilt your head slightly, the answer comes together almost too easily.

That response earned a light chuckle from Minghao, and everyone else at the table knew they were in for a show.

“Your relationship is fake, no matter how much you delude yourself or him. I honestly can’t believe you got him to do this in the first place,” Joshua sets his jaw in frustration. You adjust your posture once more so you can properly read Joshua to filth. It was fun being a bit underhanded with Joshua, but now he was getting unnecessary.

“First of all, you don’t speak for him or me. The fact that you have nothing better to do than to interrogate me about my relationship is a sign that you can’t bear to think of me being happy without you,” Your tone remains firm as you let out your innermost thoughts.

“I’m clearly in love with him and that bothers the shit out of you because you’re miserable as fuck. The fact that you’re an emotionally stunted dickhead is not my problem. You should be worrying about becoming a father and minding your business, but here you are making a fool out of yourself,” Joshua seems to shrink slightly behind your words, but you don’t lose your momentum.

“I don’t know what your goal was in trying to humiliate me in front of my friends and my fiancé, but you’re a fucking loser and I suggest you spend some time getting your head out of your ass. Fuck you.”

You take a sharp exhale. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom,” You don’t hesitate to stand up and make a beeline away from the table.

You don’t stop walking through the seemingly endless halls until you’re in the comfort of the bathroom, clutching the edge of the sink and letting out a shaky breath.

You did it.

You let him have it in front of Minghao, his girlfriend, and your friends.

It felt good as hell. 

It was long overdue, but the feeling of freedom in your skin felt too good to ignore. 

You take a moment to assess if there was any damage to your makeup. Thankfully, nothing looked out of place once you spent a few moments admiring your features. 

It felt like your mind was finally catching up to your body now that you were alone.

First, you said that you were in love with Minghao and you truly meant it. Defending him was so natural to you that it felt like you’d done it for ages.

Second, Joshua knew the original setup was fake. It didn’t really matter now that you had actively gaslit him into oblivion, but you had clearly made up for a less than stellar performance when you first introduced Joshua to Minghao. 

Lastly, you still had to go back out there. Sure, you were tipsy, but you still had to perform for a bit longer. It weighed on you the longer you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You brought yourself back to reality with a shake of your head, you turn to open the door and are shocked to see Minghao’s face.

“Hao,” You breathe out. 

“I wanted to come check on you. You really went off back there,” He gave you a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“I did. It felt good,” You let out a chuckle.

“Are you anxious? Do you wanna go back to the hotel?” His comforting tone makes you smile, but shockingly, you don't feel completely overwhelmed by your surroundings. 

“I’m fine, babe,” You lower your head slightly at the questions. Most times, you think you would’ve preferred going home after being so confrontational, but you wanted to have fun. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

He pulls you into a hug and mumbles into your ear. “I’m proud of you,” His words melt into you so easily, it makes you feel at ease. You spend a few more moments with your head against his shoulder, savoring the silence away from the commotion of the wedding party. It didn’t matter what anyone thought about the two of you, you were determined to enjoy yourself. 

You lift your head up and find his hand to intertwine with your own. He gives you a reassuring look before you make your way back through the corridors into the main ballroom. The party is far more lively than when you first left a few minutes ago, the DJ is playing some party song that was popular when you were younger.

The dance floor is noticeably fuller as well, the atmosphere makes you grateful that you decided to stick around for the rest of the reception. You briefly tried to look for the other guys, but Soonyoung was the only one that made himself known to you once you reentered the ballroom.

“There you are!” He exclaimed in relief at the sight of you. He was yelling above the music to catch your attention, even when both you and Minghao eventually got closer to him.

“That was really intense, huh?” He furrowed his brows, his face slightly concerned. 

“Yeah, but he deserved it,” You rolled your eyes and scoffed. If anything, you could’ve gone harder on him and expressed every single inch of your rage, but your composure was commendable considering the circumstances. 

“Definitely, you should’ve seen how pale he was after you left,” Soonyoung shook his head in disbelief at the thought of it.

“He was definitely shitting himself, I didn’t know you could be that lethal,” Minghao pinched your arm and you smirked. It made you happy that your goal was accomplished, it made the trouble of making a scene worth it knowing how much it affected him. 

“I’m only lethal when I need to be,” You clarify with a chuckle, averting your gaze toward the rest of the dancefloor, “and we should go dance. Enough Joshua talk for now,” You whined into Minghao’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay, we can go,” Minghao kissed the back of your hand and gave a sympathetic look to Soonyoung. 

“Don’t go too crazy,” Soonyoung winked and walked away, working himself back into the hustle and bustle of the party. You lead Minghao into a free space on the dance floor, immediately feeling the vibe of the dance track in your body. You weren’t a spectacular dancer by any means, but you figured you didn’t look too awkward compared to everyone else around you.

Minghao naturally snakes his hands around your hips and you don’t resist his touch, it only elevates your mood. He falls into a natural rhythm with you, falling away to make you laugh with his dance moves before pulling you in again. When one song gets particularly heated, he pulls you against his chest and lets his hands wander further down to graze the curve of your ass. 

The lights are dim enough where people can’t see unless they’re being particularly nosy. 

He doesn’t linger for much longer before bringing his hands up to cup your face briefly before leaning in towards your ear.

“I wanna fuck you so badly,” He hums into your ear. You feel a blush creeping up your neck, you didn’t expect him to be so forward about it. He had never expressed desperation like this before, it almost made you lose it right then and there.

“You’ll have me soon enough, babe,” You respond as evenly as you could with the mounting tension between you. He doesn’t seem satisfied, his energy becoming a bit bratty in your hold. 

“One more hour, baby, can you make it until then?” You tease. He averts his glance from you and sighs deeply.

“Yes, of course I can,” He scoffed. His behavior only made you laugh, you had no idea how you’d managed to pull this reaction out of him. 

You held to your word, sticking around the party for exactly one more hour, but he wasn’t exactly concealing his reaction. As you started to make your final goodbyes around the party, his eagerness started to make its way to the surface. 

When you exchanged goodbyes with Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Chan, his grip got a bit tighter on your arm. 

You notice the way his hands wander across your lower back. He’s still cordial with the guys, of course, but every time you lock eyes with him you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Surprisingly, you even got to meet Mingyu and his wife for a moment right before you left.

Yet, Minghao is still lingering on you as if Joshua is right around the corner. When you feel him nestle his face in the crook of your neck to leave a prolonged kiss against your skin, you assume he’s nearby. 

The tension keeps itself incredibly high at every point until you’re in the car.

“Don’t look at me or else we’re not gonna make it out of the car,” He shifts the car into drive and your skin suddenly feels like it’s on fire.

—

“Fuck fuck fuck,” All other words are lost by the feeling of Minghao’s tongue on your cunt.

He didn’t even undress you or anything, he simply instructed you to lay back against the bed and let him take over which you could never be mad at.

He doesn’t let up at all, leaving you slightly torn at the contact. You’re enjoying yourself without a doubt, but the structured form of the dress starts to show its discomfort after a few moments.

“Minghao,” You breathe out. 

“Hm?”

“I’m still in the dress,” You stare at him in confusion.

“Is that okay?”

“I just want to get out of it, my boobs hurt,” It comes out more like a whine than a statement, but the point still stands.

“I promise I’ll undress you soon, okay? I just want to enjoy the way my darling looks wearing my masterpiece since I couldn’t do that in public,” He gently rubs the black fabric that adorns your legs. It gets you to soften up a bit.

“I look that gorgeous?” You ask quietly. You didn’t realize it had that much of an effect on him, but you’d probably be freaking out if you were in his position. He lets out a soft laugh and crawls up to your mouth, a wandering hand finds its way to your cheek. 

“Baby, you look incredible. You don’t know how many times I wanted to tear it apart tonight just to taste you,” He whispers against your mouth. “But it’s a gift,” He leaves a kiss on your jaw. “And I want you to remember how well I’m about to fuck you in it,” He moves back to your mouth and your moan gets trapped in a kiss.

His words make your cheeks flush with warmth. He sits up slightly to pull your gloves off one by one. “Okay, hands above your head,” He instructs you gently.

You follow his orders with curious eyes. He proceeds to use the gloves to tie your wrists together, the increasing tightness against your skin makes your heart pound in anticipation.

“Is it too tight?”

“No, I’m fine,” You admit. You’ve never had your hands restrained before, but you trust him to not hurt you. 

He lets you adjust to the new feeling for a moment before disappearing under the fabric of your skirt and resume his previous movements, but it’s not long before he hikes your skirt up with forceful hands.

“Shit,” You whimper.

He replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, the sudden pressure forces out a moan that almost makes you ashamed.

“Gonna work you open just how you like it, ok?” His eyes are noticeably darker when they meet yours, the lust seems to overtake him completely. You get lost in the feeling of his fingers repeatedly hitting that spongy spot, your walls keep clenching around him out of habit. He’s just too good at it, his slender fingers always have you seeing stars pretty quickly.

His speed increases and your arms fall slightly. He’s getting noises out of you that you’ve never heard before, the cries of his name are all you can register in your brain beside the pounding in your ears.

“My pretty little brat, always so needy for me huh?” The resurgence of the nickname makes the coil in your stomach tighten even more, you can barely hold yourself together. 

You want to say something, anything on your mind, but you’re simply reduced to babbling. 

“Come on, tell me how much you wanted me to touch you,” His low voice has a complete hold on you at the moment. He wants to work you up as much as possible before you break, and you could only force yourself to submit.

“So badly, please, I thought about you all night,” You squeeze your eyes shut to hold yourself together, his fingers haven’t slowed their pace yet.

“Look at me,” His voice is so gentle, but the moment you meet his eyes, you know that you need to cum.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes, please, I’ve been good tonight,” You beg him for mercy knowing you’re at the point of no return.

“You’re close, aren’t you, baby?” He smirks at the mess in front of him, how desperate you are as your legs start to shake from the pressure. You can only nod at this point. 

“Holding on for me like a good girl?” He curls his fingers tighter and it rips a scream from your throat.

“Yes!” Your reply comes out just as loudly.

“Then you can cum,” His instructions send you over the edge, you feel yourself coat his fingers repeatedly and you can barely keep your eyes open.

You take a few heaving breaths and you feel his lips against your thigh.

“You did so well,” He offers praise in between kisses, his mouth against your skin helps ground you again.

“Are you good for some more?” He’s up to untie your restraints before you can think about it, and you revel in the feeling of your wrists being untied.

“Yeah, I’m good,” You nod. He tosses your gloves to the floor before moving to straddle you.

You can feel his erection against you and your breath hitches. He captures your lips in a kiss before you can call him out on it, you can taste traces of your cum against his lips. He moans against your neck and you wish you could hold him there for the rest of the night.

“Want you to cum in me so badly,” You whisper.

“I’m on it, angel,” He leaves one last kiss against your lips before he stands up.

“Wait,” You rush to sit up, adjusting your position on the bed a bit too quickly.

“What?”

“Let me help you get undressed,” You soften your voice, placing your hands on his hips.

He grins at your touch and guides your fingers to his zipper. You take the hint and unbuckle his belt, throwing it to the side before unzipping his pants. He strips out of his pants and you already have your hands tugging on his boxers.

You force them down to reveal his very irritated cock. He’s clearly been holding his restraint for far too long, so you don’t think too hard before you stroke him gently.

His knees almost buckle from the contact, and he forces your hand away.

“Shit, don’t make me cum, I’m not supposed to cum on you, right?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“No,” You shake your head with an unassuming smile.

“Exactly, I can’t ruin this beautiful dress, now can I?” He straddles you once again, helping you gather your skirt up as far as it’ll go before it hits the bodice.

He lines himself up at your entrance and you’re already bracing yourself for the intensity of it all. 

The initial push isn’t as bad as you thought, but it still makes you groan as you clutch onto his arm. He pushes through until he’s bottomed out, but you both sigh audibly the moment it stops. 

You’re just so full that it’s hard to focus on anything else, so much so that he notices.

“Baby?”

“Yeah,” You force your eyes open to look at him.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, it’s just you,” You place emphasis on the last word and he’s lowering his head in surprise.

“I’m gonna move now,” He confirms his plan and you nod.

His strokes are incredibly slow at first, you’re sure that you’ll cum if he adjusts himself any further. He soon finds his rhythm though, you notice how intently he’s watching you when you look at his face again. 

He’s obsessed with you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure, and how your moans sound heavenly in response to him.

“I love you so much,” The words sound blurred with pleasure as he tries to fight the groans escaping from his mouth. You’re not faring much better, he manages to render you speechless as the sound of his skin hitting yours echoes throughout the hotel room.

“I love you,” You breathe out, your arms draped around his neck and you pull him closer until he’s nearly laying on your chest.

“Is this what you want, baby? Do you want me to cover every inch of you like this?” His voice is gravelly in your ear, begging you to give in to him.

“Yes, fuck, stay low like this please,” You pull yourself onto his mouth and lose yourself to him. He moves his head to the crook of your neck to help him gain some control, he’s able to cage you in slightly to hit you even deeper than before.

You can only grasp his hair and whine through it all. Your nerves are ready to let go at any moment, but you’re trying to savor how close he is to you. His cologne, the feeling of his skin on yours, his voice, your brain can only process pieces of him.

“Minghao, fuck,” You can’t even begin to form a coherent sentence, just mumbling his name over and over again. 

“Gonna cum?”

“Yes, yes yes,” He picks up the pace slightly to accommodate you and lets your orgasm hit full force, his cum fills you up so well that you can barely breathe. You clutch him even tighter than before and he fucks you through the orgasm, mumbling sweet nothings in your ear to calm you down.

“You’re always so good for me,” He whispers against your skin. He takes a moment to admire you despite your heavy panting.

His orgasm hits soon after and you feel him still around you, inhaling a sharp breath beside you.

You don’t separate for a long while, you just bring him back down to earth with soft touches. He’s always taking care of you, so you figure it’s time to do the same for him.

“Ready to get up, baby?” You rub his shoulder with encouragement.

“Not really,” His laugh vibrates against your chest. He was very cute, but you knew you had to convince him because it was getting a bit too hot in this position.

“Well, you have to take me out of the dress since you put me in it,” You try to sway him. “And it’s gonna feel so good to be in our pajamas, right?”

“Mhm,” He agrees.

“So let’s get up before I lose feeling in my legs,” You joke with him, but you’re rapidly feeling more and more tethered to the bed. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” He pulls out of you swiftly and falls to the other pillow beside you. You finally feel like you can breathe once you sit up. 

You take a moment to remove your jewelry and place it on the nightstand before turning back to him. You’re sure that he’s been looking at you the whole time by the way he grins at your attention.

“Hi,” You turn your head over your shoulder, his eye contact makes you shy.

“Hi, love.”

“Can you unzip me? Pretty please?” You raise your voice slightly, pursing your lips to make him smile.

“Yes, sorry I kept you waiting,” It succeeds when he grins at you, he finally scoots toward you and pulls down the zipper, which allows you to slip out of the dress. 

“Thank god,” You sigh a bit too loud. You have to steady your nerves before standing up, but you’re still a bit wobbly when you’re stumbling around the room looking for a shirt.

“Felt that good?”

“Feel like my boobs were held hostage all night,” He looks slightly worried and you have to backtrack slightly, “which was not your fault, it’s just naturally a bit uncomfortable,” You slip an oversized shirt over his head, one that you stole from the back of his t-shirt drawer. 

“Okay,” He still watches you hesitantly. “Wait, that’s my shirt,” He points at you in fake shock.

“Yeah, I’ve stolen quite a few of your shirts. I’m shocked you haven’t noticed yet,” You sift through your bag to find clean underwear and slip them on with your back turned to him.

“I have noticed,” You hear him get off the bed to find clothes, “and I don’t care, you look pretty in them.” You realize he’s fully dressed when he hugs you from behind and kisses you on the cheek. 

You hum in affirmation, closing your eyes and you naturally start to rock back and forth in his arms. You feel him kiss the top of your head and you revel in the moment, the silence that always speaks volumes between you.

“Hey,” You speak up.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” You’re getting used to saying it out loud more often, you force yourself to fight past the nerves of expressing it to him more often now.

“I love you too,” He responds immediately, it makes your heart sing. 

It feels like a new chapter has unofficially begun, one where you have to address the future standing in front of you. How do you not let yourself get lost in this relationship? 

How do you love when you’ve never been in a healthy relationship before?

It’s something that lingers when you fall asleep curled up next to him, trying to quiet the fears creeping up in your mind.

—

The next morning moves far more slowly than the day before. You can’t help but hold onto him a bit longer in bed, your fingertips just want to feel the warmth of his skin, your mind feels at ease when you feel his heartbeat against your ear. 

By the way he tightens his arms around you, you figure he’s not itching to let you go either. The beach day you’ve both thought about seems like it’s drifting away with each passing moment. 

“Baby?” He rasps.

“Hmm?”

“You’re awake.”

“So are you,” You sit up to get a better look at him. His hair is completely messy, and you watch him try to smooth it out but to no avail. 

“Do you still wanna go out today? We don’t have to,” His offer is definitely inviting, but you figure you should make the most of your trip before the inevitably long ride home. 

“No, we should. I wanna see you in that outfit you packed,” You giggle.

“You’ve just got ulterior motives, huh?”

“Maybe,” You bite your lip and concentrate on his eyes.

“That’s okay, I was thinking about what you’d wear too,” He admits with a shake of his head. You give him a peck on the lips and push on his chest lightly.

“Come on, let’s get going then,” You kiss him on the cheek before forcing yourself out of bed to get ready. You both fall into separate routines, only converging to eat breakfast and brush your teeth while getting yourselves together. 

Minghao does end up wearing the outfit he showed you back at his apartment, the baby blue set is slightly oversized on him but it works against his skin tone. You opt for a similar coverup layout, wearing a tropical print shirt and a pair of shorts to cover your bikini. 

The beach isn’t too far from the hotel, but the walk feels especially crisp with the late summer air on your skin. The day was breaking into early afternoon by the time you both left, it was bright enough that you both ended up needing your sunglasses. 

Just like the day before, you strolled arm in arm taking in the sights of the neighborhood. You were grateful that there wasn’t any internal pressure anymore now that the wedding was over, you were still trying to adjust to not being on defense the entire time.

As you approached the beach, it dawned on you that despite enjoying yourself last night, fighting with Joshua made you realize just how hard you were willing to fight for Minghao. It’s easy to say what you might do when you’ve spent a month ruminating on the moment, but the pressure made your anger hard to ignore.

Since it was the weekend, there were a moderate amount of people enjoying themselves along the beach. Couples, families, and friend groups were sunbathing, playing around, eating food, or just enjoying each other’s company.

Somehow, you were able to find a spot to lay down your old beach towel for the both of you to sit on top of. It was thankfully out of the way from the crowds, so you were able to observe people without too much trouble. 

You were able to sit in silence with each other for a few moments, absorbing the white noise of the people and the distant noise of the waves on the horizon.

“When does your lease end?” He asks you suddenly.

“January. Why?” 

“Do you still want to live there? You know, after everything?” His questions make you shrink in on yourself once you hear them.

You honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead. You figured that if you managed to avoid Joshua for this long, you could continue to make it happen. Yet, you couldn’t imagine how that could possibly work now knowing how badly you’d gone off on him.

“Shit,” You let out a shaky breath, concentrating on the ocean that sat at the edge of your sight.

“We don’t have to do anything,” He reminds you gently.

“No, you’re right. If I want it to be completely over, I need to move,” You affirm your decision. You need to be firm with your own boundaries, mostly for your own sake. 

“Okay.”

“How do you feel about moving though?” You posit the question and he’s already adjusting himself on the beach towel.

“I mean, aside from everything else, the apartment is getting kinda small for me. I just need more space in general,” He sighs at the thought.

“What’s top priority?” You humor him and he smiles for a moment before answering.

“An actual home office. I think not having enough space to get work done is bothering me,” His thought seems unfinished by the way he looks up at the sky, trying to conjure more ideas.

“But?”

“But I’m trying to keep my work and home life more separate, especially now that we’re together,” He says it without thinking and your eyes widen.

“We’re together, huh?” You joke.

It seems to hit him immediately. You’ve both said I love you, so it just seemed natural that you were together already.

Yet, he hasn’t asked. You haven’t asked.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for your hands and you gladly let him hold them. 

“Yes?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” He’s grinning so hard just waiting for your reply, you don’t think that you could ever tell him no. 

“Of course, Minghao,” You cup his face and pull him into a kiss. 

He’s noticeably shyer than before once he pulls away from you, his cheeks are slightly pink. “Anyway, I just want it to be our space now that we’re together. I want it to feel like home.” 

You can only imagine what an apartment mixed with both of your tastes looks like, but it still makes your heart feel warm. 

“That makes sense, so I assume your lease ends around the same time?” You lean back onto your palms, letting out a quiet sigh. 

“Yeah, mid January. It seems so far away just thinking about it,” His words make you think of how brutal winter is back in the city. You hate having to trudge home in the snow, boots covered in sludge all while trying to stay warm with too many layers on.

You push it to the back of your head once you look up at the bright blue sky, drawing you back into the feeling of summer. 

Silence falls over the two of you again. The idea of planning a future with him feels foreign, how do you begin to process all of that?

“Scary,” You shiver from the breeze passing by.

“It is scary,” He doesn’t comfort you this time, instead confirming the fear of it. 

“Honestly, Minghao, I’m just scared of us,” You cross your arms and let out a deep sigh, focusing your eyes on the ocean ahead. 

“How so? I want to know what you’re feeling,” His voice is so inviting, you know that you can’t hold back from him anymore.

“I’m scared that I’m gonna fuck this up. I’ve never been in this kind of relationship and it scares me so much,” You clear your throat to avoid the tears threatening to spill out. “I don’t want to sabotage this because I’ve never felt this safe with someone before.” 

“Baby,” He places a hand on your arms, gently trying to pry them apart. You let him hold your hand, but you still can’t look at him. You’re not sure why it’s so embarrassing to be so vulnerable with him.

“I’m scared too. We’re still learning about each other’s boundaries, and it’s honestly still hard for me to express things to you. We’re gonna make mistakes with each other, but that’s natural. But, I know you’re bringing this up because you want us to start on a good foundation, right?”

“Yeah,” Your voice is still shaky, but you nod in agreement.

“Exactly, and that’s a great first step. I know it’s hard for both of us to open up, but I’m happy you told me,” He validates your fears and you finally look him in the eyes.

“Thank you, I just didn’t want to hide that when we’re about to truly start the relationship. I trust that we can call each other out on things if we cross a line, you know?” You still tried your best to hold eye contact, but you can’t help but focus on anything but his face.

“Yeah, absolutely. We’ll get there,” He finds your hand and squeezes it gently. The burden wasn’t completely resolved, but it was shared and that felt much better than keeping it all bottled up.

You found yourself staring out at the sea once again, eyes sometimes wandering to the people that would pass by. The silence wasn’t heavy this time, but rather full of mutual understanding. You soon felt a pull to explore the beach.

“Do you want to go down to the water?” You speak up.

“Yeah,” His face brightens and he helps you up off of the towel before standing up on his own.

You strip down out of your cover up, fold your clothes and place them in a neat pile near your shoes. “Race you there!” You yell suddenly and break out into a sprint.

“That’s not fair, you got a head start!” He’s close behind you, you can hear him catching up to you but you’re still running your hardest. 

He passes you soon enough, sticking his tongue out at you before breezing past you. You’re out of breath by the time you reach the waves, but he’s waiting for you with open arms.

His embrace is as welcoming as always, and you spend a few moments catching your breath against his shoulder. He instinctively holds you a bit tighter and it feels heavenly. The moment you’re alright, you both wade deeper into the ocean, splashing each other until you’re both laughing uncontrollably.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been out in the water until you feel the heat of the sun against your skin more harshly than before.

You both retreat and dry off in your designated corner before covering up again. The walk back to the car is quiet, but you’re learning to embrace those moments with him a bit more. 

After grabbing lunch at a nearby restaurant, the road-trip begins once again, with you in the passenger seat while he drives. It’s more or less the same as when you first drove up, he entertains you with conversation until you fall asleep, only to wake up dazed hours later.

This time, you manage to fall asleep for the rest of the ride, only waking up when Minghao tells you that you’re home. 

You mutually decide to spend the night apart to properly prepare for the first day of your new jobs the next day, plus you need a bit of space to recharge from the trip.

You wouldn’t be apart for much longer though, you mutually agreed that Minghao would carpool you both to and from work each day unless he had to head in early or stay late at his office. However, he reassured you that he’d always let you know about those kinds of things early on. 

It was a reliable routine that you could look forward to, you thought to yourself as you unpacked your clothes from your compact suitcase. 

Once you text Soonyoung and Chan to let them know that you made it back safely, you delve into your nightly routine. It’s odd not to have him around, you feel his absence at every point of the night. 

You’re able to fall asleep that night, but not as easily, silently hoping that he misses you all the same.

—

“Minghao? Are you okay?”

“All good,” He nods at you, staring at your shared workplace the next morning. The building seems a bit more intimidating when you’re about to begin the biggest job you’ve both had thus far.

“You seem nervous, love,” You see past his neutral expression and catch the slight tension in his brows.

“I am, I thought I’d be okay since I’ve already started the new work, but it’s different now. Everyone’s looking to me for all of the answers,” His brows furrow while he rants, but you notice the tension in his shoulders as he clutches his bag tighter in his fist.

“Hey, look at me,” You force him to meet your gaze, turning him around gently. “It’s okay to be nervous. You are perfectly capable and if you have any concerns, you’ve got people there to help right?”

He nods silently and your eyebrows perk up in support. “That’s great! You won’t be alone. I’ll be there in spirit, okay? Take this,” You give him a small frog statue that you’d been holding in your coat pocket and he smiles so wide that he breaks into laughter.

“This is cute, where’d you get it?” He admires the glazed figurine with care.

“I went to the hotel gift shop. I know you like frogs, I saw something on your desk,” You took a moment to look at the few items on his desk while you were there for the dress fitting and noticed a small frog plush, so you figured it needed a friend. 

“This is really sweet, babe, thank you. I feel a bit better about it,” His smile doesn’t go away as he tucks the figurine into his pocket.

“You’re welcome, I’m happy that I could help a little bit,” You kiss him briefly and he gives a kiss on your cheek in return.

“I’m really glad that I have you to rely on,” His words are so sincere that they make you blush. You’re always worried that you’re not doing enough for him, but you remember your conversation on the beach and realize that you’re both trying to be better. 

“I’m just glad that I can be there for you,” You offer the sentiment and it’s clear that it means a lot to him by the way he squeezes your hand and kisses it sweetly. The small gesture is enough to carry you through the rest of your day. 

The first full day is quite long, and you’re still overwhelmed by the full scope of your department, but you’re not meant to understand everything in the first day.

Your coworkers seem nice, your supervisors are intimidating, but you’re actually able to do some design work the first day. It’s far more than you expected out of the job, but it feels meant to be once you think back on your day.

You tried your best, and that’s all you can do. 

The best part of the day is watching him come outside to meet you, noticeably more tired than the morning, but he’s clearly excited to see you. He doesn’t say a word, silently enveloping you in a hug while he collects his thoughts. 

“Good first day?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah,” He mumbles into your ear, he pulls away soon enough and grabs your hand, leading you both to his car.

The drive home is far more talkative than normal, both of you swapping first day stories that gain laughs and surprised expressions from each other while looking back on the day.

The routine starts to fall into place naturally in your mind, you’re excited to get used to hearing him hum along to music in the car and asking you what he should make for dinner.

You’re worthy of this, worthy of being in a calm and healthy dynamic. It may seem boring to other people, but the comfort of knowing your partner trusts you and understanding that they genuinely enjoy your company is far more valuable than you originally thought.

—

January rolls around and apartment hunting is moderately stressful, but you end up with a two bedroom apartment that both of you like. You both agree to make a detailed spreadsheet with all your options, comparing all of them while nestled in bed together. Your lease ends before his, so his apartment is crowded for a few weeks before you’re both able to move out. 

Furniture shopping is far more stressful, and there’s plenty of small arguments about your styles, but the end product is worth it. This apartment is far more cozy than your last living situation, far more inviting than before and you’re not scared to be yourself around him. 

You’re not afraid to be at home knowing you’re both ready and willing to support each other.

The first year of your relationship is naturally filled with ups and downs, but the downs are especially frightening.

Complications with your medicine put you in the hospital and Minghao has never been more terrified, he isn’t able to think of anything else except if his love is safe and sound. 

The incident pulls you both back from work, but you’re able to make it through. Knowing how easily he could’ve lost you, Minghao doesn’t want to waste any more time.

You think nothing of him asking about if you prefer gold or silver or when you find him exploring your jewelry box, he just explains that he left one of his own rings in there. 

He was just eager, eager to make you a more permanent fixture in his life.

--

Minghao is incredibly nervous, all things considered. 

Your one year anniversary is today and he wants, no he needs, to propose to you tonight. The ring has been burning a hole in the back of one of his drawers for months now. He’s not sure how he’s managed to keep you off his tracks, but he’s grateful that you’ve had a bit more work to deal with lately. 

He had managed to pull a few strings and was able to rent out your favorite botanical garden in the city for the evening, it was something he’s wanted to do for you ever since you mentioned your affinity for gardens on the road trip last summer.

You were under the impression that you were both invited for a self guided tour, but you were blissfully unaware of his ulterior motives. 

If his timing was right, he’d be able to propose right as the sun was setting against the glass panes of the expansive greenhouse towards the end of the tour.

The tour had gone according to plan, you were enthralled by seeing the various kinds of plants and flowers that were displayed through each of the rooms. You were both on the way to the last room when you gushed over the experience once again.

“Everything is just so beautiful, I can’t believe you did this for us,” You lean your head against his shoulder.

“Of course, I figured it would be nice to not do a traditional dinner, but something we’ll remember,” He hints unknowingly and kisses you on the forehead. 

It’s not too far ahead now, and the sounds of your heels clicking along the tiles make him exponentially more nervous.

You reach the double doors and you stop walking.

You look down to see a path of roses leading into the greenhouse. Your eyes widen slightly and you turn to offer Minghao a hesitant smile. “What’s all this?” You ask quietly.

“Just a little something for you,” Minghao responds calmly, but he can barely keep it together internally. It’s hitting him all at once you walk in, your eyes immediately hitting the centerpiece in the middle of the room. 

“Oh my god,” Your eyes nearly pop out of their head at the sight of the words staring directly at you on a big sign.

Marry me.

“What are you doing,” Your voice is slightly shaky already, but he continues to walk you towards the setup.

“Hao, seriously,” You ask him again, but he simply holds your hand and starts to speak from the heart.

“This has been such an amazing year with you, and I honestly don’t think my life has ever felt so joyful before. You’re so supportive of me that as a result, I’ve been able to be much kinder to myself,” He stops to wipe his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath before continuing again. 

“Every day, I think about how I’ve been lucky enough to find someone who cares so deeply about me. I know this relationship didn’t start in the ideal way, but I would be your fake boyfriend 100 times over if it meant we could find each other again, if we could grow together. I want to take care of you for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me. So with that said,” He finally kneels and it breaks any of the resolve you might've had left in your body.

He opens the black velvet box to reveal a gold floral shaped diamond ring that knocks the wind out of you.

It’s so startlingly beautiful that you almost forget he hasn’t said the words yet. 

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes, what the fuck,” You sob at him and he’s beaming, you can barely see his smile through your tears. 

He instinctively grabs your hand to place the ring on your finger. It feels like your body is floating the moment he stands up to kiss you, your hands instinctively find the back of his neck and nestle into his hair.

“Glad I put on a shit ton of setting spray,” You whisper in his ear and pull away from him. He giggles and wipes the stray tears that are strewn across your cheeks.

“You still look beautiful, love,” He reassures you with a soft swipe against your cheek.

“You’re handsome too. I didn’t think you’d cry during the speech,” You push his shoulder lightly and he blushes.

“I basically blacked out, I practiced it so much,” He shakes his head at the thought of it all. 

“It was worth it, that was beautiful,” You pat his hair lovingly. 

“I have another surprise though,” He offers.

“Wait, what is it?”

“Well, the director of the gardens is a Semicolon fan, and I happened to be working as assistant creative director on her favorite collection. So, she’s letting us get married here for free,” He raises his eyebrows and looks at you with a playful glance. “Minghao,” You’re practically in tears again. You couldn’t be happier. 

“I told her this was your favorite place in the entire city, and she was quite happy to hear that,” He reaches to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and you melt into his touch.

“You’re so perfect, thank you baby,” You don’t let him get a word out before you’re kissing him much deeper this time, all the love and passion seems to come through immediately.

He reciprocated with the same level of commitment, holding you tenderly as you led him through the kiss.

“You’re welcome,” He mumbles into your ear.

It’s difficult to capture just how much has changed in a year. You’d like to think you’re much easier on yourself, now that you’re focused on what’s ahead of you instead of being so fixated on the past. It seems impractical that you were able to give yourself so easily to love, but you can’t deny how much it’s softened you.

When Minghao holds you in the aftermath of the proposal, you think you could stay there forever.

In that moment, you were simply grateful to be understood, grateful to be loved, and grateful to start a life with someone who saw the potential in you despite everything in the world that made you feel the opposite.

You can’t help but feel excited at the prospect of a life where there’s always love waiting for you when you least expect it.