qveenbunni

[qveenbunni]

Kento Miyaura, the man that you are. ✨️ x

[qveenbunni]

This was so good! This is the first story I’ve read with this type of fantasy characterization ⭐️x5

SWEET JUICE - s.mingi (18+)

➼ genre; fantasy, smut ➼ pairing; mingi x fem!reader ➼ au; strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 10.7k

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; sex toys, unprotected sex, comeshots, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, size kink, hand kink, mention of belly bulging, dacryphilia

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Normally, you aren’t one to be so deeply entrenched in the petty gossip going around town, especially when newcomers are not exactly scarce in these parts. This one in particular — the young man who moved here by himself and immediately set up an apothecary shop in the heart of the village — has been on the lips of almost everyone you’ve bumped into for the past week. Ever since the Summer’s End Festival, it seems all your neighbors can think to talk about is this mysterious lone wolf. Unfortunately for you, that means your interest has been piqued both out of nosiness and out of a potential opportunity.

“You said he’s nice?”

“Yeah! I mean, I didn’t meet him personally. I was busy running the stall while Yunho was doing all the socializing, but Gerda came over and she said he’s a rather nice and charming young man.” 

You appraise the man across the counter with a far less enthused grin. It doesn’t deter Seonghwa from his egregious nods of encouragement, however. So, you continue to pack away the little bundles of herbs that you’ve been preparing all morning into the man’s satchel.

“She says that about everyone under the age of fifty. I think it’s her duty as an old woman to say that. What did Yunho say about him?” 

“Hm, what did Yunho say about him…” Seonghwa brings a neatly manicured nail to his chin as he mulls over your question. You snap the buckle of his bag into its proper place now that you’ve given him all you need to and set your hands down on the counter. “He was fairly charmed too, I believe. I mean, in terms of the guy’s personality. You know his gaze goes in one single direction for all other aspects of things.” He flattens his palm against his cheek and doesn’t even bother to hide the smugness that creeps over his expression.

“Don’t get cocky now,” you cut in before Seonghwa can redirect the conversation towards himself. 

“Is it being cocky if I’m just repeating what he says all the time though? Oh my Seonghwa, you’re so pretty, the only man I could ever look at, I never grow weary of seeing your darling face. It’s truly romance at its finest.”

“Back to the new guy, Hwa.”

“Hmph. You’re more interested in him than you were in me when I first moved here!”

“You didn’t run a shop when you first got here. Otherwise, I would’ve been just as eager, promise.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you, lips drawing into what must be an attempt at a frown but it’s so half-hearted and soft around the edges that you can’t be sure. “I’m trying to establish a financially beneficial supply line with this guy. Thus, I need to know what he’s like so that I know how much bargaining I ought to prepare for before going to speak with him.”

“He’s nice, not much of a talker from what I could tell watching him from a distance, and he mostly stuck near the bonfire. Though it was still damp from the rain earlier that day, and autumn was already sending in her cooler breezes. Anyone who hasn’t acclimated to our lovely finicky weather acts like that when they first arrive here. Spoke to everyone who approached him. Talks with his hands a lot. Very—” Seonghwa makes a few vague gestures consisting of him just waving his hands in the air a bit “—big. Not quite taller than Yunho, but broader and like… meatier, I suppose. I wonder if I should give Yunho bigger meal portions actually, he might need it. Really, how does he stay so skinny even doing all the heavy lifting around the house? Do you have any herbs good for muscle growth?”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you, that’s it.” Seonghwa’s protest comes immediately. “No, because last time you did this, you started asking me about concoctions to make his semen taste better, and that is not a conversation we’re going to be repeating!” He grabs his satchel off the counter as you hop up from your stool, though he still tries to appear very upset over the matter while pulling it over his head.

“Well, tell me when you’re planning on going over there at least. I can give you a meal before you go home since it’s a bit of a trek to get back here.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. There’s still some inventory left over from the summer that I need to sort out. And I need to prepare some decor for the Autumn Festival sooner rather than later. Ugh, I got so behind on my work it’s infuriating.” You’ve been slacking a little more than you usually do this past week on account of being bedridden for five days straight. You thought you were going to avoid getting sick at the end of summer for once, but your body had other plans for you and decided to push it into the start of the fall season instead. That’s the only reason you need this information about the newcomer from Seonghwa so desperately: otherwise, you would have been at that very festival and been able to witness the man for yourself.

“Oh, speaking of, everyone missed you last week! And told me to send you well wishes, which are obviously not needed anymore, but the sentiment is the same nonetheless, no?”

You send Seonghwa off with a few extra herbs pressed into his hands and wishes for safe travels. It ought to only take him fifteen minutes to walk back to town, but he came by rather late and the sun is already setting so you don’t want him to get caught alone in the dark on his way. He is kind enough to allow your nagging, only pinching your cheek when you tell him once more to quit asking about recipes and herbs to use on Yunho’s dick. 

Once you’re content seeing him reach the end of your garden path, you flick your wrist in the direction of your crops. The drizzle that suddenly starts falling from the sky is light enough to not be much of a hindrance to Seonghwa, though you’ll be certain to bring down some heavier rainfall after he disappears over the edge of the hill. Though your closest friend in the village, you still haven’t had the heart to tell him what exactly brought you to this remote place or what you were running from when you came. He only knows that you came here nearly eight years ago on your own and with nothing to your name, and by the time he and Yunho came along, you were already three years into building your business of selling herbs year-round. 

In truth, your witchcraft is not illegal by the nature of it being magick. Rather, you yourself are the problem being a witch in name instead of the formally accepted term warlock. Should anyone with any sort of agenda against you discover that you are a defector using your magick when you are no longer a practicing warlock, then you would likely lose everything you have here in this place. It took you two years just to find a town secure and remote enough for you to feel comfortable living in, and eight more to reach this point of stability. You don’t consider Seonghwa to be someone driven by monetary promise or swayed by others’ opinions, but there is just enough doubt that’s crept into your heart over the years to keep you silent.

“How depressing,” you mutter, turning back to your cottage and heading inside. You make the rain fall just a little harder to go along with your sudden decline in mood.

…

Perhaps, you think, there is some goddess out there who is keen on causing you inordinate levels of distress. Because although today was supposed to be nothing more than a calm and friendly meeting in the hopes of establishing a business partnership, you cannot push yourself to even approach the door to the new apothecary. The name of the shop is insignificant on its own — Mortar and Cauldron — and you wouldn’t think twice about getting up from this cursed bench you now find yourself on if that was all there was to it. Yet for some godforsaken reason, this man has deigned to put a symbol behind the name, one that mimics one of the crests belonging to the House of Ballads (the very one you defected from a decade ago). Some deity must surely be playing a sick prank on you.

There are a few routes you could take in this situation. You could pretend you never came and forget the idea of creating a supply line, missing out on some revenue sure but it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to make up for it in other areas. You could go in and confront the newcomer, demanding to know who he is and what he’s doing here on the off chance that he’s truly some bumbling idiot who has no clue what symbols he’s drawn into his signs. He could very well be a defector himself, you suppose, although it would be suicide to use one of the House’s official crests as one. Or you could simply play the part of the fool yourself, act none the wiser, and pretend to be the normal citizen you are. Even if this man were truly from the House, he would not recognize your face because you were never formally entered into the place. You had been merely part of a small church sect on the outskirts of the capital, far from the House of Ballads and all its operations. The name you held while there has already been burned to ash and nothingness, likely stricken from all their records as well the moment you disappeared. If they wanted you dead — well, they would have had you killed long ago. So, you seem to have your best course of action.

“I know my decor isn’t the most appealing, but I don’t think it warrants such a foul expression.” The voice resonates so close to your ear that you truly feel the vibration in your teeth, but moreso, it startles you out of your skin, and you all but launch yourself off the bench with an embarrassing yelp. Just behind the bench where you were, there stands a man you don’t recognize. Tall, with sharp features and equally piercing dark eyes, and dressed in black from head to toe complete with a scarf draped over his head to mimic the hood of a cloak. It doesn’t fully shroud his borderline psychedelic hair — an unnatural yellow shade that blends into a fiery orange-red and makes his head look more like a torch than anything else. “Hello. Sorry for surprising you like that, it wasn’t my intention to make a first impression in such a way.”

Ah. If not for your racing heart, you would have put two and two together far sooner, because obviously, this would be the mystery owner of the apothecary, considering how you recognize everyone in town.

“Would you like to come in and look around? I was simply across the street to get some bread.” He tilts his head back in the direction of none other than Seonghwa’s shop. One glance at the storefront gives you enough of a clue as to whose fault it is that you’re having this unsavory first encounter because said man is pressed up against the window and staring through it directly at you. You have to fight the urge to scowl at him until after your newcomer steps out of your line of sight. Seonghwa tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and sends you a far-too-cheery thumbs-up. You turn away with a less subtle middle finger. 

Despite the muggy weather and cooler temperatures, the inside of the apothecary is warm. It almost feels a bit humid thanks to the rain outside, but not unbearably so. And considering how long you were sitting out there getting rained on, you welcome the heat quite a bit. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be the friend Seonghwa mentioned, would you?” He catches you with the question as you’re undoing the knot holding your cloak around your shoulders. “I don’t recall seeing you at last week’s festival, though I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself to everyone then.”

“Oh, yes, that would be me. I wasn’t there because I was recovering from a nasty cold. Y/n.” You jut a hand out in his direction, pushing a smile to your lips as you look him in the eye, though thanks to his height, you feel as though you have to crane your neck just to do so. 

“Song Mingi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n.” He doesn’t take your hand the way you expect; instead, he pinches the tips of your fingers and bends at the waist, lips grazing your knuckles so softly that you almost don’t feel the contact at all. What’s more startling is how hot his touch is, especially considering how he was just out in the cold. You catch a glimpse of his hand as he’s pulling away, but he’s simply wearing gloves. Knowing Seonghwa, he probably kept the man hostage with conversation for a long time before sending him out to speak with you, and your friend always keeps the house warm because of the ovens, so that’s likely where all the excess heat is coming from. Your staring lingers too long, and Mingi clears his throat quietly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Likewise,” you spit out, placing your cloak on the coat rack by the door.

“Were you looking for something in particular, or did you just want to see what sorts of things I have?” Mingi wraps around the back of the shop’s counter, and you take it as an invitation to approach. The glass cabinet serving as the surface is filled with a variety of things both familiar and not. Potions, vials, bundles of powders, and even some gemstones that carry a glow at their centers. The presence of magick here is undeniably strong, and it is not yours alone. There must be dozens of magickal objects here, though the ordinary person wouldn’t sense a thing. You don’t let your gaze linger on any of them for long before pulling focus back up to the man’s face.

“Well, I intended to come introduce myself first since we didn’t have a chance to meet at the festival. But beyond that, I wanted to let you know I grow all sorts of herbs and ingredients in my garden. I supply many of the local shops and stalls, especially during the winter seasons. The ground is particularly fruitful thanks to all the rain we get here.”

“Oh? Yes, I noticed rather quickly that there’s near-constant rainy weather here.” As though on cue, a bout of thunder rumbles in the distance.

“You truly chose a summer lover’s nightmare moving here,” you laugh. “Charybid is always in rainy season.”

Mingi hums and grins a little, looking to the window before saying, “I’m quite alright with it really. The heat of my homeland is far more unbearable in my opinion. You can tell how little I went outside there just based on how pale I am.” He flashes the back of his hand that’s still enveloped by a glove like he wants to prove his point, only to realize his little blunder and fall into a bout of awkward laughter instead. “But you said you’re a supplier? Do you have a local shop as well or…?”

“Local, though not here in the heart of town. If you follow the west road up over the hill, you’ll see a string of cottages. Mine is the one with the big front garden! Oh, and there’s a sign as well, of course.”

“That would be immensely helpful especially since I don’t have much space here to grow my own things. It’s a bit difficult to outsource supplies in this area too, isn’t it?” Mingi glances down at the open notebook sitting on his counter and skims the contents. “Would it be alright if I came by at the end of next week? That way I can finish unpacking and taking stock of everything I have.”

“Yes, that’d work just fine. You can come by any time you need, though I always advise against coming too close to nightfall because walking in the rain at night is an easy way to get sick.” You offer a smile, perhaps a little too pleased with how smoothly your business proposal went, but your enthusiasm seems to be received well given how brightly Mingi smiles in return. The air has begun to get more stifling, and you can feel sweat clinging to the back of your neck. It’s unpleasant now, a kind of warmth you’re not used to experiencing all the time because you don’t keep your home so toasty, but it reminds you of evenings shared with Seonghwa that always end with you wanting to escape out into the rain just for some respite. “I won’t take up more of your time, though. I promised to go see Seonghwa myself once I was finished here. I bid you well.”

“Thank you, and have safe travels home yourself. I look forward to doing business with you, Miss y/n.”

…

You leave your cottage in the wee hours of the morning, intending to water your crops before the sun rises, but those plans are dashed the moment you spot the man waiting outside your fence. You’ve seen him several times since your first meeting, though not here and solely in town. He hasn’t come this far yet despite his insistence that he would come over two weeks ago. Autumn is in full swing now, four weeks since the start of the season and five since the new apothecary came to town. You had not quite lost hope that he would be true to his word, but you must admit that you are caught off-guard seeing him at this hour and at your gate.

“When I said not to come at nightfall, I didn’t mean that you needed to come at the break of dawn!”

“I wanted to come before opening hours,” Mingi replies in a far clearer voice than your own. You’re still wiping the sleep from your eyes after all, and it seems he has been up for some time considering how he doesn’t appear tired in the slightest. The lantern at the end of your walkway is lit — strange because you thought you had remembered to blow it out the night before — and the glow combined with the first few rays of sunshine over the horizon is enough to illuminate the space between you and the man. “I was also out on a morning walk, so I figured it would be smart to find out how to get here before making a fool of myself. Beyond making plans to do so several times over and not once making good on those plans.”

You did gather much from your first impression of the man. Seonghwa’s word proved correct: Mingi is quite friendly, although a tad clueless but his kindness makes up for that, and you heard as much from your fellow townsfolk after you left his apothecary a month ago. After all, newcomers will be the talk of the town for weeks after their arrival, so you got to be privy to much talk about his character just from spending five minutes milling about the streets. He’s cordial each time you happen across each other in the village on top of that, full of never-ending apologies about his delay in coming to see you (to the point where you have to demand he stop apologizing three times before he takes the hint).

“Considering how I didn’t even make it to the front door, I’m assuming I did not wake you?” he continues when you reach the edge of the fence. You shake your head, undoing the latching and pulling the gate over for him to step through. 

“No, you simply caught me coming out to check on the crops before the rain starts.” You didn’t sense any rain coming today, but a little trip down to the pond can easily be arranged once Mingi departs. “This is only the front garden. I can show you the back as well, if you’d like, I have far more plants there.”

“You take care of this all by yourself?” he inquires, voice edging on awestruck, and your chest swells with pride.

“Yep! It is my livelihood, after all. But I am very enamored with the work too, so that helps me as well. These plants need more sun, and thanks to the location of this cottage, they receive it at least eight hours a day. Same goes for the plots on the left side of the house, but the ones on the right are not as sensitive to the sunshine. I keep the least temperamental crops in the back, along with some gourds that shops have a hard time finding at this time of year. My more cold-sensitive plants are in planters indoors, I have that small little greenhouse attachment on the side of the house as well as fungi and the like in the basement.”

“It seems you truly have a bit of everything then?”

“I try to at least. Whenever traveling merchants come for market days, I make a point to collect whatever seeds I can. I also like picking up gardener’s pamphlets! There are always good tips for how to make certain plants thrive, and occasionally they’ll mention ones I’ve not heard of so I know to be on the lookout for those things. If there’s ever something you’re in need of that I don’t have, I’d be happy to collect some samples for you from some merchants and we can discuss planting them too.” When you glance up at Mingi again, his jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes still bearing into you with that same wonder and disbelief. “Oh, sorry, I’m being a terrible host. Did you want to come inside for some tea or coffee? It’s still quite early.”

“That’d be great. Do you happen to have a catalog of all your crops as well?”

“Of course, of course.” You motion for him to follow you up to the house just as a few drops of rain start hitting your skin. Maybe you won’t need to go down to the pond after all. “It seems you came at the perfect time. Do you have some sort of potion that lets you predict the weather?”

“If only,” he laughs, ducking his head a bit to avoid the doorframe. He shrugs his cloak off upon getting inside, and once again you’re regaled by the sight of him dressed in all black. Though, today he’s forgone gloves and simply stuck to a long-sleeved shirt that extends past his hands. 

“You’re welcome to look around as I get the water on and all!”

“I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Please, you’re a guest, that’d hardly be fair of me.”

“But I did accost you before dawn, so I’d like to think of it as a fair bargain.”

You purse your lips. “Okay, I’ll relent and allow you to do the water, but I’ll take care of everything else.” He drapes his cloak over the back of one of your chairs, very careful and meticulous about the way in which he lays it down, but you only watch him long enough to see him reach the sink. Turning your back to him, you busy yourself with finding mugs and prepping the coffee Seonghwa gave to you a few weeks back. You should’ve thought ahead and asked him for more since you were just over there, but it slipped your mind completely. Perhaps he needs some more lavender and rosemary, you could pack some and use that as an excuse to go back to see him.

When you turn around next, Mingi is already sitting at the table in the seat where he set his cloak down, and you make a small noise of surprise.

“Did you get the stove figured out already? I swear it takes me four or five tries to get it to come on right every time.”

“Hm? It came right on when I turned the knob. Is it not supposed to do that?”

You let out a huff of air while shrugging and set the mugs down on the table. “It never does that for me but that very well may be user error.” The sharp whistle of steam interrupts your thoughts. “Ah, and it’s heating up quickly too? Those remedies of yours are becoming more and more appealing by the second. You might be the town’s new miracle worker at this rate.” 

In truth, it’s making your skin itch a little. There was some odd presence of magick back in Mingi’s shop, and even now you feel something sharp prodding at your own magickal energy in your own home. It’s not a threat, not one that you can concretely act on yet at least, but it’s enough to make you wary. To let a witch into your safe haven is a dangerous and risky game to play, especially if it’s where the source of your power is. Thankfully, you were not so foolish upon moving here to do something as juvenile as that — yours is safely kept away in that pond down the opposite side of the hill and tucked into a small grove in the surrounding forest. 

“Oh, let me grab that catalog for you real quick!” You bolt up from your chair at the sudden realization, and Mingi seems to accept it as simply that. You grab the book from your shelf, also snatching up the charm you keep near it and slipping it around your wrist while you’re out of sight still. It won’t be enough to fully shroud your energy, but if Mingi is indeed poking and prodding at your aura in search of something, it ought to at least throw him off enough to sate his curiosities. You usually only use such an item when strangers come to town for those market days you mentioned to Mingi before, and it certainly is a first for you to have to use it in your home. 

He’s not budged an inch by the time you return, which is nice to see because he could either have started snooping around in places he shouldn’t or bolted without a trace. You set the book down before him, still wearing a faint smile on your lips.

“I just updated it at the start of the week too, so you have the freshest copy.”

“Wonderful, I’m starting to understand the name on your gate post more and more.”

“Ah, that.” Wonderland was simply a silly little name you came up with on a whim because that’s what this place is to you, but it stuck and everyone in town loved it so much that you could not escape the urgings to keep it as a name even if you are not a shop owner in the way that people like Seonghwa and Mingi both are. “It’s nothing terribly special,” you opt to say instead. The kettle starts whistling more egregiously, saving you from having to explain the name any further. You stand and go to grab the handle of the pot, only to scald your palm so badly that you nearly fall over backward. Mingi scrambles to get up, chair clattering against the ground as he rushes in your direction.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” you blurt through gritted teeth, clinging to your hand and trying to will the pain away to no avail. “What are you sorry for?”

“I-I should’ve — I should’ve gotten that, I mean, my hands are…” he trails off, and you glance down at the now exposed hands that he’s put between you. From the tips of his fingers down to the first knuckle on every single digit, Mingi’s skin and nails both are the color of charcoal, like they’ve been permanently stained that way. Were you anybody else, you would not know what it means. 

“I’m fine,” you say. He’s a warlock after all, it seems. Of course he is. You have been teetering on the confirmation for weeks at this point, and it was silly of you to ignore the obvious so many times over. His uncomfortably warm touch and the stifling heat inside his shop were both dead giveaways. You did not forget to extinguish your lantern last night, nor did the stove simply come on by way of Mingi being deft at using the knobs. He lit the lantern himself, lit the stove himself as well though because he was unaware of how your finicky stove works, he made the flame too big and too hot, thus leading to the quick boil and unfortunate accident of you burning your hand. The symbol on his door sign should have been enough of a clue.

“Please, at least let me make you something to treat the burn. It’s what I’m good at after all, and it’s the barest of minimums I could do.”

If you kick him out now, then it will surely be obvious that you know something about his identity. Only daft idiots or people with something to hide would turn down the help of a healer such as himself. In the past decade, you have lost all semblance of good judgment because no amount of mental gymnastics can get you to refuse his help right now. You’re dooming yourself if he already knows what you are, but if he’s got even the slightest hint and you turn him away, then you would confirm it for him. You have to take the risk.

“Okay, I would really appreciate it,” you whisper, easing yourself down into your chair once more. Mingi’s shoulders visibly relax. “All these plants and I’m afraid I’ve barely got enough knowledge to make tea on a good day with them. Everything you need ought to be on the shelves behind the counter. Those are all freshly picked too.” When he turns his back to you, you let your meek expression drop and glare at the welt that’s already formed across your palm. Mingi’s magick does not appear to be volatile, meaning that he must have had some sort of formal training in his life. It’s common for fire warlocks to bear the same charcoal-looking scars that he has, mostly from overexertion of their kind of magick. You produce more sweat than is natural for a normal human being thanks to your affinities too. 

Would the House truly send someone here for you after so long? And to go through the effort of having them set up a shop in the heart of town? If they wanted someone to watch you, then it would have been easier and smarter to have someone take one of the cottages closer to you. Besides, Mingi has not been taking every opportunity to come find you or learn about you. Nor does he wear any ring to indicate his affiliation with the House. A sanctioned mage would surely make use of such benefits. Could he be a defector like you? Or one that never made it into the House’s grasp? 

He returns to the table with a mortar and pestle filled with some sort of salve that he’s already beaten down into a mush.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“Quite a bit,” you answer truthfully, only wincing a little when he turns your palm to the ceiling. It feels as though his fingers alone could sear your skin.

“I made extra for you to use over the next several days as well. All you need to do is store it somewhere cool and apply a little to the burn twice a day until the pain stops.” The mixture is so blissfully cold on your skin that you could cry, and even with Mingi’s warm touch massaging it into the burn, it feels like a heavenly relief. “If the pain doesn’t stop by the time you run out of salve, then please come visit me. I can make more and give you something to keep it from scarring.”

“Understood.”

“And y/n…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. “You do not have to hide what you are around me.” His gaze finds yours. “You are a witch after all, are you not?” A witch. The word feels like a slap in the face.

“Are you associated with the House? Did they send you? What is it you want from me?”

“The House? Absolutely not. I left their good graces many years ago. I wouldn’t give them even an ounce of my time anyway.”

“So what? You’re a witch as well?”

“Yes, I suppose I am though I don’t make a habit of calling myself that. Simply an apothecary, much like how you are simply a farmer. Of sorts.” Mingi fidgets in his seat and looks closer at you. “I am genuinely not here to cause you harm or disrupt your life. I imagine we came here for the very same reasons in fact. I simply want to live by my own terms, not anyone else’s.”

“Get out,” you whisper. Perhaps there are hundreds of better ways to handle this, but you have never had to do such a thing in all your time here, and you cannot be faulted for acting out of panic and fear now. Your voice comes out louder now, “Get out of my home then! Get out and don’t come back d-don’t dare tell anyone.”

“The energy is permeating the entire house.” Mingi keeps his tone quiet as he continues to speak through your distress. “Your garden too, I felt it immediately. The rain — it’s in there as well. Sure, it’s always rainy season here but how much of it is because of you?”

“You know what the other name for my kind is, right?”

“You’re a water witch.” 

You retract your hand from his with a scoff.

“The House tends to call us Scyllans. Sweet temptresses of the deep, killers of foolish men.”

Mingi somehow has it in him to smile.

“Then I ought to be safe, for I am neither foolish nor a mere man.” He stands without saying another word, collecting his cloak off the back of his chair and slinging it around his shoulders. You can’t help but to stare at him, wary and on edge with every movement he makes even when he reaches the door. “My words hold true, y/n. I hope you think them over at least. And your secret is truly safe with me.”

…

You avoid going into town for so long that Seonghwa seeks you out five days after you go into self-imposed seclusion. It’s easy to keep him off your back at least, and from what you can tell, Mingi has not sought him out to expose your dirty secrets as of yet. The logical part of you understands that you ought to avoid angering the man because he does hold quite a bit of power over you right now. Fear keeps you captive instead, however. 

Two weeks and a day after that fateful encounter you had with Mingi, you dare to leave the comfort of your home. Not to go into the village — that is a step you are not prepared to face — but rather to visit your precious grove in the forest. You should have gone last week as it’s always been your habit to go once a month to rejuvenate your magick; however, you were so on edge that you couldn’t get beyond your back fence and promptly turned right back around. Tonight, you’re determined.

The skies are clear, not a single cloud marring her starry expanses, and the moon hangs high near the center of the sky. Even better yet, it’s a full moon. Ideal conditions for you to bathe in the pond and restore some much-needed energy. You set out forty minutes from midnight even though your trek will not take that long. You need only be there for the highest peak of the moon, so giving yourself this little bit of leeway should allow you all the time required to reach your destination. Despite yourself, you do glance over your shoulder several times on your way out of the house and garden. When you’re content with your loneliness, you set off down the hill.

It’s not as though you decided to dismiss Mingi’s words altogether once he left. You have put much thought and consideration into them, in fact, especially after Seonghwa came to see you and nothing had changed between the two of you. It’s no guarantee that Mingi didn’t tell anyone, but it’s something. The matter of him being a witch like you, well, that has been a contentious debate in your head. A true warlock calling themselves a witch is considered heresy to many, so you have to believe that Mingi is being truthful with you. You know enough about his magick to know for certain he is either one or the other. But at the end of the day, there is no way for him to prove as much. All he has is his word to back him up, and all you can do is either accept it as truth or deny it. 

Long ago, you had settled on the knowledge that you would likely be a rather lonely creature for the rest of your days. Finding Charybid and its people was a welcome blessing, but not a permanent one, and the friends you’ve made (especially Seonghwa and Yunho) cannot understand what it is you are or relate to you on any matter concerning witchcraft. You’ve long since accepted that loneliness as a part of you even if there are pieces of your heart craving warmth and understanding from another like you. 

If it were possible, could Mingi be that sort of person in your life? Does he crave the same thing? Is that why he confronted you to begin with?

You reach the grove with a heavier heart than anticipated. Moonlight creeps in through the canopy of branches overhead, glistening off the half-circle of rocks around milky green waters. The moon has already been charging the pond for hours, and you feel the pulse of magick resonating deep in you from the bottom of it. 

Stripping down to nothing, you drop your clothes into a pile near the rocks with your satchel and toe at the water. It’s frigid as expected, thanks to the encroaching winter that is coming closer and closer still. You sink into it fully and submerge yourself in the charged waters. Several meters down at the bottom lies your precious black pearl, glowing a deep purple shade to show exactly how much magick she’s stored since you last came. You let the waters hold you for some time until the dull thrum you feel around you turns into a hum that makes your skin feel like it’s full of electricity. 

It’s only then that you decide to emerge once more, breaking the surface of the water and letting air replace the magick in your lungs. 

Yet, you find that you are not alone.

Bent so far over the pond that he looks one slip away from tumbling down into it, none other than Mingi sits crouched at the edge. It’s far too late to pretend as though you haven’t made note of each other. Depending on which direction Mingi came from, he may not have even seen your belongings behind the rocks. You sink lower in the water until it comes up to cover your lips. 

“My apologies. I did not know you were here.” Just his gaze is enough to make your body warm. You tilt your chin up.

“Is that so?”

“I came because of the magickal energy, yes. Not because I knew you would be here.” He’s not far from you. The moon shines her pretty rays down around him, and you blame her for the insatiable tug in your gut that’s making you want to pull him into the waters with you. “I have been thinking about you though,” he admits under his breath. You imagine the words are not meant for your ears, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s spoken them out loud. It takes little movement on your part to swim closer to him, and you only stop when he is perched directly above you.

“Do I look the part of a temptress now?” you inquire, hand breaking through the surface of the water to caress his cheek. 

“Incredibly so,” he murmurs. “I see why foolish men fall. Perhaps I am no better.”

“You know nothing about me.” You trace your fingers down to his chin. 

“I know enough.”

You shush him with a laugh and a finger placed directly over his lips. “The sun gives you her power during the day, but on nights like these, the moon offers me a fair exchange. Her power for my sexual energy. That is where a water witch’s magick comes from, and it’s what has earned us all those myths and urban legends about eating men. Now that you know that of me, should I trust you in return?”

“I am what I say I am. I am a fire witch. I defected from the House of Ballads five years ago. To answer your question, though, if…” His gaze has become lidded, focus drawing down to your lips with each word he tries to speak. You feel just as overwhelmed and foggy yourself, the excess magick seeping into you from all angles as the moon inches ever closer to her peak. “…you deem it wise.”

“I think some part of me might.”

“Did you consider what I said to you last time?”

“But of course. It wasn’t so long ago that I’ve forgotten already.” A sigh escapes you as you look up to where the moon can just barely be seen through the trees. “I’d like to give you a chance, if only because of morbid curiosity and the fact that I have made it a decade without finding another like myself.”

You inch up and graze Mingi’s lips with your own. His fingertips tickle the surface of the water, and the effect is nearly instant. Warmth surrounds you and draws a gasp out of you that has you curling away from Mingi’s face. He leans back.

“I cannot restrain myself well enough tonight. Not in the presence of such potent magick.” You are equal parts pleasantly surprised and grossly disappointed by his willpower. With a smile, you push away from the edge of the pond and head further into the water. Mingi almost makes the mistake of following you, teetering at the grassy bank.

“You are welcome to visit again. So long as I am not nude or compromised.”

“I-I—” His cheeks are stained a deep red by now.

“I do not intend to put on a show for you tonight, Mingi, but I am in desperate need of the moon’s energy. If that is all, then…?” Were the circumstances any different, you would consider your wording to be crude in that you are essentially asking him to leave so that you can fuck yourself with the crystal you brought along with you in your bag. 

He clears his throat and sits completely back on his heels, gaze wandering across your face. Licking over his lips, his eyes linger on the water droplets running from your hairline to your jaw. 

“I will come to you when the first snow falls,” he says. “So that you may have time to contemplate things further. My decision is already made, and I'm sure you're aware of it. Please… please let me know then what your choice is.” You want to retort that he doesn’t have the best track record thus far, but instead leave well enough and wave him away with a grin. A bout of laughter leaves your lips as soon as he passes through the clearing and out of sight.

“Are you testing me?” you whisper to the moon, receiving nothing but her monotonous glow in response. You wade over to the rocks where you left your belongings and quickly rifle through your pack in search of the rose quartz you brought along. It’s cold to the touch, unpleasant in comparison to the warm body that you just had with you and within your grasp. While the shape isn't perfect, it gets the job done in the absence of the real deal, and it serves its purpose just fine. Not like you have any other options as it is.

Part of you entertains the idea of having Mingi still here — from a practical standpoint, consummating the ritual with another magick user would be far more effective than using a crystal charged by the moon. But from a pleasure standpoint…

You dip your fingers between your legs, letting your body fall back to rest your head on the edge of the pond as you seek your core between your folds. The magick at your fingertips pulses through you and sends a jolt into your system just from the slightest brush. A soft mewl falls from your lips. You feel Mingi’s magick still permeating all throughout the water, clinging to your skin, and on your lips, you taste fire from that minute little kiss exchanged in a fit of passion.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get your fingers deep enough inside your cunt. Instead, your thoughts are plagued by the visual of Mingi’s hands, his long fingers, the searing heat that emanates from them, and the all-consuming desire to know what it would feel like to have them inside you.

You cannot even bring yourself to waste time right now; slipping your fingers free, you plunge the toy in your other hand into yourself and sink it all the way in until the pressure in your gut is eased the slightest bit. It's blissfully cold against your walls; the coolness eases the burn that seems to be wedged beneath your skin and brings some clarity back to your mind. It does not, however, chase every thought of Mingi from your brain. In the haze of your vision, you can hallucinate him before you still, imagine him in the spot where he was not long ago watching you with those fiery intense eyes and urging you on. A louder cry of pleasure tumbles out of you as you're forced to twist and brace yourself on a rock to keep increasing the pace of the toy's thrusts inside you.

It ought to fill you with some degree of shame, you think, because who lusts so strongly after a stranger who poses something of a threat to your well-being and livelihood? But when your mind goes back to the idea of his large hands gripping your waist and hips as he splits you open on his cock, you can't be bothered in the slightest about the speed at which you're becoming invested in this man — all that matters is the speed at which you're thrusting the crystal dildo in and out of your pussy as an orgasm creeps up on you. You have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to have some semblance of sanity to cling to. And when you unravel soon after, it’s his name on your lips.

…

The first snow of the season is late.

You have been trying to avoid thinking about it solely on account of the superstition that mulling it over will only delay it further, but those attempts are futile. Because when you tell yourself to not think about it, you only end up thinking about it more, then you devolve into a sick cycle of reasoning with yourself and the moon and any deity out there who will give you the time of day. 

While you could set your pride aside for the sake of what it is you’re waiting on exactly, that is simply not in your nature. Additionally, you want to see whether Mingi will uphold his end of the bargain. He promised to come at the first snow. So you will wait for that day. 

Your gardens are thriving thanks to the lack of snow and the amplified support of your fully-charged magick, which is the only positive you can find in this situation while you essentially sit on your hands and wait. The downside is, however, that the temperatures are still steadily declining, and you always struggle in the winter to keep your home warm enough. Your specialty may be in water magick, but that does not mean you have any control or power over the temperature of said water, and everything around you tends to skew a bit cooler as it is. The thought of how cold you are and your house is and everything in between only pushes your thoughts more towards the lack of warmth and a potential source of it that will not come unless the fucking snow does first.

If you have to put up with seeing Mingi’s smiling face across the street while you’re pestering Seonghwa one more time then you may truly snap and lose all semblance of self-respect.

…

You’re knelt in a bed of rosemary when the first flakes of snow start to hit your skin. At first, you think it to be just rain but then a flurry touches one of the purple blossoms on the herb. The shout you let out is a terrifying mixture of joy and exasperation because at long last, your agonizing wait can finally come to a close. The way you scramble to pull yourself out of the dirt and rush indoors ought to be more embarrassing. It takes you all of five minutes to change out of your grimy gardening clothes and into something cozier and cleaner, though all you do is park yourself at the kitchen table with a mug of hot tea and stare out the window waiting for any sign of movement on the hill. The snow is coming down harder already, a billowing cloud of white that cloaks the dirt and grass on the ground. It doesn’t even occur to you to think that Mingi might not come at all, that he might have forgotten or worse — simply not chosen to come at all — because your patience has worn so thin over the past weeks that you feel relief just seeing the snow.

And luckily for you, Mingi is far more timely and true to his word than he was before. You neglected to keep track of the time, though you haven’t finished your tea yet by the time his lanky figure comes over the crest of the hill. You know it to be him instantly because his fiery hair is visible through the white all around him. 

You’re at the door before you can think twice, flinging it open and making your way down the path to the gate as though you aren’t in the biggest rush of your life. Behind him, there’s a trail of footsteps where the snow has melted under his feet, and the closer he gets, the better you can see how not even a single snowflake sticks to him in any way. Every flake that touches even the outside of his cloak simply melts upon contact, leaving him pristine in the sea of white falling around you.

“Did you wait long?” he asks upon reaching your gate. Somehow he manages to maintain a lilting tone that makes your brain itch. You want to kiss him so silly that all that smugness dissipates like the snow on his skin. “Y/n.” The breathy exhale of your name is all it takes for you to grab him by the collar and yank him down to your level. The warmth is so blessedly welcome. “Have you made your decision?” 

You slot your lips against his, licking at the seam of his lips without waiting for further invitation. He scrambles with the latch on the gate, though you’re of no help at all with how you’re trying to pull him over it, but once that pesky barrier is pushed open just a little bit, he slides through the gap and seals his body against yours. Even though the cold doesn’t seem to be affecting him much, his breathing still comes out in pants, like he sprinted the whole way here from town without rest. He clasps his hands around the back of your neck, thumbs caressing the underside of your jaw, and each kiss he plants on your lips is more searing than the last. It takes all you have to not trip over backward on your feet with him guiding you back towards the door of your home. The two of you don’t even make it through the door before he’s pushing you up against the doorframe and slotting a knee between your thighs. 

“Please, y/n, let me hear it from these pretty lips,” he begs. Your whole body is alight with something — either magick or lust or something in between those things that you can’t distinguish at present. The heat radiating off his body makes your head spin, and it’s such an intoxicating sensation that you reach your hands beneath the fabric of his cloak to be closer to skin.

“I trust you, I need you, I want you to have me,” you murmur back. Mingi pushes his lower lip out with the tip of his tongue. His gaze carries the same heat you’ve grown used to seeing all the time when you look at his eyes. Now, the weight of it feels heavier. Your breath hitches in your throat as he wraps an arm around your back, and his fingers dig into your side briefly. You’re pulled away from the doorframe and into the house only for him to slam the door shut and lock the snow out. What you aren’t expecting is to be flattened to the surface face first mere seconds later.

“I want to have you right here and now,” Mingi growls behind you. Every brush of his hands over your body leaves goosebumps in their wake along with the heat of his magick seeping into your skin. He takes apart your bodice carefully, pulling each string with a startling amount of care compared to his desperate rush to have you. A sort of fever takes hold of you, and with each piece of clothing he removes from your being, the more the fire in your belly roars. Glancing down, you see your clothes fallen into a heap on the floor, along with his cloak, then his coat, his shirt — each piece of fabric goes to join the pile until you feel bare skin against yours. The bliss of the contact is so immense that you let out a pitiful moan.

“Mingi.”

“Raise your arms over your head for me, y/n.” 

“Mingi,” you utter again, following the instruction without a breath of hesitation. He takes both of your wrists between just one of his hands and pins them to the flat surface of the door. Your chest trembles under your breaths. 

“I will not be rough with you unless you allow it. How I take you is up to you… whether it be me taking you apart gently or fucking you hot and raw right here and now.” You can’t take the sensation of his breathing down your neck without squirming. No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together, there’s no relief for the pulsing need for pressure there. The moment Mingi catches onto your attempts, he wedges his knee between your legs and leaves you to rock back on his muscled thigh for some sort of escape.

“Please.” It’s as though there’s cotton in your mouth keeping you from fully forming any kind of sentence because although your thoughts are running at a mile per minute, you cannot seem to get more than one word out at a time. Mingi nudges you forward into the door once again. He replaces the pressure of his thigh with his unoccupied hand, cupping your cunt and dragging his middle finger along the slit of your folds.

“You’re coming undone already, my little witch.” Mingi suddenly flicks his finger forward over your clit, and your knees buckle. Your reaction delights him so much that he repeats the action two more times, and your body truly becomes putty in his hands. He keeps you up between the hand holding your wrists to the door and the one cupped around your sex, but you aren’t sure your muscles could keep you up on their own without the help. Especially not when Mingi gets more daring and pulls a second finger into the mix to tease the ring of your entrance with small, methodical circles.

“Put them in me, put your fingers in!” you cry out only for Mingi to roll over your clit once again. His cock is twitching against your ass, firm and big, and part of you wants to forget everything else solely to have him in your mouth and down your throat. 

“Is that how good girls ask for things?” He pinches your clit between his fingers until you’re whimpering out an apology and smearing drool across the door. “Ask again. Nicely this time, sweetheart.”

“Please f-fuck me with your fingers, please open me up for you, I w-want to feel you so badly.” Nonsensical babbling is enough for him, blessedly, because you’re not confident that anything more coherent than that could make its way out of you right now. He rolls the pads of his fingers up against your clit again before going any lower. His laugh is borderline sadistic when you curl your fingers into the wood, nails clawing for some sort of grip that will help you ground yourself. “Wanna come so—!”

“That’s it, come for me, lovely. Then I’ll fuck you nice and loose on my fingers while you’re coming.” Mingi retracts his fingers right when your gut clenches, and as your walls squeeze tight around nothing, he slips two digits into your cunt. Your lips part in a silent scream, moans caught in the back of your throat. Your vision goes white behind your eyelids though it lasts so much longer than what you’re used to getting from your own hand and toys. Perhaps it’s because Mingi doesn’t let up on you even in the throes of your orgasm, or thanks to your magickal energies intertwining in the most raw and intimate way imaginable. “Let me open you up some more first, then I’ll give you what you want.”

You blink your eyes open and look at Mingi out your peripherals, mouth wide open and cheek still pressed harshly into the door even though you’re the one keeping it there. 

“Do you want it too?” you ask out of the blue. Your voice is tight and strained. His fingers curl inside you.

“So badly,” comes his quick reply, “that it’s taking everything in me not to put my dick in you right now. But I don’t want to hurt you.” As though to emphasize his feelings, Mingi rolls his hips forward, and his cock rubs hard against your ass. “Doesn’t even look like it’s gonna fit in you, fuck.”

“Mingi, I need you in me now, like right this instant now, not in five minutes now.” The first orgasm has your vision hazy and legs wobbly, but that’s far from a concern to you at the moment. Your urgency pushes the man behind you to have the same sort of franticness, hurriedly slipping his fingers free of your cunt and readjusting his hold so that he can grip the base of his dick. You hold perfectly still for him as he lines himself up with your waiting hole that’s already sopping with arousal. Your pussy takes him in like it’s greedy for it, each inch sliding in and spreading you wider to accommodate to his size. One thing’s for certain: Mingi has a stupidly big dick, so big that it makes you wonder if you’d be able to feel it through your stomach if you put a hand there. 

Whatever shreds of patience he had left in him turn to ash the second he’s fully buried balls-deep in you. He doesn’t wait even a second before he pulls out about halfway, and the only stutter in his rhythm comes from him trying to find it. You’re suddenly rather glad that he’s keeping your hands up for you because the drive of his cock inside your pussy would bring you to your knees otherwise. The sounds of pleasure fill your ears — his low baritone moans tangled alongside your more throaty ones that crack here and there, the slap of his hips hitting your ass, and the thumping of the door as he fucks you so hard against it that it trembles. 

“Y-You’re so deep, I feel you in my stomach,” you choke out between moans. It devolves into a sob as Mingi shifts his angle upwards a bit and hits a new spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

“Yeah? Your pussy is clinging to me nice and tight, lovely, I think you like it a little too much.” He has enough composure to still speak without crying, meanwhile, tears are starting to pool at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation of your senses and nerves reaches unimaginable heights. “Bet your pretty little toy isn’t even half as big as me.”

Mingi thrusts so hard into you that his grip on your wrists falters, and one of your hands falls free. He doesn’t bother correcting it, nor do you try to keep it up any longer, instead rushing to get your fingers around your clit again. You’re so hyperfocused on chasing the high of another orgasm that you don’t warn him it’s about to hit you this time. He knows well enough when your body seizes for a moment before releasing every bit of tension in your muscles. Your walls flex around his cock, working him in time with the waves of your euphoria, until he can’t take it anymore and pulls free of your hole. He rests his length atop the cleft of your ass and thrusts a few more times there, then comes his release. Hot ropes of come shoot out from his cock, painting your naked back into a messy canvas of come and sweat.

Despite the sudden quiet filling the house, your hearing is hypervigilant and clings to every slight noise that comes from your partner, from his fight to get air into his lungs to the hand he now rubs over his spent cock. 

“You…” Your throat is too dry and you end up coughing instead of getting a sentence out. Mingi’s fingers trace small, unknown patterns into your hip. “You’re welcome to stay through winter. That’s my answer.”

“Through winter?” Mingi hums. He slips his hand around your waist and flattens his large palm over your abdomen. “What about spring?”

“Then too.”

“And summer?” He’s teasing you again. Somehow he still has the energy to do that.

“And summer and autumn then winter again. But maybe by the spring after that, I’ll be sick of you!”

“You won’t be,” he says through a laugh, lips brushing against the side of your head. You’re going to need better retorts if he plans on sticking around that long.

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[qveenbunni]

Mingi from ATEEZ (에이티즈) Logbook #179

(for my pretty gf @spteez that showed me how to make these ><)

[qveenbunni]

Thanks for the tag, Cami 💜✨

I’m shocked it got ISTJ correct- there were like 10 questions 😂. Also Mingi and these shirtless photos 🫠

cute personality quiz + the last pic you saved of your bias

saw this on twt and thought it’d be fun to share~

as an infp this quiz got it right!! also sani RAHHHHH

np taggies: @yourfatherlucifer @cottoncandy-girl @bvidzsoo @mysteriousrainsworld @svintsandghosts @stxrrywoo @everyonewooeverywhere @coffee-addict-kitten @sp4ceboo @sorryimananti-romantic @mimikittysblog @crimsonbubble +anyone who’d like to join in <333

[qveenbunni]

Ah I hate to see a good thing go. This was such an incredible read- short but filled with so many ups and downs 💯💜

"A Familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader Epilogue

Summary: You and Mingi are months deep into your relationship. You've never been happier and in love. Though you are going strong, your relationship is long distance, until he surprises you with something you hadn't seen coming. He's truly the best thing that's ever happened to you - so you decide to show him that. How, you may ask? Let me just say; it's not for the weak ones, and you might have to make sure no one can see your screen while reading...

Word count: 4K

Genre: Fluff, RIIICH Mingi, SMUT, Non-idol-fic

warnings: Rich Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Fingering, oral (male/fem receiving), dirty talk (Mingi is NOT shy) unprotected sex, manhandling, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

It had been 7 months since that night in his apartment, since swollen knuckles and confessions turned into kisses and love. Since you and Mingi stopped pretending to be anything less than completely, irrevocably in it together. Now, you were his. And he was yours. No doubts. No fear. Just a quiet, overwhelming kind of love that filled every second spent together. Or at least, every possible second spent together.. He had to go back home two months after you became official, and you’ve been living long-distance since then. 

He would travel back to you every chance he got, you would go to him or you would meet halfway at a hotel and spend a weekend together. It was not ideally how you imagined finally being his girlfriend, but if this meant that he was yours, it was all worth it. 

He is worth everything.

Things had been so incredibly easy these seven months despite the circumstances. Not a single time had you questioned his loyalty, having him constantly showering you with love. Random flowers appearing in front of your door, surprise visits, non-stop communication and just pure love every single second.

So when he told you to wear something “comfy but cute” and wouldn’t say where you were going, you figured it was one of his usual surprises. Mingi had become good at that lately, lavishing you in tiny, perfect moments that made you feel like the luckiest person on earth.

You hear the sound of elevator doors open and Mingi starting to guide you forwards with both of his hands covering your eyes. Your steps echo with every step you take and your hand find his in front of your eyes. 

“This is terrifying.” you state, your other hand out as you take tiny steps into something you have no idea what is. 

“We’re almost there” he has a smile on his lips, you hear it. You stop walking abruptly, second guessing what he is dragging you unknowingly into. He sighs behind you. “I promise it’s not a prank. I would never mess with you like that again after the haunted house incident.”

You snort. “That was one time.”

“It was enough times,” he mutters dramatically, then laughs shortly. “Come on. Trust me?”

You sigh but smile, letting your trust into him as he gently guides you forward, suddenly unlocking a door with a little metallic click.

“This way,” he says softly. You walk in, feeling a new type of floor beneath your feet, the subtle scent of fresh paint, and something like lavender in the air. “Are you ready?” 

You nod. “I’m ready.”

The light suddenly becomes brighter as he removes his hands and steps next to you. It takes a short moment for you to register where you are, but then it hits you.

You blink, and the breath leaves your lungs.

The apartment is massive, stunning, with glass windows that offer a panoramic view of the city skyline. The sun is setting, casting golds and pinks across the walls, and the inside is all warm neutrals and cool-toned touches that just scream Mingi. It’s brand new, a new building, a new chapter. And the best part? It's quiet. Peaceful. Like him.

“Mingi…” you breathe, turning to him. “This is insane. Did you-, wait, did you buy this?”

He nods sheepishly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I, uh… I signed the papers this morning.”

You look at him, heart squeezing in your chest. He looks almost nervous, like he’s waiting for you to be overwhelmed, or to back away. Instead, you throw your arms around him, and he immediately wraps himself around you, chuckling against your shoulder.

“Anything to be close to you,” he laughs. "I wanna make it easier to spend time together. Take you out on random Tuesday nights. Be here when you have a bad day.”

“You idiot,” you whisper affectionately. “You bought a whole penthouse to be closer to me?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What, you really think I was gonna keep letting you be three and a half hours away?"

You laugh, wiping at your eyes as he pulls back and grins.

“Okay, ready for the tour?”

He leads you through the space, showing off a dreamy open-plan kitchen (“You can paint while I make ramyeon. Domestic, right?”), the bedroom with a balcony overlooking the skyline (“So we can stargaze, obviously.”), and the massive bathroom (“Of course, the bathroom with a double sink, in case my girlfriend comes over and we’re getting ready in the morning together and… I might have gotten a bathtub big enough for two… just saying.”)

But the final stop takes your breath away.

He opens a door to a sunlit room. Blank white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a brand-new easel already set up. Canvases stacked in the corner. A cart of neatly organized paints. A stool. Your favorite brushes in a jar.

“Mingi…” your voice cracks, walking further into the space.

“It’s yours,” he says softly. “You always said you couldn’t paint at your place because you didn’t have the space or the light you liked, so… now you do. And it’s close. So if you want to paint something at 2am, or you just wanna be here, you can.”

You look around the room, speechless. Your hands shake a little as you turn back to him.

Then he pulls something out of his pocket.

A key.

“Also, this,” he says with a nervous smile. “No pressure. No expectations. Just… if you ever need to be here, if you ever want to, you can be.” He holds it out, resting it in the palm of your hand like he’s offering you something sacred. “I want you to feel like this is yours too.”

Your throat tightens as you stare down at the key, shiny and gold in the soft light. He’s watching you so carefully, like the world hangs on what you’ll say next. You close your fingers around it, then reach up and cup his cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He grins, so full of emotion it nearly knocks you over. “Good. Because I’ve been kind of obsessed with you since you called me cute in eleventh grade.” 

You laugh through your tears, and he wraps his arms around you again, the city glowing around you, the future wide open. He cups your jaw, runs his thumb across your cheek, and then kisses you, soft, slow, adoring.

You melt into it, but something shifts in you. Gratitude blooms in your chest and spreads lower, warmer, into something else entirely. You kiss him again, deeper this time, and you feel him hum softly against your lips. You push him backwards until his back is straight against a wall. Before he can ask what you’re thinking, you sink to your knees.

Mingi blinks, startled, hands instinctively catching your shoulders. “Babe, what are you-?”

“Let me,” you whisper, fingers already trailing up under his shirt, grazing warm skin. “I’m thanking you for being the most thoughtful boyfriend in the world. Please.”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking toward the door. “Baby, the movers are gonna be here any minute and we have a dinner reservation in–”

You look up at him, eyes wide and certain. “I don’t care.”

A soft curse leaves him, like he’s already losing the battle. “Fuck, baby…”

Your hands move to the zipper of his pants, tugging gently. “Please.”

That word breaks him.

“Alright,” he breathes, voice lower now. His hands stroke through your hair as he exhales shakily. “You wanna thank me like this?”

You nod, biting your lip.

“Then be good for me,” he says, soft but commanding. “Open your mouth.”

Your fingers curl into the waist of his pants, tugging them down just enough. He’s already hard, thick and heavy, flushed with heat, and you swear you hear the hitch in his breath when your fingers wrap around him.

“Shit,” he murmurs, head tipping back slightly. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I’m not trying to,” you say, voice sweet and teasing as you press a kiss to the underside of his length, just to hear him breathe your name like that again. He watches you from above, one hand in your hair now, the other trying to grip the wall like he needs grounding. His gaze is dark, nearly burning, but still soft at the edges when it’s on you.

“You always gonna drop to your knees for me like this?” he says lowly, thumb brushing along your jaw before settling at your lower lip. “Make me forget how to think?”

You open your mouth for him, tongue flicking against the tip of him in response, and the deep groan he lets out curls straight through your core.

“Fuck, that mouth,” he growls, hand tightening ever so slightly in your hair.

You hum around him, sinking lower, slower (intentionally so) and you feel the way his legs tense. His control holds, but it’s a tight line.

“That’s it. Nice and slow,” he rasps, voice thicker now. “Not too much, baby. Not yet.”

He’s guiding the rhythm without thrusting, letting you set the pace even as his tone deepens with every word. You feel the pull of it, how much he wants to take over, to lose himself in you. But he’s holding back, even as your tongue swirls, your lips glide.

“You trying to ruin dinner?” he says, half-laugh, half-growl. “Or just testing how long I can hold out?”

You release him with a soft pop, smiling up at him with damp lips and dazed eyes. “Maybe both.” Your lips are shining by the mix of spit and pre-cum.

His head tips down toward you, and he kisses you, deep, breathless, tasting himself on your tongue. “You’re dangerous,” he mutters against your lips, then gently pulls you to your feet. “You think you’ve won,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke, “but you’re not the one in control.” he manhandles you like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment, and maybe he has. One second you’re kissing him breathless, the next, he’s spinning you around and pressing your front against the floor-to-ceiling window. Your palms hit the cool glass with a gasp, your breath fogging the surface

“Mingi..-” the glass is cold against your chest, but the heat pouring off of him makes you forget it in seconds.

“I’m gonna fuck you in every room eventually, might as well get started.”

Mingi steps in behind you, one palm pressed flat to the window beside your head, the other trailing slowly, teasingly, down the curve of your spine. You can feel the tension in his breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your shoulder.

“Stay just like this,” he murmurs. “I want to taste you first.”

Your knees already feel weak, but you do as he says, arching your back slightly, offering yourself to him completely. You hear the low, appreciative groan he lets out, one that goes straight to your core. He lets your dress rest on your hips, giving him a full view of you. His fingers come first, two of them sliding between your thighs, parting you gently as he finds just how soaked you already are for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, dragging his fingers through your folds, slow and deliberate. “You’re dripping.”

You barely manage a breathy nod before he sinks to his knees behind you, his hand on your thigh pushing your legs just a little farther apart. The other hand sliding your pranties to the side. And then, his mouth.

He licks into you like he’s starving for it, his tongue tracing lazy, torturous circles over your clit while two fingers slide back inside you with a perfect curl. He holds your hips steady with his free hand as you moan into the window, the vibrations from your voice echoing back at you from the glass.

“Mingi, fuck… please-”

“Don’t run from it,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs shake. “Let me take my time.”

And he does. He devours you like it’s sacred, alternating between sucking gently and flattening his tongue, his fingers never stopping their deep, slow thrusts. Every time you start to tremble, he eases up just a little, cruel with how much control he has, how he knows exactly when you’re about to fall. He loves it. Loves the way you whimper and grind back into his face. Loves the slick mess you’re leaving behind. Loves the way you can’t hold back for long.

And just when you're about to tip over the edge...

He pulls away.

Your body jolts from the loss, a broken gasp falling from your lips.

But then he’s standing again, pressing himself flush against your back, his hand cupping your chin to turn your head so he can kiss you - filthy and full of the taste of you on his tongue.

His voice is lower now, practically a growl in your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby. But you’re not gonna walk out of this room steady. You know that, right?”

“The window-...” You begin.

“We’re too high up,” he growls, gripping your hips and pulling your ass back against him. “No one can see you. Just me.”

You moan at the possessiveness in his tone, at the way his fingers tighten on your hips like you might disappear if he lets go. He’s so hard, thick and heavy against your backside, and your whole body is already aching for him.

“You wanted to thank me, didn’t you?” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck as he slides your panties to the side again. “Then let me have you like this. Mine. Against the window. Let me fuck you like I’m showing the world who you belong to.”

You’re gone for him. And you let him, happily, breathlessly, desperately. He doesn’t tease for long. He slides his cock through your folds once, twice, then, without another word, he sinks into you in one smooth, brutal thrust. You cry out, forehead resting against the glass as your body takes him in.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked. “God, you feel so good. Like you were made for me.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward with a rhythm that makes your knees buckle. His grip is bruising, his thrusts deep, dragging obscene moans from your throat as he fucks you harder, rougher, faster. Your breasts press into the glass, your breath fogs it up, and all you can think about is how good it feels to be his, to be taken like this.

“You hear that?” he pants against your ear, one hand trailing down to rub tight, slow circles over your clit. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Mingi, fuck-”

“That’s right, baby,” he growls, voice thick with lust. “My good girl. Letting me fuck her against a damn window like she’s my favorite toy.”

Your legs start to shake and he knows, he can feel how close you are. He leans over you more, chest against your back, one hand gripping your throat lightly from behind to tilt your head up.

“Come for me,” he snarls. “Right here. While the whole world’s beneath your feet.”

And then…

Knock knock.

Your heart stops.

You freeze, panicked, but Mingi just smirks, cock still buried deep inside you, and presses a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t. Make. A sound.”

He rolls his hips, slowly this time, but just as deep. And your moan dies against his palm.

“Let them wait,” he whispers, voice dripping with hunger. “You’re not done. And neither am I.”

You’re clenching around him, your body still trembling, but Mingi’s not slowing down- not even a little. If anything, he gets rougher, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the tall windows as he chases his own release.

“Better be quiet or Yunho will hear how my cock is wrecking that pretty pussy of yours and we don’t want that, now do we?" he groans, watching the way your body shudders for him, how you take every inch like it’s exactly where it belongs. 

You whimper under your breath, shaking your head, overwhelmed and overstimulated, but you don’t want him to stop. His hand slides from your mouth down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, possessive. Gentle, even in his dominance. He leans in close, lips at your ear, hips still pounding against your ass.

“You want me to come inside you?” he pants, breath hot and desperate. “You want me to fill you up while you drip down this fuckin’ window?”

You nod frantically, moaning his name like a prayer.

"You're gonna keep that fucking cum in you while we go out, let it remind you who you belong to." He kisses your skin. "You’ve always been mine, baby. Always.” he claims.

And then it hits.

The orgasm hits you like lightning - white-hot and overwhelming. You cry out his name, nails scraping at the window, thighs trembling as he fucks you through it. Your body tightens around him, your voice breaking into a sob of pleasure, tears stinging your eyes from how intense it is.

Mingi loses it.

“Shit, fuck- oh my god-” he groans, burying himself to the hilt as he comes, hard and deep, filling you up with every pulse. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid he’ll fall if he lets go, his chest heaving, lips parted as he moans your name over and over again.

Time slows. Everything quiets.

The only sound left is your breathing, both of you breathless, spent, pressed together with the city glittering far beneath your feet. And then Mingi wraps his arms around you, pulling you back into his chest, still inside you, still catching his breath.

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. Soft now. Reverent.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little as he buries his face in your hair. “God, I love you so much.”

You turn your head to look at him, still panting, still floating, and smile.

“I love you too, Mingi.”

He pulls out gently, helping you turn around in his arms. You’re a mess, sweaty, flushed, still trembling, but he cradles your face in his hands like you’re art. Like you’re a miracle. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lip, his tone completely different now. Soft, warm, protective.

You nod, teary-eyed but glowing. “More than okay.”

He smiles, that shy, boyish grin that makes your heart ache. And then he kisses you, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

The knock at the door comes again just seconds after Mingi helps you clean up, stealing one more kiss before he smooths your hair and grins like a man who’s never been happier - or more smug. You stay back for a moment, catching your breath, while he heads toward the door, perfectly composed in a sleek, all-black suit that hugs his frame too well. He looks expensive. He is expensive. And every inch of him screams confident, unbothered power.

When he opens the door, Yunho is the first to walk in, all smirking eyes and silent observations. He doesn’t say much… he doesn’t need to. One glance at Mingi’s mussed hair and satisfied smirk, and he huffs out a low chuckle.

“Uh huh,” he murmurs knowingly, brushing past. “You look like you own Seoul,” Yunho says by way of greeting.

Mingi smirks. “I do. In a few districts, at least.”

Yunho laughs as the moving crew begins to file into the penthouse behind him. Boxes, protective blankets, crates labeled with sleek handwriting. They move efficiently, all business.

But one voice cuts through the calm.

“Wow,” it says, over-enthusiastic. “This place is… wow. I mean-.. this is something else.”

Mingi doesn’t even have to look. That voice? He’d know it in a crowd of thousands.

Jae.

Jae, in a moving uniform, hat pulled low, eyes darting around the space like he’s just stepped into a billionaire’s showroom. “You got some really nice stuff.” 

Mingi doesn’t say a word. He just gives a tight nod, turning back to Yunho. “Media console goes against the north wall,” Mingi says. “Speakers are already wired in behind the panel.”

“Got it.” Yunho glances between the two men, catching the tension but not commenting.

Meanwhile, Jae keeps circling like he’s never seen wealth before. The clean, luxurious space. The high-rise view. The tasteful furniture that’s already arrived. The faint smell of expensive cologne lingering in the air. His eyes linger on Mingi a moment too long before he speaks. “Wow, this place is huge. No wonder you have so many things. This couch is beautiful. Custom, right?”

“It is.” Mingi answers. Short. Cold. No emotion showing on his face.

Jae hesitates. “Right. Well… this place is insane. Didn’t expect-”

“Don’t strain yourself thinking,” Mingi cuts in smoothly. “You’re here to carry things. So carry them. The studio boxes go by the back wall, by the windows. Don’t scratch the marble. If you do, you’re paying for it.”

Jae doesn’t answer. He just looks around him like he’s a puppy who got caught peeing on the carpet. Mingi lets the silence sit until Jae can do nothing but nod and accept. 

You finally step out of the room. Flushed but glowing, dressed to perfection, heels clicking softly on the floor. Your hair’s still slightly tousled from earlier, your lips kiss-bitten, trying to act casual even though you know you’ve still got that just-fucked glow. Mingi catches your eyes and gives you a look, hungry again, somehow- but he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

Yunho clocks it instantly. His smirk widens.

Jae’s eyes flick to you and he gives a faint, familiar smile, like he’s about to say something.

But you walk right past him without a glance, straight to Mingi.

“Hey,” you say, walking toward him. Your fingers slide into his, and he squeezes back instantly, his body naturally angling toward you like a magnet. You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek without noticing, or maybe not caring, that Jae is watching. You reach over to straighten the collar of his jacket with a knowing little smile. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just making sure everything is the way it should be. Because it is. Right, Jae?” Mingi eyes dart to the man in the middle of the room, tail in between his legs. Whether or not he answers, you can’t hear. You just see him nodding and getting back to move the boxes to the right places. 

Yunho raises a brow with a soft laugh. “You two heading out?”

“Dinner,” Mingi softly replies, already leading you toward the door. “You’ve got this, right?”

“Obviously,” Yunho waves him off. “Enjoy your fancy rich people night.”

As the two of you walk towards the door, Mingi throws one last glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Jae?” His voice is pure steel. “Try not to scratch the floors. You can’t afford them.” Mingi sends him an impertinent smile before he opens the door for you with that same gentleman’s grace, like he didn’t just wreck you minutes ago against the glass, and once you’re through, he places a hand on the small of your back. 

You glance at him, smiling. “Was that necessary?”

He smirks. “Not at all.”

“But it was hot.”

“Exactly.” he smirks and you step into the elevator, the golden light catching on his watch, your fingers interlacing.

You giggle, feeling so insanely proud of Mingi. You stare up at him. His jaw sharp, hair ruffled to perfection and lips still a little swollen from your kisses earlier. He notices your stare, and once again, he falls in love with the sight next to him. Your dress, your smile, your eyes. You’re unreal. 

He leans in to whisper low in your ear, sending shivers down your entire body. “You look too good. Might have to skip dessert and come home early..”

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx

@lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry

[qveenbunni]

Can I go one day without this man taking my breath away?

Nope- no can do

LOGBOOK #178

[qveenbunni]

You failed. You seem very eager…Good. I was trying to. AND WE’RE OFF 🏇✨✨✨✨✨

“I like it. You-.. I like it.” You. I like it. I repeat- YOU. I LIKE IT 🫨 IM CRASHING OUT

“I came to see your art,” he says. “So unless you’ve got another secret masterpiece hidden somewhere-” he gives you a small smile- “I’m good right here.” HELLO?! That’s so sweet what the heck

“That was ten years overdue.” Then he turns to you, eyes softening the moment he looks at you. JUSTICE IS SERVED 🧑‍⚖️✨

“God, I was in love with you,” he says, finally, the words tumbling out like a breath he’s been holding for ten years. “Head over heels, stupidly in love with you.” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 💜🫟 my heart just exploded.. I hope you’re happy 🥹

“You think I haven’t thought about this?” he murmurs against your mouth. “Ten years of imagining what you’d sound like… begging me.” Oh 😯😏

He kisses you once. Then twice more. Then again, and again, and again. I love them so so so much 🤧

This was so goooooooood. You outdid yourself- like holy moley guacamole 😮‍💨 I ran through this part,it was that good ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ if it wasn’t so late I’d go ahead and read the epilogue- I’ll just have to leave the sweet dessert for tomorrow

"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 2)

Summary: You're still in the process of getting to know Mingi again after 10 years apart. He's grown into a successful, handsome man, but there's still parts of him that hasn't changed. And when you accidentally push him too far, just before the reunion, you're scared you've ruined it. At the reunion, things continues to escalate, because there's a certain person who made Mingi's life a living hell during High School, and he still hasn't changed. But maybe, that is what pushes you and Mingi in the direction you both longed for and maybe... you see a whole new side of Mingi you didn't expect him to have.

Word count: 11.6K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love, smut (WOOOH you’re not ready for that, Mingi is wild...)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal (bullying boooh), DOM MINGI, fingering, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk (Mingi goes all in.. eheheheh) unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

After wooyoung drove you home, your head was filled with a certain tall guy you saw earlier. The look on Mingi’s face was haunting you, making you feel bad in a way you didn’t know you couldn’t explain. It’s not like you and Mingi are dating or have even talked about being more than friends, but the thought of giving him the impression that you dated Wooyoung was making you twist and turn in your bed. 

You felt like you needed to come clean. Even if Mingi didn’t want an explanation. But before you could even begin to write a text, your phone buzzed.

Mingi: Hope your day went well. Sorry if I interrupted anything earlier.

You frown.

You: You didn’t interrupt anything. Just a friend.

A minute passes. Then-

Mingi: He seemed very nice. I didn’t want to get in the way.

You stare at the message, and your chest twists in a way that surprises you. The way he writes is giving you flashbacks to high school. The way he apologises for just being there. You recall talking to a classmate about some homework one day, and Mingi joining the conversation for a few seconds to ask if it was okay that you rescheduled your study-session that day. He was gone within seconds, apologizing later for being in the way. Your heart broke just thinking about that.

You: Mingi. You’re not in the way. Not even close.

There’s no reply for a while. But the read receipt lingers.

You wonder if he’s staring at your message the way you’re staring at his.

***

You were curled up on the couch, your dinner half-eaten and some random show playing in the background, when your phone buzzed.

Wooyoung drinks tonight. come out, hermit.

You sighed, thumb hovering over the screen.

You who’s going?

Wooyoung me, maybe san, some others if I can convince them. you’ll be the hottest one there. unless you invite that tall drink of water you’ve been seeing.

You blinked.

You what?

Wooyoung don’t “what” me. mingi. the guy with the soul-piercing eyes and the “i own several companies” energy.

Your face warmed instantly.

You we’ve barely talked since he saw us in front of the restaurant. just a few texts. 

Wooyoung cool cool so invite him. it’ll be fun. you get drinks. i get to see if he glares at me again. win-win.

You rolled your eyes, fingers hesitating above the keyboard.

You fine. i’ll ask. but if it’s weird, i’m blaming you.

Wooyoung that’s fair. but it won’t be. he’s into you. i have an eye for these things.

You took a breath, switched to your messages with Mingi, and typed.

You Hey… Wooyoung, my colleague, is dragging everyone out for drinks tonight. You should come too. If you’re free.

You hit send before you could overthink it, then stare at the screen, heart thumping like you’d just confessed something bigger. You don’t expect him to reply right away. Lately, your conversations with Mingi had slowed to brief texts here and there, little pings of warmth you clung to more than you’d admit. But tonight… maybe.

Your phone buzzed.

Mingi Where?

Your heart skipped.

You That was fast.

Mingi I was already holding my phone. Didn’t want to seem too eager. How’d I do?

You smile at the screen, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You You failed. You seem very eager.

Mingi Good. I was trying to.

There was still a trace of that tension lingering from the last time you saw him, from the way he looked at you outside the restaurant before walking away.

You We’re going to that bar near the station. 8:30. You coming?

There is a pause long enough to make your stomach flutter.

Mingi I’ll be there.

You stare at the screen for a second, blinking. Then you exhale, a smile spreading before you could stop it.

Wooyoung you’re welcome don’t say i never do anything for you

You didn’t even ask how he knew. You just grab your bag, suddenly too giddy to finish your cold noodles.

The bar is already buzzing when you walk in. Warm lights hang low over crowded tables, laughter rising and falling above the hum of music and clinking glasses. It’s cozy, familiar, just loud enough to feel alive, not so loud you can’t hear yourself think. You spot Wooyoung instantly. He’s posted up in a booth near the back, a half-empty margarita in one hand and a devilish grin on his face.

“Hey, trouble,” he calls out, waving you over. “Took you long enough.”

You slide into the seat beside him. “You only say that because I always pay for the first round.”

“Guilty,” he says, lifting his glass in a toast. “But also because your new boyfriend’s about to walk through that door and I want front row seats to the fireworks.”

“He’s not my-” You stop, exhaling sharply. “Shut up.”

He smirks, sipping his drink with obnoxious satisfaction. A few minutes pass. The booth fills with a couple more friends, the chatter turning louder, easier. You try to focus, but your eyes keep drifting to the entrance. It’s not nerves, not really. Just... curiosity. Wondering what he’ll wear, how he’ll look in this setting, if he’ll seem out of place or like he’s always belonged here.

Then the door opens.

And there he is.

Mingi steps inside, hands in his pockets, black sweater, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans perfectly fitted. His eyes move across the room, searching, and then land on you. Your lips curve into a smile, and his does too. He makes his way over, shoulders slightly tense until he reaches the booth. The others greet him casually, shifting to make space, but your focus stays locked on him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm, a little deeper in the ambient noise.

“Hey,” you reply, scooting to the side. He slides in next to you, close enough that your knees brush for a moment before you both adjust. You can feel the warmth of him, even with a bit of space between your arms.

Wooyoung stands abruptly. “Alright, I’m getting shots. You want tequila or chaos?” He points to Mingi.

“I don’t know what chaos tastes like,” Mingi says, glancing up.

Wooyoung grins. “Perfect. You’re getting both.” He heads to the bar, leaving you and Mingi with the rest of the group who’s deep in conversations. 

You glance at him. “Glad you made it.”

He nods once, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Yeah. Me too.”

Wooyoung slides back to the table with a tray of shots balanced in one hand, grinning like he’s just won something. “Alright, team,” he says, setting the tray down with theatrical flair. “Hydration, but make it irresponsible.”

You laugh, leaning forward as the little glasses clink against each other. “What even is this?”

“No questions,” Wooyoung replies, already handing one to you and one to Mingi. “Just trust the process.”

Mingi eyes his glass like it might be a trap. “It’s green.”

“It’s also delicious,” Wooyoung chirps, raising his own. “To questionable decisions and hot friends.”

You glance at Mingi just in time to catch the way he shifts in his seat, eyes flicking from Wooyoung to you. You raise your shot in response, lips tugging up in a smile. “To hot friends,” you echo.

You clink glasses. The shot burns, then warms, and soon Wooyoung’s dropping into the seat next to you with a sigh like he’s never been more comfortable. He stretches an arm over the back of the booth. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at Mingi, “you’re surprisingly good at showing up, you know that?”

Mingi blinks. “Thanks?”

“Thought you’d be too busy saving the world with spreadsheets.” Wooyoung says casually, sipping his water like he didn’t just toss a grenade. 

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Be nice.”

“I am,” he insists. Then to Mingi: “She loves when you surprise-visit her at work..”

“Wooyoung,” you hiss, but your cheeks are already heating up. Mingi’s ears flush a shade of red you recognize instantly.

“I’m kidding,” Wooyoung says, clearly not. “Kind of. But hey, glad you’re here.”

When you glance at Mingi, he’s smiling, not embarrassed, not shutting down, but smiling. That soft, slightly crooked kind that makes your stomach dip a little.

It’s after the second round that everything starts to feel lighter. The bar’s crowded now, the noise swirling around your booth like smoke. Mingi’s sitting a little closer now. Not obviously, he didn’t shift over or anything, but somehow, his shoulder brushes against yours more often. His knee rests against your thigh, like the space between you didn’t really matter anymore.

You glance at him mid-laugh, and catch him already looking at you. He doesn’t turn away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi shrugs, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. You just... seem different.”

You look at him, confused. “Different how?”

He taps his fingers against his glass, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. “You just seem more... you. Happy.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he says quickly, his voice firm, then pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it. You-.. I like it.”

For a moment, you’re quiet, warmth spreading through you at his words. Alcohol, maybe, but it still catches you off guard. You grin, teasing. “I think you just said something cheesy.”

Mingi looks away, clearly flustered, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I didn’t mean-”

“You totally meant it,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “And... I’m glad you said it.”

He shifts a little, trying to act nonchalant, but there's a hint of pride in his smile. “Yeah, well. I stand by it.”

And maybe he was right. You’re happy. Really, really happy, and being here, right now, made you feel like everything was okay. After more shots, the table is buzzing with energy.

"Alright, alright," Wooyoung says, lifting his glass. "Let's play something. A game, yeah? Something to get this party started for real."

He pulls out a small deck of cards, tossing them onto the table with exaggerated flair. The group eagerly gathers around, setting up for a round of Kings, and you notice Mingi is already looking at the game rules, trying to get the hang of it. You can tell he’s hesitant at first, unsure if he’ll fit in, but then he looks up at you, offering a small, almost shy smile.

"Do I... do I just draw a card?" he asks, still a little unsure.

You nod, laughing softly. "Yeah, just draw one. It's easy. Don’t worry."

Mingi nods, and when it’s his turn, he draws a card. "Alright, looks like I’m drinking," he says, his voice lighter than it was before, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Good job, rookie," Wooyoung teases, clapping him on the back.

Wooyoung catches your eye from across the table, his grin sly as he looks between you and Mingi. You raise an eyebrow, but Wooyoung simply winks and turns back to his drink. You’re not sure what he’s planning, but it doesn’t feel like he’s putting any pressure on Mingi.  Instead, he’s just there, making everyone feel at ease, throwing in jokes, and making sure no one’s left out. It’s clear that Wooyoung’s enjoying seeing Mingi loosen up, just as much as you are.

At one point, you catch Wooyoung and Mingi deep in conversation about something completely unrelated to anything in the game. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that feels natural, and for a moment, you simply watch them. Wooyoung’s teasing Mingi about something trivial, probably some stupid thing he overheard at the restaurant, but Mingi’s laughing along, shaking his head in disbelief. This is a new side to him, one that’s more confident, more willing to let go and have fun. And seeing him enjoy himself like this, in a group of people, makes you feel... happy. You didn’t know how badly you wanted this until now.

The night winds down, and the bar starts to empty out, the buzz of chatter and laughter fading as people begin to shuffle out into the cool night air. You stand, stretching slightly, and glance over at Mingi, who’s still looking much more relaxed than when you first arrived.

Wooyoung, with his usual mischievous grin, slaps Mingi on the back as the two of them laugh over some inside joke you’re not quite sure you want to know. 

"Hey, don’t forget to bring him next time!" Wooyoung calls out to you, his voice full of mischief. "He’s one of us now!"

You laugh, rolling your eyes, and wave back. Mingi, standing beside you, laughs too, a little awkwardly, like he’s still adjusting to being included in all this. The sidewalk feels empty after the warmth of the bar, but there's a kind of comfort in the silence between the two of you. The city hums around you, distant traffic, the occasional voice, everything seems soft, almost muted, like it’s just you and Mingi now.

“Tonight was fun,” you say, breaking the silence. “You fit in really well.”

Mingi shrugs, a small, genuine smile on his lips. “I didn’t think I’d have this much fun, honestly. I’m glad I came.”

“So, uh… Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” Mingi says, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking over to you briefly before looking away. “I can walk you to a cab, though. Just make sure you get home safe.”

You nod, the air around you both feeling warmer despite the cool breeze. “Thanks.”

You start walking down the street together, the tension between you palpable, but not something either of you acknowledges. It’s like the space between you is charged, but neither of you is quite ready to cross it yet. Eventually, you find a cab waiting by the corner, and you both stop in front of it. You stand there for a moment, the sound of the city fading into the background as the moment between you stretches out.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little, not quite sure how to wrap things up, “I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

Mingi hesitates, his eyes locking with yours. For a second, everything feels still. His gaze is so warm, so steady, that you can’t help but feel your heart race a little. Without saying a word, he reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. His thumb lightly caresses your cheek, the touch soft and tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For that brief moment, you feel the undeniable urge to close the gap between you, to lean in and press your lips against his, but you don’t. Neither of you do.

Instead, Mingi gives you a warm smile, his eyes full of something unreadable, before he steps back slightly.

“Let me know when you’re home safe, alright?” His voice is low, but there’s something in it that sends a warmth spreading through you. He steps forwards, opening the door to a cab. 

You smile at him, stepping inside the cab. “Thank you, Mingi.” He closes the door behind you, waiting for it to drive off. You watch as the cab pulls out onto the road, and then, as it begins to turn the corner, you look back and catch Mingi’s gaze. There’s a moment between you, his eyes holding yours as he gives a small wave, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You lean back in the seat, heart still racing a little faster than it should. 

***

You hadn't meant for this to become a routine, but it had.

Another week, another quiet night at Mingi’s place. Dinner, laughter, a little music in the background. His apartment, while temporary, was starting to feel strangely warm to you. Maybe it was the way it always smelled faintly like coffee and laundry. Maybe it was the way he hummed softly while plating food. Or maybe it was just him.

You’d offered to cook this time, he countered with takeout from that Korean place you both love. In the end, you met in the middle: he prepped, you helped, and now you were both full and mildly tipsy on the wine you opened “just because.”

He is in the kitchen, rinsing plates and stacking leftovers while you sit curled up on the couch, your eyes drifting lazily over the living room. The soft sound of his movements in the kitchen had become familiar. Comforting.

Then you spot it.

That same worn yearbook, this time not quite hidden. You leaned forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of it. You pull it out and glance toward the kitchen to see if he would stop you. He seemed busy putting away the leftovers. You knew you wanted to find this yearbook today, so you find a pen from your bag and a blank page. Quickly, you let the words from your head form onto the blank page. You look at it with a smile and close the book just as Mingi walks towards the couch.

Clutching the book, you look at him as his eyes notice what you’re holding. “Have you thought more about the reunion?”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightens. “Not really.”

“I still think you should come,” you say gently, sitting beside him. “Things are different now. You’re different.”

He glances over his shoulder to look at the yearbook still in your arms, expression unreadable. Like it physically hurts him to look at, he looks away again and keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him.

“I mean it,” you try again, trying to keep your tone light, coaxing. “It’s been, what, ten years? You’ve done so much, Mingi, time to show them the man you are.”

“I know,” he said. But there was something off in his voice. Tight. Strained.

“You could come with me,” you offered gently.

That got his attention. He turned, eyebrows lifting slightly, but his face was unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I want you there,” you say simply. “And because you should let them know who you've become. They should see who you are now.”

He was quiet again. Too quiet.

“Mingi-”

“I don’t care what they see,” he cut in, not harshly, but sharper than usual. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to walk into a room full of people who used to make my life hell just so I can pretend it didn’t affect me.”

You blink, surprised by the edge in his voice. Not angry. Just... cracked. 

He exhaled slowly. “Do you know what I remember most about high school?”

You shook your head.

“Lunch,” he said. “Every day. Sitting alone. Or eating behind the library so no one would throw shit at me. Walking into class and hoping no one said anything that day. Hoping I could just... blend in.”

You stayed quiet, heart sinking.

“Jae once put old food in my backpack during biology,” he continued, his tone flat. “And everyone laughed. Even the teacher looked the other way. Like I was just supposed to take it.”

Your breath caught.

“And I did,” he said, softer now. “I took it. Because fighting back made it worse.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“I don’t want to go back there,” he said finally. “Even if it’s different now. Even if I’ve changed. That place- it still lives in me. I still feel like that kid sometimes. The one no one saw. The one they made fun of. The one who was invisible until I got important enough to hurt.”

Silence fell between you like a weight. You opened your mouth, tried to find the right words, but all that came out was, “I didn’t know it stayed with you like that.”

“I don’t talk about it,” he said simply. “Not really.”

Your fingers curled around the yearbook in your lap.

“I didn’t mean to push,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied, meeting your eyes finally. His expression had softened. He wasn’t upset with you. He just looked tired. Like digging that deep into himself had cost him something. The moment sat heavy between you. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, you stood. “I should go.” You placed the yearbook on the coffee table in front of you.

He stood too. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” you cut in, managing a faint smile. “But I think… I think we should call it a night.”

He walked you to the door. He didn’t reach for your hand, didn’t try to stop you. But his eyes lingered on yours for a second too long.

“Goodnight, Mingi.”

“Night,” he said softly.

You stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind you with a quiet click.

And for the first time in a while, the silence didn’t feel comforting. It felt like something had cracked open, and neither of you knew how to close it again.

Mingi stands in the silence. It wraps around him like a too-warm blanket, suffocating and itchy with regret. He just stands there staring at the empty space you were in. You were sitting on that couch five minutes ago. Smiling. Laughing. Flipping through pages like they were full of magic. He walks over slowly and picks up the yearbook you left on the table.

Dust still clings to the edges. His name, barely visible in gold lettering at the bottom. He flips it open.

Blank. Blank. Blank. Every page a reminder of what it felt like to be invisible.

He hadn’t meant to snap at you. God, he really hadn’t. You were just being you. Bright and curious. Too warm. Too good. And he-.. He just panicked. Because you don’t get it. You can’t. You had friends. You had inside jokes. You were the kind of girl people noticed.

The apartment feels too big now. Too cold. You were the first person to make it feel like a home since he moved back. He sinks onto the couch and stares into the air. He runs a hand through his hair, groaning quietly.

“You idiot,” he mutters to himself. His phone is on the armrest, screen lit up with no new messages. You probably hate him now. Or at least decided he’s not worth pushing anymore. And maybe you shouldn’t have to push at all. But gosh, he wishes you would.

Because when you were here, flipping through that yearbook like it wasn’t a graveyard of his teenage self-esteem, he almost believed it didn’t matter. He almost believed it could be rewritten. That he could be rewritten.

He stares at the yearbook again.

Then sets it down.

Then opens it. 

He runs through the blank pages until something catches his eyes. Something with black ink on a page that used to be blank. He tries desperately to find that page again, clearly remembering how nothing used to be written there and wants to prove to his mind that it wasn’t just his brain messing with him. 

Then he finds it. A text with black marker in between the pages of nothing.

"Hey Mingi. Sorry for taking so long to write something in here. I hope you know how much you meant to me! Wouldn’t have made it through senior year without you - literally. And just so you know… you mattered. You always did.- Y/N”

His heart sinks.

And then he smiles a little. It’s sad. But it’s real.

Maybe he can’t change the past. But maybe the future doesn’t have to be written in pencil anymore.

***

You stare at your phone screen for way too long before hitting send.

You: Hey… I know things ended a little weird the other day. But I wanted to invite you to my art school’s gallery night tomorrow. Everyone in the program is showing their stuff, and, well… I’m finally putting some of my paintings out there. Even the one I told you I’d never finish. So. Yeah. You’re invited.

You add a smiley face. Then delete it. Then put it back. Then delete it again.

And finally, you send it.

No response. Not after five minutes. Not after an hour. Not the next day either.

It’s fine. You didn’t really expect him to come anyway. You tell yourself that over and over again as you carefully set up your section of the gallery. Your painting is centered. Framed. Lit with soft lighting that brings out every aching brushstroke. It’s the one you swore you’d never finish, the one that sat under your bed for two years because every time you looked at it, you felt exposed.

Too raw. Too seen.

You tried to tell yourself he was just busy. That he wasn’t ignoring you. But after that night at his place, the yearbook, the reunion, everything you’d unintentionally dug up, you weren’t sure where things stood anymore. You didn’t blame him. You knew you’d pushed, and maybe it had been too much. 

You glanced around the studio. A few classmates had friends, partners, or parents hovering by their sides, offering compliments or taking photos. You smiled politely at the strangers who passed by your work, but none of them really saw it. Wooyoung had texted earlier to say he was slammed at the bar and couldn’t make it. He was sorry, so, so sorry, but his manager needed him. You understood. You always did.

You check your phone again. No new messages. No little grey bubble. Not even a delivered notification. You don’t know what answer you were hoping for. But silence hurts more than you thought it would. You look back at your paintings. It’s nothing extraordinary. But it’s yours. And it tells a story only you know how to tell.

Your fingers tighten around the plastic cup of shitty complimentary wine. You’ve never felt more invisible.

“...I thought you said you’d never finish it.”

You freeze.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Mingi.

He’s standing a few feet away, tall and steady and heartbreakingly familiar. Wearing a long wool coat over a dark button-up, his hair slightly messy like he’d rushed here. But his eyes, God, his eyes, they’re already on the paintings. And they’re soft. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your throat clenches.

“I-” you try again, but it catches. “You… you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” he says gently. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I really did.” Something in your chest eased. Just a little. “I thought you were mad at me,” you admitted, voice small.

“I wasn’t,” he said gently. “It’s just- high school was hard. Seeing that yearbook again, talking about it, it pulled things up I didn’t expect. I was… embarrassed. That I let it get to me. That I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t snap. You told me how you felt. That’s not the same.”

Mingi looked down at his shoes, then back up at you. “Still. I wanted to be there for you. And I wasn’t. So… I’m here now.” His hands were still tucked in his coat pockets. He doesn’t look away from the painting. “It’s beautiful,” he says after a moment. “You finished it.”

“Barely,” you say, breath shaky. “I almost chickened out again. I was standing in front of it earlier thinking maybe I should just fake being sick and leave.”

“That would’ve been a shame,” he murmurs, finally looking at you. “It deserves to be seen.”

Your heart lurches at the way he says it. Like he means more than just the painting. You blink back sudden tears and laugh softly. “No one else seems to think so.”

“I do,” he says, voice firmer. “I see it.” Your breath catches at his words. And for a second, you can’t say anything. You just look at him, heart thudding. He clears his throat, glancing away like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Besides, I figured you’d throw paint at me if I bailed again.”

You laugh- relieved, emotional, overwhelmed all at once.

There’s a pause. A comfortable one. The kind you haven’t shared with anyone in a long time.

“You want to… walk around a bit?” you ask, feeling suddenly shy.

“I came to see your art,” he says. “So unless you’ve got another secret masterpiece hidden somewhere-” he gives you a small smile- “I’m good right here.”

You shake your head, fighting tears again.

You don’t say it. But this, him standing here, finally seeing something you made, something that means something, that’s worth more than anything tonight.

And even though your painting’s already dry, it feels like your heart is still wet on the canvas.

***

The gymnasium hasn’t changed much in ten years. Same faded banners from long-forgotten sports victories, same scuffed floorboards, same disco ball that had spun hopelessly over a hundred teenage heartbreaks. You step through the doors alone, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces, though most were now just older versions of the ones you vaguely remembered.

You adjust your skirt, more out of habit than insecurity, and make your way inside. Small groups have already formed, clusters of old friends, former cliques, high school couples who’d either made it or broken up five minutes after graduation. A few people wave when they see you, and you smile, nodding politely, though your thoughts are elsewhere.

It has been ten years, but you can’t stop thinking about the last time you were in this building. The prom. The night you waited for Mingi outside. The night he never showed. The night you ended up throwing a drink in Jae’s face when he brought up Mingi.

And speaking of Jae…

He made his entrance like he was still the quarterback of a team that hadn’t existed in a decade. Slacks too tight, grin too wide. You roll your eyes before he even reaches you.

“Hey,” he says, sauntering up. “Still looking good, I see.”

You give him a flat look. “Thanks.”

“Did you know my picture still hangs in the hallway by the gym?” he asks, smug. “Senior year MVP.”

“Good for you,” you respond, voice dry. You take a sip from your drink just to have an excuse not to talk.

He leans closer. “You know, if we’d dated back then, things would’ve been a lot different.” Before you could react, the crowd around the entrance stirred. Heads turned. Conversations quieted.

The whole gym seems to fall quiet when Mingi steps inside. It is like a slow ripple, someone glances up, their eyes widening, then they nudge the person next to them. A hush spread, and then came the whispers.

“Who is that?”

“Did he go here?”

“Oh my god, he’s hot.”

Mingi stands just inside, shoulders a little tense, scanning the crowd with that familiar cautiousness. But he looks like a dream, tall, composed, no glasses, black suit sharp against his frame, hair styled but not overdone. Every part of him radiates quiet confidence. Except you know better. You know how much it had taken for him to show up tonight. You set your drink down without a second thought and move through the crowd like a magnet is pulling you. When he spots you, his face lights up, every bit of awkwardness melting into the kind of smile you had gotten used to.

“You came,” you breathe against his shoulder, clutching him.

His arms wrap around you just as tightly. “Couldn’t miss out… again.”

You pull back and look up at him, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”

He flushes, smiling sheepishly. But before either of you can say more, a group of people, especially women, swarms around him like moths to a flame. Compliments flying. Questions thrown at him. You watch as he tries to answer politely, his usual nerves clearly simmering beneath his smile.

You catch his eye and wink. “Go on,” you tease. “Your high school revenge arc is peaking. Enjoy it.”

He laughs, a little awkward, but nods.. And you are so damn proud of him.

Because even if he looks slightly overwhelmed, his fingers twitching at his side, that little nervous smile playing on his lips, he is here. He is being seen, really seen. And they didn’t know the boy he used to be, but you do. And that made you love this moment even more. Still, after a while, you drift towards the punch table. Watching. Waiting. You figured he’d be stuck over there all night.

Until you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey,” Mingi says quietly. “Sorry, I felt awkward over there.”

You turn and smile. “So you came to hide by me?”

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how to talk to that many people at once.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got the important one covered,” you say playfully, nudging his arm. The two of you wander together through the gym, talking and pointing out old banners and faded class photos. He tells you the vending machine was still broken, and you laugh so hard you nearly cry. It feels like time has folded in on itself, like the two of you have slipped into some secret version of the past that only you share.

Until the air shift.

“Wait a second… no way.” The voice makes your stomach drop. You turn, and there he is.

Jae.

Mingi was still beside you.

Jae takes a slow, smug step forward. “Is that Song Mingi? Mingi the Mathlete?” He burst out laughing. “This guy?” Jae points, laughing louder. “Bro, you used to show up to class with anime keychains dangling off your backpack. You remember that? You had that one with the giant eyes and pink hair, what was her name?”

The words hit like cold water down your spine. It’s not just what he’s saying, it’s how. The way he still carries himself like he owns the room. Like high school never ended. Like he hasn’t aged a day, emotionally or otherwise.

“Jae,” you snap. “That’s enough.”

He waves you off. “No, come on. I’m just catching up with an old friend.” He looks Mingi up and down. “Remember when he cried in class because he got a B? Or when Coach made him run a lap and he tripped over his own shoelaces and broke his glasses? You remember that, Mingi?”

Mingi doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But his ears are red.

You clench your fists. “Jae-”

Jae shrugs. “What? It’s a reunion. We’re reminiscing.”

It’s like no time has passed. You’re standing in that same school again, ten years younger, heat in your face, fists clenched at your sides, listening to the same bullshit from the same smirking mouth. You had hoped that age would’ve mellowed Jae out. Maybe the world would’ve humbled him, knocked the ego out of his chest a little. But no. He’s still that smug, arrogant asshole in a letterman jacket, except now the jacket’s gone and the smug is somehow worse.

“You can’t undo who you were,” Jae says, voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to walk in here with your hair done and your expensive coat and act like that scrawny little loser didn’t exist. Because that’s who you’ll always be.”

His eyes slid to you.

“I still don’t get it. You threw a drink in my face over him? Really? That fucking nerd? Thought you had better taste.”

You opened your mouth, but Jae raised a hand, mocking.

“No, no-, go ahead. Tell me he’s changed. Tell me he’s this big successful guy now. Maybe he’s rich, maybe he’s hot, whatever. Still doesn’t matter.” His gaze cut to Mingi again, crueler than ever. “Because underneath all that? You’re still that awkward, stuttering freak who didn’t know how to talk to people unless it was about dragons or comic books. Still too scared to eat in the cafeteria. Still not good enough to be in the real world.”

He let the words sink in.

“You didn’t belong then. And you don’t belong now.”

Mingi’s breath was shaky.

You look up at him, he’s trying so hard to keep his face neutral, but you can see it. The muscle twitch in his jaw. The flicker of something behind his eyes. The way his fingers curl ever so slightly. You held Mingi’s hand tightly. You don’t even think he realizes it, how his grip tightens, how he’s holding his breath.

And Jae? He knows. He can sense it like a predator catching a scent.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly, holding it together even though your chest was burning.

You don’t even have time to process anything before you’re already moving, yanking on Mingi's arm and pulling him a few steps away from Jae, when Jae muttered just loud enough to hear:

“Fucking whore. Only just wanted to fuck you anyways. You’re worth nothing more than that.”

The words hit hard. You feel your heart slam into your ribs, and you feel Mingi’s whole demeanor shift. You feel a tug in your hand, and look back to see Mingi stopping completely, back turned to Jae. His hand jerks from yours, his body going rigid as his eyes burn with rage.

Without thinking, he turns, the words barely leaving his lips as he faces Jae again.

“Say that again.”

Jae sneers, taking a few steps toward Mingi, his smirk widening. “What? Did I hit a nerve?”

Mingi stepped closer, eyes steady. “I don’t care what you say about me. But you don’t talk to her like that.”

Jae sees the anger in Mingi’s eyes and takes another step closer, fully leaning into his role of tormentor. He’s enjoying this. He’s relishing every moment of pushing Mingi’s buttons. “Oh? Or what? You gonna lecture me? Gonna write a sad blog post about how bullying hurts your feelings?”

The moment he says those words, you see the storm inside Mingi break. Without a second thought, his fist flies out, crashing into Jae’s jaw with a sickening crack. The sound rings through the room, loud and sharp. Jae stumbles back, eyes wide, one hand flying up to his face in shock. The laughter and chatter of the reunion fall into stunned silence, everyone frozen in disbelief.

You’re frozen too, staring in wide-eyed shock at Mingi as he stands tall, his chest heaving from the force of the punch, but his expression is stone-cold. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show any satisfaction. Just the quiet fury of someone who’s been holding back for too long.

“That was ten years overdue.” Then he turns to you, eyes softening the moment he looks at you. And without a word, he reached for your hand. And just like ten years ago, you left prom early. But this time, you weren’t leaving alone.

And you don’t look back. Not at Jae, not at the stunned crowd. Just at Mingi, whose grip on your hand is warm and trembling, and whose chest is still rising and falling like he’s holding in a storm. You finally make it outside, the cold night air wrapping around you like a slap of reality. You stop just past the doors, heart still racing, and turn to face him fully.

“Oh my god- are you okay?” The words rush out in a breath, tangled in shock, concern, and the lingering echo of rage.

Mingi looks at you like he’s just now realizing where he is. His eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and for a second he just blinks. Then he flinches, lifting his hand up in front of his face like it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

“Ow,” he mutters, his voice a stunned rasp. “That fucking hurt.”

Your heart lurches as you take in his expression. “Are you alright? Let me see.”

He shakes his hand, then flexes his fingers with a grimace. “They never talk about this in movies, do they? Like, no one ever says how much it hurts to throw a punch. I thought it’d feel… I don’t know. Smoother?”

You hover beside him, unsure whether to be furious at him for risking injury or proud for what he did. “Did you break anything?” you ask, already scanning his knuckles, which are red and already starting to swell.

Instead of answering, he tilts his head and looks at you with a bizarrely serious expression. “Did it look cool, though?”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “The punch. Did it look cool?”

Your mouth falls open. The ridiculousness of the question hits you all at once, and you cover your face with both hands, stifling a laugh that bubbles up before you can stop it.

“You can’t just punch someone and then ask me if it looked cool!” you exclaim through your laughter.

“You can’t laugh at something and then try to scold me for it,” he fires back, eyes going wide with mock offense, even as he cradles his clearly throbbing hand. 

“I mean… Jae totally deserved it. I’ve wanted to slap him for years. But yes. It looked cool. Extremely cool. Hero-movie level.” you say, though you’re still smiling, still riding the tail end of that rollercoaster drop.

Mingi straightens a little, visibly pleased despite the pain. “Good. Worth it, then.” He nods once like he just completed a side quest. “Did you hear the line I said before we walked off?”

Your eyes light up, remembering. “Yes! ‘That was ten years overdue.’ You killed it.”

“Right?” He gives a proud little grin that quickly twists into a grimace. “Ugh-okay, ow. Excellent delivery, tragic consequences. I think I broke my hand.”

Your smile fades. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” he groans, holding his hand up like it’s a rare and tragic artifact. “My fingers, my knuckles, they’re all shattered. I’m ninety percent sure I just punched straight through his skull and hit bone.”

You snort, and this time, you don’t stop the laughter. It pours out of you, shaking loose the tension from your spine. “Come on, let’s get you to the car before you end up fighting gravity next.”

You glance up at Mingi, at his swollen hand, his bruised pride, the quiet defiance still in his eyes, and you realize something in your gut:

He stood up for you. In front of everyone. Without hesitation. And even now, as he winces with every step and makes dramatic quips about broken fingers, he’s holding your hand like it's the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

You squeeze his hand gently, just once.

***

The car is silent on the way back to Mingi’s place, except for the quiet hum of the engine and the way his knuckles keep swelling. You keep stealing glances at his hand resting on the steering wheel, slightly curled, the skin around his knuckles already blooming red.

He pulls into the underground garage of his building, and you glance at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let me take a look at your hand upstairs. You’re not getting out of this with permanent knuckle damage.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

The elevator ride is quiet. So is the short walk through his apartment. When you step inside, you’re hit again with how massive it is. You tell him to sit down while you rummage through the kitchen for ice, and when you return with a small towel and an old first aid kit, he’s already rolled up his sleeve. You kneel in front of him, gently taking his hand in yours. He winces slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s gonna swell more,” you say softly. “You really went for it, huh?”

He chuckles, the sound low and breathy. “I think I’ve been waiting to do that since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him. “You didn’t have to do that, violence is never the answer,” You took a gentle look at his knuckle as your smile grew. “But I’m really glad you did.” You try to stay focused, gently pressing the cold to his skin, but you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, he’s watching you, too closely, too quietly.

Then, finally, his voice cuts through the silence. Low. Careful.

“Is it true?”

You glance up, eyebrows furrowed. “Is what true?”

He hesitates, and his gaze drops to his injured hand like he’s trying to use it as an anchor. Then his eyes find yours again.

“What Jae said. About prom. That you… stood up for me? Threw a drink in his face?”

Your eyes fall away from his, back to the angry red swelling under your fingertips. You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly, almost sheepishly, you say, “He was being mean about you.” You don’t know what to say. After tonight, him punching Jae in the face and all, everything just seems so overwhelming. 

The air shifts. The silence changes.

“I was gonna go to prom, you know,”

You freeze.

“I really was. I had the corsage. I’d picked it out days before. I was wearing this awful suit my dad found on sale, and I hated how I looked in it. But I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. You asked me to go. You wanted to go with me.”

You look up at him.

“I drove all the way to the school,” he says, voice quieter now. “And I saw you standing there outside. You looked so… God, you looked so beautiful. You kept looking around, but you were with your friends, and I thought- I can’t do this. I can’t be the reason she has a terrible night. I can’t ruin this for her. So I just… left.”

You feel the ache in your chest as he continues, more breathless now, like the words are finally spilling out after years of being dammed up.

“I wanted to get out of the car so bad. Just… run to you. Tell you you looked beautiful. Ask you to dance. I even practiced what I’d say. But then I thought about how the second I walked in, someone would trip me, or laugh, or call me names. And I’d ruin your night.” He breathes in hard. “So I drove off. I didn’t even look back... I got signed for a program in another city and left two days later.” he murmurs. “But I didn’t forget you,” he whispers. “Even when I left. Even when I started building this life, this apartment, this job, this version of myself. You were always in the back of my mind.”

You’re still silent. Heart pounding. Barely breathing.

“I remember the first time we studied together,” he says with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You got a math problem right, and you turned to me and just, cheered. Like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened. And I sat there thinking, She’s cheering because of me. She’s smiling because of me. Do you know what that did to a guy like me?”

He looks at you now, eyes searching. But you don’t say anything. You just wait.

“You called it a ‘study date.’ You probably don’t even remember that, but I do. God, I do. I went home and stared at the ceiling all night. And when you called me cute that day in the library, I swear, I thought I was gonna pass out. I told my mom. That’s how ridiculous I was.”

That makes you laugh a little, and he smiles. But only for a second.

“You used to touch my arm when you laughed,” he continues, voice trembling. “You’d borrow my pens and never return them. You brought me snacks when I forgot to eat. And you defended me. Over and over, even when it made you unpopular with the people you called friends.”

He looks at you, really looks. “You were my favorite part of every day. And it terrified me.” He swallows hard. “And seeing you again… it messed me up. Because you’re still you. Still kind. Still funny. Still so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. And I’m still me. Just in better clothes.”

You laugh, just once. Disbelieving. Tears forming in your eyes.

“God, I was in love with you,” he says, finally, the words tumbling out like a breath he’s been holding for ten years. “Head over heels, stupidly in love with you.”

You stare at him, completely stunned. And he just looks back, like he’s waiting for gravity to either pull you toward him or drop him straight through the floor.

Silence. Long and heavy.

And then, slowly, you move your hand to his and take it gently in your own.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

He tilts his head, eyes soft. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

He grins, a little breathless, a little shy.

“I was in love with you. Every day. Then, and probably now. I just… never thought you’d see me the same way.”

You’re the one who moves first, leaning in, your hands finding his face, and kissing him like your lungs depend on it. Like the air you’ve both been breathing for the last ten years was never quite right.

It’s not slow. It’s not hesitant.

It’s an eruption.

You lift yourself on your knees to reach him better. You need him close and he needs you more than ever. He pulls you closer, one hand tangling into your hair, the other gripping your waist like you might disappear again if he lets go. And when he murmurs your name against your lips, voice cracked with years of yearning, it all comes clear.

He’s the one for you and you can’t let him go again. 

Your hands cup his face, and he gasps softly into the kiss like it shocks him every time you touch him. The way he reacts to you, the way his breath stutters, his body trembling slightly. 

“You have no idea how many times I imagined this. I used to lie awake thinking- what if I’d just taken your hand and told you everything back then?”

“You don’t have to imagine anymore,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I’m right here.”

That’s when he kisses you again. Like a man who’s been starving.

This time it’s deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

You’re still on the floor, knees pressing into the carpet, lips swollen from the kind of kisses that don’t feel real until they’ve already stolen your breath. Your hands rest on his thighs, steadying yourself. Mingi’s still on the couch, legs spread, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

His knuckles are red, still angry-looking from the hit he threw earlier, but he hasn’t looked at it once. Not when you're this close. Not when your mouth’s just been on his.

"Fuck," he breathes, looking down at you like you’re the first thing that’s made sense in years. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted. “Then show me.”

Something shifts in his gaze. A sharp inhale. And then he’s leaning forward, his uninjured hand curling around the back of your neck as he drags you into another kiss, deeper now, more demanding. His bruised hand rests on your hip, thumb digging into the waistband of your skirt like he’s fighting restraint.

“You think I haven’t thought about this?” he murmurs against your mouth. “Ten years of imagining what you’d sound like… begging me.”

Your breath stutters. “Mingi-”

He kisses you harder, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go with a soft bite. “I kept my distance because I thought I wasn’t enough,” he says, voice lower now, like a secret pressed to your skin. “But now? You’re right here. You want this.” His thumb brushes under your jaw, tilting your head so he can watch your reaction. “So let me take my fucking time with you.”

Your body answers before your voice can. You crawl up, straddling his lap, your fingers threading into his hair as you kiss him again, desperate, open-mouthed. His hands move with purpose now, gripping your waist like he owns it, dragging you down harder against the growing tension between you.

And when he pulls away just long enough to whisper, “Tell me this is mine tonight,”

Your answer isn’t words. It’s the sound you make when he grinds up into you, lips crashing into his like you’ve waited ten years for this exact moment.

Your back hits the couch before you can catch your breath. One second you're straddling him, and the next, Mingi throws you down on the soft cushions while his hands are on your waist. Big, warm, claiming.

His bruised knuckle curls against your side, firm despite the injury. You glance down, worry catching in your throat, but he doesn't give you a chance to say a word. "Don’t look at my hand," he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. "I don’t give a fuck about it right now. I only care about you."

His lips crush against yours before you can reply, hungry, hot, so deep you swear he’s trying to taste the years between you.

You moan into his mouth, hands gripping his shirt, tugging him down. He follows your pull easily, bracing one arm on the back of the couch while the other drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate. Fingers pressing into skin like he needs to map every inch of you.

“I’ve waited too long to be gentle.”

His mouth trails down your neck, lips parted and hot. Teeth scrape your skin and your hips lift, involuntary. Needy. He groans. “You gonna let me have you? Let me make up for all the years I couldn’t?”

You nod, breathless.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Mingi,” you whisper, needy. “Please.”

Mingi’s eyes darken at the sound of your voice. His hand slides beneath your shirt fully now, palm flat, fingers curling just under the edge of your bra. His touch is demanding, possessive. His mouth returns to yours, tongue sliding against yours with a filthy, practiced ease that makes your head spin. He moves fast, his body towering over yours as he yanks your shirt over your head. His eyes drag down your body like he’s starving.

“Fuck,” he groans, palming your breast through your bra. You moan when his hand slips down, loosening your skirt with practiced ease. “Lift your hips, baby,” he mutters, helping you out of your skirt and panties, tossing them somewhere behind him.

And then you’re bare beneath him. Vulnerable. Open. But not once do you feel anything except wanted. Mingi kneels between your legs, bruised hand curling around your thigh as he spreads you for himself. His eyes go dark, dangerous.

“Look at this,” he growls, running a finger through your slick. “Dripping already. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, back arching as he strokes you lazily. “I-, Mingi, please-”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, voice sinful. “You’re gonna be begging so much more than that.” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh, dragging his lips up your skin. “Wanna hear every little sound you make. Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue.”

And then he does.

His mouth is on you, hot, wet, devastating. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging him closer. The feeling of his mouth on you, finally, is nothing short of intoxicating. His tongue slides over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. You gasp, hips bucking, but his hands are already locking your thighs down.

“None of that,” he growls against you, the vibration shooting up your spine. “You stay right here. You take it.”

You moan, your fingers tangling into his hair, gripping tight. He groans at that, diving deeper. His mouth is greedy, precise, teasing. And when you whimper, he chuckles darkly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to speak. “Make those pretty sounds. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, make a mess of you.”

His hands grip your thighs harder, pulling you closer as he pushes his tongue deeper, moving faster now, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room. He’s relentless, driven, and you’re helpless to do anything but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice thick with lust as he pauses to look up at you. “You like how I’m making you come apart for me.”

You’re already close and he knows it. You can feel the grin in the way his tongue flicks faster, his lips sucking your clit just right. You’re panting now, desperate, the pressure building sharp and hot.

“Go on,” he coaxes, fingers digging into your hips. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me feel you.”

And god, you do.

It crashes over you hard, your moan breaking open and raw as your body jerks beneath him. He groans into you, not slowing down, licking you through it like a man obsessed. When you finally collapse back into the couch, boneless and gasping, he pulls away with lips wet and a wicked smirk.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You taste even better than I dreamed.”

You blink up at him, still dazed, and he leans over you, his hand sliding up your stomach, between your breasts, resting at your throat with just the barest pressure.

“I’m not done.” And then he’s kissing you again, filthy, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste yourself on his mouth. He grinds his hips against you and you feel it, how hard he is, how badly he wants this. “Turn around,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “Bend over the couch for me. I wanna fuck you from behind.”

Your breath catches.

You obey.

Within seconds, you’re on your knees, front against the back of the couch as you continue to be fully exposed. But it’s not occupying your mind for long, because behind you is a man who has dreamt of this. Who has been longing for you and your touch for years. So you feel the safest you’ve ever felt, knowing this is exactly what you want. 

You hear the rustle of his clothes, the sound of a zipper, his soft grunt as he strokes himself behind you. He doesn’t touch you right away. No, Mingi takes his time, and soon after the cushions dip. One of Mingi’s hands anchors at your waist, firm and steady, while the other traces down your spine, a slow drag of fingers over your skin that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. A warm kiss is placed on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you can take it?” His breath is hot against your skin, but there’s something different about the way he touches you now, gentle, but demanding, like he’s holding onto something bigger between the two of you.

And when he looks at you, his eyes are full of fire, full of want.

“I can take it all.” You look back at him and his eyes sparkle in a way you’ve never seen before. Like this is truly the most important moment in his life. His corner of his lips tug and he places a soft kiss on your temple. 

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with heat. "Bent over for me like you were made for it." You feel his hand gather your hair, collecting it all. He lets the head of his cock slide through your folds, smearing your wetness all over him, groaning at the slick heat. “God, you feel like heaven,” he says, almost reverently. 

And then, he’s inside.

One long, slow thrust.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you wide and full and making you gasp his name like a prayer. He bottoms out with a low, trembling breath against your neck, one hand gripping your hips again, knuckles white with restraint as he still holds your hair in the other. 

“So tight for me,” he groans, hips snapping into you. “Ten years, ten fucking years, I’ve dreamed about this.”

You whimper his name, and he gives a sharp, satisfied growl.

And then he moves.

The first few thrusts are slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch, dragging out the friction. But it doesn’t take long before he starts to lose himself. His pace quickens, rougher, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. One hand reaches around to toy with your clit again, fingers circling with purpose while he pounds into you from behind.

Your head drops forward with a moan, nails digging into the couch.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice low and filthy in your ear. “Take it. Take all of me. Look at you-, so fucking pretty.” he pants, thrusts getting harder. “My good girl, you’re doing so good.” 

The praising hits completely different from when he used to praise you for getting a math problem solved by yourself. Knowing this is the same boy who got nervous when you called him cute, is making your world shift. The confidence he’s showing despite his past is making you even hungrier for him, and you don’t think you can ever let him go.

Your arms are barely holding you up now. Every thrust hits deeper, harder, pushing you into the couch until you're trembling from head to toe. Mingi’s name slips from your lips over and over, broken, breathless, pleading. You don’t even realize how close you are until Mingi slows down, pulling out slowly and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He’s breathing hard behind you, hands gripping your hips.

"Not yet," he mutters, voice thick with restraint. "I wanna see your face."

He grabs your wrist and gently tugs, guiding you off the back of the couch. You’re still catching your breath, dazed and wrecked, as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down on your back. He kneels between your legs, hands trailing up your thighs, spreading you open for him.

His eyes are dark, completely black with lust, but there’s still that softness there too, hidden beneath the hunger.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Let me see you when you fall apart again.” He lines himself up, and when he pushes in this time, it’s slow, agonizing. He fills you inch by inch, and the way he watches you, like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched, has you clenching around him already.

You reach for him, shoulders, biceps, anywhere you can hold on, and Mingi catches your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, leaning over you, his mouth hot at your neck. “Gonna fuck you until all you can do is beg.”

He sets a punishing rhythm this time, deep, precise, dragging moans from your throat with every snap of his hips. His free hand roams your body, gripping, exploring, teasing, while his lips trace fire across your throat and jaw.

“You like this, huh?” he pants. “You like when I take what’s mine?”

You nod desperately, arching into him, and he chuckles darkly, loving every second.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Mingi- please…”

The pressure builds again, higher, hotter, unbearable. He’s rubbing against that spot inside you perfectly, your wrists still pinned, his hips relentless. He’s everywhere, above you, inside you, owning every breath you take. Your whole body is trembling, pinned beneath him, skin slick with sweat and mouth parted in desperate moans. Mingi’s pace is wild now, primal, every thrust harder than the last, driving you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you,” he grits out through clenched teeth, voice wrecked with need. “You’re so fucking close, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight-”

You nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, your whole body arching toward him. “I-I can’t-Mingi, I’m gonna-”

“Let go,” he growls, releasing your wrists just to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “Look at me when you come. I wanna see you.”

And that’s it.

The moment his thumb strokes over your clit and he slams in just right, your body shatters. The climax hits like a wave, ripping through you, your back arching, fingers clutching at his arms, a strangled moan ripped from your throat. Your whole body convulses beneath him, and Mingi swears, low, guttural, as your walls clamp around him so hard it nearly undoes him right there.

“Fuck-, fuck, baby-”

He loses it with a grunt, hips jerking as he buries himself deep inside you, holding you tight as he comes. You can feel the warmth of it, the way his body shakes, the way he moans your name like a prayer against your throat, almost reverent. For a long moment, the only sound is your panting breaths and the low, messy press of skin on skin as he slowly rocks you both through the aftershocks.

Then stillness. His weight resting against you. His breath in your ear. His lips soft on your shoulder.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he’s savoring it, savoring you, like he can’t believe it’s real.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “For ten fucking years.”

You cup his cheek gently, heart pounding. “Me too.”

And for a moment, there’s nothing left to say.

Just you. And him. Finally together.

***

Morning creeps in slowly, golden and quiet. You’re not sure what time it is, only that the sunlight pouring in through the curtains is soft enough to let you stay in this bubble a little longer. Mingi’s still asleep when you shift in the sheets, one arm flung around your waist, the other tucked under his cheek. His face is peaceful in a way you’ve never seen before. Relaxed, gentle, boyish even. You resist the urge to trace the line of his jaw, but you don’t resist the smile pulling at your lips.

You eventually get up to pee, wash your face, steal one of his soft T-shirts. By the time you wander into the kitchen, Mingi is already there, messy-haired and shirtless, nursing a cup of coffee like he’s still not fully awake. He looks up when you enter, and the second he sees you, bare-legged in his shirt, he grins.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.

You wrap your arms around his waist before you even say it back. His hand comes to your lower back automatically, warm and easy, like it belongs there.

“You look smug,” you murmur into his bare chest.

“I am,” he replies, unapologetic. “I woke up with you in my bed.”

You laugh, then tilt your head up for a kiss. He gives you one without hesitation, soft, slow, like he wants it to last all morning.

The coffee gets cold before either of you remember it.

You move around the kitchen together like you’ve done this a hundred times. Touching constantly, bumping hips, fingers brushing as you pass mugs and open cabinets. He sneaks kisses between bites of toast. You tug at the waistband of his sweats just because you can. It’s like the floodgates have opened and now neither of you can stop touching. You’re halfway through making another cup of coffee when you mumble it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You want sugar in yours, or are you going to make your girlfriend guess again?”

Mingi freezes.

You don’t even notice until you glance up.

His ears are bright red. “My… my what?”

You turn to him, fully facing him now, resting your hip against the counter. “Your girlfriend,” you say simply. “I am, aren’t I?”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then:

“You-yeah. Yeah, I just-” He runs a hand through his hair, smile blooming slow and full. “I didn’t know I was allowed to call you that.”

“You’re cute,” you tease, stepping into his space. “You’ve always been cute.”

“Stop,” he groans, covering his face with one hand. But he’s grinning too wide to hide it. You lift up on your toes and kiss his cheek. Then another on his jaw. Then one right on the corner of his mouth. He finally grabs you by the hips and kisses you back like he can’t take it anymore, messy and sweet, both of you smiling into it.

He kisses you once. Then twice more. Then again, and again, and again.

You lose count after five. TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi @vixensss @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @vent-stink (I couldn't get to tag some of the people who requested to be on the tag list :((( )

THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE! just a little bonus episode where we do a little time jump and see where you and Mingi are a few months into the relationship🥰🥰 thank you for the love on this!! it really means the world to me <3

[qveenbunni]

His head was tilted slightly, his chin resting in his hand, and his big round glasses framed the warmest, softest eyes you’d ever seen. They looked like melted tapioca pearls, dark, kind, a little surprised at being caught. BOBA EYES BOBA EYES- Ugh I have a vid edit saved on my ig about this and I still can’t get over how soft and squishy Ming looks 😭

Mingi blinked, then smiled, braces and all. Ming with braces ✋😖 these visuals are too much to handle

And that’s when the drink left your hand. 🥳🥂 Ahhhh finally, justice is served 😌

She instructed and you sent her the most professional smile you could manage. 🤬 IM GONNA BITE HER HEAD I SWEAR

“Like he eats confidence for breakfast.” That is the perfect sentence to summarize Ming 💯

…his jawline is sculpted like he’d been carved from rich-boy marble… perfect description part two

“She told me I had ‘beta energy’ because I helped you with the pens.” IM CRYING this is hilarious

don’t say that until we survive step 12: “insert screw B into slot F without crying” I LOVE Mingi’s banter in this! You ate

That weird fluttering thing that happens when someone does nothing but be completely, unapologetically themselves… this happens so often when I watch ateez content 🫠 Mingi won’t let me live

“He’s into you,” he says, tone softer now. “In that quiet, I-would-definitely-die-for-you kind of way. You see that, right?” HEY STOP PLAYING WITH MY HEARTSTRINGS 😣

I am so in love with how you’ve characterized Ming! He is so magnetic in this 🏃🏽‍♀️💨 now onto part two

"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: You, the most popular girl at school, and Mingi, the school’s geek and punching bag, grow a friendship at the library after school as he tutors you. You beg him to come to prom but instead, he disappears. No texts, no goodbye, nothing. But after 10 years, he suddenly appears again. The quiet, nerdy boy who used to be bullied and ignored, is now a successful, confident and heartbreakingly handsome man. As time pass, you both open up about the past and maybe you realize that maybe he was never just your tutor. Maybe he was the one that got away. Word count: 13.9K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love (smut in part 2... WOOOH you’re not ready for that)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

10 YEARS AGO

The lunch table was loud like always. You sat between two of your friends, half-tuned into the conversation and half-dreaming about being anywhere else. The courtyard buzzed with voices, clinking soda cans, and the occasional distant squeal from the freshman corner. Same chaos, different day.

One of the guys from your friendgroup slammed his hand on the table, gesturing toward his phone with a dramatic flair. “Fuck off, I paid so much for that shit.”

Jae raised a perfectly sculpted brow, scoffing. “And yet it still looks like a car my grandma drove.”

Your friend snorted into her water bottle. You just kept picking at your fries, already bored.

The guy friend didn’t miss a beat. “You’re just jealous.”

You drifted out of the conversation entirely, letting their bickering fade into white noise. Your eyes scanned the courtyard, just faces and backpacks and half-eaten lunch trays - until something made you pause.

There, at a table tucked under a tree, sat a boy. Alone.

He had headphones half on, half off his ears, scribbling intensely into a notebook while eating what looked like a PB&J and carrot sticks. A plastic Rubik’s Cube sat beside him, like some weird emotional support item. His backpack was covered in patches (some science stuff, a few anime ones) and his dark hair flopped messily across his forehead every time he looked down.

You had no idea what class he was working on, but he looked… focused. Like nothing else existed in the world except that notebook and his sandwich.

It was kind of cute.

He looked up, maybe sensing your stare, and your eyes met. It was only for a second, but it made your stomach flutter.

Then a heavy arm dropped around your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Jae said, voice a little too smug, a little too loud. “What about you?”

You blinked and turned back to him, forcing a smile. “What about me?”

He leaned in like he was letting you in on a secret. “Can I take you out for a ride soon? I promise my car doesn’t smell like grandma like his does.”

Your friend rolled his eyes across the table, muttering something under his breath.

You gave a small laugh, brushing Jae’s hand off gently. “I’m not really into just… driving around.”

Jae wasn’t fazed. “Okay, fine. How about a movie at my place? My parents are gone this weekend. I’ll even let you pick.”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Tempting. I’ll check my schedule.”

He grinned, satisfied with your vague answer even though you knew you weren’t interested in the offer.

The bell rang, saving you from another round of cocky persuasion. Everyone groaned, collecting trays and backpacks in slow motion. You let the crowd carry you forward through the halls, moving like a wave of too much energy and too little interest.

Later you saw him again.

Same boy from under the tree.

He was by his locker, arms full of books he was clearly trying to juggle while still managing to read something tucked inside his physics textbook. Big glasses. His shoelace was untied. He nearly dropped his water bottle twice.

You watched as someone bumped into him without apologizing. He didn’t even flinch, just gave a soft “sorry” and stepped aside like he was used to being invisible. And yet, something about him stood out to you. You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe the fact that he didn’t care about being cool. Or that he was so unapologetically himself. You couldn’t tell if he was clueless or just didn’t give a shit.

You paused at your locker, still watching as he walked down the hall, nose buried in a notebook again, nearly walking straight into a trash can.

You smiled to yourself. A little too long.

Yeah. He was definitely kind of cute.

***

You're sitting on your bed, staring at the three red-inked math tests in a row, your heart pounding with the quiet dread of what your parents said at dinner: “If your grades don’t improve, you’re not going to prom.”

Prom.

It’s not even that you care about the glitz and glitter of it. You’re not the type who dreams about the perfect dress or slow dances. But everyone’s going. Your friends. Your whole group.

“I’ll talk to the school and ask them to find you a tutor.” You dad had said across the table.

“A tutor?” you repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” He looked you straight in the eye. “If you want to go to prom, you need to be better, honey.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words stuck.

***

Mingi liked the library because no one paid attention to him there.

It was quiet, predictable. No one tripped over his backpack or called him weird for using five different highlighters. In here, he was just another student. Nameless, invisible. Safe.

He sat at his usual table in the back corner, notes already spread out with machine-like precision. Calculators, rulers, extra pens, even a printed cheat sheet he’d made for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d use it, but it made him feel prepared.

You were late. Two minutes and seventeen seconds late, to be exact. Not that he was keeping track.

He’d never talked to you before. Not really. He knew who you were, of course, everyone did. You weren’t the type to be cruel like Jae and the rest of the friendgroup, but you were still part of that world. A world that didn’t include people like him.

Which is why it didn’t make sense when the teacher told him he’d be tutoring you. It made even less sense when you walked in like you actually wanted to be there.

“Hi!” you called out, your voice carrying gently through the quiet room. “You’re Mingi, right?”

He looked up. You were smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world to greet him like that.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Um, that’s me.”

You pulled the chair across from him and sat down, tossing your bag under the table and immediately unzipping it. “Sorry I’m late. I swear, my backpack eats everything. Took me forever to find a pen.”

“That’s okay,” he said, watching as you dumped out a mess of notebooks, lip balm, crumpled gum wrappers, and a sparkly pink pen. “You… found one.”

You looked up and grinned. “Yep. Lucky for you. Otherwise, this would’ve just been me staring at you and pretending to learn.”

He blinked, catching his breath between your excited energy. “Uh. I made you this.” He slid a little folded sheet across the table. “It’s just… a summary of what we’re starting with. Kinda like a cheat sheet. I mean, not cheating.. like, just helpful stuff. In case you wanted a-”

You picked it up and unfolded it, eyes scanning over his precise, tidy handwriting. “Mingi, this is so nice. Did you make this just for me?”

He shrugged, ears turning pink. “Yeah. I mean. I do it for myself anyway. So I figured…”

You smiled again, softer this time. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Most people didn’t even notice when he held the door open for them, let alone thanked him for… being prepared.

You looked at the paper again, then back up at him. “So, how long have you been good at math?”

Mingi blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m just curious. Like, were you the kid who knew how to divide in kindergarten?”

He laughed. Awkward, but genuine. “I guess? I liked numbers more than people back then.”

You tilted your head. “Still true?”

He panicked for a moment, unsure if it was a joke or if he was supposed to say something cool.

“I mean… I like people too. Sometimes.”

You laughed again, and he swore it echoed through his ribs.

“I like you already, Mingi,” you said, flipping to a clean page in your notebook. “Okay, let’s do this. Teach me something.”

He tried not to show how much that sentence meant. I like you already. You said it like it was obvious. Like you’d known him forever. Like he wasn’t just some nerdy guy you were forced to study with.

And the thing was.. you meant it.

You didn’t pull out your phone. You didn’t sigh dramatically when he started explaining linear equations. You actually listened. Asked questions. Made jokes. Doodled tiny hearts and cats in the margins of your notes.

You were just adding tiny whiskers and a bow around its neck when you felt it, that unmistakable feeling of someone watching. You glanced up and caught Mingi staring. His head was tilted slightly, his chin resting in his hand, and his big round glasses framed the warmest, softest eyes you’d ever seen. They looked like melted tapioca pearls, dark, kind, a little surprised at being caught.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a breathless little laugh, quickly sitting up straighter. “I have a hard time focusing.”

Mingi blinked, then smiled, braces and all. “It’s alright. If it makes you learn better, then draw all you want.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. There wasn’t even a hint of judgment. Just… kindness. He meant it. And it made something flutter gently in your chest.

"Thanks," you suddenly didn't know how to continue the conversation nor the drawing.

"You draw a lot?" He asks softly, eyes still on the cat on your paper.

"Yeah," you couldn't hide your excitement. "I wanna go to art school at some point, hopefully get better." you send him a smile. "I'll invite you to see my art if I ever get that far."

That threw him off. You saw it. You met his eyes and despite looking into yours, they flickered like they tried to escape. You invited him to something? He knew it was a thing probably far into the future, but the fact that you included him in something, anything, made him both feel nervous and... excited.

“Do you like to draw?” you asked, changing the subject slightly, your eyes flicking to the closed notebook next to his elbow, worn at the edges, covered in tiny graphite smudges.

He followed your gaze, then nudged the book slightly away with his fingertips. “No, not really,” he mumbled. “I’m just… practicing formulas.”

“For fun?” Your tone was curious, not mocking. You genuinely couldn’t imagine anyone doing math equations in their free time, especially not by choice.

He gave a small, nervous shrug. “Yeah…”

The silence that followed was awkward for half a second, like he was bracing for you to laugh or roll your eyes.

Instead, you smiled, soft and sincere. “Really? That’s so cool.”

Mingi looked up. Blinking. As if he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

Cool. You just called him cool.

And when he realized you meant it, his whole face changed. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, quiet and shy, but unmistakably there.

The study session went on like that, filled with light jokes, quiet scribbles, and your occasional groans of despair every time a new formula appeared. You treated him like an actual person. Not a tutor. Not a ghost in the back of the classroom. Just… Mingi. And Mingi realized something, sitting across from you, listening to you hum while you copied down a graph.

Maybe he wasn’t completely invisible.

Not to you.

***

You’re two hours into your third study session that week, and your brain feels like it’s leaking out of your ears.

“I swear this is actual gibberish,” you mumble, poking the page like it personally offended you. “Who even decided this was important? What am I ever gonna do with the pH of a mystery liquid? What if I never drink liquid again?”

Across the table, Mingi chuckles. He’s got his chin in his hand, watching you with a kind of quiet amusement.

“You don’t have to drink the acid,” he says gently. “Just understand it.”

You groan, dramatically collapsing over your notebook. “I don’t understand it.”

“You will.” His voice is so steady, so sure of you, it makes you pause.

You peek up at him from under your arm. He’s still smiling, soft and patient and maybe a little bit too good at this.

“You have a weird amount of faith in me,” you say, straightening up.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You’re trying. That’s what matters. And you’re smart. You just learn differently.”

You blink. That’s not something you’ve heard before. People usually go with “you’re not applying yourself” or “why can’t you focus for once?”

Mingi’s just watching you like the answer is obvious. Like he means it.

Something tugs at your chest.

You look back at the page, determined to make the equations make some kind of sense. Mingi leans in, pointing to a part of the problem, walking you through it again. Slower this time, with smaller steps and silly metaphors that make you laugh in between frustrated sighs.

And then.. somewhere between the third eye-roll and the tenth doodle in the margins. It clicks.

“Wait-wait.” You sit up straight, pointing to the next step. “Is it because the hydrogen ion count doubles in this one?”

Mingi’s eyes go wide. “Yes! Exactly! Because it’s a strong acid, so the dissociation is complete!”

You gasp. “Oh my god, I got it? Like, actually got it?”

“You got it,” he says, grinning like you just solved world peace. “Good job.”

And before you can stop yourself, you grab his hand and squeeze it. “Mingi! I did it!”

His breath catches. You don’t notice.

You’re beaming, still buzzing with the thrill of understanding, and he’s just sitting there, frozen with your hand in his, heart hammering way too fast.

And that’s when it happens.

That shift.

It’s not your smile. Not the way you threw your head back when you laughed. It’s this. This moment where you were so ready to give up, and you kept going anyway. And when it finally made sense, you didn’t just celebrate. You shared it. With him.

Something in Mingi’s chest tightens.

He’s always thought you were pretty. That was easy. But this? This fierce little light in you?

He didn’t expect this.

You finally notice you’re still holding his hand and let go quickly, not awkward, just distracted. Still glowing from your little academic victory.

“Okay,” you say, eyes determined. “Teach me another one.”

He smiles, softer this time. “Anything you want.”

***

The cafeteria is loud today. Louder than usual, maybe because finals are creeping up and everyone’s either high on stress or already spiraling. The last few days has been fully booked with school and studying with Mingi afterwards. You’re trying your best not to seem too excited about having an excuse not to hang out with your “friend group” after school. The study sessions with Mingi has saved you from a bunch of meaningless conversations with the people you hang out with because they just happen to be in your closest circle.

But you actually enjoy your time with Mingi. It’s… Different.

You’re halfway through your tray of rice and whatever protein today’s lunch is pretending to be when you spot Mingi. He’s alone, like always. Sitting at the edge of a seat, his head bent over a book, the straps of his backpack still over his shoulders like he’s planning his escape.

You don’t say anything right away. You just watch him. Long fingers flipping a page, the crease between his brows when he reads something too fast, the way his foot taps like it’s keeping tempo with a song only he can hear. It’s weird. You’ve started noticing things like that.

Then Jae slides into the seat beside you, tray clattering. “Babe,” he says, though you’ve told him a hundred times not to call you that. “You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger over there.”

You force a smile. “Just spaced out.”

Jae follows your gaze, then scoffs when he sees Mingi.

“You know that guy probably sleeps with his calculator,” he says, loud enough for people around to snicker. “Like, deadass. Bet he dreams in equations.”

Your stomach twists. You’re not prepared for Jae suddenly standing up and taking a few steps closer to Mingi’s table.

“Hey, Mingi!” Jae calls, and your eyes snap to him in horror.

Mingi looks up slowly, already bracing himself.

Jae grins. “You ever kiss a girl, or are you still waiting for the quadratic formula to do it for you?”

People laugh. Not everyone, but enough to make it echo. Mingi flushes, adjusting his glasses with shaky hands. He doesn’t say anything. He never does.

You look down at your tray. The rice is cold now.

You should say something. You want to. But your voice catches in your throat, and instead you just press your lips together and pretend to be really focused on your fork. Jae’s attention drifts after a moment. Someone calls his name from another table, and he struts off like he didn’t just pour gasoline on someone’s self-esteem for sport.

Mingi gets up a minute later. Doesn’t look at you. Just packs his book away and slips out of the cafeteria like he was never there.

And you?

You feel like shit.

You catch up with him after third period, rushing down the hallway as he’s stuffing his books into his bag like he’s trying to disappear.

“Mingi!”

He turns, startled, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to him for the rest of the day.

You slow to a stop in front of him, breath caught in your chest. “Hey. Um. I just-” You scratch the back of your neck. “We still on for our study date later?”

He blinks. A beat passes. Then he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Of course.”

You nod, heart heavy. You’re not brave today. But you will be.

***

You spotted Mingi at your usual library table before he spotted you. His nose was in a book again, shoulders slightly hunched, and his pen tapped anxiously against the edge of the page. You swore you could hear the awkward silence already forming between you. You made your way over and dropped your bag into the chair with a dramatic thud.

“Hey,” you said cheerily, sliding into the seat across from him.

Mingi looked up, surprised, his pen pausing mid-tap. “Oh, hey.”

You hesitated for half a second before blurting, “I just wanted to say sorry. About earlier.”

Mingi shook his head before you could go on. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

You hated that.

“But you didn’t deserve that,” you said. “You were just sitting there, being your smart self, reading your big-brain-book about DNA or genomes or whatever, and Jae had to make it a thing.”

You waited, watching him. A short silence. His mouth twitched into a hidden smile.

“‘Big-brain-book’?” he asked quietly.

You grinned. “Yeah. I’m not the one tutoring someone in math and biology, so don’t expect fancy words from me.”

That earned you a small laugh, and it lit you up like a light switch.

Success.

“I just…” You leaned in on your elbows. “I think it’s cool, you know? That you read that stuff because you want to. I have to reread the same sentence like ten times. And even then, I’m still confused.”

“That’s relatable.”

“See? We’re not so different,” you said with a playful smile. “You read about chromosomes for fun, and I.. well, I memorize the school vending machine schedule. Both important things.”

He was smiling now. “Critical survival skills.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Now, are you ready to witness the academic disaster that is me trying to solve basic equations?”

“I’m ready,” he said, already flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

And as he began explaining the first problem, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him. How his hands moved carefully across the page, how his voice grew more confident the more he talked. He was still the quiet guy in the corner, the one nobody really paid attention to.

But somehow, you were starting to notice everything

1 month later

The library feels different lately.

It might be the way the late spring sunlight filters through the dusty windows, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the tables. Or maybe it’s just him. The way he smiles more now. The way he teases you gently when you get a question right on the first try. The way he sits a little closer than he used to.

He’s tucked into your usual corner as you enter the library. You set a cup down in front of him, condensation beading along the plastic.

Mingi blinks. “What’s this?”

“A vanilla-sea-salt-olive-oil-milkshake,” you say, smug. “You said it’s your favorite.”

His ears go red instantly. “..I didn’t think you remembered that.”

You nudge the cup toward him. “Of course I remembered. It’s literally the weirdest milkshake combo I’ve ever heard of, but I respect it.”

He laughs, full and soft and a little shy. “It’s good, okay? Don’t knock it until you try it.”

You grin, sipping your own drink. “One day.”

The moment lingers, a gentle quiet settling between you. Pages flip. Pencils scribble. Your foot taps against his without thinking, and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

“So…” you say, casually flipping your pen in your fingers. “Prom’s coming up.”

Mingi freezes mid-sip. “Ugh,” he mutters, setting the cup down. “That.”

You raise a brow. “What? You’re not going?”

He shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Because prom is for… Popular people. The ones who actually get invited to things and, like, exist in other people’s minds.”

You frown. “Mingi…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, avoiding your eyes. “I mean, even if I wanted to go, who would I go with? No one even knows I’m here most of the time.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s not self-pity. He says it like it’s just a fact, like rain or gravity. “But I know you’re here,” you say, quiet but firm.

He glances at you, eyes flicking up from his notebook.

Your gaze holds his. “I know that you bite your pen when you’re thinking too hard. I know you get weirdly happy when you talk about physics. I know you pretend not to laugh when I mess up, but you totally do.” You smile, just a little. “And I know you deserve to be there. Just like anyone else.”

Mingi swallows. “Even if I’d spend the whole night standing in a corner?”

“I’ll stand in that corner with you,” you say, bumping his foot under the table. “We can be anti-prom together. In the middle of prom.”

He laughs, but there’s something wistful in it. Like part of him wants to believe you.

You don’t press him. Not yet. But the look in his eyes when he sips his milkshake again is softer. Lingered. Like maybe - for the first time - he’s imagining himself there.

2 months later

You practically crash into the library door, breathless and beaming. Your backpack thuds against the floor, and you don’t even care that people turn to stare. You spot him immediately. Mingi, already seated at your usual table, scribbling quietly into a notebook, glasses slipping down his nose.

“MINGI,” you shout-whisper, rushing toward him.

He looks up, startled, but when he sees your face, his whole expression softens.

“What’s going on?”

“I PASSED!” you whisper-scream, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Like actually passed! No - aced! Bio? A-minus. Chem? B-plus! Mat? B-plus! I DID IT.”

His mouth drops open. “No way.”

You nod furiously, hands flapping like you don’t know what to do with all your excitement. “YES way. My parents were so shocked they actually hugged me. Hugged me, Mingi. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He laughs, wide and full and so proud. “Y/N, that’s amazing.”

“You helped me so much,” you say, grabbing his hands before he even knows what’s happening. “Like, I literally would’ve failed without you. You are a godsend. A genius. An angel. A cute science wizard.”

Mingi turns bright red. “O-okay, let’s dial it back-”

You’re glowing. Practically vibrating. “And you know what this means?” you say, eyes wide. “I get to go to prom. I get to go to prom!”

He grins, but it’s a little quieter now. A little more contained. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing your hands once before letting go. “You’re going.” To a world he still doesn’t feel like he belongs in.

“So,” you breathe, eyes shining, “are you coming?”

Mingi blinks. “To prom?”

“Yeah!” you say, sliding into the seat beside him, your knee bumping his. “You should come! You’re, like, half the reason I’m allowed to go. I need my study buddy there.”

He laughs under his breath. “Y/N…”

“Come on,” you nudge him, teasing. “It’s just one night. Who cares if it’s lame? We can make fun of people’s outfits. Drink gross punch. Hide in a corner and complain about music.”

“You already have a date,” he says softly.

You pause. The other day, Jae asked you to be his date in the middle of the cafeteria and you agreed. You couldn’t explain why you say yes, honestly. Your excuse was that it felt “safe”?

“Yeah,” you admit. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there. You’re my friend, Mingi. I want you there.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a second, you think he might say yes. But then he smiles, a little sad. A little distant.

“I’ll think about it.”

And you don’t know why that answer makes your chest feel weird.

But it does.

***

The music pulsed from inside the building, muffled by the heavy doors and the hum of chatter echoing under the lights. But you weren’t listening. You stood just outside the prom entrance, your hands wrapped tightly around your phone like it was going to deliver you something. Anything. A text. A call. A simple “I’m here.”

But the screen stayed stubbornly dark.

Your blue dress sparkled under the string lights lining the school entrance. You looked like you belonged at prom. You looked like you were having the night of your life. But your eyes kept scanning the parking lot instead of walking through the doors.

Where was he?

You checked your phone again.

Nothing.

A part of you told yourself to stop. That maybe he got nervous. That maybe he changed his mind. That maybe he was late and you'd feel stupid for worrying. But your stomach twisted anyway.

You paced a little, heels clicking softly against the pavement as couples and groups passed you by, laughing, already inside. You ignored them all. You were too busy searching each new arrival’s face, hoping to see that familiar mop of dark hair, those glasses, that slightly awkward stance.

Still nothing.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Jae walking toward you, his tux sharp and pressed, but his smirk even sharper. The rest of the friend group trailed behind him.

“There you are,” Jae said, eyeing you up and down. “Took you long enough.”

“I was waiting,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

Jae raised a brow. “For who?”

You didn’t answer, just glanced down at your phone again. All you could hear was the pounding bass inside, the quiet buzz of your phone still not lighting up in your hand. Then one of your friends appeared at your side, tugging your arm. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the pictures!”

You hesitated. Just one more look at the parking lot, just one more second.

Still nothing.

With a deep breath, you turned away and let yourself be pulled through the entrance. The lights are too bright. The music is too loud. The fake smiles, the crowded dance floor, the punch that tastes like sugar and cheap vodka.

You keep looking. Every time the door opens, every time someone tall walks by, your heart jumps. Just for a second. But it’s never him.

Not Mingi.

Not the person who got you here.

“He’s not coming,” Jae said beside you.

You flinched. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“What?”

“That loser. Mingi. You’re still looking for him?”

You didn’t answer. Just tried to keep your face neutral, even though your pulse jumped.

Jae huffed a laugh and leaned in closer. “You seriously thought he’d show? C’mon. Guys like him don’t come to prom. They stay home jerking off to anime or some shit.”

“Jae-”

“Let me guess. You told him the theme was ‘under the stars’ and he took that literally and went home to read a book about astronomy?”

You rolled your eyes and moved to walk away, but he followed.

“I mean, sure, he’s helping you with school, but let’s be real.. He’s just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. He’s probably obsessed with you. Guys like that always are. You smile at them once and they think they’ve got a chance-”

And that’s when the drink left your hand.

Red punch, sticky and cold, splashed across Jae’s face and tux in one glorious arc. He froze mid-sentence, blinking as drops clung to his lashes and dripped from his nose. The room around you stilled, just for a second, as people turned to see what had just happened. You dropped the empty cup on the table.

“Say one more thing about him,” you said, voice low but steady, “and I swear to God, I’ll make sure the next thing that hits you isn’t a drink.”

Jae sputtered, wiping his face with the sleeve of his very expensive jacket. “Are you serious right now-”

But you were already walking away, heels clicking hard against the floor as you pushed through the crowd and out of the gym. The music was still playing, the lights still spinning, but none of it mattered. You stepped into the quiet of the hallway, heart pounding. You didn’t know where Mingi was. You didn’t know why he didn’t come. But what you did know was that Jae was wrong.

Mingi wasn’t the loser in this story.

Jae was.

And he wasn’t worth one more second of your night.

10 YEARS LATER

The Friday night rush had officially taken over.

You balanced a tray of drinks in one hand and menus in the other as the host called out another name behind you. The restaurant was buzzing, the clink of glasses, low conversation humming under the jazz overhead, the quiet pop of champagne bottles in the back.

You weave between tables with practiced grace, a tray balanced on your hand, smile plastered on like muscle memory. Your feet ache. Your shift is only halfway over. Someone just spilled red wine near table 6. Again.

You ducked behind the host stand to check the reservation list and refill your apron with pens and receipt slips.

“Y/N?”

You froze. Your fingers tightened around the pen you were holding, and slowly, confused, you looked up.

And then everything stopped.

Standing a few feet in front of you was someone tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly good-looking. A sharp suit. Clean cut. Confident posture.

But his eyes… his eyes were the same.

“Mingi?” you said before you could stop yourself, and your hand knocked the plastic cup of pens off the counter with a loud clatter, sending pens bouncing in every direction like startled insects. You dropped down to gather them, cheeks burning, brain still scrambling to make sense of what you were seeing.

He crouched too, already reaching to help you.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing you a few.

You looked up at him, still crouched. His face was more angular now, more mature. His jawline sharp. Lips full. Hair perfectly styled. There was nothing nerdy left about him, except maybe the warm flicker in his eyes as he looked at you like he wasn’t quite sure he was seeing right either.

But before you could say anything else, a woman's voice cut in.

“Mingi,” she said flatly, bored already. “They’re waiting on us.”

You glanced up at her. Tall, flawless, designer from head to toe, clutching her purse like she hated touching public surfaces. She didn’t look at you. Not once.

Mingi stood slowly. “Right. Reservation under Song.”

“Of course,” you said, straightening quickly, stuffing the last pen back into your apron. Your voice sounded weird. Too high. Too unsure. “This way.” You led them in silence, your heart pounding in your ears. 

He didn’t say anything. You didn’t either. Not because you didn’t want to, but because neither of you seemed to know what to say. And it wasn’t the time anyway. The restaurant demanded your attention. Tables to serve. Dishes to clear. Orders to double-check. 

After delivering food for another table, you grabbed your notepad and made your way over to table seventeen, smoothing down your apron. You already knew this was going to be weird. Your old high school tutor, now looking like a literal GQ cover model, sitting in the corner booth with a woman who’d already made you feel like gum on her designer heels.

“Hi again,” you said, putting on your best server voice. “Can I take your drink orders?”

The woman didn’t look up, still scrolling through her phone. “Ugh, can you give me a minute? I haven’t even had a chance to look.”

You blinked. “Of course. Take your time.”

She sighed dramatically, tossed her phone into her bag, and finally glanced at the menu. “What’s the least sugary wine you have? I don’t want anything cheap or mass-produced. I only drink biodynamic wines from small family vineyards.”

You nodded. “We have a dry French Sauvignon Blanc that—”

“Is it vegan?” she interrupted.

You hesitated. “I can check with the bar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. Why don’t restaurants ever just know that?”

“I’ll double-check for you,” you said, voice still even.

“I guess I’ll just have sparkling water for now. No ice. Room temp. With a twist of lime. Not lemon. And not in the water. On the side.”

Mingi spoke up gently. “I’ll just have a ginger ale.”

Your eyes met his for a moment. You smiled tightly and moved on. “Are you ready to order food?”

“Give us a second, just bring the drinks.” She instructed and you sent her the most professional smile you could manage.

“I’ll be back.” You smiled before making your way up to the bar, order slip in hand, and dropped it dramatically on the counter like it weighed fifty pounds.

Wooyoung, the bartender, glanced at it, then glanced at you. “Table seventeen?”

You just nodded and exhaled.

He raised a brow, already filling a glass. “So what’s she allergic to? Joy? Basic manners?”

You snorted. “Room temp sparkling water. No ice. Lime on the side. Not in the glass. God forbid.”

Wooyoung grabbed a bottle from under the counter, muttering under his breath. “She sounds like the human version of a Terms and Conditions page.”

“I feel like I’m in a Yelp hostage situation.”

He slid the drinks onto a tray, leaned in, and whispered, “Why is there such a tension between you and that guy across from her.. You know him?”

You gave him a look. “He was my tutor, turned friend, and then he disappeared for 10 years. It’s awkward.”

Wooyoung smirked. “Mhm. He is looking at you a lot though.. He looks rich, go for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the tiny smile. “I don’t even know him anymore, it’s been 10 years. He looks… different.”

“Different how?”

“Like he eats confidence for breakfast.”

Wooyoung leaned on the bar, grinning. “And his date looks like she eats waitresses.”

“She almost did.”

He gave you a dramatic pat on the shoulder. “Godspeed, soldier.”

You sighed, picked up the tray, and turned toward the battlefield. “If I don’t come back… avenge me.”

Wooyoung called after you, “I’ll write your name on the tip jar!”

You let out a giggle as you returned to the infamous table seventeen. You placed their drinks in front of them and found your notepad once again. “Ready to order your food?”

The woman let out a groan, flipping the menu shut like it offended her. “What do you recommend for someone who’s gluten-free, dairy-free, low-carb, and doesn’t eat anything with a face?”

“…A salad?”

“Ugh, boring.. I guess I’ll have the risotto,” she said, not waiting for your answer. “But no onions, no garlic, no salt, no dairy, and absolutely no parsley. I hate garnish. It ruins the presentation.”

“Of course.”

Mingi glanced down at his menu like it was the only safe place to look. “I’ll have the steak. Medium rare. That’s all.”

You scribbled it down and just gave a nod. “I’ll get that in for you.”

The rest of the evening drags in flashes of passive-aggressive comments and high-pitched scoffs. She sends back a plate because it’s “too pretty to eat, but not in a good way.” You keep your smile steady through all of it, a crack in porcelain.

Mingi doesn’t say much.

But you notice the small things. How he flinches when she talks down to the staff. How he keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. How he starts saying “thank you” every time you come near the table, soft and almost guilty.

It’s not the boy you remember.

He’s older now. Quiet, but not like he used to be. He’s learned how to hide in plain sight. But his eyes still say what his mouth doesn’t.

It's finally time for the m to pay and she sighs dramatically. “God, finally. Maybe now we can get out of here.”

Mingi looks at you one last time as you hand over the receipt. “It was…really good to see you again.”

You nod, heart too full to respond.

Too shocked to see the man you’ve been dreaming about for 10 years. 

***

Youre half-jogging across the street, clutching your sketchbook under one arm and your much-needed coffee in the other. Late… again. The crosswalk light blinks red, but you’re already halfway through when the black luxury car comes speeding around the corner.

You jump back with a gasp, stumbling on the curb, and your coffee goes flying, straight out of your hand, splattering down your coat and shoes.

And in your panic-fueled rage?

You hurl the empty cup at the hood of the car.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” you yell, breath caught in your throat as the car screeches to a stop. It just sat there, glossy and silent, like it was too expensive to care. Your dignity abandoned you immediately.

Mortified, heart pounding, you turned on your heel and marched away before the tinted windows rolled down and revealed some ultra-rich devil ready to sue you for assault via paper cup. You storm into the next coffee shop, head down, coat stained, pride bruised. You’re still muttering to yourself about dangerous drivers when someone says your name.

“Y/N?”

You turn and time slams to a halt.

There he is.

Mingi.

Tall, broad, dressed in a tailored black coat that probably cost more than your rent. His hair is tousled like it had been done on purpose, his jawline is sculpted like he’d been carved from rich-boy marble, and in his hand…

… is your empty coffee cup.

“I believe this belongs to you?” he said, lifting it slightly, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

You blink. Then blink again. “Wait. You were the guy in the car?!”

“…Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I figured it was best not to mention it while you were still holding a hot beverage.”

Your soul left your body. “Oh my god,” you groaned. “Please, no, I didn’t mean to throw that at your car.”

He was grinning now. “It was a great shot though.”

“I thought you were some reckless douchebag,” you stammer, pushing hair behind your ears, already dying of embarrassment.

“I mean,” he shrug, “the driver was going a little fast.”

You stare at him. You can see he’s trying to find the right words. “My driver. He almost hit you, but don't worry, he’s now banned from Bluetooth arguments while driving.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Sorry for the cup.”

“I deserved it,” he says easily. “I’m buying you a new coffee, anything else?… a soul cleanser?”

“Coffee is fine.” You smile, before he orders a new coffee for you. You wait, still too flustered to do anything but trail after him like a starstruck ghost. While waiting in line, you manage to gather your senses enough to smalltalk.

“So… you’re in the area?” you ask, glancing up at him. How do you talk to a person who disappeared for 10 years and comes back looking like a GQ model with wealth spilling out of them? You don’t know. But you're trying. 

"Temporarily. I’m just back in town because I’m investing in some properties around town and I need to close some deals before heading back.” he said.

“Investing in properties?” You ask, not knowing exactly what to ask about first. 

“Yeah, those long hours studying math really came in handy,” He jokes, sending you a smile that reminds you too much of the person he was 10 years ago. “I was heading to a meeting, but I think almost murdering someone takes priority.”

You snort. “Well, lucky me.”

“What about you?” He looks down at you. You recall him being tall in High School but he was definitely even taller now.

“I’m on my way to art class,” you said, lifting your sketchbook as proof.

His gaze flicker down. “You still draw?”

“Still trying to,” you say, smiling softly.

“I remember you used to sketch during our study sessions,” he said with a smile, surprising you. “I would scold you for making doodles on the paper instead of taking notes.” His voice is warm. The barista hands you your new coffee before you have time to react. And before you could thank him again, Mingi say, “Let me give you a ride.”

You blink. “What?”

“I insist,” he say. “You’ve suffered enough for one morning.”

“I can walk-”

“Please.”

You hesitate, then nod. “…Okay.”

As the two of you walk out of the shop, you spot the black car parked out front. Same one from earlier. And leaning against it like he was in the middle of a Vogue shoot is a tall guy with dark hair and rolled-up sleeves. He spots you and straightens, removing his sunglasses.

“This is my driver, personal assistant and best friend, Yunho.” Mingi introduce Yunho as he take a step towards you.

“I’m really sorry for earlier. I swear he was yelling about some meeting and I missed the turn.” Yunho apologize.

You raise your coffee. “I threw a cup at your car, so I think we’re even.”

Yunho grins. “Deal.”

Mingi opens the car door for you like a gentleman, and you step into the kind of interior that smells like new leather and old money. As the car pulls away, your coffee warms your hands and your thoughts whirl faster than traffic. You sit with your coffee in your lap, legs crossed, trying not to overthink the fact that you are in a car with Mingi. Ten years ago, you were calling him cute in the back of a library. Now? Now he is next to you, suited up like he owns the building your class is in.

“So,” you say, casually glancing his way. “Your girlfriend from the other night… she was really… sweet.”

Mingi lets out a quiet sigh, then glances your way, deadpan. “That wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, pretending to sound surprised. “Could’ve fooled me. She seemed really into the water with no ice and emotionally terrorizing waitstaff.”

“It was a blind date a colleague of mine set up. He’s no longer allowed to do that. Ever again.”

You try to hide your smirk behind your coffee. “She seemed super chill. I loved when she asked if the truffle risotto was gluten-free, dairy-free, and joy-free.”

“She sent it back because it smelled too ‘mushroomy.’ It was truffle risotto.”

“And the water. Can’t forget the water.”

“I’m still emotionally recovering,” He rolls his eyes. “She also told me the candlelight was too aggressive.”

That made you laugh, hard enough you had to set your coffee down. You shake your head, laughing as you lean back against the seat. “So... no second date?”

“I blocked her halfway through dessert.”

“That bad?”

“She told me I had ‘beta energy’ because I helped you with the pens.”

Your eyebrows fly up. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says, looking over at you with that same old sparkle in his eyes. “But I don’t think it was a compliment.”

You smile into your cup, feeling lighter than you expected.

Then, after a beat, Mingi glances over again. “What about you?” he asks. “Are you… still seeing Jae?”

You blink, caught off guard. “God, no.”

He arches a brow.

You shrug. “We were never really a thing. I think I convinced myself to consider it for like five minutes back in high school. But… yeah. He was kind of a dick.”

Mingi laughs softly. “Kind of?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

He smiles at the windshield. “I could’ve told you that.”

You turn to him, mock-offended. “And you didn’t!?”

Mingi tilts his head with a knowing look. “Do you remember how he was back then? I liked my teeth where they were.”

You grin but you know how Jae was to Mingi in high school. Not a doubt in your mind that Jae would’ve been even worse to Mingi if he ever did anything back. The car slows to a gentle stop. You look out the window and see your art building. You hadn’t even realized you were this close.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Thanks for not throwing your coffee at me this time.”

“No promises for next time.”

You both smile.

As you get out of the car, you make eye contact with Yunho in the front before saying, “And sorry again for the cup.”

“Fair trade,” Yunho says with a shrug. “I almost hit you. You assaulted my windshield. Balance.”

You laugh, stepping out into the sun. “Well.. Maybe I’ll see you around, Mingi.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “See you.”

***

You are halfway through balancing a tray of desserts when you spot him.

Tall. Broad. Too well-dressed for a Wednesday afternoon. He looks almost comically out of place beneath the dim chandeliers and overpriced floral centerpieces, like he walked into the wrong restaurant by accident and was just too polite to leave. Mingi stood by the host stand, hands in the pockets of a dark navy coat, glancing casually at the menu as if he hadn’t already made up his mind.

You smooth your apron and walk over. “Don’t tell me you’re here for another blind date.”

He looks up and smiles, just a small one. But you notice. “No blind dates today.”

“Thank God. I don’t think we have the emotional support risotto on the menu today.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. “I came for lunch.”

Your brow arch. “You came to a place that serves foie gras in abstract geometric shapes for lunch?”

“I was… in the area.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking like he knew how unconvincing that sounded. “Is there a table for one?”

You bit back a grin. “As a matter of fact, there is.” You lead him towards a table by the window. Once seated, he looks up at you, eyes scanning your face like he hadn’t gotten the full view last time. 

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” He says while he’s looking up at you.

You raise a brow. “Pretty sure you’re the one who walked into my workplace.”

“Fair point.”

You hand him a menu and lean slightly on the back of the chair. “So, what’ll it be? More emotionally stale water? Or something new?”

He smiles again, barely. “Surprise me.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think that’s how this restaurant works.”

“I trust your judgment.”

You give him a look. “You shouldn’t.”

But still, you turned towards the kitchen with a little smirk on your face, cheeks warmer than you liked. A few minutes later, you return with a plate of the daily special and a glass of iced tea, placing it down in front of him with a practiced hand. “I take it you’re not allergic to anything that grows in the dirt or has... feelings?”

He chuckles. “I’ll survive.”

You step back, folding your hands behind your back. “So, really. What brings you here, Mingi?”

He took a sip of the tea first, then shrug, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know. I guess I was just curious if you'd be here.”

You blink. “That’s... weirdly honest.”

“I’m bad at lying.”

You smile despite yourself. “Well, congrats. I’m here. In all my apron-clad glory.”

“It suits you.”

You tilt your head. “The apron?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you like he was maybe starting to figure out how much he missed out on back in high school. You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway. Let me know if you need anything. A fancy salt, perhaps? A spoon blessed by a Michelin chef?”

He gave you that same small laugh again, the kind that stayed low in his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

You leave him with his lunch and try your best not to look back too many times. The rest of the hour, Mingi would steal your attention more than you cared to admit. Your eyes would naturally travel to his corner like it was the most natural thing in the world. It weirded you out seeing the boy who used to sit alone at lunch now sit alone in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. Just for lunch.

After he paid, you finished stacking a few menus when you notice Mingi still lingering by the host stand, hands in his coat pockets, eyes flicking toward you like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

You step closer, raising an eyebrow. “Forgot something?”

He shrugs casually, but his voice betrays him, just a little tight, just a little hopeful. “Not really. Just thought… maybe I could get your number?”

You blink, surprised. “For?”

He scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping for a second. “I don’t know. In case I stop by again and… you’re not here. Or if I need a drink recommendation. Or table suggestion. Or something.”

You smile, amused by how awkwardly he was trying to be casual about it. “Right. For professional purposes.”

“Exactly.” He nods, clearly relieved you didn’t make it weird.

You pull out a receipt and scribble your number on the back before handing it over. “Don’t use it to order food though. I don’t take reservations by text.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet. “Got it. No food orders. Just emergencies.”

And with that, he gives you a small wave and turns to leave. You are still smiling when you turn back towards the bar and almost jump out of your skin when Wooyoung is suddenly right there, propping his elbows on the counter like he’d been waiting for the curtain to drop.

“So,” he says, loud enough to draw attention, “that wasn’t suspicious at all.”

You groan. “Please don’t.”

Wooyoung points dramatically towards the door. “Tall, mysterious, dressed like he owns a yacht, came in just to stare at you for an hour and left with your number.”

“He came in for food.”

Wooyoung leans in. “And stayed for dessert.”

You grab a towel and toss it at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoyingly observant,” he says, dodging. “You better invite me to the wedding. I want the first toast and the first slice of cake.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing. “It was just a number.”

Wooyoung smirk. “Numbers become dates. Dates become soulmates. I’ve seen the movies.”

You give him a look. “It’s not a movie.”

He wink. “Not yet.”

***

You’re curl up on the couch, blanket over your legs and a bowl of cereal in your lap even though it’s nowhere near breakfast time. The TV plays quietly in the background, something forgettable you put on just for noise. You’re halfway through mindlessly flipping through your sketchbook when your phone buzzes beside you.

Unknown: Hey. Just checking if this is your actual number and not some cruel prank. 

You blink, surprised to see a text from who you only imagine to be Mingi. It’s only been a few hours since he left the restaurant. You smirk to yourself and grab your phone.

You:Would a fake number reply to you this fast?

You immediately save his number and make him a new contact. You set your phone back down, returning to your cereal, only for it to buzz again seconds later.

Mingi:Bold of you to assume I haven’t had imaginary conversations with fake numbers before.

You huff a small laugh and sink deeper into the couch, spoon dangling from your mouth as you text back.

You:Sounds like something you should bring up in therapy.

Mingi:I did. My therapist ghosted me.

You snort into your cereal, nearly dropping the spoon.

You:Tough crowd.

Mingi:Tell me about it.

Your phone goes quiet after that, but the little exchange leaves you with a faint smile. You close your sketchbook, set the empty cereal bowl on the coffee table, and let yourself relax a little more into the cushions.

*** 

You don’t expect to receive a text from Mingi the next day. But you do. 

Mingi So... do I have to schedule an appointment or can I bribe you with coffee to see your art?

You stare at the message, mouth twitching.

You You wanna see my art?

Mingi I wanna see what stole all of the attention while tutoring you 

You Wow. Emotional blackmail. Hot.

Mingi You promised. And I am a man of follow-ups now.

You chuckle, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the gray clouds overhead. You meet him that evening outside your art school. It’s after-hours, but your professor gave you a key code. Perks of being one of the more “dedicated” students, aka “you’re here too much, go home sometimes.”

Mingi stands by the gate, dressed way too nicely for a quick art tour. Black trousers, a slate gray coat, a warm scarf that makes him look like he walked out of a drama set. He waves when he sees you, and the smile on his face is so familiar it kind of makes your heart trip.

“Ready to be wildly underwhelmed?” you say as you swipe your ID at the side entrance.

“Extremely.”

You lead him into the long hallway filled with student work. Some pieces hang proudly in frames; others are still drying on racks. There’s the smell of paint, turpentine, a little coffee, honestly, your comfort zone. Mingi walks slowly, taking everything in with surprising focus. When you stop in front of your section, you feel a flicker of nerves.

“This one’s mine,” you mumble, suddenly shy. “Well, this whole wall.”

He scans the canvases carefully. There’s a large abstract piece with messy strokes of crimson and gold, a smaller still life of a coffee cup you were once too broke to drink, and a half-finished portrait that still makes your heart ache when you look at it too long. Having been working on it for nearly two years, it’s one of those paintings you don’t think you’ll ever finish. 

“You’re really good,” he says softly.

You shrug, trying not to make it a big deal. “I’m trying.”

“No,” he says, looking at you now. “You are.” There’s something in his voice. An honesty you remember from a long time ago. The same tone he used when he told you you’d pass your math final, even when you thought your brain was rotting.

You smile, a little flustered. “Thanks.” You continue slowly walking next to all the art in the room. A thought you’ve had the past few days blooms in your mind again and you get the urge to ask him.  “So…” You start, trying to make your question natural and not open wounds that could possibly not be closed. “How long are you in town for?”

He looks at the ground. “Not sure yet, until the investment deals are closed, and then I’m heading back home.” There's a tug at your heart at the words “back home”. Just as you thought he was home he’s gonna leave again. 

“Oh, of course…” You know exactly what you want to ask next, but once again scared that the question might scare him. That it might push him into something he wants to forget. You take a deep breath, keeping an eye on him and his reaction. “It's been 10 years since we graduated..” You glance at him. “You got the invite for the reunion?”

Last week, an invitation to the 10-year-high-school-reunion showed up in your mail. You already decided to be there, to get a feeling of where your past class-mates are in their lives. And maybe to see if there’s a chance you can convince the quiet boy who helped you through senior-year to come. 

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I got the invite.”

“You going?”

A pause. A breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Feels like… walking into a movie I didn’t get cast in.”

You frown. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He tilts his head. “You remember how people treated me, right? The only reason most of them knew my name was because they copied off my homework.”

“Well, they didn’t know what they had,” you mutter. “Still don’t.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. You nudge him with your elbow. “I think you should come.”

“To be ignored by people who still think I'm invisible?”

You smile up at him. “No. To be acknowledged by people who don’t recognize you because now you look like a Calvin Klein ad and drive around in a car that almost committed homicide.”

He laughs, really laughs. That warm, breathless laugh that used to sneak out between tutoring sessions when you said something accidentally funny.

He shakes his head. “You really think I should go?”

“I think you should go,” you say firmly. “You skipped prom. Don’t skip this too.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Thoughtful. A little hesitant. “You’re going?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say. “My art is in the alumni showcase. And I look hot in formal wear. It’s a win-win.”

That earns another soft chuckle. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you said about prom.”

“And look how that turned out.”

You tilt your head. “Exactly. Don't ghost this one, Song Mingi.”

“I’ll try,” he says, quiet now. “No promises, but… I’ll try.”

And as you stand beside him in the echo of the empty hallway, you can’t help but feel the past and the present stretching and folding between you. Two threads that never fully came undone, tying themselves back together in small, careful knots.

***

The Allen key slips from your fingers again, clinking against the hardwood floor with a sound that feels almost personal at this point. You sit back on your heels, sweating lightly from sheer frustration, surrounded by mismatched wooden panels, screws that don’t seem to belong anywhere, and a manual that may as well be in ancient hieroglyphics.

You stare at the chaos in front of you, defeated. The IKEA coffee table should have been a simple, 30-minute build. It’s been an hour and you’ve gotten as far as accidentally screwing one of the legs in backwards. You sigh and grab your phone from the couch, already knowing who you’re going to text. The one person you can count on to both show up and mock you the entire time.

You: wooyoung pls help ikea is winning and i’m not strong enough

You toss your phone beside you and grab the water bottle at your side, taking a sip while looking over the battlefield.

Wooyoung: what is it this time? bookshelf? chair? a humble side table?

You snort and wipe your hands on your sweatpants before typing back.

You: coffee table i fear it might become firewood

Your phone buzzes again instantly.

Wooyoung: 😔 gone too soon rip flatpack

You grin a little despite yourself, dragging the manual closer as if something might magically make sense if you stare at it hard enough.

You: are you coming or not

He types back immediately, which is always a little suspicious.

Wooyoung: i could… OR

You raise a brow and lean against the couch cushion behind you.

You: or what

Wooyoung: OR you could text your new tall friend with the jawline and the tragic blind date taste you know mr. i-own-three-black-coats-and-a-personal-driver

You blink.

You: no

Wooyoung: come on he clearly has strong forearms he’d probably carry the table in one hand and read the manual with the other

You picture Mingi in that sleek coat, tall and effortlessly put together, showing up at your restaurant last week. You shake your head.

You: he’s not a superhero he’s just tall

Wooyoung: tall and rich. and he literally showed up to see you at work. idk sounds like someone who would build a table for a girl he likes.

You pause, staring at the screen. Your heart does a weird little flip, but you immediately squash the feeling. That’s not what this is.

Right?

You chew your bottom lip, typing slowly.

You: who said he likes me???

Wooyoung: me. i said it. and i’m rarely wrong

You groan into your hands, half-laughing and half-exasperated. This is what you get for asking Wooyoung for help.

You: so you’re not coming?

Wooyoung: no, i’m busy watching netflix and doing absolutely nothing ask him 😌

You let your phone fall to your lap and stare at the unfinished table. You could ask Mingi. He was nice. Surprisingly easy to talk to. And yeah, maybe you’d caught yourself looking at his hands more than once when he handed you his credit card.

Still…

You roll onto your back, hair splayed out against the rug, staring up at the ceiling. The idea of texting him makes your stomach flutter, but it’s just a table, right? You sigh. The coffee table creaks beside you, as if mocking your indecision.

It starts with a text.

you: hey um… super random but do you know how to build ikea furniture?

There’s a pause. Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

Then:

mingi: this feels like a trap like if i say yes you’re gonna make me build a castle or something

You snort.

you: not a castle just a table a large, heavy, emotionally threatening coffee table

mingi: ah yes the sadistic swedish puzzle box

you: it’s been giving me death stares from the middle of my living room i think it’s winning

mingi: are you asking me to risk my life for you

you: ...yes?

This time the three dots hang for longer.

Then:

mingi: text me your address i’ll bring coffee and emotional support

you: you’re my hero

mingi: don’t say that until we survive step 12: “insert screw B into slot F without crying”

You laugh to yourself, heart doing a weird little jump. You’ve only seen him a handful of times after his 10-years-disappearance, but even through a screen, Mingi’s the same blend of soft and sarcastic that he used to be. Just taller. Richer. Hotter. And still, somehow, kind of a lovable nerd. You send your address. A second later, another text buzzes through.

mingi: just so we’re clear if the instructions has more than 5 pages we’re taking breaks every 40 minutes and i’m allowed to complain at least twice

you: deal

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Or maybe it’ll be a total disaster.

But either way… you’re actually kind of excited to see him again. And maybe, just maybe, you hope the coffee table takes a little longer to build than it needs to. And the second you open the front door, you know you’re in for chaos. Mingi’s standing there with two iced coffees, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, and a wide grin like he’s about to conquer Everest.

“I brought backup,” he says, pulling an Allen wrench out of his pocket like it’s a weapon. “And caffeine.”

“You really came prepared.”

You lead him into the apartment, pointing toward the warzone that is your living room: an opened cardboard, Styrofoam, and that infamous IKEA manual laying in the center like a threat. You both kneel by the box, pulling out panels and screws, the floor quickly turning into an obstacle course of wood and tools. Mingi is meticulous from the start, lining up the screws by type, glancing at the instructions like they’re a sacred text.

He reads the manual like it’s a textbook, brows furrowed, lips pursed slightly. You watch the gears turn in his brain and you’re flooded with memories, study dates where he’d do this exact same expression while explaining calculus, the way he used to get adorably serious about things nobody else cared about.

You had forgotten how much you liked that about him.

“You’re very serious about this,” you note.

“This is my Olympics,” he replies solemnly. “I will not be defeated by a coffee table.”

You work together, slowly finding your rhythm. He reads the instructions while you screw the panels into place. He slides a hand over a finished piece to check its sturdiness, nodding like a proud architect. At one point, he misplaces a bracket and looks genuinely offended.

“I swear I just had it.”

“You probably buried it under your precision screw pile,” you say, lifting a handful of mismatched screws with zero organization.

He gasps. “Blasphemy. This is an advanced sorting system.”

You glance at Mingi, sweat dampening his forehead, glasses sliding down his nose from all the effort, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a proud, dorky smile tugging at his lips. He’s ridiculous. And kind of adorable. And very much still the same Mingi you remember.

You don’t say anything, but you feel it. That weird fluttering thing that happens when someone does nothing but be completely, unapologetically themselves… and you can’t help but fall just a little.

“Okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “What’s next?”

You sip your coffee, smiling to yourself. “Dinner, I think.”

“You cooking?”

“I built half a coffee table. I’m not lifting a spatula too.”

“Fair,” he says. “I’ll order.”

The takeout containers sit open between you on the floor, still steaming slightly. You and Mingi are cross-legged beside the newly built coffee table like it’s your proudest achievement, because, honestly, it kind of is. The soy sauce has already soaked through one napkin, but neither of you moves to clean it.

“I was such a mess in high school,” you admit. “But I always looked forward to those afternoons.”

He looks over, eyes softer now. “Same.”

The moment lingers, quiet but full. Outside, a car passes. Inside, something has shifted, like time folding in on itself, letting the past and present breathe in the same space.

You lift a dumpling toward him. “Peace offering. For stealing all your melon candy.”

***

It had become a little routine. The texts had turned into phone calls that stretched for hours, picking up where the messages had left off, weaving in laughter and conversations that seemed to flow effortlessly between you and Mingi. It didn’t matter what you were doing. Folding laundry, sketching out designs, or sometimes just lying in bed, he was there. You’d talk about anything and everything. There were no filters.

Tonight was no different. You’re half-listening to Mingi talk about a bizarre TikTok recipe he saw involving canned peaches and instant noodles when your laughter interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You’re kidding,” you say through a grin, pacing around your living room in socks. “That’s almost as cursed as your high school milkshake obsession.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the call. “Cursed? Excuse you.”

You can hear the mock offense in his voice, and it makes your cheeks ache from smiling.

“You’re not really about to defend that vanilla–sea salt–olive oil milkshake again, are you?”

He scoffs. “First of all, it wasn’t just olive oil. It was cold pressed, and second of all, it was a masterpiece. That place on the corner knew what they were doing.”

“You brought it to the long study sessions” you laugh, flopping onto your couch. “And it always looked like... salad dressing with ice cream.”

“You bought them for me sometimes!” 

“I was being nice!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. “You were making me pass classes, the least I could do was give you your weird milkshakes!” Both of your laughs died down, and a short silence follows, but it’s comfortable now. The kind that lingers between two people who’ve been talking too long to bother with filters.

“…You know,” he says suddenly, voice a little softer, “you could come over sometime. We could… I dunno, sit around and talk like this. Maybe get some of those awful milkshakes.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment, but the warmth in his voice isn’t flirty. He’s not trying to make a move. It just sounds like Mingi. Familiar. Gentle.

You clear your throat. “You buying?”

“If that’s what I have to do to make you try it, then yes. I’m defending my honor, so you better bring the evidence.”

A few hours later, you’re in the elevator of a glass building downtown, holding a cardboard drink tray with two sweating milkshake cups. One of them is chocolate. The other… well, you can’t believe you actually paid for the olive oil one.

His apartment is high up, some penthouse suite he’s temporarily staying in for work. And now standing in the entryway of his penthouse, the actual penthouse, like floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge balcony and gadgets enough to make anyone a millionaire, you realize nothing about Mingi is really “no big deal” anymore.

Except he’s still barefoot in sweats, big glasses and an oversized hoodie. Still blushes a little when he sees you staring.

“Holy crap,” you murmur, stepping inside. “You live here?”

“Technically, yeah, just for now” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “It was a work thing… investment perk or whatever. It’s only temporarily while I’m in town as I’m investing in the property.”

“You live like a Bond villain.”

He shuts the door behind you. “Only on the outside. Inside I’m still the guy who alphabetizes his manga and cries over Studio Ghibli soundtracks.”

You hand him the tray. “Well, Bond villain or not, you’ve got your gross milkshake. Drink up, sir.” You walk further into the penthouse and it hits you in the head how far Mingi has come. But it still looks like his place. Stacks of books in the corner. A record player. A Gundam figure half-assembled on the counter. An old hoodie slung over the back of a leather chair. It's expensive in layout, but it feels like Mingi lives here. It feels like him.

You wander a little while he disappears into the kitchen. That’s when you see it.

Tucked into the bottom shelf, nearly hidden under old magazines: a dusty high school yearbook. You grin and crouch down to pull it out, fingers wiping across the cover. It’s old and familiar, instantly bringing back the scent of marker ink and locker sweat. When you flip it open, you’re already smiling, ready to find some awkward teenage photo of Mingi in braces or maybe a dramatic quote about science. But the sight in front of you makes your heart sink. All of the pages are blank.

No messages. No inside jokes. No “have a great summer!” or doodles of hearts. You pause, flipping through slower now. Every page is spotless. No one wrote anything.

Mingi comes back with the two milkshakes and sees you crouched there, frozen.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You found that. I didn’t even realize I had that. Must’ve been in one of the boxes my mom dropped off. I didn’t mean to bring it.”

You look up. “Why didn’t anyone sign it?”

He shrugs, walking past you to place the shakes on the table. “No one noticed me back then. Kind of hard to sign a yearbook for someone you didn’t know existed.”

Your heart cracks a little. “That’s not true. I noticed you,” You notice his lips twitch, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, still wearing that lopsided grin. “It’s not a big deal.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean, high school was… whatever,” he went on. “I kept my head down. Did my homework. Got gum thrown in my hair once in gym class, that was fun. And Jae, of course. His favorite game was grabbing my backpack and tossing it into random places. One time it ended up in a bathroom stall. Still don’t know how.” He laughed a little, like it was funny now. Like it hadn’t mattered.

But you remembered. You remembered the way he used to flinch when Jae walked by. How his shoulders stayed tense until you were sitting down to study. You remembered how he never met anyone’s eyes in the hallway. How sometimes, he’d show up to your sessions looking like he hadn’t slept at all. But a part of you didn’t realize how bad it really was. Maybe you were just to scared to realise it back then. And now you feel even worse about how you handled everything during high school. How you could’ve been there for him, supported him, stopped the bullying or at least tried.

So now you regret not doing more. 

“I used to hide out under that tree by the math building during lunch,” he added casually, tapping his straw on the lid. “One time Jae and his friends poured soda into my backpack. Said they were giving it a drink.”

Your grip on the yearbook tightened.

“But I survived,” he said, flashing you a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Could’ve been worse, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you closed the book and put it back carefully. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You were always nice to me,” he said. “That helped more than you probably realized.”

You glanced over at him and he finally met your eyes. The façade cracked, just slightly. You could see the truth there. It had been bad. And it had stayed with him. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” you said softly. He gave you a small smile, but said nothing. “I should’ve written in your yearbook,” you murmur. “I would’ve written so much.”

He chuckles softly. “You probably would’ve drawn something ridiculous, too.”

“Probably.”

Silence stretches between you again, but it’s heavier now. Like time is waiting for either of you to add to the topic, but what is there to say? you don't feel like pushing him too hard, and he seems to brush it off, like he isn't comfortable enough to talk about how it really was back then. So you do the next best thing and reach your arm towards him and extend your hand. “Okay. Give me the sacred Mingi Special.”

His eyes widen. “You sure?”

“Nope. But I’m brave.”

He hands out the drink and you take a sip of the infamous vanilla-olive-oil-sea-salt milkshake, and then blink. The mix of sweet and salty, with a touch of olive-oil balances out the flavors perfectly. “Wait… that’s actually not bad.”

He looks smug. “Thank you. Finally, vindication.”

You roll your eyes jokingly. “Still not better than chocolate.”

“Debatable.”

***

The past few days had passed in a blur of double shifts, aching feet, and too much caffeine. You were running mostly on autopilot. Pour, serve, smile, repeat.

And tonight, work had been hectic. A weekend dinner shift meant nonstop tables, last-minute party reservations, and a manager who couldn’t seem to stop breathing down your neck. But Wooyoung, ever the life of the kitchen and bar, had kept your spirits up the whole night.

As you both step out into the cool night air, you are still breathless from laughing.

“If I ever have to make another espresso martini for a man in flip-flops who calls me ‘chief,’ I’m going to lose my job,” Wooyoung says, dragging a hand down his face dramatically.

“You handled it so well,” you say, still giggling. “You told him the machine was broken and then walked away mid-order.”

“Because it was broken, emotionally. Like me.”

You snort, and he bump his shoulder into yours. The cool night air wrap around you both as you walk slowly down the quiet sidewalk. The restaurant lights glow behind you, and the street ahead was dim and calm.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Wooyoung says as he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys. “No offense, but you look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up, so you’re stuck with my terrible driving.”

“You’re not that bad,” you say, smiling up at him. “I only screamed twice last time.”

“That’s an improvement.”

But just as you’re about to follow him towards the lot, you freeze. A familiar figure stood under the streetlamp ahead, half in shadow. Tall. Broad. His posture straight, but his shoulders slightly tense like he hadn’t meant to be seen, standing still like he wasn’t sure whether to move forward or vanish.

Your steps falter slowly. “Mingi?”

His head snaps up like he hadn’t expected to be seen. His eyes find yours immediately.

“Oh,” he says, almost too softly. “Hey.”

Wooyoung glance at you, then back at Mingi. “What a coincidence.” 

You heard the teasing in Wooyoun’s words. 

“I was just… going for a walk,” Mingi says.

Wooyoung grins, playful but not mean. “At midnight?”

You elbow him lightly, but Mingi gives a half-laugh. Not awkward, just small. Quiet. Like he was trying not to take up too much space. Mingi only shrugs like it made perfect sense. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“We just got off work,” you say quickly, stepping slightly forward. “It was… kind of a wild night.”

Mingi nods, eyes flickering to Wooyoung. “Right. That makes sense.” His gaze flickers between the two of you. You see it written all over his face, it was the same look he had back in High School when he talked to you in front of Jae. Like he felt like he interrupted, like he wanted to disappear..  

Wooyoung shifts beside you, suddenly less talkative. You don’t miss the way Mingi’s eyes flickers to the keys in Wooyoung’s hand. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his shoulders tightens.

“Well,” Mingi says, already taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “We were just-“

But he is already backing away. “I’ll see you around, okay?” he says, trying to smile. “Have a good night.”

You stand there for a beat, stunned by how fast he vanishes, like the night had swallowed him up. Wooyoung lets out a low whistle and turns toward you slowly. “That boy thinks we’re dating.”

Your stomach does a weird twist. “Do you really think so?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just gives you a long, considering look. “He showed up here. After midnight. Just happened to be outside the restaurant you work at. And now he’s walking away like he just watched the love of his life get proposed to.”

“Wooyoung-”

“He’s into you,” he says, tone softer now. “In that quiet, I-would-definitely-die-for-you kind of way. You see that, right?”

You look down at the pavement, chewing the inside of your cheek, hoping you didn't give the impression you just think you did.

TAGLIST: (let me know if you wanna be added)

@lveegsoi , @vixensss

[qveenbunni]

i always remember this meme because is just so accurate

[qveenbunni]

I’m stressed out because of this biology class and I had a quiz the next day, so I was just feeling really discouraged… but then I got an A so all is well now lol. I’m super pessimistic so if things don’t go my way I immediately went to crash out 🙃 and thanks! I’ll definitely remember that, I appreciate it 💜

Sometimes we need a bit of unnecessary yearning (do the characters get on my nerves for how blatantly oblivious they are? Yes.) (will I eat it up every time? A thousand times yes.) 😆

It guaranteed that I’ll enjoy what you write! You’re a fantastic author 💐 you’re welcome!

the rhythm of our hearts (KYS x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

Yeosang, with his camcorder and his looks from afar, ignites your curiosity in a way that makes you act a little dumb and against your friend’s judgments. When you finally get tired of him not approaching you, you decide that the night is young and life’s too short to not find an answer to your questions. On a dirty rooftop, your newfound friendship with him might just be the most surprising outcome of the whole ordeal. Is it enough to make you stay, though?

PAIRING: law student!yeosang x dancer!afab reader.

GENRE: strangers to friends to lovers (slow burn).

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (jesus christ)

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) (in the next part), attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov, reader uses female pronouns, drinking, a tease of violent behavior, choi yeonjun shows up in this story again AND almost beats yeosang up, step up 3d inspired scene as you can see from the banner of the story lol, yeosang gets accused of being a stalker but there's no intentional stalky behavior i promise!!, yeosang is shy, many implied conversations (lol sorry, just know that they talked and talked on that rooftop okay?), unbearble chemistry (sigh), so much unnecesary yearning, the inevitable passage of time, the slowest of burns guys i'm so sorry i promise next part will be juicy i just needed to stablish them, lap sitting, almost kisses the same way gabriela and troy from hsm2 were almost kissing, wooyoung being a menace (you know the deal).

NOTES: this fic is part of a pocket universe you can find in my navi link or in the link at the top of this post. there's a lot of things here that only make sense if you read the other stories first but if you ignore them (since they're not at the core of the story) it can be read as a separate thing lol. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: 05/27/2025

permanent taglist: @kyunlov @monsta-x-jagi @tinyelfperson @0115degrees @strawberrymars98 @faerouzia @honeybeehorizon @daniela-f-uwu @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kyeomooniee @getouttamygrillxoxx @fairylover68 @sushiinmidnight @hwalighters @qveenbunni @calmoistorm @yoonglesbae @potatomountain @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @svintsandghosts @lemonkait00 @blue5ummer @fancypeacepersona @hyukssunflower @i-love-ateez @miracle-sol @alsomimi @xielian-i-guess @e3ellie @mady-66 @hwallazia @st3ft0n3s @ginevrsstuff @hotteokkay @xylatox

masterlist.

The neon lights reflect on your skin as you move through the crowd, foreign sweat mixing with yours in the process. 

It’s packed tonight, hardly any free space for you and your friends to claim as yours but you manage. There’s a free table that you all but run up to and when you and your friends crash into it, you all laugh before fixing it in its place. 

Routine takes over and the same person suggests going to get you all your usual drinks, which you say yes to. You don’t want to get distracted and you need to scan the premises to figure out if the person you’re looking for is here tonight. 

You don’t actually know his name. You know your friend Yeonjun almost beats him up, you know he’s been filming something (you) around the club for what seems months now. This person has never actually spoken to you before, hence the almost getting beat up by your most protective friend. 

Taking into account all the red flags, it’s a little crazy that you still feel the need to look for him in between the dancing bodies and the people making out in the dark corners of this club. Your club. Where the bouncers know you and the bartenders discount your drinks because you and your friend group are one of the regulars here. 

It took you a while to gain this status, one you’re very proud of. It’s a reminder of what you’re sacrificing everytime you decide to show up, what you’re risking. And even though it’s been a while and you’re an adult who can make their own decisions, the same adrenaline rushes through your veins everytime. As Yeonjun returns with your drinks and hands you yours with a flirty smile, the same feeling takes over your body, never really growing old. 

The first time you came here, you were a freshman. You came of your own volition, knowing no one at the time. You see, as a ballet dancer there’s a lot of restrictions, a regime you must follow to fit in with your classmates that you, up to the middle of your first semester, followed at face value. You didn’t have any reason not to, after all this was what you’ve worked so hard for, for years and years. 

Years of special diets and hours of training and practice to get where you were, full scholarship in what was supposed to be the first steps of your ballet career. So you followed these restrictions not because you were supposed to, or because your family forced you to pirouette a certain way in the path of perfection, but because you wanted to. 

As a child, you sat down and watched every single dance movie available on your local cable. You watched the nutcracker and then you watched the barbie version of the same tale over and over again until you knew the steps by heart, even if you didn’t know the name of them or how to execute them properly. 

You loved the way they all looked while dancing, the delicate atmosphere in such complicated moves and the ability they had to hook the audience in without saying a word, all they could convey even through a screen. So, in a way, it became your dream to be immortalized the same way. 

But in having that dream, you created this aura of expectation around you that you fell prisoner of the second you understood what it meant. The second you begged your mother to sign you up to classes and then you begged your father to take you seriously when you said that ballet was what you were going to do for eternity, you got trapped into it. Your father swore at the time it was just a phase and you, stubborn as the man in front of you, needed to prove him wrong. 

And you did prove him wrong. You grew in the industry, you started to get eyed by recruiters early on and you gained scholarship after scholarship, made valuable contacts and stayed friends with people who are able to move you forward in case you fall behind on something. You were smart about it, you are smart about it, but yet again the pulsing of your heartbeat syncs with the beat of whatever noisy song is blasting in the club’s speakers and you forget the strict regime and the diets and the sacrifices made to get where you are. 

It’s the same type of rush you felt when you were told someone was following you, filming you. The usual panic one can feel at the thought of being stalked dissipated the second you realized he didn’t have any cruel intentions towards you or the rest of your friend group. You did, kind of, save him from getting beat up by Yeonjun.

You had to rush towards a campus that’s not yours and make your way through the crowd of nosy people to get to them, but as soon as Yeonjun saw you he stepped away from the guy and followed you and your friend Kazuha out of there. You did spare the guy a glance and recognized him from the club, gave him a tiny smile and made sure he was up on his feet before fully centering your attention on your friend.

And pushing him in the chest as hard as you could. 

Kazuha sighed, pushing his chest as well “What’s wrong with you, Yeonjun?” 

“He’s been filming us— Filming you!” He pointed in your direction and you shook your head.

“I thought we established he’s not dangerous! And even if he was, Yeonjun, you could get in serious trouble for just— Behaving like a criminal!” 

“Like a criminal?!” 

“Like a punk with not one care in the world!” You answered, nodding and reinforcing the jab at your friend, who looked like a child being scolded for something they didn’t do. The thing is, if you didn’t get there on time, he probably would’ve. 

Yeonjun is a great, loyal friend. Always has been. And so you obviously forgave him and now, as he takes your finished drink from your hand and settles the cup down into the table just to drag you to the dancefloor, you think you read his intentions clearly, his looks and smiles lately and the way the carefully grabs your waist to move to the rhythm of the r&b track playing.

Understanding has been taking over you these past few days. 

But it doesn’t really matter when he has a rooster of people waiting for his texts and calls, patiently staying in place until he gives them the time of day and you know that’s the treatment he would give you too if you give him a chance. 

So you ignore the spark on his eyes as you sway your hips and turn around, your back against his chest and your butt against his crotch as he follows the rhythm you’re marking. Always taking the lead, always guiding everyone else’s steps makes it easy to ignore everything around you, when you close your eyes and let the atmosphere take you completely too. 

It’s like everything else disappears. The expectations and the fact that you have to wake up early the next to massacre your feet in order to continue your career, your graduation approaching fast, the last showcase and the weeks that follow it, in which you'll have to wait for an offer, for an opportunity. 

It’s just you and the music and Yeonjun hands spinning you around and around again. It’s just you and the ache on your feet and your heavy breathing being muffled by the sound around you, drowned by the rest of the heavy breathes everyone else is letting out. It feels so familiar and yet so exciting, like you’ve never experienced it before. 

Euphoria moves around you in what it feels like a neon glow, it makes everything feel slowed down and too fast and, most importantly, it makes your heart beat in a way no other thing or being makes it beat. 

Except maybe when you open your eyes and catch the stranger who’s always filming staring right at you. 

He’s far away, but you can see him clearly. He’s the only one on the floor standing still, camcorder in hand and you notice that he’s filming someone else, not you, but he’s staring in your direction either way and it makes you smile a little. 

There should be a limit at how much a person is allowed to stare at another before it makes it creepy. Again, there’s a thousand red flags you should be considering but the only thing it brings to you is unsated curiosity. 

And so you don’t think twice before detaching yourself from Yeonjun and moving in the stranger’s direction. Neither of them expect it, because the guy opens his eyes a little wider and you hear your friend’s voice over the music. 

“Y/N, are you serious?! We’ve been here less than forty minutes!” 

What he means is that you’re about to disappear for the rest of the night, like you usually do. It’s not that you always leave your friends behind, especially not when you come here with them to share the night with the group, but you do tend to disappear for like an hour or two. 

And the term disappear is something they use only to bother you because, in reality, your location is shared with all of them and the way you get lost is usually in between the dancing bodies. If they look hard enough, they’ll be able to easily find you. 

Unless you found someone to kiss for the night. They don’t bother looking for you then. 

However, it is a little early to disappear on them. It must be around eleven thirty or twelve, twelve thirty at the very least. You tend to do your rounds at two, two thirty, normally. Maybe that’s why the stranger makes that face. Maybe he has you studied, your behavior noted down in that head of his you want to decipher so badly. 

You have been wondering for a few weeks now why he never approaches you. He seems contempt just to film you from afar, but tonight is different. He’s not filming you. 

There’s a tint of jealousy in your chest at the sight, a small crease in your forehead when you approach him. 

He takes a step back.

You want to laugh a little, but you take the hint, if he’s sending any in your direction. Getting into his space fully is not in your plan anyway. 

Yeosang shouldn’t be here. He should be studying or having dinner with his friends or something. 

He really shouldn’t be here. 

But he can’t help himself. Earlier, in his and Yunho’s dorm and while editing the footage he’s gotten in the last week or so, he decided that he needed clearer shots of the Hongdae club he’s been frequenting. 

It’s only a happy coincidence that that’s the club you usually go to, the one where he can find you most of the nights. Very convenient, really. 

Ugh, who is he kidding? 

There’s this magnetic pull that he hasn’t been able to shake off ever since he saw you for the first time. At the very same club, a year before he started to go there with the purpose of seeing you. 

You were alone, not with the people he usually recognizes. You were dancing around a table, making some of the people sitting down at it laugh before becoming entranced with the way you moved. You tend to have that effect on people, he noticed earlier on, because when you move it looks simple yet extremely interesting, it looks natural, it looks almost magical and Yeosang convinced himself that the reason he kept coming back to that club specifically was because he needed to figure out how your movements were so sharp and yet so smooth at the same time. 

It’s his fault, really, because he’s shy and he should’ve just talked to you right there and then but he convinced himself he wasn’t going to see you ever again after the last time he went and you weren’t there. 

And then he joined a film class. An elective, one that he had in his curriculum for the last year and half of his career. He chose it because everything else seemed boring or too in touch with his law degree, which he was growing a little exhausted from. 

The only respite he had from studying endless pages about special criminal evidence rule was his cheering practices, and he had been benched for awhile for missing some of the important routines in order for him to get all his concepts right before his exams. And now he has to get ready for the internship he’s planning to apply to with a firm he’s been dreaming about since he was in highschool.

So joining that film class was a little stupid on his part, but he enjoyed it for the most part, before the final project was announced and the thing that came to mind was you and your dance moves. 

He had somewhere to start: a little documentary about dance and nightlife in Seoul. It’s a theme simple enough for him to do a little research, a few interviews that reflect the cultural significance of it all in modern society and he had Yunho and his dance team to avoid the need to go out of his way to look for more interviews or content outside of them. 

The thing is, his artistic vein itches every time he thinks about not including you in the film. He has zero justification for the way his chest hurts when the thought of putting his curiosity and tiny crush to rest crosses his mind. 

So he’s been filming from a distance and he’s been careful not to make you or your friends uncomfy ever since he decided to focus more on the nightlife aspect of the documentary instead of the dance part of it. That one time your friend found him, confronted him and pushed him to the ground for filming you all without clear consent doesn’t really count. 

That day, you smiled at him sweetly as you pulled your friend away from him. That had to mean you were okay with it, right? He should just ask you to clear the air up… But he had permission from the club manager to film anyway! 

He has a script, he has an outline of how he wants the film to turn out and he has almost everything to sit down and finish editing it before actually starting making an effort with that law firm and the internship… 

But he’s unable to shake the need to have you in the documentary. Anything will do, really: an interview, a clear shot of you dancing for the camera, anything to have you and his little obsession with the way you move immortalized on tape forever. The way you dance deserves it, the way you seem to control the ambiance around you, the people, the music, the club… He has never seen anything like it before. 

He swears he has been gathering up the courage to actually speak to you instead of lingering around like a creep. 

And tonight is the night.

He has to play it cool. He got there a little later than usual, he’s actually talking to the people he’s filming this time, he asks them for permission and then proceeds to talk with them as well as he can over the music. 

He pretends he doesn't see you and your friend group, including the guy that almost fixes his face, in the corner to the left of the dancefloor. He’s gathering the courage to walk over there and apologize for the misunderstanding, explain the nature of his documentary, ask you all formally to use the footage he has and ask you for a short interview with the questions he already has written down in the notes app on his phone. 

The person he’s filming has gone silent suddenly, just dancing to the r&b song playing and Yeosang does nothing but film them. He’s about to resume conversation when his eyes involuntarily look for you again. 

And he catches you on the dancefloor, the friend who almost punched him twirling you around to the beat of the song and grabbing your waist afterwards. 

There’s that magnetic pull again, that inability to look away from you even though he’s filming someone else. Your body glows in the red neon light and he’s mesmerized by the way you seem to be in your own world, encapsulated in your own bubble with your eyes closed and your body moving to the rhythm. 

He’s unable to look away even when your eyes open and the first thing you do is look at him. His breath catches, his eyes widen and he feels a little sweaty suddenly but he still holds your gaze, his eyes still follow you as you step away from your friend and move through the ocean of dancing bodies. 

Towards him. 

You are walking in his direction. 

Oh, God. Are you going to speak to him? Is this real life? He feels unsafe, unprepared all of the sudden. He takes a step back as you almost reach him. 

And then you smile widely, feline-like, like a big predator who’s playing with its prey just for the fun of it and he seems to get what you’re trying to do. For some reason, he feels like he reads your mind when you look down at the camcorder and then at him again. 

He bows at the person he was filming before, the ghost of the interview he was doing vanishing, before he could get any information that actually helps him or his script, and then his eyes follow you. You’re already walking away when he points the lens in your direction. 

Swallowing hard, he moves in between the dancing bodies to follow yours. He adjusts the lighting in his camera as he moves, he catches the neon before lowering it and finally catching you in the hallway of people that his friends like to call the makeout hall (because it’s kind of dark, the only lights that get to it are the neon ones nearby and the occasional moving leds that move around the club every few seconds so it’s intimate enough to kiss the one you like for the night). 

But no one is making out with anyone. There’s some people chilling against the wall and a few others dancing and they all smile as you move through them to the rhythm of the song playing. Some guy grabs your waist and dips you low and Yeosang smiles as he catches the moment clearly, the lead beams lighting up the space at the correct time to catch you coming back up. 

As he passes people by, they all try to dance with him as well. He shakes his head a little when the same guy grabs his waist and Yeosang blushes when he looks back up and you’re laughing at him. He shakes his head again but you keep moving, so he moves as well and he loses you when you turn the corner. 

Quickening his step, he follows as smoothly as he can but when he reaches the same corner you’re gone. 

Swallowing thick nerves down, he tries to ignore the exaggerated beat of his heart at the thought of that being the only interaction with you that night. He looks around and frowns when he can’t find you at all. Just when he thinks he can see you with your arms up, a guy that’s clearly too intoxicated to be in an environment like this gets in front of him and dances for the camera. He puts his hand on his shoulder and moves him to the side and the dude goes away easily but when he looks up that mirage he had of you in front of him is gone. You’re gone. 

Looking at the screen of his camcorder, he tries to zoom in and hopefully distinguish you between the dancing bodies and moving lights but he can’t see you, he can’t— 

He feels a presence over his shoulder, a little behind him. Entranced and a little terrified, he turns his head slowly. 

He’s almost nose to nose with you when he does. 

His breath catches. You’re close to him, your face almost resting against his shoulder as you pretend to look at the screen a few seconds longer than him. When you look up, there’s a tiny smile curving your lips upwards and Yeosang can’t help but to give you one back. 

“What are we looking for?” 

Oh. 

He realizes he’s never heard your voice before. He certainly imagined it but whatever it was he knows it doesn’t make it any justice.

Even with the loud music, you’re so close and you speak loud enough for the sweet velvet of your timbre to make him inhale a sharp breath. There’s this slight edge to your stare, a flirtatious energy in the way you laugh at him when he opens his mouth and then closes it again, not really sure of what to answer.

“Cat got your tongue?” 

“Y-you,” he manages to stammer out and then he swallows hard again. “I w-was… I mean, you disappeared for a second.” 

“I just went back around,” you point with your thumb over your shoulder to the entrance of the makeout hall and he nods, understanding, spacing out and hyperfocusing on the situation at the same time. “I thought you were able to keep up,” you pause, eyes tracing his face for a quick moment. You lean in, lips dangerously close to his ear and then you say clear as day the words that might be the reason he loses his sanity: “Can you keep up?” 

Yeosang is a mildly competitive person. He is competitive for the love of it, not because he feels like he has to win. He likes to win, however, it’s not going to be the end of the world if he doesn’t. That’s something he tells himself often, with the career path he’d chosen there’s going to be a lot of highs and a lot of lows, same with cheering, same with anything he ever does in life, really. 

So why is his heart beating so fast at the thought of you daring him to keep up? It’s not the end of the world if he can’t keep up, really. 

But he feels the need to prove you wrong somehow. He senses that you see him like a coward, and in a way he is one, but tonight is the night he finally gets to meet you, to tell you his name, to know yours. 

So he nods once, gaze still holding yours and breath still caught in his throat “Try me.” 

That seems to be the answer you were looking for. You smile fully and Yeosang commits it to his memory, takes a mental picture of it before you’re stepping away and into the crowd of sweaty bodies again. 

And this time, Yeosang is able to keep up. 

He follows you swiftly through the crowd, he doesn’t get caught between the bodies, his eyes don't’ let go of your silhouette at all as you guide him up the stairs, looking over your shoulder only once when you bump into a couple making out against the wall and laughing at them when they shoo you away with their hands. 

His heart is beating so loud he feels it in his ears, the throb of it on his throat and he swallows down the feeling in an attempt to stay calm as it gets louder and louder. You turn a corner he’s never even seen before, into a dark hallway where he has to squint his eyes to not trip over anything. No one else is there and his nerves spike, only to come crashing down when he slams into something, into you. 

Your back against his chest and you don’t really say anything as you try to get a door in front of you two open, he hears the clink-clanking of the lock and he hears you softly curse when you fail at getting it right the first time. It makes his lips curve slightly upwards, it makes this whole thing a little less surreal and a little more human. 

He’s not sure why his body is registering it as a dreamlike experience in the first place. 

The music has faded away slightly. He can tell there’s speakers nearby but none in this space, so that might explain why no one is here. Couples making out and people grinding against each other have a behavior pattern he easily recognizes even if he doesn’t participate in either normally: They like being seen. 

Yeosang could never understand that. 

Even as you get the door open and guide him to what looks to be (judging by some cables on the floor, the pvc pipes and the back of the neon sign that always greets him at the entrance) the rooftop of the club, you hurry him inside and close the door behind you. Resting against it, Yeosang watches as you take in a breath and let it out slowly. 

“Sorry, I’m one of the only few allowed here and we don’t want anyone else finding out they can access this space.” 

“Oh,” he nods, focusing on the camcorder screen again and filming the roof with all his might. He wants to turn to you, keep looking at you in the lights the streetlights cast against the roof and both your faces. “And you got this special treatment because…?” 

“I will answer your questions…” he hears you say and that’s when he takes the chance to look at you, curiosity glinting in your eyes in a way he’s sure it’s reflecting his. “But first you have to answer mine.” 

Yeosang is not sure why he’s trying to play everything off in a cool manner when he’s sure you can see right through the way he puffs out his chest and secures his stance before saying a simple: “Fair enough.” 

And you do, you laugh and peel your back from the door only to walk a few steps, nearing the edge of the roof. You sit down there and his heart quickens before dropping for a completely different reason than before. 

You must see it in his face because you laugh again and shake your head “There’s a tiny balcony, owner’s office. You can come and see if you want.” He doesn’t, instead he nods “I believe you,” he clears his throat and closes the screen of his camcorder, recognizing that maybe this is not the moment to have it ready to record, although he wants to keep fresh and in video everything that’s happening right now. 

That’s the only way he would believe it did happen tomorrow, when he wakes up confused and wondering if he dreamt the whole thing. 

Your smile looks pretty real, though. And also it looks pretty, period. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” 

“Is that your first question?” He can tell he’s stalling, prolonging the moment unconsciously and he swallows his monologuing back down and shakes his head. “No, I’m not, I just trust you.” 

“Why? You don’t know me.” 

“My camera does,” he shrugs, looking down at it and then back up at you again. “I feel like I get to know you a little every time I edit a clip of yours, too.” 

“That camera almost got you an ass whip. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

It’s his time to huff out a laugh “Well, you didn’t exactly give me any time to say anything to you that day.” 

“Well,” you tilt your head, your eyes focusing on the ground for a few seconds, “my friend didn’t exactly give me a choice either.” 

“Thank you.” He finally says, after a bit of silence where the memories of that day came back: The confusion, the realization, the push to the ground and the look you gave him as you pulled your friend away. He’s actually very thankful, taking into account that he wouldn’t know how to throw a punch and not feel bad about it five seconds later. 

“It was really dumb on his part, but I mean… You understand, right?” 

That your friend wanted to beat his ass instead of talking it out like normal human beings? No, he doesn’t understand but he nods anyway. 

“You’ve been filming us for a while now. He thought you might’ve been…” You trail off, not really wanting to say it so he says it for you.

“Stalking you.”

“Yeah,” there’s a soft smile on your lips that leads him to believe you didn’t think that yourself. Is either that or you feel a little bad for him, which is way worse, so he decides to trust his first thought. “What’s all the filming for?” 

“A documentary.” 

That seems to surprise you, your eyebrows raising and falling and your eyes widening a little bit. 

“On clubs?” 

“Dance,” he corrects with a tiny smile of his own, “and the nightlife in Seoul. It’s for my class.” 

“Oh, right, you’re going to school,” you nod as you remember probably the only piece of certain information you have on him, or so he thinks. “So you’re studying to become a filmmaker?”

“A lawyer, actually.”

“Wow,” huffing out a laugh, you shake your head in a little disbelief, “didn’t expect that at all.” 

Yeosang laughs too, a nervous sound more than anything. 

“I don’t look the part?” 

Pausing, you take him in: from his outfit (he is sporting all-black attire today, black shirt, black short sleeve button shirt on top of it and baggy black pants) to the way he stands a safe distance and your eyes even go from his face to his hair. He feels like staying still while you gather whatever information you need to answer, but then he also has the need to fix his fringe and tug his button shirt down a little even if it does nothing. 

“You look like a very artistic guy.” 

“And lawyers are not artistic,” he nods and then squints his eyes at you a little, joking at the best of his abilities right now. “Is that what you’re trying to say?” 

“I just never met one who was,” you say in return, squinting your eyes back at him. “Guess now I have.” 

He can literally feel himself blushing. 

This is bad. This is very bad. 

Lucky for him, you don’t notice or, if you do, you don’t make any comments about it. 

There’s another beat of silence that stretches and Yeosang decides to walk around the roof. He’s careful to not step on anything he’s not supposed to as he walks towards the back of the club’s sign. 

He turns to you after looking at the metal foundation of it for a solid minute, blinking rapidly when he finds you got up and walked closer, standing where he was before “Do you have more questions?” 

“Why me?” 

Yeosang swallows hard for the umpteenth time tonight. He has a hundred million ways to answer that question and he’s trying to pick the one answer that doesn’t give any more of this weird crush he has on you fully away. 

However, he can’t help to go the truthful route about it. 

“I like the way you dance. I… I saw you a long time ago, before picking up the film class, and I was just completely, um…” He pauses, tongue wetting his lips in a nervous tick and he swears he sees you follow his unconscious movement with your eyes, but it hardly matters when he's at a loss for words. “I was really entranced by your dancing, I guess you could say. And so when I started the documentary and saw you again I just… There’s no way I couldn’t have you in it, even from afar.” 

“And why didn’t you explain this to me before?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He answers that too quickly, without any hesitation and it makes him blink a few times before laughing it off. 

“I mean, I wanted to, I just n-never found the right time, I g-guess.” 

Slowly and after a few seconds, you give him a nod. 

When you open your mouth to answer, Yeosang feels like everything's in slow motion: Here it comes, the moment you call him a coward, the moment you mock him for taking so long in approaching you. Even tonight, he wasn’t the one who initiated this, you were. 

“You’re shy.” 

Instead, he’s relieved by the knowledge that you’re more understanding than what he initially thought. Yes, he is shy. He’s shyer than usual when it comes to pretty people, even more when they poke at his curiosity and fascination. 

“I should’ve guessed that you were, hm,” you nod again, laughing a little aftwards. “I don’t know why I thought there would be this whole mystery behind you not coming over and talking to us.” 

“Have you thought about it before?”

Yeosang swears he said it in his head. To his account, he asked the question in his mind while he nodded and came up with a response that takes him out of the hole he dug himself in. But you look up at him with raised eyebrows and a curl to your lips that he’s growing used to.

“I have,” you answer without an ounce of shame pouring out of you. You seem proud of it, even, and Yeosang wonders if you're as outspoken in every other aspect of your life as you are with him. “When someone films you from a distance and doesn't even tell you their name it makes you wonder just a tiny bit.” The last part seems to be a joke and Yeosang's lips curl upwards in return. 

“I'm Yeosang,” he doesn't extend a hand for you to take, he stays put in his place as his own name sounds foreign coming out of his mouth. “I… I'm s-sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I'm—”

“Shy.” You answer for him and he shrugs a second later. 

“That's not really the reason, I… Oh, this is going to sound so weird,” he mumbles under his breath but you manage to hear him and laugh a little, shaking your hand to signal that it doesn't matter. “I thought it would, I don't know, break the magic a little?” 

Your expression turns from slightly amused to slightly disappointed again in a second and he regrets following your lead and being honest with you as well. 

“The magic?” 

He needs to find better words to explain himself, but nonsense comes out of him without a second thought and he can physically feel himself cringing at the words. 

“Yeah, like it would actually force me to get this over with,” he shakes his camcorder and then closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as he, once again, attempts to climb up the hole he dug himself in. “—I mean, talking to you would mean asking for the interview that I want to ask for and, once I get that footage, I feel like I'm never going to see you again.”

Getting in out in one breath, Yeosang opens his eyes to find you staring at him with something he can't figure out. 

It goes away after you scan his face with your eyes and find something he doesn't know what it is. 

“That's a little dramatic, don't you think?” 

Now, when you put it like that…

He huffs out a laugh and then takes in a little bit of air that he desperately needs “I guess.” 

Laughing at him for what it feels like a thousand times tonight, you look at him up and down and seem to consider something. After a few seconds pass, your smile turns soft and it’s your turn to take in a breath. 

“Y/N.” 

“Hm?” 

“My name,” you say, almost cutting him off. “You didn’t ask.” 

Yeosang wants to smash his head against the neon sign. 

“O-oh of course, sorry. Y/N,” he repeats with a nod. “Pretty. Your name!” He corrects himself immediately. “I-I meant your name is pretty, not you— I mean, you are! You are really pretty a-and…” 

Yeosang watches helplessly as you seem to revel in the state you put him in with the simple whisper of your name and the accusatory joke. 

But you don’t mention it, only turn around and let your knees touch the floor, near the edge of the rooftop again. This time, you rest your chin in your hand and your elbow against the edge and you signal at him to sit down next to you. 

He does. 

“You wanted to interview me?” 

Now he can answer that without messing things up “Yes.” 

“Hm,” your eyes turn from him to the part of the street visible from the angle you’re both sitting at and then your brows almost touch each other as you think. And think. And Yeosang can do anything but stare at your profile and swallow hard at the realization that the neon lights and the darkness of a club would never do your beauty justice. 

Now, he had seen you in broad daylight before. But it was quick and he was mildly distracted by the almost getting beat up emotions so he didn’t appreciate it fully. Now, even though it is nighttime and the neon sign casts a shadow over you, he realizes it’s the first time he gets to see you upclose. 

Up close and in silence, not like the few minutes before where he managed to embarrass himself like no one has probably ever embarrassed themselves in front of their crush. 

“I think,” you say, after a while of just staring at the street where he was quietly watching you instead, “that you really overestimated me and how interesting I can be.” 

“What makes you say that?” He asks in a whisper and you smile, turning to him.

“My story is no different than the story of my friend Kazuha downstairs. Or my classmates. Or any other ballet student in this city.” 

“You do ballet?” 

There’s this trace of surprise on your face that must mimic his, but he thinks it’s because you thought he knew that already. 

“Yes, I’m… I go to K-Arts, Yeosang.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“You didn’t?” 

He laughs a little again and shakes his head “Not a stalker, remember?” He attempts to joke and it works because you’re scrunching your nose and nodding the second after. 

“Right, we already established that.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Well, I go to K-Arts. I’m a senior, I’m supposed to focus if I want to get into the university’s dance company fully and all.” 

That catches his attention “Fully?” 

“Yeah, I don’t mean to brag or anything,” you start and your tone gives away that you are, in fact, bragging. Yeosang doesn’t mind it a bit. “But I’m good at ballet, too, not just at… Shaking my ass to a Kendrick song.” 

He giggles and you roll your eyes with a smile on your lips still. 

“So I have joined them for a few performances based on my grades and skills and all of that.” 

Humming, Yeosang looks down at his camcorder and then at you again “And all of your classmates get to do the same?” 

“No,” you answer in a murmur, frowning. “Why?” 

“Then that makes you different from, at least, some of them.” 

He can’t tell if you look annoyed or impressed at the fact that he managed to turn your words against you, but you blink rapidly a few times and Yeosang speaks up before you can tell him anything in return. 

“Let me interview you. This film probably won’t leave my classroom and then it will gather dust in my hard drive for eternity after I pass the class, but it would feel very incomplete without you.” 

You say nothing and he clears his throat, feeling a little dumb for even trying but before he can backpedal on the offer, you’re speaking. 

“Right now?” 

The question doesn’t have any shyness laced to it, but it’s soft. It’s like you can’t believe fully that he wants to interview you and he wants to ask if that’s the case, but he also doesn’t want to accuse you of anything or, worse, assume your feelings. 

He’s big on assuming, he’s trying to be better. 

“Oh,” he shakes his head quickly. “Not if you don’t want to! I… D-don’t feel pressured to say yes, I was… Was that too pushy? I’m sorry.” 

“Yeosang—” 

“I mean it! I have pleeenty of footage. My friend Yunho actually it’s on the documentary too! He’s such a talker, he loves to talk, so I have like a thousand hours worth of interviews and—” 

His rambling comes to an end when you hand closes over his on the rough material of the edge of the roof. He looks at it and then at you and he notices he’s breathing a little hard and that his heart is racing so fast he can barely hear the already faint sound of electronic music and the voices that served as your background music since you two got up there. 

“I want to do it,” you assure him and he swallows hard when your thumb traces three small circles on his skin. One, two, three and then your touch is gone and he can finally breathe. “Just not tonight. I look like a mess.” 

“You truly don’t,” he mumbles without really thinking about it and you smile. 

“Do you have something to do tomorrow night or can you come over here for the interview?” 

“Here?” 

“Mmmhm,” you look around the roof and then at the back of the neon sign, and then you turn a little and point to where the light the neon sign casts is clear and cover a spot on the roof large enough for both of you to sit. You get up and he doesn’t. “That must look cool on video, don’t you think? I got a lot of pictures there already.” 

When you turn around, that’s the first time Yeosang catches a trace of shyness on your face. 

“If you want.”

He smiles fully, widely and the corners of his mouth hurt a little because of it. 

You walk backwards, towards the door and Yeosang knows you’re making your big escape so he doesn’t follow you at all. “See you tomorrow, then?” You yell when you almost reach the exit and he nods.

“See you tomorrow!” He yells back and, when the roof is devoid of that life you seem to bring into everything or so he thinks, he turns to the street and catches the bouncer looking up at him.

He looks angry.

He’s also a very big dude.

“Shit.” 

Yeosang believes that it was a blessing to romanticize the idea of who you were before actually meeting you. Because, as much as he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, his crush tells him that he wouldn’t mind becoming your friend instead. 

He came back the next night and the night after that and the night after that… No, wait, that night he stayed in and studied for a quiz he had the next day and then the next day he went back to see you at the club. 

It was obvious by the third night that the both of you were using the interview and documentary as an excuse. Yes, Yeosang did film a few bits and precise questions here and there, but the rest of the time you two spent together was just an endless conversation that he could stay in for the rest of his days. 

Not one dull moment, Yeosang had never met anyone who makes him talk so much. He usually just listens to his friends and adds to the chat if needed but you don’t even need to ask him a question to get him going.

It makes his heart soar, it feels fulfilled of a need he never even knew he had: Being heard. 

Being heard and understood. 

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to do anything at all.” You tell him one night, on week two of this extended interview. 

He doesn’t even have your number yet. 

But he’s unable to think about the rationals and specifics of whatever the hell is going on when he’s staring at the stars, his back on the cold and dusty roof, his head next to one of those pipes and his arm brushing against yours. 

“Nothing at all?” 

“No,” you breathe out, your other arm resting above you, your fingers reaching and ghosting the hairs that stick out of the hat he’s wearing. “I want to dance and then I want to eat something yummy and then I want to sleep. I don’t want to…” you trail off.

And he understands.

“You don’t want to worry.” 

“Exactly,” you return right away, in a whisper and then after two seconds you turn to him. 

He’s already staring at you. 

“I don’t want to worry.” 

“I don’t want to worry either.” 

Yeosang is not sure where this vulnerability is coming from. 

Maybe his mind tricked him into thinking he was better off not sharing certain things with the people who love him the most. 

He’s glad you’re allowing him to explore that talkative part of himself without any real judgment. You give him faces and once over when he says something silly, something not usual, something out of his comfort zone in terms of sharing… And then you go back to being understanding, to furthering the conversation and actually ask him about it instead of talking over it like he notices he’s been allowing others to do all these years. 

Not that they realized they were doing it either. His friends have never been malicious in their actions or intentions, but they are much more outgoing than he is. 

And so are you. 

But you seem to have a special interest in what he has to say. 

And so it becomes really difficult not to share and grow closer every night. It comes to a point where he can start to read your eyes and expressions, where he starts telling what you’re feeling without actually asking about it. 

One night, as you both sit under that part of the roof that catches the neon light of the club’s sign, he catches you staring at his camcorder with something somber crossing your features. 

“We can stop doing this anytime you want, you know?” 

His murmur takes you out of whatever is actually going through your head and that little crease in between your eyebrows goes away, softness coating your eyes a second later and, when they look up at him, he all but feels his heart stop. Which is incredibly dangerous. 

“Did you get all the videos you need already?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but that’s not why I keep coming back here. I feel like you know that already.” 

Lips curling upwards in a soft smile, you nod “I want you to tell me anyway.” 

Yeosang hesitates for a second, trying to find the way to put into words what he actually meant by that, but he fears he doesn’t really know either. 

He decides to go with what his heart is telling him “I like spending time with you beyond the interview.” 

Your smile grows wider. 

“Me too,” you whisper back, like it’s a secret. “You’re also not a good interviewer, Yeosang.” 

It’s silent for a second and then you both laugh. 

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt in between laughs and you push his arm a little. “Noted.” 

Laughter dies and you seem to be thinking something over. You open your mouth and then close it and Yeosang imagines you’re weighing the possible outcomes of what you’re about to tell him. Although, when you do, he doesn’t think it’s anything crazy. 

“I want to see you in daylight,” you start and before he has the chance to agree, you keep going. “I mean, I already did, at your school. But that was for like… thirty seconds. And I wasn’t really paying that much attention to you. But now I am and I want to see you under the sun.” 

Yeosang fucking blushes.

Again. 

His reply comes as soft as if he’s not having heart palpitations and shortness of breath at the moment.

“I’m sure we can arrange that.” 

You nod and then blink a few times, thinking it over it seems. 

“It’s spring,” you start and Yeosang nods, “and I like flowers…” 

He takes a mental note of that.

“And there’s a pretty glass dome at the botanic greenhouse…” 

Setting his lips on a straight line so he doesn’t laugh at how cute you look trying to invite him to it without actually doing it, Yeosang contains himself and then nods one last time “Tomorrow?” 

He enjoys making you smile so wide. 

“At ten.” 

When gets to his dorm, Yeosang tries everything in his power to not label it as a date. 

You’re friends.

He’s happy being your friend. 

If he could tell his heart to keep it down, he would. 

Kazuha frowns at you, arms crossed as she leans into the doorframe of your room. 

You both live in one of the bigger dorms, Zuha’s family has money and she brought you along after insisting she didn't want to be alone in this two bedroom apartment with a shared bathroom. 

Because that's what actually is, a freaking apartment. 

It's truly more than what you deserve, truly, but she's not one to back down when she truly wants something. 

Like right now. 

“So you're going on a date with this guy.” 

“Yeosang,” you correct her, “and it's not a date.” 

She sighs, a little exasperated, and shakes her head at a flower-pattern dress you hold up for her approval. “Too on the nose. What do you call it then?” 

“Hanging out with a friend.” There's really no doubt in your voice even if you're scavenging your closet for something that makes you look extra nice. “So, not a date.” 

“You haven't stopped talking about him so I guess you can see why I assumed it was a date.” 

You look up at her, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips “Then you know his name is Yeosang. Caught ya.” 

Zuha rolls her eyes and you decide to go with one of your regular feel good outfits, one that you know makes you look good without trying much. 

“I don't care what his name is! That's not my point!” 

“Then what's your point?” 

“He's a… dude.” 

“That I've formally known for almost a month.” 

Throwing herself in your bed, your lips curl upwards again when you catch her dramatic expression and hear the over exaggerated huff she lets out. 

“Could you maybe communicate what you're actually thinking instead of doing… whatever this is?” 

She braces herself in her forearms and looks at you with a frown “You said it was cute the last time!” 

Last time you went out with someone, she means. It was nothing serious, merely a movie and a dinner and a kiss at your doorstep before deciding dating took a lot of effort and a lot of time you didn't have. 

So that's why this thing with Yeosang is not a date. 

Expectations can't go up if it's not a date. 

But last time your friend was also just being dramatic to commit to the overprotective bit, saying Yeonjun rubbed on her and what not. 

This time, you can tell she means it. 

So you give her a look and her indignant expression dissipates until she's pouting and letting herself fall on the bed again. 

“I mean, why can't you hang out with him in the club? Where are we all three minutes away?” 

She's so cute. 

“Because I told him that I wanted to see him during the day and the club is closed.” 

“You invited him?” 

You stare at her disbelief with a raised eyebrow and her expression goes away when she realizes the dramatics are truly not working on you. 

“Okay, I’ll shut up.” 

Smile widening, you shake your head at her “There’s truly nothing to worry about, Zuha.” 

“You’re my best friend,” she argues, with a pout, “of course I worry.” 

Kazuha lets out a tiny screech when you pout back at her because she knows that, in the next few seconds, you’re going to tackle her with a bear hug.

And that’s exactly what you, before she even gets the chance to stand up from your bed. She pushes you to the side and you both stare at the ceiling for a second, giggling and breathless. 

“You must really like him if you asked him out. You don’t ask people out.” 

Suddenly, you feel like your breath is fully taken away. You think about it for a second but there’s no use in denying the obvious. You were never someone who fought to suppress their emotions, someone who shy away from what they truly want, but when it comes to things like this (love or attraction, you suppose) it’s a little complicated. 

Because you have no issue going home with someone you met at the club, making out with them in a dark corner outside of it or in the middle of the dancefloor if the time calls for it, but you don’t ever talk to them. 

Not like you’ve been talking to Yeosang, anyway. 

“I really do.” 

When you hear her sigh, you both giggle again.

And then she helps you get ready with soft city pop coming out of your laptop’s speaker and hooks one of her necklaces around your neck. It has your birth flower as a pendant and, when you ask how she has this, she simply answers: “Boys will give you anything as a gift as long as it looks feminine enough. He didn’t know my birthday.” 

It’s no mystery why she’s exclusively dating women now. 

Fifteen more minutes pass and, just as you’re heading out the door, a paper slides underneath it. You hear the heavy steps of the building’s manager (who is insistent in delivering mail the old way, just to get a chance to snoop in your personal lifes) as they pass your door and the next one and only when the sound completely disappears, you pick the mail up. 

One envelope is for you, one is for Kazuha. 

And it suddenly hits you both. 

The company results. The ones that tell you if you got in or not. 

Gulping, you notice the difference between your envelope and Zuha’s. Hers has the K-Arts logo and yours is blank. 

Your gut tells you what the results are before even opening it, but you follow your best friend to the couch and sit down in front of her before rushing her to open the envelope. There’s barely an ounce of patience in your system as she reads the words and you follow the movement of her pupils. 

“O-oh my god, Y/N, I got in!” 

“Into the company?” 

“Yes!”

You’re sure your neighbors are tired of hearing your screams. Of joy, of anger, of whatever. They must be tired.

But right now that’s the only possible reaction and your heart is heavy with both happiness and pride. You’re so proud of her, you tell her as much and hug her and then get up and jump up and down a little with her still in your arms before the moment passes.

And now it’s your turn. 

If she notices the difference in appearance of the envelopes, or the way your face falls with worry and your fake smile doesn’t even hold, she doesn’t mention it. 

It doesn’t take even half a paragraph to read your rejection from the company you’ve dreamed of joining. 

“Wha… Why?” your friends ask and you shrug. 

“It doesn’t say— Wait,” you notice that the letter is folded at the bottom so it could fit properly inside the envelope. When you unfold it and read the text, you let out a scream of surprise. 

Zuha pushes your shoulder and then leans in, trying to read as well “Read it the entire thing to me!” 

“They rejected me here but it says: However, we took the liberty of sending your profile to the internationally renowned classical ballet company, The Royal Ballet, and they have decided to offer you a spot in their school to further your education and train with their techniques for no longer than a year.” You stare up at Kazuha and her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are wide as well and you feel the familiar prick of tears in your eyes, but you blink them away. “If your performance is up to their standards, they have decided to offer you a spot as a member of their corps de ballet, with a full salary after six months of your second year with them.” 

Lowering the letter, you stare up at your friend again. There’s silence for a few seconds where you two try to make your brains compute the information and what it all means, what it all implies, what would happen if you say yes to this opportunity.

When you say yes to this opportunity. 

And then you’re both screaming again, her arms around you as she pushes you up to your feet to jump in a circle, excitement pouring out the both of you. You realize you’re crying when a sob escapes you and she stops jumping to hug you even tighter. 

“You deserve this, Y/N. Of course they wouldn’t let you stay in this small company, of course they wouldn’t— Oh, your makeup!” She reprimands when she pulls away to catch your eye, but her thumbs are swiping away the tears either way. You pout. “A full salary after a year and half, too!” She pauses and her mouth mirrors yours, her eyes filled with tears as well. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Zuha…” 

“— So, so proud.” 

It isn't until she pinches your cheeks that you remember you have somewhere to be. 

“Oh fuck, what time is it?” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“He likes you,” she says with a tiny smile, “he’ll wait.” 

That calms your sudden panic and you nod, her fingers pinching your cheeks one more time. 

“Okay.”

“He better.” She adds in a threat and you laugh. 

“Okay.” 

Yeosang waits for you, just as your best friend said. 

He leans against the entry wall with squinted eyes because the sun is shining bright today and before you get to him you get a second to take in how he looks in the daylight.

His skin glistens slightly, like he put on moisturizer and sunscreen before he got here (all green flags in your opinion) and he’s dressed in all black again, casually. You realized that when he goes to the club he’s a little dressed up, as you are every night as well. Or, at least, the way he stylizes his clothes makes him look different. 

It’s okay, you think, I’m also someone else entirely during the day time. 

You ignore the weight in your heart at the thought that you’re possibly leaving him and this newfound friendship behind in a few months. 

Why is it that the good things, the ones that excite your spirit, always last so little? 

“I realized,” he starts as soon as he sees you, a smile brightens up his face immediately, “that I don’t have your number.” 

That didn’t even cross your mind. It should’ve, but it didn’t. You see, you can’t even start imagining a text thread with Yeosang. With him, everything feels like it should be this way. 

With him, in front of you. In person. 

Your heart aches a little again but you push it away. You won’t let very obviously good and rewarding news get in the way of this not-date. 

Even if you’re dying to tell him. 

Instead, you shrug and offer him your sunglasses “You never asked.” 

He looks at what you're offering and frowns and then you point up at the sun. 

“It’s bright inside as well?” 

You nod. 

“You’ve never been?” 

He smiles like he’s been caught and your mouth drops open, a little scandalized by this new information. 

“Yeosang!”

“You never asked.” 

Rolling your eyes, you head to the booth that sells the tickets to go inside but he hurries to get in front of you… Two tickets in hand. 

Coming to a full stop, you tell your heart to behave. It shouldn’t react this way over something so simple. 

And yet, it does. 

“I forgive you for twisting my own words against me.” 

“I forgive you for being late,” you’re about to tell him he’s doing it, again, but then he drops his head to the side and looks at you with a little worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” 

More than okay, actually. Everything is spectacular and I haven’t even told my parents about the offer. I haven’t told you and I might be getting your hopes up even though I’m leaving. Oh, I also didn’t get in the company I told you about. And I’m terrified of leaving the country and possibly spending the rest of my days somewhere I can’t even call home.

“Yeah,” you nod and, to possibly distract him from the way the pitch of your voice went up a little, you take his arm in yours and start walking towards the door, “everything good. Got a little too carried away with the whole get ready part of the day.” 

If he notices the way you’re not even glancing in his direction, he doesn’t mention it at all. 

“Well, you look beautiful.” 

Now, that makes you look at him. 

He coughs a little and looks away. 

“You always do.” He adds and you all but laugh at the way he’s so bold and then so shy. 

“You look really good too, Yeosang. Always,” you add as well, bumping your hip into his softly. “Now that I’ve seen you in broad daylight, I can confirm.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh a little and he turns to you as you walk down the initial part of the building. There’s a few rooms to walk through but you both seem to disregard that, walking straight to the conversatory automatic doors. Your breath gets a little caught up in your throat. 

He truly is a beautiful man. 

“Not an ounce of disappointment?” 

Faking an offended gasp, you shake your head. “Not at all!” 

Yeosang nods, taking a look around the room. 

“Good,” his voice comes out in a murmur, but you are close enough to hear him. “I’m glad.” 

Finally, you only smile and look around the room as well. 

It’s been awhile and there’s some things that have changed, but the place gives you the same feel it did when you first came. Like a year after it opened, because it was packed every single day before that. Now, not so much. You see a woman with two kids and a stroller, an older man with his hands behind his back walking around without staring at the plants much and a tourist-looking couple taking a picture in front of a massive potted plant. 

It was hot then and it seems even hotter down, the humidity clinging to you almost immediately. They are trying to replicate a tropical forest in this area, so the plants that thrive in the conservatory climate all require this level of humidity anyway. You should’ve mentioned that, or remembered it before even stepping in. 

You came with your family, you took pictures in front of some plants you’ve never seen before, you bragged about it to the kids in your ballet class and then never returned. But it is really—

“This place looks so not like I expected it to look.” 

Not only does Yeosang manage to make it seem like you both are thinking about the same thing all the time, he also sparks your curiosity like no other person ever has. 

“How come you’ve never been here?” You ask as he lets go of your arm, taking out a small (but semi-professional) digital camera. He doesn’t turn it on, just secures the cord around his wrist and turns to you at the questions. 

“I don’t really enjoy crows. I guess I said that I would come when the buzz of the opening died down and then never remembered to check it out after that.” 

His answer makes you tilt your head as you think. 

“You don’t like crowds?” 

He shakes his head at you. 

“But you went to the club almost every single night?” 

Again, he looks like he’s been caught doing something ridiculous. There’s shyness oozing off of him, but also a hint of shame that you don’t like at all. 

“Is it the right time to admit that I went to that club to see you?”

You squint your eyes “And to film your documentary.” 

“Yes,” he nods, “but there’s only enough footage one can get before it becomes a little obvious that I was there only for you. Not only the last few weeks, I mean…” 

You’re guessing he’s expecting you to be a little freak out by that, but you’ve both discussed this before, that first night when you two finally got away from the crowd to talk. So you’re not freaked out but you are a little nervous because you know what it means.

You’ve always known what it means. 

It’s just a little bit heavy on your heart today because you know you can’t fully carry this out without hurting him or yourself in the process, not when you’re leaving anyways. 

Again, you almost let that feeling ruin the moment, this moment, these days that’s exclusively for the two of you to enjoy. Those feelings don’t belong in this, in the soft embrace of Yeosang’s company and understanding. He also deserves to enjoy the little tour you’re about to give him, to enjoy the ambiance the fake waterfalls and rocks provide. 

“Okay,” you say with a smile that seems to get rid of the shame in his expression, “I’m flattered— and glad, to be honest. I enjoy your company.” 

“I enjoy yours.” He says back and offers you his arm again. You take it without thinking twice. 

“Let’s see how much you enjoy it after I talk your ear off with my guided tour.” 

He laughs “I get one of those?” 

“For free,” you add with a nod, turning to him, “or, well, the small price of your sanity.” 

He pretends to think about it for a second but after you squint your eyes at him in suspicion and fake offense at all the thinking, he concedes. “Sounds good, reasonable even.” 

“Mhm.” 

Feeling giddy, you go on and on about the place. About what you remember from the actual guided tour you paid for back in the day. About the plants and the importance of the place during the cold winter months and Yeosang listens to you even though what you’re explaining is obvious. 

You drag him to the second floor and then to the seed room (a room where they explain the different types of seeds) and then to the library and then to the cafe to take a tiny break from the heat that follows the conservatory and the rooms around it. 

Yeosang takes photos the entire time. He records, he takes your picture in front of an emulated dessert and a few cacti with tiny and beautiful flowers blooming from them. He lets you take his arm and, by the time you’re both out of the dome and into the path that leads to the park attached to this botanical garden, you’re both walking shoulder to shoulder. 

And your pinkies are brushing. 

“You shouldn’t have,” you say to break the comfy silence you’re both in as you enter the bridge connecting one side of the park with the other. “Next time they’re on me.” 

Shaking your coffee cup, he huffs something close to a laugh but when you look at him from the corner of your eye, his face is flushed. 

“Love when you say that.” 

Behave, beating heart. 

“What?” You ask in a whisper. 

“When you say there’s going to be a next time.” 

Oh, the universe is funny. Silly. A goof, a meanie even, for playing with your emotions this way. 

“Yeosang…” 

You can tell the moment he makes the decision. One that takes a lot of bravery, one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes a shiver run down your spine. He intertwines your finger with his, slowly, with a caress when you reach the end of the bridge and move to the side to let other people, who are not even paying attention to you, pass by. 

A few seconds later your hand is fully intertwined with his and you try no to cry because he’s looking at you with a speck of hope in his eyes. Hope for a future you can’t offer.

Because you’re leaving. 

“You told me that you like when I tell you things,” he starts and you lick your lips, nodding as a reply because you can’t find your voice even though you should. You should stop him. You should stop this. “And I feel like there’s no point in not saying out loud what you already know. Because you know, don’t you?” 

Even now, when there’s a joke at the tip of your tongue, the only thing you can do is soften your kind of worried expression and nod again. 

“I like you,” he breathes out and he doesn’t say it in a whisper, like you expect it. 

He doesn’t say it in between kisses and loud music, with the purpose of getting you into a dark secluded corner and having his way with you, or with the intention of getting you home and ghost you the next day like you’re used to. 

When Yeosang tells you that he likes you, it comes with the soft spring breeze grazing your face and a halo of light behind him. It comes with the sun coming down, with the tiredness that comes with spending the entire day laughing and talking and walking around with someone you care about, with the faint smell of coffee and the cold of your cup freezing the palm of your free hand even though you feel warmth spread inside of you. 

“I don’t expect you to say it back because we just met a few weeks ago. And I also don’t want you to think that my tiny crush is what motivated me to include you in my documentary. Or film you. Or be a borderline creep around you or your group of friends in the club, I just— I’m okay being your friend,” he clarifies and you want to huff out a tiny laugh because he looks so nervous and yet his voice doesn’t waver once, not like when you first met. He’s sure of what he’s saying and you believe him immediately, too. He let’s go of your hand to gesture with his, “I’m okay with you not liking me back. I’m sure I’ll grow out of it or tell you if I can’t move on, but—” 

“Breathe.” 

“—But I want you to stay in my life. I like spending time with you and I—” 

“Yeosang.” 

He blinks, realizing that he’s word vomiting for literally nothing. 

Because, at his confession, you can’t help but smile widely. And then that smile shrinks a little at the sudden realization that you need to tell him. 

Now. 

But you want to give him the grace of not outright rejecting him at the edge of the bridge.

“Come here.” 

Taking his hand back in yours, you ignore his confused stare and drag him towards where you initially wanted to enjoy your coffee: There’s a small pond where you can sit at a reasonable distance, to not interfere with the birds drinking from it and the fishes swimming in it. 

From your bag, you take out the tablecloth you stole from your living room table (with Zuha’s permission, of course) and lay it down on the grass before practically throwing yourself in it. 

As you sit, Yeosang does as well and you let out a sigh, thinking about the pond. 

Admiring it from a distance, like Yeosang admired you for months. 

Possibly the same way you’ll have to admire him now that you’re leaving. 

“I didn’t get in.” 

He turns his head to you, a frown creasing his eyebrows “What?” 

“They rejected me today, that’s why I was a little late,” you curve your lips into a tense smile and at the realization that you might be feeling a little guilty for lying to him (you are), he shakes his head. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize for something so silly, I don’t mind waiting for you,” he says and you can’t help but take the meaning of his words and extend it to the situation he knows nothing about yet. “What do you mean they rejected you?” You shrug as an answer and he lets out a breathy, indignant laugh “Why would they do that?” 

The fact that he’s getting offended on your behalf assures your entire being that he cares. He cares, he cares, he cares and you’re about to leave someone who cares about you behind. 

You’re about to leave so many people behind. 

“They rejected me because another company wants me to join their team and they probably wanted to narrow my options,” you shrug again and you watch as his face turns from offended to confused to surprised to happy for you in just a few seconds and he changes his weight to his knees, his arms opened and you answer the question before he even gets to ask. “The royal ballet.” 

“The royal ballet?” 

You roll your eyes, wacking the arm closest to you with minimal force “Do you even know what that is?” 

“Of course I know what that is! Y/N!” He wiggles his arms and you get on your knees as well, rounding his neck with yours, hugging him close to you. He hugs you back and it’s tight, it’s warm, it’s friendly and at the same time it feels weighted with his romantic feelings towards you. You enjoy it, you enjoy it even more when he sways you side to side, like something within him knows he has to comfort you. “Congratulations!” 

“Thank you,” you return softly and start following his movements, swaying you both as well until it gains enough impulse to make you fall against the soft material of the tablecloth and grass almosts gets in your eye but you pay it no mind because Yeosang’s arm is under your head and he’s so close to you that you feel like screaming (in the best way possible). “If you know what the royal ballet is, do you know where the main school is located, right?” 

He nods.

“You understand they want me to go there, right?” 

He nods again and you take in some air. 

“Yeosangie…” 

He smiles at the nickname. 

“I like you,” you start, soft again as if saying it louder would make the words that follow it hurt any less. They hurt you, they are going to hurt him as well. “But I think we should be friends, I think— No, I’m sure I’m taking their offer.” 

Yeosang stays quiet for a few seconds. You cuddle into his touch further, without really wanting it to and he raises his hand, his knuckle caressing your cheek softly. 

It’s not a platonic touch, it’s not a platonic scenario either despite what you just told him and you’re sure he’s not doing it on purpose. You’re not doing it on purpose. 

It just feels natural to move closer to him. To revel in the feel of his fingertips against your skin. 

“You do know I didn’t show up at the club night after night just to be romantically involved with you, right?” 

Nodding, his hand on your face slips down a little and he cups your chin with your fingers. 

“I’m happy with us being friends, I’m happy with you staying in my life.” 

“But I’m leaving…” 

“London it’s not that far… It’s like—” 

He looks like he wants to say something but instead he frowns and looks to the sky, a slight pout on his lips you feel the need to kiss. 

“Yeosang?” You ask after what feels like a minute.

“Eight hours?” 

“Huh?” 

He laughs a little “I think it’s an eight hour difference. I can stay up late, you can wake up early, we can find a way to keep in touch.” 

Turning back to you, his hand cups your cheek instead and his thumb slides against the skin. When he turned back to you, he moved a little bit closer. You’re sure it wasn’t intentional but then the words he said just a few minutes ago make your heart race.

I’m happy with us being friends.

Why? You don’t want him to be happy with you two just being friends. You want him to kiss you. You want him to not understand you and to disregard your wishes and tell you he wants you forever. 

You know that you couldn’t extend the same sentiment to him. But he’s patient and kind and so, so polite and you’re not sure how anyone here or all the way in London could compare to him. 

Again, your heart is mourning the loss of something you never truly had. 

But you try to learn from his patience and let out a tiny sigh before resigning your result to insist on whatever you two have going on. 

“Okay.”

It’s your turn to look at the sky above you, the orange gradually fading into the perfect canvas for stars to paint allows you to finally, finally let the entirety of the news sink in. 

“Oh, my god.” 

“Hm?”

You sit up straight, mouth open and a crease in between your brows.

“Oh my fucking god. I’m going to London and my parents don’t even know about it yet.” 

“They don’t know?”

“I had a date with you!” Looking at him, you don’t miss the way he blushes and you feel yourself heat up a little too at your choice of words. “Only Zuha knows… She was with me when we got the envelopes.” 

“Well… Do you feel like you want to tell them in a special way? Because you can just call them, if you want.”

Gulping, you shake your head slightly “M-my mom hates calls.” 

He pauses for a bit, you see him blink twice and then stare at the corner of his lips as they lift up a little.

“Are you nervous about telling them?” 

You realize you are. You’ve never been nervous about telling them anything at all. They celebrate your successes and help you through your hard times even if you hold your chin up and insist you’re okay. You’re sure they’re going to be over the moon about the news. 

Why are you hesitating to tell them, then?

“Do you… Do you think they’ll let me go?” 

He smiles fully now, sitting up as well. “I think they’re proud of you and they’ll be proud of you whether you’re here or in London,” he shrugs and then he adds, “I’m proud of you.” 

It makes you smile. 

“And I just met you. I can’t imagine how they must feel,” your eyes roll instantly at the attempted joke but you huff out a laugh anyway, “and they’ve known since forever, I mean—” 

You extend your arm to push him a little and he falls back down into the tablecloth with a fake cry. “Shut up.” 

“Did I lie?” 

“Kang Yeosang, shut up.” 

The next few months feel like a montage you can see in one of those coming of age movies. Not a romantic comedy, but a coming of age. 

You tell your parents about London and they go through all the stages of grief before congratulating you and telling you they’re proud, they’re happy for you. You tell your friends and it’s a similar experience, except that, instead of celebrating with hugs and a dinner at a fancy restaurant, they drag you to the dinner at a fast food joint at the side of the street and then to the club. 

They celebrate Kazuha’s acceptance into the university’s company as well, of course, and the next morning you both nurse a hangover that repercutes on you days after that as well. It’s all worth it, it is every time but Zuha and you make sure to complain every day until it fully goes away. 

You still hang out with Yeosang. Every single time there’s an ache in your heart that dreads the moment you part (for the day but also… forever, maybe?) and you conceal it with smiles and teasing jokes that don’t cross the line. You hang out with him at his dorm, which you were hesitant to do at first but he explained: 

“My roommate is never here anymore. His girlfriend got a new apartment and so he basically lives with her.” 

You turn to the side of the room, where there are pictures of said roommate with Yeosang and a few people you think you recognize from the club, but you also can’t be sure. You take the guy in every single picture is Yunho, his roomie, and the girl he’s kissing on the cheek is his girlfriend. She looks your age, so you turn to Yeosang with a raised eyebrow and he laughs a little.

“They’re rich.” 

“Him included?”

“Mhm,” he sighs, clicking away on his computer to chop some footage and add some in its place, “he likes to cosplay being poor.” 

“That’s insane.” 

He gives you another affirmative sound and you move around the tiny space two times before calming your nerves of being alone in a room with him and sitting down in his bed, facing his left side since he’s sitting at his desk. 

“More room for you, I guess.”

You notice his smile fading bit by bit, lips forming a tense line a second after. “It’s a little lonely,” he admits. “All of my friends are really busy lately. Which, you know, it’s fine. It’s life. We’re all growing up and I feel like I can’t quite catch up to them.” 

“You did just get into the firm you wanted to, though. You feel like you can’t catch up to the direction they're going?” 

He smiles “Well, first of all, I got an internship—” 

“And they’re giving you the job after the internship ends, we all know this, Yeosang!” you interrupt him and he gives you a look that makes you smile for a second before pretending he’s annoying you. “Whatever.” 

“Like I was saying— I got an internship in the firm, not into the firm,” he finally gets to say and you look back at him, the somber look returning to his face after the second of respite your interruption provided. “But, I mean, we’re starting to see each other less and less— Should I keep this in?” He points at the screen and you frown at the sudden change of topic but then, when you see a frame of you making a weird face for the camera as he sets it up, you get why. 

“Don’t you dare,” you extend your leg and push your feet into his side, he recoils like you stabbed him with something but then recovers quickly. There’s a second where you both smile, your leg coming back to the bed, and then you push a little for the feelings he was explaining before. “You’re seeing each other less and less?” 

“Yeah. I get it, obviously, Hongjoong has this mini tour he needs to plan— That’s my friend who’s in a band,” he explains, “so he’s barely in our hang outs anymore. Yuhno just found love for the first time ever so he’s in the honeymoon phase and the rest of them are just trying to survive their last year of college or jobs.”

“Like us,” you nod.

“Like us,” he whispers in agreement, “and yet we still have time to see each other. I’m guessing some of them see each other often, too, I just… Never really had that with any of them. They’re good friends, the best of them really—” 

“And that would be my group of friends, but okay.”

He laughs and then continues. “But I never really… Connected like that, one on one, with anyone. Jongho, maybe, but he’s going insane trying to keep his grades up to stay in the team and maybe go pro for a few years afterwards and—” 

Sliding to the edge of the bed, you get up from your position to bring your arms around your friend. You can tell it’s really getting to him. You have your own shit going on, the whole I’m leaving my whole life behind and starting over, kind of, in a new city thing but you haven’t put yourself in the shoes of those you’re leaving behind, their own worries about their futures plaguing their thoughts as well. 

“It’s all too much… And I haven’t even finished editing the documentary.” 

“You’re almost done.” 

“It’s due in five days.” 

“You’re almost done,” you repeat, pulling away a little while looking down at him. He looks up, almost pouting. “You got this, Yeo.” 

And then the inevitable tension that comes into the room the second you two touch for longer than five seconds enters and you both let go at the same time. You swallow hard, he coughs and then the topic of conversation switches until you both forget the fact that electricity runs through both your spines whenever you hold each other. 

So Yeosang never touches you. He holds your hand, hugs you goodbye but he never insists. By your final performance, two days later, where he is in attendance and sits next to a very (but not as much as before) skeptical Yeonjun, you wonder if the small bouquet you see on his lap all the way from the stage is a purely platonic gesture. 

Because when you do your final bow as a student, eyes filled with tears, and get down to the backstage, the first person you see it's not your dad, your mom or Yeonjun. It's him. 

But the bouquet he extends to you it's as beautiful as it is not unique. When he sees Kazuha, he offers a similar one to her and she accepts, breathless, emotional and a little bit confused. 

So you start to wonder if he stopped liking you as the days went by, you start to wonder if you're the only one who fell deeper even though you're the one who decided for the both of your to not pursue the constant tension between you both, to put aside your confessions in honor for your friendship to flourish and outlast the incoming physical distance your future is going to put between you two. 

That's why you don't entertain the thought much, just lean in to give him a hug that screams I'm in love with my friend to all of your classmates, Yeonjun and your parents (who you see from the corner of your eye entering the room before you close them), which doesn't really help your case at all. 

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you whisper into the skin of his neck, for only him to hear, “for coming, for being there for me, for the flowers and for everything.” 

“You sound like you're saying goodbye to me,” he whispers back, pulling away just a bit so he can see you. “You're not leaving yet. Let's not do that until then, please?” 

And because you've been learning a lot of things from him, patience being one of them, you smile a little and nod in agreement. 

But you don't miss the way his eyes take in your features and stop to look at your lips for a few seconds too long. You can't help when you do the same, either. 

Your heart sings a hopeful song. A dumb, dumb melody filled with wishes of the things you can't indulge in, not right now, not ever. 

Because that song has a beat you think you’ll be able to dance to, choreograph it in a way only you and him understand and you’re so sure it will give you the same euphoric feeling being the middle of the dancefloor at a packed club or performing variations of your favorite classic characters on stage give you. 

And that is enough to make you want to stay. 

But you can’t. 

Your acceptance to the royal ballet proposal, once it came into you and Zuha’s shared apartment, has been already emailed and signed, sealed, delivered through physical mail.

It’s confirmed that you’re leaving later this month, at the start of the new semester for them. 

For you as well, you guess. 

And since you learned that, time seems to turn into thin dust in your hands, slipping from your fingers and blowing away in the wind. 

So you really should put a stop to your feelings for Yeosang, but they only grow stronger. 

You move back home to try and spend a little more time with your family and that makes his dorm farther away than before but you still show up to see him edit anyway. 

And when he finishes the documentary, he refuses to show you it because he claims he needs time and a bigger screen. 

But you're not sure you two have that much time at all. 

And involuntarily do that thing where your face drops even though you're still smiling and his lightbulb lights up. 

“A farewell screening party!” 

“A… A what?” 

“You know,” he clears his throat a little and you see him blush, “a party for you and for me at the same time. It can be your farewell party and the screening of my documentary because God knows Yunho will force me to show it to all of our friends either way.” 

You purse your lips, clearly trying not to laugh and he levels you with a look. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, that’s…” you cough your giggles away, “adorable.” 

“Right.” 

You take a sneaky step forward and he barely notices but his eyebrow raises. He seems to know what you're trying to do but you're a little bit distracted by the edge on his expression so your lack of immediate action makes him lower his guard. 

And you lunch for the computer without thinking twice. 

“No!” 

“You're not even going to let me see a snippet of it, Yeosang?!” 

You laugh but avoid him and you’re literally opening the video library of his computer when you feel two hands grab your middle and pull you back. He falls into Yunho’s mattress and you fall with him. 

Squeaking and then letting out a laugh, you realize too late that Yeosang has pulled you into his lap, his palms secured on your hips, his breath on your neck. As you turn your head to look at him, smiling slowly fading from your lips and his, you also notice that this was not what he intended to do in the first place. 

But you’re both frozen in place. 

Eyes not looking up at his face, you open and close the palms of your hands over the part of his chest and arm you’re just realizing now you’re holding. You blink a few times and from the corner of your eye you see his adam’s apple bob, you hear the sound of him swallowing tightly and feel against your shoulder the rumble of his chest when he speaks, low and soft, unsure like he doesn’t really know what’s the correct volume to use right now. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“A surprise,” you repeat in the same tone, dumbly, a little bit distracted by his scent, “of course,” and then you frown, curious as always. “Why is it a surprise again?” 

He huffs out a short laugh. “If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.” 

“Of course.” 

You should move. He should let go. Someone should do something because this is blurring the lines of your friendship entirely. 

But his lap is comfy and you can feel his heart beating against your skin and, instead of being in high alert and in a reactionary mood, your body just relaxes against him. 

He feels it and the touch against you relaxes as well but stays in its place. Yeosang’s head moves a little bit forward, his chin resting against your shoulder like the action alone is not enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go insane. 

“I just hope you like it.” 

The tremor on his voice gives away that he’s genuinely nervous about it, so you tilt your head and let your temple touch his. 

“I probably will, Yeo.” 

Lifting his head a little, your nose bumps slightly with his nose and your eyes widen at the feeling. 

It truly shouldn’t be this difficult. You should lean in and kiss him or he should lean in and kiss you but the boundaries you drew stand tall in between you. 

You wonder if the need that burns in his eyes when you look at him also burns in yours. You wonder if he sees it. You wonder if it’s enough to make the spoken rules of your relationship crumble. 

Breath shaking a little, you push a bit forward, lips parted and waiting for him to take the last step, to confirm that the rules and boundaries and the conversation you two had about the nature of your dynamic goes to hell and you get to finally have him like you want to have him. 

Yeosang looks like he’s thinking the same thing as you and, just when you’re about to close your eyes again and let this whole thing be…

The door swings open. 

And you practically fly off his lap, trip with a pair of shoes that are not yours and shouldn’t be there in the first place and almost fall to the floor. A hand you are not familiar with catches you and you look up to find Yunho of all people preventing your face from banging against the floor.

“Are you okay?” He asks and you turn to Yeosang instead of replying, for some reason. 

Yeosang is very still, paralyzed in fear even for a few seconds before his brain seems to catch up to the situation because he stands, grabs your shoulders and stabilizes you fully on the ground. 

You clear your throat and then turn to Yunho: “I’m fine,” you say, voice very small and the answer is a little dumb because everyone can see you’re clearly not fine. “Thanks.”

“Of course…” He turns to look behind him and that’s when you realize. 

Oh, this is mortifying. 

There’s three other people behind him: Wooyoung, who you recognize because one time he facetimed Yeosang while you two were together and you catched a glimpse at the screen, and two other guys you assume Yeosang has probably mentioned before, but you can’t recall their names right now.

Your head is not functioning properly right now. 

“This is—” Yeosang starts.

“Y/N!” You say for him with a nod and a big smile. 

“She’s my friend that I met at the club and—” 

“Your co-star,” you point to Yunho, “supporting actress of the documentary, really, I’ve seen him edit it and you are the main star.” 

“— her name is Y/N.” Yeosang finishes.

You clasp your hands together in front of you and it makes a loud noise, bow a little too. “That’s me.”

From the corner of your eye you see how Wooyoung turns around, trying not to laugh, and then one of the guys punches him in the arm. 

“We can, uhm…” Yunho is trying really hard not to laugh as well and you fail to see what about this embarrassing situation they found funny. “We can come back later if you guys want.” 

It’s even more embarrassing when both you and Yeosang basically scream a: “No!” at the same time. 

Which only makes Wooyoung break into a giggle that’s soon muffled by the hand of the second guy you don’t recognize at all. 

So you turn to Yeosang fully, leaning down to pick up your bag from where you dropped it on the floor. 

“I have to go and help Zuha with the—” 

“Oh, that’s right! Of course.” 

You don’t need to help Kazuha with absolutely anything. 

“And I guess you need to tell them about the party—” 

“Yup, I’ll tell them, um…” 

There’s an awkward silence for what feels like forever (two seconds, max) and then you both give each other a quick hug before you’re practically running for the door. 

“It was very nice to meet you all.” You say and it sounds weird because your throat is dry and you stumble it out. 

You don’t wait to hear their responses as you grab your shoes from the floor and then open and close the door behind you fast. 

Yeosang can deal with whatever they’re going to do, the ways they’re probably going to tease him. They’re his friends after all. 

And even though you feel the heat of the embarrassment on your cheeks and your heart racing, you smile at the laughter you hear through the wood of the door. It follows you as you walk through the hallway and there’s only one thing going through your head as you get secure your bag around your shoulder and start to head home: 

There’s the possibility Yeosang would’ve kissed you if they never walked in. 

There’s the possibility he still wants you the same way you want him. 

Yeosang has never been more flushed in his entire life. 

He watches you back until the door closes and then a second of silence passes by before everyone starts to laugh.

Everyone but him, because it’s not funny at all. 

Lips still aching at the thought of kissing you, he barely gets time to roll his eyes at his friends before they’re all but throwing him on the bed and tickling his sides. 

He doesn’t really want to laugh but his body’s reaction leaves him no choice. 

“You should’ve texted me that you had a girl over or something, dude!” Yunho starts and Yeosang huffs in response. 

“I thought you said the two of you were just friends, though?” San asks and he all but rolls his eyes. 

“What did you just see, Choi San? I swear to god you and Yunho are—” 

The mentioned one gasps dramatically and cuts Wooyoung mid sentence “What did I do now?” 

“Clueless!” Wooyoung says and he laughs a little at that. 

They stopped tickling him but they’re all still on top of him on the bed and the mattress makes a weird noise at that. It’s a dormitory mattress, after all and it can barely handle two people. 

Or you in his lap, he guesses. 

Dear God. 

Seonghwa sighs like a mother tired of her children’s shenanigans and even though it’s hard to see with three bodies on top of him, Yeosang sees him with his arms closed at the edge of the bed “Guys, could you all just… Get off Yeosang for a second?”

“Yeah, he needs to explain himself!” Wooyoung is the first one off of him and he feels like can breathe better. 

“There’s no explaining to do, you sound like Gyuri.” 

“I beg,” Wooyoung pauses dramatically, for effect and everyone in the room groans, “you pardon?” 

“No, sit the fuck down.” 

“Okay,” Yeosang says now that he’s free and he stares at his friends, at San first. “We are just friends and it’s not what it looks like.” 

“So you weren’t about to kiss her?” 

He short circuits at that “Well—” 

“You were?” 

“Guys,” Seonghwa interrupts once more, “let him talk.”

He feels like it’s the first time in forever since he’s been able to speak about anything with his friends. His heart feels at home and yet his nerves spike, his head hurts a little too and it might be the endless hours of editing catching up to him or the thought of you leaving that makes it hurt. Either way, he needs to tell them.

“I was about to kiss her and it wouldn’t have been a mistake because we didn’t want to, because we both like each other,” he explains, “so we do want to but it would've been a mistake because she’s leaving.” 

“What?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Yunho lets out softly and Yeosang shrugs. He’s the one that knows the most about you since he’s the one Yeosang has been able to speak with the most these past few months. 

“That party she was talking about,” he doesn’t really answer Yunho but addresses everyone in the room, “I need help organizing it. It should be a viewing party and a farewell party as well. She got accepted into the Royal Ballet.” 

“Huh?!” 

Now everyone turns to Yunho at the sound he lets out and he’s covering his mouth and then shrugs as well, a little ashamed of himself. 

“I’m not a ballet guy but I know what that is. They were on tour here last year… And I went.” 

“Are they good?” San asks and Yunho nods frantically as an answer. “So that means she’s good as well.” 

“She is,” Yeosang feels himself deflating, falling into the mattress with a longing sigh. “She lied to you, she’s actually in most of my documentary.” 

“I think you forget I’ve seen you editing it before, Yeo.” Yunho laughs.

“Mhm.”

He looks at his friends and both Seonghwa and San look like they want to press him to speak about his feelings but they’re biting their tongue, Yunho’s leg goes up and down and he looks like he's about to apologize for something dumb but no one talks. Yeosang doesn’t want to talk about it, either. 

So Wooyoung comes to the rescue. 

“A farewell party, now that’s something I can help with!” 

San laughs “And a viewing party, don’t forget about the viewing part.” 

“The documentary first and then everyone is getting drunk and silly, okay?” He points at Yeo Sang and he nods, reluctantly because he knows what that means. 

“I think I actually have a place for it,” Yunho swallows tightly and Yeosang scrunches his eyebrows in worry. “I mean, I was going to tell you all when we were together but, uhm, I think I’m starting my own dance studio. I received a… fat check this month.” 

“Are you sure that’s not the money your father is giving you to try and get you in his company long term?”

“Whatever!” Yeosang laughs and San gets up and puts a mouth over Wooyoung’s mouth for the second time in the last thirty minutes. Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I got a place and it has a second floor I’m planning to make into a setup for video games and whatnot. I already ordered the projector, it’s what I’m trying to say,” he shrugs and looks at You Sang again. “We can have it there, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees softly. 

And as San lets go of Wooyoung and Seonghwa sits next to him to give him a hug (because he knows that’s better than any words right now), Yeosang can’t help but wonder if now that the party is happening and him and your friends are saying goodbye to you for good, it’s finally time to let go of his feelings for you.

But then, as he watches Yunho sit down in his bed, in the same space where he had you on his lap and with his lips close to yours, the voice in his head that’s been nagging him about the whole thing all these months returns. 

And it laughs at him.

It laughs at his wishful thinking and then it reminds him that there’s no letting go of his feelings for you. Those are there to stay, for a good while, as long as you stay the same person and as long as your smile brings him peace. As long as your happiness brings him his, as long as the rhythm of your feet mark the rhythm of his heartbeats, he’s yours. 

He 's yours. 

Do you want him to be yours?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. part 2 will be out..... someday in the next few weeks (I promise I'm working on it!)

© jensthwa, 2025.

[qveenbunni]

What a gorgeous list 🙇🏽‍♀️💜

Mingi fic recs

────୨ৎ────

✴ : smut ᯓᡣ𐭩 : absolute favourites [Last updated: 22.05.2025] ⋆˙⟡ If any links don't work anymore please let me know I'll get it fixed as soon as possible ^^

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Series ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Strangers By Nature - @seongwars | arranged marriage, enemies to lovers (ONGOING)

After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever.

Princess | Part 2 - @choisanboobenthusiast ✴ | sub bf!mingi (COMPLETED)

Mingi is inexperienced, you're not. He finally feels ready to take the next steps in your relationship and you find he is surprisingly more subby than you would have thought.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Cause Baby You're My Muse - @makeitmingi | idol!mingi x producer!reader (COMPLETED)

You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists. 

Camgirl - @yungistiny ✴ | emo stoner!mingi x camgirl!reader (ONGOING)

mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

A Familiar Kind Of New - @wooyoungiewritings ✴ | nerdy!mingi x popular girl!reader (COMPLETED)

You, the most popular girl at school, and Mingi, the school’s geek and punching bag, grow a friendship at the library after school as he tutors you. You beg him to come to prom but instead, he disappears. No texts, no goodbye, nothing. But after 10 years, he suddenly appears again. The quiet, nerdy boy who used to be bullied and ignored, is now a successful, confident and heartbreakingly handsome man. As time pass, you both open up about the past and maybe you realize that maybe he was never just your tutor. Maybe he was the one that got away.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Oneshots and drabbles ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

23:46 - @seonghwaddict (the fav emoji didnt wanna work here but this is the cutest thing EVER) | friends to lovers au, roommate!mingi

in which your best friend is a little hard to wake up.

I Want You - @k-hotchoisan ✴ | friends with benefits to exes to lovers au

The girl in front of him is stunning, but even when he’s all over her, he can’t seem to get you out of his head. So when his phone buzzes and it’s you, he finds himself standing before you with another chance he’s willing to gamble.

Sweet Juice - @hongism ✴ | strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

Lovers On The Sun - @byuntrash101 ✴ | outlaw au, friends to strangers to lovers au

you never understood why mingi chose that life. chose to be an outcast, a loveless bandit. over the years you came to terms with it. you got married, you grew. but when the outlaw finds himself gravely wounded his instincts drag him back to you. to the person he's willing to sacrifice everything for.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Pretty When You Cry - @suunani ✴ | sub bf!mingi

a completely stupid argument, and now mingi is crying for your attention.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Unveiled Temptation - @reveriebae ✴ | rockstar!mingi

You swore you’d never meet an online friend in person—until Mingi. One secret visit to his performance, one photo sent without a word, and now he’s found you. And tonight, he’s going to ruin you.

Bunny In His Bed - @reveriebae ✴ | best friends' brother au, roommate!mingi

You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.

Home In Your Arms - @03jyh23 | bf!mingi

the one where mingi missed you

Call A Friend - @gingersxng ✴

when you’ve tried everything to make yourself satisfied and nothing helps, the only thing left to try is to call a friend, who is more than happy to help you.

Can't Help Myself - @xomakara ✴ | brothers best friend au, roommate!mingi

Mingi comes home early from a trip to find his best friend's older sister, you, roaming the apartment in a large shirt and panties. And god, does he want you.

Wanted Dead Or Alive - @xomakara ✴ | western au, cowboy!mingi x heiress!reader

A handsome cowboy is injured while tending to a wild horse he's rescued miles from town. You're on the run, and can't afford to stop on your way to your destination – but you can't ignore the wounded man when you see him, and decide to help him despite the personal risk.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ranching Hearts - @xomakara ✴ | modern western au, cowboy!mingi x overworked accountant!reader

You're an overworked accountant with little time for a love life. Desperate for a break, you join your girlfriends on vacation at a dude ranch. Mingi, the handsome ranch owner is instantly attracted to you and vice versa. But Mingi is about to lose the ranch and everything he's worked for. Will you extend your stay to help him out?

All in - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | best friends to lovers au

A night of drunken debauchery with your best friend in Las Vegas leads to something you never could imagine.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 A Night To Forget - @jjbalice | bf!mingi, !description of panic attack

Mingi wakes up to a feeling he's never experienced before, and he's pretty sure he's dying.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Office Affairs - @callmeagardengnome | office!au, coworker!mingi

working for a job promotion is the smart thing to do, but working to make song mingi fall in love with you is way more fun.

But It's Better If You Do - @frenchkisstheabyss | rockstar!mingi x chubby tattoo artist!reader

Your ongoing love affair with your rocker client is all fine and dandy until you begin to catch feelings for him that send you into a spiral that isn't fine nor dandy.

Touch Up! - @intheemptymirror | idol!mingi x stylist!reader

mingi loves to push the boundaries of a proper idol-stylist work relationship. even in the work place itself.

Last Pick - @touchme-teezme ✴ | best friends to lovers?, collegeboy!mingi

you and mingi are best friends. he likes you, but you love him. one fight changes the trajectory of your friendship forever.

Imprint - @kitten4sannie ✴ | werewolf!mingi x hunter!reader

you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

Sweet - @fallinforgyu ✴ | sub bf!mingi

you and mingi celebrate your anniversary and fuck for the first time <3

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Nobody New - @xlostinthedreamfics ✴ | exes to lovers au

After 2 years of living in a new city, you decide to sign up for a pottery class to step out of your comfort zone and hopefully make some friends, only to find your ex-boyfriend Mingi has signed up for the same pottery class.

Right Next Door - @kysstar | friends to lovers au, neighbor!mingi

you and mingi have been dancing around your feelings for far too long—neighbors, friends, something more. neither of you says it. but everything else does. Eventually, something has to give.

You Can Take It, Right? - @kathaelipwse | best friends to lovers au

What starts as harmless teasing turns into something far more dangerous when Mingi decides he’s done playing around. Trapped between him and the couch, you’re forced to answer the question—will you push him away or pull him closer?

Sparks And Bruises - @hongjoongspoetry | soulmates au, exes to lovers au, underground boxer!Mingi x real estate agent!Reader

In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

By Her Side - @arilevenatz | modern royalty au, bodyguard!Mingi x princess!reader

Grease And Oil - @bvidzsoo ✴ | mechanic!mingi

Sleepy - @minkieater ✴ | boyfriend!mingi

────୨ৎ────

Did you finish all the fics? Check out the other members too! ⤵ Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Wooyoung | Jongho

[qveenbunni]

i love you to death, too.

[qveenbunni]

Wooooooooo 17.5k word count?! 🤩🥳 Yayyyyyy. I’ve been having a hard time since starting school again, so this was needed. And boy oh boy so I love dual perspectives.

Not one dull moment, Yeosang had never met anyone who makes him talk so much. He usually just listens to his friends and adds to the chat if needed but you don’t even need to ask him a question to get him going…Being heard and understood. Oh I know this feeling all too well. A very rare occurrence, but when it happens it’s so fulfilling. I can relate to Yeo’s character so much in this- it hits home 🤧

“he likes to cosplay being poor.”  This line was so funny 😆 it came out of no where

The door swings open. THE SILENT SCREAM I SCRUMPT- I knew that was gonna happen ☹️ right before the dessert

Those are there to stay, for a good while, as long as you stay the same person and as long as your smile brings him peace. As long as your happiness brings him his, as long as the rhythm of your feet mark the rhythm of his heartbeats, he’s yours. HELLO?! This was so freaking cute

This was such a great introduction to “stalker Yeo”. It hurts my heart that those idiots (again Mingi struck gold with that comment), think they can ignore their feelings when it’s so blatantly obvious… but I do love a good slow burn 💯💜

the rhythm of our hearts (KYS x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

Yeosang, with his camcorder and his looks from afar, ignites your curiosity in a way that makes you act a little dumb and against your friend’s judgments. When you finally get tired of him not approaching you, you decide that the night is young and life’s too short to not find an answer to your questions. On a dirty rooftop, your newfound friendship with him might just be the most surprising outcome of the whole ordeal. Is it enough to make you stay, though?

PAIRING: law student!yeosang x dancer!afab reader.

GENRE: strangers to friends to lovers (slow burn).

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (jesus christ)

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) (in the next part), attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov, reader uses female pronouns, drinking, a tease of violent behavior, choi yeonjun shows up in this story again AND almost beats yeosang up, step up 3d inspired scene as you can see from the banner of the story lol, yeosang gets accused of being a stalker but there's no intentional stalky behavior i promise!!, yeosang is shy, many implied conversations (lol sorry, just know that they talked and talked on that rooftop okay?), unbearble chemistry (sigh), so much unnecesary yearning, the inevitable passage of time, the slowest of burns guys i'm so sorry i promise next part will be juicy i just needed to stablish them, lap sitting, almost kisses the same way gabriela and troy from hsm2 were almost kissing, wooyoung being a menace (you know the deal).

NOTES: this fic is part of a pocket universe you can find in my navi link or in the link at the top of this post. there's a lot of things here that only make sense if you read the other stories first but if you ignore them (since they're not at the core of the story) it can be read as a separate thing lol. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: 05/27/2025

permanent taglist: @kyunlov @monsta-x-jagi @tinyelfperson @0115degrees @strawberrymars98 @faerouzia @honeybeehorizon @daniela-f-uwu @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kyeomooniee @getouttamygrillxoxx @fairylover68 @sushiinmidnight @hwalighters @qveenbunni @calmoistorm @yoonglesbae @potatomountain @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @svintsandghosts @lemonkait00 @blue5ummer @fancypeacepersona @hyukssunflower @i-love-ateez @miracle-sol @alsomimi @xielian-i-guess @e3ellie @mady-66 @hwallazia @st3ft0n3s @ginevrsstuff @hotteokkay @xylatox

masterlist.

The neon lights reflect on your skin as you move through the crowd, foreign sweat mixing with yours in the process. 

It’s packed tonight, hardly any free space for you and your friends to claim as yours but you manage. There’s a free table that you all but run up to and when you and your friends crash into it, you all laugh before fixing it in its place. 

Routine takes over and the same person suggests going to get you all your usual drinks, which you say yes to. You don’t want to get distracted and you need to scan the premises to figure out if the person you’re looking for is here tonight. 

You don’t actually know his name. You know your friend Yeonjun almost beats him up, you know he’s been filming something (you) around the club for what seems months now. This person has never actually spoken to you before, hence the almost getting beat up by your most protective friend. 

Taking into account all the red flags, it’s a little crazy that you still feel the need to look for him in between the dancing bodies and the people making out in the dark corners of this club. Your club. Where the bouncers know you and the bartenders discount your drinks because you and your friend group are one of the regulars here. 

It took you a while to gain this status, one you’re very proud of. It’s a reminder of what you’re sacrificing everytime you decide to show up, what you’re risking. And even though it’s been a while and you’re an adult who can make their own decisions, the same adrenaline rushes through your veins everytime. As Yeonjun returns with your drinks and hands you yours with a flirty smile, the same feeling takes over your body, never really growing old. 

The first time you came here, you were a freshman. You came of your own volition, knowing no one at the time. You see, as a ballet dancer there’s a lot of restrictions, a regime you must follow to fit in with your classmates that you, up to the middle of your first semester, followed at face value. You didn’t have any reason not to, after all this was what you’ve worked so hard for, for years and years. 

Years of special diets and hours of training and practice to get where you were, full scholarship in what was supposed to be the first steps of your ballet career. So you followed these restrictions not because you were supposed to, or because your family forced you to pirouette a certain way in the path of perfection, but because you wanted to. 

As a child, you sat down and watched every single dance movie available on your local cable. You watched the nutcracker and then you watched the barbie version of the same tale over and over again until you knew the steps by heart, even if you didn’t know the name of them or how to execute them properly. 

You loved the way they all looked while dancing, the delicate atmosphere in such complicated moves and the ability they had to hook the audience in without saying a word, all they could convey even through a screen. So, in a way, it became your dream to be immortalized the same way. 

But in having that dream, you created this aura of expectation around you that you fell prisoner of the second you understood what it meant. The second you begged your mother to sign you up to classes and then you begged your father to take you seriously when you said that ballet was what you were going to do for eternity, you got trapped into it. Your father swore at the time it was just a phase and you, stubborn as the man in front of you, needed to prove him wrong. 

And you did prove him wrong. You grew in the industry, you started to get eyed by recruiters early on and you gained scholarship after scholarship, made valuable contacts and stayed friends with people who are able to move you forward in case you fall behind on something. You were smart about it, you are smart about it, but yet again the pulsing of your heartbeat syncs with the beat of whatever noisy song is blasting in the club’s speakers and you forget the strict regime and the diets and the sacrifices made to get where you are. 

It’s the same type of rush you felt when you were told someone was following you, filming you. The usual panic one can feel at the thought of being stalked dissipated the second you realized he didn’t have any cruel intentions towards you or the rest of your friend group. You did, kind of, save him from getting beat up by Yeonjun.

You had to rush towards a campus that’s not yours and make your way through the crowd of nosy people to get to them, but as soon as Yeonjun saw you he stepped away from the guy and followed you and your friend Kazuha out of there. You did spare the guy a glance and recognized him from the club, gave him a tiny smile and made sure he was up on his feet before fully centering your attention on your friend.

And pushing him in the chest as hard as you could. 

Kazuha sighed, pushing his chest as well “What’s wrong with you, Yeonjun?” 

“He’s been filming us— Filming you!” He pointed in your direction and you shook your head.

“I thought we established he’s not dangerous! And even if he was, Yeonjun, you could get in serious trouble for just— Behaving like a criminal!” 

“Like a criminal?!” 

“Like a punk with not one care in the world!” You answered, nodding and reinforcing the jab at your friend, who looked like a child being scolded for something they didn’t do. The thing is, if you didn’t get there on time, he probably would’ve. 

Yeonjun is a great, loyal friend. Always has been. And so you obviously forgave him and now, as he takes your finished drink from your hand and settles the cup down into the table just to drag you to the dancefloor, you think you read his intentions clearly, his looks and smiles lately and the way the carefully grabs your waist to move to the rhythm of the r&b track playing.

Understanding has been taking over you these past few days. 

But it doesn’t really matter when he has a rooster of people waiting for his texts and calls, patiently staying in place until he gives them the time of day and you know that’s the treatment he would give you too if you give him a chance. 

So you ignore the spark on his eyes as you sway your hips and turn around, your back against his chest and your butt against his crotch as he follows the rhythm you’re marking. Always taking the lead, always guiding everyone else’s steps makes it easy to ignore everything around you, when you close your eyes and let the atmosphere take you completely too. 

It’s like everything else disappears. The expectations and the fact that you have to wake up early the next to massacre your feet in order to continue your career, your graduation approaching fast, the last showcase and the weeks that follow it, in which you'll have to wait for an offer, for an opportunity. 

It’s just you and the music and Yeonjun hands spinning you around and around again. It’s just you and the ache on your feet and your heavy breathing being muffled by the sound around you, drowned by the rest of the heavy breathes everyone else is letting out. It feels so familiar and yet so exciting, like you’ve never experienced it before. 

Euphoria moves around you in what it feels like a neon glow, it makes everything feel slowed down and too fast and, most importantly, it makes your heart beat in a way no other thing or being makes it beat. 

Except maybe when you open your eyes and catch the stranger who’s always filming staring right at you. 

He’s far away, but you can see him clearly. He’s the only one on the floor standing still, camcorder in hand and you notice that he’s filming someone else, not you, but he’s staring in your direction either way and it makes you smile a little. 

There should be a limit at how much a person is allowed to stare at another before it makes it creepy. Again, there’s a thousand red flags you should be considering but the only thing it brings to you is unsated curiosity. 

And so you don’t think twice before detaching yourself from Yeonjun and moving in the stranger’s direction. Neither of them expect it, because the guy opens his eyes a little wider and you hear your friend’s voice over the music. 

“Y/N, are you serious?! We’ve been here less than forty minutes!” 

What he means is that you’re about to disappear for the rest of the night, like you usually do. It’s not that you always leave your friends behind, especially not when you come here with them to share the night with the group, but you do tend to disappear for like an hour or two. 

And the term disappear is something they use only to bother you because, in reality, your location is shared with all of them and the way you get lost is usually in between the dancing bodies. If they look hard enough, they’ll be able to easily find you. 

Unless you found someone to kiss for the night. They don’t bother looking for you then. 

However, it is a little early to disappear on them. It must be around eleven thirty or twelve, twelve thirty at the very least. You tend to do your rounds at two, two thirty, normally. Maybe that’s why the stranger makes that face. Maybe he has you studied, your behavior noted down in that head of his you want to decipher so badly. 

You have been wondering for a few weeks now why he never approaches you. He seems contempt just to film you from afar, but tonight is different. He’s not filming you. 

There’s a tint of jealousy in your chest at the sight, a small crease in your forehead when you approach him. 

He takes a step back.

You want to laugh a little, but you take the hint, if he’s sending any in your direction. Getting into his space fully is not in your plan anyway. 

Yeosang shouldn’t be here. He should be studying or having dinner with his friends or something. 

He really shouldn’t be here. 

But he can’t help himself. Earlier, in his and Yunho’s dorm and while editing the footage he’s gotten in the last week or so, he decided that he needed clearer shots of the Hongdae club he’s been frequenting. 

It’s only a happy coincidence that that’s the club you usually go to, the one where he can find you most of the nights. Very convenient, really. 

Ugh, who is he kidding? 

There’s this magnetic pull that he hasn’t been able to shake off ever since he saw you for the first time. At the very same club, a year before he started to go there with the purpose of seeing you. 

You were alone, not with the people he usually recognizes. You were dancing around a table, making some of the people sitting down at it laugh before becoming entranced with the way you moved. You tend to have that effect on people, he noticed earlier on, because when you move it looks simple yet extremely interesting, it looks natural, it looks almost magical and Yeosang convinced himself that the reason he kept coming back to that club specifically was because he needed to figure out how your movements were so sharp and yet so smooth at the same time. 

It’s his fault, really, because he’s shy and he should’ve just talked to you right there and then but he convinced himself he wasn’t going to see you ever again after the last time he went and you weren’t there. 

And then he joined a film class. An elective, one that he had in his curriculum for the last year and half of his career. He chose it because everything else seemed boring or too in touch with his law degree, which he was growing a little exhausted from. 

The only respite he had from studying endless pages about special criminal evidence rule was his cheering practices, and he had been benched for awhile for missing some of the important routines in order for him to get all his concepts right before his exams. And now he has to get ready for the internship he’s planning to apply to with a firm he’s been dreaming about since he was in highschool.

So joining that film class was a little stupid on his part, but he enjoyed it for the most part, before the final project was announced and the thing that came to mind was you and your dance moves. 

He had somewhere to start: a little documentary about dance and nightlife in Seoul. It’s a theme simple enough for him to do a little research, a few interviews that reflect the cultural significance of it all in modern society and he had Yunho and his dance team to avoid the need to go out of his way to look for more interviews or content outside of them. 

The thing is, his artistic vein itches every time he thinks about not including you in the film. He has zero justification for the way his chest hurts when the thought of putting his curiosity and tiny crush to rest crosses his mind. 

So he’s been filming from a distance and he’s been careful not to make you or your friends uncomfy ever since he decided to focus more on the nightlife aspect of the documentary instead of the dance part of it. That one time your friend found him, confronted him and pushed him to the ground for filming you all without clear consent doesn’t really count. 

That day, you smiled at him sweetly as you pulled your friend away from him. That had to mean you were okay with it, right? He should just ask you to clear the air up… But he had permission from the club manager to film anyway! 

He has a script, he has an outline of how he wants the film to turn out and he has almost everything to sit down and finish editing it before actually starting making an effort with that law firm and the internship… 

But he’s unable to shake the need to have you in the documentary. Anything will do, really: an interview, a clear shot of you dancing for the camera, anything to have you and his little obsession with the way you move immortalized on tape forever. The way you dance deserves it, the way you seem to control the ambiance around you, the people, the music, the club… He has never seen anything like it before. 

He swears he has been gathering up the courage to actually speak to you instead of lingering around like a creep. 

And tonight is the night.

He has to play it cool. He got there a little later than usual, he’s actually talking to the people he’s filming this time, he asks them for permission and then proceeds to talk with them as well as he can over the music. 

He pretends he doesn't see you and your friend group, including the guy that almost fixes his face, in the corner to the left of the dancefloor. He’s gathering the courage to walk over there and apologize for the misunderstanding, explain the nature of his documentary, ask you all formally to use the footage he has and ask you for a short interview with the questions he already has written down in the notes app on his phone. 

The person he’s filming has gone silent suddenly, just dancing to the r&b song playing and Yeosang does nothing but film them. He’s about to resume conversation when his eyes involuntarily look for you again. 

And he catches you on the dancefloor, the friend who almost punched him twirling you around to the beat of the song and grabbing your waist afterwards. 

There’s that magnetic pull again, that inability to look away from you even though he’s filming someone else. Your body glows in the red neon light and he’s mesmerized by the way you seem to be in your own world, encapsulated in your own bubble with your eyes closed and your body moving to the rhythm. 

He’s unable to look away even when your eyes open and the first thing you do is look at him. His breath catches, his eyes widen and he feels a little sweaty suddenly but he still holds your gaze, his eyes still follow you as you step away from your friend and move through the ocean of dancing bodies. 

Towards him. 

You are walking in his direction. 

Oh, God. Are you going to speak to him? Is this real life? He feels unsafe, unprepared all of the sudden. He takes a step back as you almost reach him. 

And then you smile widely, feline-like, like a big predator who’s playing with its prey just for the fun of it and he seems to get what you’re trying to do. For some reason, he feels like he reads your mind when you look down at the camcorder and then at him again. 

He bows at the person he was filming before, the ghost of the interview he was doing vanishing, before he could get any information that actually helps him or his script, and then his eyes follow you. You’re already walking away when he points the lens in your direction. 

Swallowing hard, he moves in between the dancing bodies to follow yours. He adjusts the lighting in his camera as he moves, he catches the neon before lowering it and finally catching you in the hallway of people that his friends like to call the makeout hall (because it’s kind of dark, the only lights that get to it are the neon ones nearby and the occasional moving leds that move around the club every few seconds so it’s intimate enough to kiss the one you like for the night). 

But no one is making out with anyone. There’s some people chilling against the wall and a few others dancing and they all smile as you move through them to the rhythm of the song playing. Some guy grabs your waist and dips you low and Yeosang smiles as he catches the moment clearly, the lead beams lighting up the space at the correct time to catch you coming back up. 

As he passes people by, they all try to dance with him as well. He shakes his head a little when the same guy grabs his waist and Yeosang blushes when he looks back up and you’re laughing at him. He shakes his head again but you keep moving, so he moves as well and he loses you when you turn the corner. 

Quickening his step, he follows as smoothly as he can but when he reaches the same corner you’re gone. 

Swallowing thick nerves down, he tries to ignore the exaggerated beat of his heart at the thought of that being the only interaction with you that night. He looks around and frowns when he can’t find you at all. Just when he thinks he can see you with your arms up, a guy that’s clearly too intoxicated to be in an environment like this gets in front of him and dances for the camera. He puts his hand on his shoulder and moves him to the side and the dude goes away easily but when he looks up that mirage he had of you in front of him is gone. You’re gone. 

Looking at the screen of his camcorder, he tries to zoom in and hopefully distinguish you between the dancing bodies and moving lights but he can’t see you, he can’t— 

He feels a presence over his shoulder, a little behind him. Entranced and a little terrified, he turns his head slowly. 

He’s almost nose to nose with you when he does. 

His breath catches. You’re close to him, your face almost resting against his shoulder as you pretend to look at the screen a few seconds longer than him. When you look up, there’s a tiny smile curving your lips upwards and Yeosang can’t help but to give you one back. 

“What are we looking for?” 

Oh. 

He realizes he’s never heard your voice before. He certainly imagined it but whatever it was he knows it doesn’t make it any justice.

Even with the loud music, you’re so close and you speak loud enough for the sweet velvet of your timbre to make him inhale a sharp breath. There’s this slight edge to your stare, a flirtatious energy in the way you laugh at him when he opens his mouth and then closes it again, not really sure of what to answer.

“Cat got your tongue?” 

“Y-you,” he manages to stammer out and then he swallows hard again. “I w-was… I mean, you disappeared for a second.” 

“I just went back around,” you point with your thumb over your shoulder to the entrance of the makeout hall and he nods, understanding, spacing out and hyperfocusing on the situation at the same time. “I thought you were able to keep up,” you pause, eyes tracing his face for a quick moment. You lean in, lips dangerously close to his ear and then you say clear as day the words that might be the reason he loses his sanity: “Can you keep up?” 

Yeosang is a mildly competitive person. He is competitive for the love of it, not because he feels like he has to win. He likes to win, however, it’s not going to be the end of the world if he doesn’t. That’s something he tells himself often, with the career path he’d chosen there’s going to be a lot of highs and a lot of lows, same with cheering, same with anything he ever does in life, really. 

So why is his heart beating so fast at the thought of you daring him to keep up? It’s not the end of the world if he can’t keep up, really. 

But he feels the need to prove you wrong somehow. He senses that you see him like a coward, and in a way he is one, but tonight is the night he finally gets to meet you, to tell you his name, to know yours. 

So he nods once, gaze still holding yours and breath still caught in his throat “Try me.” 

That seems to be the answer you were looking for. You smile fully and Yeosang commits it to his memory, takes a mental picture of it before you’re stepping away and into the crowd of sweaty bodies again. 

And this time, Yeosang is able to keep up. 

He follows you swiftly through the crowd, he doesn’t get caught between the bodies, his eyes don't’ let go of your silhouette at all as you guide him up the stairs, looking over your shoulder only once when you bump into a couple making out against the wall and laughing at them when they shoo you away with their hands. 

His heart is beating so loud he feels it in his ears, the throb of it on his throat and he swallows down the feeling in an attempt to stay calm as it gets louder and louder. You turn a corner he’s never even seen before, into a dark hallway where he has to squint his eyes to not trip over anything. No one else is there and his nerves spike, only to come crashing down when he slams into something, into you. 

Your back against his chest and you don’t really say anything as you try to get a door in front of you two open, he hears the clink-clanking of the lock and he hears you softly curse when you fail at getting it right the first time. It makes his lips curve slightly upwards, it makes this whole thing a little less surreal and a little more human. 

He’s not sure why his body is registering it as a dreamlike experience in the first place. 

The music has faded away slightly. He can tell there’s speakers nearby but none in this space, so that might explain why no one is here. Couples making out and people grinding against each other have a behavior pattern he easily recognizes even if he doesn’t participate in either normally: They like being seen. 

Yeosang could never understand that. 

Even as you get the door open and guide him to what looks to be (judging by some cables on the floor, the pvc pipes and the back of the neon sign that always greets him at the entrance) the rooftop of the club, you hurry him inside and close the door behind you. Resting against it, Yeosang watches as you take in a breath and let it out slowly. 

“Sorry, I’m one of the only few allowed here and we don’t want anyone else finding out they can access this space.” 

“Oh,” he nods, focusing on the camcorder screen again and filming the roof with all his might. He wants to turn to you, keep looking at you in the lights the streetlights cast against the roof and both your faces. “And you got this special treatment because…?” 

“I will answer your questions…” he hears you say and that’s when he takes the chance to look at you, curiosity glinting in your eyes in a way he’s sure it’s reflecting his. “But first you have to answer mine.” 

Yeosang is not sure why he’s trying to play everything off in a cool manner when he’s sure you can see right through the way he puffs out his chest and secures his stance before saying a simple: “Fair enough.” 

And you do, you laugh and peel your back from the door only to walk a few steps, nearing the edge of the roof. You sit down there and his heart quickens before dropping for a completely different reason than before. 

You must see it in his face because you laugh again and shake your head “There’s a tiny balcony, owner’s office. You can come and see if you want.” He doesn’t, instead he nods “I believe you,” he clears his throat and closes the screen of his camcorder, recognizing that maybe this is not the moment to have it ready to record, although he wants to keep fresh and in video everything that’s happening right now. 

That’s the only way he would believe it did happen tomorrow, when he wakes up confused and wondering if he dreamt the whole thing. 

Your smile looks pretty real, though. And also it looks pretty, period. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” 

“Is that your first question?” He can tell he’s stalling, prolonging the moment unconsciously and he swallows his monologuing back down and shakes his head. “No, I’m not, I just trust you.” 

“Why? You don’t know me.” 

“My camera does,” he shrugs, looking down at it and then back up at you again. “I feel like I get to know you a little every time I edit a clip of yours, too.” 

“That camera almost got you an ass whip. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

It’s his time to huff out a laugh “Well, you didn’t exactly give me any time to say anything to you that day.” 

“Well,” you tilt your head, your eyes focusing on the ground for a few seconds, “my friend didn’t exactly give me a choice either.” 

“Thank you.” He finally says, after a bit of silence where the memories of that day came back: The confusion, the realization, the push to the ground and the look you gave him as you pulled your friend away. He’s actually very thankful, taking into account that he wouldn’t know how to throw a punch and not feel bad about it five seconds later. 

“It was really dumb on his part, but I mean… You understand, right?” 

That your friend wanted to beat his ass instead of talking it out like normal human beings? No, he doesn’t understand but he nods anyway. 

“You’ve been filming us for a while now. He thought you might’ve been…” You trail off, not really wanting to say it so he says it for you.

“Stalking you.”

“Yeah,” there’s a soft smile on your lips that leads him to believe you didn’t think that yourself. Is either that or you feel a little bad for him, which is way worse, so he decides to trust his first thought. “What’s all the filming for?” 

“A documentary.” 

That seems to surprise you, your eyebrows raising and falling and your eyes widening a little bit. 

“On clubs?” 

“Dance,” he corrects with a tiny smile of his own, “and the nightlife in Seoul. It’s for my class.” 

“Oh, right, you’re going to school,” you nod as you remember probably the only piece of certain information you have on him, or so he thinks. “So you’re studying to become a filmmaker?”

“A lawyer, actually.”

“Wow,” huffing out a laugh, you shake your head in a little disbelief, “didn’t expect that at all.” 

Yeosang laughs too, a nervous sound more than anything. 

“I don’t look the part?” 

Pausing, you take him in: from his outfit (he is sporting all-black attire today, black shirt, black short sleeve button shirt on top of it and baggy black pants) to the way he stands a safe distance and your eyes even go from his face to his hair. He feels like staying still while you gather whatever information you need to answer, but then he also has the need to fix his fringe and tug his button shirt down a little even if it does nothing. 

“You look like a very artistic guy.” 

“And lawyers are not artistic,” he nods and then squints his eyes at you a little, joking at the best of his abilities right now. “Is that what you’re trying to say?” 

“I just never met one who was,” you say in return, squinting your eyes back at him. “Guess now I have.” 

He can literally feel himself blushing. 

This is bad. This is very bad. 

Lucky for him, you don’t notice or, if you do, you don’t make any comments about it. 

There’s another beat of silence that stretches and Yeosang decides to walk around the roof. He’s careful to not step on anything he’s not supposed to as he walks towards the back of the club’s sign. 

He turns to you after looking at the metal foundation of it for a solid minute, blinking rapidly when he finds you got up and walked closer, standing where he was before “Do you have more questions?” 

“Why me?” 

Yeosang swallows hard for the umpteenth time tonight. He has a hundred million ways to answer that question and he’s trying to pick the one answer that doesn’t give any more of this weird crush he has on you fully away. 

However, he can’t help to go the truthful route about it. 

“I like the way you dance. I… I saw you a long time ago, before picking up the film class, and I was just completely, um…” He pauses, tongue wetting his lips in a nervous tick and he swears he sees you follow his unconscious movement with your eyes, but it hardly matters when he's at a loss for words. “I was really entranced by your dancing, I guess you could say. And so when I started the documentary and saw you again I just… There’s no way I couldn’t have you in it, even from afar.” 

“And why didn’t you explain this to me before?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He answers that too quickly, without any hesitation and it makes him blink a few times before laughing it off. 

“I mean, I wanted to, I just n-never found the right time, I g-guess.” 

Slowly and after a few seconds, you give him a nod. 

When you open your mouth to answer, Yeosang feels like everything's in slow motion: Here it comes, the moment you call him a coward, the moment you mock him for taking so long in approaching you. Even tonight, he wasn’t the one who initiated this, you were. 

“You’re shy.” 

Instead, he’s relieved by the knowledge that you’re more understanding than what he initially thought. Yes, he is shy. He’s shyer than usual when it comes to pretty people, even more when they poke at his curiosity and fascination. 

“I should’ve guessed that you were, hm,” you nod again, laughing a little aftwards. “I don’t know why I thought there would be this whole mystery behind you not coming over and talking to us.” 

“Have you thought about it before?”

Yeosang swears he said it in his head. To his account, he asked the question in his mind while he nodded and came up with a response that takes him out of the hole he dug himself in. But you look up at him with raised eyebrows and a curl to your lips that he’s growing used to.

“I have,” you answer without an ounce of shame pouring out of you. You seem proud of it, even, and Yeosang wonders if you're as outspoken in every other aspect of your life as you are with him. “When someone films you from a distance and doesn't even tell you their name it makes you wonder just a tiny bit.” The last part seems to be a joke and Yeosang's lips curl upwards in return. 

“I'm Yeosang,” he doesn't extend a hand for you to take, he stays put in his place as his own name sounds foreign coming out of his mouth. “I… I'm s-sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I'm—”

“Shy.” You answer for him and he shrugs a second later. 

“That's not really the reason, I… Oh, this is going to sound so weird,” he mumbles under his breath but you manage to hear him and laugh a little, shaking your hand to signal that it doesn't matter. “I thought it would, I don't know, break the magic a little?” 

Your expression turns from slightly amused to slightly disappointed again in a second and he regrets following your lead and being honest with you as well. 

“The magic?” 

He needs to find better words to explain himself, but nonsense comes out of him without a second thought and he can physically feel himself cringing at the words. 

“Yeah, like it would actually force me to get this over with,” he shakes his camcorder and then closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as he, once again, attempts to climb up the hole he dug himself in. “—I mean, talking to you would mean asking for the interview that I want to ask for and, once I get that footage, I feel like I'm never going to see you again.”

Getting in out in one breath, Yeosang opens his eyes to find you staring at him with something he can't figure out. 

It goes away after you scan his face with your eyes and find something he doesn't know what it is. 

“That's a little dramatic, don't you think?” 

Now, when you put it like that…

He huffs out a laugh and then takes in a little bit of air that he desperately needs “I guess.” 

Laughing at him for what it feels like a thousand times tonight, you look at him up and down and seem to consider something. After a few seconds pass, your smile turns soft and it’s your turn to take in a breath. 

“Y/N.” 

“Hm?” 

“My name,” you say, almost cutting him off. “You didn’t ask.” 

Yeosang wants to smash his head against the neon sign. 

“O-oh of course, sorry. Y/N,” he repeats with a nod. “Pretty. Your name!” He corrects himself immediately. “I-I meant your name is pretty, not you— I mean, you are! You are really pretty a-and…” 

Yeosang watches helplessly as you seem to revel in the state you put him in with the simple whisper of your name and the accusatory joke. 

But you don’t mention it, only turn around and let your knees touch the floor, near the edge of the rooftop again. This time, you rest your chin in your hand and your elbow against the edge and you signal at him to sit down next to you. 

He does. 

“You wanted to interview me?” 

Now he can answer that without messing things up “Yes.” 

“Hm,” your eyes turn from him to the part of the street visible from the angle you’re both sitting at and then your brows almost touch each other as you think. And think. And Yeosang can do anything but stare at your profile and swallow hard at the realization that the neon lights and the darkness of a club would never do your beauty justice. 

Now, he had seen you in broad daylight before. But it was quick and he was mildly distracted by the almost getting beat up emotions so he didn’t appreciate it fully. Now, even though it is nighttime and the neon sign casts a shadow over you, he realizes it’s the first time he gets to see you upclose. 

Up close and in silence, not like the few minutes before where he managed to embarrass himself like no one has probably ever embarrassed themselves in front of their crush. 

“I think,” you say, after a while of just staring at the street where he was quietly watching you instead, “that you really overestimated me and how interesting I can be.” 

“What makes you say that?” He asks in a whisper and you smile, turning to him.

“My story is no different than the story of my friend Kazuha downstairs. Or my classmates. Or any other ballet student in this city.” 

“You do ballet?” 

There’s this trace of surprise on your face that must mimic his, but he thinks it’s because you thought he knew that already. 

“Yes, I’m… I go to K-Arts, Yeosang.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“You didn’t?” 

He laughs a little again and shakes his head “Not a stalker, remember?” He attempts to joke and it works because you’re scrunching your nose and nodding the second after. 

“Right, we already established that.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Well, I go to K-Arts. I’m a senior, I’m supposed to focus if I want to get into the university’s dance company fully and all.” 

That catches his attention “Fully?” 

“Yeah, I don’t mean to brag or anything,” you start and your tone gives away that you are, in fact, bragging. Yeosang doesn’t mind it a bit. “But I’m good at ballet, too, not just at… Shaking my ass to a Kendrick song.” 

He giggles and you roll your eyes with a smile on your lips still. 

“So I have joined them for a few performances based on my grades and skills and all of that.” 

Humming, Yeosang looks down at his camcorder and then at you again “And all of your classmates get to do the same?” 

“No,” you answer in a murmur, frowning. “Why?” 

“Then that makes you different from, at least, some of them.” 

He can’t tell if you look annoyed or impressed at the fact that he managed to turn your words against you, but you blink rapidly a few times and Yeosang speaks up before you can tell him anything in return. 

“Let me interview you. This film probably won’t leave my classroom and then it will gather dust in my hard drive for eternity after I pass the class, but it would feel very incomplete without you.” 

You say nothing and he clears his throat, feeling a little dumb for even trying but before he can backpedal on the offer, you’re speaking. 

“Right now?” 

The question doesn’t have any shyness laced to it, but it’s soft. It’s like you can’t believe fully that he wants to interview you and he wants to ask if that’s the case, but he also doesn’t want to accuse you of anything or, worse, assume your feelings. 

He’s big on assuming, he’s trying to be better. 

“Oh,” he shakes his head quickly. “Not if you don’t want to! I… D-don’t feel pressured to say yes, I was… Was that too pushy? I’m sorry.” 

“Yeosang—” 

“I mean it! I have pleeenty of footage. My friend Yunho actually it’s on the documentary too! He’s such a talker, he loves to talk, so I have like a thousand hours worth of interviews and—” 

His rambling comes to an end when you hand closes over his on the rough material of the edge of the roof. He looks at it and then at you and he notices he’s breathing a little hard and that his heart is racing so fast he can barely hear the already faint sound of electronic music and the voices that served as your background music since you two got up there. 

“I want to do it,” you assure him and he swallows hard when your thumb traces three small circles on his skin. One, two, three and then your touch is gone and he can finally breathe. “Just not tonight. I look like a mess.” 

“You truly don’t,” he mumbles without really thinking about it and you smile. 

“Do you have something to do tomorrow night or can you come over here for the interview?” 

“Here?” 

“Mmmhm,” you look around the roof and then at the back of the neon sign, and then you turn a little and point to where the light the neon sign casts is clear and cover a spot on the roof large enough for both of you to sit. You get up and he doesn’t. “That must look cool on video, don’t you think? I got a lot of pictures there already.” 

When you turn around, that’s the first time Yeosang catches a trace of shyness on your face. 

“If you want.”

He smiles fully, widely and the corners of his mouth hurt a little because of it. 

You walk backwards, towards the door and Yeosang knows you’re making your big escape so he doesn’t follow you at all. “See you tomorrow, then?” You yell when you almost reach the exit and he nods.

“See you tomorrow!” He yells back and, when the roof is devoid of that life you seem to bring into everything or so he thinks, he turns to the street and catches the bouncer looking up at him.

He looks angry.

He’s also a very big dude.

“Shit.” 

Yeosang believes that it was a blessing to romanticize the idea of who you were before actually meeting you. Because, as much as he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, his crush tells him that he wouldn’t mind becoming your friend instead. 

He came back the next night and the night after that and the night after that… No, wait, that night he stayed in and studied for a quiz he had the next day and then the next day he went back to see you at the club. 

It was obvious by the third night that the both of you were using the interview and documentary as an excuse. Yes, Yeosang did film a few bits and precise questions here and there, but the rest of the time you two spent together was just an endless conversation that he could stay in for the rest of his days. 

Not one dull moment, Yeosang had never met anyone who makes him talk so much. He usually just listens to his friends and adds to the chat if needed but you don’t even need to ask him a question to get him going.

It makes his heart soar, it feels fulfilled of a need he never even knew he had: Being heard. 

Being heard and understood. 

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to do anything at all.” You tell him one night, on week two of this extended interview. 

He doesn’t even have your number yet. 

But he’s unable to think about the rationals and specifics of whatever the hell is going on when he’s staring at the stars, his back on the cold and dusty roof, his head next to one of those pipes and his arm brushing against yours. 

“Nothing at all?” 

“No,” you breathe out, your other arm resting above you, your fingers reaching and ghosting the hairs that stick out of the hat he’s wearing. “I want to dance and then I want to eat something yummy and then I want to sleep. I don’t want to…” you trail off.

And he understands.

“You don’t want to worry.” 

“Exactly,” you return right away, in a whisper and then after two seconds you turn to him. 

He’s already staring at you. 

“I don’t want to worry.” 

“I don’t want to worry either.” 

Yeosang is not sure where this vulnerability is coming from. 

Maybe his mind tricked him into thinking he was better off not sharing certain things with the people who love him the most. 

He’s glad you’re allowing him to explore that talkative part of himself without any real judgment. You give him faces and once over when he says something silly, something not usual, something out of his comfort zone in terms of sharing… And then you go back to being understanding, to furthering the conversation and actually ask him about it instead of talking over it like he notices he’s been allowing others to do all these years. 

Not that they realized they were doing it either. His friends have never been malicious in their actions or intentions, but they are much more outgoing than he is. 

And so are you. 

But you seem to have a special interest in what he has to say. 

And so it becomes really difficult not to share and grow closer every night. It comes to a point where he can start to read your eyes and expressions, where he starts telling what you’re feeling without actually asking about it. 

One night, as you both sit under that part of the roof that catches the neon light of the club’s sign, he catches you staring at his camcorder with something somber crossing your features. 

“We can stop doing this anytime you want, you know?” 

His murmur takes you out of whatever is actually going through your head and that little crease in between your eyebrows goes away, softness coating your eyes a second later and, when they look up at him, he all but feels his heart stop. Which is incredibly dangerous. 

“Did you get all the videos you need already?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but that’s not why I keep coming back here. I feel like you know that already.” 

Lips curling upwards in a soft smile, you nod “I want you to tell me anyway.” 

Yeosang hesitates for a second, trying to find the way to put into words what he actually meant by that, but he fears he doesn’t really know either. 

He decides to go with what his heart is telling him “I like spending time with you beyond the interview.” 

Your smile grows wider. 

“Me too,” you whisper back, like it’s a secret. “You’re also not a good interviewer, Yeosang.” 

It’s silent for a second and then you both laugh. 

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt in between laughs and you push his arm a little. “Noted.” 

Laughter dies and you seem to be thinking something over. You open your mouth and then close it and Yeosang imagines you’re weighing the possible outcomes of what you’re about to tell him. Although, when you do, he doesn’t think it’s anything crazy. 

“I want to see you in daylight,” you start and before he has the chance to agree, you keep going. “I mean, I already did, at your school. But that was for like… thirty seconds. And I wasn’t really paying that much attention to you. But now I am and I want to see you under the sun.” 

Yeosang fucking blushes.

Again. 

His reply comes as soft as if he’s not having heart palpitations and shortness of breath at the moment.

“I’m sure we can arrange that.” 

You nod and then blink a few times, thinking it over it seems. 

“It’s spring,” you start and Yeosang nods, “and I like flowers…” 

He takes a mental note of that.

“And there’s a pretty glass dome at the botanic greenhouse…” 

Setting his lips on a straight line so he doesn’t laugh at how cute you look trying to invite him to it without actually doing it, Yeosang contains himself and then nods one last time “Tomorrow?” 

He enjoys making you smile so wide. 

“At ten.” 

When gets to his dorm, Yeosang tries everything in his power to not label it as a date. 

You’re friends.

He’s happy being your friend. 

If he could tell his heart to keep it down, he would. 

Kazuha frowns at you, arms crossed as she leans into the doorframe of your room. 

You both live in one of the bigger dorms, Zuha’s family has money and she brought you along after insisting she didn't want to be alone in this two bedroom apartment with a shared bathroom. 

Because that's what actually is, a freaking apartment. 

It's truly more than what you deserve, truly, but she's not one to back down when she truly wants something. 

Like right now. 

“So you're going on a date with this guy.” 

“Yeosang,” you correct her, “and it's not a date.” 

She sighs, a little exasperated, and shakes her head at a flower-pattern dress you hold up for her approval. “Too on the nose. What do you call it then?” 

“Hanging out with a friend.” There's really no doubt in your voice even if you're scavenging your closet for something that makes you look extra nice. “So, not a date.” 

“You haven't stopped talking about him so I guess you can see why I assumed it was a date.” 

You look up at her, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips “Then you know his name is Yeosang. Caught ya.” 

Zuha rolls her eyes and you decide to go with one of your regular feel good outfits, one that you know makes you look good without trying much. 

“I don't care what his name is! That's not my point!” 

“Then what's your point?” 

“He's a… dude.” 

“That I've formally known for almost a month.” 

Throwing herself in your bed, your lips curl upwards again when you catch her dramatic expression and hear the over exaggerated huff she lets out. 

“Could you maybe communicate what you're actually thinking instead of doing… whatever this is?” 

She braces herself in her forearms and looks at you with a frown “You said it was cute the last time!” 

Last time you went out with someone, she means. It was nothing serious, merely a movie and a dinner and a kiss at your doorstep before deciding dating took a lot of effort and a lot of time you didn't have. 

So that's why this thing with Yeosang is not a date. 

Expectations can't go up if it's not a date. 

But last time your friend was also just being dramatic to commit to the overprotective bit, saying Yeonjun rubbed on her and what not. 

This time, you can tell she means it. 

So you give her a look and her indignant expression dissipates until she's pouting and letting herself fall on the bed again. 

“I mean, why can't you hang out with him in the club? Where are we all three minutes away?” 

She's so cute. 

“Because I told him that I wanted to see him during the day and the club is closed.” 

“You invited him?” 

You stare at her disbelief with a raised eyebrow and her expression goes away when she realizes the dramatics are truly not working on you. 

“Okay, I’ll shut up.” 

Smile widening, you shake your head at her “There’s truly nothing to worry about, Zuha.” 

“You’re my best friend,” she argues, with a pout, “of course I worry.” 

Kazuha lets out a tiny screech when you pout back at her because she knows that, in the next few seconds, you’re going to tackle her with a bear hug.

And that’s exactly what you, before she even gets the chance to stand up from your bed. She pushes you to the side and you both stare at the ceiling for a second, giggling and breathless. 

“You must really like him if you asked him out. You don’t ask people out.” 

Suddenly, you feel like your breath is fully taken away. You think about it for a second but there’s no use in denying the obvious. You were never someone who fought to suppress their emotions, someone who shy away from what they truly want, but when it comes to things like this (love or attraction, you suppose) it’s a little complicated. 

Because you have no issue going home with someone you met at the club, making out with them in a dark corner outside of it or in the middle of the dancefloor if the time calls for it, but you don’t ever talk to them. 

Not like you’ve been talking to Yeosang, anyway. 

“I really do.” 

When you hear her sigh, you both giggle again.

And then she helps you get ready with soft city pop coming out of your laptop’s speaker and hooks one of her necklaces around your neck. It has your birth flower as a pendant and, when you ask how she has this, she simply answers: “Boys will give you anything as a gift as long as it looks feminine enough. He didn’t know my birthday.” 

It’s no mystery why she’s exclusively dating women now. 

Fifteen more minutes pass and, just as you’re heading out the door, a paper slides underneath it. You hear the heavy steps of the building’s manager (who is insistent in delivering mail the old way, just to get a chance to snoop in your personal lifes) as they pass your door and the next one and only when the sound completely disappears, you pick the mail up. 

One envelope is for you, one is for Kazuha. 

And it suddenly hits you both. 

The company results. The ones that tell you if you got in or not. 

Gulping, you notice the difference between your envelope and Zuha’s. Hers has the K-Arts logo and yours is blank. 

Your gut tells you what the results are before even opening it, but you follow your best friend to the couch and sit down in front of her before rushing her to open the envelope. There’s barely an ounce of patience in your system as she reads the words and you follow the movement of her pupils. 

“O-oh my god, Y/N, I got in!” 

“Into the company?” 

“Yes!”

You’re sure your neighbors are tired of hearing your screams. Of joy, of anger, of whatever. They must be tired.

But right now that’s the only possible reaction and your heart is heavy with both happiness and pride. You’re so proud of her, you tell her as much and hug her and then get up and jump up and down a little with her still in your arms before the moment passes.

And now it’s your turn. 

If she notices the difference in appearance of the envelopes, or the way your face falls with worry and your fake smile doesn’t even hold, she doesn’t mention it. 

It doesn’t take even half a paragraph to read your rejection from the company you’ve dreamed of joining. 

“Wha… Why?” your friends ask and you shrug. 

“It doesn’t say— Wait,” you notice that the letter is folded at the bottom so it could fit properly inside the envelope. When you unfold it and read the text, you let out a scream of surprise. 

Zuha pushes your shoulder and then leans in, trying to read as well “Read it the entire thing to me!” 

“They rejected me here but it says: However, we took the liberty of sending your profile to the internationally renowned classical ballet company, The Royal Ballet, and they have decided to offer you a spot in their school to further your education and train with their techniques for no longer than a year.” You stare up at Kazuha and her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are wide as well and you feel the familiar prick of tears in your eyes, but you blink them away. “If your performance is up to their standards, they have decided to offer you a spot as a member of their corps de ballet, with a full salary after six months of your second year with them.” 

Lowering the letter, you stare up at your friend again. There’s silence for a few seconds where you two try to make your brains compute the information and what it all means, what it all implies, what would happen if you say yes to this opportunity.

When you say yes to this opportunity. 

And then you’re both screaming again, her arms around you as she pushes you up to your feet to jump in a circle, excitement pouring out the both of you. You realize you’re crying when a sob escapes you and she stops jumping to hug you even tighter. 

“You deserve this, Y/N. Of course they wouldn’t let you stay in this small company, of course they wouldn’t— Oh, your makeup!” She reprimands when she pulls away to catch your eye, but her thumbs are swiping away the tears either way. You pout. “A full salary after a year and half, too!” She pauses and her mouth mirrors yours, her eyes filled with tears as well. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Zuha…” 

“— So, so proud.” 

It isn't until she pinches your cheeks that you remember you have somewhere to be. 

“Oh fuck, what time is it?” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“He likes you,” she says with a tiny smile, “he’ll wait.” 

That calms your sudden panic and you nod, her fingers pinching your cheeks one more time. 

“Okay.”

“He better.” She adds in a threat and you laugh. 

“Okay.” 

Yeosang waits for you, just as your best friend said. 

He leans against the entry wall with squinted eyes because the sun is shining bright today and before you get to him you get a second to take in how he looks in the daylight.

His skin glistens slightly, like he put on moisturizer and sunscreen before he got here (all green flags in your opinion) and he’s dressed in all black again, casually. You realized that when he goes to the club he’s a little dressed up, as you are every night as well. Or, at least, the way he stylizes his clothes makes him look different. 

It’s okay, you think, I’m also someone else entirely during the day time. 

You ignore the weight in your heart at the thought that you’re possibly leaving him and this newfound friendship behind in a few months. 

Why is it that the good things, the ones that excite your spirit, always last so little? 

“I realized,” he starts as soon as he sees you, a smile brightens up his face immediately, “that I don’t have your number.” 

That didn’t even cross your mind. It should’ve, but it didn’t. You see, you can’t even start imagining a text thread with Yeosang. With him, everything feels like it should be this way. 

With him, in front of you. In person. 

Your heart aches a little again but you push it away. You won’t let very obviously good and rewarding news get in the way of this not-date. 

Even if you’re dying to tell him. 

Instead, you shrug and offer him your sunglasses “You never asked.” 

He looks at what you're offering and frowns and then you point up at the sun. 

“It’s bright inside as well?” 

You nod. 

“You’ve never been?” 

He smiles like he’s been caught and your mouth drops open, a little scandalized by this new information. 

“Yeosang!”

“You never asked.” 

Rolling your eyes, you head to the booth that sells the tickets to go inside but he hurries to get in front of you… Two tickets in hand. 

Coming to a full stop, you tell your heart to behave. It shouldn’t react this way over something so simple. 

And yet, it does. 

“I forgive you for twisting my own words against me.” 

“I forgive you for being late,” you’re about to tell him he’s doing it, again, but then he drops his head to the side and looks at you with a little worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” 

More than okay, actually. Everything is spectacular and I haven’t even told my parents about the offer. I haven’t told you and I might be getting your hopes up even though I’m leaving. Oh, I also didn’t get in the company I told you about. And I’m terrified of leaving the country and possibly spending the rest of my days somewhere I can’t even call home.

“Yeah,” you nod and, to possibly distract him from the way the pitch of your voice went up a little, you take his arm in yours and start walking towards the door, “everything good. Got a little too carried away with the whole get ready part of the day.” 

If he notices the way you’re not even glancing in his direction, he doesn’t mention it at all. 

“Well, you look beautiful.” 

Now, that makes you look at him. 

He coughs a little and looks away. 

“You always do.” He adds and you all but laugh at the way he’s so bold and then so shy. 

“You look really good too, Yeosang. Always,” you add as well, bumping your hip into his softly. “Now that I’ve seen you in broad daylight, I can confirm.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh a little and he turns to you as you walk down the initial part of the building. There’s a few rooms to walk through but you both seem to disregard that, walking straight to the conversatory automatic doors. Your breath gets a little caught up in your throat. 

He truly is a beautiful man. 

“Not an ounce of disappointment?” 

Faking an offended gasp, you shake your head. “Not at all!” 

Yeosang nods, taking a look around the room. 

“Good,” his voice comes out in a murmur, but you are close enough to hear him. “I’m glad.” 

Finally, you only smile and look around the room as well. 

It’s been awhile and there’s some things that have changed, but the place gives you the same feel it did when you first came. Like a year after it opened, because it was packed every single day before that. Now, not so much. You see a woman with two kids and a stroller, an older man with his hands behind his back walking around without staring at the plants much and a tourist-looking couple taking a picture in front of a massive potted plant. 

It was hot then and it seems even hotter down, the humidity clinging to you almost immediately. They are trying to replicate a tropical forest in this area, so the plants that thrive in the conservatory climate all require this level of humidity anyway. You should’ve mentioned that, or remembered it before even stepping in. 

You came with your family, you took pictures in front of some plants you’ve never seen before, you bragged about it to the kids in your ballet class and then never returned. But it is really—

“This place looks so not like I expected it to look.” 

Not only does Yeosang manage to make it seem like you both are thinking about the same thing all the time, he also sparks your curiosity like no other person ever has. 

“How come you’ve never been here?” You ask as he lets go of your arm, taking out a small (but semi-professional) digital camera. He doesn’t turn it on, just secures the cord around his wrist and turns to you at the questions. 

“I don’t really enjoy crows. I guess I said that I would come when the buzz of the opening died down and then never remembered to check it out after that.” 

His answer makes you tilt your head as you think. 

“You don’t like crowds?” 

He shakes his head at you. 

“But you went to the club almost every single night?” 

Again, he looks like he’s been caught doing something ridiculous. There’s shyness oozing off of him, but also a hint of shame that you don’t like at all. 

“Is it the right time to admit that I went to that club to see you?”

You squint your eyes “And to film your documentary.” 

“Yes,” he nods, “but there’s only enough footage one can get before it becomes a little obvious that I was there only for you. Not only the last few weeks, I mean…” 

You’re guessing he’s expecting you to be a little freak out by that, but you’ve both discussed this before, that first night when you two finally got away from the crowd to talk. So you’re not freaked out but you are a little nervous because you know what it means.

You’ve always known what it means. 

It’s just a little bit heavy on your heart today because you know you can’t fully carry this out without hurting him or yourself in the process, not when you’re leaving anyways. 

Again, you almost let that feeling ruin the moment, this moment, these days that’s exclusively for the two of you to enjoy. Those feelings don’t belong in this, in the soft embrace of Yeosang’s company and understanding. He also deserves to enjoy the little tour you’re about to give him, to enjoy the ambiance the fake waterfalls and rocks provide. 

“Okay,” you say with a smile that seems to get rid of the shame in his expression, “I’m flattered— and glad, to be honest. I enjoy your company.” 

“I enjoy yours.” He says back and offers you his arm again. You take it without thinking twice. 

“Let’s see how much you enjoy it after I talk your ear off with my guided tour.” 

He laughs “I get one of those?” 

“For free,” you add with a nod, turning to him, “or, well, the small price of your sanity.” 

He pretends to think about it for a second but after you squint your eyes at him in suspicion and fake offense at all the thinking, he concedes. “Sounds good, reasonable even.” 

“Mhm.” 

Feeling giddy, you go on and on about the place. About what you remember from the actual guided tour you paid for back in the day. About the plants and the importance of the place during the cold winter months and Yeosang listens to you even though what you’re explaining is obvious. 

You drag him to the second floor and then to the seed room (a room where they explain the different types of seeds) and then to the library and then to the cafe to take a tiny break from the heat that follows the conservatory and the rooms around it. 

Yeosang takes photos the entire time. He records, he takes your picture in front of an emulated dessert and a few cacti with tiny and beautiful flowers blooming from them. He lets you take his arm and, by the time you’re both out of the dome and into the path that leads to the park attached to this botanical garden, you’re both walking shoulder to shoulder. 

And your pinkies are brushing. 

“You shouldn’t have,” you say to break the comfy silence you’re both in as you enter the bridge connecting one side of the park with the other. “Next time they’re on me.” 

Shaking your coffee cup, he huffs something close to a laugh but when you look at him from the corner of your eye, his face is flushed. 

“Love when you say that.” 

Behave, beating heart. 

“What?” You ask in a whisper. 

“When you say there’s going to be a next time.” 

Oh, the universe is funny. Silly. A goof, a meanie even, for playing with your emotions this way. 

“Yeosang…” 

You can tell the moment he makes the decision. One that takes a lot of bravery, one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes a shiver run down your spine. He intertwines your finger with his, slowly, with a caress when you reach the end of the bridge and move to the side to let other people, who are not even paying attention to you, pass by. 

A few seconds later your hand is fully intertwined with his and you try no to cry because he’s looking at you with a speck of hope in his eyes. Hope for a future you can’t offer.

Because you’re leaving. 

“You told me that you like when I tell you things,” he starts and you lick your lips, nodding as a reply because you can’t find your voice even though you should. You should stop him. You should stop this. “And I feel like there’s no point in not saying out loud what you already know. Because you know, don’t you?” 

Even now, when there’s a joke at the tip of your tongue, the only thing you can do is soften your kind of worried expression and nod again. 

“I like you,” he breathes out and he doesn’t say it in a whisper, like you expect it. 

He doesn’t say it in between kisses and loud music, with the purpose of getting you into a dark secluded corner and having his way with you, or with the intention of getting you home and ghost you the next day like you’re used to. 

When Yeosang tells you that he likes you, it comes with the soft spring breeze grazing your face and a halo of light behind him. It comes with the sun coming down, with the tiredness that comes with spending the entire day laughing and talking and walking around with someone you care about, with the faint smell of coffee and the cold of your cup freezing the palm of your free hand even though you feel warmth spread inside of you. 

“I don’t expect you to say it back because we just met a few weeks ago. And I also don’t want you to think that my tiny crush is what motivated me to include you in my documentary. Or film you. Or be a borderline creep around you or your group of friends in the club, I just— I’m okay being your friend,” he clarifies and you want to huff out a tiny laugh because he looks so nervous and yet his voice doesn’t waver once, not like when you first met. He’s sure of what he’s saying and you believe him immediately, too. He let’s go of your hand to gesture with his, “I’m okay with you not liking me back. I’m sure I’ll grow out of it or tell you if I can’t move on, but—” 

“Breathe.” 

“—But I want you to stay in my life. I like spending time with you and I—” 

“Yeosang.” 

He blinks, realizing that he’s word vomiting for literally nothing. 

Because, at his confession, you can’t help but smile widely. And then that smile shrinks a little at the sudden realization that you need to tell him. 

Now. 

But you want to give him the grace of not outright rejecting him at the edge of the bridge.

“Come here.” 

Taking his hand back in yours, you ignore his confused stare and drag him towards where you initially wanted to enjoy your coffee: There’s a small pond where you can sit at a reasonable distance, to not interfere with the birds drinking from it and the fishes swimming in it. 

From your bag, you take out the tablecloth you stole from your living room table (with Zuha’s permission, of course) and lay it down on the grass before practically throwing yourself in it. 

As you sit, Yeosang does as well and you let out a sigh, thinking about the pond. 

Admiring it from a distance, like Yeosang admired you for months. 

Possibly the same way you’ll have to admire him now that you’re leaving. 

“I didn’t get in.” 

He turns his head to you, a frown creasing his eyebrows “What?” 

“They rejected me today, that’s why I was a little late,” you curve your lips into a tense smile and at the realization that you might be feeling a little guilty for lying to him (you are), he shakes his head. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize for something so silly, I don’t mind waiting for you,” he says and you can’t help but take the meaning of his words and extend it to the situation he knows nothing about yet. “What do you mean they rejected you?” You shrug as an answer and he lets out a breathy, indignant laugh “Why would they do that?” 

The fact that he’s getting offended on your behalf assures your entire being that he cares. He cares, he cares, he cares and you’re about to leave someone who cares about you behind. 

You’re about to leave so many people behind. 

“They rejected me because another company wants me to join their team and they probably wanted to narrow my options,” you shrug again and you watch as his face turns from offended to confused to surprised to happy for you in just a few seconds and he changes his weight to his knees, his arms opened and you answer the question before he even gets to ask. “The royal ballet.” 

“The royal ballet?” 

You roll your eyes, wacking the arm closest to you with minimal force “Do you even know what that is?” 

“Of course I know what that is! Y/N!” He wiggles his arms and you get on your knees as well, rounding his neck with yours, hugging him close to you. He hugs you back and it’s tight, it’s warm, it’s friendly and at the same time it feels weighted with his romantic feelings towards you. You enjoy it, you enjoy it even more when he sways you side to side, like something within him knows he has to comfort you. “Congratulations!” 

“Thank you,” you return softly and start following his movements, swaying you both as well until it gains enough impulse to make you fall against the soft material of the tablecloth and grass almosts gets in your eye but you pay it no mind because Yeosang’s arm is under your head and he’s so close to you that you feel like screaming (in the best way possible). “If you know what the royal ballet is, do you know where the main school is located, right?” 

He nods.

“You understand they want me to go there, right?” 

He nods again and you take in some air. 

“Yeosangie…” 

He smiles at the nickname. 

“I like you,” you start, soft again as if saying it louder would make the words that follow it hurt any less. They hurt you, they are going to hurt him as well. “But I think we should be friends, I think— No, I’m sure I’m taking their offer.” 

Yeosang stays quiet for a few seconds. You cuddle into his touch further, without really wanting it to and he raises his hand, his knuckle caressing your cheek softly. 

It’s not a platonic touch, it’s not a platonic scenario either despite what you just told him and you’re sure he’s not doing it on purpose. You’re not doing it on purpose. 

It just feels natural to move closer to him. To revel in the feel of his fingertips against your skin. 

“You do know I didn’t show up at the club night after night just to be romantically involved with you, right?” 

Nodding, his hand on your face slips down a little and he cups your chin with your fingers. 

“I’m happy with us being friends, I’m happy with you staying in my life.” 

“But I’m leaving…” 

“London it’s not that far… It’s like—” 

He looks like he wants to say something but instead he frowns and looks to the sky, a slight pout on his lips you feel the need to kiss. 

“Yeosang?” You ask after what feels like a minute.

“Eight hours?” 

“Huh?” 

He laughs a little “I think it’s an eight hour difference. I can stay up late, you can wake up early, we can find a way to keep in touch.” 

Turning back to you, his hand cups your cheek instead and his thumb slides against the skin. When he turned back to you, he moved a little bit closer. You’re sure it wasn’t intentional but then the words he said just a few minutes ago make your heart race.

I’m happy with us being friends.

Why? You don’t want him to be happy with you two just being friends. You want him to kiss you. You want him to not understand you and to disregard your wishes and tell you he wants you forever. 

You know that you couldn’t extend the same sentiment to him. But he’s patient and kind and so, so polite and you’re not sure how anyone here or all the way in London could compare to him. 

Again, your heart is mourning the loss of something you never truly had. 

But you try to learn from his patience and let out a tiny sigh before resigning your result to insist on whatever you two have going on. 

“Okay.”

It’s your turn to look at the sky above you, the orange gradually fading into the perfect canvas for stars to paint allows you to finally, finally let the entirety of the news sink in. 

“Oh, my god.” 

“Hm?”

You sit up straight, mouth open and a crease in between your brows.

“Oh my fucking god. I’m going to London and my parents don’t even know about it yet.” 

“They don’t know?”

“I had a date with you!” Looking at him, you don’t miss the way he blushes and you feel yourself heat up a little too at your choice of words. “Only Zuha knows… She was with me when we got the envelopes.” 

“Well… Do you feel like you want to tell them in a special way? Because you can just call them, if you want.”

Gulping, you shake your head slightly “M-my mom hates calls.” 

He pauses for a bit, you see him blink twice and then stare at the corner of his lips as they lift up a little.

“Are you nervous about telling them?” 

You realize you are. You’ve never been nervous about telling them anything at all. They celebrate your successes and help you through your hard times even if you hold your chin up and insist you’re okay. You’re sure they’re going to be over the moon about the news. 

Why are you hesitating to tell them, then?

“Do you… Do you think they’ll let me go?” 

He smiles fully now, sitting up as well. “I think they’re proud of you and they’ll be proud of you whether you’re here or in London,” he shrugs and then he adds, “I’m proud of you.” 

It makes you smile. 

“And I just met you. I can’t imagine how they must feel,” your eyes roll instantly at the attempted joke but you huff out a laugh anyway, “and they’ve known since forever, I mean—” 

You extend your arm to push him a little and he falls back down into the tablecloth with a fake cry. “Shut up.” 

“Did I lie?” 

“Kang Yeosang, shut up.” 

The next few months feel like a montage you can see in one of those coming of age movies. Not a romantic comedy, but a coming of age. 

You tell your parents about London and they go through all the stages of grief before congratulating you and telling you they’re proud, they’re happy for you. You tell your friends and it’s a similar experience, except that, instead of celebrating with hugs and a dinner at a fancy restaurant, they drag you to the dinner at a fast food joint at the side of the street and then to the club. 

They celebrate Kazuha’s acceptance into the university’s company as well, of course, and the next morning you both nurse a hangover that repercutes on you days after that as well. It’s all worth it, it is every time but Zuha and you make sure to complain every day until it fully goes away. 

You still hang out with Yeosang. Every single time there’s an ache in your heart that dreads the moment you part (for the day but also… forever, maybe?) and you conceal it with smiles and teasing jokes that don’t cross the line. You hang out with him at his dorm, which you were hesitant to do at first but he explained: 

“My roommate is never here anymore. His girlfriend got a new apartment and so he basically lives with her.” 

You turn to the side of the room, where there are pictures of said roommate with Yeosang and a few people you think you recognize from the club, but you also can’t be sure. You take the guy in every single picture is Yunho, his roomie, and the girl he’s kissing on the cheek is his girlfriend. She looks your age, so you turn to Yeosang with a raised eyebrow and he laughs a little.

“They’re rich.” 

“Him included?”

“Mhm,” he sighs, clicking away on his computer to chop some footage and add some in its place, “he likes to cosplay being poor.” 

“That’s insane.” 

He gives you another affirmative sound and you move around the tiny space two times before calming your nerves of being alone in a room with him and sitting down in his bed, facing his left side since he’s sitting at his desk. 

“More room for you, I guess.”

You notice his smile fading bit by bit, lips forming a tense line a second after. “It’s a little lonely,” he admits. “All of my friends are really busy lately. Which, you know, it’s fine. It’s life. We’re all growing up and I feel like I can’t quite catch up to them.” 

“You did just get into the firm you wanted to, though. You feel like you can’t catch up to the direction they're going?” 

He smiles “Well, first of all, I got an internship—” 

“And they’re giving you the job after the internship ends, we all know this, Yeosang!” you interrupt him and he gives you a look that makes you smile for a second before pretending he’s annoying you. “Whatever.” 

“Like I was saying— I got an internship in the firm, not into the firm,” he finally gets to say and you look back at him, the somber look returning to his face after the second of respite your interruption provided. “But, I mean, we’re starting to see each other less and less— Should I keep this in?” He points at the screen and you frown at the sudden change of topic but then, when you see a frame of you making a weird face for the camera as he sets it up, you get why. 

“Don’t you dare,” you extend your leg and push your feet into his side, he recoils like you stabbed him with something but then recovers quickly. There’s a second where you both smile, your leg coming back to the bed, and then you push a little for the feelings he was explaining before. “You’re seeing each other less and less?” 

“Yeah. I get it, obviously, Hongjoong has this mini tour he needs to plan— That’s my friend who’s in a band,” he explains, “so he’s barely in our hang outs anymore. Yuhno just found love for the first time ever so he’s in the honeymoon phase and the rest of them are just trying to survive their last year of college or jobs.”

“Like us,” you nod.

“Like us,” he whispers in agreement, “and yet we still have time to see each other. I’m guessing some of them see each other often, too, I just… Never really had that with any of them. They’re good friends, the best of them really—” 

“And that would be my group of friends, but okay.”

He laughs and then continues. “But I never really… Connected like that, one on one, with anyone. Jongho, maybe, but he’s going insane trying to keep his grades up to stay in the team and maybe go pro for a few years afterwards and—” 

Sliding to the edge of the bed, you get up from your position to bring your arms around your friend. You can tell it’s really getting to him. You have your own shit going on, the whole I’m leaving my whole life behind and starting over, kind of, in a new city thing but you haven’t put yourself in the shoes of those you’re leaving behind, their own worries about their futures plaguing their thoughts as well. 

“It’s all too much… And I haven’t even finished editing the documentary.” 

“You’re almost done.” 

“It’s due in five days.” 

“You’re almost done,” you repeat, pulling away a little while looking down at him. He looks up, almost pouting. “You got this, Yeo.” 

And then the inevitable tension that comes into the room the second you two touch for longer than five seconds enters and you both let go at the same time. You swallow hard, he coughs and then the topic of conversation switches until you both forget the fact that electricity runs through both your spines whenever you hold each other. 

So Yeosang never touches you. He holds your hand, hugs you goodbye but he never insists. By your final performance, two days later, where he is in attendance and sits next to a very (but not as much as before) skeptical Yeonjun, you wonder if the small bouquet you see on his lap all the way from the stage is a purely platonic gesture. 

Because when you do your final bow as a student, eyes filled with tears, and get down to the backstage, the first person you see it's not your dad, your mom or Yeonjun. It's him. 

But the bouquet he extends to you it's as beautiful as it is not unique. When he sees Kazuha, he offers a similar one to her and she accepts, breathless, emotional and a little bit confused. 

So you start to wonder if he stopped liking you as the days went by, you start to wonder if you're the only one who fell deeper even though you're the one who decided for the both of your to not pursue the constant tension between you both, to put aside your confessions in honor for your friendship to flourish and outlast the incoming physical distance your future is going to put between you two. 

That's why you don't entertain the thought much, just lean in to give him a hug that screams I'm in love with my friend to all of your classmates, Yeonjun and your parents (who you see from the corner of your eye entering the room before you close them), which doesn't really help your case at all. 

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you whisper into the skin of his neck, for only him to hear, “for coming, for being there for me, for the flowers and for everything.” 

“You sound like you're saying goodbye to me,” he whispers back, pulling away just a bit so he can see you. “You're not leaving yet. Let's not do that until then, please?” 

And because you've been learning a lot of things from him, patience being one of them, you smile a little and nod in agreement. 

But you don't miss the way his eyes take in your features and stop to look at your lips for a few seconds too long. You can't help when you do the same, either. 

Your heart sings a hopeful song. A dumb, dumb melody filled with wishes of the things you can't indulge in, not right now, not ever. 

Because that song has a beat you think you’ll be able to dance to, choreograph it in a way only you and him understand and you’re so sure it will give you the same euphoric feeling being the middle of the dancefloor at a packed club or performing variations of your favorite classic characters on stage give you. 

And that is enough to make you want to stay. 

But you can’t. 

Your acceptance to the royal ballet proposal, once it came into you and Zuha’s shared apartment, has been already emailed and signed, sealed, delivered through physical mail.

It’s confirmed that you’re leaving later this month, at the start of the new semester for them. 

For you as well, you guess. 

And since you learned that, time seems to turn into thin dust in your hands, slipping from your fingers and blowing away in the wind. 

So you really should put a stop to your feelings for Yeosang, but they only grow stronger. 

You move back home to try and spend a little more time with your family and that makes his dorm farther away than before but you still show up to see him edit anyway. 

And when he finishes the documentary, he refuses to show you it because he claims he needs time and a bigger screen. 

But you're not sure you two have that much time at all. 

And involuntarily do that thing where your face drops even though you're still smiling and his lightbulb lights up. 

“A farewell screening party!” 

“A… A what?” 

“You know,” he clears his throat a little and you see him blush, “a party for you and for me at the same time. It can be your farewell party and the screening of my documentary because God knows Yunho will force me to show it to all of our friends either way.” 

You purse your lips, clearly trying not to laugh and he levels you with a look. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, that’s…” you cough your giggles away, “adorable.” 

“Right.” 

You take a sneaky step forward and he barely notices but his eyebrow raises. He seems to know what you're trying to do but you're a little bit distracted by the edge on his expression so your lack of immediate action makes him lower his guard. 

And you lunch for the computer without thinking twice. 

“No!” 

“You're not even going to let me see a snippet of it, Yeosang?!” 

You laugh but avoid him and you’re literally opening the video library of his computer when you feel two hands grab your middle and pull you back. He falls into Yunho’s mattress and you fall with him. 

Squeaking and then letting out a laugh, you realize too late that Yeosang has pulled you into his lap, his palms secured on your hips, his breath on your neck. As you turn your head to look at him, smiling slowly fading from your lips and his, you also notice that this was not what he intended to do in the first place. 

But you’re both frozen in place. 

Eyes not looking up at his face, you open and close the palms of your hands over the part of his chest and arm you’re just realizing now you’re holding. You blink a few times and from the corner of your eye you see his adam’s apple bob, you hear the sound of him swallowing tightly and feel against your shoulder the rumble of his chest when he speaks, low and soft, unsure like he doesn’t really know what’s the correct volume to use right now. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“A surprise,” you repeat in the same tone, dumbly, a little bit distracted by his scent, “of course,” and then you frown, curious as always. “Why is it a surprise again?” 

He huffs out a short laugh. “If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.” 

“Of course.” 

You should move. He should let go. Someone should do something because this is blurring the lines of your friendship entirely. 

But his lap is comfy and you can feel his heart beating against your skin and, instead of being in high alert and in a reactionary mood, your body just relaxes against him. 

He feels it and the touch against you relaxes as well but stays in its place. Yeosang’s head moves a little bit forward, his chin resting against your shoulder like the action alone is not enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go insane. 

“I just hope you like it.” 

The tremor on his voice gives away that he’s genuinely nervous about it, so you tilt your head and let your temple touch his. 

“I probably will, Yeo.” 

Lifting his head a little, your nose bumps slightly with his nose and your eyes widen at the feeling. 

It truly shouldn’t be this difficult. You should lean in and kiss him or he should lean in and kiss you but the boundaries you drew stand tall in between you. 

You wonder if the need that burns in his eyes when you look at him also burns in yours. You wonder if he sees it. You wonder if it’s enough to make the spoken rules of your relationship crumble. 

Breath shaking a little, you push a bit forward, lips parted and waiting for him to take the last step, to confirm that the rules and boundaries and the conversation you two had about the nature of your dynamic goes to hell and you get to finally have him like you want to have him. 

Yeosang looks like he’s thinking the same thing as you and, just when you’re about to close your eyes again and let this whole thing be…

The door swings open. 

And you practically fly off his lap, trip with a pair of shoes that are not yours and shouldn’t be there in the first place and almost fall to the floor. A hand you are not familiar with catches you and you look up to find Yunho of all people preventing your face from banging against the floor.

“Are you okay?” He asks and you turn to Yeosang instead of replying, for some reason. 

Yeosang is very still, paralyzed in fear even for a few seconds before his brain seems to catch up to the situation because he stands, grabs your shoulders and stabilizes you fully on the ground. 

You clear your throat and then turn to Yunho: “I’m fine,” you say, voice very small and the answer is a little dumb because everyone can see you’re clearly not fine. “Thanks.”

“Of course…” He turns to look behind him and that’s when you realize. 

Oh, this is mortifying. 

There’s three other people behind him: Wooyoung, who you recognize because one time he facetimed Yeosang while you two were together and you catched a glimpse at the screen, and two other guys you assume Yeosang has probably mentioned before, but you can’t recall their names right now.

Your head is not functioning properly right now. 

“This is—” Yeosang starts.

“Y/N!” You say for him with a nod and a big smile. 

“She’s my friend that I met at the club and—” 

“Your co-star,” you point to Yunho, “supporting actress of the documentary, really, I’ve seen him edit it and you are the main star.” 

“— her name is Y/N.” Yeosang finishes.

You clasp your hands together in front of you and it makes a loud noise, bow a little too. “That’s me.”

From the corner of your eye you see how Wooyoung turns around, trying not to laugh, and then one of the guys punches him in the arm. 

“We can, uhm…” Yunho is trying really hard not to laugh as well and you fail to see what about this embarrassing situation they found funny. “We can come back later if you guys want.” 

It’s even more embarrassing when both you and Yeosang basically scream a: “No!” at the same time. 

Which only makes Wooyoung break into a giggle that’s soon muffled by the hand of the second guy you don’t recognize at all. 

So you turn to Yeosang fully, leaning down to pick up your bag from where you dropped it on the floor. 

“I have to go and help Zuha with the—” 

“Oh, that’s right! Of course.” 

You don’t need to help Kazuha with absolutely anything. 

“And I guess you need to tell them about the party—” 

“Yup, I’ll tell them, um…” 

There’s an awkward silence for what feels like forever (two seconds, max) and then you both give each other a quick hug before you’re practically running for the door. 

“It was very nice to meet you all.” You say and it sounds weird because your throat is dry and you stumble it out. 

You don’t wait to hear their responses as you grab your shoes from the floor and then open and close the door behind you fast. 

Yeosang can deal with whatever they’re going to do, the ways they’re probably going to tease him. They’re his friends after all. 

And even though you feel the heat of the embarrassment on your cheeks and your heart racing, you smile at the laughter you hear through the wood of the door. It follows you as you walk through the hallway and there’s only one thing going through your head as you get secure your bag around your shoulder and start to head home: 

There’s the possibility Yeosang would’ve kissed you if they never walked in. 

There’s the possibility he still wants you the same way you want him. 

Yeosang has never been more flushed in his entire life. 

He watches you back until the door closes and then a second of silence passes by before everyone starts to laugh.

Everyone but him, because it’s not funny at all. 

Lips still aching at the thought of kissing you, he barely gets time to roll his eyes at his friends before they’re all but throwing him on the bed and tickling his sides. 

He doesn’t really want to laugh but his body’s reaction leaves him no choice. 

“You should’ve texted me that you had a girl over or something, dude!” Yunho starts and Yeosang huffs in response. 

“I thought you said the two of you were just friends, though?” San asks and he all but rolls his eyes. 

“What did you just see, Choi San? I swear to god you and Yunho are—” 

The mentioned one gasps dramatically and cuts Wooyoung mid sentence “What did I do now?” 

“Clueless!” Wooyoung says and he laughs a little at that. 

They stopped tickling him but they’re all still on top of him on the bed and the mattress makes a weird noise at that. It’s a dormitory mattress, after all and it can barely handle two people. 

Or you in his lap, he guesses. 

Dear God. 

Seonghwa sighs like a mother tired of her children’s shenanigans and even though it’s hard to see with three bodies on top of him, Yeosang sees him with his arms closed at the edge of the bed “Guys, could you all just… Get off Yeosang for a second?”

“Yeah, he needs to explain himself!” Wooyoung is the first one off of him and he feels like can breathe better. 

“There’s no explaining to do, you sound like Gyuri.” 

“I beg,” Wooyoung pauses dramatically, for effect and everyone in the room groans, “you pardon?” 

“No, sit the fuck down.” 

“Okay,” Yeosang says now that he’s free and he stares at his friends, at San first. “We are just friends and it’s not what it looks like.” 

“So you weren’t about to kiss her?” 

He short circuits at that “Well—” 

“You were?” 

“Guys,” Seonghwa interrupts once more, “let him talk.”

He feels like it’s the first time in forever since he’s been able to speak about anything with his friends. His heart feels at home and yet his nerves spike, his head hurts a little too and it might be the endless hours of editing catching up to him or the thought of you leaving that makes it hurt. Either way, he needs to tell them.

“I was about to kiss her and it wouldn’t have been a mistake because we didn’t want to, because we both like each other,” he explains, “so we do want to but it would've been a mistake because she’s leaving.” 

“What?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Yunho lets out softly and Yeosang shrugs. He’s the one that knows the most about you since he’s the one Yeosang has been able to speak with the most these past few months. 

“That party she was talking about,” he doesn’t really answer Yunho but addresses everyone in the room, “I need help organizing it. It should be a viewing party and a farewell party as well. She got accepted into the Royal Ballet.” 

“Huh?!” 

Now everyone turns to Yunho at the sound he lets out and he’s covering his mouth and then shrugs as well, a little ashamed of himself. 

“I’m not a ballet guy but I know what that is. They were on tour here last year… And I went.” 

“Are they good?” San asks and Yunho nods frantically as an answer. “So that means she’s good as well.” 

“She is,” Yeosang feels himself deflating, falling into the mattress with a longing sigh. “She lied to you, she’s actually in most of my documentary.” 

“I think you forget I’ve seen you editing it before, Yeo.” Yunho laughs.

“Mhm.”

He looks at his friends and both Seonghwa and San look like they want to press him to speak about his feelings but they’re biting their tongue, Yunho’s leg goes up and down and he looks like he's about to apologize for something dumb but no one talks. Yeosang doesn’t want to talk about it, either. 

So Wooyoung comes to the rescue. 

“A farewell party, now that’s something I can help with!” 

San laughs “And a viewing party, don’t forget about the viewing part.” 

“The documentary first and then everyone is getting drunk and silly, okay?” He points at Yeo Sang and he nods, reluctantly because he knows what that means. 

“I think I actually have a place for it,” Yunho swallows tightly and Yeosang scrunches his eyebrows in worry. “I mean, I was going to tell you all when we were together but, uhm, I think I’m starting my own dance studio. I received a… fat check this month.” 

“Are you sure that’s not the money your father is giving you to try and get you in his company long term?”

“Whatever!” Yeosang laughs and San gets up and puts a mouth over Wooyoung’s mouth for the second time in the last thirty minutes. Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I got a place and it has a second floor I’m planning to make into a setup for video games and whatnot. I already ordered the projector, it’s what I’m trying to say,” he shrugs and looks at You Sang again. “We can have it there, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees softly. 

And as San lets go of Wooyoung and Seonghwa sits next to him to give him a hug (because he knows that’s better than any words right now), Yeosang can’t help but wonder if now that the party is happening and him and your friends are saying goodbye to you for good, it’s finally time to let go of his feelings for you.

But then, as he watches Yunho sit down in his bed, in the same space where he had you on his lap and with his lips close to yours, the voice in his head that’s been nagging him about the whole thing all these months returns. 

And it laughs at him.

It laughs at his wishful thinking and then it reminds him that there’s no letting go of his feelings for you. Those are there to stay, for a good while, as long as you stay the same person and as long as your smile brings him peace. As long as your happiness brings him his, as long as the rhythm of your feet mark the rhythm of his heartbeats, he’s yours. 

He 's yours. 

Do you want him to be yours?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. part 2 will be out..... someday in the next few weeks (I promise I'm working on it!)

© jensthwa, 2025.

[qveenbunni]

This was absolutely insane 🤭💜

can i get some nsfw mingi headcanons up in here

CAN U? 😛

idk why i did tour mingi and hes lowkey a perv enjoy

mingi who cant last on tour without you, without you knowing hes stolen at least three pairs of panties from you, maybe used, maybe not, using them whenever he fists his dick, wrapping the lace around his hand, fucking into the fabric, burying his nose in them while he fucks into a pillow because his hand just isnt enough

mingi who sends you dick pics without warning, or bulge pics, sometimes with his hand wrapped around his length over the denim, or the leather, whatever fabric the stylist put him in that day, he’ll have the decency to send them with invisible ink but will follow up with a visible message defeating the purpose, “think of me when ur fucking ur fingers”

mingi who, if you came to a show, would whore it up onstage tenfold, simply because you’re in the room and he can smell you and it makes his brain dizzy he doesn't even realize how he's acting until the members point it out and make him blush on the big screen

mingi who doesn't even wait until you’re back at the hotel to touch you, to get his hands on you, his lips on yours, his lips on your skin. yunho has to force him to change, quite literally dragging him away before he’s dry humping your thigh

mingi who lays you down and takes his time with you, stripping you down to nothing before he’s even kissed you, tracing every curve of your body with his tongue, leaving makes behind that’d be hidden to everyone but you and him, marks to remember him after he leaves you for another city

mingi who pins you down on your back, trails his tongue down your neck, kisses you sweet before stretching you out, your moans dancing together in perfect coalition. he’d start slow, savoring every second, drinking up every whine that slipped through your lips and against his

mingi who’d be overcome with pleasure and your presence, your scent, your sounds, how you felt, and wouldn’t be able to hold back. pushing your legs backward, keeping you pinned beneath him he’d lock his knees around your hips, his nose pressed to yours, folding you in half, and he’d take you. nothing but the sound of sweaty skin smacking skin, incoherent moans of pure ecstasy tumbling from both your mouths, and the slick sound of your body accepting him

mingi who mumbles praises in your ear as you tighten around him, body shaking, eyes squeezing shut in white hot pleasure as you cum around his dick. so good for me, my good fuckin’ girl, fuck yes, ohhh you can do it baby… but you know hes right behind you, seconds pass before hes pushed into you to the hilt, painting your walls white, his cock twitching within you, filling you with his cum

mingi who is a total romantic and though completely wrecked will totally run you a bath that he’ll take with you, help you into your pajamas- one of his big tee’s an no panties, and will tuck you into bed beside him…. both of you knowing you’ll wake up in the morning to do it all over again before a plane calls his name

…

[qveenbunni]

skz as flowers

──── ୨୧ ────

Changbin as : Lily of the Valley

──── ୨୧ ────

| Bangchan | Lee Know | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | I.n. |

──── ୨୧ ────

masterlist

[qveenbunni]

☆

[qveenbunni]

🤭 Aw shucks, you got me blushing ☺️ And of course! There are certain parts that I HAVE to share my thoughts on- I can’t just silently scream alone in my room , that’s no fun 😅. And I’m down for anything- there was so much going on, so I understand why the sibling dynamic couldn’t be shown more. That little window we got was more than enough! Especially after what went down 😏😏

Ah I know I’m gonna like any and everything you write- I’m hooked. I’m the most intrigued by Woo and Gyuri because they’re such a constant in everyone’s stories… those two are by far the biggest idiots 😂. I can’t wait for theirs as well! I wonder what type of direction you’re going in 🤔 regardless, I’m loving this universe so so soooooooo much! 💜✨

THANK YOU FOR WRITING! 🙇🏽‍♀️x10000000000000000000000000000000000

mountebank chem: epilogue (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 7.08k

WARNINGS & TAGS: attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns for reader, the morning after and the day after that. reader and yunho are very in love is lowkey kind of gross everyone, kissing, fluff, dream-talk, yeosang talk too! a little bit of angst if you squint, decision making and finally standing up for yourself is hard and reader is doing their best, sukwon being a good brother and making reader cry, gyuri being a little shit, wooyoung being a little shit, seonghwa being a good friend, happy endings let's goooo.

NOTES: hi everyone! here's the epilogue i promised! like i've said in a few asks that i've gotten, there's a little bit of the next story here, just something so you all have context of it before going in. i don't know when that one is going to be up (i'm not really far along with it) but either way i want to thank all of you for the patience and the wait! i really loved writing mbc:'). this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: february 20th 2025.

taglist: @kyunlov, @tinyelfperson, @0115degrees, @daniela-f-uwu, @ultrapinkvoidbouquet, @kyeomooniee, @fairylover68, @sushiinmidnight, @qveenbunni, @calmoistorm, @potatomountain, @svintsandghosts, @lemonkait00, @blue5ummer, @fancypeacepersona, @hyukssunflower, @i-love-ateez, @alsomimi, @e3ellie, @st3ft0n3s, @hotteokkay, @xylatox, @honeybeehorizon, @hwallazia, @mady-66.

masterlist - part one - part two. part three. part four.

When Yunho wakes up, rested and naked, the room is dark. 

He turns to the side and the curtains are, of course, down but the thing is that he doesn’t remember closing them the night before. 

When he turns to where you’re supposed to be, the bed is made on your side and you’re not there. 

Strangely enough, he doesn’t panic. He is sure of what you both have, he trusts you enough to know you didn’t run away from him, from you two, again. 

Also, he can smell a mix of coffee and the turpentine-like smell of paint as he gets dressed with his boxers and the slacks he was wearing the night before after picking them up off the floor and going to the bathroom to wash his face. 

He pokes his face out to the living space and there’s a make-shift tarp on the floor, the furniture is moved around to make space for you and an easel. You’re sitting down on a wooden stool, painting away and he wonders if he just missed that last night or if he genuinely just passed out and didn't notice this much change. 

He clears his throat “Good morning, princess.” 

You jump a little, turning your head to look at him and there’s paint on your face and your hand when you wave at him. 

“Hi, Jeong.” 

“Seriously?” 

“What?” 

He chuckles “No cute nickname? Just Jeong?” 

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it?” You turn back and he catches that you’re pretending to focus on your painting, but you’re repassing the same painstrokes as before. 

“We’re going to have to work on it,” he lets out a sigh that turns into a yawn. “Sorry that I slept in on you. What time is it?” 

“Around three.” 

“In the afternoon?!” Yunho looks around for his phone but he locates the clock in the wall first and he confirms your words. “Princess, why didn’t you wake me up? We could’ve spent the day together…” 

“I rather you rest,” you shrug and he takes a few steps until he’s behind you, his hands immediately reaching out to touch you. He can’t help it, he wants to physically fuse into you but he compromises with nature and just massages your shoulders. “You have sectionals in two weeks, right?” 

He frowns at the reminder, a tiny smile on his lips a second later. 

“How do you know that?”

You stop the brush on the canvas and then look at him again, eyelashes batting with fake innocence. 

“I kind of bribed my assistant so she could bribe yours and now your general schedule is on my phone…” 

He fakes a gasp and he marvels in the pout he gets in return. 

“I needed to know when you were leaving the dorm this week!” 

“So you could drop the gift?” 

“Mhm,” you say, puckering your lips to ask for a kiss. He pretends to go for it and he truly pats his back for having a little of self-restraint when he dodges you to pretend he just thought about something. 

“Oh! That reminds me…” 

You huff in annoyance and interrupt whatever he’s about to say. 

“How did you know my room number and who let you in?” 

“I paid the receptionist and showed him proof that we were together,” he explains like it’s nothing and you huff again, amused this time. “Told him I wanted to surprise you.” 

“That’s so irresponsible.” 

Yunho reaches the box he left on the coffee table last night, opens it and pulls the polaroids out. 

“You dropped this off without any explanation! What are these?” 

When he turns around, you’re already painting again and he gets a five second look in his direction before you return your attention to your art. 

“Oh.” there’s a smile on your lips Yunho loves, although he’s not sure if it’s because you’re doing what you love or if you got reminded of something. “I was hoping you asked me about it. I, um, stayed at a resort during New Years, in Gangwondo.”

“Is this the first time we spent Chrismtas and New Years away from each other?” 

“Not the first time,” you muse and then shrug, “but definitely the first time in a long time, huh?” 

“I didn't like it.” 

“Why?” You look at him again and he sits on his knees on the couch like a neglected child, looking your way. You seem to find it endearing, because you laugh. “Because you didn't have anyone to kick under the table this year?” 

“That has never happened.” 

“Liar. Anyway, they have this winter festival that goes all the way until mid January and they have this… Traditional and modern fusion media dance performance that made me think of you. So I took some pictures of the dancers.” 

“So you just put them in the box because you took them while thinking of me?” 

There’s shyness painting your tone when you reply “Yeah.” 

His heart thumps happily inside his chest and he gets off the couch. 

“I love you.” 

You laugh again “I love you too, Yunho,” and, as you shake your head a little, you look in the kitchenette direction with your lips pointed at it. “I ordered some breakfast that you can heat up or you can give me… Twenty minutes and I can change and we can—” 

Yunho revels in the squeak of surprise you let out when he closes the distance, leans in and catches your lips in a short but firm kiss. 

“We can stay in all day if you want to.” He says and you kiss his lips one more time. 

“Okay,” you seem happy to have that option so he sees the moment you make the decision to not push going out at all. “There’s some clothes for you in the walk-in closet. I ordered them when I ordered all of this,” you point at the mess on the tarp and the floor, “I figured you might need them.”

“Thank you, my love.” He whispers and he pecks your lips before reaching for your nearly empty coffee cup. 

“There’s also one for you in the—” 

“I want this one,” he says, a sly smile on his lips and one of his hands returns to your shoulders to massage them. 

He takes a look at the canvas for once and he notices that, what he thought was a solid background color and some structure, has actually started to look like the view in front of you both, with the Namsan Tower in the back. 

“What about the CD?” 

“Hm?”

“Your gift,” he reminds you, “there’s also a CD.” 

“A mixtape, with songs that make me think of us.”

Yunho blows some air and he doesn’t have to look down to see you’re frowning at the sound “You’re a romantic.” 

“Do you want to die?” 

He laughs but doesn’t address the threat at all. Instead, the focus is on your art “The painting of us and the kids is beautiful,” he can feel your skin under his palm heat up at the compliment and it makes him smile. “This one is too.” 

“It all just flows so much smoothly when I don’t have to think about work or being home,” you admit, your body relaxing into his when he takes a sip of the cup and brings it around for you to do the same. “I want to stay here, with you, forever.” 

“And we can,” he murmurs into your head, leaving a kiss on your temple a second later. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I want to move out,” you say, your tone full of wishfulness and Yunho takes in a breath at what that could mean for you, “I want to quit my job.” 

“And what do you want to do for work, then?” He asks, already supporting the decision. “You want to paint?” 

You shake your head, looking up at him, a wishful glint in your eye “I want to be an art teacher.” 

“Oh?” 

“Do you want to work for your father?” 

“Not in a million years, I— Princess, don’t get mad for what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

You turn in the stool, looking up at him with an inquisitorial brow until he crouches down on the floor to meet your eye. 

“My plan has always been to pretend to work and go along with him until I graduate college. Then, I want to move away. I want to… I don’t know, get disowned?” 

Eyes widening, you take in a sharp breath and then cough into your hand. 

He offers you the cup so you can take the final sip out of it. 

“It’s part of why I went along with the PR relationship in the first place.” 

You nod and he gulps, staring as you get lost in thought for a second. 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I sort of planned to use you?” 

“Not really, though. You wanted to use the relationship they threw us into?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s understandable, then. I… I understand.” This time, you’re the one gulping and he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “I, um, I’m not sure if I actually can go against my parents wishes and never see my brother again, Yun.” 

He shakes his head. “If you think for a second that Sukwon is going to give a fuck about your parents feelings, you’re wrong. I… Me and Gunho are not as close as I want us to be, you know? But we talk about things.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Sometimes,” his laugh lasts a few seconds only and then he clears his throat. “If there’s something I'm sure of, princess, is that your brother loves you with all his heart. If you want to step away from the family business, from your parents, he… He’ll understand.” 

You nod again. 

“And I’m not saying any of this because I want you to do the same things I want to do but I—” 

You interrupt him “What do you want to do?” 

“Huh?”

“Do you want to work as an engineer?” 

“Yes,” he breathes out and you smile, “but I also want to dance. Have an academy, maybe, but I need money and experience and a name.” 

“You already have a name.” 

“I need to make a name for myself, princess,” he explains and you nod like you already knew, because you probably did. “Get a stage name, maybe.” 

“Ha!” you laugh and he raises his eyebrows, amused by your reaction. “Maybe… Yunho the rakehell? Yunho… Oh! Yunho the bitchl—” 

“Stop that!” 

It seems like that joke is never to die down and he’s glad, he’s glad that he doesn’t take genuine offense in it anymore and he’s glad it makes you laugh in a way he wants to record and play on repeat forever. 

Grabbing his face, your thumbs brush against his cheeks and he can swear he has never felt so at ease until now. This, waking up and going out of the room to find you doing what you love. You, looking at him with some much love, it's hard to believe it took you both so long to leave your pride behind and work it out. 

“You are worth it, Yunho,” you whisper and he knows right away you’re referring to the fight you both had at the office, “and I have no idea how we’re going to make it, but we are. Of that I’m sure, my love. I trust you,” you brush his hair back and off his forehead, “I trust us.” 

He holds your face as well, the pad of his finger passing over the dry paint on your cheek.

“I trust us, too.” 

Before he can react, you’re smooching his lips again and he melts into the encounter, the passion of last night bleeding into his movements once again and painting him red when he gets on his knees and pulls you into his lap in a smooth motion. You yelp and laugh and then you moan into his mouth when his hands find your ass and his fingers dig into it through the jeans you’re wearing. 

Huh. 

You’re wearing jeans. 

They look so natural and good on you that he didn’t even notice it’s the first time he seeing you in jeans. 

“Again?” You ask, already winded and clinging onto him for dear life in a way that makes him laugh. He pulls back and finds you shyly smiling at him but it doesn’t really help your care that he can see right through the act. 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

“Y/N…” 

“It was a joke,” you grab his shoulders to shake him to no avail and then before getting up you lean in to kiss his cheek in a manner so sweet that makes him all giddy, like a fool in love. Maybe because that’s what he is. “Take a shower.” 

“Take it with me.” He says, without thinking about it but one hundred percent meaning it. 

“I already showered.” 

He makes sure to scrunch his nose and make a funny face “Did you really?” 

It’s not really a surprise when you turn around from your painting and swipe your brush across his mouth. 

“I smell amazing and you smell like shit. Go and shower, Jeong.” 

He enjoys ticking you off a bit too much. Either way he laughs, the taste of paint on his tongue when he does and, when he gets up and goes to the bathroom, he hears the soft sound of your giggle and his heart feels full.  

And then you get him back like ten minutes later, by turning off the light in the bathroom and almost giving him a heart attack at the sudden loss of it. He breathes out an exaggerated sigh and, when you turn them back on, he turns around and watches you through the glass divider. 

Unfortunately for you, the glass is frosted from his chest down, but you lean against the marble counter and eye him suggestively nonetheless. He continues with his shower as if this is the most normal scenario ever for the two of you. 

It feels like it, anyway. 

“Can I help you, princess?” 

“Tomorrow I’ll go home,” you start, not a question or a request, but a fact. “I’ll go home and I'm going to sit with them all at dinner and let them hear what I’m going to do from now on. They don’t need to know that I’m going to take classes—” 

“You are?” 

Humming, you nod once and then twice after a second of looking at the floor, determination in your stare when you look up at him again. “I’m going to get a bachelor’s in art education, maybe just art first. It’ll take time but…” You shrug. 

“But you’ll be doing what makes you happy.” He finishes for you. 

“Yeah,” you return softly, “and I'll be detached from my family’s hip eventually.” 

“One will argue,” he says, closing his eyes to avoid shampoo to get into them, “that you’re already pretty independent.” 

“While doing my work and my brother’s work, sure,” you smile, “but not when it comes to living on my own.” 

An idea crosses his mind and colors his cheeks, so he hums “You’ll be lonely.” 

“I already feel that way at home… But I do love the idea of having a space all for myself.” 

He hums again and then wipes the water from his eyes to send you a look. 

“How much do you love it?” 

“Jeong,” you say, laughing when you finally get what he’s suggesting, “we’re not moving in together.” 

He pouts. 

“Yet.” 

He smiles at you again. 

“Besides,” turning around, you let out a tired sigh when you catch the paint on your face and then you open the faucet to clean it off, “then Yeosang would miss you too much and he’ll blame me. I don’t want your friend to hate me.”

“He would never—” 

You don’t let him dismantle your excuses “What is he up to with that documentary, anyway?” 

He closes the shower and reaches for a towel the next second, not even bothering fully covering himself up when he gets out and you send him a look through the mirror, one he can’t decide if it’s in reproach or if it’s charged with something else. Probably both. 

But he plays coy and tries his best to answer your question as he secures the towel around his hips. 

“He’s doing this documentary about dance, he’s been working on it for a while. Obviously I’m the star of it,” he watches you roll your eyes and he bumps your arm with his in retaliation. “But my co-stars are taking all of his attention now. It’s kind of annoying.” 

“And he finds them— your co-stars I mean,” your eyes roll again, “at the club?” 

Yunho barely helps the laugh that spills out of his lips.

“No, um, that’s a completely different story. He keeps saying that he needs to film this one girl for the documentary but we all stopped believing him when he almost got beat up for filming her,” he explains, his hands brushing his wet hair back, “and he went back to do it again anyway.” 

Your hip connects to the countertop again, your back to the mirror “So he’s in love?” 

“I don’t think so. I think he’s… Intrigued.” 

“Is she an exotic dancer or something?” 

“What?” 

“What?” you return, shrugging, “nothing wrong with stripping for a living.”

“I know, that’s not what I meant—” 

“Do you have something against strippers, Yunho?” Your eyes narrow at him. 

“N-no, of course I—”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“Princess…” He breathes out another laugh, a nervous chuckle this time. “Stop teasing me.” 

Your frown slowly breaks into a smile and he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“But you look so cute when you’re flustered!”

He stops messing with his hair to grab your hips and make sure you have nowhere to go, trapped between his body and the cold marble behind you. 

“I’m not cute,” he says, low, almost in a whisper, “and I showered.” 

“Yunho… Are you not hungry at all? You have to eat something.” 

He wants to laugh again but he stops himself, his hands roaming your front and slipping to your legs when he kneels a little “Hm, I’m starving.” 

Gasping when he kisses your middle through your shirt, you push him away with feign distress written all over your expression. 

“Jeong!” 

He gets back up again “What?” 

“Are you going to be this much of a troublemaker when we live together? I have things to do!” 

He stops, his hands holding your hips still and then you gasp again when he tugs and presses you against his body. 

“You said when.” 

You gulp “I know what I said.” 

“You’re making plans for the future and I’m in them.” 

“Well,” you titter with a nervous glint in your eye, but your chin is up the next second, “you know what? Yeah. Yes, I am, because I love—” 

He presses his lips against yours before you finish your sentence and when he pulls away you push on his chest again. 

“Annoying.” You say but you don’t mean it and he laughs, his arms going around you before you melt into his embrace fully. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Mhm.” 

You think about it, he can feel you thinking as he rocks you both from side to side “No,” you finally say, in a whisper and then your next words come out firmer. “No, I need to do this on my own. I would love to see you later tomorrow night, though.” 

“Hm, I have practice and then I promised to help Gyuri move in with Wooyoung but I can tell them that I’m in love and busy.” 

“No, no,” you pull back, smiling a little, “Can I… I mean, I can help.”

He smiles as well “You want to?” 

You nod. 

“She has a bunch of shit but San is moving most of the stuff because, partially, it’s his fault she has to move, so.” 

“Hm, how so?”

“Gyuri and his girlfriend live together, for years now, and now they want to move in with each other so Gyuri is forced to live with the embodiment of mischief while she finds an apartment she can afford.” 

You laugh “I don’t think it bothers her that much.” 

“Why?” He frowns and, at his question, you give him an incredulous look. “Why?” 

“Baby, oh my God.” 

He lets you go and you push him away fully, getting out of the bathroom. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” 

“Figure it out, dummy!” 

He’s truly, genuinely and utterly confused, but the smile on his face hardly goes down as he watches you sit down in front of your painting again, from the bathroom door’s threshold. 

And his heart aches for the pain you’re probably going to endure the next day. 

When you enter the code to your front door, bag in hand, it’s almost lunch time. You didn’t let them know you’ll be returning today but you’re sure the way your suitcase falls at the dining room’s entrance is enough to alert them. Sukwon jumps a little, your mother lets out a scream and your father looks up from his phone slowly, gives you a look, and then looks back down. 

“Oh, great, you’re back. Y/N, next time would you please let me know when you’re showing up so I can schedule your appointments accordingly— Kim Y/N!” 

Your mother's scandalized scream is not what surprises you. What surprises you is the hug Sukwon gets up to give you, a tight squeeze that you smile into and then make a face at when he pulls away. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to just you. “Don’t let her tell you otherwise.” 

Nodding, you finally face your mother whose jaw is almost hitting the floor by now. Your father, as usual, is unbothered and tapping his fingers against the glass of the table, impatiently waiting for his food. 

“Why do you mutilate yourself like this? And without notifying your team, nonetheless! We’ll have to… Get you some hair extensions for the shoot that you have—”

“No.”

She pauses, her jaw ticking and her eyebrow raising in warning. A few months ago, the mere thought of upsetting her would’ve sent you into a panic attack. Now, you stand your ground and curve your lips with pride, lift your chin up with courage and hold the handle of your suitcase a little tighter because you need it, because your hands tremble a little. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said no,” you repeat yourself and your tone gains you your father's attention. “I’m sure the public can survive a haircut, mom. Can you?” 

“Kim Y/N do not talk to me like that!” 

She steps your way and your brother steps a side, giving you a wide eyed look that can only mean a here she goes again and you purse your lips to stop yourself from nervously laughing at it. 

“You cut your hair, you leave for three months and come back all… All chubby,” oh, my god, “and you dare to speak to me that way?!” 

The mention of your weight does send a little panic cruising through you. It has your father huffing from his seat and your brother snapping his head rapidly in your mother’s direction, a frown creasing his eyebrows and you can tell he’s about to say something but you stop him with a shake of your head.

And then you laugh. 

You taste something bitter in your mouth and you can see the exact moment she notices her words are not affecting you the way they usually do. 

“I think it’s time I move out,” you start, with a tiny, sardonic smile on your lips, “and I also think it is also time you think about the way you speak to me, mother. And I think you,” you turn to your father, “need to think about all the times you allowed her to talk to me that way.”

Your dad looks up, raises his eyebrows, hums and then looks back down again. 

“Sure thing.” He says. 

“What is happening right now?” your mother asks, a nervous chuckle coming out of her and after that she moves her hand, dismissing your point and turning to go to her seat again. “You’re talking nonsense. Go upstairs and wash. You’re obviously not having dinner, I hope.” 

She’s always doing it on purpose, bringing you down like that on purpose, but right now? Right now she craves vengeance. You notice it in the way she looks for your reaction when she looks up. 

“I am having dinner. Not here, not with you, not anymore.” 

Your mother sighs, rubs her forehead with her thumb and her index “Kim Y/N, I beg, stop terrorizing me and—” 

“She’s moving in with me.” 

You turn to Sukwon, he gives you a look to signal you to follow his lead. 

“She’s a little bit too grown up and independent to live under your roof still, mom. Dad?” He asks and your father looks up. “Don’t you agree?” 

“Well,” your father cleans his throat, his back hitting the back of his chair as he thinks it over, “she is capable of being on her own. Besides, her room can make a wonderful office for you, dear.” 

“Her room is staying hers because she’s not going anywhere!” Your mom stands up again, voice dark and tone painted over with something you’ve never even heard before. Not coming from her, at least: Fear. “Why do you suddenly want to move out? Is there…” She closes her mouth and then gulps, breathing out a laugh the next second. “Are you running away with someone, Y/N? Is that it? Did you fall in love on your little trip? You’re promised to someone!” 

“Promised? I am not promised because we’re in the twenty-first century, mom!” 

“To Yunho, Y/N! Don’t be stupid and tell your little fling to get lost!”

“Mom…” Sukwon warns but she laughs again, indignant. 

“What? She knows this already. How would the Jeong’s feel if—” 

“I don’t care what they feel!” 

Your voice resonates in the room, it shuts everyone up, it makes your mom take a step back and your father blocks his phone, finally interested in what’s going on. 

“I am with Yunho.” 

Your mother smiles a second too late at what you said and opens her mouth, but you interrupt whatever nonsense she’s about to spew out. 

“I am with him but not because you or his mother planned it. I’m not trying to fullfill your little fucked up fantasy—” 

“Y/N!” She gasps at the cursing but you continue nonetheless. 

“I am with him because I love him. I love him and he loves me and we are together because, against all odds, we ended up bonding and finding comfort and solace in each other. We made the choice, we did,” you insist on it, to let her know that it doesn’t matter if you two being together is exactly what she wanted, the final say is on you and Yunho alone. “I have something you two could never have and that’s companionship and true understanding that’s not rutted in power or in money. He… He made me realize we’re so much more than this.” You move your hands in the space between you and the rest of the room and your father hums a bitter sound in return.

“This,” your father gets up from his seat, hands going in the pockets of his dress pants and eyebrows raised with a sardonic edge to them that pisses you off, “is your family.”

“I know and that makes it worse,” you nod and the slow anger showing in his expressions grows just a tad bit more, so you go on before anyone else can interrupt you again. “Here’s what’s going to happen from now on, dad; If you want me to, I’ll keep working at the company, but Sukwon's responsibilities are solely his from now on,”  you turn to your brother and he gives a fake pout but then he nods. “My job is simple, my job should allow me to focus on what I really want and, once I get what I really want, I'll make sure to find someone who can fit my spot so seemingly you won't even notice I'm gone.”

“I thought that what you wanted was to work for this company, Y/N.” Your father says.

“I thought so too,” you murmur back to him before shrugging, “but now I’m not so sure.” 

A bit of pregnant silence passes. The air feels thick now that you told them your terms, your plan or what you allowed them to hear of it anyways. Like you told your boyfriend, there’s no need for them to know that you want to take classes or teach. 

You’ll just do it. No need for their approval.  

But your mother still grasps at the control she had on you three months ago. She holds on to it, desperately and, if you were someone else and the situation was any different, you would probably admire the strength it takes to stay this egotistical and delusional until the end. 

She doesn’t seem to understand that her only daughter is running away from her. You’re not sure she cares, either and it hurts because, deep down, you expected to walk off with redemption on her side. 

Sometimes, there’s no redemption at all from the people who hurt you. 

And that’s also okay. 

“Are you done?” She asks, looking around. “Are you all done with this nonsense?” 

Taking in a breath, you try to tell her that what you said it’s what’s going to happen but she is not having it. 

“No,” her finger is up and you raise your eyebrow at it, which gains you a raise on hers in return. “No. You’re not looking for a replacement and no you’re not moving out. That’s insane, Kim Y/N, that’s—” 

“What’s my favorite color?” You interrupt to ask her and she stops, opening and closing her mouth while searching for an answer. “What’s my favorite sweet?” 

“You don’t have one.” 

“I do, I actually have two. What’s my favorite book? Movie? Song?” You turn to your dad this time. “What’s my favorite marketing strategy? Do you even know that one?” 

Silence. 

“You don’t know me enough to want to keep me here. I understand why you might think you do, but you don’t. Because, guess what? I’m an adult.”

Your mother opens her mouth and closes it again when you shake your head. 

And although you’re not speaking to her anymore, you keep looking at your mother straight in the eye and you’re able to catch the exact moment she realizes she lost. 

She lost. 

“I’m an adult with a paying job and savings you didn’t need to know anything about. So you either take it or leave it. Dad?” 

“You want me to decide now?” 

You let out a bitter laugh “You can do whatever you want. Just know that I’m not settling for anything else but what I told you. I can either train someone or you can fire me and I can look for a new job,” you explain, “but either way I’m out of here.” 

Your mother sighs and then mutters under her breath, but you catch it “What is everyone going to say?” 

“I don’t care,” you tell her again and at the response she looks up, startled, like she didn’t expect you to keep going. “Now, I hope you have a lovely lunchr.”

You’re positively shaking when you step into the hallway and through the front door again, with your suitcase in your hand still and no actual plan on where you want to go. Maybe back to the hotel?

Mind reeling, it finally registers the fact that your mother turned to your father and pleaded him to do something for the sake of the family's image just before you stepped foot outside of the house. It was a screech of don't let her go, do something! laced with clear selfish concern. 

You feel panic rising, closing your throat up and you feel lost, lost in what you just did, lost in what it actually means for you. 

“Hey, hey.” Sukwon catches up to you quickly, his keys in his hands, his breath jagged like he escaped your mother’s claws because that’s probably what happened. “Sell out! You needed to signal me when you wanted to leave, dumbass!” 

His eyes linger on your trembling hands when he takes the suitcase from you and you do your best to steady them. 

“You didn’t have anything to eat.” 

“I know. Where are you going?” 

“To… I don’t really know. Yunho’s dorm?” 

Sukwon laughs. 

“You have a house, you know.”

“I think I’m very much homeless right now. I’m getting trapped and probably thrown in a cell if I go back inside.” You swallow tightly as the realization washes over you. “She’s so mad.” 

“My house,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I told them you’re moving in with me, didn’t I?” 

“Sukwon…” 

“I meant it,” there’s something soft in his eyes before he turns to open the main gate so you can both walk up to his car. “You can stay with me. Like you said, you’re grown and I won't have to look after you anymore.” 

“Pfft,” that brings out a genuine laugh out of you, “anymore.” 

“I remember running behind you in the garden because you couldn't keep still the second you learned how to walk!” 

You look at him with a pout as he opens the trunk, throwing your bag in it without any care in the world. 

Like an older brother would. 

If your eyes turn watery, you make sure to swallow back the emotion before he can figure out why. 

“Can I have my own room?” 

“You have a room there already,” he admits, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about you when buying the apartment. Guhno usually stays there but I’m sure he can take the couch when he comes over and— Aw, Y/N!” 

By the time he closes the trunk, you’re already crying. A little, enough for him to notice it. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Open the door.” 

“I’m so telling Yunho you cried!” 

“Leave him out of it!” You push his shoulder, quickly getting into the car when he unblocks the doors and he does the same. “He’s staying over whenever he wants, by the way.” 

Sukwon laughs, his eyes wide when he turns to you “Not a chance in hell, Kim Y/N.”

“Okay, then your boyfriend is not staying over either!” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” 

You muse, trying not to laugh “I’m telling Gunho oppa you’re denying your love to my face.”

Your brother lets out a sigh and then you squeak when he pulls your hair, playfully, before looking at you with the most sincere stare Kim Sukwon has probably given anyone ever. 

“I’m really proud of you, kid.” 

Pouting again, you look away and through the window as he pulls out of the curb and into the streets, the house you grew up in quickly fading into the background and your heart thumping hard against your ribs. 

“Are you crying again?” 

“Ugh,” you turn to him, tears running down your cheeks and a smile pulling at your lips, “you’re so annoying.” 

Your clothes are now in your room at Sukwon’s (and yours) apartment, in the walk-in closet. Your brother's taste is nothing short of luxurious and obnoxious and the room is decorated in a way you would never think of decorating it but he swears he has someone who can fix it for me if he wants to.

He forgets that you already know Seonghwa but it's okay, because when you show up at Gyuri’s old apartment, you make sure to find him to tell him just that. 

“I've literally told him that we both know Yunho and each other. Wasn't he the one who gave you my number?” Seonghwa asks, mouth hanging open a bit in surprise. 

“He did, yes.” 

Seonghwa huffs in amusement and you shrug a little “Well, do you want me to work in your room?” He asks after a few seconds and you smile, considering. 

“I think I’m going to do it myself, Hwa.” 

At the nickname, his smile widens and he nods. You think he’s about to say something else, however your attention drifts from your newfound friend and your eyes search for Yunho in the middle of the room, on the floor, as he takes a piece of furniture apart. 

He’s wearing a dark grey crewneck that makes him look so deliciously good you can’t barely help your staring. There’s not one ounce of shame on your body and you’re sure it shows on your face because Seonghwa laughs besides you. 

“So I didn’t paint over the tree,” he says and you frown, turning to him, “but I take you reconsidered my point anyway?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“It’s not going to happen,” the mockery in his tone while he tries to make an impression of you doesn’t offend you because you can see the intention behind it and it makes you laugh, roll your eyes and close your arms over your chest, like a child who just got caught. “It’s not going to happen, my ass. Look at you!” 

“So I was wrong, who cares?” 

“I do, I love being right.” 

“He does,” Wooyoung comes into view from the kitchen, a drop of sweet doing his temple and into his cheek that Seonghwa wipes away like it’s nothing. “But I can say I called it first, remember? I’m never wrong.”

“You most certainly are,” Hwa says and you laugh at the expression Wooyoung makes to his friend, offended. Seonghwa turns to you. “He’s wrong most of the time.” 

“Okay, that’s it, you’re helping me with the weird spice rack she insists on taking.” Wooyoung takes his elder arm and pulls, making you laugh and Seonghwa gasps. 

“You’ve been working on that all afternoon!”

“She installed it herself so it’s all wonky, Hwa.” 

Gyuri screams from behind a pile of clothes. You can't even see her even though you know she's standing up. “It is not wonky, Jung Wooyoung!” 

Pursing your lips so you don't laugh at her predicament, you watch as Wooyoung silently communicates to Seonghwa that the space rack is, in fact, wonky and then you jump a little when arms close around you from behind. 

“Stop complaining, Woo, you're going to have the pleasure to install it however you want later.” Yunho's voice is close to your ear and you hug the arms that hold you, melting into the embrace. 

Gyuri laughs sharply when she registers what he said and Wooyoung makes a face at your boyfriend “I hate it here.” 

“Sure you do, Wooyoung.” You nod at him, joking even though you don’t know him that well, and Seonghwa joins the tiny laugh you let out at the face Wooyoung gives you. 

“I truly did not need a new addition to the group if I was going to get bullied by them as well.” 

You fake offense, laughing a second later and Yunho swats a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passes by you both and into the kitchen again. Seonghwa rolls his eyes before following Wooyoung into the kitchen as well. 

Yunho breathes out, his lips finding your cheek “How are you feeling?” 

Turning to him, you smile a little. You know he’s asking about what went a little earlier today. 

“I’m good, baby,” you whisper back, leaning in a little and kissing him tenderly on the lips. He reciprocates but when you pull away you can see the concern in his eyes. “I promise. I already knew how she was going to react.” 

“Me too but that doesn’t make it any less fucked up, Princess.” 

“I know,” letting out a sigh, you turn to the living room again and the corners of your lips lift at the mess. “But I’m out of the house and I’m alright now.” 

“My mom texted me to congratulate us.” 

“Oh?” You don’t turn to him again but your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did you answer?” 

“No,” he breathes out a laugh, “but I should.”

“We can’t run from them forever, Yun,” you feel him nod against you and, finally, you turn around completely to face him. His hands find your waist, his lips curve as he watches you over and you do the same. “Also, you’re banned from my house.” 

His smile drops. 

“Huh?” 

“Sukwon doesn’t want you sleeping over.” 

“What did I do?” 

You hear someone laughing behind you and Gyuri comes into view a second later “You’re the official boyfriend now, Yunho, you lost your sleeping over privileges.” 

“I never had them to begin with!” 

“Well—” The sound of glass breaking stops her in her tracks and she goes a little pale at what it means. “Call the police, I’m committing a murder and then turning myself in.” 

And then she disappears into the kitchen as well. Faintly, you can hear Seonghwa laughing. You hold onto Yunho, fingers threading softly into the strands of hair on his neck. 

“They’re not helping us when we move in together.” 

Yunho laughs. 

“When we move in together we’re going to hire professionals.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And Seonghwa can do the interior design of the main part of the house but we can handle our room and studios by ourselves.” 

“Mhm.” 

There’s that slight glint of concern that crosses his expression again when you take in a deep breath, but you shake your head so he can let go of it. 

“We’ll be okay, Yun. We are okay.” 

You watch him swallow tightly but then he nods. There’s a lot you both should be concerned about right now but, as you hear Wooyoung scream from the kitchen and a loud smack against the wall nearest to you, you both silently decide to be in the moment. 

It doesn’t really matter what hardships you go through, as long as you’re together. 

“Against all odds,” you insist, “we’ll be alright.” 

I love them and I'm so sad to let them go but hey! that's life! If you read all the way down hear, thank you so, so much. Don't be afraid to go into my askbox to make comments, suggestions, etc! I will take everything into account for my other stories. Thank you!

© jensthwa, 2025.