starmatzz

[starmatzz]

V. Quiet Doesn't Mean Rest

In Your Hands

The shower was too hot.

Steam clung to the mirror, to his skin, to the corners of his mind. Seonghwa stood under the stream longer than necessary, letting the water scald the base of his neck, trying to scrub away the shame that still clung to him like smoke.

He didn’t cry.

But his eyes stayed closed longer than they should’ve, and his jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.

When he stepped into the small kitchen, he found a peanut butter and jelly sandwich waiting on the counter — not neatly plated, just wrapped in a paper towel, the kind of quick meal only Wooyoung would leave behind like a peace offering. There was a mug of reheated instant coffee next to it.

Seonghwa ate slowly. Mechanically.

The sweetness of the jelly stuck to his teeth.

The peanut butter weighed heavy on his tongue.

Wooyoung had already left for his morning lectures — he’d left a note with a doodle of a bunny and a giant arrow pointing at the sandwich with “EAT OR I’M DROPPING OUT” written in bold pen.

Seonghwa almost smiled.

Almost.

The moment passed.

He returned to the bedroom and laid back down on the bed, fully dressed now, staring at the ceiling. The crack in the plaster looked the same, but the silence in the room felt louder than it had before.

That bruise on his arm still ached — not physically, but in him.

His thoughts spiraled, fast and out of reach.

He knew the drugs were wrong. Knew it the moment he came back to himself and saw the look on Wooyoung’s face. Knew it in the hollow quiet that followed the high.

But it had felt so good.

Warmth. Stillness. Silence.

Not the perfect kind of silence he chased with his color-coded calendars and immaculate suits — no, this was real quiet. The kind that softened the edges of his exhaustion. That made him forget the pressure, the expectations, the constant feeling of not enough.

And then there was Hongjoong.

Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut.

He’d let him down. Missed a day. Left his schedule a mess. Walked out of the one thing he was always, always good at.

His chest twisted.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d skipped work without a real excuse.

No — that wasn’t true. He’d never done it. Not once.

And now here he was: lying in someone else’s bed, bruise blooming on his arm, stomach full of a sandwich he hadn’t even made himself, because even that felt too heavy to manage.

Seonghwa curled onto his side.

He didn’t cry.

But he wanted to.

***

Hongjoong sat in his office, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming silently on the armrest of his chair.

The space around him was quiet — too quiet.

His calendar was open, the usual rhythm of the day mapped out in Seonghwa’s precise, near-obsessive formatting. 

No rustle of papers. No soft sound of a pen tapping against a clipboard. No click of polished shoes walking across the marble floor.

He leaned back, eyes flickering to the digital clock on the wall.

10:47 a.m.

By now, Seonghwa would’ve brought in his second cup of coffee. Would’ve stood by the desk, back perfectly straight, glasses adjusted just once before quietly handing over the next meeting brief.

Instead, there was just silence.

The sick message from earlier replayed in his mind.

Something about it bothered him. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. The tone was all wrong. Not just the lack of punctuation — Seonghwa never skipped punctuation — but the feel of it. Cold. Impersonal. Not like him.

Hongjoong had half a mind to call. But he didn’t.

He told himself it would seem too intrusive. Too controlling. Seonghwa was an adult. A professional. If he needed rest, he deserved it.

But the nagging worry didn’t go away.

Not when he glanced over at the neatly stacked documents with a minor but noticeable filing error from the day before.

Not when he noticed the missed memo Seonghwa had forgotten to flag.

And not when he looked at the small ceramic cup on the edge of his desk — still empty — where his morning espresso should’ve been waiting.

Hongjoong sighed, setting his tablet down.

Something was wrong.

And if there was one thing he’d learned over the years working with Seonghwa, it was that when something broke his routine, it wasn’t by accident.

The silence was starting to press down on him.

***

Seonghwa sat up suddenly, breath catching, the four walls of Wooyoung’s bedroom feeling too close. Too casual. Too kind. He couldn’t stay there — not in someone else’s space, wrapped in borrowed softness and pity.

He needed to be home. Where things made sense.

He dressed quickly, barely smoothing his shirt, and scribbled a rushed note for Wooyoung — though he didn’t know why. It was only two words: I’m okay.

A lie.

Still, he left it on the kitchen counter next to the crust of the sandwich he hadn’t finished, grabbed his coat, and left before he could change his mind.

The taxi ride felt too slow and too fast all at once. His knee bounced the entire time.

When the driver finally pulled up in front of his apartment building, Seonghwa paid in silence and didn’t wait for change.

Upstairs, the door clicked open into a space that looked exactly the way he had left it.

Polished. Tidy. Controlled.

His coat went on its designated hook. His shoes lined up perfectly by the door. The living room smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser he’d programmed to turn on every morning at eight.

Everything was in its place.

Except him.

He moved to the kitchen, opened a drawer just to straighten a misaligned stack of utensils. Opened the fridge and closed it again. Wiped down a perfectly clean countertop.

His reflection in the oven door looked tired.

Hollow.

But there was no bruise on the floor here. No silly doodles. No one telling him not to throw himself away.

Just silence.

And the echo of how good it had felt.

Just once.

2:38 a.m. 

Seonghwa jolted upright in bed, breath caught in his throat.

Chest heaving. Sheets tangled around his legs. Sweat cooling too fast against his skin.

He blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, disoriented, heart pounding like an alarm he couldn’t shut off.

A nightmare.

No — the nightmare.

The one where he stood in Hongjoong’s office with files spilling from his hands, coffee staining a contract, his voice caught in his throat while everyone around him stared. Judging. Disappointed. Hongjoong’s expression unreadable — not angry, not yelling — just… done.

That was always the worst part.

Not the chaos. Not the failure.

But the silence. The moment when Hongjoong turned away.

Seonghwa clutched his knees to his chest, burying his face there.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a nightmare like that.

No — he could. It was years ago. Back when he’d first taken the job and still doubted if he deserved to be there.

But now? After everything?

After this week?

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

The ache in his arm pulsed faintly beneath the surface. His eyes drifted to the clock glowing on his nightstand.

3:17 a.m.

He was tired. So tired.

But he didn’t dare lie back down.

Because even in the dark — in the quiet of his perfect apartment — he felt like he was falling again.

next chapter soon

tag list:

@tooflef

[starmatzz]

IV. A Hole in the Schedule

In Your Hands

The first thing Seonghwa registered was the ceiling.

White, unfamiliar, with a small crack running diagonally near the light fixture.

Not his.

Not work.

His breath caught.

He sat up too fast, dizziness blooming in his skull like a fistful of needles. The sheets slid down his chest — someone else’s sheets — and the headache hit next. Blunt and deep. Like something was thudding around inside his head looking for a way out.

Then came the second realization: the time.

He grabbed his phone with trembling hands. The screen lit up — 9:32 a.m.

Already thirty-two minutes past the start of the workday.

God. No. No, no, no—

He scrambled to the edge of the bed, heart pounding, a dozen thoughts slamming into each other. His suit. His notes. Hongjoong’s calendar. The courier pick-up. The morning espresso—

“Stop moving so fast, you’re gonna fall over.”

Wooyoung’s voice came from the doorway, groggy but firm. He walked in holding a chipped mug, phone tucked under one arm.

Seonghwa looked up at him, breath catching, eyes wild. “I have to go. I’m—oh my god, I didn’t set an alarm—”

“You’re not going anywhere today,” Wooyoung cut in, setting the mug on the bedside table. “You’re sick.”

“I’m not—”

“I already texted your boss.”

Seonghwa froze.

“What?” he whispered.

Wooyoung sat down at the edge of the bed, arms crossed. “Told him you caught something. Fever. Staying home. Resting. You’re welcome.”

“You texted Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked, halfway between horror and disbelief.

Wooyoung shrugged. “I know how to spell. He answered with just ‘understood’. Very comforting tone. 0/10 bedside manner.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I do,” Wooyoung snapped, sudden sharpness breaking through. “You were passed out on my couch last night with barely enough blood pressure to walk. I don’t care if the president of the galaxy needed a spreadsheet from you this morning, you’re not going to the office.”

Seonghwa slumped.

His stomach twisted. From guilt. From panic. From everything.

He covered his face with both hands and breathed in — slow, shaking.

“I can’t miss work,” he said quietly. “I made a mistake already, and now—”

“You made one mistake,” Wooyoung said gently. “Last night was another one. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

Silence.

Only the soft hum of the fridge from the other room.

Then, a quiet: “I can’t let him down again.”

Wooyoung looked at him for a long second, eyes softer now.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Start over. But you’re not doing that from an empty tank.”

He nudged the mug closer to Seonghwa’s hand.

“Drink. Shower. Breathe. That’s your only job today.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, everything seemed to pause — the morning light, Wooyoung’s calm voice, even the faint hum of the fridge.

Then it hit him, sharp and unwelcome, like ice sliding down his spine.

The bar.

The laughter, the clinking glasses.

Wooyoung’s friends.

The guy with the syringe.

Seonghwa’s gaze dropped to his arm, eyes widening at the faint, darkening mark near his elbow.

He stared at it, heart hammering.

A cold wave of panic rushed through his chest.

What had he done?

What had he let happen?

Wooyoung’s face grew serious, the usual playful edge gone. “I had to drag you out of that bar last night.”

Seonghwa blinked, the memory hazy and broken.

“You were barely standing. Slurring your words. Your skin was pale, and your eyes… they weren’t yours anymore. Like you were floating somewhere else.”

Wooyoung’s voice was low, almost angry now. “You looked like you’d been hit by a truck. I didn’t want to leave you there. I don’t want you to ever do that stupid thing again.”

Seonghwa swallowed hard, the weight of those words sinking deep.

“I just wanted to relax,” he whispered.

Wooyoung shook his head. “Relax? That wasn’t relaxation. That was losing control. And I won’t let you throw yourself away like that.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes for a moment, the memory surfacing unbidden.

That warm, quiet feeling—the calm that had spread through him like a gentle wave, softening the edges of his anxiety.

For a few hours, he had felt light, almost normal. Like the tight grip of stress and exhaustion had loosened, even if just a little.

He opened his eyes slowly, meeting Wooyoung’s steady gaze.

“I remember… it felt good. Like nothing was wrong for once.”

Wooyoung sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“I get it. But that ‘good’ was borrowed, Hwa. And you always have to pay it back. With interest.”

His voice was softer now, but still firm.

“You don’t need that crutch. You need to find a way to stand on your own.”

Seonghwa nodded, the weight of the truth settling heavy in his chest.

9:01 a.m. 

Hongjoong stared at his phone, the screen glowing softly in the early morning light. The message was short, oddly curt: “Hello boss, I won’t be in today. Sick.”

Something about the bluntness — the lack of detail, the abruptness — felt off. It wasn’t like Seonghwa at all. Usually, his texts were meticulous, polite, almost formal. This was… terse. Almost like someone else had written it.

He furrowed his brows and reread the message.

Did something happen?

His mind flickered back to the past few weeks — the late nights, the tiniest slip in the files, the way Seonghwa had seemed more tired, distracted.

Hongjoong’s gut tightened. He knew his secretary was perfect — maybe too perfect. Someone who held everything together could only hold on for so long.

He typed a quick reply.

“Understood.”

But he already knew he’d be checking in soon. Because something told him this wasn’t just a sick day.

next chapter

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@tooflef

[starmatzz]

III. One Drink

In Your Hands

The music was too loud.

Not painfully so — just loud enough that Seonghwa had to lean in every time someone spoke to him. Which meant people kept leaning in close, grinning, laughing, shouting over bass that rattled the floor.

It was the kind of place he usually avoided.

The kind of place where drinks came in mismatched glasses, where people spilled things on each other and didn’t apologize, where strangers danced like the world wasn’t watching — or maybe because it was.

But Wooyoung fit here like a second skin.

He was already at the table when Seonghwa arrived, waving two glow sticks above his head and shouting, “There he is! Mr. Business Casual!”

Seonghwa allowed himself a small eye-roll as he approached. He hadn’t worn a suit, but he was still overdressed — dark jeans, a sleek black button-up, sleeves cuffed neatly at the wrist. Minimal. Controlled.

A few of Wooyoung’s friends looked up from their drinks and offered warm greetings. Seonghwa nodded politely, already calculating how long he’d need to stay before he could leave without seeming rude.

Wooyoung shoved a glass into his hand before he could sit.

“I said one drink,” Seonghwa reminded him.

“That is one drink. One big drink,” Wooyoung grinned.

Seonghwa glanced at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Fun.”

He took a cautious sip. It was sweet, cold, laced with something he couldn’t name. Dangerous.

⸻

Two drinks later — or maybe three — the sharpness had dulled.

His shoulders were looser. His laugh came faster. His phone had buzzed twice, but he didn’t check it. He didn’t want to see another calendar notification, didn’t want to think about the file, the mistake, the expression on Hongjoong’s face.

It had been three hours since Seonghwa stepped into the bar.

Three hours of warm lights, messy laughter, and drinks he didn’t name but didn’t hate. The air buzzed with bodies and stories he wasn’t part of — and for once, he didn’t mind.

He was still seated at the table, back straight as ever, but something in his shoulders had let go. Just a little. He laughed when Wooyoung made a dumb joke. Smiled when someone offered him a weird fruit-flavored shot. Even let himself lean back in his chair like a normal person.

It wasn’t bliss. But it was relief.

The weight he’d carried all week — all year — had shifted, just for a moment, like it wasn’t fused to his spine.

He let himself stay in that moment.

⸻

“Let’s get some air,” Wooyoung said eventually, already tugging on his arm.

They pushed their way outside, into the cooler night. The music dulled to a distant heartbeat behind them, replaced by the buzz of neon signs and distant traffic.

Seonghwa exhaled, deeply. The crisp air sobered him, but not in a bad way.

The small group — Wooyoung and three others — had clustered near the back of the bar, by a side alley. One of the guys lit a cigarette. Someone else offered Seonghwa gum, which he accepted.

He didn’t even notice the shift until it happened.

A quiet rustle. A tightening snap of elastic.

He looked over just as one of the guys — a tall one, maybe a med student or dropout, Seonghwa couldn’t remember — rolled up his sleeve and pulled out a strap.

Then came the syringe.

Seonghwa blinked.

The alley suddenly felt colder.

Wooyoung wasn’t looking at him — he was arguing with another friend over which ramen place to go to after this. Laughing. Clueless.

Seonghwa stared at the syringe.

He didn’t notice when the conversation behind him faded.

“Hey,” the guy said. “I heard what happened. The mistake. At work.”

Seonghwa stiffened, head turning just slightly.

“I mean, Wooyoung didn’t say much, but… it’s obvious something’s been eating you. You’re so tense, man. You don’t even blink properly.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened. He hated how easily it showed.

The guy smiled — not cruelly. Just… easy. Like they were old friends, not strangers who’d only shared a table and a few drinks.

“You ever tried something to take the edge off?”

Seonghwa blinked. “Like—?”

“Just this,” the guy said, holding up the syringe in his gloved hand. “Super clean. You’d barely feel it. Better than anything you can drink. Just one time. You’ll feel like you can breathe again.”

“I—” Seonghwa glanced toward Wooyoung, who was still distracted, scrolling on his phone now, arguing with someone about karaoke.

“You don’t have to commit to anything,” the guy went on smoothly. “It’s not scary. I get it. You work like a machine. But even machines burn out. You deserve one night to stop thinking.”

The strap snapped lightly in his other hand. The sound made Seonghwa flinch.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the fatigue, or the echo of Hongjoong’s voice from earlier — You don’t usually make mistakes — but something inside him faltered.

Just once, the guy had said.

Just to feel better.

Seonghwa’s fingers curled and uncurled.

His brain screamed no.

But his body… didn’t move.

Not away.

Not yet.

The night air felt thick around him.

The guy’s voice blurred into background noise — soft, coaxing, like warm water lapping against a sinking ship. Seonghwa couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him so gently. Not to get something. Just… to offer something. Relief.

Something inside him cracked open.

He looked down at his hands. Pale. Tense.

Then, slowly — too slowly — he lifted one.

Gave it to the guy like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Like it didn’t belong to him.

“Yeah,” the guy said, smiling now, already tightening the strap above Seonghwa’s elbow. “That’s it. Nothing scary. You’re okay.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat as the rubber pinched his skin. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t look, either. Not really.

The needle glinted under the yellow streetlight.

“Deep breath,” the guy said.

Seonghwa inhaled.

It didn’t hurt.

Not at first.

But something in him curled up tight and went still — like the part of himself that always triple-checked every calendar invite, who remembered how Hongjoong liked his coffee, who made sure every corner of his life stayed tucked in and clean — had been sedated.

The drug hit like a quiet wave.

Warmth. Lightness. Then nothing at all.

And Seonghwa exhaled — long, slow, like he’d just let go of something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

The warmth came first.

Like a blanket fresh from the dryer, wrapping around his arms and chest, melting the tension in his shoulders. The pressure behind his eyes — the headache he’d been nursing for days — loosened until it felt like it was floating somewhere behind him, no longer attached.

His limbs felt heavy and light all at once. As if he were underwater, or dreaming, or watching his body from somewhere just above it.

So this is what quiet feels like, he thought, dazed.

No reminders buzzing. No corrections to make. No voice in his head tallying up how he could’ve done more, how he should’ve done better.

Just… stillness.

His heart wasn’t racing. His mind wasn’t spinning.

He didn’t feel good, exactly. Not joyful. Not excited.

But he didn’t feel like himself either.

And that — terrifyingly — was a relief.

He leaned back against the brick wall behind the bar, eyelids fluttering. The cool night air on his skin barely registered anymore. Sounds dulled into murmurs. Even the streetlight above blurred, a soft, golden halo.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice tried to protest. Tried to remind him that this wasn’t normal. That this wasn’t right.

But the drug flattened that voice like static under a soft hum.

He smiled. Just barely.

Not because he was happy.

But because for the first time in a long time… he felt nothing.

And it was easier than everything else.

“Seonghwa?”

The voice cut through the haze like a flashlight beam in fog.

Seonghwa blinked — slow, delayed — and turned his head. Wooyoung stood a few feet away, half in the shadow of the bar’s back door, phone still in hand, eyes suddenly wide and alert.

“What the hell are you doing?”

There was no humor in his voice now.

Seonghwa opened his mouth. Closed it. He wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing — his face didn’t feel attached properly. He tried to shrug, but even that felt slow-motion.

Wooyoung was already moving closer. The guy with the syringe — suddenly nameless again — took a casual step back, hands raised like whoa, it was his choice, before melting into the dark with the others.

“Hwa,” Wooyoung said sharply, grabbing his wrist. “Look at me.”

Seonghwa tried.

Tried to focus on Wooyoung’s face — flushed from concern, eyebrows drawn together, mouth tight with something between worry and anger.

“What did he give you?”

Seonghwa blinked again. His lips moved. “Just… one thing. S’nothing.”

“Jesus.” Wooyoung’s grip tightened. “You let him—? Fuck, Seonghwa, you don’t even know that guy.”

Seonghwa let out a sound — not a laugh, not a word, something soft and strange.

“You hate even taking ibuprofen unless it’s from a pharmacy. Are you hearing yourself right now?”

Wooyoung’s voice cracked, and that more than anything made something shift in Seonghwa’s chest.

Shame filtered in. Just barely. Like smoke under a locked door.

“I just wanted to feel normal,” Seonghwa whispered.

Wooyoung didn’t answer right away.

He tugged Seonghwa’s arm down gently, guided him to sit on the short concrete ledge. He knelt beside him, still holding onto him like he might disappear if he let go.

“You don’t need that shit to feel okay,” Wooyoung muttered. “You need sleep. You need to quit that fucking job. You need to let someone take care of you for once.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes.

And for the first time that night, he didn’t feel nothing.

He felt small.

next chapter

tag list:

@tooflef

[starmatzz]

Heey idk if it's ok or not but lately I've been thinking about how would s3x be if any member of atz was a girl. Like man I can only imagine touching Jongho's big tits and pussy, so idk but if ur comfortable, could you wirte something like that? If not its ok, but I had to let out my thoughts 🫶🏼✨

ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ

fem!jongho x fem!reader | fluff/smut

A/N: this is my first wlw writing, so it might be not as good as i wanted it to be, but still, enjoy! 🫶🏻

“What…?” she asked softly, her voice playful, a little breathless.

You didn't say anything. There were no words needed. She was a living goddess. 

You couldn't restrain yourself any longer. 

Leaning close, you pressed your lips against hers. Maybe you could blame the alcohol, or the fact that you have been having a crush on your best friend for quite some time. 

Her body tensed slightly and you pulled away only to look at her. 

Your eyes met and— god, her beautiful brown eyes, now all glassy, looking up at you. 

“Unnie..” Jongho whispered, her cheeks deep red. 

“Shh..just relax.” you said back, pushing her down on the bed. 

—

It was 1 a.m., and the summer air hung warm and heavy as you sat on your bed with your best friend Jongho.

You twisted open a chilled bottle of soju and she glanced up with a grin.

“Oh, come on. You know I’m terrible with alcohol,” she laughed, 

Suddenly, you noticed it — the way the soft fabric of her tank top clung to the curve of her chest, how the hem of her shorts pressed gently into the smooth skin of her thighs. You hadn’t meant to stare, but your eyes lingered before you could stop them.

—

Your kisses trailed from her jaw, over the neck, top of her boobs to her soft tummy. You felt her start to relax, completely give her body up to you. 

There was no time to spare, you pulled her tank top off and opened the bra skillfully with one hand. 

Shorts followed right after. 

“Unnie!” Jongho gasped, blushing deeply as she covered her chest. 

“Stop hiding yourself..” you whispered, taking her wrists to expose her big breasts. 

Holding her arms above her head with one hand, your other one cupped her tit, squeezing it. 

She whined, still self conscious but a bit more relaxed. 

“You're so pretty..” you smiled, kissing her forehead as you reached for the hem of her panties. 

“Do you trust me, Jongho?” you asked, looking into her eyes. You wanted her so bad, but she was still your best friend. A person who meant a whole world to you. 

She bit her plush lip, slowly nodding. 

Slowly, you reached out and slipped your fingers beneath the hem of her panties, gently pulling the fabric down. With a quiet rustle, it landed somewhere behind you. For a moment, all you could do was stare — taking in the soft lines of her body, the way the low light traced across her skin. She was beautiful. Breathtaking.

“Unnie..I've never—”

You didn't wait, circling her wet slit with the pad of your finger. 

Her brown hair fell in loose strands across her face, slightly tousled, a few locks catching the light as they framed her flushed cheeks. She pushed some aside absentmindedly, but a few strands clung stubbornly near her lips. Then her eyes met yours — deep, glassy, and warm, like melted chocolate. 

You leaned in slowly, your breath mingling with hers as your lips brushed together in a tender, searching kiss. Her lips parted softly beneath yours, and as the kiss deepened, your hand moved with careful intent — exploring, then gently slipping one finger inside. 

Her body responded instinctively, a quiet gasp against your mouth, her fingers curling into the sheets as you held her close.

She whimpered softly, the sound barely more than a breath against your ear, and it sent a warm shiver down your spine. You moved your finger slowly, gently, giving her time to adjust — curling it with care, feeling the way her body responded to your touch. Her hips shifted just slightly, instinctively, seeking more, and you pressed your forehead to hers, watching every flicker of emotion in her eyes.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice low, trembling with both tenderness and restraint.

Jongho slowly nodded, looking down at your hand still massaging her breast. 

She whimpered softly, the sound catching between her lips as your finger moved with slow, deliberate care. You curled it just enough to draw another quiet gasp from her, watching the way her lashes fluttered and her body arched subtly toward your touch.

Her eyes met yours — wide, glassy, searching — and you leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.

“I’m just getting started,” you murmured, your voice low and steady.

And the night was far from over.

[starmatzz]

II. Cracks in the Glass

In Your Hands

A/N: Hi! If you would like to be tagged in this series, drop a "🖤" in the comments!🫶🏻

It started with the intern.

Actually, it started before that—somewhere between the sleepless night, the blue glow of his TV, and the soft click of Lego bricks in his hands.

But Seonghwa would blame the intern first.

She had misfiled a contract—nothing catastrophic, just enough to throw off his flow. It was the second time this week. He’d corrected the error quickly, of course, but the margin for error in this office had always been zero. Especially for him.

Still, when he pressed the bridge of his nose and exhaled, he wasn’t sure if it was the intern he was frustrated with… or himself.

⸻

Three Days Earlier. 2:03 a.m.

The city was quiet. His living room, quieter.

On the coffee table: an unfinished Lego set. A collector’s model. Intricate. Complicated. Uselessly beautiful.

His phone was silent for once. No messages. No alarms. No reminders.

The soft soundtrack of a video game hummed through the speakers, some fantasy world he’d escaped into more and more lately. He didn’t even bother to check the time until his eyes blurred.

He told himself he deserved one night. One night of doing something just for himself. No suits. No meetings. No expectations.

Just one.

⸻

Present Day. 10:34 a.m.

The mistake was small.

But it was his.

The document lay open on Hongjoong’s desk—marked up, glaring in its imperfections. Numbers misaligned. A paragraph repeated. A signature on the wrong page.

Hongjoong said nothing at first, just slid the file across the desk with one ringed finger and watched him with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

Seonghwa stood frozen for a beat too long.

“I reviewed this myself,” Hongjoong said, voice level, but not cold. “You checked it last night?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa answered automatically, though his stomach curled the moment the word left his mouth.

Last night. When his brain was fogged from staying up until nearly 4 a.m., the Lego still half-built on his table.

The silence in the office was heavier than usual. Not angry. Just watching.

“Was it rushed?” Hongjoong asked, quiet.

“No,” Seonghwa said, too fast.

A pause.

Then, softer: “You don’t usually make mistakes.”

That stung worse than any reprimand.

“I’ll fix it right now,” Seonghwa said, already reaching for the file.

But Hongjoong didn’t hand it over immediately. He held it for another second, studying Seonghwa’s face like he was trying to read beneath the calm surface.

Seonghwa held still. He had to.

Eventually, Hongjoong let go.

Back straight, hands steady, Seonghwa turned and left the office without another word.

Only once he was back at his desk—alone, the door closed—did he let out the breath he’d been holding.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of numbers and silence.

Seonghwa didn’t eat lunch. He couldn’t. The thought of sitting still for too long, of giving his thoughts any space to breathe, made his skin crawl.

He answered every email twice. Checked every decimal three times. Re-ran every calendar entry against two separate backups.

But nothing he did could erase the weight of that single mistake.

Hongjoong hadn’t even been angry. That was the worst part. The quiet disappointment—measured, calm—had landed heavier than any raised voice ever could.

By the time 7:11 p.m. blinked onto his screen, the office was nearly empty. His coffee had gone cold. His shoulders ached.

Still, he didn’t move.

⸻

8:09 p.m.

Home was sterile.

Not by design—just by default. Seonghwa didn’t have time to decorate. There were a few framed prints, some vinyl records he never played, and the half-finished Lego set that now looked ridiculous, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

He sat on the couch, tie loosened, staring at nothing when his phone buzzed.

[Wooooo🐈‍⬛ calling…]

He almost let it ring out. Almost.

But his thumb moved on its own.

“Hey,” Seonghwa said, voice barely above a murmur.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Wooyoung’s voice burst in, full volume and full of sunshine.

“Whoa—okay, gross. Who are you and what have you done with my uptight best friend?”

Seonghwa tried to laugh. It came out like an exhale.

“I’m just tired,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“You always say that when you sound like death. What happened, did your favorite pen run out of ink? Or did Mr. Perfect finally find a wrinkle in his tie?”

Seonghwa smiled, faintly. “It was a mistake. At work.”

Wooyoung went quiet for a second. That rare kind of quiet.

“What kind of mistake?” he asked, suddenly softer. Still teasing, but watchful now.

“Just something I missed in a document,” Seonghwa replied, evasive. “Nothing dramatic.”

Wooyoung didn’t buy it. He never did.

“I knew something was off the second you said ‘hey’ like you were narrating a funeral. Look. You’re coming out with me tonight.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Nope. No arguing. Just you, me, and a few uni friends. Drinks. Laughter. Human interaction. Maybe you’ll even remember how to blink.”

“I really don’t feel like—”

“That’s exactly why you have to come,” Wooyoung cut in. “You need something that’s not an Excel sheet. Please, hyung.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes. Rubbed his temples.

He didn’t want to go.

But part of him—the part that had stayed up playing games instead of sleeping, the part that had let the mistake happen—was screaming for something else. Something other.

He gave in.

“Okay. One drink.”

“Yes!” Wooyoung cheered like a child. “I’m texting you the address. Dress like a human being and not a corporate robot.”

Click.

The line went dead before Seonghwa could reply.

He stared at his phone for a long second.

Then he got up.

And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t reach for a suit.

next chapter

tag list:

@tooflef

[starmatzz]

In Your Hands (trailer)

[starmatzz]

I. Everything in Its Place

In Your Hands

7:03 a.m.

The mirror reflects perfection. Or something close enough to pass. Seonghwa adjusts the knot of his tie one final time, then smooths down his already crisp shirt. The collar lies flat. The cuffs are even. The charcoal suit fits like it was tailored yesterday—and in fact, it was. He exhales once, quietly, before slipping his silver watch onto his wrist. Right on time.

7:12 a.m.

The corner café is already buzzing, but Seonghwa steps inside like he owns the floor plan. He doesn’t have to order. The barista simply nods, already reaching for the double espresso and the oat milk flat white. He adds a third coffee to the tray—his own. Something weaker. He doesn’t need the caffeine; the routine wakes him up more than any drink ever could.

7:26 a.m.

He arrives at the office precisely four minutes before Kim Hongjoong does. Just enough time to check the meeting schedule, reprint the revised figures, and ensure that the blinds are tilted exactly thirty degrees to soften the morning glare.

His footsteps are silent on the marble floor as he walks toward Hongjoong’s office, coffees balanced in hand. He opens the door with his elbow, places the flat white on the CEO’s desk, aligned with the edge of the blotter, then retreats.

He doesn’t need praise. He needs precision.

8:01 a.m.

Seonghwa’s back is straight as he types. His posture is perfect—not a single slouch, not even when he reaches to adjust his glasses with the lightest push against the bridge of his nose. He’s already skimmed three contracts, flagged two inconsistencies, and sent a reminder to the marketing director before most of the floor has even settled in.

His desk is spotless. His inbox is at zero. His jaw, tight.

9:17 a.m.

Hongjoong arrives late. Seonghwa doesn’t flinch. He offers a polite bow, steps back into place as his boss breezes past. No eye contact. No conversation. Just the faintest nod in return.

It’s how things are.

How they’ve always been.

How they must be.

Everything in its place. Everyone in control.

The elevator doors part with a soft chime. Kim Hongjoong steps out, unreadable as always, though his wristwatch tells him he’s seventeen minutes late. He doesn’t care. The day bends to him, not the other way around.

He barely glances toward the reception desk. No one expects him to. No one matters at this hour—except the man who stands just beside his office door, holding a tablet with today’s agenda already loaded.

Seonghwa.

A silent bow. A sidestep. Impeccable as always.

Hongjoong takes the tablet and nods once, just enough to acknowledge him. Not enough to start a conversation. He’s not sure he could handle one this early anyway, not with Seonghwa looking like that. Suit flawless. Posture military-grade. Not a single thread out of place. If he’s human, he never lets it show.

The office smells faintly of espresso when Hongjoong enters. The flat white is there, already on the desk, turned so the logo doesn’t face him. Just the way he likes it.

He sits. Doesn’t drink. Just watches the steam curl for a moment, then picks up the tablet again.

Nine meetings. Two calls with investors. One brief window to breathe, around 2:40 p.m., if Seonghwa hasn’t filled it in by then. Which he probably has.

Hongjoong taps the screen, flicks through the briefings, then glances at the window. The blinds are angled perfectly.

He never told Seonghwa about the glare that bothered him that first week. He’d only squinted once, halfway through a meeting.

The blinds have never been wrong since.

He doesn’t say thank you. He rarely does. But he notices everything. Every move, every coffee, every glance that isn’t made.

Seonghwa is too good at what he does. Too sharp. Too untouchable. And yet—

Something is off lately.

Nothing major. Just small delays. A document not double-checked. A look in his eyes that lingers a second too long before it shutters shut again.

Hongjoong can’t name it.

He only knows this: people like Seonghwa don’t break loudly. They crack in silence. Without warning.

next chapter

[starmatzz]

In Your Hands

Hongjoong x Seonghwa

watch trailer here

smut/fluff

office au | CEO x secretary

Seonghwa is always perfect—sharp, composed, and unshakable as secretary to the cold but brilliant CEO Kim Hongjoong. But one reckless night threatens to unravel everything. When his carefully controlled world starts to fall apart, it’s Hongjoong who offers an unexpected lifeline. Boundaries shift, rules are set, and somewhere between control and vulnerability, something deeper begins to grow.

nsfw tags: top hongjoong, drug use, drugs, drug addiction, anxiety, bdsm, gay sex, anal sex, pet names, anal fisting, sub/dom dynamics

read on AO3

I. Everything in Its Place

II. Cracks in the Glass

III. One Drink

IV. A Hole in the Schedule

V. Quiet Doesn't Mean Rest

[starmatzz]

hi pookies im back! so sorry for the hiatus, i didn't have time at all for writing..but finals are almost over and in few days i will be dropping a new matz fic! it will be dark, touching, kinky and emotional!🫶🏻

[starmatzz]

lazy love💤💘

bf!yunho x gf!reader

There were days when neither of you had the energy for anything big, but that didn’t mean you didn’t crave each other’s presence. Tonight was one of those nights. Too drained from school or work, you both collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion settling into your bones.

Yunho’s arm snaked around your waist, his warmth familiar, but you let out a tired hum of disapproval.

“Not tonight, baby,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stopped immediately, reading the fatigue in your eyes. Instead of pulling away, he gazed at you with soft, pleading eyes.

“Can I still be close to you?”

A small nod was all the permission he needed. Without hesitation, he scooted closer, his body now aligned with yours. His presence was comforting, steady.

Then, gently, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or full of fire—just a quiet, unspoken reminder of his love.

Suddenly, his hand moved, slipping in between your legs. 

 “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with care.

You gave a small nod, barely lifting your heavy eyelids.

His fingertips traced gentle patterns over your clothed pussy—not with any intention beyond comfort, just a quiet attempt to ease the tension from your body. And it was working.

Your muscles gradually loosened, the last remnants of exhaustion slipping away as you sank deeper into the mattress. Eyes still closed, you let yourself melt into his touch, feeling safe, feeling loved.

He pressed a little harder on your clit, and a soft gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Yunho immediately stilled. “Shh… I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet concern.

His touch shifted, now cupping your pussy with gentle hands instead. His thumb brushed over the top of your pussy in slow, soothing strokes, grounding you in his warmth. No rush, no expectations—just him, making sure you were okay.

Yunho leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips—slow, unhurried. 

His lips moved against yours with the same tenderness as his touch, neither rushed nor demanding. Just a quiet reassurance, a gentle reminder that he was there, that he loved you.

[starmatzz]

Midnight love🕛🌙🖤

bf!hongjoong x gf!reader | smut

author's note: im so sorry for such an inactivity but i am so so busy with school and got sick again🥹 still thank you so much for the support! 🫶🏻

Hongjoong is the type to enjoy giving you head whenever he can. And you let him, because he's fucking good at it. 

“Shh..let me enjoy this pretty pussy..” he whispers, lying on his stomach between your legs. It was something around midnight, both of you unable to sleep. 

As he pulls your lace panties down, he begins with gentle kisses along your plush inner thighs. You squirm, your hand instinctively shooting to stroke and grip his hair. 

“That's right, relax for me, baby” he mumbles, trailing his wet kisses inwards on your folds. Hongjoong closes his eyes for a brief moment, before he spreads your lips skillfully with his fingers and dives in. 

You gasp, biting your lip as he circles your clit with the sharp tip of his tongue, glancing up at you with a devilish smirk. He nibs on it too, with his perfect pearly white teeth, making you whimper and your back arch from the pleasurable pain. 

You were already a mess, your hips twitching up when you suddenly felt his fingers circling your entrance. 

“I'm not done yet, princess”

[starmatzz]

lazy love💤💘

bf!yunho x gf!reader

There were days when neither of you had the energy for anything big, but that didn’t mean you didn’t crave each other’s presence. Tonight was one of those nights. Too drained from school or work, you both collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion settling into your bones.

Yunho’s arm snaked around your waist, his warmth familiar, but you let out a tired hum of disapproval.

“Not tonight, baby,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stopped immediately, reading the fatigue in your eyes. Instead of pulling away, he gazed at you with soft, pleading eyes.

“Can I still be close to you?”

A small nod was all the permission he needed. Without hesitation, he scooted closer, his body now aligned with yours. His presence was comforting, steady.

Then, gently, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or full of fire—just a quiet, unspoken reminder of his love.

Suddenly, his hand moved, slipping in between your legs. 

 “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with care.

You gave a small nod, barely lifting your heavy eyelids.

His fingertips traced gentle patterns over your clothed pussy—not with any intention beyond comfort, just a quiet attempt to ease the tension from your body. And it was working.

Your muscles gradually loosened, the last remnants of exhaustion slipping away as you sank deeper into the mattress. Eyes still closed, you let yourself melt into his touch, feeling safe, feeling loved.

He pressed a little harder on your clit, and a soft gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Yunho immediately stilled. “Shh… I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet concern.

His touch shifted, now cupping your pussy with gentle hands instead. His thumb brushed over the top of your pussy in slow, soothing strokes, grounding you in his warmth. No rush, no expectations—just him, making sure you were okay.

Yunho leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips—slow, unhurried. 

His lips moved against yours with the same tenderness as his touch, neither rushed nor demanding. Just a quiet reassurance, a gentle reminder that he was there, that he loved you.

[starmatzz]

hello lovies! i wanna apologize for the slight inactivity..uni got me by the balls😔 i will try to write during weekends. also thank u for leaving so many "story inspired by song" requests! those are my fav things to write💘

[starmatzz]

please more dom hongjoong x reader AAEHRTJEJGDWGISVS IM SO DOWN BAD FOR HIM 😭

oral w hj🖤

im such a sucker for soft dom ateez its not even funny (does it say something about me as a person😀)

“Darling? Could you do me a favor?”

Hongjoong’s voice drifted softly from his office, where he sat twirling a pen between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the stack of papers before him.

At the sound of his call, you appeared in the doorway, eyes settling on him expectantly.

You looked at him—manspreading in his leather office chair, fingers idly adjusting his glasses. The glint in his eyes told you everything.

Without a word, you stepped closer, crawling under the table. 

Hongjoong was impatient, and by the time you settled between his legs, he was already pulling his sweatpants below his hips. 

His thick cock sprung free, leaking with precum. Reaching under the table, he grabbed your chin and tilted your head slightly upward. 

“So pretty for me.." he mumbled, looking at you through his glasses. 

With his other hand, he gripped his cock and rubbed it against your lips. He smeared the clear liquid over your lips like a lipgloss. 

“Open." you slowly opened your mouth, closing your eyes when you felt Hongjoong slap his dick on your tongue, which you stuck out automatically. 

“So good for me. Such a good girl,” he groaned, slowly shoving his cock inside your warm mouth. 

You coughed a little, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Hongjoong cooed, stroking your cheek as he smiled at you. 

“Shh..I won't be rough. I just wanna feel you.”

With that, he moved his hand to the back of your head, gently combing through your hair. 

You closed your eyes again, taking the lead and bobbing your head. You didn't hurry, didn't try to go deep. Just swirled your tongue around the length, enjoying the closeness you two shared. 

Hongjoong shifted, lowering himself as he slowly guided you while scratching your head. 

“That's my girl..”

[starmatzz]

Claimed by the devil

devil!san x christian!reader

After returning from church one day, you began feeling strange. Your body ached as if you had the flu, so you dismissed it, assuming you’d caught a bug. But as the days passed, the discomfort didn’t fade. Instead, the nights grew worse—plagued by relentless nightmares that left you waking up drenched in sweat.

You couldn’t make sense of it. One morning, you woke up to find bruises scattered across your body, marks you couldn’t explain. Another day, you noticed your window was wide open—yet you had no memory of touching it. But the strangest part? You began seeing a man in your dreams. Though he appeared human at first, his eyes glowed red, his horns curled ominously, and his fangs gleamed white in the shadows.

One night, you heard whispers—deep, but chillingly real. “So pretty, so innocent.” Your heart raced as you slowly opened your eyes. And there he was, standing at the edge of your bed. A tall figure, his features identical to the man from your nightmares. His red eyes glowed in the dim light, and the horns and fangs were no longer just part of a dream. He was real.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t escape as the entity’s hand slowly moved across your chest, its cold touch sending shivers down your spine. It lingered, brushing against your cheek with an unsettling tenderness.

“The day you stepped into the church, I knew I had to claim you,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Panic surged within you, but you fought to turn your head, locking eyes with the rosary cross on your bedside table. It was the only thing that felt like a lifeline. The man chuckled, his fangs gleaming in the dim light.

“You think your God can protect you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’re so stubborn.” He shook his head slowly, his smirk widening. “You’re mine. I’m inside you. And I will stay there, whether you like it or not.”

The air thickened with an overwhelming darkness, suffocating any hope you had left. His touch, cold and possessive, spread through you like poison, and no matter how hard you tried to move, your body refused to obey. Your breath came in shallow gasps as his presence loomed over you, suffocating all thoughts of escape.

His hand slid down your chest once more, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You can’t fight me. You’re already mine.”

You tried to focus on the rosary cross on your bedside table, your last hope, but the world around you felt distant, hazy. The whispers in your mind grew louder, more insistent. He’s inside you. You belong to him.

The man leaned down, his red eyes gleaming with triumph. “Your God can’t save you now,” he hissed, his fangs brushing against your skin. “You were never meant to escape.”

With a final, twisted laugh, the darkness swallowed you whole. The light of the rosary faded, and all that was left was him—inside, around, and overwhelming. You were his, and you always would be.

[starmatzz]

thank you so much for 1k notes omg!!💘 i see you like these soft rambles more, and theyre actually easier for me to write too and i enjoy them a lot!

bf!yunho obsessed with touching you🖤

“Baby…” you heard Yunho mumble as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his damp hair.

You were already in bed, scrolling through your phone, but you glanced up for a moment.

Yunho was always the cutest when he was tired—soft, clingy, and completely obsessed with touching you in any way he could.

It didn't matter which body part it was; thighs, ass, waist..

But today's aim were your nipples. 

You felt the mattress dip slightly under his weight before his warm hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

His face nestled into your hair, and he inhaled deeply, letting out a low, satisfied groan.

Your back was to him, but you could still feel it—those half-lidded eyes watching you, heavy with sleep and something softer.

Yunho hummed, his big palm moving up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt.

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh absentmindedly, a slow, lazy touch. With a content sigh, he let his eyes flutter shut, completely at ease against you.

It wasn’t anything overtly sexual—just a quiet moment of intimacy, the kind that came naturally between you.

His thumb grazed over your clothed nipple, the light touch sending a subtle shiver through you as it hardened beneath the fabric.

A quiet hum of approval left his lips, and he lazily circled the sensitive bud with his fingertip, his movements slow and unhurried.

You didn’t react much—just kept scrolling through your phone, perfectly content to let your boyfriend touch you however he pleased.

[starmatzz]

Chapter 24: Hope

Treasure Of Utopia

Hongjoong climbed up onto the deck, his gaze meeting Jongho’s as the younger man stood waiting for him. The weight of everything that had happened lingered in his eyes—grief, exhaustion, and the unspoken question of what came next.

“What now, Captain?” Jongho asked, his voice steady but laced with fatigue.

Hongjoong exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as he looked out at the endless stretch of sea before them. For so long, he had chased a dream of wealth, of conquest, of proving himself. But now, none of that mattered.

“We’re going to Utopia,” he said firmly, turning back to Jongho. “Seonghwa deserves to be home.”

Jongho nodded, understanding without the need for further explanation. The crew would follow wherever Hongjoong led them, but this time, they weren’t chasing treasure—they were chasing peace. And for the first time in a long time, Hongjoong hoped they would finally find it.

Hongjoong left Jongho to take the lead, trusting him to steer the ship as he made his way back below deck. The moment he stepped into the cabin, his eyes landed on Seonghwa, curled up peacefully in their shared bed. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the soft glow of the lanterns casting gentle shadows across his face.

Hongjoong sat down beside him, running a hand over his face as the weight of everything crashed down on him. He felt awful.

One of his own—his crew, his family—was gone. A life lost because of him. Because he hadn’t been strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to prevent it. His stomach twisted with guilt. And now, no amount of regret or anger could bring his friend back.

His hand hovered over Seonghwa’s, fingers barely brushing against his skin. He didn’t deserve this warmth, this love. But Seonghwa did. Seonghwa and their unborn pups deserved a life without fear, without war.

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, swallowing down the grief that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t change the past, but he could protect the future. And he swore—no matter what it took—he would never let another person he loved slip away again.

Hongjoong pressed his hands against his face, his fingers digging into his skin as frustration and grief twisted inside him. His face scrunched in anger, his breathing uneven. No matter how much he tried to accept it, he still couldn’t believe Mingi was gone.

Some part of him still hoped that when he stepped back onto the deck, Mingi would be there—standing tall with his usual furrowed brows and arms crossed, letting out a dramatic sigh as if annoyed by the whole situation. Maybe he’d crack a joke, something dry and sarcastic, just to lighten the mood. Maybe he’d nudge Hongjoong’s shoulder and tell him to stop brooding so much.

But that wouldn’t happen.

The deck would be emptier now. The ship would feel different. No matter how hard Hongjoong wished for it, Mingi wasn’t coming back. And it was his fault.

His hands dropped from his face, clenched into fists against his thighs. He had been their captain, their leader. He was supposed to protect them. But he had failed.

A soft shift in the blankets beside him pulled him from his thoughts. Seonghwa stirred slightly, his breathing still steady, his presence a quiet reminder of what Hongjoong still had to protect. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.

Hongjoong let out a slow breath, his tension easing just a little as he shifted closer to Seonghwa. Gently, he wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in until their bodies fit together perfectly. His hand settled on Seonghwa’s belly, feeling the faint warmth beneath his palm.

This was real. This was what mattered.

He closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Seonghwa’s breathing, letting it calm the storm in his mind. The weight of his grief and guilt was still there, but for now, in this moment, he allowed himself to rest.

Slowly, he drifted into sleep, holding everything he loved most in his arms.

“You should go rest,” Yeosang’s voice was soft but firm as he stepped up behind Jongho.

Jongho flinched slightly, not having heard him approach. His grip on the helm tightened for a moment before he exhaled. “I’m alright…” he mumbled, though the exhaustion in his voice betrayed him.

Yeosang hummed softly in response, leaning against the railing beside Jongho. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, dark and vast, the waves gently lapping against the ship’s hull. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was familiar, almost comforting.

Jongho shifted slightly, sneaking a glance at Yeosang from the corner of his eye. The dim lantern light cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the delicate features that Jongho had admired far too often in secret. He quickly looked away, hoping the warmth creeping up his neck wasn’t noticeable.

“You always push yourself too hard,” Yeosang murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was softer now, more personal.

Jongho huffed a quiet laugh. “Someone has to.”

Yeosang frowned, turning to face him fully. “And who takes care of you?”

Jongho tensed at the question, caught off guard by Yeosang’s concern. He wasn’t used to being asked that—wasn’t used to anyone noticing. He swallowed, eyes fixed on the horizon. “…I don’t know.”

Yeosang hesitated for a moment, then, as if gathering his courage, he reached out. His fingers brushed against Jongho’s hand resting on the railing, barely touching, but enough to make Jongho stiffen. Yeosang quickly pulled back, his own face heating up.

“Well… maybe you should let someone,” he mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the wood grain of the railing.

Jongho stared at him, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. The air between them shifted—charged, uncertain. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Captain depends on me,” Jongho said, clearing his throat as he turned his gaze away. His voice was steady, but Yeosang could hear the strain beneath it.

The truth was, Jongho was slowly losing control. He wasn’t angry that Hongjoong was focusing more on Seonghwa—he understood, he really did. But everything else, all the weight and responsibility, had fallen onto his shoulders. It was too much for one person. And yet, he refused to admit it.

Yeosang studied him for a moment before sighing softly. “You know…” he started, hesitating for just a second before pushing forward, “you don’t have to be the strongest all the time.”

Jongho scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Yeosang huffed, rolling his eyes. Then, with more boldness than he usually had, he reached out and poked Jongho’s cheek. “You stubborn idiot. You act like you’re made of stone, but I know better.”

Jongho blinked, startled by the sudden touch. Before he could react, Yeosang continued, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You always try to carry everything by yourself, but… I want to be someone you can lean on too. Not because I have to, but because I want to.” His voice softened, his fingers hesitating before brushing against Jongho’s hand again, this time intentionally. “Because I care about you.”

Jongho’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Yeosang, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with stress or exhaustion this time.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, almost shyly, he turned his hand over, letting Yeosang’s fingers slip into his.

“…Maybe I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmured.

Yeosang grinned, squeezing his hand just once before looking back at the sea, acting as if his heart wasn’t about to burst out of his chest.

They stood there together, fingers intertwined, neither of them saying another word. But in that quiet, in the gentle touch they shared, something unspoken passed between them—something warm, something safe. Something that, maybe, had been there all along.

They continued chatting, the gentle hum of the ship cutting through the calm sea. The wind was soft, the night peaceful, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Jongho could almost forget the weight pressing on his chest. Yeosang’s presence, calm and steady beside him, was a welcome distraction.

“How long will it take to get to the kingdom?” Yeosang asked, his fingers slipping up to massage Jongho’s shoulders with a careful touch, his hands strong but gentle.

Jongho leaned into the pressure, his muscles loosening under Yeosang’s steady rhythm. He let out a long, tired sigh, his eyes closing for a moment to enjoy the feeling. “A week…” he murmured, his voice low, still heavy with exhaustion.

“A week, huh?” Yeosang mused, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. “Well, at least you’ll get a break from the deck for a while when we get there. I’ll take over the hard work.”

Jongho chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m not sure you’re capable of handling all this muscle,” he teased, his voice light. It was an attempt to distract himself, to push away the nagging worries, but it felt good to joke, even for a moment.

“I’m just worried about those two, you know?” Jongho’s voice was quieter now, the playful tone fading into something more serious. He leaned back slightly, resting his head against the railing as he gazed out at the horizon. “Seonghwa, a prince, and our captain, someone who’d lived on the sea since they were a baby…”

Yeosang listened intently, his hands stilling on Jongho’s shoulders. He knew what Jongho meant—their lives had always been full of uncertainty, but now, with Seonghwa’s royal blood and Hongjoong’s wild, unpredictable past, there was more at stake than ever.

“I know what you mean,” Yeosang said, his voice soft but thoughtful. “They’re both… a bit out of place, aren’t they? Seonghwa’s life is about to change so much, and Hongjoong… he’s never had to worry about anything like that before.”

Jongho nodded, feeling the weight of his thoughts settling deeper into his chest. “Seonghwa deserves peace, a home… but now he’s caught in something bigger than any of us. And Hongjoong… he’s always been the captain, always made the decisions. But what if he doesn’t know how to balance this new responsibility?”

Yeosang’s fingers gently pressed into Jongho’s back, a reassuring touch. “They have each other, though. They’ll figure it out. And you, too. We’re all in this together.”

Jongho chuckled softly, but it was tinged with uncertainty. “I hope you’re right. But it’s hard not to worry.”

Yeosang nodded, a silent understanding passing between them, and gently placed his hand over Jongho’s on the helm. The touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, they were both simply there—two people who understood the weight of what they carried, yet somehow found comfort in each other’s presence.

The wind picked up slightly, the sails fluttering in the breeze, and the ship continued its steady course toward the distant kingdom. The future was uncertain, but for now, they had this—this small, quiet moment to hold onto.

Next chapter soon