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starrgaziinggg · 21 days

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begin again | hwang hyunjin

chapter thirty -> bonus chapter (wedding bells)

"SO HELP ME GOD!"

You physically jolt, awakening yourself from your slumped position on probably the most uncomfortable chair you'd ever had the misfortune of sitting on. Stretching your back out, your eyes found themselves darting towards Myeong, who was storming into the room you'd been in for the past half hour.

Despite not being a bridesmaid, you'd been roped into acting as though you were the wedding co ordinator. You didn't mind much, since it gave you something to focus on, rather than sit idly like your poor friends as they waited for Myeong to walk the isle.

"I swear to fuck, if I'm still friends with those bitches after this wedding, it will be a miracle," Myeong huffs, turning to you with an expression that could only be described as pure fury. "They've lost my damn veil. How am I supposed to walk the isle without a veil?"

You smirk at her, standing up from your slumped position on a rather uncomfortable chair and handing her the veil that you'd found discarded in the room you were currently in, presumably by Myeong's friends (and unfortunately, her bridesmaids). The stress dissipates from Myeong's face as she squeals, grabbing the veil and giving you an air kiss.

"This is why your my favourite person on this green earth," she sighs dreamily, as you take the veil she hands you and turn so you can fit it to her head. She looks at herself in the mirror beside her, fretting with her hair and smoothing down her pristine white wedding dress. "Well, except my soon to be husband, of course."

It's comical that you hear a knock on the door, Changbin's voice echoing from outside.

"Myeong?"

Myeong's eyes fill with terror as she screams, covering herself up as if that would have any effect in stopping Changbin from seeing her dress.

"NO! Fuck off, you can't see my dress!" She screams, turning to you and moving you to be in front of her. You can't help but openly laugh at the action, trying to hold it in because you just know Myeong's nervous about walking the isle in (hopefully) fifteen minutes.

"I'm not coming in, idiot. I just wanted to make sure you're ready!" Changbin shouts back, and you can practically picture his smirking laugh.

"Okay," Myeong replies cautiously, turning to look at herself in the mirror for the millionth time. "I'm almost ready!"

"Okay, my sisters coming in, by the way!" Changbin shouts again, before presumably disappearing when his sister opens the door and walks through. You loved spending time with Changbin's sister when you were kids, and you hadn't seen her in so long until you'd reunited with her (and all the other guests) last night.

Changbin and Myeong had decided to have their wedding in Jeju Island, taking control of an entire lavish hotel for the weekend. The whole hotel was decked out in decorations, and it looked beautiful, though you hadn't been able to spend much time admiring it.

"Jesus, Myeong. I adore you, but your friends are..." Changbin's sister starts, trailing off as she makes a face and can't find the words she needs. You cut in instead.

"Uptight and annoying?" You finish, looking at Myeong with a laugh. You two had bonded over how incompetent her bridesmaids were over the last couple months.

"Precisely," Changbin's sister winks, moving her long brown hair behind her ears. Her short dandelion yellow dress was absolutely gorgeous, and she looked beautiful, though you knew she'd be a balling mess as soon as she saw her little brother standing at the altar.

It was nothing on Myeong's dress, though. Her extravagant white gown had cost a pretty penny, but it was so worth it. Unlike the ballgown you thought she'd opt for, she had decided upon a form fitted, satin gown, paired with the most gorgeous silver heels you'd ever seen - she looked like a princess. Her hair was down, the front pieces pinned back with diamonds, and you may or may not have shed a tear when you saw her after you'd gotten ready yourself this morning.

"Do I look okay?" Myeong asks, turning to look between both you and Changbin's sister. "Tell me the truth. If I don't, it will just ruin what's supposed to be the best day of my life, no biggie."

You don't know whether to laugh or cry at poor Myeong, opting to give her an air hug instead. No way would you ever risk making a mark on her dress, not after she'd spent the last five hours getting ready. Yeah, five full hours. She'd been up since four in the morning, and you reckon she'd be out like a light by nine pm latest.

"You look absolutely beautiful," you say honestly. She looks up at you with her big Bambi eyes.

"Really?"

Changbin's sister hums, looking Myeong up and down and nodding approvingly. "I would put thousands on the fact that you're the most gorgeous person currently on earth."

Myeong cracks a smile at that, taking a deep breath, focusing her attention on Changbin's sister to ask her, "Did you need me for something important or did you just want to hype me up before I walk the line?"

"Actually, I came to get her," Changbin's sister points a thumb at you, turning to face and talk to you directly. "You're boyfriend is getting worried Myeong's murdered you or something, and he wont shut up, so please come and...I dunno, shut him up?"

You laugh, knowing Hyunjin is probably whining like a baby without you. Even after months of dating, he was still as clingy as ever.

"Sounds like Hyun," you turn to Myeong. "Shall I get your dad? He should be waiting in the room with your bridesmaids and Chan, and I think they could both use some saving right about now."

"Yes, yeah," she says, smiling. "God, dad's going to ball his eyes out when he sees me. Tell Chan he only needs to spend ten more minutes max with them, and go kiss your boyfriend since I can't kiss mine until he's my husband."

You blow her an air kiss, letting Changbin's sister take your wrist and lead you into the other room. Chan practically jumps at you as the door opens, moving away from the three girls trying to drag him into conversation to his left. Changbin's sister goes to Myeong's dad, letting him know she's ready for him to see her and prepare to walk the isle, before heading through to the main room where everyone is waiting.

"Fuck me," Chan hisses, widening his eyes as you walk over to him, looking dashing in his black suit. "Once Myeong and Changbin are married I hope I never see those girls again."

"That makes two of us," you chuckle. "You ready for your big moment?"

"Oh yeah, I'm under strict instructions from Dambi on how I should walk with her down the isle," he groans quietly, trying to avoid the prying ears of the three girls behind him. You chuckle at him, patting his shoulder. "I'm not kidding. She made me practice synchronising our steps like a billion times."

"Just think about getting to spend the rest of the day with Jaehwa and everyone," you remind him, watching as his face lights up at the mention of his girlfriend. He gives you a quick side hug, careful not to muck up your dress.

"Bets on that Hyunjin is whining like a baby about missing you?" He laughs, letting you go to where you needed to be - sitting on your bench, beside your boyfriend and the rest of your friends.

"Oh, he already is," you smile, watching Chan roll his eyes. "That's why I've been sent away."

"He's so whipped," Chan laughs, shaking his head as you leave the room, following the rows of flowers and decor to the room holding all the guests. You try to make your entrance as discreet as possible, since you'd be the last person to enter the room until Myeong's big moment, but of course as you walked down the isle to the front of the room, all eyes were on you.

They instantly turned around again, clearly disappointed you weren't the bride, and you chuckled to yourself as you neared the third bench from the front, where Seungmin, Jeongin and Hyunjin were staring at you. Changbin, who had already made his way to the altar, standing up at the front and facing you all, rolls his eyes at you with a smile. You slide into the bench beside Hyunjin, watching as Jisung turns to look at you from the bench in front of you.

"Way to ruin the moment," he scoffs. "Just as we finally thought Myeong was ready to get this show on the road, and it's you."

"I think my ass has lost all feeling," Felix contributed to the right of him, just as Minho turns behind him from Jisung's left to look at you all. "You look pretty, though."

You smile warmly at him, trying to flip Jisung off in a low-key way, since your mother (and all of the boys, minus Hyunjin's and Minho's, as they were both swamped with work and couldn't get the time off) were a couple rows behind you. Hyunjin absentmindedly places a hand on your knee and squeezes gently, giving you a grin.

"Took her long enough to get ready," Jeongin scoffs. "I wanted to take photos with her before Myeong took her away all morning and she didn't get out the room until 8am."

"That definitely wasn't because she was getting ready, Innie," Minho says, giving you and Hyunjin a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle.

"Getting undressed, more like," Seungmin adds cheekily. You reach past your boyfriend to swat at him, shooting Minho a pointed glare.

"At least Hyun will stop crying like a baby now," Jeongin rolls his eyes, to which your boyfriend only sends him a grin, making Jeongin fake gag.

"Shut up, all of you," you hiss. "Not in the place of worship."

"This isn't even a church," Jisung points out with a roll of his eyes. "We're in a fucking hotel."

"No swearing, either!" You add, nodding your head backwards to the rows where your mothers were enjoying catching up with one another after years apart.

"Sheesh," Felix groans. "When I get married, I'm letting everyone start drinking as soon as the sun comes up and saying my vows in two seconds, none of this waiting around crap."

"I fear for your non existent future partner," you say with a tilt of your head.

"I think it's romantic," your boyfriend speaks up, a love struck look plastering his face. He rests his head gently on your shoulder. "When we get married, I'd like to do it the traditional way. You know, all drawn out, in a church with big windows..."

"All in favour of not going to Hyunjin's wedding say aye," Seungmin starts, followed by a chorus of 'ayes' from your friends. You'd either laugh or scold them if you weren't still reeling from the fact Hyunjin referred to his wedding as yours, too.

You don't get the opportunity to scold them, though, since the music starts and the large hotel room is silenced. You all turn in unison, watching as Chan starts walking down the isle with Dambi by his side. Jaehwa was annoyed to be missing the ceremony, but she'd had a modelling job for Dior (yup, jealousy was a disease and you were highly infected) yesterday, which meant she couldn't get a flight until early this morning. She'd be arriving in the next hour or so to join everyone for lunch and the celebrations following.

Chan sends you all a wink as he passes you, followed by the next two girls and the men accompanying them - Myeong's two brothers. The girls don't even so much as shoot a glance in your direction, which you're honestly thankful for.

Changbin shakes his hands out, clearly nervous, before Chan nudges his shoulder once he reaches his right. You already feel the tears coming, unable to keep stable in this situation. You know there's a couple minutes until Myeong walks, as she comes down during a certain part of the song, so you lean towards Hyunjin, Jeongin and Seungmin.

"Who's the first to cry, Changbin's sister or his mum?" You whisper, nodding towards them both in the first bench in your row.

"You, judging by your watery eyes," Seungmin chuckles quietly, raising an eyebrow. Hyunjin frowns lovingly at you, a sparkle in his eye as he brings a hand up to your face and places a finger in the corner of your eye to remove the tears.

"At least hold out until they say their vows," Jeongin grins, shaking his head at you. The music picks up to the part where you know Myeong starts walking, so everybody starts standing up. After what seems like a minute of silence, but could only have been a couple seconds, Myeong and her father walk into the room.

Myeong's smiling brightly, from ear to ear, and you only take your eyes off of her for the smallest second to see Changbin's reaction. He's trying so hard not to, but you watch as he sheds a tear and laughs it off, shaking his head with a smile as he watches his soon to be wife walk towards him. Myeong's dad kisses her cheek before taking his seat, and soon after Myeong is standing at the alter, facing Changbin.

Thankfully, the vows are quite quick, but super emotional. You're in tears, the guys are holding back sobs - even Minho's lip trembles at one point. It's the first marriage of your friend group, almost as if signalling the end of your childhood. You, Hyunjin and Chan were in serious relationships, everyone was content with their jobs...you weren't all kids anymore.

You think back to your teenage years - boisterous Changbin who made it his mission to keep a smile on everyone's faces. To watch him place a ring on his wife's finger was so fulfilling, and you couldn't have been happier for him and Myeong.

"And with that, I pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant smiles. "You may now kiss the bride."

Changbin grins before swooping Myeong into his arms, kissing her dramatically. Everyone stands to clap and cheer, and you watch Chan's tears fall as he smiles at them. At this point, you're a mess - makeup definitely ruined. Hyunjin is balling beside you too, pulling you into his side and patting your hair gently.

Myeong and Changbin walk back down the aisle hand in hand, an upbeat love song playing to their exit, accompanied by the continuous noise of the guests. It's at that point you all file out of the room, bounding up to the newly weds to say your congratulations.

Myeong hugs you tightly, finally allowing herself to cry. "I'm married! I'm actually marrried!"

You laugh the tears, smiling brightly at her when you pull apart. "I know! You're the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."

She swats at you, blushing nonetheless. "Thank you for everything you've done to help me today, I genuinely don't know where I'd have been without you."

You roll your eyes at her lovingly, pulling her in for one last squeeze before she's ushered away in all the commotion. It's Changbin you turn to then, pulling him towards you. He wraps his arms around you before ruffling your hair.

"You idiot! I took one look at you sobbing in the crowd and I was a gonner," he scolds you, a smile plastering his face.

"I couldn't help it!" You fret back, wiping under your eyes haphazardly. "You and Myeong looked so happy, and your vows were so cute."

"Yeah, well, I've had them written since our third date, so," he grins, and you shake your head with a smile. He's pulled away by your mother then, her pinching his cheeks and cooing as he accepts it openly.

"Our Changbin, all grown up," she smiles, patting his cheek. "You're going to be an excellent husband, my darling."

And that sets you both off again, Changbin giving your mother a hug after not seeing her in so long. It's at that point Myeong claps her hands, letting everyone know that food will be served in an hour and the bar is open for drinks in the meantime. She winks at you, which you take as your queue to follow her upstairs and fix up both of your destroyed faces.

You find Hyunjin in the large crowd, his newly dyed bleach blonde hair sticking out in the crowd, letting him know you'll be back down soon.

"You're leaving?" He says instantly, concern on his face. You laugh at him, rolling your eyes.

"My mum isn't going to grill you, Hyun," you say, knowing exactly why he's been so worried about you being away from him this trip. Obviously, Hyunjin had met your mother many a time, yet he'd been nothing but a ball of stress about formally introducing himself to her.

Since you'd all been rushing about like headless chickens with the wedding preparations, you hadn't been able to properly catch up with your mum, save for a very teary eyed greeting and the promise to tell her everything since you'd last seen her. This also meant Hyunjin hadn't been able to meet her as your official boyfriend, which you'd tried to convince him would be fine, but your dramatic as ever boyfriend didn't believe.

You give him an encouraging thumbs up before Myeong's dragging you to her room, the two of you chatting excitedly about the reception as you reapplied your makeup. She's all smiles and excitement, and you take the opportunity to get some pictures just the two of you before you're rejoining the wedding party.

Everyone's milling around the bar, or already sitting at their assigned tables. You knew the seating plan had you, Hyunjin, your mum, Jeongin, Seungmin and their mothers on it, and to your surprise your boyfriend, who had been a bundle of nerves not half an hour ago, was sitting with a glass of champagne in hand, talking your mums ear off.

You shake your head, smiling at the scene of just the two of them at the table, walking towards them and giving your mum a hug before taking your seat in between them.

"My baby has finally joined us," your mother says, patting your knee gently. "Now, Hyunjin here was telling me all about your trip to America!"

She looks back at him expectantly, so he continues his story, shooting you an excited glance.

"I was just talking about how my mom has been desperate for us to visit again," he informs you, before directing his attention back to your mum. "It's my sister's birthday next month, and she's specifically asked us to fly out to visit. My mom was also wondering if you'd like to join us? She hasn't seen you in so long, and now that we're together, she wants to be able to spend time with you."

Your mum claps her hands in agreement. "Oh I'll be there! I've never been to the states, and I have missed your darling mum," she grins at you, tilting her head. "Aren't you lucky to have a millionaire boyfriend!"

"Mum," you whine, rolling your eyes at her. Hyunjin only chuckles.

"No, I know, I'm only teasing. Honestly, I knew the two of you would end up together. Your mum said the same thing, Hyunjin. And Chris kept me in the loop," she winks, and you both want to murder Chan for being a little snake and jump up and down with joy because of how clearly your mum accepted Hyunjin as your boyfriend.

Your happiness was short lived, however, as Jeongin and Seungmin walked up to your table.

"Why the hell have we been stuck with the lovebirds," Jeongin groans, which your mum slaps him gently for. He yelps dramatically, laughing at your mum as she pretends to be mad at him.

"Now Jeongin," she says adoringly. "You will find your perfect person one day! Don't let your recent romantic failure make you so miserable."

Seungmin snorts as Jeongin sends you a pointed look. "You told her about me being stood up by that girl I was seeing?"

You hold your hands up in defeat, laughing loudly when he pretends to punch you after your mum excuses herself to stand with Jeongin and Seungmin's mothers at the bar.

"You two are sickening," Jeongin says, taking his seat and sticking his tongue out. Hyunjin rolls his eyes at him, placing an arm around your chair. "It physically pains me."

"I don't hear any complaints about Changbin and Myeong or Chan and Jaehwa!" You point out. "Why is it always us that gets the brunt of your abuse?"

"Well for one, because it's Changbin and Myeong's wedding day, so they're allowed a free pass," Seungmin informs you. "And Jaehwa isn't here."

"Wrong!" You head Jaehwa say, which you whip your head around at. She bounds up to you as you stand up, hugging her and admiring her gorgeous pale blue midi dress. You'd both gotten to know each other well over the past months, and she'd quickly become one of your favourite people. You were so thankful the guys had good taste in girls, because it meant you had gained two best friends.

"You look incredible! How was Dior?" You ask after giving her a squeeze. She 'ah's in adoration, swooning at the thought.

"Phenomenal, I'm truly so lucky! How was the reception? I was gutted to miss it," she sighs, quickly waving hello to the boys.

"Beautiful, of course," you answer, to which you hear Jeongin mutter 'long' and Seungmin sigh 'drawn out' under their breaths. You shake your head at you friends, coaxing Jaehwa over to your mother. "Mum, this is Chris's girlfriend, Jaehwa. Jae, meet my mum."

The two woman share a hug, your mum gushing at how beautiful 'my darling Channie's girl' was. You take a seat beside Hyunjin, all smiles.

"So? Not as scary as you expected?" You ask him, tapping his leg with your foot. He grins in response, shaking his head.

"Nah, easy peasy. Older women love me," he smirks cockily, clapping his hands. "She's already started calling me 'son'."

You roll your eyes, saying goodbye to Jaehwa who goes to find her boyfriend, standing amongst a group of people and chatting their ears off.

"What do you guys want to drink?" Seungmin asks, to which your mum scoffs at.

"Don't you worry yourself, I'll get us some drinks," she reply's, cooing at your younger friend and standing up instantly, making her way over to the bar.

"I forgot how nice your mum is," Seungmin chuckles, shaking his head. "She's like God reincarnated into a beautiful middle aged woman."

"Don't tell her that, it'll go straight to her head," you respond with a smile.

"I forgot how stressful weddings are," Jeongin sighs. "I feel like this is the first time I've sat down since we arrived in Jeju."

You nod. "God tell me about it, I'm so ready for a damn drink."

It's at that moment your mum returns, two bottles of champagne in hand, which you all crack open and pour yourselves hefty glassfuls. Seungmin and Jeongin's parents join you, already tipsy and cooing at how cute you and Hyunjin looked together.

"I've heard my son has made a pretty penny from betting on your relationship,"Seungmin's dad teases, which Seungmin looks all too proud at.

"Easy money dad. These fools really thought I didn't have a clue they were together the entire time."

"It was a lucky guess!" Your boyfriend interjects, scowling at the younger man.

Seungmin's mum swats at him, making Jeongin howl with laughter. You and Hyunjin just shake your heads at each other, your mum smiling away.

"I don't know what's so funny," Jeongin's mum interrupts, her gaze set on her son. "I heard you'd lost out on a tonne."

Jeongin groans. "Don't remind me."

After more gossiping and catching up, everyone takes their seats and the food arrives. They'd spared no expense, hiring a renowned caterer, which you thanked the gods for. It was safe to say there wasn't a plate on your table that hadn't been licked clean.

Once your dessert had been successfully demolished, you hear the tapping of a glass, turning to Chris who's standing at his table.

"Oh god, here we go," Seungmin rolls his eyes.

"Hi everyone!" Chan starts cheerily, microphone in hand, instantly capturing everyone's attention as the room falls silent. "I'd like to start by thanking everyone for coming today, especially those of you that had to travel a ridiculous amount because a certain someone had always dreamed of a Jeju wedding."

Myeoung scowls at Chan, earning a laugh from the crowd.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm kidding - you've done a beautiful job, Myeong. I think we can all agree this has to be one of the most spectacular weddings we've attended."

The crowd hollers in response, and you clap alongside them, grinning up at your best friend.

"I'll keep this relatively short and sweet, since long wedding speeches are killer and nobody wants to hear me drone on for hours, despite how much I could talk about two of my favourite people.

I'd like to call myself a bit of a matchmaker, though for some reason my glorious group of friends and I all seem to have had ridiculously bad luck in the romance department. Sorry guys," he grins cheekily, which your friends all scowl at.

"However, saying that, recently things have started to look up. When Myeong and Changbin started dating, I thought 'this is it, they're meant for each other', and although the many dates I'd set up for Changbin had ultimately failed, and my title as matchmaker was in the dust, I couldn't have been happier.

Changbin has always been the mood maker, the class clown - the one that ultimately held us all together. He's an amazing person and," he directs his gaze to Changbin's parents. "You've done an incredible job raising him. I wouldn't be who I am without him today. Not only is he the best music producer CBH entertainment has ever seen, he has always looked on the bright side of life, no matter what was thrown his way.

So when I was introduced to the first girl that had ever managed to tie our boy down, I knew she was the one for him. Myeong compliments Changbin's energy completely, whilst simultaneously keeping him on his toes."

Myeong giggles at this, pinching Changbin's cheek, to which he swats at. You feel the tears welling up again, and Hyunjin pats your knee lovingly.

"Myeong is phenomenal. She's beautiful, hilarious, and the perfect person for our Bin. I truly am so thankful for your presence in his life, Myeong. And I know he will treat you like a goddess, because he worships the ground you walk on."

"Stop making me sound so sappy!" Changbin interjects, which you laugh at.

"Right, okay, sorry mate!" Chan laughs, shaking his head. "Anyway, it's obvious they're perfect together. And as sad as it makes me to see us all growing up - like, what the hell, Bin, you're married!"

The crowd chuckles once more as you feel the tears fall.

"I couldn't be happier for our newly weds. You both truly deserve the best of the best. So, before I start to full on bawl my eyes out, let's toast to the happy couple. To Changbin and Myeong!"

Everyone repeats the words, clinking their glasses together and clapping for Chan. He'd always had a way with words, and you genuinely couldn't wait to hear what he came up with whenever you and Hyunjin got married.

"Man, these idiots need to stop making me cry," Hyunjin laughs, clearing the tears away from his eyes. "My face is all puffy now."

"You still look handsome as ever," you grin, mimicking has action and checking your makeup in your phone camera. "God, I just can't get a grip of myself today!"

"Yeah, you two need to wise up," Seungmin teases. "When you guys get married, you probably won't even be able to say your vows over the sound of you both hysterically crying."

You punch him in the shoulder for that one, but you don't get the chance to make an equally as irritating remark back as you're hauled off of your seat and pulled onto the dance floor by Myeong.

The party hits full swing, all of your friend group dancing to the music the DJ was playing without a care in the world. You took it in turns to bust out your best moves, Changbin twerking as Myeong filmed, Jisung hitting the whip and nae nae so furiously he almost pulled a muscle, Felix full on breakdancing until Minho gently pushed him to the ground with a laugh.

For hours you guys stayed like that - taking photos together, drinking your stresses away. It was bliss. Pure, genuine bliss to be dancing and laughing with your friends, Hyunjin by your side. Amidst an argument between Minho and Seungmin about who was the best at doing the moonwalk, Hyunjin gently tugged on your arm and led you outside for a breather.

The hotel sat directly on the waterfront, a gorgeous balcony lining the side of the large room you were all in. It was beautiful, lights shining onto the gently rippling water and the sounds of laughter and happiness echoing from inside.

You were both sweating at this point, out of breath and in stitches from laughing with your friends. He pulls you into his lap as he takes a seat on a bench, you making yourself comfortable in his embrace.

"I think I'm the happiest I've ever been," Hyunjin says quietly, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. You hum in agreement.

"Everything went so perfectly. It's been the best day," you smile down as him, placing a hand to his cheek and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I hope our weddings as lovely."

"You know, you talk a lot about our wedding for someone who is not engaged," Hyunjin laughs, earning himself the daggers from you.

He smiles all the same, thinking about the sparkling diamond ring sitting in a box, hidden away in a secret location back at your guys' apartment. He'd picked it out a week after you'd started officially dating, not a question about it. After FaceTiming Chan a billion times to show him ring after ring, his eyes had landed on the one he ended up choosing and all he saw was you.

He knew you didn't care about how he'd propose, you never did for things like that. Whether it be snuggled up in bed after binging a drama, or at your work office (which you had successfully christened, almost immediately after you'd finished placing your items at your desk. They were subsequently knocked off and Hyunjin did have to replace half of them) - you'd say yes to him in a heartbeat.

But, Hyunjin was a traditional man. He'd ask you after meticulous planning when the time was perfect. He was old fashioned like that. God forbid there wasn't an event of grandeur attached to him placing a ring on your finger to let the world know you were forever his.

"You know what I mean," you mumble, snapping Hyunjin back into the present. Hyunjin chuckles in response, tightening his embrace around you.

"I love you," he says then, making you smile. You place another kiss on his lips, your thumb rubbing circles around his cheek.

"I love you more."

"Factually inaccurate," he says immediately, which you giggle at, knowing it was a competition you'd never win. Hyunjin loved you, you loved him - it was known. Your friends could tease you to their hearts content, but it was obvious they loved the two of you together.

After a series of horrific dates (courtesy of Chan), a fake dating scenario that left your brain in a state of mush, a secret that almost ruined the blossoming romance between the two of you and finally throwing caution to the wind - you had him. You were together, and you'd be damned to ever let him go.

It was always him. And for him, it was always you. Right from the minute he laid eyes on you as a teenager. He could curse Chan a thousand times over for keeping you from him back then, but Hyunjin knew everything worked out the way it was supposed to. He'd never let anything come between the two of you again.

You'd began again, and this was it. The happy forever.

low and behold. After like, two years the final chapter is complete. This story is my baby, the first thing I'd ever written and completed. It started as a story I wrote to occupy my time over a boring summer. It turned into a community of people on tumblr and Wattpad who I cherished interacting with, and who loved this story as much as I did. I read every single comment, and they all make me grin from ear to ear. You lot are fucking funny.

I want to thank you for taking the time to read this, and to anyone who has interacted in a positive way, I adore you. I hope this is a nice ending. I think it is.

Peace and love

#stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #jeongin #lee know #skz #felix lee #han jisung #bang chan #Changbin #seungmin #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fluff #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut

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starrgaziinggg · 21 days

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I’m thinking a one year on update??? These two are my faves 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

no nut november — seungmin (loser #7)

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

tags: no nut november mini series, established long term relationship, domestic bliss, ot8 inclusive, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, matching nicknames, bants, breeding kink!!!, talk about babies/having babies, talk about getting pregnant theoretically, mention of birth control and condoms obvs, mention/use of toys, overstimulation, reference to cum as “dirty”, it gets sickingly sweet at some point in the middle, unprotected sex, kink discussion/negotiation

inspo: let’s just say this is self indulgent.

notes: in my defence i have none. also this is the last nnn from me and it’s been the most fun thing to write! i’m so happy so many of you have been enjoying it and i can’t wait to read the last one!!! mwah!

banner by @sluttywonwoo

{ wc: 5623 }

“So we can’t have sex for a month and then I can take you to that AirBnB your sister recommended,” Seungmin explained. He usually talked about weird things after spending an afternoon with the boys—but this might be a new record.

“I thought you were gonna take me there anyway for New Year’s?” You tilted your head to the side. Seungmin wasn’t one to forget plans you two made.

“I was, I mean—I am,” he corrected quickly, “this way I get to take you twice.”

“You could take me twice without having to play this stupid game,” you offered. He nodded, biting on his lip as he blinked at you—his bangs moving into his eyes.

“You don’t wanna do it? Because I’ll tell them they can go f—“

“—no, I wanna play,” you all but pouted, “if anything it would be funny. I don’t think any of them have dealt with as many tours as us. We’re practically pros at months without sex.”

Seungmin frowned his eyebrows at you, a look between disgust and concern painting his face. However, you weren’t wrong.

You’ve been together for more than two years, the longest in your group of friends and you’ve dealt with a lot of time apart from each other. At first it was hard, and then it got easier, and then it got hard again. But after going through more than three months without seeing your boyfriend in person (twice) you really didn’t even consider one month without sex so big of a challenge. When you explained all that to him, he laughed.

“Yeah, I said to them it can’t be that hard.”

“Well some of them are in their honeymoon phase still, they’re probably going at it like bunnies.”

“Speaking of,” Seungmin said, his face growing serious, “if we lose to Minho I will kill someone.”

“Okay,” you patted his shoulder, “we won’t lose, pups.”

“I don’t care if we do! But just not to him,” he emphasised.

“I’ll remind you of that if you’re ever close to breaking, then,” you nodded dutifully.

“Thanks, bubs,” he said softly, kissing you before he finally pressed play on your nightly Netflix marathon.

One by one Seungmin reported the boys losing. First it was Jisung (which surprised absolutely no one) and then it was Jeongin (which made you sigh in relief that he finally spoke up about his feelings) and then it was Hyunjin.

Just like that, almost two weeks have passed.

You weren’t counting. You only knew it was two weeks because Seungmin came over to help you with the groceries.

You lived alone—or rather, Seungmin lived with you when he was tired of the boys and then went back to them when you were tired of him—and so you didn’t need much in your house. You hadn’t had the chance to do any shopping this week since you mainly ate at work with how busy it was getting closer to the end of the year, and Seungmin finally decided to drag you out when he saw the two week old cartoon of milk still in your fridge.

“I’ll clean the fridge,” he offered since he knew you hated doing it, “and you make the list.”

He pulled the stool in front of the fridge and plopped down, already getting rid of the expired products

“Anything else, boss?” You rolled your eyes at him, but squeezed his shoulder in appreciation nonetheless.

He looked up at you, pursing his lips forward as he scrunched his eyes closed.

You leaned down to kiss him, exaggerating the noises as you rubbed his cheek.

“You’re very cute, pups,” you smiled at him.

“And you’re a slob, bubs,” he countered, showing you the very unappealing looking fruit you left in the drawer.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you brushed him off, sitting on the ground next to him as he worked.

You looked at his concentrated face carefully, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity you got to enjoy with your boyfriend.

“Stop eye-fucking me,” he said simply.

“I was not doing that! I was just enjoying the domesticness,” you argued.

“That is not a word,” he countered without looking away from his task.

“It’s a feeling though,” you shrugged.

He looked over at you, his judgemental eyes staring you down for only a moment before they softened. “So you were having happy thoughts?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Of course it’s allowed,” he giggled, “I just thought you’d start getting horny soon.”

“And why’s that?” You challenged raising your eyebrows.

“Well, it’s usually two weeks after I leave that you start calling me all desperate,” he explains his logic. You chuckle.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, baby,” he starts, fingers raised towards his ear in the shape of a phone as his voice raises up to mimic yours, “I miss you so much, I’m so needy, please Minnie,”

“First of all,” you point at him, “I do not sound like that. And second, do I really need to remind you of the time you sexted me from the airplane to America?”

“That was a different situation,” he shrugged.

“How is me missing you after two weeks worse than you getting on the Mile High club by yourself after like four hours apart?”

“I wasn’t by myself, you were with me,” he explained as he closed the fridge.

“I was on the phone,” you counter.

“You were there in spirit. You’re always with me when I touch my dick.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, aww?”

He giggled, finally standing up and offering his hands to you. “Come on, let’s go.”

Walking through the grocery store was a familiar routine with Seungmin. He’d roll the trolley down the aisles as you’d gather the items around, keeping a slow leisurely pace so you wouldn’t have to rush around him. Occasionally he’d roll by something he wanted and grab at it, easily plopping it into the rest of the pile.

You were glad it was getting cold again, because that meant Seungmin wore one of his many oversized hoodies—grabbing the products between his sweater paws.

More than once you had to halt his stroll just to kiss his lips softly.

“You are getting horny,” he commented after the third time.

“I’m not,” you chuckled at him, “you just look very very cute like this.”

“With a hoodie that’s covered in the smell of your old mouldy food?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Can you never just take a compliment?”

“Can you never just take the loss? You got horny first, admit it,”

“I don’t remember that being part of the bet,” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“It was implied,” he shrugged, pushing the trolley down to the cereal aisle.

You decided to seal the bickering with a small slap on his shoulder, to which he naturally replied with sticking his tongue out to you.

When you stopped next to him to place the cereal in the trolley, he kissed your cheek.

“What else?”

“Shampoo,” you directed him towards the toiletry aisle.

There was a new brand on the shelf, and the bottle looked fancy, so you stood for a few minutes as you debated the now new option with your boyfriend.

He tried to explain to you that all of these were the same anyway, they just smell different, but that was of no interest to you. You had to pick the best shampoo.

Seungmin retired from the debate, using his time to try and catch a new Pokémon on his phone.

He rarely played it, and he wasn’t at all invested in the game like his friends were, but you were taking your time and he didn’t want to be too impatient.

When you finally decided to stick to the brand you always used, Seungmin got back to his slow stroll, absentmindedly grabbing a pack of condoms and throwing it in the pile.

“Why?” You chuckled at him.

“Because we’re out,” he deadpanned.

“And the bet?” You squint your eyes at him.

“Oh, shit,” Seungmin chuckles, “sorry, that was an instinct. We don’t need these.”

He picked up the small red pack, carefully placing it back on the shelf.

“I don’t understand why we need them anyway,” you start casually. It was something you thought about recently, when Seungmin stopped everything you were doing because he couldn’t find any condoms in the dorm. He later blamed Felix for that—but you were honestly just thankful for the early night on that particular occasion.

Still, you felt you’ve been together for a long enough time for that to not matter to him as much as it did.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not like we sleep with other people so I don’t understand why you insist on them so much,” you shrug.

“So, what, I should just get you pregnant then?” He scoffs at you.

You roll your eyes, approaching him with a sigh. You know he knows you take birth control—he’s the one who insisted on having an alarm on his phone too to make sure you don’t forget a day. He knows about your habit of turning off alarms instead of snoozing them.

You also know he knows you didn’t start taking the pills for your sex life but rather to make your periods more regular—but you still thought it might ease his strict view on condoms.

Still, he gave you the perfect opportunity to tease him and so you seize it, in the form of grabbing the front of his hoodie and pouting at him.

“Seungmin, please,” you mock the voice he used before by your fridge, “please put a baby inside me.”

His eyes gap.

“Dumbass,” you push at his shoulders. “You can’t. I’m on birth control and you’re the one who makes sure I never miss one.”

Seungmin remains completely still.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” you ruffle his hair before turning your back to him, making your way down the aisle to look for any beauty products on offer.

Once you leave his vicinity, Seungmin lets out a big breath.

He looks down at his crotch, thankful he wore black jeans today as he could feel himself growing harder and harder the more he repeated your words in his head.

You’ve never said anything like that to him before and the more he thought about it, the more he imagined you saying that while he was fucking you and not in front of a million bottles of shampoo. Then he realised he was leaking in his boxers.

When you ran back to him with a happy skip in your step, showing him the lipstick that was half price he simply smiled at you, nodding wordlessly.

As you cuddled up to him when the pair of you got into bed that night—Seungmin still couldn’t get your voice out of his head. He knew himself well and as much as he wanted to blame his body’s reaction on the fact that he simply didn’t cum for two weeks he knew that wasn’t true. It had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the thought of getting to cum inside you.

He never even considered it before—always going by the very important rule that sex should always involve protection, even if it was with the girl he knew he was going to eventually marry. And even when you told him about your birth control he didn’t consider not using condoms anymore an option. It would be dirty that way, and birth control wasn’t a guarantee, and if anything that just meant that you were using one more method of protection.

But now—his mind didn’t care how dirty it was. All he wanted was to feel you raw.

He wanted to make you beg for his cum, he wanted to make you say that again, tell him to put a baby inside you. Then he wanted to push you more, fuck you so many times your pussy was too full of his cum that he could barely keep his dick inside you.

He was fully hard now.

He groaned silently to himself, willing his brain to stop thinking about this and focus on literally anything else.

At least you were already sleeping—or else you’d be teasing him endlessly about being the one to actually get horny first.

Changbin. Chan. Felix.

“And Minho?” You asked, almost hopefully after Seungmin recalled the traumatic evening of Felix losing.

“No way,” Seungmin clicked his tongue, “that menace is strong.”

You knew from Minho’s girlfriend that they were definitely not having sex—but with barely a week left you wanted him to just break already so Seungmin would go back to normal.

Just like you didn’t expect Felix to last as long as he did, you didn’t expect Seungmin to not even help you cum.

Changbin’s now girlfriend was practically gloating when she retold the story to you at the last game night. All about how “giving” Changbin was before he officially lost.

You also heard from Han’s girlfriend.

It was the only time you hated how close you girls were—having to hear from each one of them how great they were all doing in that department. But it was okay. They’ll all see the Instagram posts from your romantic retreat and that would be your victory.

Still, whenever you asked Seungmin if he could at least touch you he stopped kissing you—saying he knew he wouldn’t control himself if he did that. At first you tried teasing him about it, but it stopped being fun when he simply said no and wouldn’t even tease you back.

There was only one occasion in which he indulged you, sometime before Chan lost, when he walked in on you taking care of the problem by yourself.

“I bought you that dildo for when I’m away, not when I’m in the next room practising,” he tried scolding you, but it wasn’t at all intimidating when his eyes didn’t leave your pussy once.

“Pups, I’m sorry but I’m desperate,” you whined, getting increasingly annoyed at the interruption.

“What about us being in it together? If I can’t cum you shouldn’t be allowed to either,” he tried.

You scoffed.

“You need me,” he added, realising his first argument did not take.

“The only thing I need you for is to make a baby. Other than that I can do everything by myself,” you smiled innocently.

You expected Seungmin to say a variety of things, knowing him so well you practically predicted his retorts before he said them. But you did not expect him to growl at you before he rushed onto the bed, grabbing your chin and kissing you until you couldn’t breath.

At one point he grabbed the dildo from you and fucked you with it until you came more times than you could count.

He made no smug remarks afterwards, just took care of you and then he went for a very long walk.

After that, Seungmin spent most nights at the dorm.

November 30th

You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend as he entered your apartment, bringing the cold air in with him.

“Pups, your face is freezing!” You yelped, before bringing your hands onto his cheeks to warm him up.

Seungmin showed his gratitude by trying to lick your hands.

You kicked his leg lightly before you ushered him inside, sitting him down on the couch.

“Order what you want,” you told him, handing over your phone as you brought your blanket out into the living room.

You didn’t even need to verbalise Seungmin was staying over tonight. You both knew as soon as the clock hit midnight (five hours to go) he would take you for as long and as hard as he could—just like he did whenever he’d come back home after a long time apart.

So until then you’d watch a movie, and maybe talk a bit, and maybe kiss until it was time.

“Done,” he said as the food order was confirmed.

“Oh! I’ll be right back!” You clapped enthusiastically, retreating to your room to grab the very important item still in your possession.

Seungmin squinted his eyes at you when he noticed you were hiding something behind your back—while failing to hide the grin on your face.

When you sat down beside him, grin unstoppable, you eagerly handed him the laminated coupon you saved for this very moment.

One Seungmin Serenade - to be redeemed monthly (T&Cs apply)

Said T&Cs were written on the back in Seungmin’s handwriting, such as “bubs cannot record them” and “don’t ask the same song twice” and “i’m not learning a new song for you” and “if you ask for one after redeeming this then you get no serenades at all don’t test me” and “one (1) additional coupon available on your birthday because i’m nice and unfortunately i love you”.

Seungmin groaned when he saw the ticket, grabbing it from your hands quickly.

“I was really hoping you forgot about it this month,”

“No, I was saving it for this very day,” you grinned.

“I hate that you laminated it,” he shook his head, “you’re a dork.”

“Perhaps,” you shrugged, “but you’re contractually obliged to sing for this dork.”

“You don’t look like PD nim to me,” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Pups,” you said, as seriously as you could master, “this was your idea.”

“I thought it was stupid enough for you to not agree,” he defended.

“Then you underestimated just how far I’ll go to hear you sing.”

“Let me introduce you to an amazing app,” he said, pulling his phone out and tapping around it, “its called Spotify and if you search Stray K—“

“Kim Seungmin!”

His mouth gapped lightly.

“Not my legal name,” he muttered as he turned the coupon around in his hand.

“As the girlfriend I shouldn’t even have to use your dorky coupon idea and you should sing me to sleep every night—“

“—doesn’t work that way—“

“—you did that when we started dating,” you protested.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “to get in your pants. And after that worked I no longer need to do it every night.”

You slapped his chest, laughing as you said, “do you wanna go another full month, Kim Seungmin?”

“Why are you full naming me?”

“Honour my coupon!” You shoved at his shoulders, biting back your smile as Seungmin’s own smile took over his face.

“Okay, okay,” he grabbed your hands, stopping you from shaking him any longer, “pick your song.”

“Ghost,” you smirked.

“Ahh,” he pointed his finger at you, smirking right back, “you picked that in August so you can’t pick it again.”

“But I have this,” you raised your eyebrows for a moment, revealing one more coupon.

Free Pass - allows bubs to break a rule

“You can’t just make your own free pass!” He scoffed.

“Turn it over,” you all but wink.

Free Pass - allows pups to ask for anything

“Anything?” He blinked at you. “Like, sexual or..?”

“It can be sexual, if I’m comfortable with it,” you nod.

“No, yeah, of course.” Seungmin stared at the card, chuckling lightly when he sees the heart above the i.

“I can use it tonight?” You nod. “Okay. Then Ghost.”

Seungmin opens his phone, finding a karaoke video of the song. You place your head on his lap, like it always is when he sings to you, and close your eyes.

His voice surrounds you, his fingers in your hair, his stomach moving against your head as he takes in deep breathes before the higher notes.

When the song is over and the silence takes over the room again you lift your head up from his lap, wordlessly climbing into it as you wrap your arms around him.

His voice always makes you emotional, especially when he sings only for you, so he’s used to the Koala like hold you have on him once he’s done singing.

He simply rubs your back, indulging in the feeling of you so close as you calm down.

He isn’t used to what you say next.

“Pups?”

“Mhm?”

“When we have a baby will you sing them to sleep every night?”

He coughs. “Not every night. I’m not a wind up monkey.”

Good cover, he thinks to himself, but it’s taking every muscle in his body to calm his heart from how fast it’s beating.

“I’ll give you a baby and you can’t sing the poor thing to sleep?”

Focus.

“I think I need to give you a baby first,” he chuckled, swallowing as soon as the words leave his mouth. Wrong this to say, he knows, because now his dick is very interested in the conversation.

You notice instantly.

“Sorry, am I too close?” You offer, lifting one of your legs up to climb off his lap. Seungmin stops you quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“There’s only a few hours left, pups,” you smile, kissing his jaw softly.

“We’ll eat and then watch whatever you want and then officially win this bet,” he smiles back, rubbing his thumbs against your hips, “sounds good, bubs?”

You nod.

“Then we can start working on that baby you won’t sing for,” you roll your eyes dramatically—just in case your boyfriend doesn’t get that you’re joking.

“W-what?” Seungmin swallows, his mouth completely dry now and he doesn’t think it’s from the singing.

“I was joking,” you say quickly. “I’m still on birth control.”

“Yes, I know you’re on birth control, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“Not my legal name,” you mock him.

He squeezes your hips as he looks down between your bodies, trying his hardest not to roll you against him.

“Can we, uh, I wanna,” he huffs, “let me tell you what I wanna use my pass for now just in case you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Okay,” you let the subject change slide.

Until you realise it’s not a subject change at all.

“Since when do you have a breeding kink?” You ask him once he tells you what it is he wants.

“It’s not a breeding kink,” he shakes his head at you.

“Pups, you want me to beg you for a baby while having sex. That is literally the definition.”

“I don’t want a baby now, I just wanna fuck you raw,” he tried to downplay it, he isn’t even sure why. Seungmin knows you aren’t judging him, you never do, but he never wanted something so badly before—and you saying no might actually drive him crazy. He wants to be gentle about this.

“Fine then be more specific,” you try, “do you just want to try it with no condom or do you actually want me to say the words?”

“The words,” he confesses slowly.

“And what words exactly?” You try, wanting to make sure you get his wish right. “Is it just ‘put a baby in me’ or is it like ‘I want your cum’ or something different like ‘paint my cunt’—“

“—shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he groans loudly, lifting his hips off the couch eagerly as his head falls back. He squeezed the top of your thighs incredibly tight.

“Right. So all of the above,” you note with a nod.

Just as Seungmin is certain he’s going to drag your body against his cock the doorbell rings, making you lift off him easily as you grab the food from the delivery man.

You calmly grab the food out the bags, grabbing plates and cutlery as you distribute the food between the plates.

Seungmin gets up from the couch and walks straight towards you.

“You’ll get the food in a sec, pups,” you chuckle at him.

Seungmin grabs your hands, halting your movements as he takes a step closer to you.

“Can we eat later?”

“Like, after the movie?” You blink at him.

“No,” he says, eyes dark and focused on you. It sends a chill down your legs. “After I fuck a baby into you.”

“Minnie,” you sigh, unable to ignore the way you felt his words deep in your core, “it’s almost nine. Do you really wanna lose so close to the end?”

“I don’t care,” he starts, grabbing your chin and tilting it upwards, allowing him to plant open kisses on your skin.

“But Minho—“

“—don’t care,” he mumbles into your skin.

“You specifically told me to remind you how you don’t wanna lose to him,” you try, although you aren’t sure what you’re fighting for anymore.

Sure it was Seungmin’s idea, but the thought of him fucking you raw was really fucking hot—and seeing him getting extremely desperate over it was enough to make your panties stick to your body with the wetness now coating them. It didn’t help that you last had sex thirty one days ago.

Still, were you really going to let him give up with so little time left?

“And now I’m specifically telling you to take your clothes off and let me.. what was it… paint your cunt.”

Yeah. You were going to let him give up with so little time left.

You crash your lips into his, swallowing both your moans into the kiss as the pair of you manoeuvre around your flat until you find the bedroom.

It doesn’t matter that you crash into a wall once or twice, or that Seungmin practically jams the doorknob into your back, because soon enough you fall onto the bed with him on top of you, pulling your clothes off like you’re the first sign of water he’s seen after a month in the desert.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you keep kissing—teeth clashing against his braces.

“Ow, fuck,” you groaned, pushing at his shoulders.

Seungmin understood what you needed, lifting himself up by his forearms.

“Let’s slow down for like two seconds,” you sighed, breathing in deeply. He nods, kissing your cheek softly before he takes a moment to catch his breath as well.

You look over at the clock behind him. 21:24.

“Are you sure?” You ask one more time.

“Ask me again and you don’t get to cum tonight at all,” Seungmin said, far too simply.

You groaned.

“Fine, but if I hear you bitch about losing to him once—“

“—mention Minho again and the same applies,” he dips his head between your breasts, wasting no time as he wraps his lips around your nipple. You whine softly, bringing your hands around his neck as you trail your nails up into his hair.

He hums against your bud before he pulls away with a small pop, trailing kisses down your stomach.

“Minnie, skip the fucking foreplay and just fuck me,” you groan. He looks up at you with a smirk but says nothing, instead pulling down his boxers.

You reach out for his dick, wrapping your hand around it and you both moan at the feeling. He’s heavy in your hand, and so warm, and you instantly pull him closer to you, aligning the tip with your entrance.

“You’re fucking eager,” he comments, having the audacity to tease you when you both know he’s the one who lost his patience.

You can’t even think of a rebuttal as he sinks all the way inside you.

You both breath heavily as you adjust to the familiar stretch, Seungmin’s eyes scrunched shut. You know better than to say anything, already feeling him twitch against your walls.

After a few moments he starts moving, much slower than you’d like, eyes still shut.

“This won’t be impressive,” he warns you, already losing his rhythm as his jaw clenchs visibly.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say softly, rubbing his shoulder, “we’ll use the vibe later if you need. Just want you to cum inside me first.”

“Don’t—“ he groans loudly, “—don’t fucking say that or I will seriously cum right now.”

“I won’t judge you for that at all,” you say sweetly, kissing his jaw as he moves closer to you, “this is the first time you’ve felt my cunt raw, Minnie, it’s okay if you lose your mind over how good it feels.”

“Your cunt feels so good like this,” he moans loudly, “so fucking warm.”

You moan at his praise. “Imagine how warm it’ll feel with your cum coating my walls.”

And that’s all it takes for him to groan loudly, pushing in impossibly deeper as you feel his dick twitching inside you—the warm feeling settling deep inside your stomach as he cums.

It’s a lot, his orgasm crashing into him so quickly, and he all but crashes on top of you, his dick still buried inside you.

You kiss his forehead as he calms down, his breath fanning against your chest.

As soon as it starts to even out you open your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you didn’t mind how fast that was, but a yelp replaces whatever words you came up with when Seungmin shoots up and reaches for the drawer in your nightstand.

He easily pulls out your favourite vibe—the one he bought you for your first Valentine’s Day as a couple—and with no warning he presses the toy against your clit.

He’s still inside you and with the vibrations against you, your moans leave you without you even noticing. Soon, Seungmin starts thrusting into you again slowly.

“There you go, beautiful,” he says, eyes fixed on the toy, “gonna let me fuck my cum deeper into you?”

“Fuck, Minnie,” you whine, “baby, please.”

He chuckles cockily, his confidence always skyrockets when he hears you beg for him. He flicks his wrist, moving the vibe from side to side quickly as he slows down his thrusts.

His cock reaches deep inside you, nudging against your most sensitive spot, your wetness and his allowing him to slip in and out so incredibly easily. When he leans down to suck on your collarbone you whine out.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you start chanting, so he turns the setting up on the vibrator—grinning as you all but scream in response.

“Go on, my love, I got you,” he encourages, and with one final deep thrust your walls clench around him tightly.

Seungmin doesn’t pull out, nor does he move the vibrator away from your clit, and after your second orgasm in a row you let out a strangled moan from the overstimulation.

“Off, off, off,” you squirmed, causing your boyfriend to quickly move the toy away from you and turn it off.

Everything around you is sticky and sweaty and wet—the mess between your thighs started to leak a long time ago, pooling on the sheets.

Seungmin planted kisses on your temple, slowly, giving you the time you needed to calm down from the pleasure.

The aftershock of two orgasms made your walls practically flutter, clenching around Seungmin a few times. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he sighed deeply.

“Bubs, you have no fucking idea how good this feels,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Yeah,” you sigh, running your fingers up and down his back soothingly. “It’s a little weird, but it’s also really hot that I can feel it inside me.”

“Yeah,” he kisses your neck. “Wanna keep going?”

You decided whatever Seungmin asked for you’d give him. You decided that the night you realised you loved him, but you decided that all over again when he kept asking if you could keep going—insisting on making you cum at least twice after each one of his, growing fascinated by the way his cum would spill out of your cunt as you came down from your high.

After the fourth round, Seungmin finally tapped out.

He crashed on his back, hand tangled around your shoulders as he filled his lungs with as much air as he could get.

“Holy shit, Minnie,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Holy shit indeed,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s the best sex we ever had.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you laugh.

You use the very little strength you have to reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

The silence takes over the room when even your breathing becomes quieter—so quiet, in fact, that Seungmin knows you’ve fallen asleep.

“Hey, hey!” He shook your intertwined hands. “Wake up!”

“No,” you mumbled back.

“We have to shower after all that, bubs, wake up.”

“No,” you whined, “sleep.”

“Bubs, there’s cum everywhere. We need to change the sheets and clean you out and drink,” he reminded you, squeezing your hand. He leaned over, carefully, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Eventually you listen to your boyfriend and get up, cleaning yourself and the bed and finally eating the food you ordered. Your hand never leaves his, locked together tightly, as that is the one thing Seungmin asked for as his aftercare and you always made sure to give him exactly that.

When you finally get back into your clean bed—sometime before four in the morning—Seungmin mumbled angrily to himself.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow and that smug asshole can get his stupid win,” he seethes.

“Okay, puppy,” you chuckle at him. The only thing you could think about was the pleasure still tingling around your body, how you’ve known each other for so long and somehow he still managed to surprise you tonight with his stamina, about how hot that all was. But Seungmin was still thinking about the competition.

He kissed your lips sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thanks for trying that out with me.”

“It was incredible, baby,” you grinned at him, “thanks for getting so horny over the thought of it all.”

Seungmin groaned in response.

When Seungmin woke up around midday he reached for his phone, checking the time. And maybe a part of him was relieved to finally see December on that date.

There were a few notifications waiting for his attention, but he opened the group chat first.

He sighed heavily when he read over Chan’s text that came in at six in the morning, knowing he sent it before he went to sleep and definitely not because he woke up early.

Bang Chan: so who won?

5K notes · View notes

starrgaziinggg · 23 days

Text

LOVE LOVE LOVE NEW FAVE HYUN FIC

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“Ugh, I learned too much about you that day.”

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. It’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at your face at the same time.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his final paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kyeyoung Kim «[email protected]» To: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his final paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says, Hwang?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.

“No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie, Hwang Hyunjin? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me right now?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied to his email within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest. You’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up without putting down his Americano. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I relinquish my rights” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Hello—who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.”

The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.

“You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class��I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.

“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets was made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.

“I tried! Someone distracted me.”

“Read it before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.”

“Sounds about right.”

He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

“Your role model?”

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs that my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”

You think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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