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simbelmyne-eadig · 2 months ago

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Well, here I am, crying over another chapter from Jo:

Reader still showing up for Seungcheol at the bar because that's what you do for people you care about! You show up!

But tell me why the hardest I cried during this whole story was when Reader went to her sister for emotional support! she let her Nayoung on her island! she's taking her armor off in front of people who hurt her that have worked to be better and show up for her! My heart is breaking and melting like one of those hot chocolate bombs! this is definitely not a learning moment for Reader that people can change and work harder to show up for themselves and her...oh definitely not! ;)

And Seungcheol is, like with everything he's done so far, going all in once he decides what he wants to do, he's showing her how he's trying to improve his communication with her and that, even though he's hurt her, he is trying his best to make sure they have the best chance they can have! that's my boy!

what a masterpiece of a story, and what a wonderful slow build of the relationships between both Nayoung and Seuncheol. I'm going to be re-reading and fawning over this one for a loooooong time.

thanks so much for all the hard work and the beautiful story!

You Think You Might - Chapter 5 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 8k

Status: complete; this is the final chapter

Warnings: language, excessive drinking and drunkenness, i did make seungcheol cry just once and i'm not sorry, reader continuing to go thru it, angst, kissing, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, the teeeensiest tiniest bit of barely there ass play do not even LOOK at me i dont know who wrote that, reader says if you demand to be on my island then i am getting OFF the island and we all should have seen it coming

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

October

When your phone rings at 1:20 in the morning, it feels like a stone sinks through your stomach. Some instinct knows what this is before you even read his name on the screen. Like part of you has been waiting since early summer for him to break, afraid of your own reaction, afraid you’ll do the wrong thing and let him.

“What’s up?” you answer, which strikes you as funny, because it’s the middle of the night and you’re half-asleep. Nothing about this is casual - this isn’t going to be a call about grabbing extra beer for Soonyoung’s house.

“Come drink with me.”

Four words, and you know everything you need to know. The background noise is deafening - thumping, shattering club music and the cacophony of dozens of conversations being carried at a volume meant to rise above the music.

The words are also slurred nearly past recognizability.

He’s fucked up.

Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to.

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly.

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve.

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play.

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him.

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes.

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you.

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed.

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled.

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave?

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch.

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again.

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.”

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me.

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes.

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips.

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me.

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her.

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised.

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot.

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me.

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again.

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry.

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him.

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically.

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight.

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe.

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away.

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels.

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching.

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him.

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth.

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish.

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention.

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion.

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him.

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly.

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you.

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes.

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise.

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly.

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other.

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately.

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly.

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper.

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing.

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused.

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him.

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut.

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him.

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself.

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides.

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her.

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years.

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently.

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again.

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want.

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice.

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit.

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze.

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no.

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol’s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in.

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway.

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

<- Prev

ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(

thank you so much for joining me for this series and i hope i'll see you at my next!!

494 notes · View notes

simbelmyne-eadig · 2 months ago

Text

So I've just been sitting here re-reading this for almost a week, just rolling around in the heartache and humanity of it all 💔 And trying to wrap my emotions into thoughts here:

Both Seungcheol and Reader falling back on old habits, Cheol to his relationship with Jieun, and Reader to the lonely self-protective island. And speaking of old habits: I see you with the mirroring of conversations between the conversations that Reader and her Mom had about Dad at the wedding and now in this chapter with Reader and Seungcheol talking about Jieun... sounds like someone is used to being the sounding board/mediator in a toxic relationships...

They're both trying so hard to grow and do better but also not breaking out of old patterns! (honestly, our relatable King and Queen, real change is SO HARD!) and they're both so lonely! Both trying to protect themselves instinctively by going to what's familiar! Both breaking my heart!

...And the line you wrote during Seungcheol's apology when he's trying to tell her to open up to people: "You were just more proof that my way is, in fact, keeping me safe."

MA'AM?!?! I had to get up and walk around the ROOM?!?! how very dare you go for my heart like that, it was already on life support!

Once Again, your stories are one of my favorite ways to hurt my own feelings, A++ 10/10 would recommend, I will eagerly await the next chapter and thanks a million for all the pain and suffering!

You Think You Might - Chapter 4 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: language, angst, hurt feelings, arguments, casual/recreational drinking, a super cringe dm exchange, bad behavior by pretty much everyone except soonchan because they're perfect angels, an almost-kiss

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

You don’t see or hear from Seungcheol for days - during which you go from feeling disappointed to confused and embarrassed, which is where you land by the next weekend.

His absolute silence was surprising, and remains confusing, but you’re determined to keep as much of your dignity intact as possible, so when Soonyoung texts you to come hang out on Friday night, you accept.

If you’re praying that Seungcheol doesn’t show up, no one needs to know but you.

And maybe your brother will have some insight as to what happened.

You hadn’t talked to Soonyoung about it at all, yet. You’re sure you’ll be accosted for information immediately on arriving, and you waste a good hour of your afternoon trying to decide what you’ll say. Should you lie and say everything went right back to normal? What if Seungcheol has just been busy, and he reaches out and does want to talk, or see you, or -? No, that won’t happen. Best to just be honest.

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’re still unsure what to say, and still unsure if you’d rather see Seungcheol there and potentially have to face his disinterest head-on, or if you’d rather he not be there there, leaving you wondering about where his head is for another week or so.

You spend all evening turning this over and over in your mind - how tender he’d been with you at the resort, his dimpled grin and airy giggles when you goofed off together, his hands on your body, his music in your ears. And now silence.

Had you imagined it all?

No. You know you hadn’t. There had been something between you. So…what had happened?

Your brother greets you by pressing a beer into your hand, the cold both jarring and grounding, somehow.

“Bless you,” you joke, but really, you mean it. You say a quick hello to the guys on the couch (Vernon, Joshua, and Wonwoo for now) and then you head for the kitchen, for some semblance of privacy. You perch on the counter, leaning back against Soonyoung’s ugly cabinets, and down part of the beer. When you set down the bottle, your brother and his dumb roommate - a brother by proxy - stare at you expectantly from the kitchen table.

“What?” you ask.

Soonyoung levels you with a look. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

You shrug. “Can’t think of anything.”

Dumb and Dumber exchange a look and then turn back to you in unison. “About Seungcheol? And you?” he prompts flatly.

You struggle with what to say next. You look down at your beer bottle, at your feet, at the floor. Finally, you meet your brother’s eyes, feeling that wave of embarrassment rise up inside you. At the end of the day, Seungcheol left you looking like a fool. You shrug, let this speak for itself.

And he understands, because he’s your brother, and he’s known you as long as he’s been alive. Something in his face crumples a little. “I’m sorry,” he says. He lets this sit for a minute, then adds “I shouldn’t have suggested that you bring him…”

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him. “And I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It wasn’t that deep, honestly. I just… feel really fucking stupid.”

“Noona, no,” Chan says, reaching across the table as if to soothe you. “We were all there. We all saw what was going on.”

This should make you feel better, but it doesn’t.

“I just…” you trail off, heels kicking against the lower cabinets, “I’m just… confused, I guess. When we were coming home, I was sure - like - even at the airport he was…”

They look at you with twin looks of sympathy, waiting you out.

You tap the bottom of the glass bottle against the countertop, just to look at something besides their pitying faces.

“I thought something would happen,” you finish quietly. “And I’m just confused as to why it didn’t. But it’ll be okay. It wasn’t that deep.”

The silence drags so long that you do look back up at them, finding them engaging in one of their frequent silent conversations.

Finally, your little brother meets your gaze, a bit cowed. “Would you… feel better, if you understood why? Or worse?”

Your blood runs cold, though you couldn’t say why. You just know by the question that they know something, that there is something to know.

“Tell me,” you demand.

“Have you… seen his insta?” Soonyoung asks timidly.

“No,” you say, heart sinking. “I unfollowed yesterday.”

He slides his phone across the table for you to see, and you’ve got the gist of it before your feet even hit the linoleum: him and Jieun, faces pressed tight together for a selfie.

You freeze in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on the screen, taking in the way he presses his cheek into the top of her head, familiar and affectionate.

It all makes sense, now - how he’d changed his tune out of nowhere. Jieun had said jump, and he’d leapt from his seat, as you’d seen him do for her since you were all still in college.

You wonder at what point during the trip she’d reared her head again - before the flight home? After?

There’s no way to know.

Joshua appears in the doorway, looking around at you warily like he knows he’s interrupting something.

“Sorry,” he says, skirting around where you stand frozen in the kitchen’s center, as if he’s afraid to get too close. “I just needed another beer.”

“No, you’re fine,” you say, making your way towards the table. “We were heading in there in a minute anyway.”

As Joshua exits again, beer in hand, he spots Soonyoung’s phone on the table, the offending image still displayed.

“Yah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again, right?”

You all stare at each other in silence as he leaves.

Finally, you sigh. “Can you just… warn me if he’s coming over?”

Chan frowns. “Don’t leave just because he’s here,” he begs.

“I won’t,” you promise. “It’ll just be nice to have some warning, you know?”

There’s nothing any of you can say to change the situation. You’ll just have to deal, have to move on. It’ll be fine; you just need a bit of time. In the end, you should just be grateful it wasn’t worse, grateful your heart hadn’t gotten in deeper. All things considered, you got out pretty unscathed.

Back in the living room, you all settle in and put on a movie you’ve seen a hundred times so you can talk over it without upsetting anyone. It feels nice to settle back into normal, back with people you consider friends, back with your brother, and you feel yourself relax.

That is, until Vernon’s phone buzzes on the coffee table and he reaches to answer it. “Hey hyung. Yes, at Soonyoung’s. Okay. Sweet.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone back to where it was, obliviously announcing, “Hyung is coming over.”

Even if you weren’t sure which hyung it was, the reaction would answer for you. Soonyoung and Chan look at you so immediately, heads turning in unison, that you feel yourself flush hot. Your stomach twists.

You spend the next ten minutes - you time it - arguing with yourself, trying to talk yourself into staying, trying to convince yourself that you can handle this.

Your cowardly side wins.

“I’m pretty tired,” you lie, starting to rise. Maybe some of the guys will buy it. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

The look Chan gives you reminds you of a sad puppy, but you do your best to ignore him as you wave goodbye, gather your things, and slink out of the apartment.

You’re too late; you spent too long waffling. Seungcheol’s car is parked two spots down from yours, and he seems to be fishing around his backseat for something. You try to sneak to your car, but he spots you, straightening up and closing his door.

“Hey,” he says tightly, and you wonder if he’s nervous, too.

“Hi,” you say back. You don’t mean it to sound like, hi, you asshole, but it absolutely does.

You stare at each other across the cracked concrete, the tension thickening.

You don’t know what to say - you don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation from him instead of your baby brother? Both?

Finally, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, shoulders sagging a little. “I should have texted you.”

It’s neither an apology nor an explanation, so you look at him flatly. “Only if you had something worth saying,” you say, and you can hear how cold it is. You suppose he deserves it, at least a little.

He seems to tuck small into himself for just a second. “So I guess you heard.”

You squint at him. “Could have saved me some embarrassment if you’d had the balls to tell me yourself, but yeah, I was informed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly - appeasing, insincere, just to get you off his back.

“Sure,” you say easily. “It’s whatever.”

He hears the lie for what it is and goes on the defensive. “It was supposed to stay there,” he points out. “We said - we said it stayed there.”

“We said that before,” you shoot back. Before he’d kissed you in private, before you’d slept together, before you’d stayed up all night talking, before he’d held your hand even when the weekend was over.

“No,” he snaps, taking a step towards you, away from his car. “You don’t get to do that. We agreed that we’d come home and go back to how it was. You don’t get to change your mind because you - because -”

He trails off; he clearly doesn’t want to put words in your mouth, doesn’t want to say because you liked it when you haven’t admitted it yourself.

“But you can change your mind - and let’s both be very clear, that’s what happened here - you can change your mind, just because your ex came sniffing around again?”

There it is - the whole picture, the entire truth, shattered on the feet of pavement between you, shards spraying into the darkness around you.

His expression darkens. “You don’t understand.”

You laugh, once, bitter. “I’ve been around since undergrad,” you bite. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

It’s true - you’ve seen it all before, the games Seungcheol and Jieun play to piss each other off: waiting to see who would text first, purposely making each other jealous, being petty and passive aggressive instead of ever talking something out.

Something plaintive crosses his face and he opens his arms wide, beseeching. “Don’t I owe it to her to try?” he asks, voice pained. “What if I can do it this time? What if I’ve… grown enough, or whatever, to be right for her?”

You feel sorry for him - that’s the feeling that overcomes all the others. Because you understand this fear: that not working is his fault, that it says something about his character, that it’s a fatal diagnosis that he’ll never shake.

That if he can’t do it right with her, it means he can’t do it right with anyone.

And you know he’s wrong.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering his question. He lets his arms drop, just stares at you across the pavement. “You’re not broken or irredeemable. And nothing’s wrong with her either.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “But?” he bites out.

“There is no but. You’re both capable of being a great partner to someone. Just not each other. It’s not a bad thing, and it’s not anyone’s fault. You just need someone… different than her.”

“Someone like you,” he says flatly, like he’s clarifying, but the sarcasm isn’t as hidden away as he might have meant.

You regard him evenly. You still feel mostly pity.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “We didn’t get to find out.”

Then you shake your car key out from the others and head for your driver’s side door.

He calls your name, quietly, but you ignore him. You make a point of not looking for him in your mirrors as you toss your phone into the center console, slide into reverse, and weave out of the parking lot. You don’t want to know if he watches you go. It doesn’t matter either way.

The thing about your brother is that he has tells. Blatant ones, even over texting. So when his picture - an old, grainy one you’d found in one of your mom’s physical photo albums, from the year he was four, grinning in a full-bodied hamster onesie - pops up on your phone with a faux-innocent “hiiiiii” beside it, you frown immediately.

“Hi what?” you send back. You just know, based on years of experience, that he's going to ask you something he thinks you won't agree to.

And he knows you too well, because he knows that being cute about it won't help him. Instead, his next message is just the link to a brewery's website and the question - “Friday night?”

You click it and scroll around - it seems like it's pretty new, and the owners must be trying to drum up young clientele, because the website boasts a number of events (trivia! paint and sip! 90’s night!) and the photo gallery proudly displays images of games like giant jenga and cornhole.

You're still scrolling through the photo gallery when you're interrupted by an incoming call. You go to swipe it away - instinct, naturally - when you realize it says Nayoung.

You frown, rereading the name on the screen as if maybe it’s a lie. Then, with a bit of simmering anxiety, you slide your thumb to accept the call.

“Hey, unnie. What's wrong?” you ask automatically, sure that she must be calling because someone is dying - nothing short of that ever got her to call before.

Her silence on the other end rings for a second, long enough to make you scared that someone really did die.

“Unnie?” you prod.

“Sorry - hi,” she says, her voice coming to life in your ear. “Nothing’s wrong. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s an edge to her voice and you try to define it - defensive? Irritated?

“Oh,” you say. This whole thing is so weird. “So, then, what’s up?”

“Just calling to chat, I guess.”

“You guess?” It slips out before you can stop it.

She sighs, like she knows you’re right. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s weird, right? I just… seeing you made me realize that you’re all grown up now, and I don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Every instinct you have is begging you to defend, to dig your shovel into the crumbling, wet earth of years of anger. But you want to see what she has to say before you bury her.

When you don’t answer, she pushes on. “I was just thinking that… if I want to change that… someone needs to start trying. And I guess it should be me.”

You tap your fingers on your desk, uneasy. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit. “I guess I appreciate… that you want to.” It feels stilted at best, completely faked at worst. You need time to process, to decide what you want. You wish this had been a text message so you didn’t have to say anything until you were ready, until you'd scripted it perfectly.

Because, in real time, she asks, haltingly, “Well, what do you want?”

You can’t not answer. You can’t spend six hours asking for help to craft the ideal reply.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Okay,” she says, like she’d braced herself for a worse response and she’s relieved it’s only this. “Okay, that’s okay. That’s fine. Just… think about it.”

“Mhm,” you manage. You feel like you’re in a play and no one ever gave you your lines. Then, as you glance sideways at the calendar tacked to your office’s bulletin board, you ask, “Aren’t you still on your honeymoon?”

She laughs, and the tension breaks a little. “Yeah. We’re just hanging out right now. We have two more days and then it’s back to reality.”

“Sorry,” you deadpan, and she laughs again.

“Me too,” she agrees. Then, she adds, “Well, I’ll let you go. I know it’s a workday.”

“Yes and I am clearly working very hard,” you say flatly, just to make her laugh again.

“If you want to call or text,” she says, “you’re welcome to, okay?”

“Sure,” you say, but you know you won’t. Habits of over twenty years are pretty tough to break, you think.

“Are you having a good time?”

It’s a delicate question; you find yourself spending your Friday night at the brewery that Soonyoung had texted you about, and it should be fun - has all the trappings of a good time. The vibe is nice, the live music is great, and you love a good game, so you’ve been playing giant Jenga and connect-4 against Soonyoung and Chan for the last two hours as you knock back different craft beers. All things you like.

But for some reason - which certainly isn’t that Seungcheol is here, and he hasn’t talked to you once, instead staying sequestered with Mingyu and Jeonghan - you’re in a shitty mood, constantly checking your phone to see if it’s late enough that you can leave without being a party pooper.

You’re not even sure how long ago Chan and Soonyoung abandoned you with the stranger. You’re seated at the bar now, your back facing the games, and you can hear Seokmin’s noisy giggle floating your way.

“Yeah,” you say, because you hate being impolite. “I seem to have lost my friends, though.”

The guy - who, now that you’re paying attention, is actually pretty cute - glances over your shoulder towards the giggler. “I noticed,” he says, turning back to you, “that you are here with thirteen guys. What’s the situation? Are they, like, your sister wives?”

You laugh, and he smiles, happy to have succeeded. “Well, the one about to start crying over Jenga is my little brother, so let’s quickly remove him from the scenario,” you say, and the guy nods, playing along.

“They’re mostly his friends,” you admit. “I just tag along.”

“Ah,” he says. “So no sister wives. Or boyfriends.”

“Ah,” you repeat, because he showed his hand. “No boyfriends or wives. Or partners of any kind, just to cover all the bases.”

He does a valiant job trying to carry a conversation with you, and you try to engage at least to a polite degree, but your heart just isn’t in it. Your bad mood festers, weighs heavy like water-logged clothing. When the clock strikes midnight, you consider yourself off the hook.

You apologize to the guy - whose name you didn’t even get, during this whole time - and extract yourself. You make your way over to where the guys are gathered by the indoor cornhole games.

“I’m gonna head,” you tell your brother.

He frowns, glancing at his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

You nod, tight-lipped. You don’t want to speak, don’t want to let it all spill out - that it isn’t fun to hang around trying not to watch Seungcheol out of the corners of your eyes, not fun to push your bitterness down and keep up the mask of someone who isn’t angry.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it. “Fine,” he says, kind of flatly, and it makes you sad for a whole different reason. You hate letting Soonyoung down. “Get home safe.”

In your periphery, you watch Seungcheol’s head snap up at this. You shift so he’s out of your view, start pulling up the app to get a ride home.

He doesn’t get the message your body-language is sending, instead sidling up next to you, his own phone in hand.

“Are you heading out?” he asks. “I was going, too, if you want to share a ride.”

Soonyoung gives you a quick pat on the arm and dips, heading back to Chan and the little bean-bags on the cornhole board. You don’t blame him - you wish you could vanish from here, too.

“Fine,” you say evenly. You don’t wait for him or even look back as you tap to confirm the ride. You just head for the front door at a clip.

Outside, you have a few minutes to wait before the car will arrive. You cross your arms, watching the street carefully, determined to engage with Seungcheol as little as possible.

Apparently, he has his own agenda. “You’re leaving pretty early,” he observes, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket.

You hum noncommittally, since he hadn’t asked a question.

“Not having fun?” he prods.

You glance sideways at him. His cheeks are a bit pink. You hadn’t been paying enough attention to know how much he had to drink, but you’re wondering if he’s a little buzzed.

“Just tired,” you lie, because it’s fewer syllables than the truth.

He nods. His phone buzzes in his pocket again, loud enough that you both hear it. His face instantly shifts into guilt before he can correct it, and you know it’s Jieun blowing him up. You know that’s why he’s leaving early. You don’t even need to ask.

“Listen,” he says finally, and you lift your gaze to him. You feel absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, but your voice comes out hard.

“You know.”

This makes you let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you can’t even articulate it, then I don’t think I can accept.”

He sighs heavily, like you’re being difficult. “I’m not sorry that I chose to try again with Jieun,” he admits. “I think I have the right. But I’m sorry that you got hurt in the process. That wasn’t… what I wanted.”

You choke back the defensive I’m not hurt. “I appreciate the apology,” you say coolly.

He regards you silently. For a second you’re back at the resort and he’s your knight in shining armor, ready to stand between you and whatever’s upsetting you. For a second, you’re back between his arms in bed, warm and safe and hopeful. For a second, your hand is back in his, accepting his promise to make things better for you.

The car slides up to the curb and you check the license plate against the app before opening the door and getting into the backseat.

“I hope you’ll actually forgive me,” he says quietly, as the car pulls away. “Even if it takes a while.”

And there he is, your Seungcheol - earnest and quiet.

“I forgive you,” you say. “I’m just… I’ll be fine. You hurt my pride, but I’ll get over it.”

“I am really sorry,” he repeats, and this time you believe him a little more.

“It’s fine,” you say, because it’s going to have to be. “We’ve got to move past it, anyway, or things will be weird for my brother forever.”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a minute, thinking. His phone buzzes twice more on his lap, but he ignores it.

“Do you think we can?” he asks finally. “Move past it? Maybe be friends?”

That would be new, you think.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. You’d have to put a lot of feelings away - both the good ones and the bad ones. “Do you think we could?”

He shrugs. “I already consider you my friend.”

You stare at your lap for a minute. “I’ll try,” you tell him, because it’s the most you can offer.

He sends you a tiny, sideways smile. “I’m glad,” he says.

That’s the last thing you say for the rest of the ride, until you’re slipping out of the car and calling a goodbye over your shoulder.

August

Time heals all wounds, and while you don’t want to say you were wounded necessarily, things do settle down - the sting ebbs, day by day. It’s replaced with acceptance and a bit of that same unnamable feeling that you always get when you think of Seungcheol and his quest to fix things with Jieun. It’s sort of how one might feel about Sisyphus - you understand his motivations and the good place they come from, but you wish he could step away and let the rock go, move on to more productive challenges.

But he can’t - can’t step to the side and let the past roll away, can’t stop trying. Love is a curse, right?

“Don’t comets mean, like, disaster is coming?” Joshua asks.

You’re all on Soonyoung and Chan’s roof - not even just the eight of you, but a bunch of your brother’s neighbors, too, all with the same idea. You’re not sure you’ll be able to see anything, with the city’s light pollution, but it’s one in the morning and you’re all standing around craning your necks, waiting for the promised show.

“Just change in general,” you say.

“Depends on the person, or the culture,” Vernon corrects from somewhere to your right. “To some, it’s a harbinger of disaster. To some, it just means change - good or bad.”

“Ominous,” Chan says, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder playfully before moving to bother Seungkwan.

You’d all been down in the apartment for a while, drinking and snacking. You’d even created a little themed cocktail you’d named the Comet-kazi, a play on the usual kamikaze made with your favorite tequila. It had been a nice night, even with Seungcheol there. You left each other alone, kept space, but you didn’t feel any of the simmer anything - neither the anger nor the desire. Things felt almost how they used to. Almost.

Now, all crowded together against the concrete wall of the rooftop, you feel a wave of affection for the whole crowd of your brother’s idiot friends - even Seungcheol. You lean a bit on Mingyu, mostly because you’re sleepy and he’s solid enough to hold you up, watching the sky for any flickers or flashes.

Seungcheol’s voice breaks the silence from behind you. “I gotta bounce. Sorry.”

No one answers him for a second, though you feel bodies shift around you as some of the guys look over their shoulders to see him already backing towards the door into the building. Next to you, Soonyoung meets your gaze, his expression flat and knowing - probably mirroring your own.

It’s Joshua who speaks first. “You sure, man?” he asks. “They said this is once in a lifetime…”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” Seungcheol says, already halfway through the door. He doesn’t look back as he disappears from view.

“Won’t be as good tomorrow,” Vernon mutters, too quiet for Seungcheol to hear.

In front of you, leaning against the concrete, Chan sighs heavily.

“We’ve lost him, lads,” Soonyoung murmurs next to you.

“Again,” adds Seungkwan darkly.

You shift your weight to lean against Soonyoung instead of Mingyu, unconsciously moving to comfort him, sensing his distress.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly.

He gives your elbow a squeeze. “None of it’s your fault.”

You aren’t sure you agree with that. Maybe if you’d been better, more worthy somehow - prettier, more witty, something - he’d have chosen you over the familiar path, and then your brother’s friend group wouldn’t be splintering.

“There,” Mingyu says suddenly, pointing. You all shut up, turning to follow the line of sight from his finger. A few of Soonyoung’s neighbors press closer to your little group, all trying to see.

It takes a second, but then you see it - a ball of light not much bigger than the blinking planets, moving slowly across the sky. It has no tail, no flashes or sparkles or anything else the media might have led you to expect. But still, your eyes stay on it as it travels. You’re all silent, watching, nearly holding your breath.

Change.

You let yourself wonder what kind of change could be in store for you, let yourself hope that maybe - maybe - the universe could be bringing you something good.

“Did you see the comet last night?”

You switch your phone to your other ear and tuck it against your shoulder, your hands busy chopping an onion for dinner. Your mother’s voice rings, tinny.

“I did,” you tell her, pausing to push some of the chopped pieces to the side with the blunt side of the knife. “I was at Soonyoung’s with all the guys. It was pretty cool. Did you?”

“Mhm,” your mother answers evenly. Then, “All the guys, hm? Was Seungcheol there?”

Your stomach drops. You hesitate on the cusp of the lie, your hands already starting to sweat enough that you have to set down the knife and wipe them on your jeans before resuming the chopping.

Your fake relationship was - as Seungcheol had said, back on the night you’d argued last month - supposed to stay there. You hadn’t discussed what would happen after, as far as your story. Should you keep the lie going a little longer, or will it make the situation snowball into a problem?

You hesitate too long and your mother catches it. She says your name, inquisitive, and you sigh. You don’t like being dishonest with her. You push the last of the onion pieces into one pile and rinse the knife in the sink, then turn and lean back against the counter, dragging a hand over your face wearily, trying to decide what version of the story to give.

You settle on something that at least mimics the truth.

“We broke up,” you say. You can hear the flatness of your tone, can hear the regret and sliver of hurt in it. Those aren’t a lie at all.

She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and your stomach twists again. You tap your nails against the kitchen counter you’re leaning on, your pulse singing so loud it’s nearly yodeling. Then, she says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

You hear the question for what it is - what happened?

You chew on your bottom lip, once again toying between the truth and a nicer version - it just didn’t work out, or, I’m not really sure what happened.

“His ex came back around,” you admit. It actually feels kind of good to say it to someone that’s not Soonyoung, something loosening in your stomach, a muscle you didn’t know you’d had clenched. “They’ve been on and off as long as I’ve known him. She’s like a drug he can’t quit, or something.” You pause, heart pounding hard as you trip over the words you’ve kept to yourself for almost a month now. “It was stupid of me to think it would be different now.”

Stupid to think he’d be different, for me, you add silently.

She says your name again, soft and regretful, and your eyes fill at the unexpected understanding and sympathy.

You let out a little bitter laugh, just to offset the unwelcome tears. “It is what it is,” you say, because that’s better than backsliding into being hurt, when you’d finally been putting it behind you.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice going uncharacteristically quiet in response to the stark sadness in yours. “You aren’t stupid for hoping something will work. It’s not stupid to hope that someone will step up for you.”

You busy yourself by digging out the pot you need for the soup you want to cook, just to do something, put your sudden adrenaline towards an action. “I guess,” you say, but you’re wondering if she’s speaking from experience with your dad, all those years ago. Is this a lesson she’d learned after waiting for him to step up, time and time again?

“He seemed to really like you,” she muses in your ear, and your fingers tighten on your phone as your face heats.

Yeah, you think. I thought so, too. You can’t make yourself say it, so you simply hum in agreement.

She sighs. “Well, darling, there’s nothing to do but brush yourself off and get back on the horse.”

You scoff. “I think I’ll go inside and watch the horses from the window for a while, actually.”

She laughs, understanding the metaphor. “Well, not for too long, yeah?” she concedes. “Or you’ll forget how to ride.”

You drop the pot, the phone falling from your shoulder as you scramble to catch it. “Sorry - sorry,” you tell her, once you’ve righted everything. “Dropped the phone. I’m trying to cook dinner.”

“I can let you go,” she says easily. “I should call Nayoung, anyway.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and then stare listlessly at the pot and chopped vegetables on the countertop. You suddenly feel too tired to cook, too tired to think.

You close your eyes, press a cool hand against them and breathe. Talking about the situation had felt a bit freeing, it’s true, but it’d also brought some of the emotions back, and you’ve been trying to pack those up tight.

“Enough,” you mutter to yourself. You reach to turn on the burner, waiting for the flame to emerge, waiting for your hurt feelings to settle back into quiet.

It’s the hottest week of the year when your air-con dies, because of course it is.

You call the building’s super, who tells you that the building’s entire HVAC unit is busted, and he’s got a team coming to work on it sometime in the next week.

You lay on your living room floor in your underwear, star-fished because you can’t stand to have one part of your body touch another, and melt, miserable. Even your pulse and your heartbeat feel like too much work for your overheated body.

It takes you less than twelve hours to crack, using your phone to buy a window unit from the local hardware store (a decision that future-you will regret when your credit card statement comes, but right now you’re too hot to care), selecting in-store pick-up.

You get the unit into the car without a problem, thanks to the help of a store employee in a blue vest embroidered with the store’s name. It’s getting it out of the car that you realize you hadn’t thought enough about.

You call Soonyoung, who picks up on the third ring.

“What are you and Chan doing tonight?” you ask. You’re standing next to your car’s open back door, staring at the box like it’s a problem you might be able to solve. “I need a favor and I am willing to pay cash.”

“Sorry, but I have a date,” Soonyoung says. “And Chan’s at his parents’.”

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Why?” your brother asks, as you crouch next to your car just to keep yourself in its shadow; the sun beating down on you has nearly made you dizzy already. “What’s wrong?”

You explain the situation to him, a bit desperately.

He hums. “I could ask Seungcheol-hyung,” he suggests.

“Soonyoung.”

“I’m serious. He’d be the most help, anyway. Probably more than Chan.”

You hear an indignant hey! in the background of the call.

“I don’t want you to call Seungcheol,” you say. “In fact, I would rather eat glass.”

But then you think about spending the rest of the day laying like a starfish in your living room. And about trying to sleep - sweat trickling down your back, legs sticky, flopping over time and time again.

There’s no way. You won’t survive.

“God,” you groan, miserable. “It’s fine. I can call him myself. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck,” he tells you.

You lock your car and head inside - at least you can be out of the sun, and back under your ceiling fan. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. You go back to starfish position and tap Seungcheol’s name on your phone.

It rings out and goes to voicemail, so you hang up. Then your phone buzzes in your hand.

You roll your eyes. He’d texted you a “what’s up” instead of answering, which means he’s with Jieun and doesn't want to be on the phone with you in front of her.

You text him back, need help with something.

Your phone rings almost immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You love and hate the way he’ll jump to take care of you. It isn’t fair, it promises something he can’t provide. It also makes you feel like you’re being filled with helium, cared for and protected.

“Yeah, it’s not, like, an emergency,” you explain. “It’s just… the air-con in my building went out, and I bought a window unit, but I can’t get it upstairs. I tried my brother and Chan and neither of them are home. I was gonna see if… but if you’re busy it’s totally fine.”

It seems like Seungcheol has pulled the phone away from his mouth; you can hear his voice, muffled, catch the words Soonyoung’s sister.

You want to smash something. You almost hang up.

“I can help,” he says, normal volume again. “Do you mind if it’s in an hour or so?”

“You’re doing me a favor,” you point out. “Take your time.”

He laughs lightly. “That’s true,” he says agreeably. “Okay. It might be a bit, but I’ll get there before dinnertime. Sound good?”

When the knock on your door comes, you’re almost dozing - still in the middle of the living room floor. You have to peel yourself off the ground gently, your skin sticking slightly. You make your way to the door sleepily, belatedly realizing that you should probably throw on at least a t-shirt - you’re thankfully not in just underwear anymore, but you are only in a sports bra and a pair of workout shorts.

Oh well, you think. It’s not worse than a bathing suit.

When you open the door, Seungcheol takes a small step backwards.

“Um,” he says, a bit unsteadily, “hey.”

His gaze sweeps over you and then he looks steadfastly somewhere over your shoulder, the tips of his ears going dark.

“Hi,” you say, as normally as you can, as something both smug and bitter swims in your stomach. “Thanks for coming.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, sounding more like himself, though his ears stay red as you step backwards to let him in.

“I did try my brother first,” you say, even though he already knows this. You feel kind of defensive, like you need to be very clear that you hadn’t just wanted to see him or something.

(It’s nice to see him, just the two of you. It makes you want to sink into his presence, unclench something you hadn’t realized you’d had tightened, lose yourself in his slightly spicy scent. But that’s a road you can’t go down.)

“It’s not a problem,” he says, looking around your place absently. You realize he’s never been here before.

“Do you want a drink? Water or anything?” you ask.

“Maybe after I carry it up,” he says, pulling on the front of his t-shirt and flapping it to cool down his sweaty skin. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty unbearable,” you say. And it’s hotter now, just because his proximity makes your heart beat faster, your body raising its temperature without your permission. Just because his dark eyes look troubled, and it’s work to fight the instinct to fix it. Just because his smile still cuts through you, even when it’s kind of wary. “Let me just grab my keys and we can…”

You trail off as you pat around your cluttered kitchen table until your fingers find metal. Then you lead Seungcheol back into the hallway and towards the stairs.

“So, uh,” you say as you walk, the back of your neck prickling under his gaze from behind you, “how have you been? How are things?”

You turn over your shoulder as you ask, which is the only reason you watch his face twist for a second before he says, “Ah, you know. Normal.”

“The face you just made says differently,” you point out.

He shrugs, mouth going into a firm, thin line. “It’s complicated.”

Ah. Of course. Jieun.

“Oh,” you say. “We, uhm. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” he says, sounding a bit chagrined. You watch his face carefully - your eyes charting the way his lashes flick as his gaze drops, the down-turn of his mouth flirting with the idea of a pout, his jaw flexing and relaxing like he’s focusing on making it look normal.

You wish you could squeeze his hand or give him a hug; anything to let him know that someone cares if he’s hurting. But you can’t - he’s not your problem, not your responsibility. Straight-up not yours.

You blow out a quick breath, determined to get your shit together. “I mean,” you say, pausing on the stairs’ landing so you can face him, “you’re not going to hurt my feelings at this point. We did say we’d try being friends. If you want to talk about it and get a perspective that’s not from a twenty-something-year-old dude, I’m offering. As a friend.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing, making a decision. He seems to deflate a little when he decides.

“It’s nothing really worth talking about,” he says. “Just the usual with Ji.”

Ji. You work hard not to grimace.

“Are you two… back together?” you ask, your voice kind of small in the empty stairwell.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes finding the ceiling of the stairwell like he can’t look at you while he says this. “Not yes, but not no. Hence the… complicated.”

“Hence,” you repeat with a snort. He makes a face at you. For a second, it feels easy again.

“So, what’s the problem?” you ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing your arms. The cement is cool against your back, actually feels nice after melting in the apartment for hours.

“I dunno,” he admits. “We’re talking non-stop, it’s just… no one has pulled the trigger on it. It’s like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do. Neither of us wants to say it first.”

“Why not?”

He laughs once, a bit bitter. “Gives the other person the power, I guess. Gives them the chance to say no. So… here we are. Limbo.”

“So stop it,” you say clearly, like it’s simple. His brows scrunch. “Seriously. Say what you mean - tell her what you want.”

His eyes flick to the floor and then back to yours, something swimming in his brown eyes. “What if she -”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly. “If she says no, if she laughs in your face - it doesn’t matter. Would that be worse than never getting what you actually want? Really?”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he grumbles, “How come you always have the answer? I really fucking hate that.”

“It’s because don’t think with my dick,” you fire back, and he laughs out loud.

“What’s her excuse, then?” he asks.

“Not sure,” you say, thinking about this. “But I have a lot of theories. The first one being that she enjoys the games just as much as you do - until they stop being fun.”

He lets out a wry laugh. “That’s no secret.” He regards you for a second, and you swear his eyes sweep your form again. Then he lowers his voice and says, “It’s kind of refreshing, how you don’t. Play games, I mean.”

You flush hot - angry, you think. You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him it’s fucked up to stand here and compare you to her, but he beats you to it.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just heard what I said.”

Your fury settles, just slightly, but your body takes longer to get the message. Your heart still pounds, your face feels like you need to stick it in the freezer, your pulse thuds with adrenaline as it prepares to fight.

For a second, you’re in that hotel shower with him again, your fingers in his hair. The adrenaline feels the same. The space between you feels charged, suddenly, alive and awake and ready to take what it wants - take what you and Seungcheol both want, it seems.

You’re saved from having to reply - the door at the bottom of the stairs slams open and Mingyu’s voice yells, “Hello? I’m dying out here!”

You look at Seungcheol, baffled, the moment broken.

“I brought help,” he explains. “Come on.”

Before he leaves, as the new window unit blasts into your bedroom, you stop him.

“Be honest with her,” you tell him, voice low so Mingyu won’t overhear and get nosy. “It’s Boyfriending 101.”

Later, you lay on your bed in the dark, your new window unit blowing directly over you. You want to freeze, want to have goosebumps for the rest of your life to make up for how hot your last two days were.

Your phone lights up with a notification and you glance at it.

Your sister - mom told me about your break up :( sorry to hear that

You frown. You don’t appreciate your mother spreading your business, don’t want Nayoung getting little peeks into your life that you don’t feel she deserves.

Another text pops up under the first - want to talk about it?

Not with you, you think sourly.

Your real response is nicer. You send back, not really. i’m okay. thanks for checking in.

Your phone rings. You growl, loud and frustrated, then fix your tone.

“Hey Nayoung,” you say, trying to sound like you don’t want to throw your phone across the room.

“Hi,” she says, her voice sweet in your ear. You feel bad for being so prickly. “Are you sure you’re okay? It sucks more than normal to lose a boyfriend to an ex. There’s like… I don’t know, an extra hit to your pride in it. I know, I’ve been there.”

You wonder how many boyfriends and heartbreaks Nayoung had after moving out that you didn’t know anything about.

You wonder what it would have felt like to have a big sister back when you were a teenager navigating your first heartbreaks, having boy problems. But you’re trying to move on from that kind of thought, trying to let go of your anger for decisions decades old, so you let the thought float along instead of clinging to it.

“I’m really fine,” you insist.

“I just can’t believe it,” she says, and you can picture her shaking her head, hair swinging with the motion. “He seemed head over heels with you. I thought he was crazy about you. And I was only around him for a few days.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, I was… I was wrong, too. But I’ll be fine. It’s not my first rodeo, you know? I’ll be fine.”

Nayoung is quiet for a minute. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses? Would you even entertain him if he did?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “He and his ex have been on and off the whole time I’ve known them. I shouldn’t have… I should have known the pull she has on him would… I don’t know. Win. I don’t know if he’ll ever really be able to separate himself from her, you know?”

Maybe your relationship had been a lie, but every word you say now is true.

Nayoung groans dramatically. “That’s horrible,” she laments. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sucks for them, too,” you say, rolling and looking at your ceiling. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with your sister since before you wore a bra.

She lets out a single disbelieving laugh. “Wow. I would not be so empathetic if it was me.”

“I’ve been around them a long time,” you explain. “Since college. I’ve seen him go through it with her over and over again. Sometimes I just want to yank him off the ride. I thought I had, for a while. But I guess not.”

She sighs. “Maybe there’s hope for him,” she says. “I was… when I was young, I was definitely the toxic ex for more than one guy.”

“You?” you say, surprised. “Toxic?”

She lets out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says, a bit guiltily. “I’m not proud of it. When I first moved out? You and Soonie were so young, you might not remember - it was bad in the house. Mom and Dad fighting was like… a black hole. Nothing else mattered - nothing else could exist except their fighting. I took a lot of my anger into my next few relationships. And then, even when I wasn’t as angry anymore… that was my example of love, right? I picked men who were bone-heads like Dad, and I treated them like… well, like Mom treated Dad.”

You’re stunned into silence. It’s a lot to process.

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you say. “No, not at all. I just… never saw that side of you. It’s hard to picture.”

“I know,” she says, a bit sadly. Then, she seems to steel herself. “I had to learn to do better. Therapy helped.”

Nayoung went to therapy? News to you.

When you hang up after chatting a little more, you sit on the edge of your bed, just thinking. You hadn’t really thought about how things had been for Nayoung before she’d left. You’d only thought about what she left behind.

The thoughts feel heavy. You’re too tired for them. You open social media instead, tapping when you see a message in the corner.

Your whole body goes ice cold when you see the name next to the picture.

@princess_ji: hey girl. i want to clear smth up if thats ok?

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, standing up and pacing in your living room, despite the cloying heat in there.

You: hey jieun. ofc, whats up?

@princess_ji: cheollie told me that when he went to your sister’s wedding last month you came onto him and you slept together. is that true?

“He told you what?” you bark, your voice echoing across your empty apartment. You stare at it for so long that you stop being able to feel your hands. Blinking, you set your phone down on the coffee table.

Be honest with her, you’d told him. You hadn’t meant this honest!

He’d told her you slept together.

And you came onto him? Technically true… if you omit almost every single thing that happened leading up to it.

Jesus.

You stand up and start pacing, pressing your palms to your heated cheeks. Your stomach knots up, nausea creeping up your throat. You pace the length of your apartment six times before you sit back down again, pressing your forehead to your knees and exhaling slowly.

He must have told her he wants to be with her. He must be trying to do it right, starting with no secrets.

Seungcheol had been there for you. He had held your hand and defended you to your family and held you when you were low. He’d done everything he’d promised and more.

And then he’d carried your new air conditioner up two flights of stairs.

You owe him.

You: yes, it’s true. he went to the wedding with me as a favor so i wouldn’t be alone. i was going through some hard stuff that weekend and he was there for me.

You: i was in a bad place and i let myself make a choice i wouldn’t normally make. that’s all it was.

You exhale slowly again, almost dizzy with anxiety as you see her start to type.

@princess_ji: okay… so like… what about now? do you still want him???

You can’t even blame her for wanting to know what she’s walking into. You’d want to know, too, if you were in her position.

You owe him. It’s with this in mind that you send your final reply.

You: it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t want me. he only wants you. the whole time i’ve known him he’s only wanted you.

There, you think, as you turn your phone off completely, sliding it away on the table so you can’t reach it. Now we’re even.

September

Another Friday night finds you surrounded by your brother’s friends in his dimly-lit living room. It is identical to a thousand Friday nights before - the flicker from the tv, the sound of chatter and video games, beer fizzy in your mouth, the company shifting slightly week by week depending on who’s around. There’s only one thing different.

Seungcheol brought Jieun.

Things were tense at first - the room going silent for a nano-second when he walked in with her, before everyone burst into noisy fake-normalcy to cover for it. But an uneasy acceptance seemed to fall over the room when you knocked back a bit of your beer and said, “Hey, guys. Either of you need a drink?”

Now, Seungcheol’s on the couch watching Vernon get absolutely destroyed in whatever team game they have on, Jieun’s legs draped across his lap and his arm around her back. You’re on the floor in your usual place. Chan has seated himself beside you, steadily between you and the couple, like a loyal golden retriever standing between you and something dangerous.

You love him a little, this second baby brother.

You chat with him quietly, trying hard to keep your attention on your conversation and not what’s happening across the room on the couch. You feel a little resigned, which is a step closer to acceptance, so you’ll take it. You’re starting to come to terms with the fact that this is just going to be how it is - you’ll move on from Seungcheol bit by bit, but for a while it’s going to continue to sting a bit when he’s in front of you like this. It’s going to be a long time before his presence doesn’t stir up everything you’re walking away from - the affection, the attraction, the sameness. When he’s in the room with you, you’re always going to feel the rush of how much you like him.

It’ll be easier when you’re not around each other as much.

And, with time, the rest will get easier, too.

When Soonyoung calls you from the kitchen to help carry snacks, you rise quickly, happy to be in a separate space even if just for a minute.

You grab a bowl of chips and a plate of veggies and dip and make your way back into the living room, heading to the coffee table to set down the dishes. As you draw closer to the couch, Jieun leans up, wrapping her arms around Seungcheol’s neck to pull herself closer to his ear.

“How long do you want to hang out here?” she whispers. “Back to your place soon?”

She releases him, smiling mischievously as he turns to look at her. You set down the food and head back to Chan, so you miss his reply, which is too quiet to catch, muttered low only for her to hear.

It must not be the answer she wants, because when you glance back at them after settling on the floor near Chan again she’s taken her legs off of his, her arms crossed and her mouth downturned.

Seungcheol’s jaw tics. He shifts sideways so they aren’t even touching, but then his gaze inexplicably lands on you.

You hold his gaze. It feels like you’re having a conversation, eyes locked and neither of you speaking. You tilt your head just slightly.

Do better.

Don’t play the game.

His slides his eyes closed, lets out a slow breath, his chest deflating as the air leaves him. When he opens his eyes again, they don’t look at you. He reaches over to Jieun, gives her thigh a quick squeeze, and murmurs something to her.

You watch her soften, watch her frown slip away.

You flop backwards on the carpet, so that you can’t look at them even if you’re tempted to. It’s not much longer that they rise, both of them apologizing for dipping out early.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, giving them a smile as genuine as you can. “The guys don’t realize how boring it can be to sit and watch them play video games.”

“Hey!” your brother objects. “No one’s making you hang out with us!”

Jieun sends you a grateful smile, though. “Exactly,” she says. “I like to hang out with your friends, Cheollie, but I can only watch so many rounds of -” She mimics a machine gun with her hands, complete with sound effects.

Seungcheol scrunches his face at her in adorable, teasing protest and whisks her out the door.

You flop backwards, suddenly exhausted - from masking, from trying to push through the awkwardness, from being “on”.

“Was that as awful as I thought it was?” you ask the ceiling.

“Yes,” Soonyoung says seriously, as the rest of the room assures you that it was not.

“It’ll get easier,” he promises.

Whatever guidance you’d given Seungcheol clearly doesn’t last. When you join Soonyoung and Chan (and whoever else they’ve roped in on this particular Friday) at a dive bar halfway between your places, it’s clear that things have gone sour.

He gets there late, storming in and slamming himself onto the empty barstool to Mingyu’s left, ordering something that sounds like it’ll burn the whole way down.

“Rough day?” Mingyu asks, one brow arched.

“Fucking over it,” he mutters, which is somehow both an answer and not an answer.

He’s too many seats away from you to really carry a conversation with each other, so you turn your back to him and Mingyu. You instead chat with your brother and Chan and occasionally Wonwoo, who’s on Chan’s other side. But you can hear, behind you, the low timbre of Seungcheol’s voice, snapping and dark and so unlike the version of him you’ve known. You can hear and feel the force with which he slaps down his glass each time it’s empty, can feel Mingyu’s back stiffen bit by bit as Seungcheol’s temper gets hotter and hotter.

“I need some air, hyung,” Mingyu says finally. “You want to come with?”

Seungcheol declines, but Dumb and Dumber get up from next to you and follow him, elbowing each other (for no purpose except to annoy) as they go.

Which leaves you alone with Seungcheol one barstool to your left, and Wonwoo two barstools to your right.

With a side, you swivel left. Seungcheol is already looking at you, his expression still stormy.

“Well,” he says sourly, and then drains the rest of his glass, dropping it heavily to the wooden bar like he had his last few. You wince, expecting it to break, but it doesn’t. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I guess,” you observe.

He scoffs, lip curling. “Don’t need to fucking rub it in.”

You shrug. “Just stating the obvious. I’d ask what happened, but I can guess.”

His entire face twists, and for a second you wonder if you’ve poked the bear one time too many. Then, he seems to catch himself, takes a breath. He turns to signal for another drink before he responds, which you’re guessing was a ploy to give himself more time to cool off.

“Haven’t heard from her since Wednesday. Either her phone’s off or she blocked my number.”

“Did you fight?” you ask, even though it seems like a dumb question.

He raises and lowers one shoulder. “Not a bad one. Not a never speak to you again kind of fight. Not a don’t talk for three days kind of fight.”

You grimace. “Sorry, buddy.”

He mirrors the face back at you. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask, fake sweet.

“You call every guy buddy who’s had his mouth on your pussy?” he sneers.

“Seungcheol!” you gasp, horrified. You glance over your shoulder - Wonwoo is pretending he’s not listening as he nurses his beer, but his ears have gone dark. You whip back around. “What is wrong with you?”

He seems taken aback - maybe at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking at the wood of the bar instead of at you. “I just… didn’t like that.”

“Get over it!” you snap. “I don’t lash out at you or embarrass you in public every time something happens that I don’t like!”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “You’re right. I said I’m sorry. I mean - I am. I’m sorry. Fuck, I need some air.”

He stalks past you - definitely unsteadily - and you lower your forehead onto the bar, groaning with frustration.

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” you mutter, unable to even look at him. He awkwardly pats your shoulder, and then you’re saved by the sound of Dumb and Dumber returning, boisterously arguing about a band they both like.

You’re just starting to lose the heat of embarrassment when a notification pops up on your phone. Your eyes narrow. Seungcheol has tagged you in a photo? That can’t be good. You didn’t take a photo with him today.

Silently, you swipe to open the app. The shot you’re tagged in - along with the rest of the group - is just a blurry shot of everyone’s mostly empty glasses atop of the bar. It’s paired with a selfie he most certainly hadn’t taken here at the bar, but whatever - that’s not the problem.

The problem is you know exactly what move he’s trying to make here.

You release a breath too loudly. Your brother turns to look, alarmed.

“Where are you going?” he asks, baffled, as you grab your shit and stand.

“To fight with Seungcheol, apparently,” you mutter.

You push your way through the bar, slipping through the door and past the bouncer, scanning the sidewalk for the idiot you know you’ll find here.

“Hey,” you call when you spot him, leaning against the brick wall, face lit by his cell phone screen. “Untag me in that shit.”

He looks at you, confused. “Why?”

“Because you only did it to make her mad,” you say firmly as you draw closer. “You want her to see that I’m out with you guys and get pissed off or jealous or both. Don’t do that. Don’t use me to play your fucking games with her.”

The silence you’re met with is so stony, you think he’s going to fire back at you. But instead he lets his screen go dark and his arm lowers to his side again, and then he mutters, “Fine. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell her sorry,” you grumble.

He scowls at you. “Whose side are you on? She should be apologizing to me.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes a little. “This is getting old, don’t you think?”

“What is?” he asks darkly, a warning in his tone for the first time. You ignore it; he’s pissed you off too many times tonight and you’re done being delicate about all this.

“Me trying to correct the course while you try as hard as you can to steer towards the rocks.”

He pushes himself from the wall, coming to face you completely. A shiver goes through you, despite yourself. You meet his angry gaze just as furiously.

“Why are you trying to steer at all?” he asks, mocking. “You shouldn’t even be on the boat.”

A laugh bursts from you - half from shock and half because he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding, still smiling despite how fucking angry you are. “I guess it’s just… as your friend… it’s kind of hard to watch it happen. Especially when I know you can do better.”

His expression darkens further, his brows furrowed and his eyes angry slits.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and hard, “I’m getting really tired of your I know everything act, when I’ve spent the last three or four months watching you pretend that if you keep everyone but Soonyoung off your island, nothing will ever hurt you.”

“Excuse me?” you breathe. “I don’t do that.”

He shrugs, all innocence. “Sure seems like it from here. Who else do you let see you when you’re down - your family? Definitely not.”

A dangerous wave of anger washes over you. “That’s pretty fucked up,” you say, voice sounding warped to your own ears, “considering you saw firsthand why I keep distance with my family. I’m not trying to not get hurt, I’m creating boundaries -”

“Creating boundaries that don’t let them close enough to hurt you,” he says, like you’ve proven his point.

“That’s not the same,” you argue. “And who the fuck asked you, anyway?”

He shrugs. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about my life, just thought I’d return the favor… buddy.”

You very nearly launch at him, your hands balling into furious fists, but you’re saved from yourself by Soonyoung jogging up the sidewalk, calling both of your names.

“What’s going on?” he asks, panting. “I came out to see if you were gonna come back in to close your card. Are you guys fighting?”

“No,” you both say, in tandem.

You start to follow Soonyoung back towards the bar. Over your shoulder, to Seungcheol, you shoot, “Untag me. Got it?” Then you head back inside with your brother, leaving your ex fake boyfriend outside, alone.

–

You’re pulled from a dreamless sleep by your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You reach for it without opening your eyes, mumbling a hello, expecting Soonyoung or Chan.

“Come open your door.”

For a long second, you have no idea who’s talking or what the hell they’re talking about. You blink your eyes open, pulling the phone away from your face to peer at the screen.

“Seungcheol?” you manage to ask. “What do you mean open my door? Wait, are you in my building? How did you even get in?”

“I knocked,” he says simply. “Come let me in before your coffee burns all the skin off my hand.”

“Coffee?” You perk up just a fraction.

You can almost hear the playful eye-roll he gives you. “Come on, it’s really hot. They didn’t give me one of the paper-hand-protector things.”

You hang up and shuffle across your room, grabbing a hoodie from the back of your desk chair and pulling it over your head as you make your way to your front door.

Seungcheol clearly hasn’t slept, is probably nursing a hangover - but somehow still looks great.

“Here,” he says, holding out a to-go cup from a nearby cafe. “I think I got your order right. Careful, it’s hot.”

You take the cup and regard him silently. You have a hunch that he’s here to apologize for fighting with you, and you aren’t sure how you feel - not sure if you’re going to forgive him or pretend to forgive him or maybe even just keep fighting.

“Can I come in?” he asks, a bit sheepishly.

You twist your mouth sideways. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

He smiles ruefully. “She can’t yell at me if she isn’t speaking to me.”

“That’s true,” you murmur, and after considering for a moment, you find yourself backing up to let him in.

He stands near your table, looking around with mild interest, the same way he had when he came with your air conditioner.

“You wanna sit down?” you ask. Then, “You want half of this? I can pour it into mugs.”

“No,” he says quickly. “That’s yours. I want you to have it.”

This solidifies your guess that this is an apology coffee. But he does sit at your table, gingerly, like he’s scared the chair will break beneath him.

You sit across from him, sipping at the coffee he brought you, and wait. He came with something to say, so you’ll sit and listen.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, quietly.

You look at the cup in your hand - it’s easier than looking at him as you say, just as quietly, “Some of it was true.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shifting forward. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I had to say it. You’re right - I can’t keep inserting you in my bullshit. It isn’t fair.”

You shrug. “I should stop telling you what to do, too. I’m… inserting myself into the bullshit, I guess. It’s just…” You trail off.

He raises both eyebrows, like he wants you to complete the thought.

You let out a nearly silent sigh, a breath of defeat. “It is really hard to watch you go ‘round and ‘round with her, after all these years. But… even if it’s hard… it’s not my business. I’ll try to stay out of it.”

He nods. “That’s probably… better for both of us.”

“Well,” you say, a bit of awkwardness settling between you, “we can both make an effort to keep me out of it. I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry, too, if anything I said was out of line.”

This was good communication, you think. If you weren’t trying to stay out of it, you’d say so, tell him that this was how partners should talk after a fight.

You walk him to the door instead, slowly, something weighing on your mind.

“Seungcheol?” you say, as you get within arms’ reach of the door. “What you said outside, last night… about my island…”

He looks embarrassed, shaking his head immediately to deny the truth of it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It isn’t true,” you say again - firmly, but much more calmly thank you had outside the bar. “I keep my family out of my day to day life because I prefer that.”

He waves his head slowly, like he’s considering what you’re saying. “Sure,” he says after a second. “So, ask yourself why. Why is it preferable, without them?”

“Because they drive me crazy,” you say. “Because I can’t rely on them to support me. Because they don’t consider my needs, or even feelings.”

“Because they’ve hurt you,” he says gently. “And sometimes they still do.”

You purse your lips, annoyed that his point has checked out.

“And your friends?” he prods.

“My friendships are fine.” Your tone has gone defensive again.

“You’ve never brought anyone out with us,” he points out. “I’ve known you since college and I don’t know the name of a single person in your life that isn’t in your brother’s living room every Friday night. Why keep your circle separate?”

“No room left in Soonyoung’s apartment.”

He says your name like a gentle scolding. “Seriously.”

You blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” you huff. “My friendships aren’t like that - lay around the living room and bullshit over beer. They’re… get brunch on Sunday morning and maybe get a mani-pedi before going home again. It’s just different. They like different things - a plan, an activity. Soonyoung’s is just… sitting around.”

“Have you ever let them see you when you’re ‘off’? Just lounging? Do you ever talk to them when you’re low? Who did you turn to the last time you had your heart broken?” he asks.

You go quiet. It had been Soonyoung, and Chan just by proxy since you couldn’t avoid him in their kitchen.

“I’m not trying to pick on you. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. But, you asked, so I’m explaining,” he says, a bit pleadingly.

Your throat has gone embarrassingly tight and your vision blurs. The answer to his question is, no one.

His arms around you are so unexpected that you jump a little, startled. Then, after less than a second of consideration, you melt into his hold, into the safety between his arms that you’ve missed and craved since your sister’s wedding ended.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You let yourself hold him back, your arms loose around his middle. You don’t know where the line is - is this a friends hug, is it okay to lean on him or do you need to hold your tension yourself?

In the end, you hover somewhere in the middle until he releases you, stepping back and looking at you carefully, one hand resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be like that,” you whisper.

He gives you a sad smile. “Then you have to let people in.”

“I don’t… think I know how,” you admit. Your stomach feels like lead.

He nods, face serious. “Yes you do. You let me in, when you needed me. That’s a start.”

And look what you did with it, you think. You were just more proof that my way is, in fact, keeping me safe.

His hand moves from your shoulder, up to your jaw. You startle again, your gaze jumping to his in alarm, a question on your face.

There’s a question on his, too, and he’s still standing so close.

“You should not kiss me right now,” you whisper, voice raw. Because, fuck, you want him to - or you would if he were here fully unattached. And he is very much not.

But that would be a mistake anyway, because even if he was unattached for now, Jieun would show up again eventually. You’ve made the mistake of thinking he can say no to her for the last time.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Right now, he’s with her, whether she’s currently speaking to him or not.

“You’re right,” he says, his own voice rough. His hand is gone from your cheek, but you don’t remember him removing it. “You’re right. Sorry. That was… that would have been a mistake.”

“It was a very good apology until that,” you tell him, reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he admits, stepping into your hallway. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Thanks. For talking to me.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” you return, and then you watch him go.

–

When your sister calls a few nights later, you don’t feel the spike of frustration or anger you had the last few times. You’d almost been expecting it - at some point.

When she asks what’s new with you, you start to say nothing - just like always - but Seungcheol’s words are still swimming in circles in your head. Nayoung is trying. Maybe you could try, too.

So, you admit, “Kind of had a weird fight with Seungcheol the other night. I dunno.”

Her surprise is clear in her tone. “You talked to him?”

“Oh,” you say, realizing how little your sister knows about your day-to-day happenings. Of course she wouldn’t know that Seungcheol is at your brother’s essentially every weekend, just like you. “Well, yeah. He’s one of Soonyoung’s best friends. He’s always around.”

“God, that’s the worst,” she grouses. “How can you be expected to get over someone when they’re always in your face?” The question seems rhetorical because she continues, “What did you fight about?”

“Him and his ex, at first. Well, she’s not his ex… currently. I’m his ex, currently. But, you get it. Just like… watching him act like a tool with her when… he was better with me.” You let out a sound that’s almost a laugh - at your own expense. Because you can hear how stupid you sound.

Your sister says it more nicely. “You have to let people make their own mistakes, unfortunately,” she says.

“I know,” you say mournfully. “It just sucks.”

She sighed. “You’re braver than me,” she tells you. “I don’t think I could date again. If anything happens to Jeongwoo, I swear I’ll be single until I die.”

“It’s rough out here,” you agree.

“Seriously,” she says. “I really only got in deep with Jeongwoo because when we started talking, I had already known him from college. I knew his character already, I knew his reputation. I’m not sure I could just… learn to trust a stranger.”

You go cold with how much this sounds like you.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, not sure you want to unpeel this truth for her, not sure you want to reveal this ugly part of yourself. But maybe this is the best place to do so - with someone who seems to match. Someone who knows how you grew up, learned love from the same fiery wreck that you did. “I… me, too. That’s the second thing we fought about. He kind of threw it in my face that I don’t let… most people in.”

She laughs once, sarcastic and biting. “You can blame Mom for that.”

This shocks you into silence. “I don’t blame Mom,” you say carefully. “I mean, I don’t fully blame anyone - every day of my life worked to shape me into who I am, no person is responsible. But between Mom and Dad… I wouldn’t say it’s Mom’s fault that I don’t like… sharing myself with others.”

The words come from you unsteadily, like a newborn colt, wobbly and unbalanced. You’ve never articulated this before, never even really thought about it. But you don’t blame your mother - for all of her flaws - for your fear of vulnerability with others. She hadn’t left you behind.

That had been Nayoung - Nayoung, and your dad.

Nayoung makes a sound that seems like the vocal representation of a shrug. “I don’t remember Mom ever feeling like someone I could talk to when I had problems, or when I was upset,” she observes.

“Maybe,” you say, because, true, your mother hadn’t really been soft and comforting. But - “But at least she was there.”

And there it is.

Unlike Dad. Unlike you.

You don’t say it, but you think she probably hears it anyway. Nayoung doesn’t respond for so long that you check to see if you got disconnected.

“We’re all a mess, huh?” she muses finally. “All four of us. How’d Soonie end up so normal?”

“Everyone babied him,” you supply, and she laughs, the potential moment of depth successfully swerved - as expected for you, and apparently from your sister, too.

Still. When you hang up a little later, you feel somehow lighter. Like you understand her better - and maybe you let her understand you better, too. You’d let her in a little bit - just an inch - but it wasn’t nothing.

It almost feels kind of nice.

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The final chapter will go up next Friday!! Thank you for reading!!

#also as one of the few Seungcheol apologists (I think) in this story #i do want everyone to remember/think about how lonely it is if you're in a relationship where you're trying to be open and vulnerable #and the other person is Not There for you #sometimes its lonelier than being single/rejected #I promise he is not having a great time #everyone is a Grown Up here and owning their choices #and Reader is being so brave about hers I'm so proud of her #and while I'm not exactly proud of Seungcheol's choices he is Doing His Best and is trying to get a good grade in Relationships #which is normal to aim for and possible to achieve...

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simbelmyne-eadig · 2 months ago

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Well, I read this chapter after a 12h shift at work and I was so caught up with the fact Reader was having a relatively emotionally mature response to her absent sister's wedding, that I had forgotten the heavy angst warning at the beginning of this story...

Me before the last few paragraphs: What a beautiful unfurling relationship, sure they have a few bumps to get over in order to get on the same page but I'm sure we're almost there! <3

Me after finishing the chapter: Seungcheol you beautiful idiot </3

You Think You Might - Chapter 3 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: drinking recreationally and drinking to cope with feelings but no one is Drunk, angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, Seungcheol is able to lift/hold up reader a few times, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, dry humping, shower sex, oral (f and m receiving at different points), breast play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f receiving), dirty talk, two scenes from seungcheol’s pov

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me and teaching me about the Levels of Noona. Additional thank you to @/eoieopda again because seungcheol doing the ‘whats after like’ choreo at the wedding came from their brain not mine :’)

You wake up before your alarm again, anxiety prompting you to check the clock over and over, sure you missed your alarm, missed your hair appointment, missed the wedding as a whole.

You reach across the bed for your phone, opening one eye to check the time. You still have an hour to sleep. You set it back down and realize that you had to stretch to reach it because you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed, not over on your side. Seungcheol’s body is warm behind you, one arm heavy over your middle, his hand limp against the mattress, fingers just barely brushing your belly.

You don’t think about it at all; you’re mostly asleep, driven by your id. You turn in place, grabbing onto the hoodie he slept in, pulling yourself closer and burying yourself in the warmth he’s giving off like a furnace. He grunts in his sleep, once, then you feel his arm - still over your middle - tighten against your back, pulling you in closer. He shifts, snuggling deeper against the mattress, then presses his face against the top of your head, breathing deeply. He goes still again, back into deeper sleep.

Your hands are still clutching the fabric of his hoodie when your alarm wakes you again, an hour later.

Oh jeez, you think.

You let go slowly, flexing your fingers, then scoot away as gingerly as you can, trying not to disturb his sleep.

It doesn’t work.

“You leaving?” he asks sleepily, not opening his eyes. You’re not entirely sure he knows it’s you, or that he’s here.

“Have to go,” you whisper. “Nayoung’s got us scheduled for hair and make-up starting at eight.”

He struggles to open one eye. “Are you gonna be gone all day?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, sitting cross-legged on your side of the bed. “I’ll have to stay with Nayoung and the moms and the other bridesmaid for the day. They take getting-ready pictures and stuff. You can probably spend the day with my brother and Chan? And head to the venue when they do?”

You think he might pout, but it’s possible you imagine it. Probably, he’s just giving in to feeling sleepy.

You start to shift from the bed, but he grabs for your wrist, catching your fingers instead. You still, one foot on the ground, waiting to see what he wants.

He lifts his face, which is marred with sleep lines from the pillow. He squints at you. “Try and have fun today,” he says, and it punches you in the gut how he’s barely awake but he knows you need to hear this, knows you’re already in a spiral of anxiety about the day to come. “Don’t think about everything so much - just be in it, enjoy it for what it is.”

“Okay,” you say, so that he’ll let go. It’s an empty promise, probably. “Okay, I will.”

You’re first for hair and make-up, so you get to spend the rest of the day sitting in the bridal suite trying not to mess it up. You don’t hear from any of the guys until almost noon, when Seungcheol sends you a photo - himself, Chan, and Soonyoung clearly on the beach, all making goofy faces.

hope you’re having as much fun as we are, he says.

You tap back some exclamation points and then send, “i assure you, i am not.”

Seungcheol: how come? You: just sitting in silence around the bridal suite You: having the time of my life :) You: at least we start pictures in an hour… Seungcheol: wanna play 20 questions?

The smile that creeps across your face surprises you as much as his answer.

You: god im dating a dork You: yes. you go first.

Seungcheol keeps you entertained for the next hour, until the photographer shows up, at which point you have to stash your phone and smile nice until it’s time to load into a rented van to head to the venue.

It’s grey out, but no rain falls as you follow the other ladies into the venue and upstairs to a small bridal suite. You help Nayoung get changed into her gown - which, fine, is really, really pretty - and then lose another hour to pictures, but at least the room has trays of food and glasses of champagne.

Finally, the pre-wedding events seem to die down. Outside, you can see cars of people arriving, can hear the chosen pre-ceremony music begin to play as guests make their way in to find their seats. Venue staff go over the order of events, who you should stand behind, all the little details. Before you know it, you’re following Nayoung down the steps to the venue’s main entrance, your purple bridesmaid’s bouquet in hand.

The rows are full, leading up the aisle to where Jeongwoo is standing, waiting for his bride. But as you hear the processional start playing and you take your first steps into the crowded room, it isn’t Jeongwoo your eyes seek out. You eyes scan the rows until they spot him - hair styled to leave his forehead exposed, heavy brows lifted - in what? anticipation? happiness? - and mouth quirked to climb one side of his face, dimples asymmetrical and so damn endearing.

You look straight ahead again, stomach fluttering. You focus on Jeongwoo, on your brother standing beside him, grinning at you.

You reach the front and take your place to the side, watching the doors eagerly. You may have complicated feelings about Nayoung, you may feel like there’s gravel in your mouth at the thought of verbalizing any well-wishes or lifetime of happiness crap, but the moment still gets to you. With the swell of string music, the crisp white flowers hanging from the alcoves, the anticipation simmering through the room like mist above pavement after a summer day’s rainstorm - it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

When Nayoung turns the corner, on your father’s arm, the room holds its breath for her - and you do, too.

But as Nayoung makes her way up the aisle and you let your eyes scan the crowd again, you notice there’s one face not watching her. Seungcheol, standing next to Chan, is facing front - not cheating sideways to view the bride. Instead, his gaze is steady on you, his brown eyes dancing.

The moment speaks to you. The music raises, your stomach swoops, and the grin on your face is unfettered. It takes a second, but then he smiles back, cheeks rising and dimples deepening.

It feels like you and him alone here, taking part in a moment that lets no one else in. It feels like the music, the moment, the breaths being held in tight anticipation are all for you - you and him. Just for a second.

You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so you could lean close and ask what he’s smiling about. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so that you could make yourself small, let him be the buffer. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him because it’s just what you want.

Don’t think about everything so much, he’d told you.

When Nayoung reaches the front and moves to stand opposite Jeongwoo, you have to work to school your face into something somber, to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want to stand here, listening to the officiant talk about your sister’s life. You want to leave the line-up and go live your own.

Be in it, enjoy it for what it is.

Fine, you think, as to your left Nayoung is slipping a silver band onto Jeongwoo’s finger. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

You’ll stop thinking about everything, stop trying to fix everyone and just do what you fucking want - for maybe the first time in your whole life.

When the ceremony ends and you follow the newlyweds back down the aisle, you catch Seungcheol’s eye and wink once on your way past.

You make your way straight to him when you’re freed from bridesmaid duties. You’re surrounded by people - mostly your extended family - and you know he’s overheard when he wraps an arm around you, presses his lips to your temple and says, “You look beautiful.”

You feel your face warm from the compliment, but you force yourself to giggle. “Thank you,” you preen, leaning into the joke. “I spent a lot of money this morning to look like this.”

“Worth every penny,” he says, releasing you from the hug.

You take a step back, getting a good look at him for the first time. “You look pretty sharp yourself,” you admit, meaning it. “The tux is working for you.”

He deflects with a joke, just like you did. “It’s all in the shoes,” he deadpans. “They bring the whole thing together.”

“Did you rent them, too?” you tease.

“Too?” he echoes, offended. “I own all of this, thank you very much. I am a grown ass man.”

“Soonyoung and Chan both rented theirs.”

“Children.”

You laugh, and for show - or maybe just because it feels nice - you rest your fingers on his arm, like you’re trying to keep him from shifting too far away.

He responds to the touch by stepping back, asking, “You want a drink?”

“You know what? I do,” you tell him. Because you’re doing what you want, now. He gives your waist a quick squeeze in goodbye and heads for the bar; it occurs to you that he didn’t ask what you want.

You hear your name being called, and you fight to smile as you turn and greet two of your aunts, one of your younger cousins with them.

“Wasn’t Nayoung just perfection?” one of them says in greeting, and you smile and agree that, yes, your sister looked beautiful.

“Jeongwoo seems wonderful,” you add, just to show how unjealous you are of your sister’s happiness.

“Isn’t he handsome?” your cousin simpers. You keep your smile even - your refusal to let your politeness flag is the absolute best you can offer.

“What about you?” the second aunt asks, leaning close like it’s a secret. “Are you here alone? Such a shame, you’re a pretty girl -”

“Isn’t she?”

You swear to god you get goosebumps. Seungcheol presses a fizzy beverage into your hand. It’s adorned by a lime.

“They didn’t have your brand, but it’s still a decent gin,” he says, and you bring it to your lips. He knows your drink, you marvel, but you’ve been to bars together enough times that you guess this isn’t magical.

Still. Nice that he pays attention.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you breathe, trying to smile and not look surprised.

Aware of the three sets of eyes on you, you lean into Seungcheol’s solid form and smile bigger as he slips an arm around your waist.

“Aunties, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say, as sweet as you can. Your cousin’s eyes are a little wide, and it makes you want to dance. Take that, you think, not even caring that it’s all a ruse.

“Pleased to meet you,” one of your aunts says, reaching for his hand.

“These are my aunts,” you say, introducing them to Seungcheol by name, “and my little cousin.”

“Have you been together long?”

“Almost a year,” Seungcheol answers for you, sending you his own little wink when you look up at him.

“Wow,” your cousin says, sounding a little stunned. “We thought she’d be alone for-”

“How did you two meet?” her mother interrupts quickly.

“We met in college, but we didn’t date or anything then,” you say, still looking at him. You don’t want to look at them, don’t want to examine if they look doubtful or mean or anything. “He’s friends with Soonyoung, actually - we spent a lot of time in the same social circle but never took the leap.”

You hope the mention of your brother will distract them, but no dice.

“Oh?” your aunt asks. “Why not?”

It truly doesn’t occur to her that this is invasive, you think, lips pursing in annoyance.

“Ah,” Seungcheol ducks his head guiltily. “That’s my fault, probably. I thought it would upset Soonyoung if I dated his sister, so I never went for it.”

You grin at him, playing along. “Luckily, I don’t care if I make Soonyoung mad,” you joke. “So here we are!”

When you extract yourselves from the conversation, you drain the top quarter of your drink.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seungcheol teases.

“Nope,” you agree easily. “And when we repeat it in three minutes, that won’t be painful either. Nor will the next time. Probably it won’t be painful until the sixth or seventh time.”

“Alright, alright,” he scolds, laughing. “I get the idea.”

“Just keep looking handsome and charming, and we’ll be fine,” you tell him, and you swear he flushes again.

“Don’t flatter me,” he mutters.

You send him an open grin and then turn to greet an uncle, the introduction poised on your tongue.

You end up being right. Your little routine stays cute and kind of funny through the next five run-ins with relatives - no stutters or slips, no mistakes or near-misses. You and Seungcheol riff off each other easily, in perfect step. And to be honest, after your first encounter, everyone else is pleasant and normal. Maybe, you consider, you had projected some insecurity onto your family. Maybe they aren’t as bad as you made them out to be - maybe they did, all along, just want to see you happy.

During a few moments of reprieve, Seungcheol turns to face you. He’s not crowding you, exactly, but the way he hovers over and around you makes you feel sort of sheltered.

“About last night,” he says, teeth worrying the inside of his bottom lip. He lets the sentence rest there.

You hadn’t been sure you were going to talk about it. You find yourself relieved that he brought it up.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I really hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable. We forgot to make the Blanket Wall, and I fell asleep during the movie -”

“It didn’t,” he interrupts, quiet, aware of the people milling around you. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t -”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. It had been your doing, after all. “I’m not.”

You both lapse into silence at this, both teetering on continuing to apologize, you bet.

“If you’re sure,” he says, a little uncertainly, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“No,” you say again. Your voice comes out soft, like it knows you shouldn’t admit this. But still, you murmur, “It was kind of nice, actually.”

Because you’re doing what you want, now.

There’s a little bit of warning in the look he gives you, so you laugh and make it a joke. “You’re very warm, you know.”

This makes him smile, the tension broken. “Believe it or not,” he says lightly, “I’ve heard that before. I can’t help it if I run like a personal space heater.”

“Useful in the winter,” you say, mock-seriously. Then, you’re both distracted by a passing plate of hors d’oeuvres.

You make it through cocktail hour and weave your way to the tables to find your seats. You have to admit that the rooms are beautiful - white flowers almost everywhere, even hanging from the rafters, candles’ flames dancing above mirrored centerpieces, the live string music soft and unobtrusive.

“I hope the speeches are quick,” you mutter, only for Seungcheol to hear. “I’m starving.”

He pats your shoulder sympathetically.

You find your seat easily by following the sound of your brother’s laughter.

“Noona!” he cries happily when you drop into the chair across from his. “I haven’t seen you since the ceremony! How’s it going?”

He makes it sound like it’s been years. Though, you consider, it has been at least an hour - and you hadn’t seen him once.

You eye him warily. Then you turn to Chan. “How drunk is he?”

“Worse than New Years, not as bad as his birthday,” Chan reports.

“Super,” you say sarcastically, as Seungcheol takes his seat next to you.

Down the table from you Nayoung and Jeongwoo lean in close, whispering to each other, as things get set up for the speeches and the rest of the guests find their dinner seats.

It feels a little strange, you admit to yourself, to watch Sheyla accept the microphone, flashing the staff member a thankful and nervous smile, her hand-written speech clutched in her hand. She greets everyone, thanks them for traveling, and makes a comment about how beautiful Nayoung looks that elicits happy claps, cheers, and whistles from the agreeing crowd.

There might be an alternate timeline, you think, in which your sister might have wanted you to speak. A timeline in which you might have anything to say that wasn’t about early childhood. A timeline in which at your own wedding (if it ever happens), you might want her, too.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers, leaning over, his mouth close enough to your ear that it tickles. “What do you think Soonyoung’s wedding will be like?”

You don’t know if he did it on purpose - you don’t know if he could tell you were in your head again, losing yourself to the thoughts - but just like that, you’re back, stifling a giggle behind your hand, turning towards him so you can whisper your answer.

“They’d have a tiger instead of a ring bearer,” you whisper, trying to keep your giggles silent, just shoulder shakes and hitches of breath.

“I can see the headlines now: Eight Mauled by Ring-Bearer at City Wedding Reception,” Seungcheol whispers out of the side of his mouth.

You nearly snort, ready to reply, but then Sheyla’s speech gets really underway and you lapse into silence, listening. About halfway through, maybe for show and maybe because you want to and maybe because you are trying to enjoy this for what it is, you reach out and lay your hand on top of Seungcheol’s where it rests on his leg. He immediately flips his over, taking your fingers in his, giving yours a squeeze.

Sheyla’s speech is good. It’s sweet, and to the point, and not too long. The best man - Jeongwoo’s brother, he says as he starts speaking - does a decent job as well, and you’re staring down at a plate of food before you know it.

“Happy now?” Seungcheol asks.

“Very,” you tell him, taking your first bite and moaning before even beginning to chew. “Oh my god, that’s good.”

“I want what she’s having,” Chan jokes.

“Chan, you are literally having what she’s having,” your brother points out, stabbing his utensils towards Chan’s plate.

After the plates are cleared away, the music increases in volume, changing from quiet background noise to upbeat dance tracks.

Soonyoung is gone in a flash, Chan heaving a sigh and pushing himself to stand like an old man. “Guess we’re dancing,” he says to you, long-suffering.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” you decide out loud. “Do you want to grab us fresh drinks? I’ll meet you at the bar in a minute?”

Seungcheol nods, and you slip through the room, smiling absently at familiar faces as you pass, until you exit the banquet room and enter the open foyer at the building’s front. Everything is instantly quieter as the glass doors close behind you, and you breathe the silence in, relaxing a little as you cast a glance around for the ladies’ room.

It’s tough to get in and out of your shapewear, but you make it happen. Then you wash your hands and check the mirror, leaning in to touch up your lipstick. Then you head back through the foyer, bracing yourself before entering the banquet room again.

When you enter, most people are up from the dinner tables, and the dance floor is packed. You see Nayoung and Jeongwoo at the center of it, and you stand and watch them for a second. Nayoung is glowing, her smile wide and genuine, her hands in the air as she dances next to her new husband.

Something in your stomach aches. You want this, want to love someone who feels like a best friend, want to smile beside them and have fun together, tackle every hard thing as a we. The wanting consumes you, twisting and painful, and you’re sure it’s all over your face - which makes you suddenly aware that you can feel eyes on you.

Seungcheol is at the bar to your left, and yes, he’s looking at you, his face unreadable, two glasses on the bar in front of him. Your mother is standing from her seat at a table to your right, and she makes her way towards you.

You brace yourself. She embraces you, which you weren’t expecting, going a little stiff.

“My dear,” she says, stepping back and looking at you searchingly. “I just want you to have this. This happiness.”

It was the same thing you’d been thinking, and you’re sure she saw it on you. But the words sting, make you prickle. Not everyone’s happiness looks the same, you want to retort, but then you remember the ruse. You twist in her embrace, looking over your shoulder. Seungcheol still waits for you, one elbow on the bar, still watching you. It drives you crazy that you can’t read his expression - there’s nothing there for you to grasp, not pity, not frustration, nothing.

“He’s waiting for me,” you answer. It’s your own twisty joke - answering we want you to have somebody with a bit of a he’s right over there. The fact that it isn’t true leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You pull free from your mother’s hands and hurry to chase the taste away with the burn of alcohol.

“Want to do some shots?” you ask, as soon as Seungcheol’s in earshot.

He seems to do some mental calculations, first looking at the untouched gin and tonic he has waiting for you, then up at your mother’s retreating form, then finally at your face.

“If you think you can handle it,” he says evenly.

You feel your eyes narrow. “Don’t worry about what I can handle. I can take care of myself.”

He doesn’t answer this, so you turn to get the bartender’s attention and order something you know you’ll both be okay with.

When they come, you take one little glass and hold it up, a challenge. Seungcheol’s face is still unreadable, and it’s still infuriating.

“To happily ever after,” you say flatly, a challenge.

“To happily ever after, and all the other things I don’t really believe in,” he counters, and clicks his glass against yours before knocking the clear liquid back.

You don’t salute anything with the second shot, just throw it back and reach for the cocktail that’s been sweating onto the bar, waiting for you.

“Come on,” you say.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He watches your face carefully. “You good?” he asks.

A million retorts jump to your tongue, defensive and acidic, because you’re kind of not and you hate that he can read it.

It isn’t your job to care, is the first one and you barely swallow it down.

“I will be,” you tell him, determined to make it true. “Can we go dance?”

You leave your drink at your seat and head to the dance floor, following the sounds of whoops and laughter that you know will lead to your brother. You lose a lot on the dancefloor - an hour, your sour mood, even Seungcheol for a few minutes, but he turns back up a few songs later, swaying his hips and lip-syncing a circle around you, giggles bubbling out of you unbidden.

You’re about to take a break, starting to make your way towards the table for a breather, when you hear opening notes that tickle your brain, familiar and loved - “what’s after like” by IVE. Somewhere nearby, you hear Soonyoung’s absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Ohhhh, I love this song,” you announce to no one, starting the choreo on-beat. It surprises you absolutely not at all to see your brother a few feet away, grinning madly as he steps in time with you. Nor does it surprise you to see Chan pick it up a few steps later, mouthing the words as he tries to remember the steps. But you are absolutely floored when you turn to your right and see Seungcheol swishing his hips and lifting his hand, perfectly in step with you.

Shock causes you to react without thinking, without the chance to be careful. Surprised laughter bursts from you, loud and happy, and Seungcheol beams back at you proudly, laughing in return.

“What?” he asks playfully, still hitting the choreography with precision. “You didn’t think I knew this one?”

“What goes on at that apartment when I’m not there?” you demand, still laughing so hard it hurts your belly. “I thought I knew you!”

“I contain multitudes!” he shoots back, dimples deepening, hips still swishing without even a hint of shame.

You’re still giggling on every exhale as the song winds to an end, one hand over your aching diaphragm.

“Let’s slow things down,” the DJ says as you try to reign in your remaining mirth. “This one’s for the couples.” A love-song starts, one of those oldies, crooner types.

You’re about to step out, as you’d been planning before the IVE song came on, but Seungcheol reaches for your hand, brows raised in a question.

“Aren’t we a couple?” he teases.

You give a quick head-tilt, as if to say, can’t argue with that, and then you take the offered hand.

He tugs you close, front to front, and holds you steady by your waist. You’re surprised - again - when he leads well, and after a few seconds you relax into it, swaying and turning as the music intends. His hand on your waist feels good, warm and comforting and maybe a little exciting. Your front brushing his seems somehow tantalizing, which you realize is logically ridiculous, but you can’t deny the thrill of it each time. You wonder if he’s affected, too, and you look up at him, determined to read him for once instead of the other way around.

He’s looking back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, and you swear his hands tighten on you when your eyes meet. He looks like he’s on the precipice of saying something - but what?

“What is it?” You mean to ask it quietly but normally, and instead you hear yourself murmur the question, loaded and suggestive.

His smile ticks up, just slightly, as if he’s amused that you caught him. “Just… you really do look great tonight,” he says. His face doesn’t give anything away, but the tips of his ears darken just slightly. “I mean, this dress.”

Careful, you almost say, warning bells sounding in your head. But then you remember him telling you, don’t think so much, so you push the admonishment away and give into the moment instead.

“Oh?” you say lightly, a gloating smile crawling across your face. “Tell me more.”

He laughs, giving you a petulant little shake as if to scold you for your teasing. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, his voice suddenly lower. His gaze skates up your form, and you feel something hot simmer behind your belly button, your face heat under the compliment.

“Well, thank you,” you say to your shoes.

“Hey,” he says, and you manage to look back up at him, burning up under his scrutiny. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you. I hope it’s… I hope it’s better, with me here. I mean, I hope what you wanted -”

The song ends, and you step away automatically. His hands fall from you along with the end of his sentence.

“It is,” you assure him. “You’re - I mean - this is exactly what I needed.”

The you’re exactly what I needed that you almost said stretches between you.

“I think I could use some air,” you say, and you don’t wait to see if he’s following before you head for the glass doors that lead outside.

This turns out to be true; the night air soothes you immediately, the noise and bustle of the banquet room falling away as Seungcheol - who, it seems, did follow you - closes the door behind himself. There are a few other people out here - some smokers, way down at the other end, and a few other couples standing and watching the night sky - but it’s not crowded by any means.

You lean against the stone wall and watch the party through the glass, muted and distant. Seungcheol settles beside you, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then, without looking at you, he says, “Have you ever tried being honest with them?”

You whip around to look at him, indignant. “What?”

He shrugs, unbothered by your potential impending fury. “Your mom, at least,” he tries to explain. “What would happen if you just… were your real self?”

“And what’s that?” you demand. “What’s my real self, Seungcheol?”

“Angry, I think,” he says, something careful in the way he says it, like he’s holding something delicate. And he is: the truth. “What if you didn’t hide from her how angry you are?”

“Let’s not do this,” you say flatly - a defense tactic. A sidestep, a way to never acknowledge that he’s right.

“What would happen?” he presses.

The words come, new and frightening. She could leave, too. She might not want me, either. You don’t say them.

“Let’s not,” you repeat. Then, petulantly, you mutter, “I’m not angry.”

You both know it’s a lie.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and you can tell by his voice that he’s turned to face you, is hovering just slightly closer. “I kind of liked thinking that you were. It made me feel like… we matched.”

You swallow, then turn to look at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his bottom lip again, something you’re starting to notice as a nervous habit.

“Are you angry?” you ask. It comes out as a whisper. What a silly question, you think. Of course he is. Now that he’s said it, it seems clear as day.

“Not right now,” he admits, and there’s a sudden familiarity to the way his body crowds yours, not unpleasantly, a familiarity to the intensity of his gaze and the thrum of excitement shooting from your sternum to your core like a live wire.

He’s going to kiss you, you realize. Should you step away? Swerve it? Do you want to kiss him?

It’s probably a mistake, a stupid decision, but… you think you might.

Enjoy today for what it is, he’d told you.

So when he leans in, you stretch onto your toes to meet him midway.

You kiss him back eagerly, slamming mental doors shut on every voice in your head telling you this is a bad idea. His hand comes to the back of your neck, his thumb resting along your jaw, caressing it lightly as he tips your head further back to adjust the angle.

You tug him even closer by his lapels, and he snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You lick into his mouth first, unashamed, wanting. He responds with a happy rumble, almost too quiet to hear. You release his suit jacket and loop your arms around his neck, holding on as you lose yourself to the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him solid and steady against you.

You kiss languidly, deeply - not hurried or frantic, not rushed the way so many kisses you’ve encountered have been. He holds you right where he wants you and takes his time; what this says about how he’d likely be in bed makes the blood rush from your head to your pussy. Your core throbs as you try to pull him tighter against you, press your hips against his. He leaves your mouth to nibble and soothe a line down your throat, goosebumps rising on your arms, and the hand on your waist travels lower and grabs a generous handful of your ass, pulling you more firmly against him.

You can feel him now, against your lower belly, and you let out a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine. You feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your neck, and then he’s kissing you again, drowning out any other noises you might let slip.

You’ve forgotten everything - the smattering of other people nearby, Nayoung’s wedding raging on inside, the anger Seungcheol had pointed out only minutes ago, how very aware you are that this is playing with fire - it all melts away to nothing as you press your mouth to his, strokes his tongue with yours, press your body against his as firmly as you can.

“Hey! Lovebirds!”

You leap apart, your hand flying to cover your mouth as if that will help.

Your brother hangs out the open glass door, eyes narrowed at you. “They’re cutting the cake,” he calls, and then disappears inside.

“Shit,” you manage. You know you’ll hear about this later.

Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, adjusting himself, and runs a sobering hand down his face.

“Guess we better go in,” you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I guess we should,” he says, sounding a little winded himself.

You wonder, as you make your way back inside, if you should talk about it. Then, Seungcheol’s long strides catch him up to you and he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you firmly through the room, and the rest of your logical thoughts melt away.

You watch Nayoung and her new husband cut their wedding cake, sweetly feed each other a bite. You hit the bathroom again, fix your lipstick, come back and do a shot with Chan just because he asks (shouts). You go back to the dance floor, take a break to drink some water at your table, find yourself having a conversation with one of your cousins about a drama you’d both hated.

But even as you go through these perfectly normal events, your body remains singed; the heat rises from you so strongly you can’t believe no one is pointing and staring. Something has shifted, cracked open, and the possibility of it hangs over you and Seungcheol so thickly you think you might choke. Every movement you make, you feel the weight of his gaze or the heat of his hands - always reaching to guide you, to ground you, even just the press of his fingers to your elbow igniting you all over again.

Time drags and you burn slowly. The first shuttle leaves. Your mother makes a snide remark about your father too loudly as he and his date depart. You can’t even care, not when Seungcheol is standing so close behind you, his smell pervading your senses, his warmth radiating around you.

You want to keep kissing him. You are praying he won’t back down in the quiet of your hotel room, won’t try to walk it back once you’re alone. From behind you, his fingers slip into yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. It’s nothing, but you tingle clear down to your toes from the touch.

You tell your mother goodbye, that you’ll see her in the morning. You say goodbye to the family members who came from out of town, that you probably won’t see again soon. You get your purse from the table. Seungcheol hovers behind you like smoke hovers above a flame.

You’re both going to burn.

You take the second shuttle back to the hotel. You don’t speak or look at each other. There’s a moment where you wonder if he will snuff this out, deprive it of oxygen. You wouldn’t blame him. You know it’s the logical thing.

But then he places his hand on your thigh in the dark. You hold your breath, don’t even dare to peek sideways. It’s an innocent placement, firmly in the middle, not too high. Then his sneaky fingers trace lower, find the place where the fabric splits just above your knee, the pads of his fingers rubbing patterns on the bare skin they find.

A whole-body shudder engulfs you. His fingers tighten around your leg for just a second, rough, then go back to drawing circles.

Ridiculous, you think, closing your eyes and trying to even your breathing, that such a simple touch could turn you on this much. It must be from all the build-up, all the drinking, all the potential of a thing not yet had. There’s no way that it’s just Seungcheol touching your leg - not even a sexy part - that has you wet to the point of discomfort, panties slick.

When the shuttle pulls up in front of your hotel, you lead him by the hand up the aisle and into the lobby. The second the elevator doors slide shut behind you, he has you pinned to the wall, his hot mouth attached to your throat, large hands cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.

“Have you been hard since the venue?” you tease, but the way you’re panting takes away any sting.

“Been hard since you showed up in this dress,” he growls back, pushing his hips into yours for emphasis. You’d expected him to lob a joke back at you, and the admission makes your stomach drop, your mouth open to gasp a breath.

The elevator dings and he steps back, one hand on your waist to help steady you back on your feet. Somehow, you make it to your room. Somehow, the door gets open, and then closed again behind you.

You’re against a wall again, eyes closed, head back, that hot mouth finding the spot it had left in the elevator. Seungcheol’s hands bunch the fabric of the dress and push it up to your hips, giving you room to wrap your legs around his waist, push his clothed cock directly against your sopping, useless panties. You both break at the contact, you letting out a pitiful whimper and Seungcheol huffing out a shuddering breath.

You wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up; his hands are both on your ass again, fingers slipping beneath the elastic to grip at the bare skin there. His teeth and tongue make their way up your neck and return to your mouth and you open for him with an eager moan, happy to welcome him back. Your fingers lazily find the hair at the base of his neck and curl between the strands, tugging lightly. He moans against your mouth, surprising you both.

His hips push against yours in a steady rhythm, but it’s not enough. You whine against his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulders to come between your bodies, seeking his jacket.

He has to set you down to tug at the sleeves, and you wobble on your heels, suddenly very aware of how badly you want to take them off. You lift one foot to tug at the straps and he reaches for your elbows to steady you. It’s soft; a stark contrast to the carefully-stoked flame you’ve both been tending for the last hour or so.

You take off both heels and stand, barefoot, the wall behind you still holding you up. Seungcheol looks at you, chest working hard as he tries visibly to calm his breathing, his suit jacket now limp in his hand.

“Should we stop?” he asks, and it’s the most uncertain you’ve ever heard him sound.

You don’t want to stop. You know he doesn’t either. But you both know what this was - a favor between friends. Sort of friends. There wasn’t supposed to be attraction; there wasn’t supposed to be anything that wasn’t for show.

You weren’t supposed to like him.

“Probably,” you make yourself whisper. The word feels like ash on your tongue.

“Okay,” he says, the syllables hollow, and he takes another step backwards, gives you more room.

Eyes averted, you take off your jewelry with shaking hands, place it in the small bag with your makeup kit. When you turn back, he hasn’t moved. He stands there, still holding his suit jacket, watching you with smoldering eyes.

“I think I’ll shower,” you say quietly. What you really want to do is push him backwards, let his knees hit the edge of the bed, crawl over top of him and keep him there for several hours. Instead, you reach around and feel for the hook-and-eye at the top of your back, fingers sloppy with adrenaline.

“Need help?” he asks, his voice like the snap of a candle flame that suddenly alights.

“I might,” you admit with a little laugh. But if you touch me, you think, it’s over.

You turn to present your back to him, and he handles the clasp deftly, even going so far as to drag the zipper down two inches so you can reach it better.

“There,” he says.

His fingers graze your bare back as he pulls away.

You step into the bathroom, turn the water on, and unzip the rest of the way, letting the expensive material flutter to the ground around you - the door still wide open. Seungcheol’s gaze on your body burns as it travels down, then up again. His expression is almost enough to make you laugh - wonder, a touch of confusion. You hold his gaze as you slip your panties down your legs, then you step into the water, letting the glass door swing shut behind you, effectively hiding him from view.

It’s impressive how quickly he gets the tux off, and you’re almost a little sad you don’t get to see it happen. But it feels like seconds later that the shower door swings open again and he steps inside, pressing against the tile, the hot water cascading over his wide shoulders.

“You sure?” he asks, hands already on you, one on your waist, the other on one of your shoulders. He asks like it’s pulled from him, like he’ll crumble if you say no but he has to make sure.

“That wasn’t enough of an invitation for you?” you breathe, reaching to run your fingertips down his chest, over the slight ripples that just barely hide abs, stopping just shy of the flat plane above his cock, which hangs heavy and dark between you.

You don’t get the opportunity to touch; he kisses you fiercely, both hands coming up to cover your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in tandem. When you sigh against him, he switches to pinching, first lightly, and then harder when he finds it makes you moan like liquid against his lips.

He moves his mouth slowly up your jaw, fingers still working the sensitive nubs until you’re fighting the urge to writhe under his touch, needing somehow both less and more at the same time.

“Yeah, babe?” he coos into your ear, barely a whisper. He gives one nipple a particularly cruel twist and your knees give. He holds you up without issue. “You like when it hurts a little?”

“Cheol,” you whine, embarrassed but aflame, pussy absolutely pulsing.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, releasing the bud and bending to soothe it with gentle laps of his tongue. The water hits his head and you run your hands through the now-wet black locks, pushing them away from his face and back from his eyes.

When he stands again, you reach for him immediately, fingers sliding along the silky skin you find. He’s warm here, too. He breathes out a sigh when your fingers encircle him, your touch featherlight and easing. Then he presses close to you again, sliding his palm down your stomach, lower and lower, until two of his rough fingers part your folds, slip over your clit, and sink into the mess they find.

“God,” you groan, pushing down on his digits, trying to will them deeper. He presses his temple against yours, mouth still close to your ear, his breaths ragged and sharp, as he scissors his fingers lightly before pumping in and out.

“So wet,” he grumbles, thumb swiping at your clit and making your hips jolt. “You fuckin’ want it?”

You try to answer, letting out a shuddery y-yes, but it dissolves into a moan deep in the back of your throat as he finds the spot on your front wall that makes everything inside you tighten.

“Oh, you do,” he goads, doubling his pace to piston into the spot. You clutch at his biceps, trying to hold yourself up, trying to keep yourself on this planet. You’re astounded at how quickly he works you up; you didn’t know you could cum this quickly, but you teeter on the precipice already, eyes rolling back and breaths coming in tight little gasps.

“Seungcheol,” you moan, trying to warn him, “I’m - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, still close to your ear. The hand that’s not buried inside you returns to your chest, tweaking a nipple and then brushing over it before tweaking again. “Let go, babe. Let me have it.”

One of your hands slaps against the tile walls, desperate for purchase. Your hips cant into his hand, driving him harder inside you. He slips a third finger inside you without warning and the sudden stretch is what does you in. Your eyes screw shut as you whole body tenses tenses tenses and then releases, a cry flying from your mouth as his fingers fuck you through the high. Your legs tremble as your pussy tries to pull his digits further inside, and then his mouth is on yours again, tongue coaxing out the last few syllables as you begin to come down.

For a minute you hear nothing but the roar in your ears and your own harsh pants. This gives way to the sound of water hitting tile.

“Shit,” you mutter, and Seungcheol kisses you again, close-lipped and firm, like he’s marking his place.

“You’re so hot,” he murmurs against your lips, and then they’re gone because you’re kneeling.

He swears above you, one hand reaching up to brace against the wall, as you try to settle. It’s not comfortable, of course, but you didn’t expect it to be, and you want to absolutely scramble his brain right now.

“You don’t have to -” he starts, but you ignore him and take his tip into your mouth, tonguing the underside before starting to work a rhythm up and down his length. His body mostly shelters you from the spray of water, and you use one hand to pump at the base of him as your mouth works the top.

He swears again, fiercely, the hand on the tile curling into a fist. “God,” he groans, eyes slipping shut for a second. His hips buck lightly once and then he gets it together, holding it back. “Fuck.”

You hum, delighted at being able to pull him apart, suctioning hard and laving the underside of him with your tongue. He’s a little thicker than you’re used to, heavy in your mouth in a way you find weirdly comforting. You work your way to the tip again, letting your tongue tease his slit before slipping your lips over his head in a way that makes his hips jump again.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, minutes later, reaching a desperate hand to keep you back. “I can’t - get up here.”

Smug, you let him pull you to standing; he wraps his arms around you and you can feel his heart hammering against yours. You brace one foot against the opposing wall and he slips his fingers between your legs again. You moan, still sensitive, as he lines himself up. The stretch is going to be a lot, you can already tell, and your whole body buzzes with the want of it.

He pushes into you slowly, a strangled sound working up your throat as you breathe through the initial stretch.

“That’s right,” he whispers, hands on your hips. “You can take it.”

He stills when he bottoms out and you both just breathe, holding each other, the water raining down around you.

“So fucking good,” he whispers, pressing his forehead into the top of your shoulder, trying to keep still until you give him the okay.

“God,” you groan, so full you could die from it, your walls already fluttering around him even as he holds still. “I can’t - it’s so much -”

He lifts his head and kisses you sweetly, one hand cupping your jaw. “You can,” he tells you when you break apart. “Just relax. I said I’ve got you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” you breathe, letting your eyes slip closed. He moves minutely at first, and when you let out a breath that borders on a moan he slides nearly all the way out. You nearly wail when he sheathes himself again, your body working to accommodate him, your walls clinging to every centimeter of his hot flesh as it works through you. “Cheol,” you gasp, keening loudly when he does it again.

He continues this unhurried pace, pumping out and in until you’re melting under his hands, creaming over him, the mess washed away by the shower water every time he pulls out.

“How is it, baby?” he murmurs, when he feels you relax.

“So good,” you mutter, half-delirious. Your hands come to grip at him, needy. “But -”

“What is it?” he asks, stopping immediately in place, leaning back to look at your face.

You flush, hating to ruin the moment. “The water’s cold,” you whisper, a sheepish smile coming to your face.

He laughs, then pulls out. You feel empty, you want him back before he’s even gone. He reaches over you and turns the water off; the silence is suddenly very loud.

“Guess I better warm you up, then,” he says, voice low, and you shiver - probably not from the chill of the air. He fishes around outside the shower door and then wraps you in a white hotel towel, then grabs one for himself. He towels his arms off roughly and then wraps it securely around his waist before turning his attention back to you. He dries you carefully, top to bottom, then wraps it around your frame again.

“Come on,” he says, and leads you back out to the main room, where he nods at the bed. “Lay down. At the end.”

You stare at him. “What?”

He smiles at you devilishly, dimples flashing. “Gotta warm you up,” he says simply.

“But - I already - you don’t need to -”

He gives you a light, playful push that sends you stumbling towards the bed. You lay your towel down and feel his hands on your bare ass before you can even situate yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just bend you over here,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself gush, embarrassingly.

You lay back on your towel and he kneels at the end of the bed. You feel so exposed, suddenly, spread open for him, that it makes you want to close up, wrap the towel back over yourself.

“Don’t get shy now,” he admonishes lightly, pressing his fingers to your inner thighs to push you open. “Let me see you, pretty girl.”

He presses a single kiss right over your entrance, then slips his tongue inside, working the muscle as far into you as it will go. You gasp, open-mouthed, the ceiling swimming above you.

“Please,” you beg, but you don’t know what for. He licks a stripe up your slit, stopping over your clit and flattening his tongue. You feel your hips react on their own, pushing against his mouth desperately. “Seungcheol, please!”

He laps at you and then slides a digit into your greedy hole, humming happily when you cry out. Your thighs start shaking wildly when he suctions his lips there, sucking lightly as he pushes a second finger into the slick heat beneath his mouth.

“Goddamn it,” he groans when he pulls away, watching his fingers disappear into your body and reappear shiny and sticky. Then he reattaches his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking firmly against your hardened bud until you’re letting out an endless, wordless whine and trembling in his hold.

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Cheol,” you chant, desperate, wild, but he pulls away, slips his fingers out of you. You whine furiously, eyes springing open to look at him in betrayal, and he grins, standing and pumping himself roughly. The head of his cock is angry and dark, a long string of precum connecting to his thigh where it must have been resting.

“Not yet,” he says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, reaching above to reach for a pillow to slide under your hips. He teases your hole with his tip and you whine again. “Want you to come around my cock this time,” he says, pushing in, and you nearly fucking do just at that.

When he starts moving - harder and quicker than he had in the shower - you shatter into pieces almost instantly, everything going black as you grip the sheets beneath you so hard you think you could rip them, your legs locking around his back so he can’t get too far from you, your core pulsing and pulsing in waves around him as you grit your teeth and groan through the rush of sensation.

He braces himself over you with both arms, and as soon as you unclench he lets loose - hips snapping into yours lewdly, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust, sweat sliding down his temples, and his exhales coming out as determined growls as he chases his high.

“Fuck,” he utters suddenly, scrambling backwards, his hand flying to pump himself frantically. His brows furrow and his chest heaves. “Fuck, fuck, babe, God,” he moans, eyes shut, and you watch in proud fascination as he shoots rope after rope of milky cum onto your stomach.

He collapses next to you, breathing heavily, then reaches up and caresses your shoulder as he comes down. There’s something sweet in the gesture, you think absently, like he wants to feel that you’re still here. You reach up a hand and clumsily find his, intertwining your fingers and holding on tightly as your heartbeat slows and your skin begins to cool.

After a few minutes, silent but for the sound of both of your breathing gradually returning to normal, you let go, rolling to face him.

“Should I apologize for baiting you?” you ask, a little sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles a tiny, tired smile. “No,” he promises.

You lay like that for a minute, quiet - Seungcheol on his back, watching the ceiling, and you on your side, watching him.

Finally he grunts and uses his arms to push himself to sitting, then standing. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. You waddle to the bathroom in tandem. You each clean up in silence.

You aren’t sure what to say. You’re surprised (but not upset) at yourself, honestly, for making the choice you did. You’re surprised at how fucking good it was, at how Seungcheol’s tenderness bled through in disjointed pieces.

There’s no use pretending otherwise. You like him. Not enough to wax poetic about it, not enough to make a fool of yourself, but enough. Enough that you feel that wild, hopeful possibility. Like maybe - maybe something is starting. Maybe when you go home, you’ll start talking more. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe he’ll ask you out. Maybe… maybe.

When you drop back into the bed, lights off, you aren’t sure what the move is. You lay on your side of the bed, stiff and trying not to breathe loudly, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Seungcheol makes the decision for you, reaching for you in the dark, his strong arms guiding you closer, wrapping around you and keeping you close. For the second time, you fall asleep between his arms, face buried against his t-shirt, feeling warm, and loose, and safe.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still mostly dark, the room around you that deep blue that comes along with pre-dawn.

Your back is to Seungcheol now, but he’s still draped around you, an arm resting over your stomach and one of his legs tangled between yours. You stretch a little, your toes reaching for the end of the bed, and he shifts behind you, his hand moving up and gripping your waist.

You breathe quietly for a minute, waiting to see if sleep will drag you back under. It doesn’t. Instead, you become aware of his breathing behind you (not deep and even anymore), his heartbeat (faster now, like yours), the way his hand twitches and relaxes against your side.

He’s awake, too.

He shifts, then retracts his hand and rolls away. You’re cold immediately, instincts telling you to follow the source of warmth, to roll over and follow him.

You give in halfway, rolling to face him but not scooting to close the new gap between you in the bed.

“You good?” you ask quietly, your voice a little hoarse.

You hear rather than see him shift to look over at you. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s something tense in his tone. “Just - sorry - it’s just a morning thing, I wasn’t trying to bother you…”

You realize, belatedly, the reason he’d put space between you. Heat floods you again, as if you hadn’t just had every need fulfilled about three and a half hours ago.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, and your tone must speak for you, because the words have barely fallen into the space between you and he’s filling it, rolling to reach for your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, body scooting forward to press against yours again.

It’s different this time, as the blue shifts from something shadowed and bruised closer to light. It’s different when he kisses you slowly, gently, your mouths working together as you wake up bit by bit. It’s different when he cups your breast firmly but doesn’t pinch, tugs your hips tight against his but only holds you there, different when he rolls you onto your back and holds himself over you, kissing every bit of skin he can get his mouth on above the collar of your pajama top.

It’s different because you take your time as you remove your sleep-clothes, his eyes drinking you in through the barest whisper of morning light. He takes his time pressing into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his fingers into your skin and holding tight like you could get ripped away.

Different from last time, because neither of you says a word, expressing pleasure only in sighs, breaths caught in throats, in fingers tightening, in low groans that the air-con nearly manages to drown out.

This time, when you tip over the edge, he does too - pulling out quickly and replacing his cock with three fingers to work you through it, even as he wraps his other hand around himself, his own high only heartbeats away.

This time, you don’t trip back into sleep. After cleaning up, you lay with an arm over his middle, his heart thumping reliably under your ear.

Instead of closing your eyes, you whisper, “Are you close with your family?”

He’s still for a minute - surprised, maybe - and then he whispers back, “Pretty close with my mom, yeah.”

You take a second, process this gift he’s given you - a nugget of truth, a piece of himself. Not something secret, but still something willingly given.

“Not your dad?” you ask, eventually. “Did he leave after the split?”

“We went back and forth,” Seungcheol says quietly. “My brother and I. But things with my dad… it was never the same, after. Mom’s place still felt like home. Dad’s felt like… visiting a relative you don’t know that well.”

“Us, too,” you say, then realize you should expand. “In the early days, Soonyoung and I saw my dad a bit more. It always felt… weird. And then, I don’t know, we stopped wanting to go - or he stopped wanting us to come. Something.”

You’re still talking, voices hushed, when your alarm goes off behind you, warning you that brunch with your family is imminent. You’d talked all night, somehow. You realize that the light streaming in from under the curtains is bright - no longer the deep-ocean blue of late night and early morning.

“Shit,” you say, startled, rolling away to silence the offending noise. “We’re going to be so tired later.”

Seungcheol groans lightly in agreement. “Do you think your brother is pissed?” he asks. “He saw us kissing at the venue. I’m sure he saw you drag me into the hotel from the shuttle.”

You whack lightly at his legs with a pillow. “I did not drag you!”

His giggles light your spirit from the inside. “You did,” he asserts. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You decide to humor him and answer the original question, as you climb out of bed and head for your suitcase to dig out your clothes for the day. “I don’t think he’ll be mad unless we’re weird, like suddenly we can’t hang out anymore. So, we’re fine, right?”

You shouldn’t phrase it like a question. You shouldn’t give him the option.

But of course he doesn’t let you down.

“We’re more than fine,” he assures, running a hand through his hair so that it flops back down messily over his brow.

You wonder if he feels it, too - the maybe of it all. The possibility. Is he, too, wondering what this could look like on the other side, if you decided to give it a try?

You shower his smell off you, scrub away sweat and cum. When you’re both ready, you head down to the dining hall to meet Nayoung and everyone else for brunch.

You’re waylaid in the lobby by Dumb and Dumber.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung says, and it is fully an accusation that lands at your feet as heavily as an anvil might.

“Good morning!” you chirp back, just to fuck with him a little.

“Anything you two want to tell me?” he demands, as subtle as a freight train. Behind him, Chan looks uncharacteristically serious.

You look at him appraisingly. “Your shirt is nice,” you offer innocently.

His eyes narrow, and he turns his gaze to Seungcheol, who simply shrugs, offering him nothing. Your brother turns back to you, exasperated. “Noona!”

You laugh. “Nothing you need to worry about!” you say, reaching to ruffle his hair - which you didn’t have to stand on tiptoes to do, years ago. He bats you away, scowling, but you sense some tension leave him, like he might have been actually worried about the ramifications of your decisions last night.

He’s a good kid.

When you enter the dining hall, it’s clear that the four of you are the last to arrive. Inside, the newlyweds chat animatedly with both your mom and your dad (who is here sans date, you notice), as well as Jeongwoo's family.

“Sorry!” you say brightly, taking one of the empty seats. “Are we late?”

It's Nayoung who answers you, equally bright. You wonder if it's equally fake.

“Right on time!” she says, all smiles.

You've barely settled into your seat when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance quickly, suppressing an eye roll when you see Soonyoung's name.

Brother of mine: well???

Across the table, you shoot him an annoyed look.

He does not seem admonished in the slightest. Tilting your phone so that (hopefully) Seungcheol can't see it, you type back “what??”

He sends, “Did you?!” followed immediately by, “nvm i know you did. so... now what?”.

“Nosy fuck,” you reply, and turn off your screen.

Conversation flows around you, led mostly by the two sets of parents, allowing you and Seungcheol to eat in peace. Your mom seems better today, more herself, and you wonder if she's less stressed just because the wedding is over now, or if it's the absence of your dad's date.

When the meal comes to a close, you tell everyone goodbye, giving your parents quick hugs. Nayoung surprises you, coming around the table to hug you tightly.

“I'm so glad you could be here,” she tells you, and you think it's just niceties until she pulls away to look at you, her hands still firmly on your shoulders as if to keep you in place. “Don't feel like you have to handle everything yourself,” she continues. “Lean on people when you need to. If not me, then your friends. Soonyoung. Seungcheol.”

You’re not sure if you’re more shocked at her advice or the fact that she remembered your “boyfriend’s” name.

“Okay,” you say hollowly, unsure how to respond, how to act, how to feel. You land somewhere near indignant, maybe, that she showed up out of nowhere and immediately saw right through you. She'd never spent time with you past the age of nine, and she still had your number right away.

You trail along with the group back to the hotel's lobby, towards the elevator bank. Seungcheol doesn't do any of the normal boyfriend stuff - touch your arm, hold your hand, any of it - but you're so caught up in the strange interaction with Nayoung that you barely notice.

You have less time than you expected to pack and get back to the airport, so once you’re in the room you don’t talk much as you move around each other like a choreographed waltz, squeezing by to grab at items and shove them in suitcases. When the shuttle pulls up to the airport, you’re bouncing with nerves, hating how close you’re cutting it.

You don’t relax again until you’re through security and speed-walking towards your gate, with about fifteen minutes to spare.

“No time for a beer,” you lament. “But I guess I better go to the bathroom.”

Seungcheol nods. “I’ll wait for you by the gate?”

When you return, wiping your hands on your jeans because of course the shitty hand-dryers barely work, he’s waiting as promised, and you join him in line.

In your seats, he closes his eyes and rubs at his face. “I think I’ll be asleep before we even take off,” he admits quietly.

You smile coyly, looking at him sideways. “I’d say sorry, but…”

He shoots you back an indulgent smile, letting you know he gets the joke.

He turns out to be right - he’s asleep before you take off, head lolling sideways and hands slack on his lap. He doesn’t even stay awake long enough to hear the safety speech - but he does stay awake long enough to pass you an earbud first.

As the squares of brown and green give way to only cloud cover as the plane ascends, you cave, cracking beneath sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion, soothing over insecurities about different interactions you had with your family, distracting you from obsessing over your now even more complicated relationship with your sister. You let yourself daydream, give in to the urge to wonder what it might look like - the something you’d felt bubbling between you. If you go home and let that magic little maybe turn into something real.

You picture it - sitting together in the big chair at your brother’s place that Seungcheol usually claims, his arm casually around you as you view the familiar scene from a new vantage point. Getting through the workday by texting cute shit and little questions, sneaking to the bathroom to send flirty selfies after never-ending meetings. Sitting across from him at candlelit restaurant tables, dressed up but eager to go home and dress down again. You can picture all of it. Everything, right now, is possible.

You brace yourself, summon some courage, and slip your hand into his.

Somewhere between asleep and awake, your ex-fake-boyfriend curls his fingers back around yours.

He wakes up holding your hand and catapults from alarm to affection to alarm again. Luckily, while he’s mentally scrambling, you’re busy retracting your hand and holding his borrowed earbud out to him to take back.

He pops it back into the case and rubs at his eyes. “We down yet?”

You glance over your shoulder at the little window, as if you’re not totally certain if you’re on land or in the sky, and you need to check, which Seungcheol secretly thinks is adorable.

“Not quite,” you answer, looking back at him. “Getting there, though.”

Seungcheol stretches his legs under the seat ahead of him, then pushes himself to sit more upright, starting to get his bearings. You’re quiet next to him, fiddling with your phone on your lap though the screen is off.

“You good?” he asks, voice a bit clogged from sleep.

“Oh.” You stop fiddling, like you’re suddenly aware that he can see you. “Yeah. Just, y’know, tired. From the trip, and my family and everything…”

“Got it,” he says, and he does - he gets it. He’s been with you the last few days - did the same amount of travel, got the same amount of sleep, witnessed firsthand the way you make yourself smaller under the eyes of your family members (aside from Soonyoung, of course). And even though his duties are officially over, he can’t help but continue to feel what he had all weekend long: the desire to ease you through it, to make it a little better, to make sure you aren’t alone in the face of your ghosts.

When it’s your turn to rise and make your way to the aisle, he scoots out to let you go first, one hand hovering near your back but not touching as you shuffle up the narrow aisle towards the exit.

At baggage claim, as you both wait for the flashing red light to indicate that your bags are moving, he watches you sway a little on your feet. Biting back a tiny smile, he steps closer, reaching around your shoulders to nudge you closer, to encourage you to - literally - lean on him. You look up gratefully, and he gives you a small smile back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, as the red light begins to blink, slowly on and off. The belts begin to move. He wasn’t supposed to like you, wasn’t supposed to be wading through the viscous need to make things easier for you - to shift obstacles out of your way before you got to them, to help lift every heavy thing before you can feel their weight in your hands. It’s a feeling he’s only ever had for one person before, and it makes him feel shifty and sort of guilty that he’s feeling it for you, too.

Which is bullshit, because he’s single, and Jieun only cares about him when she feels like she’s missing out on something, and you don’t treat him like that - don’t insult him when you’re frustrated, don’t sulk until he caves and asks what’s wrong, don’t vanish for days and then demand his attention on a whim.

So, when your bags come, he reaches for yours, too. He wants to help you with the heavy lift - even when it’s physical.

He settles back into home when he gets there - throws in a load of his most-important clothes, takes a hot shower during which he allows himself zero thoughts - static only. He orders delivery for dinner because he’s sure as hell not cooking for himself tonight, but makes a grocery list on his phone for tomorrow. When his food comes, he settles on his couch, putting on a show he’s seen before just for the noise, and then he spends the next hour fighting the urge to text you.

Did you get home okay? How’s unpacking going? Are you back to work tomorrow? The questions flow through him, none more pressing than the last, but he turns them all away for now.

Instead he opens social media, looking over his last post - the beach at the resort, followed by a selfie. Of course Jieun had commented, but he’d left it unanswered. Frowning to himself, he looks through his camera roll. He chooses one of the ceremony spot that he’d taken before the room had gotten crowded, the focus being the hanging white flowers filling the room. He pairs it with a picture he took with you and Soonyoung and Chan, your faces all squished together, happy and flushed from drinking and dancing. Chan isn’t even looking at the camera, his mouth open in a laugh as he looks at something off-screen. Soonyoung’s eyes are closed but his smile is huge. Seungcheol himself is grinning, one arm over your shoulders as you press in close to squeeze into the shot. You’re looking at him, not the camera, your genuine smile showing your teeth - different from what he saw in all the posed photos the family had to take.

He posts without a caption, as he usually does, but tags the three of you. He wonders - hopes, maybe - that you’ll text him first when you see the picture, even if it’s just to make fun of your brother’s inability to keep his eyes open for a picture.

But it’s not your name on his screen when his phone buzzes fifteen minutes later, as he’s starting to eat his delivery. He presses his lips together; he should have known this was coming.

Ji 💖: back from your trip? it looked amazing

Seungcheol stares at the message for a long time, as if reading it over and over will reveal her intent, determine if this is just one of her little games. He considers sending back what do you want, Jieun? but it’s never worked out for him to jump directly to the offensive before, so he resists.

Instead, he finds himself on her social media page, drawn there as if by a trance. It’s not the first time he’s likened her effect on him to magic - and not the nice kind.

He scrolls down until he finds what he’s looking for - the last time she posted them together, the last time she posted him. People could say what they wanted about Jieun, and Seungcheol had plenty to say depending on the day, but he liked this about her: when they broke up, she kept his pictures up. He didn’t disappear from her story, her history, the way he’d seen other couples do.

He’d asked her about it, once, maybe a year ago. They’d been in his bed, limbs tangled, watching the moonlight slowly creep up Seungcheol’s wall, marking the time with their slow, sleepy breaths - neither of them able to sleep, too excited by and wrapped up in the high of getting back together again, of agreeing to work it out, of the optimism that maybe this time would be different.

“Ji?” he’d murmured, looking down at where her head rested on his bare chest.

“Mmm?” she’s asked, and he’d wondered if he’d woken her up.

“You never deleted my pictures,” he’d said, but it was a question and they both knew it.

She’s stirred, rolling so she could look at him better through the dark. “Mmm,” she’d said again, an agreeing noise. “Didn’t want to.”

He’d looked at her, heart full but scared, too. “Right,” he’d said quietly. “I guess my question is why not.”

She was quiet a long time, and her fingertips gliding back and forth across his upper arm as she thought were the only indications that she hadn’t gone back to sleep.

“I think I felt like you’d be back,” she’d said finally. “Deleting them would mean I thought it was really over. And I never did.”

He’d always loved that, though he’d never said as much to his friends. As much as he sometimes wished she would let him go, there’s part of him that loves that she always keeps space for him. As if them working it out, working for once, was just a matter of timing.

Looking at their last picture together, he considers the you of the situation. If he pursues something with you, there’s no guarantee - no promise that it will work, no insurance that it won’t fuck things up with his friend group, no magic mirror to show him a future where you stay together and it doesn’t fall apart or go up in flames. And without that promise, without that peek, the uncertainty seems insurmountable; he’s never done this successfully. It’s always ended in flames, for him - for him and Jieun.

If he opens this door with her - for the hundredth time - there’s no promise of a happy ending there, either. But at least he knows the steps, knows the routine, has some expectations in place. There’s no learning curve, no uncertainty. It’s just stepping back into a dance he can do in his sleep, as easy as what’s after like? choreo.

He’d told you what happened on the trip had to stay there, hadn’t he? If he stepped away from you now, wouldn’t that just be doing what he’d promised? It wouldn’t be letting you down that badly, would it?

But Jieun - if her showing up means she’s ready to try again - he does owe her more. He owes her to try, to fix what he’d broken a dozen times before, to do it right after all the times he’d done it wrong, to follow through on promises he’d meant when he said them.

He sits for a long time, weighing this in his mind. Then, finally, he makes his decision.

Seungcheol: yeah, got back today. it was great Seungcheol: hbu… u good?

When he sees the dots appear that indicate Jieun typing, he can’t help the helium lift on his heart, rising like an inflating hot air balloon into uncertain skies.

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hehehehehhe hellooooooooooooo don't kill meeee :) :) :)

thank you for reading!!!

#to be clear I love your angst #it is very much my favorite way to hurt my own feelings #and also as an adult with absent siblings may I say #big oof #also I love all of your works #you have a way of making your characters feel lived in with realistic flaws and fears but brave and vulnerable at the same time

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