supi-wupi

[supi-wupi]

Can’t believe your mine - Seungkwan

pairing: seungkwan x reader synopsis: Seungkwan has been your best friend since forever. In love with you since forever too. Everyone else sees it. But you don’t — until he sings your favorite song, but with your name in it. wc: 2.5k genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Fluff, warning: Established Relationship (eventually), Slowburn (implied history), SEVENTEEN Being SEVENTEEN, Fake FBI Surveillance Energy, Love Confessions via Shared Notes, Joshua is a Secret Softie, No Real Plot Just Vibes a/n: idk why, but yall have probably noticed that i put like case file/letters in all my fics… its not an obsession… its my trademark…

Seungkwan has been your best friend since you were eight, and cried in the hallway because someone made fun of your mushroom haircut. He gave you half his kimbap and told you your hair looked like a very cool helmet, and you decided right then he was your favorite person in the world.

He still is.

Some things never change. Like how he always texts you when he finds a new iced coffee spot, even if it’s 10 p.m and you’re already in bed. Like how he knows your favorite karaoke songs and never complains when you sing them off-key. Like how he always buys two of everything — “just in case you show up,” he says, even though you always do.

Everyone sees it. Sees the way his gaze softens when you’re laughing too hard to breathe. The way he always positions himself between you and a crowded street. The way he sings every birthday song like he’s auditioning for a musical, just to make you smile.

Everyone sees it — except you.

Until your birthday.

You’d had plans with your other friends, who ended up bailing last-minute, citing rain and traffic and general life exhaustion. You’d shrugged it off, said it was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal.

But it kind of was. You don’t like making a fuss, but birthdays still meant something. Especially when you’d secretly hoped someone — maybe him — would do something small and sweet and just for you.

So when you open the door that night to find Seungkwan standing there with a paper bag, soaked hoodie, and the biggest grin, you’re already blinking back something suspicious behind your eyes.

“I brought seaweed soup,” he announces, pushing past you like he owns the place. “Because I’m Korean and sentimental, and also, you looked sad on your story earlier, don’t lie.”

“You saw that?”

“I have notifications on,” he says, like it’s normal. “For emergencies. Or cute selfies. Same thing.”

You laugh while closing the door, heart squeezing in that familiar way it always does around him. He’s already setting out food, rambling about how he had to beg an auntie to let him cut the line because “my best friend’s birthday is today, and I will cry in your shop if you don’t let me through.”

“Did you really say that?” you ask.

“Ask the lady. She said I was dramatic but let me in. I think she was scared of me.”

Later, after the soup, after the tiny cake he baked himself (“Don’t ask how it tastes — just love me for the effort”), after the candles and laughter and a very bad game of charades, he clears his throat.

And that’s when you know something’s up.

Because Seungkwan is always performing, always loud and theatrical and effortlessly funny — but when he’s serious, he gets quiet. Still.

He grabs his phone, clicks something, then sets it down between you.

“Play,” he says.

You do.

Music filters through the speakers — soft, acoustic, gentle. And then his voice, warm like sunlight, starts to sing. It’s your favorite song. The one you always make him do at karaoke, even if he says the key is weird. The one that makes you tear up when you’re tipsy.

But the lyrics are… different.

Because now your name is in it.

Over and over again, like a love letter he never dared to send.

You stare at him. “Is this a joke?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not this time.”

The room is quiet except for his voice echoing through the speakers, weaving your name into each line like it was always meant to be there. You’re not sure when the shift happens — when the realization finally hits — but suddenly everything clicks.

Every late-night call.

Every gentle scolding.

Every saved seat, every shared umbrella, every second he made you feel like you mattered more than anyone else.

It was always there.

You just didn’t see it.

“Seungkwan…”

He bites his lip. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. That I’ve been yours. For a long time.”

You don’t reply right away. You just reach across the space between you, take his hand, and place it over your chest — right where your heart’s beating so fast it hurts.

—

That night, you fall asleep on the couch with his hoodie around your shoulders and his hand still wrapped in yours.

In the quiet, you hear him murmur — maybe thinking you’re asleep — soft and awestruck:

“Can’t believe you’re mine.”

And neither can you.

But you are.

And maybe… you always were.

—

Three days after Seungkwan sang your name into a song and into your heart, he tells you he wants to tell the others.

“Are you sure?” you ask, because dating your best friend is one thing — letting thirteen grown men descend upon the news like seagulls on a french fry is another.

“I’ve waited years to call you mine,” he says, tying his shoes with a grin so wide you can’t even tease him for how dramatic he sounds. “I want the whole world to know. But I’ll start with the hyungs.”

Which, in hindsight, may have been the mistake.

Because Seungkwan doesn’t just tell them.

No.

He makes a PowerPoint.

—

The next day, you’re sitting in their dorm’s living room, sipping iced tea while Vernon casually browses TikTok on one side and Mingyu attempts to peel a mango with a butter knife on the other. It’s peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Until Seungkwan clears his throat — loudly — and sets up a laptop to the TV.

“Everyone. Eyes front.”

Minghao sighs. “Is this about recycling again?”

“No,” Seungkwan says with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s about my heart.”

You shoot him a look. “Seungkwan—”

“Shh. I’m thriving.”

He clicks the remote.

Slide 1: “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told: Boo Seungkwan & [Y/N]”

Groans erupt. Soonyoung starts clapping. Jeonghan sits up like he just got handed blackmail. Joshua bites back a laugh and says, “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan declares proudly. “It’s real. We’re dating.”

Mingyu drops his mango.

“You’re—what?” Woozi blinks. “Since when?”

“Since I sang to her,” Seungkwan says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Slide 2: Timeline of Pining: A Tragedy (2008 – The Present)

You bury your face in your hands as he clicks through annotated photos, including one from middle school where you’re holding a juice box and he’s staring at you like you hung the moon.

“Bro,” Dino whispers. “You’ve been down bad.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says, clearly proud.

The slides continue:

Slide 4: Signs She Was Also in Love With Me but Didn’t Know It Yet

Laughed at all my jokes

Shared her fries

Let me win at Mario Kart that one time in 2017

Gave me the biggest slice of cake

“Very convincing,” Jun deadpans.

Slide 6: Proof of Current Status It’s a selfie. You and Seungkwan curled up on your couch, his cheek squished against yours, both smiling so big it hurts to look at.

You peek at him. He’s not even nervous. Just glowing. Like the moment he gets to love you out loud is one he’s rehearsed forever.

“Well…” Jeonghan finally says. “Took you long enough.”

The room explodes.

Everyone talks at once.

“You guys are so annoying,” Vernon says — but he’s smiling.

“Wait, do I owe DK money?” Mingyu groans. “I thought you’d confess in the fall.”

“Soonyoung, pay up!” DK yells from the kitchen.

“Honestly,” Woozi mutters, “this explains so much.”

You’re laughing now, cheeks sore, heart full, as the chaos swells around you.

But then Seungkwan stands again, raising his hand like a conductor calling an encore.

“One last slide.”

Slide 8: Thank You for Supporting Our Love. Then, in tiny font: Yes, you still have to deal with us on karaoke night.

—

Later, when the slides are done and Mingyu’s back to ruining another mango, you’re leaning against Seungkwan’s shoulder, both of you quietly watching the others argue about who gets to be the flower boy at your future wedding.

“They took it well,” you murmur.

“Told you,” he says, smug.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You made a PowerPoint.”

“And you’re still dating me. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes — but only a little.

Because he’s right.

You both won.

—

“The Shared Note (and the Receipts)” feat. BooSeungkwan x You, and Joshua: Keeper of Secrets™

A few days after the big PowerPoint reveal, you and Seungkwan drop by the studio to bring lunch.

It’s supposed to be quick.

Just bibimbap, banter, and maybe bullying Woozi into taking a break.

But when Joshua walks in, grinning like he knows something — something more — you realize nothing is ever “just” with SEVENTEEN.

“I have something to show you,” he says, sliding into the seat beside Seungkwan with his phone already out.

“I swear if this is another fan edit of us that you bookmarked—” Seungkwan starts.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “This is better than a fan edit.”

He opens the Notes app.

At the top is a title that makes your stomach drop:

“Things That Prove Seungkwan and [Y/N] Are Definitely in Love (They Just Don’t Know It Yet)”

Last updated: 3 days ago.

You and Seungkwan: “…”

Joshua: “I started it in 2019.”

—

Selected Excerpts from Joshua’s Note (now shared with all thirteen members)

[Feb 17, 2019] Y/N gave Seungkwan the last honey butter chip. The last one. She loves those. They made eye contact. He tried to say “thanks” and choked on his own breath.

[June 2, 2019] Seungkwan’s voice cracked mid-rehearsal. Y/N immediately handed him a honey-lemon candy before he even asked. She said, “I always carry extras for you.” Okay, wife???

[Oct 14, 2020] They sat on opposite ends of the couch and STILL managed to be the only ones who got tangled in the blanket. Suspicious.

[March 25, 2021] During game night, Y/N guessed what Seungkwan was thinking without him giving any clues. She just said, “The pink dolphin from Jeju, right?” and he nodded like she read his soul. Wtf.

[Dec 31, 2021] Countdown to New Year’s. Everyone was screaming. I saw Seungkwan look at her first.

[June 5, 2022] I caught them arguing about who cares more about the other. Like. Out loud. In public. Minghao almost left the building.

[Aug 18, 2022] Y/N sang “As It Was” while organizing lyric drafts. Seungkwan sat there staring like she was performing on the MAMA stage. I asked what he was doing. He said, “Having a moment.” Bro???

[Feb 14, 2023] Valentine’s Day. Neither of them had plans. Both “accidentally” ended up at my movie night. Sat way too close. Shared popcorn. Didn’t even notice when Jeonghan fake-coughed ten times.

[Oct 9, 2023] DK asked if they were dating. They both said no — but neither of them looked at each other. They looked straight ahead like hostages.

[Jan 2, 2024] Y/N fixed Seungkwan’s collar before an interview. He looked at her like she gave him CPR.

[May 25, 2025] THEY. ARE. TOGETHER. Boo Seungkwan finally made a move. I was RIGHT.

—

You’re speechless.

Seungkwan is squinting at the screen like it personally offended him.

“Wait,” he says, “how did I not know you were tracking us like a detective?”

Joshua just smiles, serene. “You think I run this group on vibes?”

“Actually, yes,” you mumble, stunned.

“But this… this is organized,” Seungkwan mutters.

“It was necessary,” Joshua says, sipping his coffee. “One of you was gonna need it eventually.”

He locks eyes with you.

“I just figured… when the day came, you’d want to remember how it started.”

You glance down at the note again — all those little dates and details, things you didn’t even realize were special until now.

And somehow, you feel like you’re seeing your love story from the outside for the first time.

Seungkwan quietly reaches for your hand under the table.

And you squeeze it.

“Thanks, Shuji,” you whisper.

Joshua nods, ever cool. “I’ll add today’s entry too.”

“What—why?” Seungkwan asks.

Joshua types something.

[May 28, 2025] Showed them the note. They held hands under the table. Seungkwan cried. (He will deny it.)

“Delete that!” Seungkwan shrieks, lunging for the phone.

Joshua’s already backing away, cackling. “Too late. Synced to the cloud.”

—

“The Shared Note: Member Addendums (a.k.a. SEVENTEEN’s FBI Files on You Two)”

[Titled by: Jeonghan, Edited by: DK, Verified by: Dino, Denied by: Seungkwan]

Document Status: NEVER GETTING DELETED Last Edited: Literally Just Now

JEONGHAN'S ENTRY

[July 7, 2020] I asked Seungkwan if he was jealous of Y/N talking to Mingyu too much. He turned to me and went, “Why would I be jealous? I’m not—what? I’m fine.” Then I caught him three minutes later watching them from behind a plant. Like. A plant.

Verdict: Denial. Classic. Would’ve bet my skincare stash on this ship.

—

MINGYU’S ENTRY

[Nov 12, 2021] I spilled gochujang on my hoodie. Y/N helped me clean it up. Seungkwan saw it and immediately asked if she does that for all of us. I said yes. She said no. He smiled. Then gave me the stink eye for 2 hours.

Verdict: Boo Boo’s down bad.

—

HOSHI’S ENTRY

[March 3, 2022] They were bickering in the practice room and I was like “KISS ALREADY!” They stopped. Stared at me. Then kept arguing. But like… quieter. Like shy arguing. Romantic arguing.

Verdict: That was foreplay, Your Honor.

—

JUN’S ENTRY

[Aug 15, 2022] I caught them sharing earphones backstage. They weren’t even listening to music. The playlist was paused. They just… sat there. Pretending. Looking like a drama teaser.

Verdict: That’s not Spotify. That’s love.

—

DK’S ENTRY

[Dec 25, 2022] Christmas party. Everyone opened their Secret Santa gifts. Seungkwan got a hot water bottle with a corgi print. He said, “Only Y/N would know I love this.” Y/N wasn’t even his Santa.It was me. Y/N just told me what to buy.

Verdict: He’s so whipped it’s actually inspiring.

—

WONWOO’S ENTRY

[Feb 10, 2023] During movie night, Seungkwan laughed before the punchline of the joke. Everyone stared. He muttered, “Y/N always laughs here.” He memorized her laugh timing????

Verdict: Creepy? Maybe. Romantic? Definitely.

—

WOOZI’S ENTRY

[April 1, 2023] I made them listen to a demo. Y/N cried. Seungkwan cried harder.Then Y/N said, “I just felt it.” And Seungkwan said, “Me too. For you.” They forgot I was in the room. I’m pretty sure I ghost-wrote their love confession.

Verdict: I’m charging royalties.

—

VERNON’S ENTRY

[June 30, 2023] They weren’t even touching but somehow their knees found each other under the table. Like… magnetic knees. Quantum entanglement. Knee soulmate physics. Idk man.

Verdict: They’re soft. I respect it.

—

DINO’S ENTRY

[Nov 11, 2023] Y/N once tripped over my charger. Seungkwan gasped like she got stabbed. Immediately blamed ME. Said, “How dare you sabotage the light of my life.” …She didn’t even fall. She caught herself.

Verdict: Simp behavior. Peak performance. I strive for this.

—

JOSHUA'S FINAL ADDENDUM

[May 29, 2025] Let the record show: Today, every member added their receipts. Seungkwan tried to hack the note to delete all evidence. He failed. Y/N laughed so hard she cried. He kissed her to shut her up. We all saw it. Hoshi screamed.

Verdict: Case closed. Love won. Jeonghan still owes me ₩50,000.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

🎸 tour date | ft. lee jihoon

PREVIEW. The limelight is yours—you’ve been itching for it ever since your debut only six months ago, and your pathway to stardom is a straight-shot after being recruited to be the opener for the world-famous rock band CH33RS. This a hundred day tour is sure to bring you the fame you know you’re deserving of, especially after the announcement of your upcoming debut album. The only catch? WOOZI, lead singer of CH33RS, seems to hate you.

FEATURING. rockstar!lee jihoon x risingstar!reader GENRE(S). drama, angst, fluff, smut (mdni.) LENGTH | WC. <3.5 hrs | 27.5k (PHEW) TAGS | EXPLICITS. cursing, miscommunication, not really e2l more like they just get off on the wrong foot, lots & lots of tension, mentions of drug use, mentions of alcohol use, reader suffers from anxiety, mistreatment of idols by staff, mentions of needles from piercings (belly button, lobe, eyebrow, nose), descriptions of violence, frieren spoilers (!!!) | dom!ljh, sub!r, oral (r), fingering (r), finger sucking, reader has breasts, one (1) pussy slap, riding, doggy style, unprotected sex (pls be careful y'all…), sir kink, nicknames (ljh calls r pretty, baby)

JAY’S MUSINGS. FOR YUKI'S 100 MILESTONE COLLAB! i had an absolute BLAST getting to meet so many new ppl thru this collab & am excited to read through everyone else's work! additional warning: this is the craziest, longest projection I’ve ever done onto the mc for a fic. pls don't perceive me too hard. this is ALSO my smut debut (つ﹏<。)… I fear they get hella freaky. once again, pls don’t perceive me too hard. BIG BIG thank you to calli & hershey (@hhaechansmoless & @junplusone), my loves, for seeing me through this. (those sprints were insane btw. u guys rock. love u eternally.)

LISTEN TO THE SETLIST HERE! (🎧) fan favorites include california & he gets me so high by beabadoobee, r u mine, snap out of it, do i wanna know?, & 505 by arctic monkeys.

📍 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

The photoshoot set is loud—too loud, if anyone were to ask you.

No one does, of course. Your make-up artist instead squeezes another shot of red cherry lip stain to your already plumped lips, batting her eyelashes and gushing over how your eyes are being complimented just right. Behind you, a photographer with a neon green mohawk mutters to themselves that you’re wearing too few layers for what’s supposed to be a corporate setting, but they’re shushed by the stylist who starts to preach about rebellion against a capitalistic and patriarchal society. There’s a flashing show of cameras going on up front where the office setting is, dulled-out office furniture turned over and papers scattered everywhere, with the camera staff making their final adjustments to the illumination.

The light hurts your head. You kind of want to take a Tylenol and pass out.

Just when the make-up artist begins to babble on about some sort of skin care routine to take care of the acne scars on your cheeks, your savior shows up.

Joshua.

“Oh, thank fuck that you’re here,” you sigh, pushing the staff member off of you in a barely professional manner. “Are we starting soon? It’s been like, two hours now.”

Your manager has the nerve to raise an eyebrow like he’s not the one causing you to be put through overstimulating torture. “Weren’t you the one begging to have a shoot with Rolling Stone? I went through hell trying to get you this gig.”

Tugging on the garter for one of your fishnet sleeves, you begin to fix your outfit from the horrors of prolonged sitting time, readjusting the tiers of silver jewelry around your neck. Joshua waits for you patiently, holding out a bottle of water that you gratefully chug down once you’re done.

“Look, this photoshoot is going to be good for you, you know. You need the exposure, especially with your upcoming debut album and tour.”

“Upcoming debut album and opener for a tour,” you sourly correct. “Instead of going on my own world tour, I get to be the background music to a merch line full of idiots who are probably high out of their minds, waiting for the main performance.”

You can tell when Joshua’s patience wears thin. He does this thing where his left eyebrow twitches in an attempt to stop his face from twisting into a scowl, and sometimes he’ll even pinch the bridge of his stupidly perfectly bridged nose with his index finger and thumb, rubbing it like a lucky charm.

The man sighs and surprisingly regains composure before speaking. “You’re still a rising star, Sairen. Rising doesn’t mean world-renowned. Rising means just starting out. We’ve had this conversation before.”

Your body involuntarily stiffens at the mention of your stage name. Sairen. A classic take on the seducing mythological creature that lures sailors to their death with an irresistible voice. When signing with the label PHOENIX, they insisted you use a stage name to increase your appeal to the target audience.

A persona raging with lustful eyes and dripping in confidence would make sales rocket, they praised, holding their breaths as they listened to your first playback. Embrace this mask on stage—it’ll give you the courage you need to score big.

But I’m already scoring big as I am right now, you wanted to argue.

Of course, your signature ended up neatly scribbled onto the contract anyway.

It wasn’t like you hated performing—no, you lived for the stage. Memories of your first live performance seep into your mind, the crowd’s energy shaking you to the core. Hearing people scream the lyrics to a song you wrote from the depths of your heart, and knowing they related tenfold to your words meant more to you than anything else in the world. From handmade bracelets to thank-you notes thrown on stage, you swore to continue giving back to your community. Your fans were one of the only things holding you together.

Because the constant hiding from on-slaughtering paparazzi? The diets your staff started to put you on, claiming they would help you lose weight? The fake interviewers with their fake smiles and even faker compliments?

You were tired of it—too tired of it, if anyone asked you.

But once again, no one does, and with only one more moment of hesitation does Joshua usher you to the front of the set.

📍 BUSAN, KOREA

Lee Jihoon can barely believe his ears.

“Sairen? You’re telling me Jeonghan got Sairen onboard for our tour?”

Soonyoung’s nodding so hard one would think he’s headbanging into another universe. The two of them were currently at a low-lit diner, enjoying kal-guksu over a shared beer.

“Yeah! Apparently he’s friends with their manager. They go way back or something, and he owed ‘em.” Soonyoung slurps a spoonful of noodles into his mouth. “Dude, this is huge. We’ve never had an opener who was this big before.”

“That’s because we’ve never had an opener, Soonyoung.” Jihoon raises an eyebrow at his friend’s antics and takes a sip of beer. The alcohol is bitter and tastes cheap on his tongue. “This is our first time going on a tour big enough to have one.”

“Oh. Right.”

The lead singer sighs and, in a bad habit of poor table manners, swirls his chopsticks around mindlessly.

Sairen. The indie rockstar was barely his age, but they were already reaching fame he could only have wished for back then. Jihoon remembers the restless nights waiting in anticipation for CH33RS’ album drop; he remembers the blood, sweat, and tears poured into the debut of the decade, and how the three of them had pushed themselves to limits they didn’t even know they had. He wonders how Sairen managed to do it—on their own, nonetheless—and with what will.

Letting out a low whistle, Jihoon kicks back his feet on the booth’s seat, right next to Soonyoung. The drummer makes a whine of protest before reluctantly obliging, scooting over so Jihoon’s clunky boots have more room.

“This Sairen,” Jihoon picks at his nails, “They’re pretty good, from what I’ve heard. But they don’t exactly fit our concept that much.”

Soonyoung scoffs, pointing his chopsticks at his bandmate accusingly. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you like their style. You wanna copy, don’t you?”

He tsks. Jihoon’s never been one for being read, especially by someone like Soonyoung.

It’s true; Sairen’s sound is unique and, like their stage name suggests, utterly captivating. He still doesn’t understand how they’re able to hit those haunting, spine-chilling high notes in their songs; Jihoon’s tried a shameful number of times to recreate the sounds, all unsuccessful.

Maybe this tour will prove useful, after all.

“Do you know when we’re meeting them?” Jihoon asks, totally ignoring his friend’s prior question.

Soonyoung tilts his head and rests his chin on his palm. He’s staring daggers into Jihoon’s soul again, a slitted eyebrow perfectly arched under the dim diner lighting.

“What? You interested in them or something? They are pretty hot.”

Jihoon moves his heavy-footed boot, and Soonyoung yelps. Rubber meets skin and Jihoon knows he’s hit a nerve when the older man starts whining for him to stop. He, albeit reluctantly, stops digging into Soonyoung’s thigh and opts for tapping a beat on the worn wood of the booth seat.

“I fear your lust is what’s going to disband our group,” Jihoon scowls.

The waiter comes at the perfect time with the check, and he watches Soonyoung neatly stack their bowls and cups together.

Flipping his hood up, the two band members shuffle their way out of the diner, the Busan wind meeting them head-on from the second they step out the door. Seungcheol is probably in the studio refining his guitar strings, Jihoon notes, as Soonyoung calls for a cab.

It’s still early in the evening, the sky on the brink of darkening into night. If he were farther inland, Jihoon would be craning his neck trying to see the stars that twinkle into view. Here, though, in the heart of the city, he knows it’s futile. There’s too much light pollution competing with the organic phenomena of the galaxy.

Jihoon purses his lips in thought. Humankind really knows how to fuck up natural beauties.

Soonyoung is calling his name, waving eagerly from the open back door of a taxi that will take them back to the studio. Raising a hand to signal he’s heard the obnoxiously rowdy calls of his friend, Jihoon trudges forward, forcing the stars out of his mind.

After all, forward is the only way to go around these parts.

📍 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

WOOZI is… shorter in person.

You’re not sure why you notice him first; maybe it was indeed his height, or perhaps it’s because he’s the only one who’s actively not paying any attention to the matter at hand. It’s silent, save for murmurs of staff in the background, as Jihoon chugs water from a bottle someone gave him. A sliver of his abdomen is revealed as his head tilts back to get the last few drops, and to your surprise, you catch a peek of shiny black ink from under his white tank top.

Was it always this warm in the lounge room?

You shift awkwardly from one foot to another as a blondie with a mole on the apple of his cheek begins to introduce the members of CH33RS. Not like you needed one, anyway; you were more than familiar with the band.

CH33RS, a rock group that debuted barely two years ago. Composed of S.COUPS, HOSHI, and WOOZI, they’ve made an impressive dent in the K-rock world, hitting chart numbers you wouldn’t think were possible in someone’s early twenties. Their debut album, CHANGE UP!, charted in the top ten for Billboard, practically shooting them into stardom with people worldwide eagerly anticipating their release of new music.

Now, with their comeback and announcement of their world tour, RUBY, it’s a pure miracle you were able to even get a greeting from them. It’s even more of a miracle that you were able to score an opportunity to be their opener for the North America shows.

There’s a hand shaking yours. Breaking out of your trance, you’re met with the bright smile of HOSHI, the band’s drummer. His energy must be what got him the role of their percussionist, because you physically feel the drainage of your social battery from the vigor he has in shaking your hand.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, Sairen, I can’t wait to see your performances,” he’s saying with a smile that rivals the sun.

His English is tinged with an accent, but you don’t find yourself minding. Your lips stretch into a smile, spurred on by his youthful spirit, and tell him he can call you by your real name.

“There’s no need for formalities when we’ll be working together.” You brush a stray hair out of your eyes and bow slightly to him; Joshua practically whacked good manners into you like you were some unruly kid who never learned how to take their muddy shoes off in a house. “I’m looking forward to working with you for the next few months as well.”

HOSHI’s eyes light up. He tells you that while he doesn’t mind being called his stage name, Soonyoung works just fine too, and for once in a blue moon, your heart warms for a coworker.

S.COUPS, also known as Seungcheol, is next. He bows deeply to you and extends his hand like a businessman. He was only adorned in a worn hoodie and baggy jeans, but if you didn’t know any better as an outsider, you would’ve guessed that the man was about to propose the best deal of your life.

To your right, the blonde man with the mole mutters something in Seungcheol’s ear. Seungcheol dips his head to you once more and steps back with a polite smile. “It is nice to meet you.”

You give him a brief smile. His eyes are the only thing that isn’t serious about him, and remind you of the gaze of a fawn’s that you would see in your backyard when you were younger—big, and filled with wonder.

Finally, WOOZI raises his hand in acknowledgment. You’re taken by surprise once again by him, as he doesn’t even bother stepping forward to greet you.

“WOOZI. Looking forward to working with you.”

You blink. “Sairen. Likewise.”

The air feels thick, and it takes Joshua coughing to get everyone back in action. Blondie with the mole introduces himself as Jeonghan, their manager, and you’re not quite sure if you like the twinkle in his eyes when they sweep over you and your manager.

“Now that introductions are over, our first schedule with the four of you will be a promotional shoot for the tour.” Joshua is clapping his hands like a director, and some staff members begin to scurry around for your guys’ belongings. “We’ll be taking separate cars, but we’ll see you at the shoot.”

You’re out the door before you can say formal goodbyes, but you manage to catch the friendly smiles on Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s faces while you’re being bustled along by staff members. Your ever-loving manager clicks the button to the elevator and heaves a sigh.

“Still angry over who you’re opening for?” he inquires. “I promise, they’re not a bad bunch to be around! Even Jihoon—er, WOOZI. I actually know all of ‘em pretty well; Jeonghan and I, we grew up in the industry together. You’re in good hands.”

You choose not to respond as you board the elevator, pressing the level for parking and reaching for your phone. There are no notifications, of course, but you fiddle with the folders of apps on your homescreen anyway to busy yourself. Joshua whistles a tune.

Maybe if you were lucky today, you’d be able to sneak away to a park somewhere and use that new gardening app you’ve been meaning to try out. You think back to your busy schedule and sigh; if only another miracle could happen, where someone with good intentions kidnaps you and steals you away.

“The photoshoot,” you finally say. “How many people are gonna be there? Same as last time?”

Your manager tenses. “I requested for less staff this time, but I’m not sure how well it came across to the company. Let me know if we need to schedule an early leave, okay?”

The elevator halts in time with your tightening chest. You blink hard and fast, trying to rid yourself of the images of bright lights and too many people talking to you at once. There’s a hand on your back, and though you want to curse Joshua for reminding you of your predicament, you instead find yourself aching for the circles he rubs into your shoulder blade.

“Fuck you,” you mutter. Joshua only laughs. “If I react this way later, don’t be surprised.”

—

You do, to your credit, react that way later.

Someone’s shouting for you across the set room. The room is alive with people, animated laughter ringing out as staff members run to and fro. It’s even worse since it’s not just you who’s being attended to, but three additional men. You can hear the cheerful voice of Soonyoung combined with Seungcheol’s requests to staff members for more water. Jihoon, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found.

Your name is called again and you flinch, muttering a half-hearted apology to the makeup artist who gives you a stink eye for messing up their work. The denim shorts they’re having you wear for this shoot are chafing your thighs. It takes everything in you not to throw a tantrum right then and there.

“There you are!” the sound manager barks, and you startle again, much to the stylist’s displeasure. “I’ve been looking all over you. Why haven’t you been to the front of the set yet? The lighting manager wants to ask for your opinion on filters.”

You want to bite back that what they’re asking is definitely a Joshua question, but you hold your tongue, sighing. Think of the park. Think of the flowers.

“I’ll be right there in a second, I’m almost done here.”

The makeup artist scowls. “You are not almost done here, are you kidding me? I’m gonna need a lot more time than a second.”

“Please hurry it up, then. We’re on a tight schedule; CH33RS is almost ready and we only have about two hours booked for this shoot.”

The sound manager leaves without another word. Your knuckles are paling from how tightly you’re gripping the arms of the styling chair, chewing the inside of your cheek until you taste the familiar metallic flavor of blood.

“You heard the man,” the makeup artist huffs. “Stop moving and maybe I’ll actually get something done to make you look better.”

Their brush clatters to the floor.

Before you know it, you’re out of the chair and in their face, teeth bared. It’s gotten eerily silent in the room way too fast. “You’re lucky my manager pities your company enough to work with you. How dare you treat me this way, and over a problem that’s not mine, no less.”

You’re about to say more, but there’s a cold tap of a finger on your shoulder. You twist, ready to charge yet again, but the sight of Jihoon’s sharp expression halts you in your tracks.

“Care to tell me why you’re yelling at a staff member? One your manager personally hired, too?” He raises an eyebrow.

You scoff. His perfect English pisses you off; it tells you his short introduction wasn’t due to lack of vocabulary, but lack of desire to greet you. “Stay the fuck out of this, Jihoon. You don’t know shit.”

The man’s eyes turn icy. You warily take a step back.

“My name to you is WOOZI. If you can’t even have the decency to treat your own staff members with respect, the least you can do to make up for it is refer to me by the name I prefer. Know your place, Sairen.”

With that, WOOZI turns around, coolly walking away without even a glance back to check if you’ve heard what he’s said. Seungcheol claps WOOZI on the back and says something in Korean, and Soonyoung starts up a conversation to kick the room back into action.

It works, and you’re left alone as the room bustles back to life, the makeup artist disappearing somewhere you couldn’t care less for.

Your cheeks sting, hot from embarrassment at being treated like a misbehaving child in front of dozens of people. You can hear the rumors already—Sairen, known for a biting tongue, finally humbled, and by no other than one of the members of the band they’re opening for. A classic powerplay that will haunt you even when the stage lights dim and the crowd cheers for an encore.

You barely register Joshua at your side. He’s speaking to you, pressing a cold water bottle to your neck to snap you back to reality.

Instead, tears prick your eyes, and your bottom lip wobbles. The sound manager from before is yelling again, no doubt trying to rush you, but the last thing you want is to be around people. The park will have to be saved for another day.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Tell the director I’ll be a bit.”

You don’t even wait for Joshua’s response before you’re walking away, arms crossed and head down.

📍 SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Your head leans against the glass, the material cool against your forehead. The clouds across the sky streak red and pink as the sun peers out from behind a vast forest of evergreens. You stare at the outlined branches, imagining the rough, spiky bumps of a pinecone in your hands. Would it be less painful to hold a thousand of them bare, rather than have to be the bearer of WOOZI’s wrath?

A sudden lurch halts your reminiscences, the driver apologizing for the sudden brakes being hit, and you can faintly hear Joshua with his hasty forgiveness.

At least the tour was going well, you think bitterly.

You hate that it’s true; Joshua had excitedly woken you up this morning for your four o’clock flight with the news that three of the next upcoming shows for RUBY had sold out. In your stupor, you had spilled the poorly-made hotel coffee he had brought on yourself, leading to the man worriedly giving you treatment for any mild burns.

“Joshua, it’s fine,” you had stammered, hurriedly trying to ease the sting by pressing cold towels to your thigh and left wrist.

Contrary to how he acted with you in the industry, your manager was a kind man—it was one of his few redeeming qualities. He shooed you into the bathroom with a change of clothes, telling you he’d brief you more on the matter on the car ride later.

Now, on the vehicle, he sits beside you as you listen to him rattle off all the things you should theoretically be giddy about.

“Tonight, Vancouver, and Salt Lake City all were bought out once you finished up in San Francisco,” Joshua is puttering, typing away at some very important work emails on his laptop. “The crowd was great for a first show, of course, but because of how well your and CH33RS’ energy was, the internet is going wild with clips. Streams with How Tomorrow Moves have upped like, 16% overnight. You’re doing really well.”

“Just as they predicted,” you muse, tapping your chin with an indifference that makes Joshua’s eye twitch.

“Hey, their predictions don’t dictate that stuff, you know.” You feel the brush of his hoodie against your skin; a familiar way of his to show that in the end, he truly does care about you. “You dictate that stuff. Your energy, your performance, it all comes down to you. Not some shabby company that uses you like a pawn.”

You snort, slightly pushing him away and grinning at him. “Can’t believe you’re shittalking your boss, just like that.”

Joshua rolls his eyes as the trees start to give way to suburban developments, signaling that a restroom stop is close.

“You’re a human, too. Don’t forget that.”

His words stick with you throughout the remainder of the road trip.

You know CH33RS took a bus, them having more staff compared to you and your manager, and you’re grateful that Joshua listened to your request of taking a separate car to allow you to get more rest.

The flight itself was awful enough—two hours of staring straight ahead and trying to ignore WOOZI’s distant nature beside you. Soonyoung, who had been on your left, fell asleep rather quickly, leaving you no choice but to daydream about being anywhere but next to the lead singer of CH33RS. 

You knew that WOOZI had an aloof nature; it was something fangirls giggled relentlessly about in the comment section of his Instagram posts and YouTube covers. You were expecting his lack of emotion, even, but you never would have guessed he would have been so openly hostile towards you on your first day of meeting.

And over a staff member who was disrespecting you, nonetheless!

Out of the corner of your eye, you had taken a peek at him, earbuds in and eyes shut. If he hadn’t been so arrogant about being the bigger person in that situation, maybe the two of you could be talking about inspiration for music instead of sitting in complete silence on the flight.

Too bad he had to be a complete dick who inserted himself into situations that didn’t even involve him.

You sigh, dragging your luggage out of the elevator and into the luxurious hallway of yet another hotel. Tonight’s show was sure to be highly anticipated, but all you wanted to do was curl up on your bed and watch anime. You heard Frieren was being highly reviewed these days, and you were itching to watch it.

“Remember that once you unpack, you’re scheduled for a dinner with the guys to discuss plans for the next few shows, now that they’re sold out,” Joshua calls from behind you; there’s the sound of shuffling and the unlocking of a door to your right. “Text me once you’re ready. We’re heading deeper into the city, so it would be wise to wear something that’s easy to disguise yourself with.”

Biting your tongue, you numbly nod, and without any more words you hear the heavy hotel door click shut.

—

Jihoon knows he should apologize to you.

He stands backstage, a staff member making sure the mic on his outfit is secure. With his forefinger and thumb, Jihoon twirls his iconic red microphone in his hand, letting the sensation of applause from your latest performance wash over him with satisfaction. That dramatic high note at the end was something he only ever dreamed of hearing, but here he was, listening to you belt your heart out live to a bunch of strangers.

That day, back during the photoshoot, Seungcheol had cornered him during a scheduled break. He remembers the crazed look in the bassist’s eyes, lips turned so forcefully upside down that Jihoon had to steady the man before asking him what was wrong.

“Why’d you upset Sairen like that?” Seungcheol huffed. “Man, we just met them today. You’re gonna get rumors to spread and our tour hasn’t even started yet.”

Faintly, the sound of a vase clattering to the floor flashes through Jihoon’s mind. He remembers cupping a face in his hands and shouting for someone to call an ambulance.

His worry must be evident on his face, because Seungcheol’s frown eases into a sympathetic grimace. “You know, Sairen was being mistreated first. They had the sound manager on their ass, and I heard from Jeonghan that their makeup artist wasn’t the greatest to them, either. Cut them some slack, will you?”

“That gives them no right to treat their staff that way, hyeong,” Jihoon points out, gritting his teeth together. “They should know better than to outright challenge a worker like that. It won’t work in their favor—not here. Not when all they have is Joshua behind them.”

Seungcheol heaves a sigh; one that Jihoon knows all too well, when Soonyoung steals too much of the kimchi without permission or when Jeonghan plays another nasty prank on him.

“We were in their shoes once,” Seungcheol chides, nudging his shoulder. “And you, out of everyone here, should know what it’s like to be looked down upon by everyone except a select few. Try and have some sympathy, even if it only lasts the hundred days we’re together with them.”

Now, in the present, Jihoon watches you hype up the crowd for the main event of CH33RS. You’re decked in an outfit that emphasizes your figure just right, the red crop-top letting your belly button piercing take full stage in the twinkling lights. He never knew you had one; you weren’t one to post pictures often on social media, and when you did for brand collabs, it was never flaunted.

Maybe it had been an impulse decision before the tour started—before you met him, and before your life changed too much for you to keep up with.

Shaking his head, the singer turns around and looks for his bandmates. It was no use overthinking the past; he had done what he did, and now you avoided him like the plague. Your stink eyes could rival Seungcheol’s, that’s for sure.

“Thank you, Seattle!” He hears you shout into the mic. “I’ll be back, don’t you worry!”

The roar of the crowd is deafening, and he knows you’re taking your final bow. There’s probably glitter running down your neck from the sweat you’ve gained onstage, your makeup being ruined from the performance, and he wonders what it would be like to wipe away the cold expression off your face and be the receiver of a smile, instead.

No matter. The music fades to instrumentals of CH33RS’ songs as the sound of your chunky boots treads offstage. Soonyoung’s running up to you with a grin, saying that you outperformed the first show in San Francisco, and you’re laughing in his arms. Jihoon feels like there’s a frog in his throat.

“Well done, Sairen.” Seungcheol beams. “If we’re not careful, you’re going to be the main performance instead of us.”

“Seungch—S.COUPS,” you correct yourself, smiling bashfully up at the bassist. “Thank you, but you know that isn’t true. Those people are out there for you. Me being here doesn’t change that.”

Jihoon’s heard enough. One of the staff members calls for last-minute bathroom runs and outfit changes, saying CH33RS will be up in no less than fifteen minutes. Before he can rationalize with himself to congratulate you on your show, he’s scurrying off to the bathroom, cheeks alight with something he refuses to recognize.

—

For the first time in days, you don’t want to tear your hair out when interacting with a staff member who’s not Joshua.

Sakura, one of the permanent stylists for CH33RS, sits you in a chair and begins to help you take your makeup off. Your breaths are still coming in heavy pants, chest rising and falling all too quickly, and the girl responds by handing you a bottle of water.

“Drink, please.”

It’s the most care you’ve gotten in the industry since Joshua became your manager. You sit, quietly sipping the water, a warm feeling in your chest rising as Sakura begins to wipe your face and moisturize it without any cruel remarks or biting, back-handed comments.

Even from backstage, inside a well-padded dressing room, you can still hear the audience’s booming cheers accompanied by the high-pitched strum of a guitar. WOOZI’s voice, a symphony to your ears, begins to ring faintly. You close your eyes and let the calmness wash over you.

Maybe Joshua was right; maybe you were doing well this time around, and this tour was going to be your key to stardom. The stomach in your pit ached to be seen, to be known, to be heard, and tonight it feasted on the crowd’s voices singing along to your music. Flowers and handmade beaded bracelets notes had been tossed onstage, making your heart melt as you profusely thanked Seattle.

This is what you were made for—putting your all out there for those who needed a voice. Not to perform some shitty, fake and lustful persona that PHOENIX wanted to market you for.

Your eyes flutter open as Sakura murmurs that she’s almost done. Letting out a breath of relief, your lips curl into a smile. “Thank you, Sakura. I appreciate you.”

She pauses in putting away the moisturizer. Joshua had taught you some simple Korean, especially for etiquette, but you guessed that Sakura was still surprised at hearing you speak to her so willingly.

Her big brown eyes blink once, twice, thrice at you before she dips her head. “Ah… you’re welcome. Please let me know if you need anything else.”

“Of course. Thank you once more.”

There it is again—Sakura lets her lips part oh-so slightly. You tilt your head, a quizzical smile on your face, but she quickly waves her hands in dismissal before offering you another goodbye.

Once she leaves, you’re left to your own devices, your manager off somewhere making plans for the upcoming days before the next show. The guys shouldn’t be here for about another hour, you muse, idling on your phone. You had started Frieren last night, but the oncoming slaughter of cheers from outside gives you the impression it would be hard to enjoy at the moment. Maybe you should order some food instead.

The brief thought crosses your mind of ordering food for CH33RS now, so the wait time wouldn’t be too long. It has you hesitating over the screen, thumb barely brushing the Order Now button on your favorite takeout place.

You wonder what WOOZI’s favorite food is.

Scoffing, you turn your phone off and throw it onto the vanity, its case clattering against the wood. Now was no time to think about a man who had majorly upset you.

There’s a knock on the dressing room door. You let your chin fall to your palm. “Come in.”

When Joshua enters, he finds you in deep thought, still sitting in the chair Sakura had you sit in almost half an hour ago. You watch him reach for the half-empty bottle.

“Still has a lot left. You should finish it,” he simply says, handing it to you. “Nice job out there. We’ll have to post the pre-show photos we took later tonight, with a thank you again to Seattle.”

Begrudgingly, you drink the rest of the water, swishing it back with a satisfying gulp.

“I was thinking of ordering some food,” you offer, trying to change the topic. “Do you know what kind the guys like?”

At this, Joshua hums thoughtfully. “Didn’t know you were the considerate type.”

Though his tone is in jest, your stomach twists in a way unrelated to hunger. You roll your eyes as you hear the crowd go wild at Soonyoung’s drum solo.

“Please. I have to at least try and be cordial.”

The left side of Joshua’s mouth lifts in turn. He takes a step back, right out of reach to not be a victim of your quick fingers, before taking out his phone.

“Lucky for you, there’s this place nearby I know of. Jihoon likes jjajangmyun a lot, and it’s a pretty popular dish there.”

Ding! Your phone buzzes on the vanity. Eying him with distrust, you pick up the device, only to be met with the address to a Korean takeout place not too far away.

Joshua’s back is to you before you can form a coherent answer; you watch, flabbergasted, as his hand reaches for the door. When it opens, it creaks slightly before being drowned out by the cheers of fans.

“Don’t forget to post those photos once CH33RS ends their show,” he throws over his shoulder—and then he’s gone.

Damnit, Josh. You grit your teeth, your fingers pressing hard on the screen of your phone. It lights up to reveal your screensaver, the late time of 10:36 gleaming in the dressing room’s fluorescents. A sigh falls out of you.

Your chin rests on your palm again as you contemplate your manager’s suggestion. You’re irked by that pit in your stomach once more; the one that curls in your gut during the night as you lie awake, wondering if this career path was the right one to take.

The guilt screams at you to give WOOZI another chance—after all, perhaps you had just gotten off on the wrong foot. Your index finger hesitates over the menu button for the restaurant, the choice feeling heavy in your hands.

And then a sweaty, shirtless WOOZI barges through your dressing room door, his face red and neck veins prominent.

“Get out.”

You let out a shriek, covering your eyes in embarrassment. “Oh my god, dude—”

He’s not even listening to you. You hear something crash to the floor—a bottle of some sort of product, probably—and then WOOZI’s snarling at you again.

“Get. Out.”

Meekly, you stand and bow. That feeling of shame rises within you, hot and burning, as you make a beeline for the door. You want to—no, need to—get out of here, as fast as possible.

In your hurry, you fail to notice the tears staining WOOZI’s cheeks and his heavy breathing, tormented by a feeling you knew only too well.

—

“Who the fuck do they think they are!?”

Jihoon’s frustrated scream echoes throughout the hotel room. He’s got his head in his hands, raking his hair and taking pleasure in the feeling of his nails scraping against his scalp. It sends shivers down his spine in the most sinfully alive way possible.

“We should fire them all,” he fumes. Soonyoung is quietly criss-crossed on the bed, hands in his lap, while Seungcheol’s got his hands rubbing what’s supposed to be calming circles into Jihoon’s back. “Fuck them. How dare they say those things to you?”

“It was my fault,” Soonyoung mumbles, head hanging low. “I deserved it. You know as well as I—”

“—that this is no way for staff members to treat musicians?” Jihoon finishes, raising his head sharply at his bandmate’s resignation. “That you did nothing wrong other than try and say hello to the fans? That the staff members are treating us as some species of zoo animal to be put on display?”

“Jihoon.” Seungcheol warns.

The younger man wipes the back of his hand across his face. When he brings it away, his fingers are coated in saltwater and snot. Jihoon feels like his whole body is on fire, tingling with energy he cannot let loose.

America is different from Korea. That much, Jihoon knows.

However, he never imagined that the difference would be so… stark. Here, fans were wild and unpredictable, unlike the routine nature of Korean fans who stayed silent during performances, except for fan chants. There were hecklers during their crowdwork, and wolf-whistlers weren’t uncommon throughout shows.

Jihoon slides another hand down his face. He knew Soonyoung meant well with his plan, and was trying to be careful—the show was well over, with the crowd dissipating almost at once to the merch booth over by the entrance.

He had watched the entire thing from the stage: Soonyoung’s whoop of joy as he jumped the barricade, accompanied by the screams of fans. They swarmed him, practically tearing at his clothes, and security had to drag the drummer out of the mass of people.

It ended in a scolding, not from Jeonghan but from one of the leading managers of the venue. Curses had been thrown, saying that if Soonyoung had gotten more hurt than a scratch, they’d be liable for damages done to a foreign artist.

Jihoon’s fists clench again at the memory of the manager’s tone. He was some old guy in his early forties, no doubt, but the contempt held in his voice would make one think he had been from early colonial days.

“This is why we can’t let these kinds of people perform here,” the singer had heard the man murmuring to another staff member.

A soft knock at the hotel door startles Jihoon out of his thoughts. Soonyoung jumps up from his place on the bed, alarmed, but Seungcheol waltzes to the door like he’s been expecting the visitor for a while now.

“Delivery,” comes a muffled voice from outside.

Yoon Jeonghan’s arms are full of takeout bags and drinks. It’s more than enough for four men, but Jihoon knows the intention behind the gesture. 

Sometimes, one has to drown out the sorrows in good food and company.

“Wow,” Soonyoung breathes, immediately reaching for the chopsticks Jeonghan supplies from one of the various bags. “Where’d you get all this food?”

Jeonghan snorts. “A restaurant.”

He watches as Seungcheol snickers at the drummer’s whine. Jihoon accepts the wooden chopsticks he’s been given, cracking them apart and methodically swiping them together to get rid of the wood shavings peeling off. Sending a quick thanks to the universe, he digs in without another thought, absentmindedly listening in on the rambling conversation of the other guys.

“…they recommended it to me. Said they’d heard it was good, and thought it would cheer you guys up after what happened,” Jeonghan’s explaining.

Jihoon’s ears perk up at this. He’s slurping on a jjajangmyun noodle when he tunes back into what his manager’s saying.

“I should thank them tomorrow,” Soonyoung sighs solemnly. “We should’ve invited them to eat with us, actually. I bet Sairen has good food recommendations everywhere, and it’d be nice to hang out with them outside of work.”

Jihoon makes a face. Him? Hanging out with Sairen?

“Oh, is the jjajangmyun not good, Jihoon?”

Seungcheol is looking at him with concern, his chopsticks neatly placed on the cover of his takeout box.

“No, they’re fine,” Jihoon shakes his head; quietly, he adds, “Good, even.”

A head of blonde whips to face him. “Oh? You have Sairen to thank for that,” Jeonghan smirks, dabbing his face with a napkin. “They made the recommendation specifically for you and your love of jjajangmyun, actually.”

The noodle suddenly tastes like dirt in his mouth. He’s choking before he realizes it, reaching for the water bottle on the coffee table and downing it in one go. A splatter of water dribbles down his chin from how fast he’s drinking it.

Soonyoung gawks. “Jihoon, you’re red as fuck.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I just choked on water, idiot,” Jihoon argues, though he knows it’s futile—knows that Seungcheol’s looking at him with concern in a different tone, and knows that Jeonghan knew what he was doing when he brought up you.

Clearing his throat, he flips the lid on his takeout box and sets it on the coffee table with little care. He doesn’t like the look on Jeonghan’s face: eyebrows raised slightly, lips curving upwards with a knowing turn. Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s matching expressions are even worse—confusion mixed with a healthy spoonful of apprehensive perception, like they’re on the brink of a breakthrough.

“Thanks for the food, but you guys can have the rest of it,” Jihoon grumbles. “I think I’m gonna go back to my room. Goodnight.”

📍MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

After the incident at the Seattle show, WOOZI has been staring at you more often than you’d like.

Your thumb releases from the grip it has on the water cooler’s knob. As you watch the last few drops drip into your bottle, you simultaneously feel the shift of WOOZI’s gaze fall away from his perch on the couch.

You don’t say anything to him as you walk past, shoulders tense with unspoken words at the tip of your tongue. It’s been a little over two weeks, but nothing has been said between the two of you other than greeting formalities.

You can’t help but think you’ve done something wrong.

The stop in Denver, Colorado, helped shape your hypothesis. Briefly, you remember the familiar nerves spiking in your heart before you were meant to go on. While it had been a smaller venue, meaning fewer people overall, it meant a more intimate stage with equally intimate crowdwork.

Soonyoung, slowly being able to pick up on your mood swings and anxious bouts, had sat with you as you vented about the woes of being an American rockstar. It wasn’t so different from Korea, he explained, pouting and picking at a protein bar.

Diets still existed. Crazy fans everywhere. Shitty staff, too.

“You learn to live with it, especially when the good people finally stick around,” Soonyoung had spoken around a mouthful of granola. “Like Jeonghan. Or, I guess for you, Joshua.”

Humming noncommittally, you twirled a stray strand of hair. Even though Soonyoung meant well, the buzzing under your skin had continued, your teeth beginning to chatter even though it was well above freezing backstage.

“Oh, Jihoon.”

The name of the lead guitarist and singer made you flinch. You had blanched at the sight of him in his all black stage attire, the boxy button-up accentuating his broad shoulders and cargo pants resting dangerously low. Silver rings adorned his fingers, a particularly thick-chained one sitting pretty on his index finger.

Swallowing heavily, you gladly accepted the towel given to you, dabbing your sweat off your forehead and neck. You didn’t even realize it was WOOZI who had handed you the towel, fingers brushing his as you rushed to give it back before you were able to give it another thought—to your horror, your skin still remembers how his fingers felt sliding against your wrist, the metal of his accessories having done nothing to help your pounding heart.

“Good luck,” he then offered.

Now, almost a thousand miles away from Denver, Colorado, you were sipping your water, watching WOOZI bounce his leg up and down from your place leaning against the vanity. Stage call was soon, so there was no reason for him to be back here—yet, here he sits, a mere five feet away from you.

Tonight’s show has him in a sleeveless red tank, a worn-out white star plastered on the front. The chains around his neck glimmer in the dressing room light as he shifts in place, scrolling aimlessly on his phone while he pretends he’s been paying you no mind.

You want to scoff, maybe throw a snide remark at how he has the nerve to stare at you after treating you like trash—but then WOOZI tosses his head back onto the couch with a groan, pectorals heaving, and all coherent thoughts scurry right out the exit of your brain.

Were tank tops supposed to be that revealing? Perhaps it was time to go back to Victorian ways, after all.

A rap on the door startles you, but not the singer. He merely lets out a loud huff, making a show out of getting up and beginning to stretch his arms out in an attempt to get blood flowing.

“On in five,” comes the muffled call of a stage crew member outside the door.

You catch the face he makes: his nose scrunches up a little, and he lets out a little shake of his head in dissent. “Yeah, yeah. Be there in a minute.”

Capping your bottle, you move to sit on the vanity, eyes following WOOZI’s pre-show routine. He’s shaking his hair to get his bangs to hang a little more in his face, and that damned part of you that you try to keep hidden away aches to push his fingers away and fix his hair yourself.

You don’t, of course.

WOOZI’s making his way to the door now. Something gets stuck in your throat—a good luck, maybe, or a have fun—but you gulp it down when his fingers meet the knob and twist.

Ah. Your gaze is cast to the floor, forlorn. Next show for sure.

To your surprise, your head darts up at the sound of his voice, melodic and soft and everything you’ve never been on the receiving end of.

“See you after?”

It’s posed as a question, thrown over his shoulder, with his warm brown eyes meeting yours. The silence is so loud you curl your hands so as not to end up covering your ears.

You finally exhale, breath billowing out. The guilt on your shoulders eases up.

“Yeah. Take care.”

—

It’s a little past one in the afternoon when you and CH33RS leave the upskate cafe, laughter ringing out from behind you as you let the glass door close. The Minneapolis breeze hits your face, inviting and warm, and you reach your arms towards the cloudless sky.

“God, it’s so nice out today!” You sigh, stretching in satisfaction.

Seungcheol nods his head in agreement from a little way behind you, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “The weather is nice. No need for a jacket.”

“And your English, it’s getting better with every show! Good job,” you encourage, shooting him a thumbs up; the man brightens at your response.

Beside you, Soonyoung swirls his iced coffee around with his straw, taking a sip and seemingly relishing in the aftertaste of grounded coffee beans.

“That cafe was so yummy,” he groans, squinting up at the sky. “You know the best food places.”

He stuffs his other hand in the leather jacket he’s wearing, his blonde hair gelled and spiky in the sun’s light. You offer him a grin, subconsciously leaning into him as a gesture of gratitude.

Sightseeing wasn’t exactly in your plans during the tour, but when Joshua encouraged it last night as a way to grow closer with the boys, you took up the opportunity with renewed determination. WOOZI’s reluctant acceptance of you makes your heart warm with the feeling of coworkers finally getting along after many unsuccessful trials.

At least, that’s what you reason with yourself when your heart rate picks up at the sight of him.

The aforementioned singer walks quietly beside the manager assigned to you four today, his wired earbuds bright against the black clothes you had grown used to seeing on him. You eye him, gaze tracing the wire that travels from his jacket pocket to the curve of his jaw and the slope of his ear.

He didn’t have many piercings, you noted—unlike Soonyoung, who had enough for a full set of stackers, WOOZI only sported the common, everyday single lobes. Huh.

An idea rises within you, but before you can speak, your body meets all things leather. Thud.

“Oh my god! I’m so s—Wait!—Are you—is this group—CH33RS? Sairen?!”

Bewildered, you hear someone start to speak Korean. You begin backing away from who you ran into only to be met with an equally confused man with short brown hair. He’s looking down at you like you’ve appeared from nowhere, but the shorter man beside him hurries to you with awe displayed plain on his face.

“Oh my god, it is you—out of all people to run into him—wow, nice going, Hansol—”

Shaking his head, the man bows deeply to the four of you. When he straightens up, you take in his bleached tips and pierced eyebrow. Hansol, the man you had crashed into, adjusts his gloves with pure shock written all over his expression.

“Oh. Sorry, dude. Didn’t see you there.”

His companion nudges him, hard. He says something again in Korean that gets a muffled laugh out of WOOZI.

“I am so sorry for him,” the unknown blonde dips his head again. “My name is Seungkwan. This is Vernon, but I call him Hansol. We’re big fans of you!”

Seungkwan begins to excitedly converse with Soonyoung, who reciprocates much too eagerly, leaving you to stand awkwardly in front of Vernon. You almost want to bow and leave to the back of the group where the manager is positioned, but the man begins to speak before you can.

“Seungkwan’s a big fan of yours.” He gives a nod to the man, who has retrieved a permanent marker from somewhere and is getting his arm signed by the drummer. “We like to blast your music during rides. Pretty calming, especially around the mountains during sunset.”

“Oh, are you guys bikers?”

Vernon nods. The left side of your mouth lifts at how, instead of ending the gesture, he lets it bounce on for a bit—almost as if he’s listening to an imaginary beat in his head. “Super fun stuff. You think you could sign my helmet or something?”

Your heart leaps. Random fan meetings outside of shows weren’t new to you, but every time you did get noticed, your entire day was made.

“Sure. Hey, Soonyoung, could I borrow that when you’re done?”

The commotion that is Seungkwan begins to die down once signatures are given and pleasantries are exchanged. You have to bite your lip to suppress your laughs; he’s too endearing, rushing around to congratulate everyone on the world tour and comebacks.

When he gets to you, his eyes brighten, and you swear you can see stars twinkling in them even though the sun is happily high up in the sky.

“Sairen, I’ve been meaning to get into music—I’ve actually worked on some of my own songs and they’re all inspired by you!” Seungkwan bashfully admits.

At his confession, you brighten. “That’s awesome! Could I hear one?”

The man deflates, your lips parting in an ‘o’ at how easily his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye.

“Ah… I don’t have the files on me right now…” He trails off and fiddles with the collar of his jacket, obviously downcast at the missed opportunity.

“It’s okay,” you smile, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “You can just message me on Instagram. How does that sound?”

Three things happen at once.

One. Seungkwan’s entire face lights up at your proposal, beginning to shake like a chihuahua without a sweater.

Two. WOOZI gasps.

Three. The manager’s hand flies out to grab your wrist, pulling you away with the strength of ten men, and forcing an ‘oomf!’ out of you quite easily.

The last occurrence takes the longest time and has the largest impact on you, your left wrist stinging slightly from his hold. Seungkwan, now a few feet away from you instead of smack dab in front, backs off in surprise.

“I apologize, but at this time Sairen is not accepting messages on Instagram. Perhaps if you come prepared to one of their shows, they can give you some proper feedback?”

Vernon wraps a comforting arm around his partner’s shoulders as Seungkwan stammers out an, “O-oh. That’s fine! We’re so sorry for bothering you. Could we get a picture before we go?”

The two bikers hastily leave. Your jaw clenches as the manager turns to you, his condescending stare rendering you frozen in place.

“Are you crazy?” He spits, pulling you towards him.

You cry out; WOOZI takes a threatening step forward, but he’s stopped by Seungcheol. There’s fury in his eyes as you give a minuscule shake of your head.

“What if they did that stuff with ill intent?” The manager’s breath reeks of the onion from the caprese he got from the cafe. “You’re not that stupid to just give away your information, are you? Do you not have a PR manager or something?”

Gritting your teeth, you wrench your arm away, rubbing your wrist with a scowl. “It’s Instagram, Carter. My account is managed by Joshua. If you got a problem with me interacting nicely with my fans, take it up with him. I’m sure he’ll have a blast telling you how wrong you are.”

Carter lets out a tch, turning away and beginning to walk ahead of the group. When he’s out of earshot, Soonyoung rushes to you, apologizing profusely. You barely pay him your regards; instead, your eyes catch WOOZI’s, the fire burning in his pupils trailblazing a pathway right through your strong facade.

You turn away.

—

You’re not entirely sure how you end up here, sitting a few inches away from WOOZI of CH33RS while munching on some potato chips.

Frieren plays out on his laptop screen, propped open awkwardly at the edge of the bed. The singer, clad in a black tee and gym shorts, shifts against the headboard of his bed and clears his throat.

It’s one of the earlier episodes, where Frieren is looking back on her memories with Himmel. She’s going on some monologue about not understanding how good things were until they were gone, and the scene pulls at your heartstrings, making you sigh.

“I can already tell this show is going to be so coming-of-age,” you frown, relaxing slightly and causing the bed to dip. “Classic story of personal growth, spurred on by past memories.”

WOOZI barely reacts to your comments, instead opting to open his palm up to you. Wordlessly, you place a few chips in his hand, which he crunches between his teeth earnestly.

It’s a while before he speaks. “You know, I didn’t take you for the anime type.”

“Same could go for you,” you dig at him, rolling your eyes. “Who knew the great WOOZI could have interests?”

“Hey,” he frowns. “Come on, don’t pretend you weren’t excited when I brought up Frieren.”

You bark out a laugh. “Excited? More like surprised. Never knew you could willingly give me the time of day, much less start up a conversation about the show I was trying to watch on the car ride home.”

Frieren is yelling something now. You watch in amusement at her and Heiter’s, the party’s priest, antics.

“Y’know,” you continue. “I even had the impression that you thought you were better than conversing with little ol’ me.”

Right. That’s how you got here. Memories of the dark insides of the van contrasting with the colorful scenes of Frieren on your screen come flooding back, along with WOOZI’s soft inquiries about how far along you were with the show. Surprisingly, he made for a good conversationalist about the topic, and you remember begrudgingly agreeing to have him join you on your marathon.

Joshua was going to have a field day with this one.

Don’t let his friendly demeanor fool you, a voice inside you chides. Remember how he treated you before. Some sappy anime isn’t going to change that.

The scene onscreen is violently different than before. Now, Frieren is blinking away tears, covering her face with her arms as her party consoles her. You find yourself mirroring her, self-pity beginning to swallow you whole.

WOOZI is silent again, but this time, you know he’s pondering what to say.

“Ah, sorry,” you choke out a laugh. “Forget about what I just said. Can we watch this episode another time?”

You’re reaching for his laptop when he stops you, grabbing your wrist. Unlike Carter’s, WOOZI’s touch is gentle and light, and you shiver at him running his thumb along the ball joint.

“Wait.” He inhales. “Just… wait.”

And you do, peering through your lashes at him. He drops your arm, drawing in on himself, and lets out another sigh.

“When CH33RS first started out,” WOOZI begins. “We were treated awfully. This was before we met Jeonghan; we had to fight to be given decent practice equipment and fair schedules. It was like our previous company wanted us to go through hell before reaching the top.”

You stay quiet, eyes trained on his fingers reaching to twist with the hoop in his right ear. It’s on the smaller side and made of black metal, but you think it suits him well.

“Then… along came Seokmin.”

“Seokmin?” you echo.

WOOZI nods, though it’s not without a hint of pain. “Our last manager from the previous company. He fought so hard for us. Didn’t let any of us get trampled on, and always made sure we knew we were his top priority.”

He leans back on the pillows, black hair billowing out to form a slight halo around his head. You blink down at him, fingers clawing at the mattress and heart being twisted in the worst way possible.

“He was the one who got us signed with our new company under Jeonghan,” he finishes softly. “It didn’t go over well with the higher-ups, but he took all the blows. Haven’t seen him since the big fight when our contract properly ended and we refused to renew.”

The show credits are running as his voice trails off. At this point, one of you would reach over and hit play on the next episode, but now you’re glued to the hotel bed.

“I’m sorry,” you console. “But… this still doesn’t answer why you snapped at me the first day.”

The singer throws an arm over his eyes.

“About that—I’m sorry,” WOOZI breathes out. “Can’t stand bullshit like that no matter who it’s from, and I didn’t realize at the time that the staff member started it. I know it's super late and also probably an incredibly lame apology, but… I really admire you and your work, Sairen. I hope the rest of the tour goes well and that we can at least be cordial.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you scrunch your face to avoid the giggles threatening to spill out of you. Part of you is annoyed, sure; couldn’t the dickhead just have asked you before jumping to conclusions?

But another part of you understands—this industry was notorious for wildfire rumors and miscommunication. That, coupled with the stress of being around a bunch of crappy staff members for hours on end, would be enough to drive anyone to the brink of snapping.

“I’m sorry, too,” you offer a bittersweet smile to him. “I get to be kind of an ass when I’m around people who don’t know how to be decent human beings. Kind of backfires on me a lot of the time in this field of work, though.”

To your utmost surprise and increasing delight, WOOZI lets out something between a witch’s cackle and a belly laugh.

He slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, but you’re already grinning from ear to ear, watching his own turn a shade of cherry red.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “Glad we can relate on that part, then. And thank you for the apology.”

You knock your knee against his. “No problem, rockstar. Hope to be more cordial with you too. Or whatever you said.”

WOOZI raises an eyebrow at you, but you wave him off, turning back to his laptop with a satisfied hum and hitting play.

Your heart feels lighter knowing you can enjoy the rest of the tour without having to walk on eggshells around the people who are supposed to know you best. It makes you wonder just how much you’ve missed out on with WOOZI, and how many episodes of Frieren you could be caught up with by now if this hadn’t happened.

Oh well, you mumble to yourself, stealing a glance at the man beside you. His face is once again illuminated by the screen, dimly lit yet glowing with an emotion that is hard to put into words. You hope it can be described as contentment.

Frieren is recapping her adventures with the knight of the party, Himmel, and promising to make the most of the time she has left. You turn your attention back to the screen, watching the elf girl finally cave into her heart’s desires.

Better late than never. 

📍 ONTARIO, TORONTO

Your hair is dripping wet when you bumble through the door, Soonyoung and Joshua hot on your heels. The rain outside was never-ending, puddles forming on the ground from your damp clothes as you try to wipe your shoes on the welcome mat. The guys aren���t any better; Joshua’s wringing his hair out as much as he can while Soonyoung shakes himself off like a dog.

A woman behind the front desk peers up at you before smiling brightly. “Hello! Are you here for an appointment?”

You dip your head as you approach, taking notice of the woman’s inked skin. She’s got a dragonfly drawn across her forearm, the swirls of its wings mesmerizing to your eyes.

“Yes, with Minghao?” you tilt your head, sliding your ID across the table. “I really appreciate you taking us in so last minute. I’ve been meaning to get a tattoo at a local place while I’m traveling.”

“No problem,” she reassures, checking you in with ease. “What prompted you to come to ours, though? Lotsa good ones around these parts.”

You jerk a thumb back at the two wet dogs you’ve pulled in from the rain. Soonyoung perks up at your attention and you roll your eyes.

“My friend back there wanted to get some flowers as congratulations for… someone,” you clear your throat, to which Joshua makes a face at. “We were at the florist across the street yesterday, and he praised you highly.”

“Junhui?”

The new voice makes you look up to see a slender, lean man propping himself against a doorway to another room. He sports a black mullet that shows off the various piercings he has, ranging from a silver hoop through his daith to the metallic rod he’s got going through a flat and his helix. He purses his lips as he takes you in, crossing his tattoo-sleeved arms with intrigue.

“Yeah,” you confirm in surprise. “Pretty sure his name was Jun, at least. You’re Minghao?”

He nods. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly tinged with an accent—Chinese, you think, listening intently. “So, you’re the famous Sairen that’s got this city in an uproar,” he muses, motioning for you to come to the back with him. “I’m guessing the blonde dude is Hoshi from CH33RS, and your manager is the one who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.”

At this, you let out a laugh, especially when Joshua bumps your hip with his own.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Minghao leads you to a table with various drawings spread out, papers cluttering the surface with ink spilling all over the wood. You sit down without having to be told, in awe over his workspace. Joshua and Soonyoung tell you they’ll be waiting for you outside, and you wave them off with a smile.

“Alright, what were we thinking today?” He takes a seat on the other side of the table and pulls an already-open sketchbook in front of him, uncapping a pen with his teeth. “What’s on your mind?”

You begin to describe the design you’ve had rattling around in your mind the past few days. Minghao takes your words in stride, slow strokes working faster to conjure up a messy drafted sketch. It’s easy, conversing with him—he’s straight to the point with his questions, but won’t hesitate to take a moment to linger on an answer he finds interesting. His wit catches you off guard.

“Do you have any other tattoos?”

To his inquiry, you straighten up a bit and pull on the hem on your shirt, revealing a section of your torso. Minghao raises an eyebrow before leaning over the table, his face instantly shifting to one of admiration once he sees the blotches of black.

With wondrous eyes, he hums in satisfaction. “Nice. Crescent moon?”

“Supposed to be a claw moon, actually,” you offer softly. “I was born on a night where the moon was so thin it looked like a cat’s claw. My mom—she would never stop talking about it when I was younger. Thought it was so cool.”

Then, you walk to his side of the table and lean over to slide down your ankle sock. Right above the ball joint of your left foot is a faded dahlia, the petals worn and just barely crackling at the edges.

“Official flower of San Francisco, California.” Your nostalgic tone doesn’t go unmissed by the tattoo artist, and he makes a noise of encouragement. “I got it when I was like, sixteen, without my parents’ permission. Whoops?”

Minghao snorts, angling the lamp onto the patch of artwork with a scrutinizing eye. “Glad you told me it was a dahlia, otherwise I would’ve thought it was a weirdly puffed up microphone. Or a sex toy.”

You curl your lip in disgust. “Okay, ew. I may be tacky, but not that tacky.”

Pretty soon, the artist is settling you into a more comfy chair, instructing you to raise your thigh so he has a good canvas to work on. The marker he uses to paint your skin tickles, and you tell him such, much to his dismay.

“I hope you aren’t going to move as much as this when I’m actively putting a needle in your skin,” he deadpans, but you only laugh.

Minghao’s quick, you’ll give him that. He lays down the basic outline in only about twenty minutes, give or take, though you suppose it also has to do with how you’ve opted for a simpler design.

He tells you about how business has been going for him lately; you make a big deal about how huge the sunflowers were in Jun’s shop. Minghao listens with the intensity of a therapist, making light remarks and comments that have you spluttering for an answer.

The next hour is spent lightly bantering with him, and listening to Joshua rattle off your next few schedules after he comes back from his trip to the café down the street. Soonyoung, ever so helpful, chugs a milk tea he got before offering you a sip.

“Dude, that tattoo looks fire. Jihoon’s gonna be in shambles.”

Minghao hisses as you promptly stiffen, your eye twitching. The drummer is quick to apologize while you give him your best death glare.

“Jihoon, huh?” Minghao clicks his tongue. “What, you getting this for him?”

“It’s not like that,” you quickly say. “Don’t listen to Soonyoung, he’s being stupid.”

The mentioned man makes a guffaw at this. “You’re literally getting the Frieren flowers tattooed on you.”

“They are not just ‘the Frieren flowers,’” you say indignantly. “They’re Blue-Moon Weed flowers. Which you would know the context and history of if you watched the anime.”

“Man, why’d you even ask me to come?” Soonyoung shakes his head good-naturedly. “Jihoon would’ve appreciated the invitation much more than me. He’s also basically getting to see the bottom half of you n—”

Joshua drags him out of the room before you can release your anger on the drummer. In front of you, on his knees, Minghao mutters something about trying meditation, which you gladly accept.

“Though,” he looks to the ceiling in mock thought. “What he said was true. I’ve seen the videos from last night’s show. If you haven’t gotten laid yet, that’s a mistake on your part.”

Your nose scrunches. Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to Jun the florist, after all.

—

WOOZI doesn’t react to your new tattoo right away.

Instead, he admires your older ones, questioning why you’ve never talked about them before.

To this you respond with a snort. “You’ve never asked, so I never talked.”

He seems to mull your answer over, before giving a sheepish nod.

“Touché.”

The bus hits a bump in the road, causing you to wince in pain. You shift in your seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position so as to not lean too harshly on the wound, before returning your focus back to the situation at hand.

This time around, you chose to make do with CH33RS for the ride to the airport, knowing that taking separate cars would only end up making matters more complicated. Joshua, Seungcheol and Jeonghan are upfront, giddy about some new pitch of a show that came out, while Soonyoung’s snoring away a few seats behind them.

How you all have gotten so close in such a short amount of time will never fail to amaze you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That reminds me,” you turn to face WOOZI again; the singer raises a single eyebrow at your words. “You’ve never shown me your tattoos before.”

He pauses in untangling his wired earbuds, apt fingers twisting the cords and making your stomach drop just slightly. WOOZI meets your gaze head-on, a challenge in his expression.

You swallow and muster the courage to look him in the eye. It’s not the first time he’s been the leading cause of the pleasing prickle of your arm hairs, but every time he is, you feel like you lose five years off your lifespan.

“Guess you’ll just have to see them for yourself,” he says smugly, before barely dodging your oncoming slap to his shoulder with a loud laugh.

📍 NEW YORK, NEW YORK

The East Coast is violently different from what you’re used to.

You fidget with your tank top, fanning yourself. The air conditioner was on full blast, but you still found your throat thick with heat, hydrating every chance you could get. You missed San Francisco.

Sure, the wind could get violent there, but the air itself was never as full as it was here. The humidity was awful, especially when smoke surged from sewer plates every five feet and clogged up the environment.

“Maybe because we’re more up north, where a bunch more cities are?” He had offered as an explanation. You raised an eyebrow full of judgement.

Oh, well, you muse. At least it gave you another justification for constantly wearing shorts other than to not irritate your tattoo. You had admired it this morning in the mirror of your bedroom, the early sun’s rays through the window causing the ink to appear quite nicely.

The flowers were healing well; you had marveled at Minghao’s handiwork, twirling stems lacing together before exploding into bundles of petals. While you wished it could have been colored the famous blue color that gave it its name, you had opted for leaving it as an outline, and you didn’t regret it.

Now, you sit and wait for the pizza to arrive, cozy on the couch of the suite you were given. Jeonghan had charmed his way into having the hotel grant you and CH33RS a proper penthouse for your stay in New York. Tired from your show the night before and having visited NYC before, you had opted to stay behind to rest.

Soonyoung wanted to explore the area, gushing about how he’d only ever heard stories of the city from when he was younger, and Seungcheol was close behind in his agreement. Jeonghan and your manager promised them a day full of sightseeing and good food, and the two were sold, letting out hoots of joy in following them out the door.

WOOZI, however, was adamant about staying in the suite. The man was full of surprises, it seemed.

Your name is called faintly from the foyer. Rising to stand, your slippers scuff along the wood as you pad to the source of the sound and take a peek around the corner.

There he stands, baseball cap on with compression sleeves fit snugly along his calves. The sight almost makes you sigh in pleasure. Almost.

“I’m going to go out for a run,” WOOZI says. “I’ll be back in like, thirty minutes or so. Just a few blocks down and then I’ll turn around.”

You’re not sure why he’s telling you this. You’re also not sure why your feet carry you to stand in front of him.

Both happen anyways, and in the end, you muster up a hesitant, hopeful smile at him. “Alright. Be safe.”

He pauses, just slightly, and for a second you almost fool yourself into believing he’ll give you a kiss on the forehead.

You wonder how his lips would feel—smooth, like the petals of a magnolia from the tree in your childhood backyard? Or perhaps a little chapped and roughened, like the strawflowers you saw back in Jun’s flower shop?

What the fuck? You immediately gawk at yourself. What the hell were those thoughts?

The silence drags on impossibly long, turning into an awkward pause you’re not too confident you can break. Thankfully, the singer clears his throat, and you startle.

“Save some pizza for me,” WOOZI finishes, giving you a firm nod.

A part of you deflates. Right, of course—WOOZI was professional above all else. And up until recently, the two of you had been nothing more than flies on the wall to each other.

To hide your disappointment, you scoff and nudge him playfully, twirling around and throwing a wink over your shoulder.

“Then be back soon,” you stick your tongue out at him. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

—

WOOZI comes back right when you’re about to dig into the pizza—the cheese hits the roof of your mouth, actually, as you hear the door click open.

“Pizza’s ready and hot,” you call out to him, and you get a muted grunt and some shuffling in response.

He’s panting lightly as he walks over to you and plops down on the floor, right at the foot of the couch. You study how his hair parts slightly to the side and is matted from being suffocated under his hat.

“Good run?” You ask, chewing through a bite of pizza.

The man turns his head, his gaze dropping to the new tattoo lining your thigh before rising to your lips. A part of you wants to ask his thoughts on the design, but his fixed stare makes your breath hitch.

You must have something on your face, you realize, and dart your tongue out to catch whatever crumbs have to be on the side of your mouth.

He tears his eyes away. “Yeah, but the city stinks of sewage.”

WOOZI grabs a slice of pepperoni and begins to scarf it down, focusing his attention to the episode of Frieren you’ve got pulled up.

“Hey, weren’t we supposed to watch this episode together?” He complains, and if you didn’t know any better, you can almost swear he’s pouting.

“You took too long.” You hide a smile behind the last of the crust you’ve got in your hand. “I told you to hurry back and not keep me waiting.”

He huffs. “I did.”

Something about his intonation has you pausing. Your eyes flit to his comfortable position against the couch and your lax posture across the cushions.

On the coffee table sits two cups and a plaque of napkins. He had brought a cup of water for you from the kitchen, and you had made sure to ask for extra napkins from the delivery man so it would be enough for the two of you. You blink in surprise at the revelation.

When did domesticity become second nature with him?

It’s like you’re hit with a bullet of clarity, the aftershock radiating through your system one bone at a time. WOOZI, as if noticing your silence, casts another glance back at you and holds your gaze.

He has a mole under his right eye. This, you notice, and you notice well. The explosion of feelings only further seethes under your skin, roaring to be let out through words.

Nothing leaves your mouth, though.

You let the shockwaves pulse through you until they simmer down to something calmer, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. Uncharacteristically, you swallow down the words bubbling up in your throat. WOOZI takes another bite of pizza. 

And of course, the show goes on.

—

It’s well past four in the afternoon when you perk up and roll over, resting your cheek on the couch cushion and insistently poking WOOZI with your foot. Frieren is long paused on the TV screen, and you’re careful to not rest too much of your weight on your thigh.

“Hey, hey. Wake up.”

Half-asleep and slumped over a pillow, he hums in response, shifting away slightly. From your position on the couch, the glint of his single lobe piercing glares blatantly in your eyes, furthering the newfound determination thrumming beneath your skin.

“Crazy idea, but what if we got our noses pierced together?”

The man’s mouth moves in a mumble, clearly giving his response no thought. “Mmm. Sure.”

Without thinking, you tumble towards him, letting your arms find home around his neck. WOOZI stiffens, finally jerking awake and glaring at you. You grin back, trying not to seem unaffected by your instinctive action, and release your hold.

“Really? Okay, get ready then!”

A small, huh?, leaves his lips, but you’re already up and disappearing into your bedroom. He scrambles after you, but you leave him dumbstruck outside your door, his heart throwing itself against his ribcage and cheeks flushed red.

—

“A nose piercing?” you can practically feel his disapproval as you tug him towards the shop; it’s sundown, and golden hour sets his black hair on fire in a way that has you covering your eyes from the shine. “You, want me, to get a nose piercing with you?”

“You heard me the first time,” you reply nonchalantly, as if this were an everyday occurrence. “And I mean, who else if not you?”

The bell above the door jingles in greeting as you step through the doorway. You barely did any research of the surrounding area; your impulsivity left you walking into the first piercing shop near your hotel that had the flickering OPEN sign outside.

“Your tattoo is still healing,” he points out to you. “Shouldn’t you be resting before damaging your body even more?”

Though his words are rough, WOOZI still hasn’t let go of your hand, thumb running along yours as if it was nothing but a subconscious thought. You flush and pull away to grant yourself some dignity back. When did he think it was alright to touch you?

“It’s been a few days and I have high pain tolerance,” you shrug, before turning to the man at the counter. “Hi! Sorry to bother, but do you take walk-ins?”

WOOZI stares in wonder as you navigate through an impromptu conversation with ease. Sure, you’ve been cordial with him up to now, and even friendly enough to joke, but today has been something else entirely.

The person in front of him is nothing like the Sairen he knew from the media or interactions with staff; unlike before, where you would barely give him the time of day, you are now within arms reach. You are tolerable. Tangible. Holdable.

He rids himself of those preposterous thoughts and joins you at the counter.

You beam up at the man behind the desk with your best smile. He’s got cropped black hair and an equally cropped black shirt that shows off a belly button piercing, and the vertical labret he dons is nothing short of captivating. You watch as he scribbles something down on a piece of paper and excuses himself to the back, waving him off with a, it’s okay, take your time!

“When did you get so friendly?” WOOZI taunts, nudging you with his foot.

Your eyes are going to pop out of your sockets from how much you’re rolling them to the back of your head. “I’ve always been friendly. You’ve just been too unfriendly to notice.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but the staff member comes back, flashing the two of you a bright smile.

“Wonwoo will take care of ya in the second room on the left.” He gives you in particular a wink, to which you giggle at.

There’s a bad taste in WOOZI’s mouth. He hmphs—there must’ve been onions in the pizza, or something.

Wonwoo, thankfully, seems to be the complete opposite from his coworker. Wearing a simple sleeveless white tank and pierced with eyebrow studs, he stands up from his seat on a stool at your entrance.

You greet him with a polite hello, but the man’s eyes flicker to you for barely a moment before merely dipping his head in acknowledgement. Instead of starting up conversation, he brings the two of you over to a small glass display of studs.

“Whoever picks first can go first,” is all he says before disappearing off to who-knows-where, leaving you two in front of the display alone.

Instantly, your eyes are drawn to a silver star stud. It’s simple and serves its purpose as an easy sleeper piercing as well. Nudging the man next to you, you point it out with a smile, automatically leaning into him when his arm brushes yours a second time.

“This one would be cool, what d’ya think?”

WOOZI looms over the display, peering intently at the one your pointer finger is hovering over. From his position, you can easily trace the vein in his neck that snakes past the collar of his jacket, leading all the way down to the ones that bulge from his forearms. He presses his lips together in thought.

Standing up straighter, he gives a small nod. “Yeah, I like it.”

Wonwoo comes back a moment later, hands already gloved and holding a small kit of something in his hand. He lifts his head towards the stool, as if surprised that neither of you are sitting on it yet. “Did either of you choose one?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry,” you hurriedly show him the piercing, and he rummages around for a fresh stud.

The alcohol is cold on your nose. You have to stop yourself from wrinkling it as Wonwoo marks a dot right at the curve of your nostril. He steps back, gesturing for WOOZI to take a look.

“Look good to you?” He’s asking, but WOOZI’s eyes are already fixated on you.

Slowly, the guitarist nods, eyeing you up and down. It makes you squirm in your seat.

“Yeah. Looks good.”

Wonwoo instructs you to keep as still as possible, prepping the piercing needle with experience only a professional piercer could provide. Eyes flickering to the side, you take comfort in the sight of WOOZI, hair tousled and leisurely blinking at you with his hands in his pockets. He reminds you of a cat watching their owner do mundane tasks.

You hold your breath as you feel the needle go through your skin, before being quickly pulled out. It stings and you bite the inside of your lip. Air rushes through your lungs, wanting to tumble out of you, and Wonwoo successfully slots the star stud in with a satisfied hum.

“Nice work,” he compliments; you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or him, but you thank him anyway, stepping off the chair and making sure to be mindful of your tattoo.

He’s turning to WOOZI before you realize it, and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry WOOZI I forgot to help y—”

But the singer is shaking his head, nodding casually to Wonwoo with all the nonchalance in the world. “I’ll have the same stud as them. Same place, too.”

Your jaw is on the floor for the whopping two minutes it takes for WOOZI to get his nose pierced. He watches you with amusement the entire time, eyes following your furrowing brows and flushing cheeks.

“What?” He smirks as the two of you leave the room, bidding Wonwoo a goodbye; the man just gives another nod. “Didn’t expect me to get the same one as you?”

“You…” You grit your teeth. You want to yell at him to stop playing with your feelings—it’s a dangerous thing, to play with fire. “You are such a copycat.”

WOOZI only shrugs. “I didn’t feel like looking at the display again and I liked your choice. What’s wrong with that?”

Everything, you want to confess. Everything, because it gives me stupid hope for something that’s never going to happen.

The man at the counter brightens at your reemergence. You offer a shy wave, and out of the corner of your eye, you see WOOZI’s mouth press into a thin line.

“Your piercing turned out well,” the man says—it’s pointedly towards you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I like the star you chose.”

“Thank you, Wonwoo did a great job,” you manage a nod. He was welcoming at first, but the way he’s looking at you now reminds you of the journalists who crowd you after a social event.

Thinking the conversation is over, you give him one last smile and turn towards the door. WOOZI seems eager to leave; he’s already five steps ahead of you, holding the wooden door open.

“Oh, um,” the man clears his throat loudly, and you half-turn, giving him a quizzical look. “I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinn—”

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo seems to appear out of nowhere, a broom in his hand. “We need to start cleaning up. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten you’re on the closing shift already?”

His stern voice makes you nervous; did you do something wrong?

The newly named Mingyu grumbles out an okay, sending you an apologetic smile before grabbing the broom and disappearing into the back. Wonwoo turns to you and WOOZI again, giving you two a final nod, though for some reason you feel like it isn’t exactly directed towards you.

“C’mon, let’s go,” WOOZI’s voice is rough, and it reminds you of your relationship with him early on: cold, and purely business. “It’s getting late.”

With what feels like no other choice, you follow him out the door and let the bell chime in farewell.

—

Strangely enough, the guys aren’t there yet when you come back to the suite.

The emptiness of the penthouse almost scares you. You’re not used to the stillness of a place, more attuned to the bustling of backstage prep and the liveliness of concerts. Slipping off your shoes, you make your way back to the living room, collapsing on the couch.

“Careful of your tattoo,” comes WOOZI’s belated reproach as the lights flicker on.

You groan and try to hide the burning sensation that rises in your leg. “What are you, my dad?”

He slides in next to you effortlessly, clicking on the remote to connect his phone to the TV like he had earlier in the afternoon. “No, but it’s clear that you need parental supervision at all times,” he remarks, his knees spreading slightly apart.

You do your best to keep your eyes on the TV screen when his leg presses lightly to yours. “I do not need parental supervision.”

“First the tattoo in Toronto, and now the nose piercing in New York.” WOOZI raises an eyebrow at you, and you feel caught red-handed, like a fly in a spider’s trap. “What next? Cutting and dying your hair in D.C.?”

“Come on,” you drawl, landing a soft smack on his shoulder. “Where’s your joy? Your whimsy? We all need to have fun sometimes!”

WOOZI scoffs.

“Oh yeah, I bet it was real fun flirting with the piercer,” he mutters under his breath.

There’s a pregnant pause. WOOZI stiffens and brings a hand up to his lips, as if, by doing so, he could stop the words that have already poured out. You’re equally as shocked, frozen in place at what now hangs in the air between you two.

Huh?

Trying to break the tension, you laugh nervously, heart pounding in your chest. “First you act like my dad, then you act like my jealous lover. Pick a struggle, dude.”

Another pause, and then WOOZI huffs. Puts the remote down.

He doesn’t say anything—instead, WOOZI leans in impossibly close to your face, studying the colors of your eyes with such intensity it has you blushing.

“You know what? Why don’t you pick for me, rockstar?” He challenges, breath mingling with yours. It smells like the Coke Zero you two shared earlier.

You swallow, lips parting ever so slightly with no sound coming out. WOOZI takes this chance to drag his fingers down your leg that doesn’t have the new tattoo on it, his touch sending your thoughts into a crazy whirlwind. A soft, high-pitched whine leaves your throat, and he lets out a heavy sigh in response.

Noses touching, your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, whispering his name. WOOZI stills.

“Call me Jihoon,” he murmurs, and the care that’s packaged into his voice is swallowed by your lips as you gulp again. “Just Jihoon.”

Jihoon. Biting your lip, you feel emboldened by his actions, as if he’s got you under a spell only he can undo.

“Alright, Jihoon,” you place your own hand on his knee, drawing circles on his skin; he shudders in the most delicious way, and you file it away in your brain for later. “How about this? You kiss me, and you might just find out the answer to that question.”

He tsks in response, lips brushing yours.

“We’re home!”

Soonyoung’s echoing shout has the two of you scrambling away from one another, ending up on opposite sides of the couch. You wince from the pressure on your thigh, quickly using it as an excuse to bury your burning face in your arms and knees.

“Whoa—hey, Seungcheol, check this out! Jihoon got a nose piercing!”

You hear the drummer barrel into the living room, excitedly chattering in Korean, as a warm hand lands on your shoulder. Yelping, you raise your head to meet Joshua’s concerned glance.

“Hey, you alright? Did you hit your leg?” He asks worriedly, eyes searching yours.

Vigorously shaking your head, you rise with a wobble in your step. “No, I’m fine,” you squeak out. “Just really tired from today.”

The glint of the light must catch your stud, because Joshua lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah? Tired from going out and getting a nose piercing?”

“What? You got one too?” Soonyoung bends down to try and get a glimpse. “Let me see! Aww, I can’t believe you two went without me!”

You finally get your friend off your back with the promise of getting another piercing with him before the tour ends, to which he immediately lights up at. He’s off to the kitchen where you can hear Jeonghan putting leftovers from the day away, no doubt accompanied by Seungcheol.

It leaves you with Jihoon and Joshua in the living room; the former is awkwardly inspecting the couch for lint as your manager worries over you once more.

“Joshua, I said I’m fine, honestly,” you smile tiredly, stomach doing a flip at Jihoon’s glance your way. “I think I just need some rest. Tell me all about your adventures tomorrow, ‘kay?”

Reluctantly, the doe-eyed man lets you go, and you trudge back to your room to get ready for bed. The bathroom is a quick trip, not wanting to chance running into Jihoon again, and before you know it, you’re buried under the covers.

You can still feel the warmth of Jihoon’s hand on yours, and the sweltering heat of his eyes on your lips. It makes you jostle uncomfortably under your blanket.

Call me Jihoon. Just Jihoon.

His voice fades to white noise, and you find yourself succumbing to sleep, uncertain of whether you wish for a dream tonight or not.

📍 WASHINGTON, D.C.

“I can’t hear you, D.C.!”

You lean against a pillar in the back of the venue, lips curved in a smile at Jihoon’s shout into the mic. The crowd thunders with applause and cheers, and from your vantage point you squint to see Seungcheol take his in-ears out, cupping the side of his face with one hand and gesturing to keep the screams coming.

Curious to get a different view, Joshua had allowed you to sneak to the very back of the venue, where the sound mechanics were handled. You were perched right on the edge of the outer balcony, hood and sunglasses obstructing the view of yourself from onlookers.

Jihoon starts jumping on stage again, his iconic boots thumping against the plywood. Enjoying your disguise, you take this chance to drink in his loosened tie and the flex of his biceps as he engages with the front row.

He’s beguiling, face so round and cheeky compared to the hard and chiseled statue of his body. Dangerously, you see his tongue loll out as he adjusts the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the two top ones and giving a boyish grin to the crowd.

Cheeks flaring with desire, you look away, focusing on Seungcheol beginning to arch his hands up in time with the rhythm of the next song.

No wonder CH33RS was so renowned for their crowdwork; their energy was marvelous, no doubt wrecking the eardrums of any bystanders nearby the venue. You clap along to the beat that Soonyoung’s drum as they launch into their last and one of their most popular songs, 505.

Stop, and wait a sec’ Oh, when you look at me like that, my darling What did you expect? I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck Or I did, last time I checked

Leaning on the balcony, you nibble on your thumbnail. You don’t know where to look: there’s Seungcheol’s focused lip bite, his mop of hair swaying to the beat as his fingers work the bass he’s got; or maybe Soonyoung’s energetic trills, twirling his drumsticks in the air as a show for the crowd.

“D.C., sing it with me!” encourages Jihoon.

Ah. Your eyes find their target, sweating and panting and oh-so-captivating. You sigh longingly, the pit in your stomach flickering to life. He gestures for his fans to get louder, curling his fingers in time with the music, as their chants grow.

Then—he finds you.

You don’t know how he does, but he stares right through to soul, offering you a nod when your fingers flit in a small wave.

From your point on the balcony, you watch Jihoon’s face glow under the stage lights. His eyes are crescents, reminding you of the claw moon etched into your torso right below your heart. Voice low and gravelly, Jihoon begins to sing again, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five minute drive,” you murmur along breathlessly; Jihoon mimics your expression.

Your legs feel like jelly as he hones in on the next sentence—the beat slows down, and Seungcheol opts for only plucking the mandatory strings for the bassine. Jihoon’s eyelashes flutter as he ends the pre-bridge, staring straight at where you’re stationed with dark eyes.

“In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side,” he sighs, “With your hands between your thighs.”

For a second, time slows down. The swirling pit in your abdomen screams to be let loose, and if he were to do anything more, you greatly feared for your remaining sanity.

Taking a breath, Jihoon wrenches his gaze from yours and clenches his fist to his chest, as if it physically pains him to do so.

But I crumble completely when you cry It seems like once again, You have to greet me with goodbye I’m always just about to go and spoil a surprise Take my hands off your eyes too soon

You’re incapable of watching anymore. Sinking to your knees, the air in your lungs comes out in harsh pants, sweat dripping down your chin and landing on your exposed thigh.

The Blue-Moon Weed flowers peek out from below your shorts, and you draw a shuddering breath that’s easily drowned out from the screams of the audience.

Lee Jihoon, what have you done to me?

—

The alcohol burns in your throat.

You tip back your head again for yet another shot, the yogurt-flavored soju tasting enticingly sweet on your tongue. Soonyoung claps your back from next to you.

“You’re getting good at taking it!”

He… must not know what he’s saying anymore, you think as you choke on the liquid from his words. Dirty images flash through your mind, horrifying you to no end.

You’re handed a napkin from somewhere that you gratefully take, wiping the dribbling fluid that’s escaping down the column of your neck. “Watch it,” Jihoon mumbles into your ear. “Don’t want you being rendered too speechless during our tour.”

Jumping in your seat, you murmur a slurring apology, face burning when he hands you another napkin. You can barely make out Joshua from across the table raising a delicate eyebrow in your direction.

Without warning, you reach across the table and give him a hard smack to his shoulder, taking pride in the way he lets out a sound of indignance.

“It’s not what it looks like!” You pout. “Stop… Stop doing that!”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he’s laughing, and Jeonghan’s leaning into him with a giggle. “What did I do?”

The blonde manager angles his head towards you. Your cheeks puff up as your lips press together, clearly dissatisfied, as Jeonghan speaks like he’s talking to a child—which he is not.

“Sairen, honey.” You blink drowsily at his cheeky grin. “What’s your tolerance for alcohol?”

“Good,” you blurt out. “It’s good.”

Laughter crows from your friends around the table. Seungcheol has his mouth latched onto Jeonghan’s shoulder in a bite, burying his laughter underneath sharp teeth and a wide smile.

Biting. You want to do that, too.

Your teeth land sloppily on the shoulder beside you, the taste of skin flooding your senses. Soonyoung has a nice shoulder. Humming, you dig your teeth in just a little more, enjoying the sensation that comes with your love bite. The drummer wouldn’t mind another one, right?

“Oh-kay,” Jihoon splutters, pushing you away from his bare shoulder lightly; you admire the marks left by your canines with a lopsided smile as Jeonghan cackles in the background. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol for the night. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“No!” You whine, and now he’s pulling you to your feet, easily hooking an arm around your waist. “Wait, I don’t wanna go…”

It takes a few minutes, but you do end up in your bed, bottom lip jutted out in a pout as you’re tucked into your sheets by a messy-haired Jihoon. It’s clear the alcohol’s getting to him too, apples of his cheeks red and eyes glossy. You reach out to touch his forehead and brush a strand out of his face.

“Pretty,” you mutter.

Jihoon lets out a sigh—it’s heavy, burdened by something that rests on his conscience, and you drop your hand onto the cool comforter. He hangs his head low, not looking at you anymore. You miss his eyes.

You decide to try your luck again. “Jihoon.”

While the man doesn’t raise his face to meet yours, he does make a noise to let you know he’s heard you. Carefully bringing your hand to his head again, you card your fingers through his hair, basking in the long, slow intake of breath he gives in response.

There’s a bite mark in his shoulder. You study it, eyes narrowing. Did Soonyoung bite him earlier?

“Did you mean it?” He asks suddenly.

Your lips part, tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “Mean what?”

“What you said. Back in New York. Did you mean it?”

Blurry images of your face pressed to his come rushing back, and you let out a whine. “Of course I meant it, stupid. I wanted you to kiss me so bad!”

Jihoon says nothing. You, inebriated as ever, take this as a sign to continue your tangent. “And then you pulled that… that stunt at your show tonight. I was already going fucking crazy from the tension between us after New York, but you—you kept being a tease! Do you not remember what happened on the bus? And now here you are, in front of me, and all I wanna do is…”

Your impudent speech tapers off into silence. Jihoon’s finally looking at you, really looking at you, his eyes glassier than before. You cradle his face in the palm of your hand, thumb careful to not disturb his still-healing nose stud. The bejeweled star gleams in the light of your bedside lamp.

Ever so attentively, you bring his lips to rest just against yours, craving for the now familiar feeling of your breath mixing with his. This time, it smells faintly of the citron soju he was nursing in the living room of the suite.

Does he taste the same? You wonder, and lean closer to find out.

“Wait—” Jihoon gasps, your name falling off his tongue in a plea that has your knees weak again. “Wait, we can’t. We can’t.”

He’s got his hand pressed against your lips and your wrist captured in the other. The two of you are breathing heavily, even though nothing has happened, and a part of you shatters.

“Whaddaya mean we can’t?” You frown, already small voice muffled further by his fingers—you give a tentative bite to his palm, and Jihoon yanks his hand away from your mouth like he’s been burned.

Shifting in bed, you reach for him again, but Jihoon is shaking his head violently. His brown eyes, usually so warm, are instead blown out with widened pupils.

“I—we can’t,” he repeats, standing up in a hurry. “Not like this. Not right now.”

“Wait, Jihoon—!”

“Please.” He’s at the door to your bedroom, forehead knocking against the wood. Jihoon takes another quivering breath, and you watch his whole body shake at the gesture. “Just… get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

There’s some more mumbling from him; curses, you realize too late, and then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re left with nothing but the buzz of the air conditioner and your thoughts.

A part of you wants to stumble to your feet and crawl to him, begging for him to come back and explain yourself. Another part of you wants to scream like a child throwing a tantrum, tears threatening to spill over your lashline.

“Jihoon,” you whimper into the darkness, lamp clicking off automatically from no movement sensed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Do you not want me as much as I want you?”

📍 ORLANDO, FLORIDA

In the days following that night, Jihoon’s been ignoring you.

You thought it was just your imagination at first; maybe he was just busy with the next upcoming show, you reasoned, shrugging your shoulders as he gave another lame excuse for not being able to watch the next Frieren episode with you. The amazing show at D.C. caused yet another uproar, Orlando and Atlanta selling out soon after videos started circulating.

But then one Frieren episode turned to two, and two turned to three, until he was a whole arc behind you. The last episode you had watched together had been the one in New York, where Frieren counseled Fern and Stark on their relationship. You remember huffing in disbelief at the main character finding out the real meaning of the mirrored lotus, and what that entailed about Himmel’s feelings for her.

“I can’t believe it. He loved her so much, yet was so content with just staying by her side,” you lamented, your back hitting the couch with a thud. “He was so selfless about that shit. Even until the end.”

Jihoon had eyed your complaining from his newfound position across from you, knee bent at an angle to be able to brush against your thigh. He just shook his head, the credits rolling, and shrugged.

“Anything to be by her side.”

Back then, you had rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time at him, griping that he was much more of a sap than he let on.

Now, his words linger in your head as you stare at the news headline, Soonyoung worriedly trying to snap you out of your daze.

New Foreign Love? WOOZI, Lead Singer & Guitarist of CH33RS, Seen Embracing Anonymous Person Last Night at Mango’s Club in Orlando, Florida!

“Hey, you know how people get about the media,” he tries to console. “It probably wasn’t even him. We get into dumb scandals all the time, and—”

“Soonyoung.” Your grim tone makes him flinch. “What happened that night?”

“That night?” He recites, thinking hard for a moment. “Oh! Do you mean last night? Don’t listen to Seungcheol, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about with billiards—”

You sigh. “No, Soonyoung. The night we all got drunk in D.C. What happened?”

“Ooooohh.” Soonyoung lets the note drag on, his vibrato reverberating through the dressing room you’re in. “That night!”

Yes, you want to groan, mentally slapping your forehead. Memories were nonsensical from that night—all you remember was biting someone’s shoulder and then being dragged to your room, feeling incredibly down about it.

You chalked it off the next day as silly drunk antics, as everyone—save for Jihoon, who said he wasn’t feeling well that day—was acting normal around you.

But now? After gathering the evidence of ignorance, and seeing this headline? Your heart hammers with fear of the unknown, and you have to do a breathing exercise for a second before you’re able to respond.

“What happened?” You ask again, more firmly this time.

The drummer scratches the back of his neck, eyebrows squeezing in thought. “...I dunno. We were all drunk and stuff. Jeonghan was teasing you a lot for your low tolerance, and Jihoon took you to your room right after.”

Slumping, you wrack your brain, trying to fragment some semblance of what could have happened that night. Maybe you had embarrassed yourself by letting out a particularly gut-wrenching burp? Or, perhaps, you had disclosed something incredibly personal to him, and he felt awkward about it?

But nothing was brought up. Frustration laces your thoughts and makes itself comfortable in your heart, throwing its arms up in the air with a sigh. Surely he would’ve talked to you if you did anything embarrassing, right?

Or, maybe, your anxiety murmurs, he’s so disgusted by you he doesn’t even want to bring it up.

Burying your head in your hands, you will the feelings away, trembling with emotion. Soonyoung, put off by your desolate state, rubs a comforting hand in circles along your back.

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over,” he reasons. “And Jihoon will come around. I’m sure of it.”

Not even half a second later, the mentioned man pushes the dressing room door open. You don’t catch it, too entangled in your woes, but Jihoon takes a sharp inhale at the sight of his bandmate comforting you in such an intimate manner.

“Soonyoung,” Jihoon rasps, and you involuntarily stiffen at the sound of his voice. “We’re needed soon for pre-show photos.”

Soonyoung mutters that he’ll be there soon. Turning your head, you meet Jihoon’s eyes, hope flaring in your chest when he hesitates at the door.

“Seungcheol and I will be waiting in the stairwell. See you then.” He takes a step back and lets the door shut, the wood creaking for a moment in protest before ultimately giving in.

You let out a long, resigned sigh, tears welling up in the back of your throat.

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung mumbles your name, and you look at him with what you hope is a grateful smile; by the expression on his face, it’s far from one. “I promise, he’ll come around. Maybe he just needs some space. Talk to you in a little, okay? Drink some water.”

He abandons you then, draped over the arm of the couch with a tissue box and half-empty bottle of water. Your sniffles are quiet in contrast to the loud cheering from outside—it’s definitely Soonyoung trying to lift the mood.

Maybe he just needs some space. The words, empty with promise, ring in your head.

Space your ass. Your jaw clenches. Jihoon should know better than to hide from communication with you—it’s what had you two at each other’s throats in the first place.

Right then and there, against better judgement, you make a decision. Tonight you would confront Lee Jihoon, WOOZI of CH33RS, and you would do it scared to absolute death.

—

You find Jihoon in your dressing room after the opening show, tinkering with the make-up products on your vanity.

He must’ve just gotten out of his own last-minute touch ups, the red eyeliner making those half-crescents you like to stare at so much become just that much more endearing. Jihoon adjusts the leather jacket he’s wearing, fiddling with the pocket’s button, before finally glancing up at you.

He speaks your name, sweet and soft and everything you could ever hope for.

“Did the show go… well?” Jihoon scans your figure as you make a beeline for the vanity, pushing past him and grabbing your water bottle. “You’re shaking.”

“Show went well,” you reply curtly; the water easily goes down your throat, and you welcome it, using it as an excuse to not talk to the man beside you.

“Listen, I… wanted to explain—”

“Look, Jihoon.” You bring the bottle down from your lips, fixing him in place with a long look. “If it’s about the scandal, forget it. I need to talk to you about something more important—did I do something wrong?”

Jihoon blinks, lips parted in an ‘o’. “No?”

So he was brushing you off for the fun of it. Cool. The feelings of frustration and anxiety come flying back at the speed of light, smashing into you with such concentrated strength you end up crushing the plastic water bottle in your hand. Jihoon’s eyes flicker between you and the bottle in fear.

Good, you think. That makes two of us scared right now.

“Great, awesome,” you manage with a terse nod. “Have a good show, then.”

You make a move to leave, but there’s that familiar warmth around your wrist again, and you’re jerked back by Jihoon’s nimble fingers. He’s pleading your name, and—

Wait—I... we can’t.

Gasping, you snatch your hand away, stumbling back with your head whirling.

We can’t. Not like this. Not right now.

Please, just… get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?

Wait, Jihoon—!

Your lower back meets the couch, and you gawk at him, hurt slowly fanning out in your expression to reach even the tremors of your pinkie fingers.

“You—you stopped me that night. From kissing you. Didn’t you?”

Jihoon lets out a tch and rips his eyes away from you, running an agitated hand through his black locks.

“You stopped me—why? Was I not good enough for you? Is that why?” You cry out, fists shaking at your sides. “Did you realize at that moment that you didn’t want me? Is that why you ended up hooking up with someone from the club?”

“That’s not—” Jihoon clenches his jaw. “That’s not why I did that.”

Though his words are supposed to comfort, they instead overwhelm, the confirmation of the scandal looming over you like a taunt.

“So you did hook up with someone,” you say slowly, betrayal etched into your features.

He’s reaching for you, arm outstretched and eyes as glassy as the night he stopped you from kissing him. “God, okay, let me just explain—”

“What? Did you need a new lover, or something?”

It comes out much harsher than you intend. You watch as Jihoon’s arm falls and silence engulfs the two of you once more, save for your labored breathing and the squeaking of his boots on the floor when he shifts.

“Just… just for Orlando,” he mumbles, dropping his head.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Just for Orlando?” You echo, disbelief written across all your features. “What, so you’re going to find someone new for Atlanta, too? Houston, even Los Angeles?”

He says nothing.

A knock comes at the door. The two of you stand still as statues as a staff member pokes their head in. If they heard anything, they don’t show it, sparing you only a glance before calling out to Jihoon.

“Stage in ten!”

The door closes as fast as they had opened it, the wood giving no resistance this time. You think Jihoon’s going to say something again, but as he’s quite loved to do during the time he’s known you, he surprises you once again by simply making his way towards the exit.

You can’t tell if you want to laugh or cry.

He passes you, intentionally making sure to not even have his jacket brush yours, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“So that’s it.” Your voice cracks on the last syllable and you hate it.

Jihoon stops in his tracks. His back is to you now, but you turn to watch the rise and inescapable fall of his broad shoulders. If you look closely, you can see the new silver hoops you had helped him pick out at a random flea market on the road.

“Is that all I was to you? Is that all I am to you?” You clamp your fists together, thumbs pressing on your knuckles until they pale. “Just a—just some event that happened to you that you can then make your own dumb conclusions based off of?”

He doesn’t say anything again—you wished he would. The words can’t stop spilling from your lips, like a cup that’s been left uncared for too long under a fountain.

Your impulsivity will be the death of you.

“I’m not a tour date, WOOZI,” you spit. “I’m not just some random location you can think of and go, Oh, right, I visited that place. I’m a person too. I have feelings. I thought you would’ve known that by now, with those stupid memories we shared. I guess I was wrong.”

WOOZI’s low, grainy voice reaches your ears a moment too late. “That’s not what I’m trying to do—”

Crash!

Wrapped up in your emotions, you had forgotten that you were right next to your vanity, your elbow knocking off a jar of perfume. The delicate, rose-colored pieces of glass now lay shattered on the floor, a floral scent filling the air. It’s so pungent you want to gag.

“Fuck,” you mutter, stepping back and plugging your nose. “Ji—WOOZI, I—”

He’s rooted to the ground, hands pressed over his ears and eyes screwed shut. Your eyes widen when taking in how his shoulders shake.

Worriedly and without hesitation, you dash over to him, extending the tips of your fingers to run along the stitches of his leather jacket.

One of WOOZI’s eyes crack open. The iris of brown meets you, his pupil practically a slit, and you falter just enough for him to recognize what you’re trying to do.

He strikes your hand away, fast as lightning, and you yelp in pain.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” WOOZI regards you with a voice that doesn’t sound like his own; it’s roughened around the edges, and so, so cold, that you shiver despite the jacket around your shoulders. “I’m leaving. And you can’t stop me.”

He does exactly what he says he’ll do, slamming the door so hard behind him it rattles in his wake. Sinking to the floor, you let out a sob.

The perfume bottle’s rose-colored pieces are left untouched.

📍 ATLANTA, GEORGIA

Jihoon traces the outline of your side-profile from backstage, eyes taking in your loose tank top and baggy shorts that fall just a little above your knees. The stage lights burn brightly onto your newly colored hair, freshly dyed the night before, and your lips are bruised with the cherry red lip stain he knows you love. You’re in the middle of Real Man, fingers holding the guitar pick so tight he’s a little scared you’ll break it by force.

And I already told you I just wanted to dance Could you see me standing out here with my outstretched hand? I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man, ooh

He feels Seungcheol before he sees him; the hand on his shoulder is weighted, resolute. The bassist says nothing to him as you launch into the second verse of the song.

What Jihoon hates the most is how much of a coward he is—how, even back then with Seokmin, all he knew how to do was put up a cold front and sneer.

Seokmin, with his bright laugh and hopeful gaze. Seokmin, with his neverending optimism, who cheered the three of them on during late nights at their old company’s studio. Seokmin, who took a slap for him from their bitchy CEO, ushering him and his bandmates to flee and never come back.

Crash!

“Seokmin!” He had yelled—never before had he yelled so loud. Jihoon remembers his hoarse voice the day after, how Seungcheol had to brew him ginger tea for his throat.

He also remembers how Seokmin had just laughed, blood dripping from a cut across his cheek. The vase that had smashed to smithereens lay right below him, knocked over when he stumbled back from the CEO’s hand, and Jihoon remembers the smell of the daisies all too well.

“Jihoon,” Seokmin grinned. “It’s okay. The contract isn’t renewing. Go. I’ll always believe in you.”

Walking as the morning beckon You said you'll be a second Locked the back door Yeah, you should have mentioned Guess I should expect it I'm out here, blue What to do?

“Did you know today marks a hundred days since we properly met them?” Seungcheol asks, startling Jihoon out of his memories. “And soon we’ll hit the hundred day mark with them as our opener.”

He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Pauses in opening his mouth. Thinks about how he can’t see your eyes from this angle, but doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for in them anyway.

“Where’d you hear that? Soonyoung?” Jihoon finally snorts. “Him and his weird anniversaries.”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Seungcheol shrug. Instead of giving a proper answer, the bassist lets out a low whistle and runs a hand through his hair.

“Man, they must be really worked up about something.”

Jihoon’s already staring at you when you drop to your knees, head tilted back and eyelashes flush against your cheeks. Real Man isn’t a ballad song by any means, but your stage presence has made it infinitely more personal this time around as you cry the lyrics into the microphone.

Would you hold it down and take it if I gave you a chance? Need the reassurance, baby, not a silly romance Guess I'm used to being disappointed, falling too fast If you want it, go and get it, and I hope you last

“If you want it, go and get it!” Tears stream down your face; Jihoon ashamedly thinks you look like an angel with your hair framing your face so perfectly, head still tilted back to the light.

“And I hope you last.”

You punctuate the last word with a fist to the air. The stage lights darken, the music stills, and all that can be heard is the heavy breathing from you onstage.

That is, until the audience bursts into screams, of course.

He feels a hard clap to his shoulder. Seungcheol’s expression is stony, written with thick strokes of disappointment, doing nothing to ease the onslaught of bullets that are currently being shot into Jihoon’s chest.

Fix your shit, man, is what his friend says without words, before he leaves to go further backstage.

You’re standing up again, facing the crowd and away from Jihoon’s anxious eyes. He sees you readying your guitar for the last song.

“Thank you, Atlanta,” you say into the mic. “It’s been a pleasure being able to open for you tonight. This song… it’s dedicated to someone very special to me. I hope one day I’ll be able to introduce you to him.”

The crowd goes absolutely wild, and Jihoon becomes a deer caught in headlights. He’s listened to your setlist enough times to have memorized the order—knows that after Real Man, comes a song that you hold so close to your heart.

“Atlanta!” You strike a chord. “This is He Gets Me So High!”

There’s no time for him to react before you jump into the music, your mellifluous voice sweetening the sickening lyrics of the song as you strum. Jihoon can’t bear to watch anymore.

A staff member comes to remind him that he’s up next, and he gratefully takes the opportunity to leave—but not without throwing one last look over his shoulder. The entire show you’ve been facing away from him, but this time, you’re angled so he can see the glimmer of your star stud.

Then, you move, and that light fizzles out.

“A hundred days, huh,” he mutters, following the staff to his dressing room. “You’d think we’d have moved past square one at this point.”

—

You trace a light line across the dahlia on your ankle. Minghao had offered to touch-up on your old tattoos for free, but you had turned him down, liking how the fade of the ink added to the sentiment.

If only all your tattoos had such lighthearted meanings to them.

“Sit up a little straighter for me, please.”

Sakura, after your soft pleas, became one of your go-to staff members after shows to help you tidy yourself up. She gives a tiny pat to your leg, indicating you should put it down from its place propped up on your knee, and you oblige.

From outside your dressing room, you pick up on the now-familiar shouts from CH33RS’ crowd. While each city’s audience had their own unique sound—New York was full of screamers, whereas San Francisco had sweeter tones to them—they all bled into the same stream of being wildly captivated by the rock band.

Which, to your utter shame, you can’t exactly say is not hard to do.

“Sakura.” She hums to show she’s heard you, combing a hand through your hair to work the product out of it. “Do you enjoy being a staff member for CH33RS?”

The girl doesn’t stop in her ministrations, but she does fall into a different kind of silence from before, and you can only imagine the gears turning in her head.

“They’re very chaotic.” She states—this gets a giggle out of you. “But they’re very genuine in their actions, and I respect them for that.”

You wring your hands together. “Genuine?”

“I’d like to think so.” In the mirror, you see the reflection of her smile: it’s gentle and coats you with warmth, like one’s favorite quilt would do. “Especially Jihoon. He may seem prickly, but I think he’s just bad with words. He’s much better at showing sincerity through his actions.”

With a bite to your cheek, you carefully formulate your response, hoping Sakura doesn’t see through the cracks of your facade.

“He’s definitely… a character,” you confess. “It’s been hard to get along with him.”

To your surprise, Sakura only chuckles, as if she expected your answer. “I think it’s because you’ve been trying to be someone you think he would get along with. It’s hard to be someone you’re not, you know.”

Her words leave you silent, and she finishes up with pulling your hair back from face to start taking off your makeup. While Sakura doesn’t say any more than that, you feel squeamish in your seat—almost as if she knows something you don’t, and is waiting for you to realize it.

—

The water of the hotel stings.

You rub your eyes with your hands, blinking away tears that crowd the corners of your eyes.

It’s hard to be someone you’re not, you know.

A spray of hot water hits your back as you turn around, leaning against the tiled walls with a sniffle. Sakura’s words hit you with a truck of feelings you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

Sairen. The stage name echoes in your mind, and you repeat it out loud, hating how it rolls off the tongue with such an alluring mystique to it—the sigh of a maiden’s whisper before being grounded with a firm, calm ending, one that leaves you aching for more. It sickens you to the bone.

You cry softly into your hands. Sakura’s right. Pretending to be a magnetic pull when you are instead a sporadic force of resistance has led to the baring of your teeth one too many times. You desperately wish you could mold yourself into what society is begging you to be, if only to stop the relentless torment you endure every time someone mistreats you.

Because pray, do tell—how are you supposed to be the gentle, enticing waves of the ocean, when all you are is the barreling torrent of a tsunami?

Slowly turning the knob of the shower, you shiver as the heat of the bathroom begins to dissipate, condensing into little water droplets on the glass of the shower’s door. Goosebumps prickle your skin and you hurry to wrap yourself in the towel you had prepared before getting in.

The hotel room is dark when you step out, but you’re taken away by the sight of the Atlanta skyline at night. Lights twinkle from various apartments and city buildings, looking like a galaxy some thousand light years away, and you find yourself standing at the bay of your window, hair still dripping wet onto your shoulders and fluffy towel warming you to your toes.

Tap, tap.

Your breath hitches at the soft knock of the door. It’s well past two in the morning—Joshua wouldn’t come bothering you at this hour, and Soonyoung knows better than to try and show up unannounced. Heartbeat quickening, you rustle around for a shirt to throw on, hastily hanging your towel on the metal rod inside the bathroom.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re at the door, rising to peek through the peephole on the hotel room door. “Hello?”

The sight on the other side of the door makes your stomach drop.

WOOZI, hair messy and bearing grey sweats with a black tank. He’s shuffling about awkwardly in his sandals, but his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and in the half-heartbeat that you see his face it looks like he’s been—crying?

“Hey, it’s me.” WOOZI speaks in a low, muted pitch, and it has your heart aching.

Whatever. Your face burns as you clench your jaw, your back pressed to the door, the sound of your breath coming out in rough gasps. Just make it back to your bed. Just go to sleep, and he’ll be gone.

Then—your name is uttered.

Suspended in place, the air is stuck in your lungs as a dull thump comes from behind you. Though the door is dense, you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him through it. You don’t know whether to run or let it embrace you.

He says your name again. The sound is loudest right at the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver despite the muffling of the door.

“I—I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’ve been a jerk this entire time. Even when you treated me with nothing but kindness—it’s… I have no other explanation or reasoning or justification, but I’m sorry.”

“I just had to let you know before the next show.”

Unfurling your fists and against better judgement, you turn to flip the lock of the hotel door open.

WOOZI’s eyes are tinged red. The beauty mark you like to study when he isn’t looking is bold against his pale, blush-fevered skin, making your heart leap in your throat.

“At least have the decency to apologize to my face, dickhead.” It comes out in a pitiful attempt to insult him; a blurt, which is followed by the sound of you sniffling and walking away from the doorway.

He must come in right behind you, because the hallway light goes out not even a second later as the door clicks shut. The city lights glimmer from your window, illuminating your hotel room with a dim glow, and the soft hum of the air conditioner has made itself comfortable in the silence.

“Decency?” echoes WOOZI.

In the blink of an eye, he’s got your wrist caught in his hand, spinning you around to look him in the eye. The expression on his face is a new one—there’s a crease in the middle of his forehead, lips pressed into a small frown, and a small part of you wants to believe he’s worried about you.

“If we’re talking decency, then you should at least also have the decency to look me in the face,” he murmurs, running a thumb along your knuckles.

Your cheeks burn. He must notice this, because he drops your hand soon after, opting to rub his forearm and clear his throat. “Y’know, you’re pretty bad at that. Eye contact.”

This gets a proper reaction out of you. Huffing, you turn away again, wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“WOOZI. What are you doing here? What are you trying to possibly gain from this?”

There it is. At the last word, your voice breaks. Cringing, you inwardly curse at yourself, hating the evident flash of hurt in your tone.

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” WOOZI’s walking around your figure to get you to face him again; the city lights disappear, his shadow looming over your body and sending shivers down your spine. “I’m—I’m apologizing. I’m trying to make things better—fuck, can’t you just look at me?”

Your hands shake as you tear at your hair. “No, I—I can’t. I can’t do that, I’m sorry. And I can’t accept your apology.”

“Why not?” You see him reach for your hand once more.

“Because!” Tugging your fingers away, the electricity jolts you alive, and your breaths start to fall shallow. “Because—how can I know you’re for real this time? How do I know you’re not going to push me away, again? How do I know that you’re not just spitting empty words at me like you have been the past few weeks?”

You don’t even realize you’re crying. The tears come slowly, at first, dripping down your cheeks and making droplets on your tee. Soon enough, though, they’re the flooding rapids of a river, all the emotions that you’ve bottled up over the course of the day exploding like a shaken can of soda.

“I’m tired of this, Jihoon,” you sob. “I’m tired of whatever the fuck this friendship—this, this situation is. Maybe you were right. Maybe we should just stay as memories on a map to one another.”

It all happens so fast; one moment, the cool air of the hotel surrounds you, and the next WOOZI’s got you tightly wrapped up in a hug. It’s the first time he’s voluntarily touched you the entire tour, a sickening part of your brain hoping it’s not the last. His hands are cold, fingers splayed firmly across the small of your back, but his torso—it’s warm.

“I’m sorry,” he’s croaking into your shoulder; you long to feel the brush of his lips against your bare skin. “I’m so, so, so awful with words. I’m sorry.”

His arms, heavy with muscle and firm with his quiet determination, guide you to your bed. The backs of your knees hit your comforter, and you sink to sit on the edge, letting go of him to cover your blazing face with your hands.

You’re expecting WOOZI to leave after sitting you down on the bed, fully convinced he’d be too off put by the surge of your emotions to have a proper conversation with you.

Of course, in true WOOZI nature, he surprises you by beginning to comb his hands through your hair.

He stands between you, not talking with words but with his fingers. I’m sorry, his index and middle finger mumble, disentangling some strands that veil your expression from him. I’m sorry, whispers his thumb, oh-so-carefully tracing the outer shell of your ear down to the point of your jaw.

I’m sorry.

“You still won’t look at me.” His murmur of your name is stained with defeat. “Please, just look at me.”

With a gulp, you lift your chin, trembling eyes meeting his. As you do so, his hand slides to cradle the side of your cheek in his hold. You try to fight the urge of pressing a kiss to his palm.

“There you go,” WOOZI lets out a sigh. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

He stands in between your legs, looking down at you with a gaze full of utter reverence. It almost makes you laugh.

“I should be the one saying that to you,” you croak out, the words getting stuck halfway in your throat. “It only took me several breakdowns for you to finally apologize. Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Though the words are supposed to have a bite to them, they instead have a subdued acceptance to them, your heart pounding loud in your ears from how intimate this moment is. Now that you can get a good look at him, you spot your favorite manmade mark thus far—his star stud now shines brightly, spurred on by the Atlanta lights.

“Yeah,” WOOZI draws his hand away; you make a soft noise of protest at the lack of his touch. “Wasn’t that hard. Should’ve done this way sooner.”

His hands are on either side of you on the bed, leaning forward while you simultaneously lean back on your own hands. The tips of your noses touch and you don’t know where to look—his lips are parted, coffee-grounded eyes trained on the slope of your cupid’s bow, thumbs just barely skimming the surface of your thighs.

Time is awfully slow at times like this. You breathe a sigh into his mouth, one that makes his eyelashes flutter with a heaviness you’re quite sure you could get used to, and the seconds just keep on ticking.

“You’re not going to tell me to stop this time,” you murmur. “Are you?”

And then he fucking grins. “Nah. Been told I’m bad at words, so I’ll stick to letting my actions talk for me.”

You’re not ready for the swell of emotions that overcome you when his lips eagerly press to yours, drowning your senses in the smell of his shampoo. Your arms give out, and you fall back onto the bed, a whine escaping you when you feel the dip of his knee on the bed next to your thigh.

Kissing WOOZI is like taking your first dip in the ocean—the temperature initially shocks you and sends you into a gasping spiral, but then gradually gives way to the relaxing thrum of the waves against your body. His tongue darts out and takes a swipe along your bottom lip, your back arching in pleasure, and you feel the grin on his face when his teeth bump with yours.

“WOOZI—” You start, pulling back with a gasp.

Adjusting his position above you, the man’s head dips to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. He gives a nip to the column of your throat, making you let out an embarrassingly loud noise of content.

“I told you to call me Jihoon, didn’t I?”

Cheeks flushed, you let your arms snake around his neck, tugging lightly on the hair at the base of his neck. “Bed, please, Jihoon.”

Jihoon huffs out a laugh, detaching his lips from your neck with one last kiss. When he gets off you, you mourn the loss of his body heat, a long sigh leaving you at the glance you get of the tent in his grey sweats.

He guides you to sit much more comfortably on the bed, your head resting against the soft feathery pillows the hotel provided. Wasting no time, Jihoon settles between your legs once more, just barely dipping his hands underneath your already-bunched up shirt.

Leaning over you again, Jihoon tugs at your ear with his teeth, giving it a small kiss after. “Better?”

His fingers are a welcome chill to your feverish skin, and your quivering eyelashes tell him as such as you finally give into your desires, bringing one of his hands to your lips to press chaste kisses to. Jihoon’s own lips part in shallowing pants. His pupils are blown wide as he watches your ministrations turn less than innocent when you take the tip of his thumb in your mouth.

Your eyes are dark and half-lidded as you stare up at him with a challenge, swirling the digit around your tongue and sucking lightly. When you sigh, he sighs; when you let your eyes flutter close, his eyelids close half-way, becoming half-lidded in the dim light of your bedroom.

“You look so good when you’re like this, you know that?” Jihoon intones, the newfound sensation of the slow roll of his hips making you gasp and let his thumb fall out of your mouth with a pop!

You let out a shy mewl; he’s so hard against you, the friction of his sweatpants and your underwear catching onto your clit in the most delicious way. Chest heaving, your head tilts back on the pillows, exposing the column of your throat to him once more.

And he takes, dragging his teeth down your neck and sucking at the base of your collarbone. His hands are relentless on your body, squeezing your waist so hard you hope it bruises.

Jihoon pulls at the offending piece of clothing still on you. “Can I take this off, pretty?”

“Yes, please,” you beg. “And you too, Ji.”

“Of course I can.” He presses a long, sweet saccharine kiss to your shiny lips, one that leaves you breathless.

Jihoon sits back on his haunches, tugging his tank top off in one quick and smooth pull. Your eyes widen at the ebony serpent engraved into his skin, its tongue flicking out with a glint of danger in its expression.

The man quietly observes you reaching out to outline the tattoo. His abdomen tenses at your touch, but he lets you continue your journey down his torso, silent awe in your eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, gaze finally meeting his. “What does it mean?”

Swallowing thickly, Jihoon places a hand over yours, extending your fingers to fully splay over the mystical creature.

“Supposed to be the serpent Ouroboros, from Egyptian mythology, before he was doomed to his eternal fate of consuming himself over and over.” Jihoon’s voice is impossibly low. “A reminder to myself to never succumb to my greed.”

“Might have to go back on that promise, though,” he chuckles, eyes drifting to where your nipples are perked up underneath your shirt. “You’re making it kinda hard to keep myself in check.”

Jihoon lifts you up with a surprising amount of strength, helping you get your shirt off and throwing it off the bed without as much as a look. You let out a squeak when he dives between your breasts, massaging them with both hands and hungrily pressing sloppy, wet kisses to the valley between them.

All the while, he’s started grinding against you again, and you’re left a little unsure of the source of the stickiness between your legs. Jihoon’s presence is overwhelming, as if his goal is to make you think of him and him only, and this thought makes your stomach churn with need.

His mouth makes its way down your body, biting at your skin with his fangs before smoothing the lovebites over with his tongue. The saliva he leaves in his wake burns cold in the air conditioned air of your hotel room, but it’s nothing compared to the fire in your lower stomach.

A groan leaves his throat when he comes to the new flowers lacing your thigh—right next to the delicate material of your panties.

“When you got this tattoo,” he sighs, and you squeal at the sudden press of his tongue, flat against the darkening spot of your underwear between your legs. “It took everything in me not to crack at the sight of you in those damn shorts you wore for days after.”

Your panties muffle his words, but as if to make up for it, the vibrations coming from his lips on your clit send waves of pleasure through you. Moaning, you raise your hips to meet his face, your back lifting off the mattress.

Inevitably, Jihoon grows tired of only tasting cotton. In a flash, your panties lay somewhere behind him on the bed, and his mouth licks a stripe up your folds, your moans music to his ears.

“Jihoon—oh, fuck—” you whimper, covering your face with your arms in embarrassment. “Feels—feels s’good, please don’t stop.”

He hums a melody into your cunt, letting his tongue kiss the insides of your gummy walls. You’re delicious, a taste he could only imagine of on nights with no one but him and his hand. Jihoon buries himself further into you, nose rubbing against the bud that draws the loudest sounds out of your throat, and loving every second of it.

You’re squeezing his head between your thighs with all your might, frantically trying to get him to go deeper with his tongue. Fingers scratching at his scalp, your voice comes out in a babble as Jihoon does something with his tongue that leaves your legs shaking.

“D—do that again, please, sir.” The title falls out of you with shockingly little thought, and you clamp around his tongue with a deep flush.

Jihoon pulls back from your folds, cocking his head with a smirk. You whine at the sight of the wetness coating his chin; it dribbles down onto the comforter with little to no regard for your sanity.

“Sir, huh?” He mumbles, teeth moving to nip again at your sensitive spot; you jump and let out a moan. “That’s a new one.”

The singer prods at your entrance with his tongue once more, one of his digits tracing circles around your puffy clit. “You want me to do what again, rockstar?”

Keening, you struggle to keep your eyes open, pathetically pawing at his hair and hoping Jihoon gets the message. He only raises an eyebrow at you, much to your dismay, before devilishly slurping the new juices flooding out of your hole.

His fingers, the ones you’ve only watched pick at his guitar strings until now, make quick work of you, sliding in a V-shape around your bud—up, down, up, down. The wet smacks of his mouth against your pussy echo in the quiet hotel room, loud and lewd. Your noises of pleasure accompany them to create what Jihoon would call his favorite orchestra.

“Th—that! Oh my God, Jihoon!” You yank at his hair, hard, when he does that stupid thing with his tongue again. “Sir—oh god, please… I’m gonna—”

The coils in your lower stomach are threatening to burst. It’s a searing kind of pleasure—one that borders on pain as Jihoon vigorously works his tongue and fingers simultaneously faster, until you’re left a sobbing mess for him to pick up the pieces of. Too much, you want to cry out. Too much, but please don’t stop.

Your legs are convulsing, endless in their tremors as you get lost in how good he’s making you feel. However, just as you’re about to let go of that star, letting it explode into oblivion—

Slap!

A shriek escapes you and you tear your eyes open, hips jolting with the force of Jihoon’s slap against your cunt. He’s grinning, fingers tapping your clit three times before his hand drops.

“Sorry, rockstar,” he teases, shifting upwards to engulf you in a kiss; you taste yourself on his tongue, gooey and sweet, and whimper in response. “Didn’t want you to cum before I’ve had my share of fun, y’know?”

Jihoon rocks his hips forward, his hard-on barely concealed by his sweatpants and dragging enticingly along your pussy just right. Breathlessly, you hold onto his broad shoulders, pouting up at him with your release smeared all over your lips from his kiss.

“Please,” you whisper; he doesn’t even have to ask what you’re begging for, too entranced by the soft spoken sound of your plea.

Shuffling his pants and boxers off, you’re finally met with the sight of his cock: girthy and curved ever so slightly, with a tip tinged so red it leaves your mouth aching to be filled. He grunts as it slaps against his lower stomach, choking out a moan when you immediately reach down to spread your fingers around his tip, smearing pre all over himself.

Jihoon catches your wrist in his hand, looking at you with a gaze so dark it has you clenching around nothing. “Careful what you wish for, pretty,” he mumbles aloud. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew right now.”

He lets his cock slide deliciously between your folds, your juices mixing with his pre to create the perfect lube. It’s so messy, with Jihoon gasping every time the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance. The sheets below you are soaked with your arousal, and you silently pray that the hotel staff won’t mind too much in the morning.

“Ride me,” Jihoon suddenly says. “Need you to ride me. Please.”

 You’ve never heard him beg before, but you decide right then and there it’s one of your favorite sounds.

His eyes are so dark you can barely see the irises anymore, and are so, so glossy, that you worry he’s about to cry. Cradling his cheek in your hand, you swipe your thumb along his beauty mark with a soft smile.

“Of course, Jihoon,” you whisper.

He flips you over so you’re straddling him, your left hand splayed against Ouroboros. Jihoon tortures his bottom lip with his teeth as you mentally prepare yourself.

The stretch is painful. You squeeze your eyes shut as you lower yourself onto his length, whimpering from the dull sting of him. Jihoon isn’t doing any better; you hear his groan of pleasure, his hips twitching, before he’s desperately trying to still them as to not start frantically thrusting up until you.

“S’too big,” you fret, lashes fluttering along your cheeks with tears beginning to line the corners of your eyes. “Sir, s’too big.”

Jihoon grasps your hand in his and kisses it delicately. “You’re doing great, baby. Just breathe. M’right here.”

Slowly, you inch your way down his cock, until your hips meet his. You sniffle and try not to cry; he’s so deep in you, making you feel so full it has your head spinning.

“Good job, pretty.” Jihoon massages your hips with his fingers, squeezing the flesh with a gentleness you didn’t know he had. “You did so well. Feel good yet?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, trembling above him.

“Good,” says the man. “Now ride me.”

With a small whine, your thighs shake as you lift yourself once, before dropping back down onto his cock. The loud, unabashed sound of his skin meeting yours makes you squeak in surprise, and Jihoon lets out a long, drawn out groan.

“Keep going, baby,” he encourages.

His hands help to guide you until you’re a bouncing wreck, cunt slamming down onto his dick with so much force the bed frame creaks in protest. Jihoon grabs your chin and pulls you into a smoldering kiss, your spit mixing with his as you unashamedly moan into his mouth.

“God, fuck, you’re taking m’so well.” Jihoon moans, lips sliding against your teeth, beginning to piston up into you at an impossibly harsh speed. He’s hitting that one spot that’s making you see absolute stars, your walls violently fluttering around him. “You—fuck, you feel s’good baby—tell me how much you like it.”

Your hips are starting to slow, especially with the new oncoming force of his thrusts, but you do your best to keep up with his pace. “Love it so much, sir—shit! Oh god… please, keep going…”

He must notice your slowing rate, because Jihoon makes a show of gripping onto your hips with a brutal hold and moving you in time with him.

“C’mon, baby,” Jihoon grunts. “Thought I told you to ride me.”

It’s so unbelievably hot, your skin sticky with sweat and whatever fluids have ended up on it. You let Jihoon take control, fingernails dragging down his chest as he lets out a hiss of pleasure. They leave little trails of red in their wake, and you take this chance to suck a bruising hickey or two into his shoulder, shuddering at his cock pressing into you in all the right places.

The squelching noises are what really get to you. They ring in your ears, directly fueling the pit in your stomach that’s already about to explode again. You feel so dirty.

“J—Jihoon,” you warn, the last syllable coming out in a garble. “Oh—oh, sir, too much! Gonna—”

And then Jihoon’s flipping you two over again, your face being pushed into the hotel pillows as he sets a pace so brutal it has you screaming. His cock rams into you, hands spreading your cheeks apart, as he finally lets loose of all control.

“Y—yeah?” He’s moaning. “Gonna what, pretty? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

Fisting the sheets, you nod your head eagerly, voice small in contrast to the loud, lewd noises coming from the two of you. “Yes—yes, please let me come sir, please please please please—”

“Go ahead baby. Cum.”

With a broken wail, your pussy flutters around his length, a burst of pleasure peaking within you as you see white. Jihoon still doesn’t stop, working you through your orgasm, until he’s whining and bent over you, mouthing at your shoulder with love bites.

“Fuck, baby—”

He pulls out and you sob at the loss, liquids rushing out of your hole as Jihoon works himself over with his hand. His cum spurts, hot and thick, all across your back and ass, and you clench around nothing to cope.

Breathing heavily, you turn your head, gasping for air. Tears stream down your face that you wipe away hastily. Jihoon, above you, has his breath coming out in harsh pants, leaning his weight onto the backs of your thighs.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, the air conditioning kicking in again to rid the room of the smell of sex.

“Jihoon.” Your voice is tiny, but he hears it all the same, taking a moment before moving so he can stand up and crouch beside the bed at your eye level.

With an inquisitive look from him, you blink the remaining tears away.

“Atlanta won’t be just another tour date to you, right?”

Jihoon’s shushing you before you can even get the question out. “Baby, baby, no. Atlanta is so much more than that to me, I swear. You’re much more than one night to me.”

He punctuates his words with kisses to your fingertips. You melt under his gaze, so soft and inviting it’s hard to ever remember a time where he looked at you with such contempt.

“Then…” You swallow tersely, pain lacing your every word. “Why did you sleep with that person? In Orlando?”

Jihoon’s expression turns solemn. He squeezes his eyes shut, heaving out a sigh, and when he speaks next, his tone is charred with regret.

“To try to forget.”

You frown. “That’s kinda hard to do.”

Smiling bitterly, Jihoon turns his face towards you again. “Yeah. Really hard to forget you, y’know. Especially now.”

Pouting, your cheeks flush, and you huff. It’s quiet again before you ask what’s been on your mind.

“Does that mean we’re dating now?”

The man chuckles, bringing your hand to cup his cheek. “You’re asking that now? You are so…”

“Let’s take it slow.” Jihoon stands up and disappears from your vision; you hear the click of the bathroom door, followed by the sound of the sink running, before he’s padding back to you with a wet cloth in his hands. “There’s no rush when it comes to us, ‘kay?”

You have the audacity to let out a snort as he begins wiping your back down, the towel feeling like heaven against your skin. “Right. Like how there was no rush to eat me out, I’m sure.”

He pauses, and you snicker at his dumbfounded expression. Jihoon sighs and shakes his head.

“Save it for when you aren’t covered in my cum, rockstar.”

“…Touché,” you concede, giggling as he presses kisses to your cheeks.

The towel is soon thrown in the bin, and he settles next to you in bed, curling an arm around your waist. You murmur a hello, eyes finding his under the Atlanta city lights.

“Sleep time, now,” he chides. “We have a flight at one tomorrow.”

Humming to show you heard him, you tilt your head forehead to boop his nose with yours. The stars are shining brightly, you’re positively sure of this, and Jihoon smiles against your lips as you whisper a goodnight.

Houston tomorrow, and Dallas next. Your eyes close easily, sleep coaxing you into the dreamworld rather quickly. Then, the future. Whatever the hell that entails.

The thought leaves you off with a grin.

—

“Rough night, eh?”

You jump in your seat, flinching at the sound of Jeonghan’s voice. He’s draped over the airplane seat in front of you, blonde hair perfectly framing the shit-eating grin on his face. It only grows when you fail to answer his question.

“Shut the fuck up, Jeonghan,” you snarl.

The manager of CH33RS barks out a laugh, causing Seungcheol next to him to throw a look over his shoulder. When he spots you, bottom lip pushed out in a glower, he gives his own chuckle.

“Happy for you,” Seungcheol calls; you wave him off, trying not to let his words affect you too much.

Pouting, you curl up in your chair, only picking your head up when Joshua peers over from the seat behind you, nudging the back of your head with a chirp of your name.

“Hey, take a look at this.” Your manager heaves his laptop over the chairs, and you grunt as you take it into your lap. “Let me know if I should schedule him for an interview when we get back to San Francisco.”

Lee Chan. His name comes out quick and fast, and you study his profile from the website Joshua’s got pulled up. Personal stylist, based in Berkeley, California. Looking for a full-time job under someone in the music industry. Flexible schedule.

“How do you keep finding Korean men to associate me with?” You laugh, passing the device back to him. “He looks promising. Did you run a background check on him?”

Joshua nods, typing away on his laptop atop the chairs. People who pass by him on the way to their seats give him a funny look, but he pays them no mind. “I’ll have to get the higher up’s approval, but that shouldn’t be hard. Lee Chan’s got about five years of experience in various other companies. Never stayed in one place for too long, though. Guess he’s as frustrated as we are with the industry.”

“I’d like to meet him, when you invite him for an interview.” The smile that spreads across your face is genuine, and Joshua mirrors your expression when he glances up from his screen.

“Look at you,” he coos, beginning to wipe fake tears away from his eyes. “Wanting to personally mingle with potential future staff members. You’ve come a long way… I’m so proud of you…”

Tsk-ing, you swat at him, letting out another laugh when he only stumbles back into his chair with a mock-offended gasp. Turning back around in your seat, you hum a tune to yourself, hope alight in your heart for what seems like a step towards proper management. A personal stylist would mean no more dealing with the berating cosmetic stylists at photoshoots or music video shoots, and the thought warms you down to your core.

Jihoon joins you a moment later; you both finally made the pinky promise to catch up on Frieren, the two hour flight to Houston being a perfect solution to your dilemma. Sliding into the cushioned seat, he’s already pulling out his wired buds, silently untangling them with a carefully stoic face.

You know better now, though—there’s a blush creeping up the column of his neck, and his fingers are clumsier than usual, slipping in and over themselves more times than not when trying to straighten out the wires.

So, you wait, watching out the window as air crew members line luggages to be packed onto the bottom of the plane. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.

And he does, poking the side of your arm with one of the buds.

“Here,” he murmurs. “You want the left one, right?”

Humming, you intentionally have your thumb run along the side of his index finger when taking the earbud, enjoying how he stiffens at your touch. Giving him a half-smile, you bump his shoulder playfully.

“Yeah. Thanks, Ji.”

Jihoon huffs but doesn’t move away; instead, he presses his shoulder to yours in a promise. Always.

Last but not least, Soonyoung comes bumbling down the aisle of first class, his new silver nose ring catching the overhead lights and complimenting the chain he’s sporting around his neck. He shoots the two of you a thumbs up, clapping Jihoon’s shoulder as he walks by to take his place next to Joshua, and you have to stifle another laugh.

The captain wastes no time once all the passengers are on the plane, flight attendants going through their usual routine of health and safety protocols. You’re barely listening, too caught up in the searing touch of Jihoon’s hand on your thigh.

Sometimes he’ll reach over to threateningly poke at the skin right next to the Blue-Moon Weed flowers, giving you a smirk when you shoot him a glare. After the third time, however, he tilts down to whisper something into your ear.

“Next time you get a tattoo, invite me to the studio, ‘kay rockstar?”

The pilot begins to back the airplane out of the terminal, the roar of the engine slowly coming to life as it approaches the runway. Breath hitching in your throat, you smile up at Jihoon: black bangs parted messily, eyes crinkling at the corners, and nose scrunched up to give his star stud the spotlight it deserves.

You’ve never found him more attractive, nor more yours, until this moment.

“Right back at ya, rockstar,” you challenge. “We may as well get matching tattoos. Whaddaya think?”

He considers it as the aircraft’s engine grows louder, trees whorling past you to indicate its about to make its ascent.

“I think you’re too impulsive for your own good,” he chuckles, brushing a strand of dyed hair out of your face.

“So, you’ll do it?” You eagerly lean into his touch, eyes wide with hope.

The airplane successfully makes its debut into the clouds, and Jihoon’s smiling at you like you’ve got all the time in the world to make this rushed decision together. Impulsivity was your forte, after all, and there were too many memories to be made in such a small amount of remaining tour locations.

Jihoon hums, bringing you out of your thoughts, prolonging his response even though you already know the answer.

“What design did you have in mind?”

📍 DALLAS, TEXAS 

“Hi, guys,” you whisper into the mic, smiling when the live chat floods with reactions. “Yeah, yeah, I know it's late. Shouldn’t some of y’all be sleeping too? Why are you berating me for this?”

Your hotel room is dimly lit by the lamp beside your bed. You have your guitar out, strumming lightly, and when the viewers take notice they eagerly eat up the melodies you’re humming.

“Where’s Jihoon?” you query, reading off the comments from your phone screen. “How should I know? He’s probably asleep or something. Lord knows he needs his rest.”

You scoff and knock your knuckles against the polished wood of the instrument. There’s requests for songs in chat accompanied by demands to go to the singer’s room and bring him on live. Shaking your head, you tsk. “I’ve spoiled you guys too much. You’re getting greedy.”

“Now, what should I sing?”

The chat is going so fast you can barely read it, but you smile anyway, feeling at peace in a city you’ve barely been in. The hotel you’re at is a fairly high-end one, and high up at that—from your place on the bed you can see the twinkling lights of the city below. Cars are shooting down the highways, their lights zooming by, and you revel in the peace that is Dallas at night.

Your voice lifts, delicate against the string plucking you’ve chosen for tonight, a low intone as you settle on a song choice. If one were to close their eyes, they could probably picture being in a stadium full of shimmering flashlights as they sang into the mic.

I'm running over sentences at times I'd better quit dreaming just so I could write Yet the words to describe you aren't so hard to find Like a good quote from a book that I've memorized But I keep forgetting just what to do

A viewer asks what song this is, and you only respond with a smile. “Oh, this? It’s a new one I’ve been working on during tour.”

“Do you like it?” you ask softly, before continuing.

I missed the train again I called your name, as if you'd drive it back I swear you're in my head Throughout the day I can say that for a fact

Truth be told, your legs are shaking under your guitar. These lyrics are raw and unfiltered—they’re straight from your notes app, unedited and messily scribbled into your notebook with a melody you came up with just fifteen minutes ago.

You’re not sure what exactly prompted you to start the live, but something told you it would be worthwhile. Perhaps it was that you had too many feelings now that you were just incapable of bottling them up; or, perhaps, it was the Texas night sky that had you craving for some sort of semblance of familiar recognition, the stars reminding you too much of the stage.

Whatever it was, you welcome it with open arms—all emotions are valid emotions, after all. You close your eyes and let a wave of serenity wash over you.

Know we had better days, but to keep me sane I guess that this is just another love song, About you

A ping! from your phone has you cracking your eye open in just a sliver, pinpointing the message that’s now resting at the top of your screen. The sender’s name stands boldly out against the notification and almost makes you choke on your own spit.

frieren freak!! Pretty voice. You should sing acoustic more often.

Just another love song, About you

Your voice falters at the last note, but you continue to strum, humming an encore for the viewers. There’s another buzz from your phone.

frieren freak!! Let me in?

Slowly, you let the strings of the guitar fade. Your smile is enough to compete with celestial beings as you pick up the device and blow a kiss goodnight.

“That’s it for tonight, guys,” you giggle. “Dallas, I’ll see you tomorrow. There’s someone I’ve been meaning to introduce to y’all.”

—END.

thank you so, so, so much for reading! if you liked this, please be sure to check out the other fics out for yuki's 100 milestone collab! have an amazing day and as always, may good music find you <3!

[supi-wupi]

Hi coming in here to say that you're a really good writer and I love you

AHHHH THANK YOUU <33

i hope both sides of your pillow are cold and you never stub your toe

[supi-wupi]

Can’t believe your mine - Seungkwan

pairing: seungkwan x reader synopsis: Seungkwan has been your best friend since forever. In love with you since forever too. Everyone else sees it. But you don’t — until he sings your favorite song, but with your name in it. wc: 2.5k genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Fluff, warning: Established Relationship (eventually), Slowburn (implied history), SEVENTEEN Being SEVENTEEN, Fake FBI Surveillance Energy, Love Confessions via Shared Notes, Joshua is a Secret Softie, No Real Plot Just Vibes a/n: idk why, but yall have probably noticed that i put like case file/letters in all my fics… its not an obsession… its my trademark…

Seungkwan has been your best friend since you were eight, and cried in the hallway because someone made fun of your mushroom haircut. He gave you half his kimbap and told you your hair looked like a very cool helmet, and you decided right then he was your favorite person in the world.

He still is.

Some things never change. Like how he always texts you when he finds a new iced coffee spot, even if it’s 10 p.m and you’re already in bed. Like how he knows your favorite karaoke songs and never complains when you sing them off-key. Like how he always buys two of everything — “just in case you show up,” he says, even though you always do.

Everyone sees it. Sees the way his gaze softens when you’re laughing too hard to breathe. The way he always positions himself between you and a crowded street. The way he sings every birthday song like he’s auditioning for a musical, just to make you smile.

Everyone sees it — except you.

Until your birthday.

You’d had plans with your other friends, who ended up bailing last-minute, citing rain and traffic and general life exhaustion. You’d shrugged it off, said it was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal.

But it kind of was. You don’t like making a fuss, but birthdays still meant something. Especially when you’d secretly hoped someone — maybe him — would do something small and sweet and just for you.

So when you open the door that night to find Seungkwan standing there with a paper bag, soaked hoodie, and the biggest grin, you’re already blinking back something suspicious behind your eyes.

“I brought seaweed soup,” he announces, pushing past you like he owns the place. “Because I’m Korean and sentimental, and also, you looked sad on your story earlier, don’t lie.”

“You saw that?”

“I have notifications on,” he says, like it’s normal. “For emergencies. Or cute selfies. Same thing.”

You laugh while closing the door, heart squeezing in that familiar way it always does around him. He’s already setting out food, rambling about how he had to beg an auntie to let him cut the line because “my best friend’s birthday is today, and I will cry in your shop if you don’t let me through.”

“Did you really say that?” you ask.

“Ask the lady. She said I was dramatic but let me in. I think she was scared of me.”

Later, after the soup, after the tiny cake he baked himself (“Don’t ask how it tastes — just love me for the effort”), after the candles and laughter and a very bad game of charades, he clears his throat.

And that’s when you know something’s up.

Because Seungkwan is always performing, always loud and theatrical and effortlessly funny — but when he’s serious, he gets quiet. Still.

He grabs his phone, clicks something, then sets it down between you.

“Play,” he says.

You do.

Music filters through the speakers — soft, acoustic, gentle. And then his voice, warm like sunlight, starts to sing. It’s your favorite song. The one you always make him do at karaoke, even if he says the key is weird. The one that makes you tear up when you’re tipsy.

But the lyrics are… different.

Because now your name is in it.

Over and over again, like a love letter he never dared to send.

You stare at him. “Is this a joke?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not this time.”

The room is quiet except for his voice echoing through the speakers, weaving your name into each line like it was always meant to be there. You’re not sure when the shift happens — when the realization finally hits — but suddenly everything clicks.

Every late-night call.

Every gentle scolding.

Every saved seat, every shared umbrella, every second he made you feel like you mattered more than anyone else.

It was always there.

You just didn’t see it.

“Seungkwan…”

He bites his lip. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. That I’ve been yours. For a long time.”

You don’t reply right away. You just reach across the space between you, take his hand, and place it over your chest — right where your heart’s beating so fast it hurts.

—

That night, you fall asleep on the couch with his hoodie around your shoulders and his hand still wrapped in yours.

In the quiet, you hear him murmur — maybe thinking you’re asleep — soft and awestruck:

“Can’t believe you’re mine.”

And neither can you.

But you are.

And maybe… you always were.

—

Three days after Seungkwan sang your name into a song and into your heart, he tells you he wants to tell the others.

“Are you sure?” you ask, because dating your best friend is one thing — letting thirteen grown men descend upon the news like seagulls on a french fry is another.

“I’ve waited years to call you mine,” he says, tying his shoes with a grin so wide you can’t even tease him for how dramatic he sounds. “I want the whole world to know. But I’ll start with the hyungs.”

Which, in hindsight, may have been the mistake.

Because Seungkwan doesn’t just tell them.

No.

He makes a PowerPoint.

—

The next day, you’re sitting in their dorm’s living room, sipping iced tea while Vernon casually browses TikTok on one side and Mingyu attempts to peel a mango with a butter knife on the other. It’s peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Until Seungkwan clears his throat — loudly — and sets up a laptop to the TV.

“Everyone. Eyes front.”

Minghao sighs. “Is this about recycling again?”

“No,” Seungkwan says with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s about my heart.”

You shoot him a look. “Seungkwan—”

“Shh. I’m thriving.”

He clicks the remote.

Slide 1: “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told: Boo Seungkwan & [Y/N]”

Groans erupt. Soonyoung starts clapping. Jeonghan sits up like he just got handed blackmail. Joshua bites back a laugh and says, “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan declares proudly. “It’s real. We’re dating.”

Mingyu drops his mango.

“You’re—what?” Woozi blinks. “Since when?”

“Since I sang to her,” Seungkwan says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Slide 2: Timeline of Pining: A Tragedy (2008 – The Present)

You bury your face in your hands as he clicks through annotated photos, including one from middle school where you’re holding a juice box and he’s staring at you like you hung the moon.

“Bro,” Dino whispers. “You’ve been down bad.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says, clearly proud.

The slides continue:

Slide 4: Signs She Was Also in Love With Me but Didn’t Know It Yet

Laughed at all my jokes

Shared her fries

Let me win at Mario Kart that one time in 2017

Gave me the biggest slice of cake

“Very convincing,” Jun deadpans.

Slide 6: Proof of Current Status It’s a selfie. You and Seungkwan curled up on your couch, his cheek squished against yours, both smiling so big it hurts to look at.

You peek at him. He’s not even nervous. Just glowing. Like the moment he gets to love you out loud is one he’s rehearsed forever.

“Well…” Jeonghan finally says. “Took you long enough.”

The room explodes.

Everyone talks at once.

“You guys are so annoying,” Vernon says — but he’s smiling.

“Wait, do I owe DK money?” Mingyu groans. “I thought you’d confess in the fall.”

“Soonyoung, pay up!” DK yells from the kitchen.

“Honestly,” Woozi mutters, “this explains so much.”

You’re laughing now, cheeks sore, heart full, as the chaos swells around you.

But then Seungkwan stands again, raising his hand like a conductor calling an encore.

“One last slide.”

Slide 8: Thank You for Supporting Our Love. Then, in tiny font: Yes, you still have to deal with us on karaoke night.

—

Later, when the slides are done and Mingyu’s back to ruining another mango, you’re leaning against Seungkwan’s shoulder, both of you quietly watching the others argue about who gets to be the flower boy at your future wedding.

“They took it well,” you murmur.

“Told you,” he says, smug.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You made a PowerPoint.”

“And you’re still dating me. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes — but only a little.

Because he’s right.

You both won.

—

“The Shared Note (and the Receipts)” feat. BooSeungkwan x You, and Joshua: Keeper of Secrets™

A few days after the big PowerPoint reveal, you and Seungkwan drop by the studio to bring lunch.

It’s supposed to be quick.

Just bibimbap, banter, and maybe bullying Woozi into taking a break.

But when Joshua walks in, grinning like he knows something — something more — you realize nothing is ever “just” with SEVENTEEN.

“I have something to show you,” he says, sliding into the seat beside Seungkwan with his phone already out.

“I swear if this is another fan edit of us that you bookmarked—” Seungkwan starts.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “This is better than a fan edit.”

He opens the Notes app.

At the top is a title that makes your stomach drop:

“Things That Prove Seungkwan and [Y/N] Are Definitely in Love (They Just Don’t Know It Yet)”

Last updated: 3 days ago.

You and Seungkwan: “…”

Joshua: “I started it in 2019.”

—

Selected Excerpts from Joshua’s Note (now shared with all thirteen members)

[Feb 17, 2019] Y/N gave Seungkwan the last honey butter chip. The last one. She loves those. They made eye contact. He tried to say “thanks” and choked on his own breath.

[June 2, 2019] Seungkwan’s voice cracked mid-rehearsal. Y/N immediately handed him a honey-lemon candy before he even asked. She said, “I always carry extras for you.” Okay, wife???

[Oct 14, 2020] They sat on opposite ends of the couch and STILL managed to be the only ones who got tangled in the blanket. Suspicious.

[March 25, 2021] During game night, Y/N guessed what Seungkwan was thinking without him giving any clues. She just said, “The pink dolphin from Jeju, right?” and he nodded like she read his soul. Wtf.

[Dec 31, 2021] Countdown to New Year’s. Everyone was screaming. I saw Seungkwan look at her first.

[June 5, 2022] I caught them arguing about who cares more about the other. Like. Out loud. In public. Minghao almost left the building.

[Aug 18, 2022] Y/N sang “As It Was” while organizing lyric drafts. Seungkwan sat there staring like she was performing on the MAMA stage. I asked what he was doing. He said, “Having a moment.” Bro???

[Feb 14, 2023] Valentine’s Day. Neither of them had plans. Both “accidentally” ended up at my movie night. Sat way too close. Shared popcorn. Didn’t even notice when Jeonghan fake-coughed ten times.

[Oct 9, 2023] DK asked if they were dating. They both said no — but neither of them looked at each other. They looked straight ahead like hostages.

[Jan 2, 2024] Y/N fixed Seungkwan’s collar before an interview. He looked at her like she gave him CPR.

[May 25, 2025] THEY. ARE. TOGETHER. Boo Seungkwan finally made a move. I was RIGHT.

—

You’re speechless.

Seungkwan is squinting at the screen like it personally offended him.

“Wait,” he says, “how did I not know you were tracking us like a detective?”

Joshua just smiles, serene. “You think I run this group on vibes?”

“Actually, yes,” you mumble, stunned.

“But this… this is organized,” Seungkwan mutters.

“It was necessary,” Joshua says, sipping his coffee. “One of you was gonna need it eventually.”

He locks eyes with you.

“I just figured… when the day came, you’d want to remember how it started.”

You glance down at the note again — all those little dates and details, things you didn’t even realize were special until now.

And somehow, you feel like you’re seeing your love story from the outside for the first time.

Seungkwan quietly reaches for your hand under the table.

And you squeeze it.

“Thanks, Shuji,” you whisper.

Joshua nods, ever cool. “I’ll add today’s entry too.”

“What—why?” Seungkwan asks.

Joshua types something.

[May 28, 2025] Showed them the note. They held hands under the table. Seungkwan cried. (He will deny it.)

“Delete that!” Seungkwan shrieks, lunging for the phone.

Joshua’s already backing away, cackling. “Too late. Synced to the cloud.”

—

“The Shared Note: Member Addendums (a.k.a. SEVENTEEN’s FBI Files on You Two)”

[Titled by: Jeonghan, Edited by: DK, Verified by: Dino, Denied by: Seungkwan]

Document Status: NEVER GETTING DELETED Last Edited: Literally Just Now

JEONGHAN'S ENTRY

[July 7, 2020] I asked Seungkwan if he was jealous of Y/N talking to Mingyu too much. He turned to me and went, “Why would I be jealous? I’m not—what? I’m fine.” Then I caught him three minutes later watching them from behind a plant. Like. A plant.

Verdict: Denial. Classic. Would’ve bet my skincare stash on this ship.

—

MINGYU’S ENTRY

[Nov 12, 2021] I spilled gochujang on my hoodie. Y/N helped me clean it up. Seungkwan saw it and immediately asked if she does that for all of us. I said yes. She said no. He smiled. Then gave me the stink eye for 2 hours.

Verdict: Boo Boo’s down bad.

—

HOSHI’S ENTRY

[March 3, 2022] They were bickering in the practice room and I was like “KISS ALREADY!” They stopped. Stared at me. Then kept arguing. But like… quieter. Like shy arguing. Romantic arguing.

Verdict: That was foreplay, Your Honor.

—

JUN’S ENTRY

[Aug 15, 2022] I caught them sharing earphones backstage. They weren’t even listening to music. The playlist was paused. They just… sat there. Pretending. Looking like a drama teaser.

Verdict: That’s not Spotify. That’s love.

—

DK’S ENTRY

[Dec 25, 2022] Christmas party. Everyone opened their Secret Santa gifts. Seungkwan got a hot water bottle with a corgi print. He said, “Only Y/N would know I love this.” Y/N wasn’t even his Santa.It was me. Y/N just told me what to buy.

Verdict: He’s so whipped it’s actually inspiring.

—

WONWOO’S ENTRY

[Feb 10, 2023] During movie night, Seungkwan laughed before the punchline of the joke. Everyone stared. He muttered, “Y/N always laughs here.” He memorized her laugh timing????

Verdict: Creepy? Maybe. Romantic? Definitely.

—

WOOZI’S ENTRY

[April 1, 2023] I made them listen to a demo. Y/N cried. Seungkwan cried harder.Then Y/N said, “I just felt it.” And Seungkwan said, “Me too. For you.” They forgot I was in the room. I’m pretty sure I ghost-wrote their love confession.

Verdict: I’m charging royalties.

—

VERNON’S ENTRY

[June 30, 2023] They weren’t even touching but somehow their knees found each other under the table. Like… magnetic knees. Quantum entanglement. Knee soulmate physics. Idk man.

Verdict: They’re soft. I respect it.

—

DINO’S ENTRY

[Nov 11, 2023] Y/N once tripped over my charger. Seungkwan gasped like she got stabbed. Immediately blamed ME. Said, “How dare you sabotage the light of my life.” …She didn’t even fall. She caught herself.

Verdict: Simp behavior. Peak performance. I strive for this.

—

JOSHUA'S FINAL ADDENDUM

[May 29, 2025] Let the record show: Today, every member added their receipts. Seungkwan tried to hack the note to delete all evidence. He failed. Y/N laughed so hard she cried. He kissed her to shut her up. We all saw it. Hoshi screamed.

Verdict: Case closed. Love won. Jeonghan still owes me ₩50,000.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

Can’t believe your mine - Seungkwan

pairing: seungkwan x reader synopsis: Seungkwan has been your best friend since forever. In love with you since forever too. Everyone else sees it. But you don’t — until he sings your favorite song, but with your name in it. wc: 2.5k genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Fluff, warning: Established Relationship (eventually), Slowburn (implied history), SEVENTEEN Being SEVENTEEN, Fake FBI Surveillance Energy, Love Confessions via Shared Notes, Joshua is a Secret Softie, No Real Plot Just Vibes a/n: idk why, but yall have probably noticed that i put like case file/letters in all my fics… its not an obsession… its my trademark…

Seungkwan has been your best friend since you were eight, and cried in the hallway because someone made fun of your mushroom haircut. He gave you half his kimbap and told you your hair looked like a very cool helmet, and you decided right then he was your favorite person in the world.

He still is.

Some things never change. Like how he always texts you when he finds a new iced coffee spot, even if it’s 10 p.m and you’re already in bed. Like how he knows your favorite karaoke songs and never complains when you sing them off-key. Like how he always buys two of everything — “just in case you show up,” he says, even though you always do.

Everyone sees it. Sees the way his gaze softens when you’re laughing too hard to breathe. The way he always positions himself between you and a crowded street. The way he sings every birthday song like he’s auditioning for a musical, just to make you smile.

Everyone sees it — except you.

Until your birthday.

You’d had plans with your other friends, who ended up bailing last-minute, citing rain and traffic and general life exhaustion. You’d shrugged it off, said it was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal.

But it kind of was. You don’t like making a fuss, but birthdays still meant something. Especially when you’d secretly hoped someone — maybe him — would do something small and sweet and just for you.

So when you open the door that night to find Seungkwan standing there with a paper bag, soaked hoodie, and the biggest grin, you’re already blinking back something suspicious behind your eyes.

“I brought seaweed soup,” he announces, pushing past you like he owns the place. “Because I’m Korean and sentimental, and also, you looked sad on your story earlier, don’t lie.”

“You saw that?”

“I have notifications on,” he says, like it’s normal. “For emergencies. Or cute selfies. Same thing.”

You laugh while closing the door, heart squeezing in that familiar way it always does around him. He’s already setting out food, rambling about how he had to beg an auntie to let him cut the line because “my best friend’s birthday is today, and I will cry in your shop if you don’t let me through.”

“Did you really say that?” you ask.

“Ask the lady. She said I was dramatic but let me in. I think she was scared of me.”

Later, after the soup, after the tiny cake he baked himself (“Don’t ask how it tastes — just love me for the effort”), after the candles and laughter and a very bad game of charades, he clears his throat.

And that’s when you know something’s up.

Because Seungkwan is always performing, always loud and theatrical and effortlessly funny — but when he’s serious, he gets quiet. Still.

He grabs his phone, clicks something, then sets it down between you.

“Play,” he says.

You do.

Music filters through the speakers — soft, acoustic, gentle. And then his voice, warm like sunlight, starts to sing. It’s your favorite song. The one you always make him do at karaoke, even if he says the key is weird. The one that makes you tear up when you’re tipsy.

But the lyrics are… different.

Because now your name is in it.

Over and over again, like a love letter he never dared to send.

You stare at him. “Is this a joke?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not this time.”

The room is quiet except for his voice echoing through the speakers, weaving your name into each line like it was always meant to be there. You’re not sure when the shift happens — when the realization finally hits — but suddenly everything clicks.

Every late-night call.

Every gentle scolding.

Every saved seat, every shared umbrella, every second he made you feel like you mattered more than anyone else.

It was always there.

You just didn’t see it.

“Seungkwan…”

He bites his lip. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. That I’ve been yours. For a long time.”

You don’t reply right away. You just reach across the space between you, take his hand, and place it over your chest — right where your heart’s beating so fast it hurts.

—

That night, you fall asleep on the couch with his hoodie around your shoulders and his hand still wrapped in yours.

In the quiet, you hear him murmur — maybe thinking you’re asleep — soft and awestruck:

“Can’t believe you’re mine.”

And neither can you.

But you are.

And maybe… you always were.

—

Three days after Seungkwan sang your name into a song and into your heart, he tells you he wants to tell the others.

“Are you sure?” you ask, because dating your best friend is one thing — letting thirteen grown men descend upon the news like seagulls on a french fry is another.

“I’ve waited years to call you mine,” he says, tying his shoes with a grin so wide you can’t even tease him for how dramatic he sounds. “I want the whole world to know. But I’ll start with the hyungs.”

Which, in hindsight, may have been the mistake.

Because Seungkwan doesn’t just tell them.

No.

He makes a PowerPoint.

—

The next day, you’re sitting in their dorm’s living room, sipping iced tea while Vernon casually browses TikTok on one side and Mingyu attempts to peel a mango with a butter knife on the other. It’s peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Until Seungkwan clears his throat — loudly — and sets up a laptop to the TV.

“Everyone. Eyes front.”

Minghao sighs. “Is this about recycling again?”

“No,” Seungkwan says with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s about my heart.”

You shoot him a look. “Seungkwan—”

“Shh. I’m thriving.”

He clicks the remote.

Slide 1: “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told: Boo Seungkwan & [Y/N]”

Groans erupt. Soonyoung starts clapping. Jeonghan sits up like he just got handed blackmail. Joshua bites back a laugh and says, “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan declares proudly. “It’s real. We’re dating.”

Mingyu drops his mango.

“You’re—what?” Woozi blinks. “Since when?”

“Since I sang to her,” Seungkwan says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Slide 2: Timeline of Pining: A Tragedy (2008 – The Present)

You bury your face in your hands as he clicks through annotated photos, including one from middle school where you’re holding a juice box and he’s staring at you like you hung the moon.

“Bro,” Dino whispers. “You’ve been down bad.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says, clearly proud.

The slides continue:

Slide 4: Signs She Was Also in Love With Me but Didn’t Know It Yet

Laughed at all my jokes

Shared her fries

Let me win at Mario Kart that one time in 2017

Gave me the biggest slice of cake

“Very convincing,” Jun deadpans.

Slide 6: Proof of Current Status It’s a selfie. You and Seungkwan curled up on your couch, his cheek squished against yours, both smiling so big it hurts to look at.

You peek at him. He’s not even nervous. Just glowing. Like the moment he gets to love you out loud is one he’s rehearsed forever.

“Well…” Jeonghan finally says. “Took you long enough.”

The room explodes.

Everyone talks at once.

“You guys are so annoying,” Vernon says — but he’s smiling.

“Wait, do I owe DK money?” Mingyu groans. “I thought you’d confess in the fall.”

“Soonyoung, pay up!” DK yells from the kitchen.

“Honestly,” Woozi mutters, “this explains so much.”

You’re laughing now, cheeks sore, heart full, as the chaos swells around you.

But then Seungkwan stands again, raising his hand like a conductor calling an encore.

“One last slide.”

Slide 8: Thank You for Supporting Our Love. Then, in tiny font: Yes, you still have to deal with us on karaoke night.

—

Later, when the slides are done and Mingyu’s back to ruining another mango, you’re leaning against Seungkwan’s shoulder, both of you quietly watching the others argue about who gets to be the flower boy at your future wedding.

“They took it well,” you murmur.

“Told you,” he says, smug.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You made a PowerPoint.”

“And you’re still dating me. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes — but only a little.

Because he’s right.

You both won.

—

“The Shared Note (and the Receipts)” feat. BooSeungkwan x You, and Joshua: Keeper of Secrets™

A few days after the big PowerPoint reveal, you and Seungkwan drop by the studio to bring lunch.

It’s supposed to be quick.

Just bibimbap, banter, and maybe bullying Woozi into taking a break.

But when Joshua walks in, grinning like he knows something — something more — you realize nothing is ever “just” with SEVENTEEN.

“I have something to show you,” he says, sliding into the seat beside Seungkwan with his phone already out.

“I swear if this is another fan edit of us that you bookmarked—” Seungkwan starts.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “This is better than a fan edit.”

He opens the Notes app.

At the top is a title that makes your stomach drop:

“Things That Prove Seungkwan and [Y/N] Are Definitely in Love (They Just Don’t Know It Yet)”

Last updated: 3 days ago.

You and Seungkwan: “…”

Joshua: “I started it in 2019.”

—

Selected Excerpts from Joshua’s Note (now shared with all thirteen members)

[Feb 17, 2019] Y/N gave Seungkwan the last honey butter chip. The last one. She loves those. They made eye contact. He tried to say “thanks” and choked on his own breath.

[June 2, 2019] Seungkwan’s voice cracked mid-rehearsal. Y/N immediately handed him a honey-lemon candy before he even asked. She said, “I always carry extras for you.” Okay, wife???

[Oct 14, 2020] They sat on opposite ends of the couch and STILL managed to be the only ones who got tangled in the blanket. Suspicious.

[March 25, 2021] During game night, Y/N guessed what Seungkwan was thinking without him giving any clues. She just said, “The pink dolphin from Jeju, right?” and he nodded like she read his soul. Wtf.

[Dec 31, 2021] Countdown to New Year’s. Everyone was screaming. I saw Seungkwan look at her first.

[June 5, 2022] I caught them arguing about who cares more about the other. Like. Out loud. In public. Minghao almost left the building.

[Aug 18, 2022] Y/N sang “As It Was” while organizing lyric drafts. Seungkwan sat there staring like she was performing on the MAMA stage. I asked what he was doing. He said, “Having a moment.” Bro???

[Feb 14, 2023] Valentine’s Day. Neither of them had plans. Both “accidentally” ended up at my movie night. Sat way too close. Shared popcorn. Didn’t even notice when Jeonghan fake-coughed ten times.

[Oct 9, 2023] DK asked if they were dating. They both said no — but neither of them looked at each other. They looked straight ahead like hostages.

[Jan 2, 2024] Y/N fixed Seungkwan’s collar before an interview. He looked at her like she gave him CPR.

[May 25, 2025] THEY. ARE. TOGETHER. Boo Seungkwan finally made a move. I was RIGHT.

—

You’re speechless.

Seungkwan is squinting at the screen like it personally offended him.

“Wait,” he says, “how did I not know you were tracking us like a detective?”

Joshua just smiles, serene. “You think I run this group on vibes?”

“Actually, yes,” you mumble, stunned.

“But this… this is organized,” Seungkwan mutters.

“It was necessary,” Joshua says, sipping his coffee. “One of you was gonna need it eventually.”

He locks eyes with you.

“I just figured… when the day came, you’d want to remember how it started.”

You glance down at the note again — all those little dates and details, things you didn’t even realize were special until now.

And somehow, you feel like you’re seeing your love story from the outside for the first time.

Seungkwan quietly reaches for your hand under the table.

And you squeeze it.

“Thanks, Shuji,” you whisper.

Joshua nods, ever cool. “I’ll add today’s entry too.”

“What—why?” Seungkwan asks.

Joshua types something.

[May 28, 2025] Showed them the note. They held hands under the table. Seungkwan cried. (He will deny it.)

“Delete that!” Seungkwan shrieks, lunging for the phone.

Joshua’s already backing away, cackling. “Too late. Synced to the cloud.”

—

“The Shared Note: Member Addendums (a.k.a. SEVENTEEN’s FBI Files on You Two)”

[Titled by: Jeonghan, Edited by: DK, Verified by: Dino, Denied by: Seungkwan]

Document Status: NEVER GETTING DELETED Last Edited: Literally Just Now

JEONGHAN'S ENTRY

[July 7, 2020] I asked Seungkwan if he was jealous of Y/N talking to Mingyu too much. He turned to me and went, “Why would I be jealous? I’m not—what? I’m fine.” Then I caught him three minutes later watching them from behind a plant. Like. A plant.

Verdict: Denial. Classic. Would’ve bet my skincare stash on this ship.

—

MINGYU’S ENTRY

[Nov 12, 2021] I spilled gochujang on my hoodie. Y/N helped me clean it up. Seungkwan saw it and immediately asked if she does that for all of us. I said yes. She said no. He smiled. Then gave me the stink eye for 2 hours.

Verdict: Boo Boo’s down bad.

—

HOSHI’S ENTRY

[March 3, 2022] They were bickering in the practice room and I was like “KISS ALREADY!” They stopped. Stared at me. Then kept arguing. But like… quieter. Like shy arguing. Romantic arguing.

Verdict: That was foreplay, Your Honor.

—

JUN’S ENTRY

[Aug 15, 2022] I caught them sharing earphones backstage. They weren’t even listening to music. The playlist was paused. They just… sat there. Pretending. Looking like a drama teaser.

Verdict: That’s not Spotify. That’s love.

—

DK’S ENTRY

[Dec 25, 2022] Christmas party. Everyone opened their Secret Santa gifts. Seungkwan got a hot water bottle with a corgi print. He said, “Only Y/N would know I love this.” Y/N wasn’t even his Santa.It was me. Y/N just told me what to buy.

Verdict: He’s so whipped it’s actually inspiring.

—

WONWOO’S ENTRY

[Feb 10, 2023] During movie night, Seungkwan laughed before the punchline of the joke. Everyone stared. He muttered, “Y/N always laughs here.” He memorized her laugh timing????

Verdict: Creepy? Maybe. Romantic? Definitely.

—

WOOZI’S ENTRY

[April 1, 2023] I made them listen to a demo. Y/N cried. Seungkwan cried harder.Then Y/N said, “I just felt it.” And Seungkwan said, “Me too. For you.” They forgot I was in the room. I’m pretty sure I ghost-wrote their love confession.

Verdict: I’m charging royalties.

—

VERNON’S ENTRY

[June 30, 2023] They weren’t even touching but somehow their knees found each other under the table. Like… magnetic knees. Quantum entanglement. Knee soulmate physics. Idk man.

Verdict: They’re soft. I respect it.

—

DINO’S ENTRY

[Nov 11, 2023] Y/N once tripped over my charger. Seungkwan gasped like she got stabbed. Immediately blamed ME. Said, “How dare you sabotage the light of my life.” …She didn’t even fall. She caught herself.

Verdict: Simp behavior. Peak performance. I strive for this.

—

JOSHUA'S FINAL ADDENDUM

[May 29, 2025] Let the record show: Today, every member added their receipts. Seungkwan tried to hack the note to delete all evidence. He failed. Y/N laughed so hard she cried. He kissed her to shut her up. We all saw it. Hoshi screamed.

Verdict: Case closed. Love won. Jeonghan still owes me ₩50,000.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

if you ever see me use "☝" this is what am picturing btw

edit: ALSO

starting a collection

[supi-wupi]

so cutee <33

(mines a lil basic but we ignore)

tagging: @8makes1atom @coriihanniee @swampyfrogqs + anyone else <3

TAG GAME!!!!

use this picrew and rb what you've made<3

tags: @yingdu-lover @tabsters @croded @thegh0st-of-ingrid @seoryne @ventiilatte @veinspookiebear @momhwa1117 @midnight-blues07 @aoko-san @n3rdchi1d @irdkbutdontask @purfectmocha @iguesswhatimtryingtosayis @berlinmacaw @ev7nescent @justsomeorangepeeler @vaguelyhumorousbeans @lipstainedgemini @kkooongie + anyone who wants to join!!<3

[supi-wupi]

thanks for the tag rae <3

1. Sailor Song - Gigi Perez

2. IF I SAY, I LOVE YOU - BOYNEXTDOOR

3. PINOCCHIO - HxW

4. THUNDER - SEVENTEEN

5. Love Language - Tomorrow by Together

6. SHOUT OUT - ENHYPEN

7. Somewhere in this Universe - SEUNGKWAN

8. CHEERS TO YOUTH - SEVENTEEN

9. PSYCHO - JUN

10. STUPID IDIOT - HxW

tagging: @gyubakeries @8makes1atom @swampyfrogqs @coriihanniee + anyone else!

Share the first 10 songs in your ✨on repeat✨ playlist

Thank you to @loverboykirstein for the tag! I love tag games 😋

🌸 Otonoke - Creepy Nuts

🌸 Pink Venom - BLACKPINK

🌸 Hum Hallelujah - Fall Out Boy

🌸 Overdose - EXO

🌸 MIC Drop - BTS

🌸 Country Song - Seether

🌸 Sugar, We're Goin Down - Fall Out Boy

🌸 One Week - Barenaked Ladies

🌸 Human - The Killers

🌸 Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne

Not quite sure what this playlist says about me, but it is very accurate to my listening habits lol

No pressure tagging: @bookvvitch and anyone else who wants to participate!

[supi-wupi]

puppy boy

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. You have an ulterior motive with Mingyu, but you’d bet your right arm he has one too. Most of the guys you’ve met who are into you don’t bother with getting to know you, or having similar interests. Men in this day and age have - for the most part - lost their ability to engage in the nuances of wooing, but there’s something about this cute, beefy art major that tells you he might just have what it takes to build something meaningful with you.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, masturbation, mention of porn addiction, foreplay, ‘weird kinks’, massaging, breast worship, body worship, oral, pussy eating, blow job, hand job, man handling, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of voyuerism, degradation, praise, dirty talk, Mingyu is a switchy simp, big cock Mingyu agenda, fingering, etc… I pet names: (his) puppy boy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.8k 

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, perv!Mingyu, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 3 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand-alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and this Mingyu fic concludes the series. Find the completed masterlist here.

Prologue:

Mingyu had joined the Sigma Veta Tau frat for brotherhood, and at first, everything had been sunshine and rainbows for the Art major. He’d found friends that he knows will be lifelong mates, and it feels as if his family has truly grown at least another twelve members.

However, things have changed since he joined.

Now, two of his closest friends have started dating, and suddenly, the whole ‘Bros before hoes’ thing has gone out the window. 

Mingyu’s not mad about it per se, in fact, it’s kind of nice to see Seungcheol and Wonwoo enjoying life- but there are other factors to consider.

The first factor is that Mingyu no longer seems to have gym buddies. Turns out that tonight, instead of their usual Monday workout, Seungcheol and Wonwoo are at a double date business meeting. 

Which leads to factor number two. Wonwoo is a notorious camboy, and Seungcheol’s girlfriend is as well, in fact, Seungcheol’s girlfriend is BabyDoll246, who, up until recently, Mingyu used to watch religiously every time he needed to get his rocks off. 

Mingyu doesn’t even know what this whole ‘buisness meeting’ thing is about- Seungcheol is probably doing a presentation for everyone about numbers and aesthetics and how to make a ‘brand,’ because that’s what Seungcheol does. Even though the whole scenario sounds boring, for some reason, Mingyu wishes he was invited.

So things are a little complicated.

Mingyu feels jealous, and left out- and horny… there’s only so much distraction free weights can provide, so in order to distract himself, Mingyu begins to look at the people around him. 

Since the gym is on university property, there are a lot of cute girls his age. Most are scantily clad in booty shorts and sports bras, and Mingyu thanks god for feminism and the right to bare skin.

Then his eyes find you. 

You’re a frequent gym goer, like him, and Mingyu would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. 

You’re in one of those oversized tshirt and booty short combos that drive Mingyu wild- after all, what does your body look like under the fabric? 

He’s got a pretty good imagination, and Mingyu finds himself practically drooling as he watches you do some sets on a shoulder machine.

When you’re done, you stand up, reaching for your water. You turn to look at the gym as you drink, and your eyes meet.

Mingyu is quick to avert his gaze, his skin flushing with embarrassment at having been caught staring.

In an effort to further distract himself, Mingyu moves to the lying barbell section, where he begins to put weights onto either end.

“Hey.” Your voice draws his attention, and Mingyu’s heart almost leaps out of his chest to find you standing right next to him.

“Hi.”

“Where are your friends?” you ask, taking another sip of your water.

“My friends?”

“Yeah, those two guys you’re always here with.”

So you’ve noticed him too. “Oh, uh, they’re on a double date tonight,” Mingyu says shyly.

You nod. “Looks like you need a spotter then.”

“I’ll be okay-”

“The girl I usually come with broke her wrist at volleyball last week, so I’ll need a spotter too,” you tell him. “Maybe we can help each other out?”

Mingyu swallows thickly. “Yeah, uh, okay.”

It feels awkward for him to lie down on the bench, adjusting his hands on the barbell while he looks up at you.

He wonders how well you’d actually be able to spot him if something was to go wrong, but he supposes that’s not the point. In reality, he’s going to be helping you while you’re doing your sets more than you’ll be helping him, but Mingyu doesn’t really mind.

He’s never dropped a barbell in his life, and he’s not about to drop it now with a gorgeous girl looking down at him.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” you say.

“Mingyu,” he responds.

“What’s your major?”

“Art, you?”

“Funny, you don’t look like an artist,” you laugh. 

Mingyu cracks a smile. “What do I look like?” he asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know, but not an artist.” Mingyu continues his set and after a moment you speak again. “I’m in nutrition.”

“That explains it,” Mingyu says under his breath.

“Explains what?”

That you’re sexy as fuck.

“Uh, that, well, you know, you work out?” Mingyu stumbles over his words. “I mean, if you’re into nutrition, it makes sense you’re into the gym too.”

“I guess.”

Mingyu can tell from your smirk that you can probably guess his real reasoning, and he can feel his palms getting sweaty- suddenly, holding onto the barbell isn’t as easy as it usually is.

Mingyu realizes he may have overestimated his ability to keep things cool while you’re watching over him, and he pauses his set.

“You good?” you ask.

“Yeah, just uh, need water.” 

One: 

It’s been a couple of days since you met Mingyu at the gym, and you’re surprised to see him during a trip to the pool.

Once again, the beautiful man is alone, and you wait for him to finish swimming a lap so you can talk to him.

“Hey, stranger,” you grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You watch the way he swallows thickly, and you can practically see him fighting the urge to look at your swimsuit.

It’s nothing flashy, after all, you’re here to work out, not to show off. But you know Mingyu’s probably wondering what you look like under your baggy gym shirts, after all, he’s a man, so it’s not like he’s hard to predict.

“Hey,” Mingyu says. “Uh, how have you been?”

You shrug. “Been okay. Do you come to the pool often?” 

“Sometimes, if my muscles are sore. You?”

“My kinesiology buddy suggested I implement swimming into my routine, a similar thought pattern to you, better for the muscles and the body.”

You see Mingyu’s attitude shift. “I guess a kinesiology buddy would know a lot about that.”

It takes you a moment, but you realize that Mingyu must think your ‘buddy’ is a man, and that maybe you’re taken or on the precipice of a relationship.

God, Mingyu is so easy to read.

“She’s pretty smart,” you note, “my kinesiology buddy.”

Again, an entire emotional shift in Mingyu, and it would almost be laughable if it weren’t so cute.

This man has a schoolboy crush on you, that much is obvious. 

“So… where are your friends?” you ask.

“They’re with their girlfriends,” Mingyu sighs, and you get the sense that he’s not too happy about his workout buddies being more loved up than juiced up.

“Maybe we should just be workout buddies,” you suggest.

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

You shrug. “Why not? We have similar work out schedules already, it wouldn’t be that difficult to sync them.”

“I’d actually love that,” Mingyu admits, and you love how pretty and glowy he looks.

You have an ulterior motive with Mingyu, but you’d bet your right arm he has one too. Most of the guys you’ve met who are into you don’t bother with getting to know you, or having similar interests. Men in this day and age have - for the most part - lost their ability to engage in the nuances of wooing, but there’s something about this cute, beefy art major that tells you he might just have what it takes to build something meaningful with you.

It’s not that you’re necessarily looking for a relationship, but you wouldn’t say no to one either.

Overall, you just want a connection with a man that’s not solely built on him pressing you for a one night stand, and as horny as Mingyu clearly is, there’s a shyness to him too, a shyness that draws you in. 

Two:

Mingyu’s at it again. He’s found a new camgirl to jerk over, but even as he watches the pretty brunette stroke her pussy, his mind keeps wandering to you.

You’ve been workout buddies for two weeks now, and God, there are so many instances and interactions that have gone straight into Mingyu’s spank bank.

There’s something about the way you look when you’re sweating- fuck, Mingyu could just lick it up if that wasn’t such a taboo thing to admit.

Mingyu can’t help himself, he puts his computer to the side, closing his eyes and imagining that you’re the one whimpering and moaning. 

Mingyu is man enough to admit that he’s a bit of a pervert. He knows it, he accepts it- he’s ashamed of it sure, but in that shame is something that only arouses him further. A certain type of obsession with self-degradation. He’s a bad boy, and being sinful only makes him harder as he strokes his cock.

He imagines you in the pool with water glistening on your skin- and that image turns into you in the gym doing dumbbells, sweat on your brow.

Mingyu groans, pumping himself harder. He can feel the tension building in his balls, the tingling sensation that’s beginning to brew.

He thinks about the way you encourage him to do more sets, the way he teases you that you’re his ‘drill sargent’ and you’ll sometimes aquiesce by telling him to drop and give you twenty-

Fuck, why are you so sexy?

Why does he want you to tell him what to do all the time?

He imagines what it would sound like if you told him to be a good boy and cum for you- and just like that, he pops.

Mingyu cums hard, a groan escaping him as he fist fucks himself through it, his hips shaking, sweat on his brow-

Mingyu can’t even bring himself to care that he’s cum all over his own chest, and as he finishes, he lets out a sigh, his hands falling to the bed next to him.

He’s so into you, and it’s not just your body. You’re an interesting person, and you’d sensed he needed a gym partner. Your presence has made the lack of Wonwoo and Seungcheol feel better, and that’s not something Mingyu will undervalue.

The only problem is… Mingyu’s one of the horniest men he knows, and he’s aware that his extreme sex drive may just be a problem. 

Three:

In the three weeks you’ve been working out with Mingyu, you’ve had enough situational awareness to see how other women in the gym stare at him.

And it’s not like you can blame the other girls, after all, you also used to look at him when he wasn’t going to notice.

Mingyu is hard not to look at, he’s just so big and pretty, and his muscles bulge like nothing else when he’s doing sets. 

The two of you are going hard today, and you’ve come to an agreement that for every ten sets you complete, Mingyu gets to ask you a question, and vice versa.

He’s asked you some regular run of the mill things, like your favourite movie, what inspired you to do the degree you’re working on- but then, out of knowhere, Mingyu asks, “Why are you single?”

Mingyu must notice the way you falter, your grip adjusting on the machine, and he’s quick to try to remedy it.

“I just mean, you’re pretty, and nice, and all that sort of stuff, so, I’m just confused,” he says.

“Honestly?” You let out a sigh, trying to tailor your response to intrigue the pretty man. “I have a pretty big drive for physical sensation, if that makes sense. It’s why I gym a lot, and it can be intimidating for guys. Also, I’m not into the whole one-night stand thing, and that seems to be all men want these days.”

“Wait, you’re saying, you’re uh… your sex drive is too big for most guys to handle?” Mingyu chokes.

“I’m just a girl with needs who doesn’t put out unless we’re actually dating,” you shrug.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You can see Mingyu getting hard through his gym shorts, and he coughs awkwardly.

“Uh, let’s switch,” he suggests, and you almost want to laugh.

You acquiesce, and in his newly seated position, Mingyu is able to hide his boner from you, but you’ve already seen it, and confidence is now surging through you.

Mingyu does his first ten reps, and you don’t bother to start with easy questions.

“Why are you single?” 

You watch the way Mingyu swallows thickly.

“I uh.. Well, I’ve kind of got, sort of, um, weird tastes.” 

“Like what?” you ask, and to your annoyance, Mingyu makes you wait for another full set before answering. 

“I guess it’s the sort of thing you kind of have to see for yourself, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“But we’re talking about weird tastes in bed, right?”

Mingyu nods, his ears turning red.

“Look, I just told you I don’t fuck around unless it’s going in the direction of something more than fuck buddies or one night stands,” you tell him. “So, I’d love to see these ‘weird tastes,’ but only if you’re actually interested in something with me.”

It’s been three weeks of getting to know each other, if Mingyu’s not sure what he wants yet, then that’s on him. You’re being direct, and you’re not going to feel bad about that.

“I’m interested,” Mingyu confirms quickly.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Tomorrow is usually your rest day, and you’ve never really asked what Mingyu gets up to when you’re not at the gym or pool.

“Tomorow would be great,” he confirms.

“Then it’s a date,” you conclude. “Tomorrow you can show me these weird tastes that apparently make it hard for you to find a woman.”

“And maybe you can show me about this whole ‘drive for physical sensation’ thing you have.”

God, your panties are wet just thinking about it.

Four:

It feels a little odd to have Mingyu in your one bedroom on campus apartment. This is uncharted waters, and the usual social map that you use at places like gym and pool is no longer here to guide you.

The two of you know what you’re here to do, but it’s clear you’re both shy about it as you go to sit on your bed.

Being shy isn’t usually something you experience, but you also haven’t had a legitimate dating prospect in a while, especially not one as handsome as Mingyu, so you’re being careful not to mess anything up. 

You find yourself lying next to Mingyu, both of you looking up at your ceiling.

“So… tell me about your weird tastes?” you suggest.

He swallows thickly. “What if you tell me some of yours first?”

You laugh. He’s even more shy than you are. “I guess, manhandling is fun. Feeling small and being able to be thrown around is hot.”

Mingyu nods. “I like that you’re smaller than me too. But… I also kind of like that, when we’re at the gym, you get bossy with me.”

This is an interesting development, and you sit up, resting your elbow against the pillow so you can look at Mingyu while you brace your head with your palm. “So you’re not very dominant?”

“Not really,” Mingyu says shyly. 

“More into the whole ‘good boy’ thing.”

You note the way Mingyu reacts, his gaze meeting yours, his breath catching. “Yeah.”

“What else?” you prompt. “There has to be something else for people to consider your tastes ‘weird.’” He stays quiet and you lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear. “Be a good boy and tell me.”

Mingyu swallows thickly, and you note the way he’s begun to fidget with his fingers where his hands are resting on his chest.

“I guess… I’m really into porn? Which is horrible, I know it’s bad for your brain and stuff, but I really just can’t help myself. There’s this word for it, where you like to watch people-”

“Voyeurism.”

“Yeah, voyeurism,” Mingyu nods. “I don’t know, it’s like… watching other people, and, you know, touching myself while I watch-”

“Lots of people like porn,” you assure him.

“Yeah, but, I watch it a lot.” 

He’s looking at you now with an expression you’ve never seen on Mingyu’s face. It’s as if he’s waiting for something, and after a moment, you realize what it might be.

“You like the way it makes you feel,” you note, “how it makes you feel dirty, but you’re also eager to redeem yourself by being a good boy.”

“Exactly. I think it’s also because I’ve been single for a while, I mean, if I’m in a relationship with someone, I don’t think I’ll need to watch as much.” 

It’s definitely an interesting kink.

Sinning by watching porn, then proving yourself to be a good boy by doing sexual favours- or at least, that’s what you assume he means.

Mingyu is really just a puppy boy, and there’s something so adorable and endearing about this large, beautiful man, admitting these things to you.

Well, he’s told you he likes when you take control, so you muster up your confidence to take the reins.

“A lot of people in this university make sex videos,” you note. “If you do well tonight, if things go well between us, maybe one day we can make our own videos.”

Mingyu makes a choked sound, and you note the way his cock is starting to rise in his sweatpants. “Really?”

“Maybe, if you do well,” you repeat. “Why don’t…” you trail your finger across his cheek, “you show me what you’ve learned from all these educational videos you’ve watched?” 

Mingyu swallows thickly, and then he sits up a little. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can do anything you want.”

Mingyu is slow about it even though he now has permission. His hand reaches out to cup your cheek, and he leans forward, eyes double checking you’re actually okay.

Even though you’d both known you were meeting up to fuck, he’s still being careful about it, and that makes you like him even more. A man who respects boundaries? Husband material for sure.

You appreciate that he’s testing the waters, but you’re eager to dive right in, so you make the final move.

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his eagerly.

Mingyu groans, cupping your face to kiss you back.

He tastes good, and he’s not too forceful with his tongue, which gently strokes your lip to ask for entrance.

As you kiss, he shifts, slowly moving so he can be on top of you. Your legs open for him, and he slots against you.

You can feel how hard he is already, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair, he moans louder against you, rutting gently for stimulation.

Mingyu’s lips move to your throat, and he also teases your ear a little, which sends a shiver through you.

One of his hands slips under your shirt, and he grabs your boob over your bra, massaging you tentively.

“Take it off,” you tell him, arching your back in an effort to do it yourself.

Between the two of you, you’re able to remove your shirt, and you also remove your bra, making yourself bare to Mingyu from the waist up.

“You’re so pretty,” he muses, sitting up and looking down at you. Both of his hands find your breasts, and he begins to massage you. “Do you have any oil or anything?”

In preparation for this, you’d put a few sexy items in your bedside table, so it’s easy enough to reach for the coconut oil you have hidden there.

Mingyu drips some oil onto his hands, and then he begins to massage your breasts again.

The silky sensation of the oil makes you moan, and you relax against the bed, closing your eyes to enjoy it all.

You love a man who takes his time to worship you, and no one has massaged your chest in a very long time.

His thumbs brush over your nipples and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

When you look up at Mingyu, you find his gaze fixed to your chest, as if he’s bewitched by the prettiest sight he’s ever seen.

You love how big his hands are, how soft and warm- 

Even so, you’re eager for more.

You haven’t had sex in a while, and your core is almost starting to hurt with anticipation.

This must be what blue balls feels like- or at least, the female equivalent, and you find yourself wrapping a hand around Mingyu’s wrist to make him stop.

“I know what your hands do,” you tell him, “but what about your mouth?”

You’re almost a little shocked at the confidence you seem to have gained, but being confident with Mingyu just comes naturally.

You know he’s man enough to take commands from a woman, in fact, he enjoys doing what he’s told, and something about that is so immensely sexy.

Mingyu shifts down the bed, and he hooks his fingers in your sweatpants, looking up at you for permission.

“Go ahead,” you nod.

The large, beefy man slowly slides your pants down your legs, and then he situates himself between your thighs. He starts by massaging your muscles, pressing kisses along your skin as he slowly works up to where you need him most.

You can feel his breath through your panties, and you shift against the bed, core throbbing already.

Then, Mingyu kisses you through the fabric, and it’s such an interesting sensation.

He begins to lick, pushing his tongue at your panties.

“Just take them off,” you groan.

Mingyu is quick to do as he’s told, and you lift your legs to make the process easier, leaving you completely bare for him.

Upon returning to his spot between your legs, Mingyu begins kissing your thighs again, and this time, as he slowly makes his way up to your pussy, you know there’s nothing standing in the way of him pleasuring you.

He kisses your clit, and the sensation makes you twitch.

Your hands snake down to grab at his hair, and he looks up at you. 

Something in his eyes tells you he really enjoys you having a hold on him like this.

“Show me what your mouth can do,” you repeat, body tense with anticipation. 

Mingyu wastes no time now, he dives in, and this time, he holds nothing back.

His tongue pushes into you, hot, puffy lips making full contact on your core as he licks and eats and slurps.

He’s a messy eater, and you actually kind of love it.

You love how lost he gets in it, how his eyes close, his hands gripping your thighs on either side of his head as he groans against your pussy.

Then you realize the rest of his body is moving too, his hips are wiggling, as if he’s looking for stimulus while he eats you out.

Fuck, he’s so hot- grinding against the bed, so turned on from giving you oral that he can’t even help himself.

“Just like that,” you tell him, throwing your head back and closing your eyes to focus on the sensation.

You’d been so wet and needy just from him massaging your breasts, and now that he’s eating you out- well, you know you’re not going to last long.

Some men don’t know what to do with a woman’s body, but Mingyu isn’t one of those men.

It looks like he has actually learned a thing or two from watching copious amounts of porn, which is kind of shocking if you’re being honest with yourself.

Mingyu shifts, and then a finger is pushing into your wet heat, his mouth now giving its full attention to your sensitive clit.

He pumps his digit in and out, and you can feel how wet and slick you are by the ease in which he fingers you.

One becomes two, and he adjusts his hand, his digits crooking up toward your g-spot.

You’re practically squelching now, and moans are escaping you without barriers. You want Mingyu to know how good he’s making you feel, and there’s no use in restricting yourself.

You begin to move, wiggling your hips so you can help him pleasure you, and your motions make Mingyu groan. He sucks your clit even harder, his hot tongue flicking the sensitive bud with more force as he fingers you.

“I’m close,” you tell him. 

Mingyu only moans in response, his motions getting faster as he worships your core.

You close your eyes, focusing entirely on the ecstasy he’s providing you.

Your muscles are getting tighter, your body preparing yourself for the orgasm that hits mere moments later.

You let out a gasp, your core clamping down on Mingyu’s fingers as pleasure erupts through you. It hits you in waves, making you moan and whimper at each contraction of your pussy around Mingyu’s fingers.

Your clit is ultra sensitive, but fuck, it feels so good-

Mingyu continues to eat you out as you cum, and it almost boarders on being too good- but you’re not about to push him away for being too good. 

Your hips are still wiggling, your body unconsciously wanting your orgasm prolonged- you’re a glutton for punishment and pleasure in that way, but you know Mingyu doesn’t mind.

Finally, you begin to push at Mingyu’s head, and he pulls away, looking up at you.

“Do you want another?” he asks innocently.

You laugh. “Want you inside me.”

“I am inside you,” he smiles, his fingers pushing in and out of you again, making an obscene squelching sound that has your skin heating with embarrassment.

“You know what I mean,” you tut.

Mingyu takes his digits out of you, plopping them in his mouth to suck clean while he groans. When he’s done cleaning himself off, he sits up. “So uh… condoms?”

“I’m on birth control, are you clean?”

“I’m clean,” he nods.

“Then fuck me.”

Mingyu starts by taking his shirt off, and you marvel at his toned muscles. This man works out at least four days of the week, and it shows.

He’s so sexy, you’re pretty sure you’re drooling, and you swallow thickly.

“Suck a pretty puppy boy,” you whisper.

“Puppy boy?”

“Yeah, you’re a puppy boy,” you insist.

He looks at you for a moment, and then you note the way his shoulders relax. “I like that.”

“Here,” you sit up. “Lie down.”

Mingyu does what he’s told, like any good puppy boy would, and you take control. 

“Lift your hips,” you instruct next, and when he follows through, you tear his sweats and his underwear off with one rough tug.

The biggest cock you’ve ever seen slaps up against his stomach, and your jaw drops.

“Holy shit.”

Mingyu flushes a pretty shade of pink. Leave it to him to be shy about how big his dick is as opposed to turning into a cocky piece of shit like most men would.

You can’t help but wrap your hand around him, bringing your mouth to his tip to suck on it.

Mingyu groans immediately, grabbing at your bed sheets as you begin to suck him off.

It helps that you’re practically drooling, but even so, he’s so large that you really can’t take a lot of him.

After a minute, you sit up. “Pass me the oil.”

He does as he’s told like the good puppy boy he is, and you coat your hand in the slick.

When you return to blowing him, you begin to pump what you can’t reach with your mouth, twisting and squeezing and teasing.

Mingyu groans louder, and you give the act of pleasuring him your all, as he’d just given you.

When a man treats you well, it’s only right that you treat him well in return, and something tells you that if things with Mingyu continue, there are going to be a lot of moments like this one.

You love sucking on his mushroom tip, teasing him endlessly as he groans and shifts below you.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” Mingyu tells you.

You hum happily around him, and he moans even louder.

Then, you pull your mouth off of him, continuing your motions with your hand. “Part of me wants to just tease you like this for hours.”

“And the other part?” he asks.

“Wants to ride you.”

He swallows thickly. “Can… can you ride me, please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

You sit up fully, straddling him. But you don’t immediately put him inside of you, instead, you lean forward to kiss him, grinding down against his oil slicked cock so you can lubricate yourself.

You know this isn’t going to be easy getting him inside of you, after all, his cock is massive, but teasing both of you like this will make the process smoother.

Mingyu kisses you eagerly, grabbing the back of your neck with one hand and your hip with the other. He applies pressure to help you wiggle against him, and your oiled breasts make the whole situation extra nice and slippery.

Soon, Mingyu’s hips begin to twitch, and you know you’ve teased him long enough.

You reach between your bodies, grabbing the base of his cock so you can line him up with your core.

You’re gentle with yourself as you sink onto him, taking just the tip at first to get used to the stretch.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, panting already.

“Be patient for me,” you tell him, taking another inch.

Mingyu decides to distract himself by grabbing your breasts, and he begins massaging you again, making you groan as you do your best to take more and more of him.

He toys with your nipples and a shiver of pleasure runs through you.

Another inch.

It’s good to be on top of him for your first time. You’re sure Mingyu would have been gentle if he was on top, but you’re happy to have full control of the penetration speed. Your core is twitching tightly around the massive intrusion, but you’re not someone who gives up. You take inch after inch until you’re finally fully seated on top of Mingyu.

You both groan desperately from the sensation, and you begin to swivel your hips.

“So deep,” you whimper.

“So tight,” he echoes back.

You lean over him again, pressing your lips to his so you can bounce up and down. Mingyu’s hands find your hips and he kisses you back desperately.

God, he feels absolutely unreal.

You pride yourself on being someone with a lot of stamina in bed, so you’re prepared to ride him until your thighs are burning- but then Mingyu begins to thrust up to meet you, and suddenly he’s hitting even deeper.

You let out a deep moan, staying still so he can fuck up into you.

And that’s when you decide you want to know what doggy with Mingyu feels like.

“Shit, okay, fuck,” you swallow thickly. “Want you to fuck me from behind.”

“Okay,” he pants.

You pull off of him, adjusting on the bed while he sits up to get onto his knees.

Your ass is in the air, but your lower body is close to the bed, back arched.

Mingyu brings his cock to your wet hole, and he slowly pushes in. Your core is absolutely soaked, and it’s easier for him to enter you now than the first time.

Soon, his front is flush to your back, and he grabs your hips.

“Okay, fuck me,” you tell him.

Mingyu doesn’t waste any time, he begins to rut into you. His grip is tight on your skin, and he pulls you back to meet each thrust.

He’s so deep that you’re seeing stars. Sounds are leaving your mouth that you’ve never heard come from you before.

Each thrust is magic, filling you unlike anything else ever has.

You’d mentioned you like manhandling, and this is what you were talking about.

You can feel Mingyu’s power in the way that he’s pulling you back and forth like a rag doll. There’s something so sexy about allowing a man the chance to use you, about being the one in control even while he decimates your pussy.

You can feel your orgasm begining to bubble up inside of you again, and you know from the sounds Mingyu’s making that he’s probably close to- after all, you’ve got to cum once, but so far, all of this has been foreplay for Mingyu.

“I’m getting close,” you whimper.

“Me too,” Mingyu admits. “Lay flat for me.”

It takes a moment to resposition, but now you’re on your stomach. Mingyu’s still fucking you, but now he’s laid over your back. His breath is hot against your throat and you turn your head so Mingyu can press his lips to yours.

He’s straddling your closed legs, but your back is still slightly arched so he can enter you easily.

This angle has him hitting spots you’ve never had touched, and it feels like heaven.

Your bodies are fully pressed together, there’s no distance like in doggy, and you love that this will be the position you both come in.

It’s close, but your back is still to him, so it’s not as vanilla and domestic as something like missionary.

Mingyu’s groaning more and more, and you echo his sounds with whimpers of your own.

“Shit,” Mingyu cusses. “I want to cum with you.”

“Then cum for me, I’m so close,” you whimper. 

“Fuck,” he groans again, fucking you even harder.

The whole bed is rocking, but that only turns you on more as you get closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m almost there,” you whimper, body tensing on the verge of ecstasy.

“Me too, me too,” he moans.

He presses his lips to yours and that sends you over the edge.

Your core clamps down hard on his cock and Mingyu moans desperately, his cock twitching inside of you before he explodes.

The orgasm is all-consuming, and every sensation is Mingyu.

He does his best to fuck you through it, but you know that he’s overwhelmed like you are.

No orgasm has ever felt this good, and your core continues to milk Mingyu, filling you up unlike anything else.

“Shit, shit-” he groans, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your shoulder, panting desperately as you both try to come down from your highs.

He lays on top of you like this for a while as you both recollect yourselves, and then, he lets out a sigh.

“Give me like, five minutes, and some time to massage you again, and I’ll be able to do round two.”

He’s as insatiable as you are. Sure, he’s a little weird, but who isn’t. You’re kind of weird too, but at least your weirds seem to work together, and you kind of love it. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you're interested in Wonwoo's chapter about No Face, find it here, and Seungcheol's chapter is here.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Mingyu had told you about some ammature porn videos where there’s some ‘sir pussy licker’ or something, and how a bunch of his content is just eating out his girlfriend and making her squirt- so of course, Mingyu wants that to be a major part of the content you make.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, sex tape, multiple reader orgasms, oral, pussy eating, blow job, hand job, overstim, squirting, breast worship, body worship kink, dirty talk, praise, mentions of self inflicted edging, mentions of cock rings and other things, big dick Mingyu agenda, etc…   I petnames. (his) Puppy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve been with Mingyu for about six months now, and true to your word when you’d started seeing each other, the two of you have made a few sex tapes for your eyes only.

Mingyu’s absolutely obsessed with you, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

The two of you are lying in bed after filming a new thing for the two of you, and Mingyu releases a breath. “Maybe… maybe we should start actually doing the whole cam thing,” he suggests.

“Yeah?”

“You know, make money.” 

“How much do you think we could make?” you ask, not fully opposed to the idea.

“I have two friends who do the whole solo cam show thing,” Mingyu admits. “They both bring in a lot of money, but they also do solo stuff. If we made stuff together, our target audience could be bigger.”

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general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

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@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

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I'm also taggling those who I thought might like this :)

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@axo-l0tl - @blspphr3 - @roseandpeaches

[supi-wupi]

Second Place - Joshua

pairing: Joshua x Reader

synopsis: You’ve loved him since day one, but he’s in love with someone else. As you help him write love letters to his crush, he unknowingly discovers your unsent letters—confessions hidden in plain sight. 

Then; Everyone remembers when Joshua cried on stage, apologizing for something no one else could explain. You know the truth: he was apologizing to you. For breaking the promise. For choosing the group. For walking away without a word.

wc: 4.3k

genre: Angst, Unspoken/unrequited love, second chance

warning: Emotional angst, Unsent letters and misunderstandings, Separation/abandonment, Mental health struggle mentions, Heartbreak, mentions of exhaustion and burnout, joshua crying on stage, members confused, grievinga/n: This can be considered an alternative ending to my work ‘Penpal’, which you don’t need to read before this, it just gives background context to the name ‘Shuji’.

The studio always smelled like burnt coffee and citrus-scented air freshener—two things Y/N constantly relied on to stay awake through 3 a.m. writing blocks and last-minute composition tweaks. It was her quiet place, her second home. And lately, the only space where she could love him in silence.

Joshua.

She'd been writing songs for the group since before they debuted. First as an intern, then as a contracted lyricist, now a ghostwriter whose name was never printed but whose words shaped half their discography. No one questioned it. And she preferred it that way.

Well. Mostly.

It was easier to hide in the credits when the person you loved was singing words you wrote for someone else.

“Y/N,” Joshua called softly from the doorway. “You got a minute?”

She turned, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He wore a hoodie half-slipped off one shoulder and held a notebook in one hand like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it or clutch it to his chest.

“Yeah, of course.” Her voice was lighter than she felt.

He stepped inside, hesitating. “So… I wanted to ask you for help with something. Again.”

You always do, she thought. But she smiled. “Lyrics?”

Joshua nodded, his grin sheepish. “It’s stupid, probably, but I wanted to write something for… someone. You know. Just something personal. You’re better with words.”

She didn’t ask who. He didn’t offer the name. But it didn’t matter. She already knew.

It had been the same for months now—Joshua appearing with half-formed verses and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbling about how this girl made him feel something he couldn’t explain. And Y/N, like a fool, would spend nights bleeding her heart into lyrics she could never claim as her own.

“Do you have a melody?” she asked instead.

He hummed the beginning of something gentle, a chord progression she recognized from their last jam session. It would make a beautiful ballad. A confession song.

It would destroy her.

“Give me a few days,” she said, reaching for her pen.

He looked relieved. “Thank you. Really.”

“Always,” she whispered once he’d left.

—

She stayed long after the studio lights dimmed, laptop screen casting a dull glow across her face. The chorus came easy—hearts in hands, breathless hope, longing wrapped in soft vowels and sweet consonants. She knew his voice well enough to mold the words into something that would sit right in his mouth.

That was the problem.

Every word she wrote tasted like love.

Her own.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 12/09/2017]

Dear Shuji,

You smiled when you read the lyrics today. You said they felt real. That they captured exactly how you felt.

You don’t know they’re about you.

You don’t know that every time you describe her, I think of all the things I’ll never be.

But I keep writing, because it’s the only way I can love you without ruining everything.

Yours,

Nie

—

Joshua found the letter by accident.

A week later, rummaging through her desk while she grabbed them both dinner, he was looking for a spare cable when he noticed the envelope tucked inside a draft folder. It wasn’t labeled, but curiosity got the better of him.

He read it once.

Then twice.

The handwriting was hers. The paper was old, the fold lines soft with time. But there was no name. No context. Only the nickname: Shuji.

His heart skipped.

Only one person called him that.

When Y/N returned, he smiled like nothing had changed.

He didn’t ask.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Not yet.

—

Joshua started to notice little things.

The way Y/N stopped looking at him when she spoke. How she paused before answering, like measuring every word before it left her mouth. The ghost of a smile that used to be automatic now took its time showing up.

But she still helped him write songs. Love songs.

She always did.

—

The melody they settled on was soft and simple—just guitar, piano, and breath. Y/N filled the gaps with metaphors that made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t ask where she pulled those images from: The way she laughs into her sleeve, like hiding joy makes it stronger. Or: I loved you like a secret—loud and unspoken.

He thought maybe he was finally finding the right words.

Even if they weren’t his.

“I’m thinking of giving it to her,” he said one night, when she handed him the final demo. “Just… directly. Not through a release or anything. Just me. And her. What do you think?”

Y/N swallowed. “I think… if it’s honest, she’ll hear you.”

She didn’t tell him the honesty was borrowed.

She didn’t tell him that the verses were carved from her own heart.

—

Later, after he left with a hopeful smile and a folded-up lyric sheet, Y/N sat back and stared at the empty chair across from her.

You really think she’ll hear you?She’s not even listening.

She reached for the drawer.

She shouldn't read the old letters again. But she always did.

Except… one was gone.

Her hands froze.

She counted them twice.

And it was definitely missing.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 04/11/2019]

Dear Shuji,

You asked me what falling in love feels like. I didn’t answer, but this is what I wanted to say:

It feels like watching your favorite song play out in front of you, knowing you can’t join in. Like standing in the audience when you know the harmonies by heart.

It feels like writing lyrics about someone who’ll never read them—and hoping they never do.

Because then maybe, you can keep pretending they were yours.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. But I will. For you.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found this one in a second notebook—one she left on the piano bench in the practice room. The edges were worn, the ink faded. It was dated years ago, before he even realized she was the one gluing their group’s emotions together behind the scenes.

The nicknames again. The handwriting again. That same ache in the words.

He didn’t confront her. Not yet.

Maybe she’d written these for someone else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he was starting to realize the truth and didn’t know what to do with it.

Still, he kept the letter folded in his bag.

Just in case.

—

Y/N noticed it first—the shift in how he looked at her.

Like he was watching her with a question on his lips he didn’t know how to ask.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because the moment she saw him holding hands with the girl in the lobby—her—the one he’d been writing songs for… it all came crashing down anyway.

—

That night, Y/N didn’t cry.

She packed her laptop. Shut down the studio. Took the long train ride home. And when she got in, she did the one thing she swore she never would.

She started a new letter.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 07/02/2022]

Dear Shuji,

It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either. I should’ve said something years ago.

But I was always scared of being a burden you couldn’t put into a melody.

I was scared that if I told you I loved you, I’d lose the only part of you I was allowed to keep.

So I wrote you songs instead.

But you never heard me.

I think it’s time I stop writing.

I think it’s time I go.

Yours, almost.

—

She didn’t show up to practice the next morning.

Not in the studio. Not in the back room where she usually scribbled lyrics on her tablet with earbuds in, mouthing melodies no one else could hear.

Joshua didn’t panic right away.

Y/N had always been consistent, but not rigid. She sometimes needed air—walks at night, weekend disappearances for inspiration, quiet hours with her thoughts and no one else's noise.

But when she didn’t answer his texts by lunch—and her shared drive folder remained untouched, with nothing new since the demo he’d used for the girl—something in him shifted.

He told himself she’d be back.

She wasn’t.

Three days passed.

Then four.

When Seungkwan asked if she was sick, Joshua just said, “She’s taking a break.” It sounded better than I don’t know where she is, or maybe I’m the reason she left.

Because now, with every quiet hour that passed, the letters began making more sense.

He re-read them at night. Alone. In bed. Memorizing the curves of her handwriting like he used to memorize chord changes.

She hadn’t signed her name.

But it didn’t matter.

The letters weren’t a puzzle anymore.

They were a mirror—and he had never bothered to look into it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 08/13/2021]

Dear Shuji,

They always say to write what you know.

But how do I write this? This knowing. This silence.

I know your favorite coffee order. The tempo your foot taps when you’re anxious. The way your shoulders tighten before you laugh. I know you want her. I know I’m not her.

But I still write you love songs like I’ve been asked to.

Like you’re not breaking me every time you sing them.

I love you so much it hurts. And I hate myself for it.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found that one in an old shared lyric book—one they used to keep between the two of them, back when they were still experimenting with writing as a duo.

It had fallen behind her desk. Tucked into the middle like a secret.

The page before it had a scratch melody he remembered vaguely. A soft ballad. It had made him tear up the first time he heard it.

He thought it was because it sounded like longing.

He hadn’t realized it was.

—

He messaged her again.

[11:03 PM] You wrote those letters, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?

No reply.

[11:47 PM] Was I really that blind? Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he got an email.

—

Subject: For the Team From: [Y/N] To: [SEVENTEEN Staff + Members] Time: 5:26 PM

Hi everyone,

I’m officially stepping away from the group’s lyricist role to pursue something quieter. This decision wasn’t made lightly, and I’ll always be grateful for the years we spent creating together.

Please take care of yourselves.

With love, Y/N

—

The air left his lungs like a silent apology.

The rest of the team read the message with wide eyes and murmurs of she didn’t say anything. But Joshua said nothing.

Because he’d known.

Maybe not in time.

But he knew now.

And it felt like losing a song before he ever got to sing it.

He went back to the studio that night, even though the others had left. Just in case she'd left something else behind.

She had.

In the pencil drawer was one last envelope. No name. No date. Just folded paper, waiting like a confession.

His hands shook when he opened it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Undated]

Shuji,

I hope you don’t hate me.

I hope when you find these, if you find these, it’s because some part of you wondered.

Some part of you looked at me and thought, maybe.

If not… then at least now you know.

I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.

I loved you when you didn’t see me.

I loved you when you looked right through me to find her face.

But I loved you.

And I’ll keep loving you… just not here.

Yours, once.

—

He sat there for a long time.

Letter in hand. Empty studio. No background melody. No voice humming beside him.

Just silence.

And for the first time since debut, Joshua Hong had no words.

Joshua stared at the unsent letter in his hands like it held the answer to everything he’d missed.

“I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.”

His chest tightened at the words. Every song—every lyric—was a confession he’d been too blind to hear.

The studio felt emptier than ever, the echoes of her absence ringing louder than the microphones ever could.

He couldn’t let this be the last note.

—

The next day, Joshua sat alone in the practice room after everyone left, opening a fresh blank page on his tablet. His fingers hovered, unsure. He hadn’t written a lyric for weeks—not since Y/N left.

But this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for her.

—

[Joshua’s Letter — Draft]

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs, the quiet tears hidden behind your melodies.

I was so focused on who you weren’t, I missed the person who loved me all along.

I’m sorry for the silence, for the songs you had to write alone.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, know this—

I’m trying to find my own words now. For you.

J.

—

He saved it, but didn’t send it. Not yet.

In the following days, he found pieces of her everywhere: a coffee cup on the corner of the studio desk, a half-finished notebook of lyrics, a familiar scent in the hallway air.

Each small thing a reminder.

And a question.

Why didn’t she stay to tell him?

He asked the members, careful with his words, hoping someone had heard from her.

They all shook their heads.

“She’s busy, probably taking time for herself,” Woozi offered quietly.

But Joshua knew better.

—

That night, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

“Shuji, it’s me. I’m sorry I left like that. I needed space, but I’m not gone forever.”

His heart pounded.

Could it be?

—

Joshua stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Four simple words that stirred a thousand questions—and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

He typed back slowly, carefully.

“Where are you?”

Hours passed with no reply. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.

—

The next morning, a new message came:

“I’m still figuring things out. But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?”

Joshua exhaled, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation flooding him.

—

He sat by the window, guitar resting in his lap, eyes tracing the skyline of Seoul as if searching for her in the distance.

The songs he once wrote for her now felt like letters waiting to be opened—pieces of his heart scattered across melodies and unsent words.

He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were wounds to heal, misunderstandings to unravel, and time to reclaim.

But for the first time in a long while, Joshua felt a quiet promise flicker inside him—

A promise to try.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.

—

Aftermath

Joshua never thought he’d be standing there, in front of the world, with his heart laid bare.

The moment was etched in everyone's memory—the moment when, on stage, under the bright lights, his voice cracked with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He apologized, not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you. The promise he had broken. The way he had walked away from you, from everything, without a word.

The silence after the apology was deafening.

Everyone wanted to know the truth. What did it mean? What did he mean by it?

You knew. And that was the problem.

In the days that followed, the weight of what had happened didn’t lighten. Instead, it became heavier, suffocating in its own right. Joshua’s apology had echoed across stages, but you were still the one who had to live with the silence.

—

It wasn’t long before he started looking for answers in the wrong places. In places that were never meant to be discovered. You had hoped—no, you had expected—this day would come. You had written so many letters to him over the years, carefully pouring your heart into words that never saw the light of day. Letters meant only for him, but never sent, because to send them would have meant losing him entirely.

And now, they were all he had left.

He hadn’t meant to find them. He hadn’t meant to see the words you had written, the confessions buried in the folds of old notebooks and drafts. But now, he had them. All of them. The letters, the songs, the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

—

Joshua had been spending every waking hour in the studio, lost in the music that was no longer his alone. The songs, the melodies, everything now felt tainted with the truth he had ignored for so long.

"Shuji, I'm sorry," his fingers hovered over his tablet screen. "I didn't see it. I didn't see you. I was too blind to realize."

It was a draft, but it was a start.

But even as the words took form on the screen, they felt like they were coming too late.

And then came the message.

The silence had been unbearable, and in the silence, you had left.

—

You hadn’t told him. You hadn't told anyone. You'd just slipped away. Packed up the parts of yourself you had given so freely, and left. You were no longer the invisible force behind the songs. You weren’t the lyricist, the ghostwriter—just a woman who had loved him too much to stay.

Your decision wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. The love you’d hidden for so long had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t afford to keep giving pieces of yourself away when he never once saw them.

Your last message to him was simple. A quiet goodbye in the only way you knew how.

"I’m still figuring things out," the words came, hesitant and soft. "But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?"

—

Joshua held his breath as he read your message. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was something. A sliver of hope. He stared at the screen, the weight of the words pressing against his chest.

"Where are you?"

The response came slowly. Hours passed before he finally got an answer.

“I'm okay. I'm not gone forever. But I need time. We need time.”

His heart ached.

Time. It was all he had left now. Time to undo the damage. Time to finally listen to the words you had been whispering for years.

Joshua didn’t know how to fix things. He didn’t know where to start. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t let the silence swallow everything.

As the days stretched on, Joshua found himself writing songs again. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for you. They were the songs you had written for him, once. The lyrics you had poured into every melody, every note, every verse.

He had missed it. He had missed you.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be too blind to see.

He hit send.

"Y/N... I’m sorry. I know I can’t fix everything. But I’ll spend every day trying to."

The message was simple. But the promise was everything.

And for the first time in months, the silence felt a little less heavy.

—

Joshua stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering above the send button, unsure if the words would be enough. Would they ever be enough?

He thought back to the letters. The confessions you had written, the ones you had never shared. Your words were so raw, so beautiful, and yet he had failed to see them for what they were. The melodies, the lyrics—they had always been pieces of your heart, pieces of you, woven into songs for him that he had accepted without ever questioning.

But now, now that it was too late, all he could feel was the weight of every moment he had missed, every opportunity he had wasted.

He had heard the lyrics, but he hadn’t listened. He had felt the melodies, but he hadn’t understood. All of it had been a confession—an open secret—but he had been too blinded by his own self-doubt, too focused on the girl he thought he was meant to be with, to see you—the one who had been there all along.

The truth was a bitter pill, one he had swallowed too late.

—

It was a few weeks before he saw you again, and even then, it wasn’t how he imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures. No reunion at the studio or a dramatic confession at a concert.

It was just a text.

"Meet me at the café?" It was you, as simple as always. But this time, Joshua wasn’t sure how to feel. His hands shook as he read the message again, each word a reminder of everything that had led him here.

"Of course," he replied.

It was the first step. A small one, but the only one he could take.

—

The café was quiet when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation muffled by the early hour. He spotted you right away, sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in front of you, your fingers tracing the rim of the mug absentmindedly. You weren’t looking at your phone. You weren’t avoiding him either. You were just... there.

For a moment, Joshua froze, unsure of how to approach you. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, a thousand explanations, but in the end, none of them felt right.

What could he say? "I'm sorry" felt so small in comparison to everything that had happened between you two. And yet, it was the only word that seemed to keep coming back.

You noticed him standing by the door, hesitating, and for the first time, you gave him a soft smile. It wasn’t the warm, easy smile you used to share, but it was something. Something that made his chest tighten.

“Joshua.” Your voice was soft, almost like you weren’t sure how to address him anymore. You had been so used to calling him Shuji, to speaking to him as someone who knew your every thought, every word. But now… now there was distance. The kind that couldn’t be crossed with a simple smile.

He walked over slowly, sitting across from you. The silence that hung between you felt thick, heavy, like something unsaid that both of you were too scared to voice.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him, your eyes tired, but there was something else there too—something he couldn’t quite name. “I’m doing okay. A lot of changes… but I’m alright.”

You avoided his gaze for a moment, your fingers curling around the handle of the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the present. Joshua's heart skipped. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer he needed. He needed you to say that you were okay because of him, that he had fixed something, made up for everything he had done. But the truth was that you had already made up your mind long before this conversation.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just sat there, watching you, trying to gather the words that had been locked inside him for months.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, there was something in your gaze that he didn’t expect—something like understanding. But it was fleeting.

“I know you didn’t,” you replied quietly. “But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to see me.”

Joshua’s heart clenched at your words. The air between you was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had been left unsaid. The letters. The songs. The moments that had never been shared. It was too much, and yet, it was nothing compared to what he had lost.

"I was a fool," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was so caught up in everything else, I never took the time to see what was right in front of me. I—"

“No,” you cut him off, your eyes soft, but firm. “You weren’t a fool, Joshua. You were just... lost. So was I. But I can’t keep pretending like I wasn’t waiting for something that would never come.”

Joshua swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. "What do we do now?" he asked, voice rough.

You sat back in your chair, your gaze thoughtful, distant almost. “I don’t know. Maybe we take things one step at a time. But I’m not here to be your second choice. I need to find my own way now, too.”

The words stung, more than anything he had heard before. But there was truth in them. And that truth was something Joshua wasn’t ready to face. Yet he knew it was the only way forward.

“Then... I’ll wait,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “If you want me to. I’ll wait. Because I owe you that much.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But when you finally spoke, it wasn’t to shut him down. It was a quiet agreement, a fragile understanding that neither of you was quite ready to step into each other's lives again, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way forward.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small but resolute. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Joshua nodded, the silence between you two more comfortable now, not full of things left unsaid, but things left to be discovered.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he might be on the right path. Even if it wasn’t clear yet, even if it took time, he knew he wasn’t walking it alone.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

Second Place - Joshua

pairing: Joshua x Reader

synopsis: You’ve loved him since day one, but he’s in love with someone else. As you help him write love letters to his crush, he unknowingly discovers your unsent letters—confessions hidden in plain sight. 

Then; Everyone remembers when Joshua cried on stage, apologizing for something no one else could explain. You know the truth: he was apologizing to you. For breaking the promise. For choosing the group. For walking away without a word.

wc: 4.3k

genre: Angst, Unspoken/unrequited love, second chance

warning: Emotional angst, Unsent letters and misunderstandings, Separation/abandonment, Mental health struggle mentions, Heartbreak, mentions of exhaustion and burnout, joshua crying on stage, members confused, grievinga/n: This can be considered an alternative ending to my work ‘Penpal’, which you don’t need to read before this, it just gives background context to the name ‘Shuji’.

The studio always smelled like burnt coffee and citrus-scented air freshener—two things Y/N constantly relied on to stay awake through 3 a.m. writing blocks and last-minute composition tweaks. It was her quiet place, her second home. And lately, the only space where she could love him in silence.

Joshua.

She'd been writing songs for the group since before they debuted. First as an intern, then as a contracted lyricist, now a ghostwriter whose name was never printed but whose words shaped half their discography. No one questioned it. And she preferred it that way.

Well. Mostly.

It was easier to hide in the credits when the person you loved was singing words you wrote for someone else.

“Y/N,” Joshua called softly from the doorway. “You got a minute?”

She turned, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He wore a hoodie half-slipped off one shoulder and held a notebook in one hand like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it or clutch it to his chest.

“Yeah, of course.” Her voice was lighter than she felt.

He stepped inside, hesitating. “So… I wanted to ask you for help with something. Again.”

You always do, she thought. But she smiled. “Lyrics?”

Joshua nodded, his grin sheepish. “It’s stupid, probably, but I wanted to write something for… someone. You know. Just something personal. You’re better with words.”

She didn’t ask who. He didn’t offer the name. But it didn’t matter. She already knew.

It had been the same for months now—Joshua appearing with half-formed verses and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbling about how this girl made him feel something he couldn’t explain. And Y/N, like a fool, would spend nights bleeding her heart into lyrics she could never claim as her own.

“Do you have a melody?” she asked instead.

He hummed the beginning of something gentle, a chord progression she recognized from their last jam session. It would make a beautiful ballad. A confession song.

It would destroy her.

“Give me a few days,” she said, reaching for her pen.

He looked relieved. “Thank you. Really.”

“Always,” she whispered once he’d left.

—

She stayed long after the studio lights dimmed, laptop screen casting a dull glow across her face. The chorus came easy—hearts in hands, breathless hope, longing wrapped in soft vowels and sweet consonants. She knew his voice well enough to mold the words into something that would sit right in his mouth.

That was the problem.

Every word she wrote tasted like love.

Her own.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 12/09/2017]

Dear Shuji,

You smiled when you read the lyrics today. You said they felt real. That they captured exactly how you felt.

You don’t know they’re about you.

You don’t know that every time you describe her, I think of all the things I’ll never be.

But I keep writing, because it’s the only way I can love you without ruining everything.

Yours,

Nie

—

Joshua found the letter by accident.

A week later, rummaging through her desk while she grabbed them both dinner, he was looking for a spare cable when he noticed the envelope tucked inside a draft folder. It wasn’t labeled, but curiosity got the better of him.

He read it once.

Then twice.

The handwriting was hers. The paper was old, the fold lines soft with time. But there was no name. No context. Only the nickname: Shuji.

His heart skipped.

Only one person called him that.

When Y/N returned, he smiled like nothing had changed.

He didn’t ask.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Not yet.

—

Joshua started to notice little things.

The way Y/N stopped looking at him when she spoke. How she paused before answering, like measuring every word before it left her mouth. The ghost of a smile that used to be automatic now took its time showing up.

But she still helped him write songs. Love songs.

She always did.

—

The melody they settled on was soft and simple—just guitar, piano, and breath. Y/N filled the gaps with metaphors that made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t ask where she pulled those images from: The way she laughs into her sleeve, like hiding joy makes it stronger. Or: I loved you like a secret—loud and unspoken.

He thought maybe he was finally finding the right words.

Even if they weren’t his.

“I’m thinking of giving it to her,” he said one night, when she handed him the final demo. “Just… directly. Not through a release or anything. Just me. And her. What do you think?”

Y/N swallowed. “I think… if it’s honest, she’ll hear you.”

She didn’t tell him the honesty was borrowed.

She didn’t tell him that the verses were carved from her own heart.

—

Later, after he left with a hopeful smile and a folded-up lyric sheet, Y/N sat back and stared at the empty chair across from her.

You really think she’ll hear you?She’s not even listening.

She reached for the drawer.

She shouldn't read the old letters again. But she always did.

Except… one was gone.

Her hands froze.

She counted them twice.

And it was definitely missing.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 04/11/2019]

Dear Shuji,

You asked me what falling in love feels like. I didn’t answer, but this is what I wanted to say:

It feels like watching your favorite song play out in front of you, knowing you can’t join in. Like standing in the audience when you know the harmonies by heart.

It feels like writing lyrics about someone who’ll never read them—and hoping they never do.

Because then maybe, you can keep pretending they were yours.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. But I will. For you.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found this one in a second notebook—one she left on the piano bench in the practice room. The edges were worn, the ink faded. It was dated years ago, before he even realized she was the one gluing their group’s emotions together behind the scenes.

The nicknames again. The handwriting again. That same ache in the words.

He didn’t confront her. Not yet.

Maybe she’d written these for someone else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he was starting to realize the truth and didn’t know what to do with it.

Still, he kept the letter folded in his bag.

Just in case.

—

Y/N noticed it first—the shift in how he looked at her.

Like he was watching her with a question on his lips he didn’t know how to ask.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because the moment she saw him holding hands with the girl in the lobby—her—the one he’d been writing songs for… it all came crashing down anyway.

—

That night, Y/N didn’t cry.

She packed her laptop. Shut down the studio. Took the long train ride home. And when she got in, she did the one thing she swore she never would.

She started a new letter.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 07/02/2022]

Dear Shuji,

It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either. I should’ve said something years ago.

But I was always scared of being a burden you couldn’t put into a melody.

I was scared that if I told you I loved you, I’d lose the only part of you I was allowed to keep.

So I wrote you songs instead.

But you never heard me.

I think it’s time I stop writing.

I think it’s time I go.

Yours, almost.

—

She didn’t show up to practice the next morning.

Not in the studio. Not in the back room where she usually scribbled lyrics on her tablet with earbuds in, mouthing melodies no one else could hear.

Joshua didn’t panic right away.

Y/N had always been consistent, but not rigid. She sometimes needed air—walks at night, weekend disappearances for inspiration, quiet hours with her thoughts and no one else's noise.

But when she didn’t answer his texts by lunch—and her shared drive folder remained untouched, with nothing new since the demo he’d used for the girl—something in him shifted.

He told himself she’d be back.

She wasn’t.

Three days passed.

Then four.

When Seungkwan asked if she was sick, Joshua just said, “She’s taking a break.” It sounded better than I don’t know where she is, or maybe I’m the reason she left.

Because now, with every quiet hour that passed, the letters began making more sense.

He re-read them at night. Alone. In bed. Memorizing the curves of her handwriting like he used to memorize chord changes.

She hadn’t signed her name.

But it didn’t matter.

The letters weren’t a puzzle anymore.

They were a mirror—and he had never bothered to look into it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 08/13/2021]

Dear Shuji,

They always say to write what you know.

But how do I write this? This knowing. This silence.

I know your favorite coffee order. The tempo your foot taps when you’re anxious. The way your shoulders tighten before you laugh. I know you want her. I know I’m not her.

But I still write you love songs like I’ve been asked to.

Like you’re not breaking me every time you sing them.

I love you so much it hurts. And I hate myself for it.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found that one in an old shared lyric book—one they used to keep between the two of them, back when they were still experimenting with writing as a duo.

It had fallen behind her desk. Tucked into the middle like a secret.

The page before it had a scratch melody he remembered vaguely. A soft ballad. It had made him tear up the first time he heard it.

He thought it was because it sounded like longing.

He hadn’t realized it was.

—

He messaged her again.

[11:03 PM] You wrote those letters, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?

No reply.

[11:47 PM] Was I really that blind? Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he got an email.

—

Subject: For the Team From: [Y/N] To: [SEVENTEEN Staff + Members] Time: 5:26 PM

Hi everyone,

I’m officially stepping away from the group’s lyricist role to pursue something quieter. This decision wasn’t made lightly, and I’ll always be grateful for the years we spent creating together.

Please take care of yourselves.

With love, Y/N

—

The air left his lungs like a silent apology.

The rest of the team read the message with wide eyes and murmurs of she didn’t say anything. But Joshua said nothing.

Because he’d known.

Maybe not in time.

But he knew now.

And it felt like losing a song before he ever got to sing it.

He went back to the studio that night, even though the others had left. Just in case she'd left something else behind.

She had.

In the pencil drawer was one last envelope. No name. No date. Just folded paper, waiting like a confession.

His hands shook when he opened it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Undated]

Shuji,

I hope you don’t hate me.

I hope when you find these, if you find these, it’s because some part of you wondered.

Some part of you looked at me and thought, maybe.

If not… then at least now you know.

I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.

I loved you when you didn’t see me.

I loved you when you looked right through me to find her face.

But I loved you.

And I’ll keep loving you… just not here.

Yours, once.

—

He sat there for a long time.

Letter in hand. Empty studio. No background melody. No voice humming beside him.

Just silence.

And for the first time since debut, Joshua Hong had no words.

Joshua stared at the unsent letter in his hands like it held the answer to everything he’d missed.

“I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.”

His chest tightened at the words. Every song—every lyric—was a confession he’d been too blind to hear.

The studio felt emptier than ever, the echoes of her absence ringing louder than the microphones ever could.

He couldn’t let this be the last note.

—

The next day, Joshua sat alone in the practice room after everyone left, opening a fresh blank page on his tablet. His fingers hovered, unsure. He hadn’t written a lyric for weeks—not since Y/N left.

But this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for her.

—

[Joshua’s Letter — Draft]

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs, the quiet tears hidden behind your melodies.

I was so focused on who you weren’t, I missed the person who loved me all along.

I’m sorry for the silence, for the songs you had to write alone.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, know this—

I’m trying to find my own words now. For you.

J.

—

He saved it, but didn’t send it. Not yet.

In the following days, he found pieces of her everywhere: a coffee cup on the corner of the studio desk, a half-finished notebook of lyrics, a familiar scent in the hallway air.

Each small thing a reminder.

And a question.

Why didn’t she stay to tell him?

He asked the members, careful with his words, hoping someone had heard from her.

They all shook their heads.

“She’s busy, probably taking time for herself,” Woozi offered quietly.

But Joshua knew better.

—

That night, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

“Shuji, it’s me. I’m sorry I left like that. I needed space, but I’m not gone forever.”

His heart pounded.

Could it be?

—

Joshua stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Four simple words that stirred a thousand questions—and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

He typed back slowly, carefully.

“Where are you?”

Hours passed with no reply. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.

—

The next morning, a new message came:

“I’m still figuring things out. But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?”

Joshua exhaled, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation flooding him.

—

He sat by the window, guitar resting in his lap, eyes tracing the skyline of Seoul as if searching for her in the distance.

The songs he once wrote for her now felt like letters waiting to be opened—pieces of his heart scattered across melodies and unsent words.

He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were wounds to heal, misunderstandings to unravel, and time to reclaim.

But for the first time in a long while, Joshua felt a quiet promise flicker inside him—

A promise to try.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.

—

Aftermath

Joshua never thought he’d be standing there, in front of the world, with his heart laid bare.

The moment was etched in everyone's memory—the moment when, on stage, under the bright lights, his voice cracked with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He apologized, not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you. The promise he had broken. The way he had walked away from you, from everything, without a word.

The silence after the apology was deafening.

Everyone wanted to know the truth. What did it mean? What did he mean by it?

You knew. And that was the problem.

In the days that followed, the weight of what had happened didn’t lighten. Instead, it became heavier, suffocating in its own right. Joshua’s apology had echoed across stages, but you were still the one who had to live with the silence.

—

It wasn’t long before he started looking for answers in the wrong places. In places that were never meant to be discovered. You had hoped—no, you had expected—this day would come. You had written so many letters to him over the years, carefully pouring your heart into words that never saw the light of day. Letters meant only for him, but never sent, because to send them would have meant losing him entirely.

And now, they were all he had left.

He hadn’t meant to find them. He hadn’t meant to see the words you had written, the confessions buried in the folds of old notebooks and drafts. But now, he had them. All of them. The letters, the songs, the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

—

Joshua had been spending every waking hour in the studio, lost in the music that was no longer his alone. The songs, the melodies, everything now felt tainted with the truth he had ignored for so long.

"Shuji, I'm sorry," his fingers hovered over his tablet screen. "I didn't see it. I didn't see you. I was too blind to realize."

It was a draft, but it was a start.

But even as the words took form on the screen, they felt like they were coming too late.

And then came the message.

The silence had been unbearable, and in the silence, you had left.

—

You hadn’t told him. You hadn't told anyone. You'd just slipped away. Packed up the parts of yourself you had given so freely, and left. You were no longer the invisible force behind the songs. You weren’t the lyricist, the ghostwriter—just a woman who had loved him too much to stay.

Your decision wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. The love you’d hidden for so long had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t afford to keep giving pieces of yourself away when he never once saw them.

Your last message to him was simple. A quiet goodbye in the only way you knew how.

"I’m still figuring things out," the words came, hesitant and soft. "But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?"

—

Joshua held his breath as he read your message. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was something. A sliver of hope. He stared at the screen, the weight of the words pressing against his chest.

"Where are you?"

The response came slowly. Hours passed before he finally got an answer.

“I'm okay. I'm not gone forever. But I need time. We need time.”

His heart ached.

Time. It was all he had left now. Time to undo the damage. Time to finally listen to the words you had been whispering for years.

Joshua didn’t know how to fix things. He didn’t know where to start. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t let the silence swallow everything.

As the days stretched on, Joshua found himself writing songs again. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for you. They were the songs you had written for him, once. The lyrics you had poured into every melody, every note, every verse.

He had missed it. He had missed you.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be too blind to see.

He hit send.

"Y/N... I’m sorry. I know I can’t fix everything. But I’ll spend every day trying to."

The message was simple. But the promise was everything.

And for the first time in months, the silence felt a little less heavy.

—

Joshua stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering above the send button, unsure if the words would be enough. Would they ever be enough?

He thought back to the letters. The confessions you had written, the ones you had never shared. Your words were so raw, so beautiful, and yet he had failed to see them for what they were. The melodies, the lyrics—they had always been pieces of your heart, pieces of you, woven into songs for him that he had accepted without ever questioning.

But now, now that it was too late, all he could feel was the weight of every moment he had missed, every opportunity he had wasted.

He had heard the lyrics, but he hadn’t listened. He had felt the melodies, but he hadn’t understood. All of it had been a confession—an open secret—but he had been too blinded by his own self-doubt, too focused on the girl he thought he was meant to be with, to see you—the one who had been there all along.

The truth was a bitter pill, one he had swallowed too late.

—

It was a few weeks before he saw you again, and even then, it wasn’t how he imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures. No reunion at the studio or a dramatic confession at a concert.

It was just a text.

"Meet me at the café?" It was you, as simple as always. But this time, Joshua wasn’t sure how to feel. His hands shook as he read the message again, each word a reminder of everything that had led him here.

"Of course," he replied.

It was the first step. A small one, but the only one he could take.

—

The café was quiet when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation muffled by the early hour. He spotted you right away, sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in front of you, your fingers tracing the rim of the mug absentmindedly. You weren’t looking at your phone. You weren’t avoiding him either. You were just... there.

For a moment, Joshua froze, unsure of how to approach you. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, a thousand explanations, but in the end, none of them felt right.

What could he say? "I'm sorry" felt so small in comparison to everything that had happened between you two. And yet, it was the only word that seemed to keep coming back.

You noticed him standing by the door, hesitating, and for the first time, you gave him a soft smile. It wasn’t the warm, easy smile you used to share, but it was something. Something that made his chest tighten.

“Joshua.” Your voice was soft, almost like you weren’t sure how to address him anymore. You had been so used to calling him Shuji, to speaking to him as someone who knew your every thought, every word. But now… now there was distance. The kind that couldn’t be crossed with a simple smile.

He walked over slowly, sitting across from you. The silence that hung between you felt thick, heavy, like something unsaid that both of you were too scared to voice.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him, your eyes tired, but there was something else there too—something he couldn’t quite name. “I’m doing okay. A lot of changes… but I’m alright.”

You avoided his gaze for a moment, your fingers curling around the handle of the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the present. Joshua's heart skipped. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer he needed. He needed you to say that you were okay because of him, that he had fixed something, made up for everything he had done. But the truth was that you had already made up your mind long before this conversation.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just sat there, watching you, trying to gather the words that had been locked inside him for months.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, there was something in your gaze that he didn’t expect—something like understanding. But it was fleeting.

“I know you didn’t,” you replied quietly. “But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to see me.”

Joshua’s heart clenched at your words. The air between you was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had been left unsaid. The letters. The songs. The moments that had never been shared. It was too much, and yet, it was nothing compared to what he had lost.

"I was a fool," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was so caught up in everything else, I never took the time to see what was right in front of me. I—"

“No,” you cut him off, your eyes soft, but firm. “You weren’t a fool, Joshua. You were just... lost. So was I. But I can’t keep pretending like I wasn’t waiting for something that would never come.”

Joshua swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. "What do we do now?" he asked, voice rough.

You sat back in your chair, your gaze thoughtful, distant almost. “I don’t know. Maybe we take things one step at a time. But I’m not here to be your second choice. I need to find my own way now, too.”

The words stung, more than anything he had heard before. But there was truth in them. And that truth was something Joshua wasn’t ready to face. Yet he knew it was the only way forward.

“Then... I’ll wait,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “If you want me to. I’ll wait. Because I owe you that much.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But when you finally spoke, it wasn’t to shut him down. It was a quiet agreement, a fragile understanding that neither of you was quite ready to step into each other's lives again, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way forward.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small but resolute. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Joshua nodded, the silence between you two more comfortable now, not full of things left unsaid, but things left to be discovered.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he might be on the right path. Even if it wasn’t clear yet, even if it took time, he knew he wasn’t walking it alone.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

Second Place - Joshua

pairing: Joshua x Reader

synopsis: You’ve loved him since day one, but he’s in love with someone else. As you help him write love letters to his crush, he unknowingly discovers your unsent letters—confessions hidden in plain sight. 

Then; Everyone remembers when Joshua cried on stage, apologizing for something no one else could explain. You know the truth: he was apologizing to you. For breaking the promise. For choosing the group. For walking away without a word.

wc: 4.3k

genre: Angst, Unspoken/unrequited love, second chance

warning: Emotional angst, Unsent letters and misunderstandings, Separation/abandonment, Mental health struggle mentions, Heartbreak, mentions of exhaustion and burnout, joshua crying on stage, members confused, grievinga/n: This can be considered an alternative ending to my work ‘Penpal’, which you don’t need to read before this, it just gives background context to the name ‘Shuji’.

The studio always smelled like burnt coffee and citrus-scented air freshener—two things Y/N constantly relied on to stay awake through 3 a.m. writing blocks and last-minute composition tweaks. It was her quiet place, her second home. And lately, the only space where she could love him in silence.

Joshua.

She'd been writing songs for the group since before they debuted. First as an intern, then as a contracted lyricist, now a ghostwriter whose name was never printed but whose words shaped half their discography. No one questioned it. And she preferred it that way.

Well. Mostly.

It was easier to hide in the credits when the person you loved was singing words you wrote for someone else.

“Y/N,” Joshua called softly from the doorway. “You got a minute?”

She turned, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He wore a hoodie half-slipped off one shoulder and held a notebook in one hand like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it or clutch it to his chest.

“Yeah, of course.” Her voice was lighter than she felt.

He stepped inside, hesitating. “So… I wanted to ask you for help with something. Again.”

You always do, she thought. But she smiled. “Lyrics?”

Joshua nodded, his grin sheepish. “It’s stupid, probably, but I wanted to write something for… someone. You know. Just something personal. You’re better with words.”

She didn’t ask who. He didn’t offer the name. But it didn’t matter. She already knew.

It had been the same for months now—Joshua appearing with half-formed verses and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbling about how this girl made him feel something he couldn’t explain. And Y/N, like a fool, would spend nights bleeding her heart into lyrics she could never claim as her own.

“Do you have a melody?” she asked instead.

He hummed the beginning of something gentle, a chord progression she recognized from their last jam session. It would make a beautiful ballad. A confession song.

It would destroy her.

“Give me a few days,” she said, reaching for her pen.

He looked relieved. “Thank you. Really.”

“Always,” she whispered once he’d left.

—

She stayed long after the studio lights dimmed, laptop screen casting a dull glow across her face. The chorus came easy—hearts in hands, breathless hope, longing wrapped in soft vowels and sweet consonants. She knew his voice well enough to mold the words into something that would sit right in his mouth.

That was the problem.

Every word she wrote tasted like love.

Her own.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 12/09/2017]

Dear Shuji,

You smiled when you read the lyrics today. You said they felt real. That they captured exactly how you felt.

You don’t know they’re about you.

You don’t know that every time you describe her, I think of all the things I’ll never be.

But I keep writing, because it’s the only way I can love you without ruining everything.

Yours,

Nie

—

Joshua found the letter by accident.

A week later, rummaging through her desk while she grabbed them both dinner, he was looking for a spare cable when he noticed the envelope tucked inside a draft folder. It wasn’t labeled, but curiosity got the better of him.

He read it once.

Then twice.

The handwriting was hers. The paper was old, the fold lines soft with time. But there was no name. No context. Only the nickname: Shuji.

His heart skipped.

Only one person called him that.

When Y/N returned, he smiled like nothing had changed.

He didn’t ask.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Not yet.

—

Joshua started to notice little things.

The way Y/N stopped looking at him when she spoke. How she paused before answering, like measuring every word before it left her mouth. The ghost of a smile that used to be automatic now took its time showing up.

But she still helped him write songs. Love songs.

She always did.

—

The melody they settled on was soft and simple—just guitar, piano, and breath. Y/N filled the gaps with metaphors that made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t ask where she pulled those images from: The way she laughs into her sleeve, like hiding joy makes it stronger. Or: I loved you like a secret—loud and unspoken.

He thought maybe he was finally finding the right words.

Even if they weren’t his.

“I’m thinking of giving it to her,” he said one night, when she handed him the final demo. “Just… directly. Not through a release or anything. Just me. And her. What do you think?”

Y/N swallowed. “I think… if it’s honest, she’ll hear you.”

She didn’t tell him the honesty was borrowed.

She didn’t tell him that the verses were carved from her own heart.

—

Later, after he left with a hopeful smile and a folded-up lyric sheet, Y/N sat back and stared at the empty chair across from her.

You really think she’ll hear you?She’s not even listening.

She reached for the drawer.

She shouldn't read the old letters again. But she always did.

Except… one was gone.

Her hands froze.

She counted them twice.

And it was definitely missing.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 04/11/2019]

Dear Shuji,

You asked me what falling in love feels like. I didn’t answer, but this is what I wanted to say:

It feels like watching your favorite song play out in front of you, knowing you can’t join in. Like standing in the audience when you know the harmonies by heart.

It feels like writing lyrics about someone who’ll never read them—and hoping they never do.

Because then maybe, you can keep pretending they were yours.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. But I will. For you.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found this one in a second notebook—one she left on the piano bench in the practice room. The edges were worn, the ink faded. It was dated years ago, before he even realized she was the one gluing their group’s emotions together behind the scenes.

The nicknames again. The handwriting again. That same ache in the words.

He didn’t confront her. Not yet.

Maybe she’d written these for someone else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he was starting to realize the truth and didn’t know what to do with it.

Still, he kept the letter folded in his bag.

Just in case.

—

Y/N noticed it first—the shift in how he looked at her.

Like he was watching her with a question on his lips he didn’t know how to ask.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because the moment she saw him holding hands with the girl in the lobby—her—the one he’d been writing songs for… it all came crashing down anyway.

—

That night, Y/N didn’t cry.

She packed her laptop. Shut down the studio. Took the long train ride home. And when she got in, she did the one thing she swore she never would.

She started a new letter.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 07/02/2022]

Dear Shuji,

It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either. I should’ve said something years ago.

But I was always scared of being a burden you couldn’t put into a melody.

I was scared that if I told you I loved you, I’d lose the only part of you I was allowed to keep.

So I wrote you songs instead.

But you never heard me.

I think it’s time I stop writing.

I think it’s time I go.

Yours, almost.

—

She didn’t show up to practice the next morning.

Not in the studio. Not in the back room where she usually scribbled lyrics on her tablet with earbuds in, mouthing melodies no one else could hear.

Joshua didn’t panic right away.

Y/N had always been consistent, but not rigid. She sometimes needed air—walks at night, weekend disappearances for inspiration, quiet hours with her thoughts and no one else's noise.

But when she didn’t answer his texts by lunch—and her shared drive folder remained untouched, with nothing new since the demo he’d used for the girl—something in him shifted.

He told himself she’d be back.

She wasn’t.

Three days passed.

Then four.

When Seungkwan asked if she was sick, Joshua just said, “She’s taking a break.” It sounded better than I don’t know where she is, or maybe I’m the reason she left.

Because now, with every quiet hour that passed, the letters began making more sense.

He re-read them at night. Alone. In bed. Memorizing the curves of her handwriting like he used to memorize chord changes.

She hadn’t signed her name.

But it didn’t matter.

The letters weren’t a puzzle anymore.

They were a mirror—and he had never bothered to look into it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 08/13/2021]

Dear Shuji,

They always say to write what you know.

But how do I write this? This knowing. This silence.

I know your favorite coffee order. The tempo your foot taps when you’re anxious. The way your shoulders tighten before you laugh. I know you want her. I know I’m not her.

But I still write you love songs like I’ve been asked to.

Like you’re not breaking me every time you sing them.

I love you so much it hurts. And I hate myself for it.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found that one in an old shared lyric book—one they used to keep between the two of them, back when they were still experimenting with writing as a duo.

It had fallen behind her desk. Tucked into the middle like a secret.

The page before it had a scratch melody he remembered vaguely. A soft ballad. It had made him tear up the first time he heard it.

He thought it was because it sounded like longing.

He hadn’t realized it was.

—

He messaged her again.

[11:03 PM] You wrote those letters, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?

No reply.

[11:47 PM] Was I really that blind? Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he got an email.

—

Subject: For the Team From: [Y/N] To: [SEVENTEEN Staff + Members] Time: 5:26 PM

Hi everyone,

I’m officially stepping away from the group’s lyricist role to pursue something quieter. This decision wasn’t made lightly, and I’ll always be grateful for the years we spent creating together.

Please take care of yourselves.

With love, Y/N

—

The air left his lungs like a silent apology.

The rest of the team read the message with wide eyes and murmurs of she didn’t say anything. But Joshua said nothing.

Because he’d known.

Maybe not in time.

But he knew now.

And it felt like losing a song before he ever got to sing it.

He went back to the studio that night, even though the others had left. Just in case she'd left something else behind.

She had.

In the pencil drawer was one last envelope. No name. No date. Just folded paper, waiting like a confession.

His hands shook when he opened it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Undated]

Shuji,

I hope you don’t hate me.

I hope when you find these, if you find these, it’s because some part of you wondered.

Some part of you looked at me and thought, maybe.

If not… then at least now you know.

I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.

I loved you when you didn’t see me.

I loved you when you looked right through me to find her face.

But I loved you.

And I’ll keep loving you… just not here.

Yours, once.

—

He sat there for a long time.

Letter in hand. Empty studio. No background melody. No voice humming beside him.

Just silence.

And for the first time since debut, Joshua Hong had no words.

Joshua stared at the unsent letter in his hands like it held the answer to everything he’d missed.

“I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.”

His chest tightened at the words. Every song—every lyric—was a confession he’d been too blind to hear.

The studio felt emptier than ever, the echoes of her absence ringing louder than the microphones ever could.

He couldn’t let this be the last note.

—

The next day, Joshua sat alone in the practice room after everyone left, opening a fresh blank page on his tablet. His fingers hovered, unsure. He hadn’t written a lyric for weeks—not since Y/N left.

But this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for her.

—

[Joshua’s Letter — Draft]

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs, the quiet tears hidden behind your melodies.

I was so focused on who you weren’t, I missed the person who loved me all along.

I’m sorry for the silence, for the songs you had to write alone.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, know this—

I’m trying to find my own words now. For you.

J.

—

He saved it, but didn’t send it. Not yet.

In the following days, he found pieces of her everywhere: a coffee cup on the corner of the studio desk, a half-finished notebook of lyrics, a familiar scent in the hallway air.

Each small thing a reminder.

And a question.

Why didn’t she stay to tell him?

He asked the members, careful with his words, hoping someone had heard from her.

They all shook their heads.

“She’s busy, probably taking time for herself,” Woozi offered quietly.

But Joshua knew better.

—

That night, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

“Shuji, it’s me. I’m sorry I left like that. I needed space, but I’m not gone forever.”

His heart pounded.

Could it be?

—

Joshua stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Four simple words that stirred a thousand questions—and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

He typed back slowly, carefully.

“Where are you?”

Hours passed with no reply. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.

—

The next morning, a new message came:

“I’m still figuring things out. But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?”

Joshua exhaled, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation flooding him.

—

He sat by the window, guitar resting in his lap, eyes tracing the skyline of Seoul as if searching for her in the distance.

The songs he once wrote for her now felt like letters waiting to be opened—pieces of his heart scattered across melodies and unsent words.

He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were wounds to heal, misunderstandings to unravel, and time to reclaim.

But for the first time in a long while, Joshua felt a quiet promise flicker inside him—

A promise to try.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.

—

Aftermath

Joshua never thought he’d be standing there, in front of the world, with his heart laid bare.

The moment was etched in everyone's memory—the moment when, on stage, under the bright lights, his voice cracked with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He apologized, not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you. The promise he had broken. The way he had walked away from you, from everything, without a word.

The silence after the apology was deafening.

Everyone wanted to know the truth. What did it mean? What did he mean by it?

You knew. And that was the problem.

In the days that followed, the weight of what had happened didn’t lighten. Instead, it became heavier, suffocating in its own right. Joshua’s apology had echoed across stages, but you were still the one who had to live with the silence.

—

It wasn’t long before he started looking for answers in the wrong places. In places that were never meant to be discovered. You had hoped—no, you had expected—this day would come. You had written so many letters to him over the years, carefully pouring your heart into words that never saw the light of day. Letters meant only for him, but never sent, because to send them would have meant losing him entirely.

And now, they were all he had left.

He hadn’t meant to find them. He hadn’t meant to see the words you had written, the confessions buried in the folds of old notebooks and drafts. But now, he had them. All of them. The letters, the songs, the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

—

Joshua had been spending every waking hour in the studio, lost in the music that was no longer his alone. The songs, the melodies, everything now felt tainted with the truth he had ignored for so long.

"Shuji, I'm sorry," his fingers hovered over his tablet screen. "I didn't see it. I didn't see you. I was too blind to realize."

It was a draft, but it was a start.

But even as the words took form on the screen, they felt like they were coming too late.

And then came the message.

The silence had been unbearable, and in the silence, you had left.

—

You hadn’t told him. You hadn't told anyone. You'd just slipped away. Packed up the parts of yourself you had given so freely, and left. You were no longer the invisible force behind the songs. You weren’t the lyricist, the ghostwriter—just a woman who had loved him too much to stay.

Your decision wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. The love you’d hidden for so long had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t afford to keep giving pieces of yourself away when he never once saw them.

Your last message to him was simple. A quiet goodbye in the only way you knew how.

"I’m still figuring things out," the words came, hesitant and soft. "But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?"

—

Joshua held his breath as he read your message. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was something. A sliver of hope. He stared at the screen, the weight of the words pressing against his chest.

"Where are you?"

The response came slowly. Hours passed before he finally got an answer.

“I'm okay. I'm not gone forever. But I need time. We need time.”

His heart ached.

Time. It was all he had left now. Time to undo the damage. Time to finally listen to the words you had been whispering for years.

Joshua didn’t know how to fix things. He didn’t know where to start. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t let the silence swallow everything.

As the days stretched on, Joshua found himself writing songs again. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for you. They were the songs you had written for him, once. The lyrics you had poured into every melody, every note, every verse.

He had missed it. He had missed you.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be too blind to see.

He hit send.

"Y/N... I’m sorry. I know I can’t fix everything. But I’ll spend every day trying to."

The message was simple. But the promise was everything.

And for the first time in months, the silence felt a little less heavy.

—

Joshua stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering above the send button, unsure if the words would be enough. Would they ever be enough?

He thought back to the letters. The confessions you had written, the ones you had never shared. Your words were so raw, so beautiful, and yet he had failed to see them for what they were. The melodies, the lyrics—they had always been pieces of your heart, pieces of you, woven into songs for him that he had accepted without ever questioning.

But now, now that it was too late, all he could feel was the weight of every moment he had missed, every opportunity he had wasted.

He had heard the lyrics, but he hadn’t listened. He had felt the melodies, but he hadn’t understood. All of it had been a confession—an open secret—but he had been too blinded by his own self-doubt, too focused on the girl he thought he was meant to be with, to see you—the one who had been there all along.

The truth was a bitter pill, one he had swallowed too late.

—

It was a few weeks before he saw you again, and even then, it wasn’t how he imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures. No reunion at the studio or a dramatic confession at a concert.

It was just a text.

"Meet me at the café?" It was you, as simple as always. But this time, Joshua wasn’t sure how to feel. His hands shook as he read the message again, each word a reminder of everything that had led him here.

"Of course," he replied.

It was the first step. A small one, but the only one he could take.

—

The café was quiet when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation muffled by the early hour. He spotted you right away, sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in front of you, your fingers tracing the rim of the mug absentmindedly. You weren’t looking at your phone. You weren’t avoiding him either. You were just... there.

For a moment, Joshua froze, unsure of how to approach you. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, a thousand explanations, but in the end, none of them felt right.

What could he say? "I'm sorry" felt so small in comparison to everything that had happened between you two. And yet, it was the only word that seemed to keep coming back.

You noticed him standing by the door, hesitating, and for the first time, you gave him a soft smile. It wasn’t the warm, easy smile you used to share, but it was something. Something that made his chest tighten.

“Joshua.” Your voice was soft, almost like you weren’t sure how to address him anymore. You had been so used to calling him Shuji, to speaking to him as someone who knew your every thought, every word. But now… now there was distance. The kind that couldn’t be crossed with a simple smile.

He walked over slowly, sitting across from you. The silence that hung between you felt thick, heavy, like something unsaid that both of you were too scared to voice.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him, your eyes tired, but there was something else there too—something he couldn’t quite name. “I’m doing okay. A lot of changes… but I’m alright.”

You avoided his gaze for a moment, your fingers curling around the handle of the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the present. Joshua's heart skipped. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer he needed. He needed you to say that you were okay because of him, that he had fixed something, made up for everything he had done. But the truth was that you had already made up your mind long before this conversation.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just sat there, watching you, trying to gather the words that had been locked inside him for months.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, there was something in your gaze that he didn’t expect—something like understanding. But it was fleeting.

“I know you didn’t,” you replied quietly. “But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to see me.”

Joshua’s heart clenched at your words. The air between you was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had been left unsaid. The letters. The songs. The moments that had never been shared. It was too much, and yet, it was nothing compared to what he had lost.

"I was a fool," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was so caught up in everything else, I never took the time to see what was right in front of me. I—"

“No,” you cut him off, your eyes soft, but firm. “You weren’t a fool, Joshua. You were just... lost. So was I. But I can’t keep pretending like I wasn’t waiting for something that would never come.”

Joshua swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. "What do we do now?" he asked, voice rough.

You sat back in your chair, your gaze thoughtful, distant almost. “I don’t know. Maybe we take things one step at a time. But I’m not here to be your second choice. I need to find my own way now, too.”

The words stung, more than anything he had heard before. But there was truth in them. And that truth was something Joshua wasn’t ready to face. Yet he knew it was the only way forward.

“Then... I’ll wait,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “If you want me to. I’ll wait. Because I owe you that much.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But when you finally spoke, it wasn’t to shut him down. It was a quiet agreement, a fragile understanding that neither of you was quite ready to step into each other's lives again, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way forward.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small but resolute. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Joshua nodded, the silence between you two more comfortable now, not full of things left unsaid, but things left to be discovered.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he might be on the right path. Even if it wasn’t clear yet, even if it took time, he knew he wasn’t walking it alone.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

Second Place - Joshua

pairing: Joshua x Reader

synopsis: You’ve loved him since day one, but he’s in love with someone else. As you help him write love letters to his crush, he unknowingly discovers your unsent letters—confessions hidden in plain sight. 

wc: 4.3k

genre: Angst, Unspoken/unrequited love, second chance

warning: Emotional angst, Unsent letters and misunderstandings, Separation/abandonment, Mental health struggle mentions, Heartbreak, mentions of exhaustion and burnout, joshua crying on stage, members confused, grievinga/n: This can be considered an alternative ending to my work ‘Penpal’, which you don’t need to read before this, it just gives background context to the name ‘Shuji’.

The studio always smelled like burnt coffee and citrus-scented air freshener—two things Y/N constantly relied on to stay awake through 3 a.m. writing blocks and last-minute composition tweaks. It was her quiet place, her second home. And lately, the only space where she could love him in silence.

Joshua.

She'd been writing songs for the group since before they debuted. First as an intern, then as a contracted lyricist, now a ghostwriter whose name was never printed but whose words shaped half their discography. No one questioned it. And she preferred it that way.

Well. Mostly.

It was easier to hide in the credits when the person you loved was singing words you wrote for someone else.

“Y/N,” Joshua called softly from the doorway. “You got a minute?”

She turned, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He wore a hoodie half-slipped off one shoulder and held a notebook in one hand like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it or clutch it to his chest.

“Yeah, of course.” Her voice was lighter than she felt.

He stepped inside, hesitating. “So… I wanted to ask you for help with something. Again.”

You always do, she thought. But she smiled. “Lyrics?”

Joshua nodded, his grin sheepish. “It’s stupid, probably, but I wanted to write something for… someone. You know. Just something personal. You’re better with words.”

She didn’t ask who. He didn’t offer the name. But it didn’t matter. She already knew.

It had been the same for months now—Joshua appearing with half-formed verses and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbling about how this girl made him feel something he couldn’t explain. And Y/N, like a fool, would spend nights bleeding her heart into lyrics she could never claim as her own.

“Do you have a melody?” she asked instead.

He hummed the beginning of something gentle, a chord progression she recognized from their last jam session. It would make a beautiful ballad. A confession song.

It would destroy her.

“Give me a few days,” she said, reaching for her pen.

He looked relieved. “Thank you. Really.”

“Always,” she whispered once he’d left.

—

She stayed long after the studio lights dimmed, laptop screen casting a dull glow across her face. The chorus came easy—hearts in hands, breathless hope, longing wrapped in soft vowels and sweet consonants. She knew his voice well enough to mold the words into something that would sit right in his mouth.

That was the problem.

Every word she wrote tasted like love.

Her own.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 12/09/2017]

Dear Shuji,

You smiled when you read the lyrics today. You said they felt real. That they captured exactly how you felt.

You don’t know they’re about you.

You don’t know that every time you describe her, I think of all the things I’ll never be.

But I keep writing, because it’s the only way I can love you without ruining everything.

Yours,

Nie

—

Joshua found the letter by accident.

A week later, rummaging through her desk while she grabbed them both dinner, he was looking for a spare cable when he noticed the envelope tucked inside a draft folder. It wasn’t labeled, but curiosity got the better of him.

He read it once.

Then twice.

The handwriting was hers. The paper was old, the fold lines soft with time. But there was no name. No context. Only the nickname: Shuji.

His heart skipped.

Only one person called him that.

When Y/N returned, he smiled like nothing had changed.

He didn’t ask.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Not yet.

—

Joshua started to notice little things.

The way Y/N stopped looking at him when she spoke. How she paused before answering, like measuring every word before it left her mouth. The ghost of a smile that used to be automatic now took its time showing up.

But she still helped him write songs. Love songs.

She always did.

—

The melody they settled on was soft and simple—just guitar, piano, and breath. Y/N filled the gaps with metaphors that made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t ask where she pulled those images from: The way she laughs into her sleeve, like hiding joy makes it stronger. Or: I loved you like a secret—loud and unspoken.

He thought maybe he was finally finding the right words.

Even if they weren’t his.

“I’m thinking of giving it to her,” he said one night, when she handed him the final demo. “Just… directly. Not through a release or anything. Just me. And her. What do you think?”

Y/N swallowed. “I think… if it’s honest, she’ll hear you.”

She didn’t tell him the honesty was borrowed.

She didn’t tell him that the verses were carved from her own heart.

—

Later, after he left with a hopeful smile and a folded-up lyric sheet, Y/N sat back and stared at the empty chair across from her.

You really think she’ll hear you?She’s not even listening.

She reached for the drawer.

She shouldn't read the old letters again. But she always did.

Except… one was gone.

Her hands froze.

She counted them twice.

And it was definitely missing.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 04/11/2019]

Dear Shuji,

You asked me what falling in love feels like. I didn’t answer, but this is what I wanted to say:

It feels like watching your favorite song play out in front of you, knowing you can’t join in. Like standing in the audience when you know the harmonies by heart.

It feels like writing lyrics about someone who’ll never read them—and hoping they never do.

Because then maybe, you can keep pretending they were yours.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. But I will. For you.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found this one in a second notebook—one she left on the piano bench in the practice room. The edges were worn, the ink faded. It was dated years ago, before he even realized she was the one gluing their group’s emotions together behind the scenes.

The nicknames again. The handwriting again. That same ache in the words.

He didn’t confront her. Not yet.

Maybe she’d written these for someone else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he was starting to realize the truth and didn’t know what to do with it.

Still, he kept the letter folded in his bag.

Just in case.

—

Y/N noticed it first—the shift in how he looked at her.

Like he was watching her with a question on his lips he didn’t know how to ask.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because the moment she saw him holding hands with the girl in the lobby—her—the one he’d been writing songs for… it all came crashing down anyway.

—

That night, Y/N didn’t cry.

She packed her laptop. Shut down the studio. Took the long train ride home. And when she got in, she did the one thing she swore she never would.

She started a new letter.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 07/02/2022]

Dear Shuji,

It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either. I should’ve said something years ago.

But I was always scared of being a burden you couldn’t put into a melody.

I was scared that if I told you I loved you, I’d lose the only part of you I was allowed to keep.

So I wrote you songs instead.

But you never heard me.

I think it’s time I stop writing.

I think it’s time I go.

Yours, almost.

—

She didn’t show up to practice the next morning.

Not in the studio. Not in the back room where she usually scribbled lyrics on her tablet with earbuds in, mouthing melodies no one else could hear.

Joshua didn’t panic right away.

Y/N had always been consistent, but not rigid. She sometimes needed air—walks at night, weekend disappearances for inspiration, quiet hours with her thoughts and no one else's noise.

But when she didn’t answer his texts by lunch—and her shared drive folder remained untouched, with nothing new since the demo he’d used for the girl—something in him shifted.

He told himself she’d be back.

She wasn’t.

Three days passed.

Then four.

When Seungkwan asked if she was sick, Joshua just said, “She’s taking a break.” It sounded better than I don’t know where she is, or maybe I’m the reason she left.

Because now, with every quiet hour that passed, the letters began making more sense.

He re-read them at night. Alone. In bed. Memorizing the curves of her handwriting like he used to memorize chord changes.

She hadn’t signed her name.

But it didn’t matter.

The letters weren’t a puzzle anymore.

They were a mirror—and he had never bothered to look into it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 08/13/2021]

Dear Shuji,

They always say to write what you know.

But how do I write this? This knowing. This silence.

I know your favorite coffee order. The tempo your foot taps when you’re anxious. The way your shoulders tighten before you laugh. I know you want her. I know I’m not her.

But I still write you love songs like I’ve been asked to.

Like you’re not breaking me every time you sing them.

I love you so much it hurts. And I hate myself for it.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found that one in an old shared lyric book—one they used to keep between the two of them, back when they were still experimenting with writing as a duo.

It had fallen behind her desk. Tucked into the middle like a secret.

The page before it had a scratch melody he remembered vaguely. A soft ballad. It had made him tear up the first time he heard it.

He thought it was because it sounded like longing.

He hadn’t realized it was.

—

He messaged her again.

[11:03 PM] You wrote those letters, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?

No reply.

[11:47 PM] Was I really that blind? Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he got an email.

—

Subject: For the Team From: [Y/N] To: [SEVENTEEN Staff + Members] Time: 5:26 PM

Hi everyone,

I’m officially stepping away from the group’s lyricist role to pursue something quieter. This decision wasn’t made lightly, and I’ll always be grateful for the years we spent creating together.

Please take care of yourselves.

With love, Y/N

—

The air left his lungs like a silent apology.

The rest of the team read the message with wide eyes and murmurs of she didn’t say anything. But Joshua said nothing.

Because he’d known.

Maybe not in time.

But he knew now.

And it felt like losing a song before he ever got to sing it.

He went back to the studio that night, even though the others had left. Just in case she'd left something else behind.

She had.

In the pencil drawer was one last envelope. No name. No date. Just folded paper, waiting like a confession.

His hands shook when he opened it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Undated]

Shuji,

I hope you don’t hate me.

I hope when you find these, if you find these, it’s because some part of you wondered.

Some part of you looked at me and thought, maybe.

If not… then at least now you know.

I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.

I loved you when you didn’t see me.

I loved you when you looked right through me to find her face.

But I loved you.

And I’ll keep loving you… just not here.

Yours, once.

—

He sat there for a long time.

Letter in hand. Empty studio. No background melody. No voice humming beside him.

Just silence.

And for the first time since debut, Joshua Hong had no words.

Joshua stared at the unsent letter in his hands like it held the answer to everything he’d missed.

“I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.”

His chest tightened at the words. Every song—every lyric—was a confession he’d been too blind to hear.

The studio felt emptier than ever, the echoes of her absence ringing louder than the microphones ever could.

He couldn’t let this be the last note.

—

The next day, Joshua sat alone in the practice room after everyone left, opening a fresh blank page on his tablet. His fingers hovered, unsure. He hadn’t written a lyric for weeks—not since Y/N left.

But this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for her.

—

[Joshua’s Letter — Draft]

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs, the quiet tears hidden behind your melodies.

I was so focused on who you weren’t, I missed the person who loved me all along.

I’m sorry for the silence, for the songs you had to write alone.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, know this—

I’m trying to find my own words now. For you.

J.

—

He saved it, but didn’t send it. Not yet.

In the following days, he found pieces of her everywhere: a coffee cup on the corner of the studio desk, a half-finished notebook of lyrics, a familiar scent in the hallway air.

Each small thing a reminder.

And a question.

Why didn’t she stay to tell him?

He asked the members, careful with his words, hoping someone had heard from her.

They all shook their heads.

“She’s busy, probably taking time for herself,” Woozi offered quietly.

But Joshua knew better.

—

That night, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

“Shuji, it’s me. I’m sorry I left like that. I needed space, but I’m not gone forever.”

His heart pounded.

Could it be?

—

Joshua stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Four simple words that stirred a thousand questions—and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

He typed back slowly, carefully.

“Where are you?”

Hours passed with no reply. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.

—

The next morning, a new message came:

“I’m still figuring things out. But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?”

Joshua exhaled, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation flooding him.

—

He sat by the window, guitar resting in his lap, eyes tracing the skyline of Seoul as if searching for her in the distance.

The songs he once wrote for her now felt like letters waiting to be opened—pieces of his heart scattered across melodies and unsent words.

He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were wounds to heal, misunderstandings to unravel, and time to reclaim.

But for the first time in a long while, Joshua felt a quiet promise flicker inside him—

A promise to try.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.

—

Aftermath

Joshua never thought he’d be standing there, in front of the world, with his heart laid bare.

The moment was etched in everyone's memory—the moment when, on stage, under the bright lights, his voice cracked with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He apologized, not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you. The promise he had broken. The way he had walked away from you, from everything, without a word.

The silence after the apology was deafening.

Everyone wanted to know the truth. What did it mean? What did he mean by it?

You knew. And that was the problem.

In the days that followed, the weight of what had happened didn’t lighten. Instead, it became heavier, suffocating in its own right. Joshua’s apology had echoed across stages, but you were still the one who had to live with the silence.

—

It wasn’t long before he started looking for answers in the wrong places. In places that were never meant to be discovered. You had hoped—no, you had expected—this day would come. You had written so many letters to him over the years, carefully pouring your heart into words that never saw the light of day. Letters meant only for him, but never sent, because to send them would have meant losing him entirely.

And now, they were all he had left.

He hadn’t meant to find them. He hadn’t meant to see the words you had written, the confessions buried in the folds of old notebooks and drafts. But now, he had them. All of them. The letters, the songs, the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

—

Joshua had been spending every waking hour in the studio, lost in the music that was no longer his alone. The songs, the melodies, everything now felt tainted with the truth he had ignored for so long.

"Shuji, I'm sorry," his fingers hovered over his tablet screen. "I didn't see it. I didn't see you. I was too blind to realize."

It was a draft, but it was a start.

But even as the words took form on the screen, they felt like they were coming too late.

And then came the message.

The silence had been unbearable, and in the silence, you had left.

—

You hadn’t told him. You hadn't told anyone. You'd just slipped away. Packed up the parts of yourself you had given so freely, and left. You were no longer the invisible force behind the songs. You weren’t the lyricist, the ghostwriter—just a woman who had loved him too much to stay.

Your decision wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. The love you’d hidden for so long had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t afford to keep giving pieces of yourself away when he never once saw them.

Your last message to him was simple. A quiet goodbye in the only way you knew how.

"I’m still figuring things out," the words came, hesitant and soft. "But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?"

—

Joshua held his breath as he read your message. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was something. A sliver of hope. He stared at the screen, the weight of the words pressing against his chest.

"Where are you?"

The response came slowly. Hours passed before he finally got an answer.

“I'm okay. I'm not gone forever. But I need time. We need time.”

His heart ached.

Time. It was all he had left now. Time to undo the damage. Time to finally listen to the words you had been whispering for years.

Joshua didn’t know how to fix things. He didn’t know where to start. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t let the silence swallow everything.

As the days stretched on, Joshua found himself writing songs again. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for you. They were the songs you had written for him, once. The lyrics you had poured into every melody, every note, every verse.

He had missed it. He had missed you.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be too blind to see.

He hit send.

"Y/N... I’m sorry. I know I can’t fix everything. But I’ll spend every day trying to."

The message was simple. But the promise was everything.

And for the first time in months, the silence felt a little less heavy.

—

Joshua stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering above the send button, unsure if the words would be enough. Would they ever be enough?

He thought back to the letters. The confessions you had written, the ones you had never shared. Your words were so raw, so beautiful, and yet he had failed to see them for what they were. The melodies, the lyrics—they had always been pieces of your heart, pieces of you, woven into songs for him that he had accepted without ever questioning.

But now, now that it was too late, all he could feel was the weight of every moment he had missed, every opportunity he had wasted.

He had heard the lyrics, but he hadn’t listened. He had felt the melodies, but he hadn’t understood. All of it had been a confession—an open secret—but he had been too blinded by his own self-doubt, too focused on the girl he thought he was meant to be with, to see you—the one who had been there all along.

The truth was a bitter pill, one he had swallowed too late.

—

It was a few weeks before he saw you again, and even then, it wasn’t how he imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures. No reunion at the studio or a dramatic confession at a concert.

It was just a text.

"Meet me at the café?" It was you, as simple as always. But this time, Joshua wasn’t sure how to feel. His hands shook as he read the message again, each word a reminder of everything that had led him here.

"Of course," he replied.

It was the first step. A small one, but the only one he could take.

—

The café was quiet when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation muffled by the early hour. He spotted you right away, sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in front of you, your fingers tracing the rim of the mug absentmindedly. You weren’t looking at your phone. You weren’t avoiding him either. You were just... there.

For a moment, Joshua froze, unsure of how to approach you. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, a thousand explanations, but in the end, none of them felt right.

What could he say? "I'm sorry" felt so small in comparison to everything that had happened between you two. And yet, it was the only word that seemed to keep coming back.

You noticed him standing by the door, hesitating, and for the first time, you gave him a soft smile. It wasn’t the warm, easy smile you used to share, but it was something. Something that made his chest tighten.

“Joshua.” Your voice was soft, almost like you weren’t sure how to address him anymore. You had been so used to calling him Shuji, to speaking to him as someone who knew your every thought, every word. But now… now there was distance. The kind that couldn’t be crossed with a simple smile.

He walked over slowly, sitting across from you. The silence that hung between you felt thick, heavy, like something unsaid that both of you were too scared to voice.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him, your eyes tired, but there was something else there too—something he couldn’t quite name. “I’m doing okay. A lot of changes… but I’m alright.”

You avoided his gaze for a moment, your fingers curling around the handle of the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the present. Joshua's heart skipped. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer he needed. He needed you to say that you were okay because of him, that he had fixed something, made up for everything he had done. But the truth was that you had already made up your mind long before this conversation.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just sat there, watching you, trying to gather the words that had been locked inside him for months.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, there was something in your gaze that he didn’t expect—something like understanding. But it was fleeting.

“I know you didn’t,” you replied quietly. “But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to see me.”

Joshua’s heart clenched at your words. The air between you was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had been left unsaid. The letters. The songs. The moments that had never been shared. It was too much, and yet, it was nothing compared to what he had lost.

"I was a fool," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was so caught up in everything else, I never took the time to see what was right in front of me. I—"

“No,” you cut him off, your eyes soft, but firm. “You weren’t a fool, Joshua. You were just... lost. So was I. But I can’t keep pretending like I wasn’t waiting for something that would never come.”

Joshua swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. "What do we do now?" he asked, voice rough.

You sat back in your chair, your gaze thoughtful, distant almost. “I don’t know. Maybe we take things one step at a time. But I’m not here to be your second choice. I need to find my own way now, too.”

The words stung, more than anything he had heard before. But there was truth in them. And that truth was something Joshua wasn’t ready to face. Yet he knew it was the only way forward.

“Then... I’ll wait,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “If you want me to. I’ll wait. Because I owe you that much.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But when you finally spoke, it wasn’t to shut him down. It was a quiet agreement, a fragile understanding that neither of you was quite ready to step into each other's lives again, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way forward.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small but resolute. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Joshua nodded, the silence between you two more comfortable now, not full of things left unsaid, but things left to be discovered.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he might be on the right path. Even if it wasn’t clear yet, even if it took time, he knew he wasn’t walking it alone.

masterlist ♪

[supi-wupi]

Practice Crush - Soonyoung

pairing: Soonyoung x reader synopsis: You’re the clumsy newcomer at his dance academy. Hoshi offers to help — and ends up falling for your determination, not your footwork. wc: 4.1k genre: Fluff, Slowburn (im sorry..), Slice of Life, (light) Angst, Diary Entries warning: Mutual Pining, Teasing, Food Mentions, Crushing so hard it hurts™(yes), Joshua helps out a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOSHIIII!!! hope you guys enjoy this one!!

13/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today was my first class at Polaris Dance Academy. I almost ate the floor during warmups. Twice.

Everyone here moves like they’re made of music — smooth, confident, in control. And then there’s me.

Flailing like a baby giraffe on a sugar rush.

The worst part?

I tripped over my own shoelaces right in front of Kwon Soonyoung. Hoshi. As in Polaris’ golden boy. The living embodiment of rhythm.

He smiled.

Helped me up.

Said, “Careful. The floor bites if you’re not nice to it.”

And I laughed, like an idiot.

I think I might have a crush on him.

No.

I definitely do.

—

14/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal (Hoshi)

Note to self:

New girl in Level 1 contemporary — name tag said “Y/N.”

Tripped mid-turn. Landed on the floor with her arms flailing like she was in a cartoon. It was kind of impressive, actually.

She looked so embarrassed.

I offered her a hand, told a dumb joke about the floor biting. She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

Cute laugh. Big eyes.

Looks like she tries really hard. Like… really hard. I respect that.

Might offer to help her after class. I remember what it felt like to be the one always behind.

Plus…

She has this determination in her eyes.

It’s kind of magnetic.

—

17/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So I stayed after class to practice the transition into pirouettes — the one that always makes me feel like a broken spinning top.

And guess who stayed too?

Hoshi.

He asked if I wanted help.

ME.

I said “sure” so fast I think I accidentally bowed twice.

He adjusted my arm position gently, told me to breathe, not hold so much tension in my shoulders. I nodded like I understood any of it, then spun straight into the mirror.

He didn’t laugh.

He just said, “Okay, we’re gonna try again. This time, you trust yourself.”

No one’s ever said that to me before. Not like that.

I think I might cry.

Or spin again.

Or both.

—

17/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N stayed late again. She’s really serious about improving.

She’s still clumsy, but there’s something alive about the way she moves when she forgets she’s nervous.

Her turns are off balance, but her passion is dead center.

I told her to trust herself.

She looked at me like no one’s ever asked her to before.

We practiced for an hour.

I forgot how fun it was to teach someone who actually listens.

And when she finally did a clean double spin — the way her eyes lit up…

I don’t know.

I think I’m in trouble.

—

21/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Hoshi called me his partner during class today when the instructor asked why we were always hovering around the corner of the studio.

Partner.

Okay, sure, he meant practice partner. But STILL.

Also, he tied my shoelaces for me before warm-ups. Who does that??

(Angels. That’s who.)

He even remembered I like peach tea.

He brought me one after practice and said, “Fuel for your spins.”

What am I supposed to do with that kind of sweetness??

Melt???

Because I did.

—

22/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N nailed her turn sequence today. She actually shouted, “YES!” in the middle of the studio and scared half the room.

I was so proud I high-fived her — maybe a little too hard — she nearly fell again.

This girl is chaos. Endearing, determined chaos.

Brought her peach tea again.

She called me “Dance God Hoshi” and I think I blushed.

Not sure if she notices how I keep watching her when she’s not looking.

Not sure if she knows how proud I am every time she gets a step right.

Definitely not sure what to do about the fact that I want to hold her hand next time I fix her arm position.

But maybe…

Maybe one more practice together. Then I’ll tell her.

—

28/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I didn’t trip.

Not once.

Hoshi said, “Look at you, not kissing the floor!”

And I said, “Maybe the floor and I are on speaking terms now.”

He laughed.

Then he asked if I wanted to grab snacks after practice. Just the two of us.

I think I said yes.

Or nodded?

I might have squeaked.

We’re meeting tomorrow.

He said, “Consider it a reward for surviving your first week without face-planting.”

But I think he meant something more.

Or maybe I hope he did.

Either way…

I’ll wear my best shoes.

The ones that don’t come untied.

—

29/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So… I didn’t die.

The snack date happened. It was real.

We sat outside the corner convenience store with triangle kimbap and those honey butter chips he swears by.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t a date date.

But then he said, “This is nice. I don’t usually get to slow down like this.”

And he looked at me.

Not his phone. Not the street. Me.

I told him he deserved to rest too.

He smiled. That soft one he usually saves for right after practice when the sweat’s still clinging to his hair.

He said, “You always say stuff that sticks.”

My brain short-circuited. I just nodded and shoved chips in my mouth like a gremlin.

But I think… I think I’m falling.

Or already there.

—

29/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date with Y/N today.

She called it a reward, but honestly, it felt like a reset button for my entire week.

We didn’t talk about dance. We just talked.

About our favorite snack combos. Our worst auditions. Her fear of elevators.

She told me she never expected someone like her to belong at Polaris.

I wanted to shake her.

How does she not see what I see?

The way she lights up when she’s proud of herself?

The way she makes even messing up feel… joyful?

I wanted to tell her she belongs everywhere.

But instead I said, “You’re the best part of my Tuesdays.”

She choked on her soda.

Worth it.

—

02/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I caught him staring.

During warmups, of all things.

I wasn’t doing anything impressive. Just a side stretch, halfway to a cramp.

But when I glanced up, he was already looking — like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to.

He smiled. Didn’t look away.

And I swear, my heart did a fouetté.

After class, he walked me to the bus stop even though it was raining and he had his own rehearsal to get to.

No umbrella. Just hoodie hoods and shared space.

He said, “Tell me when you get home, okay?”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he wants to keep me safe.

Like maybe… I’m not the only one falling.

—

02/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Rainy day.

Y/N smelled like clean laundry and lemon candy.

Not relevant to dance notes, but I don’t care.

She’s getting better. Her spins are smoother. Transitions more fluid. I told her she looked strong today.

She blushed. Said, “I’ve got a good coach.”

Coach? God. I hope she doesn’t think this is just that.

I walked her to the bus. No umbrella. Didn’t care.

I watched her leave through the foggy bus window, and for a second, I thought:

I want this.

More snack dates. More shared jokes. More her.

But I don’t know how to say it yet.

So for now, I’ll keep spinning beside her.

Until I find the courage to fall.

—

05/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I almost said it.

It was after practice. Everyone else had left, and the mirrors were fogged from how hard we’d gone on the final set.

I stayed behind to stretch. He stayed behind just because.

He sat across from me, legs stretched out, holding a water bottle like it was the only thing grounding him.

He said, “You know… you make it hard not to look forward to class.”

And I —

I panicked.

I laughed. Like an idiot.

He smiled too, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

And I wanted to fix it.

I wanted to say,

“I think I like you.”

But my mouth said,

“Is it because I bring snacks?”

He played along. Of course he did.

But I saw the flicker.

The almost.

I think we’re both standing on the edge.

But I don’t know who’s going to jump first.

—

05/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She laughed.

When I told her how I felt — or, well, almost did — she laughed.

And I don’t know if that was her way of running or her way of not knowing what to do with the truth.

I said, “You make it hard not to look forward to class.”

What I meant: You make it hard not to fall in love every single time you walk into the room.

She made a joke about snacks. I laughed too.

What else could I do?

Maybe I’m reading it wrong.

Maybe she doesn’t feel the same.

Or maybe she does, and we’re both just cowards.

But if I don’t say it soon, I think it’ll eat me alive.

—

07/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He brought me a peach drink today.

Said he saw me looking at it last time but didn’t get it because I “hesitated too long like a dramatic film character.”

I told him I was being responsible.

He said, “You can be responsible after dance practice.”

He’s always taking care of me in these quiet, tiny ways.

Does he know he’s doing it?

Does he know I notice every time?

I didn’t laugh at anything today.

I just looked at him, held the bottle in both hands, and said,

“Thank you, Hoshi.”

His ears turned pink.

Maybe I haven’t missed my chance.

Not yet.

—

10/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She tied my shoelaces today.

I didn’t ask her to. I was talking to Chan, sitting on the floor post-practice, and before I could notice — she just knelt down and double-knotted them.

Said, “You’re going to trip like this. Again.”

I said, “Maybe I want to fall.”

It came out before I could stop it.

She paused. Eyes flicked up to mine — that deer-in-headlights look she gets when she hears something she’s not ready for.

Then she smiled. Said, “Well, try not to fall around me. I might trip too.”

…what does that mean?

I’m going insane.

—

10/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He said he wants to fall.

And I think I did. Right then and there.

Also: his laces were a disaster. Honestly, I might be in love with a walking health hazard.

But when he said that — when he looked at me like that — I could barely breathe.

So I made a joke. Again. Because it’s easier than saying,

“I already fell. You just weren’t looking.”

God.

How do people do this? How do you say something like that out loud?

—

12/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date: secured.

I told her, “I owe you a drink for tying my laces.”

She rolled her eyes but agreed.

So now we’re going to the corner store tomorrow after practice.

Just us. No Chan. No mirrors. No excuses.

I think I’m going to wear my lucky hoodie. The one that makes me look less nervous than I am.

I won’t confess. Not yet.

But maybe I’ll hold the door open a little longer.

Maybe I’ll walk on the outside of the sidewalk.

Maybe I’ll try to make her laugh without hiding the way I look at her.

God help me.

—

13/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

We have a snack date tomorrow.

Well, not a date date.

It’s “payment for laces” apparently.

(But I know he didn’t actually care about that.)

I spent twenty minutes today picking out what hoodie to wear.

Then realized I’m just going to sweat through it in class anyway.

Still… I hope he notices.

I’m not going to confess. But maybe I’ll buy his favorite chips.

Maybe I’ll lean a little closer when we walk.

Maybe I’ll say his name without a reason, just to see how he looks at me when I do.

Maybe he’ll look back.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He remembered my drink.

He remembered.

I didn’t think he paid attention to things like that — but maybe he always has.

And he sat beside me. Not across. Right next to me. Our arms kept brushing and I couldn’t stop shaking.

Then our fingers touched.

It was barely anything. But it felt like lightning.

I pulled away. Like an idiot.

And he didn’t say anything. Just went quiet.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to say, “Don’t stop looking at me like that.”

I wanted to lean my head on his shoulder.

Instead, we both stood like strangers when the bus came.

We didn’t even take it.

We just… left.

I miss him and he was right next to me.

What is wrong with me?

—

15/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She didn’t sit next to me during warmups today.

She always does. Always.

Today, she sat next to Jiwoo.

She didn’t even look over when I cracked the same joke she always laughs at.

I think I messed up.

Or maybe she’s just trying to play it cool.

Well, newsflash: I’m not cool.

I’ve never been good at pretending.

I keep replaying the bus stop in my head.

What would’ve happened if I didn’t let go?

—

15/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I avoided him today.

Not because I wanted to.

But because if I looked at him, I might’ve blurted it all out.

Might’ve said: “I like you.”

“Not as a partner. Not as a classmate.”

Just —

“I like you.”

And I can’t do that. Not yet.

Not until I know he feels it too.

I think he does.

But thinking isn’t knowing.

And knowing means risking it.

And risking it means losing what we already have.

And I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that yet.

—

16/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Joshua was in the studio today, just hanging out while we cleaned choreo.

He leaned against the mirror, sipping iced coffee like he wasn’t quietly clocking every interaction I had.

And then, out of nowhere, he said —

“You two are exhausting.”

I blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward Y/N, who was across the room tying her shoes.

“You like her. She likes you. The rest of us are just collateral damage at this point.”

I opened my mouth to deny it. He raised a hand.

“Don’t even. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching.”

I laughed it off. Said he was imagining things.

But he didn’t smile. Just tapped the lid of his coffee and said,

“You think you have time, but one of you is going to run eventually. Don’t let her.”

I’ve never seen Joshua that serious before.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Is she already running?

—

16/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I caught Joshua looking at me weird today.

Not weird-bad. Weird-like-he-knew-something.

And then he said the strangest thing when we passed in the hallway.

“You should talk to him. He’s more obvious than he thinks.”

I froze. Asked him what he meant.

He just smiled and walked off like a rom-com side character who knows he’s moving the plot along.

Joshua never says anything unless he means it.

And now I’m spiraling.

Because if he sees it… does that mean it’s real?

Does Soonyoung actually like me back?

Or am I just reading into things again?

I don’t know. But tomorrow… maybe I’ll test it.

Just a little.

Just enough to know if I should stop hoping.

—

18/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Today was supposed to be a full group practice.

Except — when I showed up, only Y/N was there.

No Dino. No Seungkwan. No Minghao.

Just her, stretching by the mirror and blinking at me like she wasn’t expecting it either.

I checked my messages. The group chat said practice was pushed an hour.

Sent… by Joshua.

From my phone.

I nearly sprained something realizing it.

He must’ve grabbed my phone when I left it unlocked during warmups.

That little…

Okay. He’s not wrong.

Because now we were stuck in that cavernous studio, alone, with no music playing, just the faint sound of traffic outside and her laugh —

God, her laugh.

We talked. Not even about anything important.

What snacks we’d get after this. If sweet potato tteokbokki was superior (it is). Whether the backup dancers in that viral TikTok were dating.

It felt too easy.

Too comfortable.

Too much like something I want every day.

And then —

She looked at me and said, “Hey, can I tell you something?”

I swear to god I forgot how to breathe.

But then she bit her lip.

Laughed.

Said, “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

I didn’t press.

I should’ve pressed.

—

18/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Joshua is so sneaky.

Practice was moved — or so I thought.

Only Soonyoung showed up.

The rest of the team rolled in later, all pretending to be clueless.

I saw Joshua wink at me.

He planned this.

And I almost said it.

I really did.

I was going to tell him. Not the whole truth. Just something close.

Just, “I like hanging out with you.”

Or, “I always look forward to our snack runs.”

Or, “You make me feel like maybe I’m not crazy for hoping.”

But it got caught in my throat.

And instead I said, “Never mind.”

I hate how close it was.

He looked at me like he was ready to hear it.

Like he’d been ready.

Joshua gave me a window. And I shut it.

Why am I like this?

—

21/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Joshua “accidentally” gave us the wrong directions to the café.

I know he did.

There’s no way that man confuses left with “just head down that alley behind the record shop and you’ll see it.”

Soonyoung and I ended up walking through half the neighborhood, wandering into a street market, sharing samples from a tteok stall like we were on a drama set.

We didn’t rush.

He didn’t even try to find the café after a while.

He just kept talking. Asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Your favorite flower is still hydrangeas, right?”

“Wait, didn’t you say you hate mint chocolate?”

“I remember you said that song reminded you of summer. Why summer?”

He remembers everything.

And then, it happened.

We were standing under a cherry blossom tree near the bus stop. Pink petals caught in his hair.

I reached up to brush one off, and he grabbed my wrist.

Not hard. Just… held it.

He said, “Y/N.���

And then he broke.

Like he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He said:

“I like you. Not as a friend. Not as a practice partner. I think about you all the time. I wait for your messages. I say dumb things just to make you laugh. I— I wasn’t supposed to say it like this.”

He looked terrified.

Like he thought I’d run.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

All I could do was whisper, “I know.”

And then: “Me too.”

He smiled like the sun came out.

And then the bus arrived.

We never even got to the café.

But I don’t think it mattered.

We got somewhere better.

—

21/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

I told her.

I actually told her.

I thought I’d explode.

I thought the petals falling between us were mocking me like, “look at this idiot, about to ruin everything.”

But she didn’t run.

She said “me too.”

I keep hearing it in my head. Over and over.

I said it messy. I said it nervous. I said it like a boy who's been falling in love quietly for months and finally hit the ground.

And she was already there waiting.

We didn’t even get our snacks.

But I don’t care.

She likes me back.

She likes me back.

—

24/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

He waited outside my studio with two bags of hotteok.

Didn’t even say hi at first. Just grinned and held them up like a peace offering.

Like, “Hi, I confessed my feelings under a cherry blossom tree, now take this pancake.”

We walked to the same park bench we always used to go to.

But this time, we sat closer. Shoulders brushing.

We still talked like before — about dance, stupid group chat memes, Seungkwan’s dramatic rants — but it felt different.

More deliberate.

More… ours.

He gave me the last bite of his hotteok.

He always used to fake-argue over who got the last piece.

This time, he didn’t. Just held it out and smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world.

When I wiped powdered sugar off his cheek with my sleeve, he went completely quiet.

Then he said:

“This feels like everything I didn’t know I was missing.”

And honestly?

Same.

We haven’t kissed yet.

But I think we’re building up to it.

And for once, I don’t mind waiting.

I’m not scared of slow anymore.

Not with him.

—

24/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

“First official snack date.”

That’s what I wrote in my planner. In all caps. Circled twice.

I showed up too early. Paced around the block. Almost ate the hotteok out of nerves.

She looked tired when she came out of the studio, but when she saw me, she smiled like I was exactly what she needed.

We sat at our bench.

And everything felt familiar but new.

Like we were rereading a favorite book, but suddenly noticing all the feelings between the lines.

She wiped sugar off my cheek and I almost forgot how to breathe.

I wanted to kiss her.

But I didn’t.

I just held her hand instead.

Small, simple.

But she squeezed back.

And that was enough to set my whole chest on fire.

We’ve danced through so many songs together.

But I think we’re finally learning this one — the one just for us.

Step by step.

Beat by beat.

[supi-wupi]

between you and me ❄️ l.c [m]

↳ part of the winter with you collab! synopsis: everything you've ever done, chan has been by your side - either egging you on or talking you off the ledge. after a rough year of studying, failed relationships and having chan be the insistent angel on your shoulder, the holidays roll around - and let's just say you're not too happy about it. genre: holiday au. bffs to exes to lovers (what a doozy); angst, fluff, smut. pairing: lee chan x fem!reader word count: 40.4k (DON'T LOOK AT ME!) rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, references to smoking weed, alcohol, food, use of sex as a general coping mechanism, jealousy. general exes who are still friends type of dynamics. mentions of misogynistic views, mentions of having kids, mentions of seasonal depression. chan is a bit of an asshole but redeems himself (and is overall just a good person but yk...) reader has a strained relationship with her mother. reader deflects a lot, chan cannot stop running his mouth. mingyu and sooyoung make several appearances. mutual pining. smut warnings: (let's take a deep breath for this one!) multiple scenes because they're fucking freaks (3 total!) alluded virginity loss (not depicted, backstory). teasing, frottage, heavy petting, bitiing, chan cums in his pants once. oral (m&f. rec.), face sitting, ab riding, subtle body worship (m&f. rec.), fingering (f.rec), pussy slapping (i know i know). nipple play (m&f. rec.), hair pulling, spitting, cumplay (just...okay?), switch!chan x switch!reader, chan likes it when she's mean, whiny!chan (can i get a hell yeah!?). slight strength kink, breeding kink, d*ddy kink (save me), love (?) kink (?). dirty talk (HELP. ME.), pet names (baby, princess, babe, etc.,) unprotected sex (don't do this), missionary (wouldn't be a haologram fic without missionary and body worship but i digress.) i think that's it! what to listen to: meddle about - chase atlantic ; habit - seventeen ; to die for - sam smith ; wait - dino ; heart - dawn ; scared to live - the weeknd ; fantasy - bazzi ; don't leave me - intro ; kiss it better - rihanna ; all mine - plaza ; the party and the after party - the weeknd ; always - daniel caesar ; fade into you - mazzy star. author's note: i fear i cannot shut the fuck up! yet another behemoth for caratblr, loverboy!chan save me please. special thanks to my dearest @diamonddaze01 for betaing this big ass fic an encouraging me to not give it up when i was truly losing my mind. thank you to @camandemstudios for allowing me to be in yet another collab of theirs. as always, dedicated to the most devoted dinonara i know, @bitchlessdino. snowflake dividers are by @/strangergraphics here on tumblr! enjoy the wild ride and happy holidays, everyone!

DECEMBER 22, 4:32PM.

Your car horn cannot take another beating, and you're not sure Chan's ears can take another annoyed, muttered string of expletives from your mouth – confirmed the moment he yells at you to pull over. You argue back that you're in the middle of the expressway and everyone around you is going over sixty miles an hour, but he doesn't care. You mumble profanities as you merge several lanes, pulling over only for him to tell you to stay inside and he'll get out. 

"You've been driving me up the fucking wall since we left the apartment. What stick do you have up your ass that you're upset about everything!?" He practically slammed your car door as he got into the driver's seat, swatting your bare thigh as you climbed over the console to the passenger side. You scoff, batting his hand away from your legs as you plop into the seat. 

"Nothing, Channie. I'm fine." You grit, yanking the seatbelt a little too hard for him to think you're fine. He sighs, resting his forehead against the steering wheel before he turns to look at you. 

"Y/N, I've known you since we were in diapers. I know when something is bothering you, you're not weaseling your way out of this." What was wrong with you? You're sitting in your old beater car with your life-long best friend, wearing his old cheer shorts and his t-shirt and probably his socks as well. You're on your way home during an unusually warm winter, hence the shorts, and you're nursing a cup of his infamous hot cocoa. The one with actual mini marshmallows, none of that Swiss Miss bullshit.

You'd had a great cheer practice before the break ended, with your coach telling you and Chan to please rest during the holidays – it wasn't exactly either of your fortes. She knew the two of you went home for the break together, and you'd likely be practicing stunts in your parents' basement – but you knew exactly why you were upset and it had nothing to do with cheer and everything to do with the fact that your best friend has had the best years of his entire life while you're being a sulky baby.

You cross your arms, the drawstrings of your hoodie yanked by the seat belt as Chan turns in his seat. "Everyone has bad days, Y/N." "You don't." You mutter, crossing your legs at the knee before you feel Chan's fingers pinch your cheek. "Yes, I do. I don't know where you got this idea that I'm perfect. I'm flattered, but I'm just as human and clumsy as you are." "Yeah, well…shut up." You huff, feeling Chan press his lips to your temple. "Don't be so sour. We're on vacation, let's enjoy it. It's our last one before we graduate, isn't that exciting?" It's not. It makes existential dread weigh on your shoulders, and it's so stupid. It's stupid dread, rooted in misogyny and lies and comparison that is the thief of joy. It makes you hate him, knowing that Chan doesn't have to worry about any of this but you do simply because you have some stupid biological clock that works AGAINST you.

You know once university is over, your parents will start to ask about marriage and kids. You know that they'll bring up Chan, over and over until you tell them for the third year in a row that you and Chan tried it and it just didn't work. 

Freshman year of college between you and Chan has to have been one of the strangest years yet. He had rushed a frat and you helped him move from his dorm into the house – and the brothers made eyes at you until Chan lied and said you were his girlfriend. None of them bought it, so much so that Chan had confessed about it and you were so wide eyed he was scared your eyes would fall out. Once the initial shock wore off, you shrugged and agreed you'd be his pretend girlfriend – that it would definitely get you out of some bullshit.

Simultaneously, it got you into some bullshit.

It was a few weeks before winter break, and you were both drunk at your first frat party. The two of you had been locked away in his room getting high earlier that day, and neither of you were in the condition to interact with anyone else or even go downstairs for more drinks – so you just laid in his bed and giggled about nonsense. He was propped up on his elbow, telling you about how the older brothers had made him pants the president of Alpha Phi and you were just staring off into space while you nodded along.

Until you looked at Chan a little too closely, your head on his pillow as he pushed your hair out of your eyes. He smiled down at you, his fingers tracing the shell of your ear as he continued talking when you sat up and anxiously pressed your fingers to your pulse point, having felt your heart rate spike at just the slope of his nose. Everything felt way too hot and intimate for two best friends.

He'd asked if you were okay, if you needed water – assuming you were too crossfaded to prevent the panic attack that seemed to creep on. You shook your head, screwing your eyes shut as you flopped back down and tucking yourself into his chest. He'd assumed you wanted to be held, so he threw your leg over his waist and ran his fingers through your hair, murmuring subtle praises as you tried to regulate your breathing – but the smell of the weed and your best friend's cologne was just too much and you wound up pushing him away.

"Channie, get away from me!" You'd whined, shoving him back and attempting to pull your sweater over your head. You failed, and he laughed, yanking it over your head the rest of the way. "Are you hot? Should I open the window?"

"You should kiss me, you fucking idiot. How can you tell your entire fraternity I'm your girlfriend and you won't even kiss me?" You'd poked your finger into his chest, your t-shirt rumpled from the sheer force of your sweater coming off. He blinked at you, lip jutted out in a pout. "Well, how am I supposed to know you want me to kiss you when you literally just told me to get away from you?"

"I'm your fake girlfriend! I'm getting zero play from anyone else because they think we're a thing!" 

"Aren't you a virgin?" He asked, sitting up as you smoothed your shirt over your belly, lying back down on your side, propped up by your elbow. "Aren't you? You're my best friend, it's not like we'd hump and dump each other. If we're bad, we can just learn."

Chan had been truly appalled at your words. The two of you had never crossed into this territory, despite knowing everything about each other. You'd been each other's first kiss back in high school, but that was fully a dare from your other friends and neither of you spoke about it again. He dated around with other girls and you had one boyfriend that was shitty, but it was always just the two of you at the end of the day.

"You want me to…" "Only if you want to."

"Are you joking?"

You hadn't been, and you proved that by tugging Chan down by his collar and pressing your lips to his. He immediately reciprocated, pushing you onto your back and shoving your thighs apart to settle between them. He wasn't a bad kisser at all – a little too skilled for your shy touches, but you quickly caught on to his movements as you felt him grow hard. 

"We don't have to do this at all. You know that, right?"

"Chan, I want you to."

He'd blushed slightly as you flipped the two of you over, letting him sit up with you in his lap and quickly pulled your top off. His hands were warm and nervous, but you kissed him again and it felt like everything fell into place. 

The first round was slow and gentle – you were on top, and he kissed all over your chest and face as the two of you got into it. By the third time, you were covered in nips from his teeth and his saliva as he folded you in every position imaginable. He was a young guy with a Costco box of condoms and the girl of his dreams in his bed – he had to commit this to memory. The two of you went at it like starved, depraved lovers – it was nearing seven in the morning by the time he reached into his nightstand and the box of condoms was empty. You were both sober by then…and the reality of your decisions began to sink in as you let him sink into you, raw.

"Y/N…" He whimpered into your neck, entirely too sensitive for this to be happening but you only mewled in response. "Feels so good, Channie, please…"

You only spurred him on, clawing at his back and whining his name as your walls overstimulated him. Every single part of his body felt like it was on fire under your touch, and he relished in the way your teeth sunk into his shoulders and neck as he brought you over the edge repeatedly. 

"Shit, b-baby…I'm gonna.." 

You only wrapped your legs around him, pulling him into you deeper as you kissed the words off his tongue. He tried to kiss you back, he really did – but failed miserably as he came inside you, hips involuntarily working the two of you through your shared orgasm. You kissed him messily as he came down, feeling his hands on your cheeks as he slowed you down, before pulling away fully.

"We need to clean up." He muttered, resting his forehead against yours, your eyes closed as you nodded tiredly. "I don't think I can get up."

You hadn't been able to – Chan wound up carrying you into his bathroom and holding you between himself and the wall in order to help you shower. You were so tired your eyes remained closed for the majority of it all – something Chan was grateful for because he just couldn't stop roaming his eyes all over you.

Thankfully, it'd been a Saturday the day before – so there was no reason for you to leave his bedroom. He gave you the cheer shorts he usually wore, and tugged an old sweatshirt over your head while also stripping his bed of the sheets. He threw your clothes in with it in the wash – and returned to see you asleep. He had so many questions, just watching as you snuggled into his pillow as he sank onto his bed, reaching for his phone to order delivery – only for you to tug him back.

"We can eat later."

"When can we talk?"

You peeled your eyes open for that one, looking at him tiredly.

"You're my boyfriend, Chan. Couples have sex."

"But–"

"I love you. Now, hold me."

And he did. He laid down, and you draped yourself over his chest. His hand went under your sweatshirt, rubbing small circles into your back as the two of you fell asleep. But his mind never strayed from how confidently you said those three little words.

That was one of many nights between you and Chan. You were referring to each other as significant others, subconsciously going on dates, and fucking like there was no tomorrow. He'd get you flowers, tell you how pretty you looked. You'd fluster him with comments of how handsome he was, and you'd spend hours slow-dancing together in his bedroom if you weren't just basking in each other's presence.

Neither of you spoke about feelings, but rough whispers of I love you slipped out often during sex, softer ones when he dropped you off at your dorm (that you were hardly at because you spent all your time with him), teasing ones when he just felt like it. You found it harder to say after the first time – kissing him in response, feeling your cheeks grow hot as he looked at you with said love in his eyes. Sometimes you'd mumble it, only loud enough for him to hear.

You loved him too. You didn't know when it became romantic, you'd never been in love before. But, perhaps if you'd looked deeper – you would understand that feeling like you can hardly breathe from pure excitement when he's around is a tell-tale sign of being absolutely enamored.

Perhaps, you said I love you first – because you were scared that if you let it fester inside you, it'd become too overwhelming. 

It did, anyway.

The two of you went home that holiday break and tried everything possible not to tell your parents anything. Chan's family owned the house next door and only used it when he was home – but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep separately after weeks of constant skinship. You tried for the first three days – only for Chan to sneak into your bedroom and stuff your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

Everything had been going smoothly until your parents found out – spotting a hickey on your collarbone that hadn't been there when you arrived. Your mother was the first to question you – her interrogation light over dinner with Chan and his parents.

"So…find any cute boys?" She asked as she poured you a glass of water, one you immediately reached for as you choked on your bread. Chan's eyes widened as they fell on you, spotting the bruised mark on your skin under your t-shirt from across the table. "Mom, what gives? That's so embarrassing." "I sort of asked Chan the same question." Mrs. Lee shrugged, before her hand reached to tug on her son's sweater. "Then I saw this and got my answer."

Two hickies on his chest, and Chan's cheeks burned beet red as he wiggled away from his mother. "Can we not do this?" He asked through gritted teeth, and you only covered your face with your hands as your father snorted.

"We always figured the two of you would end up together. It's just the way it goes sometimes. Friends before lovers is a good way to start a beautiful relationship." He nods, patting your back gently to ease your discomfort. You gave Chan a glare through our fingers, only for him to gawk at you as if you were blaming him for the entire thing.

"We're glad it's you, Y/N, really. I was always worried my Chan would get his heart broken by someone ruthless." Mrs. Lee pinches her son's cheek, making him groan as he moves away. "This is so embarrassing, stop it!"

"We've only been together for a few weeks, so can we drop it?" You mumbled, stabbing your fork into a meatball as your mother glanced your way. "...Sure, honey."

Your parents didn't bring it up again for the rest of your vacation, but things felt a lot more breathable after. You and Chan went out on your own several times – dinner, stargazing, a few hikes. You kissed eagerly behind closed doors, but kept your touching to a minimum in front of siblings and parents. He held your hand as the New Year's ball dropped, and kissed you moments after when his parents looked away. You felt your stomach fill with butterflies at the tender touches, but started feeling antsy as days continued and you couldn't have sex.

He offered to take you on a drive after your parents went to bed, and you wound up fucking in the backseat of his car that night to the sound of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. It was by far the most desperate you'd ever seen him, and the night you accidentally discovered a small kink of his – one the two of you swore not to speak of again after. Or rather, he asked you not to – but what kind of girlfriend and best friend are you if you don't tease him about his little ticks? You both returned to campus a few days later, and Chan managed to get you naked in his bed before you even unpacked your things. You'd decided to forego buying condoms on the way home to avoid the temptation, but just looking at you was enough to get Chan going and he had no idea how to make you understand that.

Until the spring semester started and the two of you got slammed with essay after essay, lab after lab, pop quiz after pop quiz. It was February by the time the two of you got to spend more than an hour alone – and you had nothing to talk about. You just kissed quietly, feeling each other up for hours until your underwear was soaked through with your arousal and Chan was painfully hard.

"We should break up." You murmured against his lips, and he nodded. "We should. After this, though." "After." You agreed, not knowing that Chan's chest had tightened at your words. Not knowing that he hoped just feeling you around him would mend that pain he felt, and not knowing he hoped he could get you to stay through the night – and break up in the morning. Not the night of his birthday, not the first night he gets to have you again after missing you for ages. Not the day that seems to have completely slipped your mind.

And, it worked. Yet another large box of assorted condoms and half a bottle of unnecessary lube later, you were tucked in his bed again. In his cheer shorts, in his shirt, and with dozens of love bites littered around your body. You kissed him as he slid into bed next to you, your arm draped over his chest as you began to talk.

"I'm sorry if it's sudden. You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you, but we just…don't have time." You had muttered, and Chan fought back tears as he nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "I don't want to lose you, either. But if we break up…we have to stay friends, Y/N. We have to." He meant it. Even if it meant he had to break his own heart by spending time with you and not being able to kiss you, caress you, love you, he meant it. You were all he knew – his first kiss, his first crush, his first fake-girlfriend. His first real girlfriend, despite having dated around. His first time having sex, making love, and everything in between. The first woman he'd learned inside and out, and the only woman he wanted to know that way.

If time was the issue, he'd wait. 

But you didn't know that.

Shortly after your relationship ended, Chan found himself restless. His hand wasn't enough anymore, but neither was anything else he tried. He lost interest in porn easily and even wound up sneaking peeks at your Instagram for some sort of relief. He resorted to asking one of his frat brothers what he should do – and Wonwoo calmly looked up at him and said, "You fuck someone else."

Chan hadn't been sure what to do with that information. He wound up going to cheer practice early that day, only to find you doing stunts with Minghao, a fellow spotter and one of his frat brothers – his hands tightly gripping your waist as he threw you up in the air. He catches you swiftly, and Chan only feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment as you eagerly compliment Minghao on his skills, your hands gingerly wrapped around his biceps – your nails still the soft pink he chose not even a month before.

It was too much touching for Chan's taste, and he wound up turning right back around and skipping practice, sneaking out of the gym before either of you could see him. When Minghao arrived at the frat after practice and saw Chan in the kitchen, he asked him where he'd been – that you'd asked for him and wanted him to help Minghao with your stunts. Chan simply clicked his tongue and shrugged, "Was busy. She can figure it out." Minghao had been a bit taken aback by his comment, but said nothing as Chan practically pushed past him. There was a party a few days after that, with both you and a bunch of random girls in attendance – mostly girls from the fraternity's sister sorority. Chan had one up in his bedroom within the hour, and another two hours later.

You went home after seeing him take the first one upstairs.

After that happened, and Minghao spoke to you about Chan's behavior about the entire stunt situation, you felt a shift in your friendship. Chan became a serial monogamist for a long time – none of his flings lasted longer than two weeks, and he kept them at arms' length. He never mixed business and pleasure – the cheer girls were strictly off limits, much to their dismay. 

But you were the person he drunk texted. Saying he misses you and wants to hang out – and you'd hang out. You'd go pick him up and take him back to your dorm (later, your apartment) and watch movies, get drunk and fall asleep on your couch. He never made a move on you, and you never made a move on him because you were just friends.

So you shoved it all down. You watched him bag girl after girl, you watched him win trophy after trophy. You watched him make the Dean's list every semester, you watched him build unbreakable friendships, you watched everything he touched turn to gold and it made frustration fester inside you.

You struggled a lot after the breakup – from branching out and meeting new guys to your grades tanking just a bit – and it made you feel pathetic. You slept with one other guy, a guy from a different cheer team. You met him at a competition, and it was in the next city over, so you and your team had to get a hotel. You and Chan naturally roomed together…only for Chan to hit it off with a girl from another team, and it led to a heated argument between you and him to see who got the room for the night. He wound up storming out and staying with her, only to come back in the early morning to a locked door and the sound of you and the guy going at it.

Neither of you spoke about it. You didn't speak on the ride home, either – and you ignored him for a week until he texted you and asked if you wanted to get drinks. You agreed, and he apologized for his behavior. You only nursed your cosmopolitan, and accepted his apology with the condition that he buy you an appetizer.

An order of mozzarella sticks and a thing of marinara later, you forgave him. The two of you danced around conversations for a bit, before he offered you a lift home. You gracefully accepted, and he dropped you off at your apartment with a hug goodbye. A hug that lasted longer than any had since the breakup, and you felt…slightly put back together.

Things seemingly settled after that. 

Fast forward to senior year – you and Chan are still inseparable. You're co-captains of your cheer team, he's the vice president of his fraternity and you find yourself there every weekend to help with events if the two of you aren't at a cheer competition. He holds your hair when you throw up and he helps you glue on your false lashes for competition nights. He drives you to places when you're too tired but still want to go out, he tutors you for Organic Chemistry and gives you gummy bears as rewards for getting questions right.

Chan is your best friend, and he makes sure everyone knows – including the girls he gets in his bed every few nights.

Your eyes still lingered on him at parties – the way he'd grind against girls, the way he'd never done with you because you weren't a stranger to him. He'd seduce them with his confidence and kiss them, but never in the way he kissed you. You could see it, how shallow it was to him, before he'd begin moving them towards his bedroom.

But, even now – you miss him. Lonely nights in your bedroom turned into lonely nights in your shared apartment with him, having been convinced to move into a two-bedroom with him as a reward for making it to senior year of university without any major fuck-ups. However, you felt like a major fuck-up – because now this meant he'd bring girls to the shared home.

He hasn't, yet. But, he will. You're sure of it.

It makes your stomach turn to think about it.

"See how much calmer things are when you're not the one driving?" Chan's voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and you scowl. "Shut up." He only rolls his eyes, but you feel your thighs clench at the way he looks when he drives. You'd gotten used to this sight in many lights – Chan driving you home from an arcade night, Chan driving you home from getting drinks. Chan driving you home from the movies, Chan driving you home from cheer practice.

Chan driving you home after that night he fucked you senseless three years ago in his backseat, whispering how good you felt around him and how he couldn't imagine a life without you in it.

You sigh inwardly at the thought of it, opting to recline your seat and cover your face with your arms. You cross your legs before feeling Chan's hand squeeze your knee, making you jolt as you swat at him. "Stop touching me, I'm sensitive!"

"Your knee is sensitive?" He teases, fingers pinching it again as you groan. "You're pissing me off, Chan."

He only snickers, his fingers brushing up your thigh before you shove it away. "Quit." "Alright, alright. At least put on some music, I need to hear something other than your whining." He holds up the aux cable, and you take it and plug it into your phone. You press shuffle on your Spotify, ignoring the way your cheeks heat the moment Meddle About by Chase Atlantic starts. 

He only turns the volume up.

"You guys are home!" Mrs. Lee greets you by throwing her arms over you, and you nearly stiffen before Chan gives you a pointed look. You hug her back warmly, thanking her for being so excited to see the two of you. "How is school? Still doing well, I hope!" "Doing great, Mrs. Lee. Chan's helping me quite a bit these days." You nod in the direction of her son, who is unloading everything as you shove a stick of gum into your mouth. His arms look great in that long sleeve…he should wear it more often…

"...And your mom made that brown sugar ham you love! Isn't that exciting!?" Mrs. Lee's voice brings you back as you nod quickly, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets as the wind picks up a bit. "Yes! I'm starving, you have no idea. We survived on jerky." Your pout makes Mrs. Lee coo, her knuckles pinching your cheek as she beckons you to follow her into your house. Chan gives you a glare as he grabs your duffel, and you only blow a kiss at him as you follow his mother inside. "Y/N!" Your little sister can be heard screaming from the top of the stairs, and you smile as you turn – seeing her practically fly down them, her arm in a pink cast as she wraps it around you. "Hey, babycakes! What happened to your arm?" "Rosie took a tumble down the stairs last week, I keep telling her to slow down." Your mother appears out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she presses a kiss to your cheek. "Welcome home, darling."

Your sister begins to ramble about everything going on at school with her friends – that Katie has a crush on Hyunjin but Hyunjin likes Minseo and Minseo thinks Katie is too mean to join their coloring circle. All too much for you to process in one go, and definitely too much for her to get out in one breath because she stops the moment you hear Chan grunt, kicking the door open slightly to make his way inside.

"Chan!" She abandons you, and Chan lights up as she runs into him, spinning her around. "Hey, Rosie! It's been so long, oh! What happened to your arm?" 

He kneels down to her height, and it makes your heart warm. Your parents definitely did not plan to have another child so late in life, but Rosie was the easiest kid ever. You remember when they brought her home – you were a junior in high school and you were ecstatic. You'd been staying with the Lees, and they all came over to meet her.

Chan was the only one who pulled you aside and asked how you were doing. You admitted you were a bit overwhelmed, and he wound up offering to stay the night and just talk. His parents allowed it and the two of you ordered takeout and spent the entire night just talking.

Rosie kept your parents young and on their toes – enough that they made friends with other couples in their neighborhood. Rosie was popular, she had lots of friends at school and around the neighborhood – loads of people came to her birthday parties and your home was the designated playdate house. 

You zone back in to see Rosie offering Chan a marker, and you gasp. "No way you're letting him sign before me! I'm your sister!" "But Channie's my best friend." She retorts as you walk over, squatting next to Chan, who sticks his tongue out at you. "That's what you get for not helping me unload the car." "Oh, but you're so big and strong! You're supposed to do it!" You argue back childishly, only for your little sister to stomp her foot. "Sign it! I have things to do!" Chan bites back his laughter as he signs it, before handing the marker over to you. "Do tell, Rosie. What things do you have to do?" "Well, I have a tea party in ten minutes and I do not like to be late. The tea will get cold." She sniffs, and Chan pats her shoulder. "Have fun, pipsqueak." She runs off, obviously over the excitement of her sister and her 'best friend's' arrival. Chan gives you a glance, "Feeling better after having to do nothing?" You shrug, smiling at him. "I appreciate you, you know that." "You have a funny way of showing it." He says pointedly, before tilting his head towards his duffel. "Mom said I have to stay with you this time, my cousins are in town for a few days and they're in my room. Is that cool?" "Promise you'll wear socks to bed?" You hold your pinky out and he sighs, shaking his head as he links your pinky with his. "Fine, but that means you have to wear pants." You smirk, winking at him. "It's my bed, Chan." You stand up straight, shaking your legs out before walking away from him. He shakes his head again, tonguing his cheek as he follows suit. You wander into the kitchen, and your mother greets Chan with a hug. They start catching up about little things as you open the fridge, grabbing a wine cooler for yourself and a beer for Chan, shoving it into his chest and leaving. You hear your mother jokingly ask if Chan wanted the air mattress, and he only laughs before denying it, saying he should help you unpack and get comfortable. She agrees.

"Need help?" He moves to leave the beer on the table, your wine cooler tucked under your arm as you hoist your duffel over your shoulder. 

"Nope." You smile, making your way to your bedroom. Yours is the only one downstairs, and it's in the furthest corner in the house as well. You practically begged your parents for it, insisting it was the warmest room in the house when the winters came about – and once Rosie came along, they let you move downstairs, saying the baby needed to be near them. You'd eagerly agreed and moved out happily.

Chan followed behind you quietly, his own bag over his shoulder as he took a sip of the beer you gave him. He wouldn't finish it, and the two of you would likely swap drinks before either of you had too much of it. As he reached your room, he saw you backflip onto your bed, a groan from your lips as you sank into the memory foam mattress.

"Fuck, this is gonna do wonders for my back." You moaned, eyes closed as you kicked your shoes off. He snorted, putting his beer next to your wine cooler on your dresser before doing the same. "Jesus, when did they get this for you? Your mattress has always sucked." You know he's not referring to the time three years ago that he snuck in, but your cheeks heat anyway as you look at him. His eyes widen, and he clears his throat. "I didn't mean–" "They got it for me last summer." You interrupt, and he nods quickly. "Sorry." "For?" You try to act nonchalant, but you clear your throat one too many times for him to think it's fine. So…he makes it worse. "We never talk about those days, you know. It's not like…it's weird. Right?" Not weird at all. I don't miss the way you felt inside me, nope. Not at all.

"Do you…want to?" You don't mean to sound so bitter, but Chan clicks his tongue. "I mean…it wasn't the worst thing ever. I…liked you a lot." You grimace at the awkwardness, but try and shrug. "I mean…I hope so. We did say we loved each other. A lot, might I add." "I said it a lot, you deflected." He corrects you, and you turn your head to look at him. "Are you doubting that I loved you?" "You wanted to break up on my birthday, Y/N, not even a week before Valentine's Day. Forgive me for assuming." He rolls his eyes, and you sit up. "No, I didn't. Your birthday is on the 11th." "Yeah. You came over on the 11th after we didn't see each other for weeks. We were kissing and you said that we should break up." He props himself up on his elbow, and your brow furrows as you think. 

The two of you managed to sneak a glance or two in during cheer practices, but the days before blurred together because you pulled several all-nighters studying for your anatomy midterm. You remember checking the time before you left your dorm to go spend the night with him, it'd been five-thirty.

On February 11th.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You breathe, and he shakes his head. "What good is it now?" He shrugs, picking at a loose thread in your comforter.

"Chan, I'm sorry." Your hand finds his shoulder, and he gives you a soft smile. "It's fine. You finished the day with me anyway, that was all I'd wanted that year."

I'm sorry for breaking up with you, I wish I hadn't done that.

"I did love you. I still do, you're literally my best friend." You say gently, and Chan's eyes meet yours. They hold something you can't quite grasp, "It's different. Of course I love you, you're my best friend." You feel like your stomach is about to fall out of your ass when Chan shrugs again, his shoulders constricted by the tightness of his top. Your eyes follow the curve of his waist, his sweatpants tied around his hips loosely. "It's just different between you and me now, you know? It's not the same friendship it was before." He rolls onto his back, arms behind his head as he keeps talking. "Sometimes, I think it shouldn't have happened at all. I mean, let's be honest. Between you and me…things have always just been simple. We overcomplicated it by doing whatever it is that we thought would enhance our relationship." You can feel your chest aching with every word, but you can't seem to stop listening. Your eyes burn with tears as you let him keep talking. We?

"I guess it was something of a dumpster fire. Everyone always assumed we'd be something, maybe it's good we got it out of our systems." He nods, before looking at you. His eyes widened, sitting up quickly as you covered your face with your hand. "Y/N–" "You can be really, really coarse sometimes." You mumble, sliding off your bed and grabbing your wine cooler off the dresser. "I'm going to go find my dad, make yourself at home." You tighten your sweater around yourself, flinging the door open and slipping into the bathroom. You refuse to let the tears fall, taking a deep breath before drinking half of your can. You press the cool metal to your cheeks before stepping out, walking out towards the garage to see your father tuning one of his many guitars.

"Oh, you're home! I've missed you!" He puts the bass guitar down, before he frowns. "What's wrong, honey? Are you okay?" "M'fine. Hey." You shake your head, giving him a one-armed hug. He's not convinced, holding you closely. "You can talk to me, you know that." "It's stupid. What are you doing here?" You set your drink down on his workbench, only to see your father's stern look staring down at you. You sigh, running your fingers over the strings of the guitar. "Chan and I broke up." Confusion crosses his features as you take a seat on one of his cushioned bar stools. "I thought you broke up ages ago, sweetie." "We did. That's the problem." You mumble, feeling a tear slip out of your eye and you brush it away quickly, but your father sighs carefully, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You bury your face into his ribcage, feeling sobs rack your body as he hums quietly. Your father had always been the person you went to when it came to Chan, because your mom was convinced you'd be the brute of the relationship – and insisted you were too harsh with your words at times.

"What'd he say this time?" He asks softly, and you wipe at your nose with your sweater sleeve, trying to form it in a way that doesn't expose your entire relationship. "He just mentioned that he felt like our friendship was different now that we'd involved feelings in the past, and that he thinks it's better that we 'got it out of our systems.' He said that he wishes it'd never happened sometimes, who says that?" Your father nods, a frown on his lips as he sighs. "I'm sorry he said those things, honey. I assume he didn't know you still felt some type of way about him?" "I don't." You lie through gritted teeth, but your father knows you far better than that. He pats your shoulder, glancing down at you. "Now, you and I both know that's not true. You called me crying about him a few weeks ago, didn't you?"

You had. You don't exactly remember what you'd said, but you remember it being three in the morning and your mother taking the phone and telling you to get a grip. It only made you cry harder, enough that your father stayed up for the next two hours soothing you over the phone. Chan walked into your bedroom a few hours later and asked if you were okay. You kicked him out of your room out of embarrassment. "Why can't you be one of those dads that kicks the guy's ass for me?" You pout, swatting his arm as he lets out a full bellied laugh. "Because I have two wonderful daughters and a loving wife I need to provide for. If I beat up every guy that crosses you, I'd be sent away. I'd miss graduations, birthdays, anniversaries. Weddings, at some point. I'd hate to miss those beautiful moments." You roll your eyes, and your father smiles lightly. "I also happen to know how to distinguish when my daughter is doing these things to herself. Chan might be saying things you don't exactly want to hear, but that's exactly what you're not doing. You're not talking to him about anything. He can't know how you feel if you're not telling him." You huff, but you know he's right. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. There's nothing to tell him, and if he wants to act like we're better off being as distant as we are then I'm no one to beg for his presence." "That pride of yours will get you in trouble. Knock it off." He says pointedly, before sitting on the stool next to you. "Now, listen to this. I think my tune is still off."

Dinner was always a nice, intimate affair between your family and Chan's. You gather around the large mahogany table your father made years ago, and talk about everything and anything under the Sun. They ask you and Chan about school, cheer, and dating. Rosie talks about her friends and her toys, your mother talks about her restaurant and your father about his music store. The Lees tell you about their dance company, and give you updates on Chan's younger brother, who would be spending the holidays stuck at work. 

Dating spins the table once more, and your father gives you a look that says he'll change the topic if you say the word. Mrs. Lee starts by teasing her son, who flushes beet red and insists he's not looking for anything right now. 

"I still never found out why you and Y/N broke up." Mr. Lee chimes in, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you grip your fork. Rosie looks between the two of you, her nose crinkled. "Ew! You were boyfriend and girlfriend?!" "No." You answer quickly, and your voice is far too nonchalant for Chan's taste, it seems. He gives you a confused look, and you shrug. "We just didn't work out. It wasn't good for us." "Easy for you to say." He mutters, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. You grimace, and Mr. Lee shifts uncomfortably before you feel the words tumble from your mouth. "Yeah, well when you tell your girlfriend she doesn't love you, it's kind of hard to want to be together." Mrs. Lee's eyes are wide, spluttering over her glass of water as Chan groans, pulling his cap over his eyes. "That's not what I said, Y/N, you're twisting my words." "Am I?" You scoff, letting your fork clatter on the table as you push your chair back. "I mean, seriously, who fucking cares anymore? It's been three years." "Language, Y/N." Your mother's voice is stern, gesturing to your little sister who looks increasingly bewildered. You sigh, closing your eyes as you scoot your chair back into the table. "We just broke up. It's fine. I'm sorry for swearing, Rosie. Bad girl Y/N." You apologize to your sister, who nods slowly.

Chan mumbles an apology to Rosie as well, and the tension is thick as Mr. Lee clears his throat. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Not your fault, Mr. Lee. Sore subject." You shake your head, patting the left side of your chest, as if saying it pains you. He gives you a sorry smile, before Mrs. Lee speaks up. "Will you be fine to room together? I don't want you guys to fight this entire trip, we haven't seen you in so long." "It's fine." You and Chan say in unison, eyes meeting in a glare over the table. "I know how to keep my mouth shut, it's no problem." You add, and Chan scoffs, mumbling something like ridiculous under his breath.

"Alright, that's enough. We haven't seen you guys in four months. We're going to sit here and enjoy this dinner, damnit!" Your mother speaks loudly next to you, making you jolt. Chan apologizes as he sits up in his chair, your little sister wide eyed as your mother shoves a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. You elbow her lightly, and she coughs.

"Sorry, Rosie." Your father makes the rest of the dinner go smoothly. He mentions his store, and tells a story about a guy who came in wanting to learn a few songs for his wife who was in the hospital. Everyone listens intently, and dinner is wrapped up within the hour. You offer to pick up, your mother's tired eyes thankful as she carefully hauls your now sleeping sister up the stairs to bed.

You tongue your cheek as you bid goodnight to the Lees, offering to wrap the cake your mom made in case they want to have a sweet midnight treat. They accept it and you watch them as they make the walk down the lawn to their house. You shut and lock the door, seeing Chan lingering at the bottom of the stairs speaking to your father. They both look apologetic, but Chan's cheeks are tinged pink as he rubs his neck, a habit he developed when feeling sheepish or admitting something.

You frown to yourself, turning back to the table. You gather all the plates, stacking them as you walk around the table. You'd pack the leftovers first, but you had to move everything out of the way properly.

"I'll wash." You hear Chan say, before he takes the plates from your hold. You don't reply, simply moving to gather all the cups and silverware. You dump any remaining drinks down the sink, ignoring the way he scrapes the plates over the garbage can. You move around in silence, quickly wrapping leftovers and moving them into containers, before sliding everything into the fridge and standing next to him as he washes the cups, moving onto the silverware quickly.

"I didn't think it would bother you." He begins, and your hand tightens around the glass in your hand, before you wipe it down with the rag in your other hand. He scrubs the silverware harshly as you mutter, "You assumed." "Yeah, well, I thought we were best friends. I thought I could assume shit and be right." He huffs, and you carefully take the knives from him, swiping the rag over the blades with ease. "You are right." "What?" He looks up from the soup bowl in his hand, and you shrug. "You are right. I guess I just didn't want to admit it earlier, but things are different between us now. It's whatever." You're lying. You're absolutely lying and Chan's face tells you he knows.

"You've always been a bad liar, Y/N. Don't start trying now." He scoffs, and you don't say anything as you dry the forks and spoons, opening the drawer to put them away. He washes the rest of the bowls in silence, but sucks his teeth the moment he grabs a plate.

"Why?" He asks reluctantly, and you raise a brow at him. "Why, what?" "Why are things different?"

You hum in response, drying a bowl as you think.

"For one, you've been inside me." You start, making him cough. "Be serious." "I am serious! Did you not fuck me three ways to Sunday every time I slept over? Did I imagine that?" You snort, and you watch his cheeks flush as he tongues his left one. "Whatever. What else?" "You stopped hanging out with me as much. I would call or text and you'd leave me on delivered for hours, and then get back to me once I was already ready for bed. Or you'd drunk dial me and come over. You used to properly spend time with me, but after that whole dumpster fire, you kind of just hung out with me when you wanted to." You don't intend to sound so hurt as you say this, but Chan's hands slow under the running water. He nods, a soft look in his eyes as he glances at you. "I'm sorry." "What good is it now?" You repeat his words to him, and he looks up at you. "Don't be like that." "You also blatantly made moves on other girls in front of me. If the relationship meant nothing to you, you could've said that. It would've made moving on a lot easier." You say pointedly, before forcing out a humorless laugh. "God, your body count must be in the double digits now. Is it?" He doesn't reply, but you nudge him with your elbow. "Is it?" "Yes."

You shake your head, tonguing your cheek as you open the cabinet and slide the bowls in carefully.

"What's yours?" "Two." You respond shortly, his eyes wide as he looks up at you again. "Two?"

"Problem?" Your brow is quirked as you reach for the first plate, and he shakes his head. "No. I just…" "Assumed it would be higher? Yeah, you're doing a lot of that lately." You roll your eyes, and he scowls. "Can you stop? You had some fault there too, you have to admit that." "I don't see how I'm to blame at all for you just assuming I didn't love you. I spent every waking moment by your side if I wasn't studying or showering, and even then it was like we were glued at the hip. I hardly had my own space, you literally snuck into my room after three days because you couldn't sleep without sticking your dick in me." "Why do you keep talking like the sex was only good for me? Like you didn't enjoy yourself? Because I remember something very fucking different." He scrubs the plate in his hand with vigor, and you let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Maybe I don't remember it that way. Maybe it was only good because I loved you. The other guy was very different." Chan tenses at your words, his hands still under the running water. "Was he?" "Yeah." You nod, but the truth is, you didn't like it nearly as much. He made you cum, sure, but it was missing that…flair. That eagerness Chan always had, the passion he had, the stamina to keep up with you. It was missing the love you had for Chan, and you remember struggling not to ask this random hookup to hold your hand, or kiss you when you came, or to tell you he loved you.

All things Chan did without realizing.

"Mmh." He doesn't speak again, handing you the dishes almost angrily before muttering something about a shower and leaving the kitchen. You wipe down the counter silently, your eyes welling with tears when you hear Chan rustle about. You assume he's moving into the bathroom when you feel a hand on the back of your head, carefully tangling in your hair as you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"You do a really good job of pissing me off, but I won't ever deny that you're the best I've ever fucking had. No one feels like you and no one has made me feel like you have. No one." He pushes you back lightly, storming back out of the kitchen with his shirt in his hand. You get a glimpse of his bare back, the muscles tense as he walks away. You feel your heart racing in your chest, your fingers coming to check your pulse as you take a deep breath.

Some vacation this is going to be.

DECEMBER 23, 7:22AM.

You thank God for the fact that everyone in your house is a deep sleeper, and can't hear how loud your heart is beating in your ears at this present moment.

Chan had taken the edge of the bed closest to the door, something he always did when the two of you shared a mattress. Or rather, the edge of the fucking mattress — he was practically hanging off. You curled into the corner closest to the wall, and stayed there the majority of the night. Chan left your TV on, knowing the white noise of whatever show he put on would lull you to sleep.

However, throughout the night, Chan migrated closer and closer to you – eventually opting to pull you into his chest. Your leg was draped over his hip and your face was nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his soft body wash and the baby powder deodorant he stole from you.

"Chan, get off me." You groaned, pushing the heel of your palm into his shoulder. He scrunched his nose, shoving your hand away before pulling you back in. "Just fucking hold me, will you?" He rested his chin on your head, arms wrapped around you like a boa constrictor attempting to asphyxiate its prey. "Chan, I can't breathe." You're muffled against his ample chest, and he only slightly loosens his arms. You wiggle about, attempting to get comfortable at the very least, when his hand moves to grip your hip.

"Stop." His voice is hoarse as he pushes your hips away from him, which ends with you on your back and his arm over your waist. You sigh, reaching for your phone to check the time.

Seven-thirty-four. Your mother is likely either about to get up or making breakfast right now.

"I'm gonna get up." You mumble, wiping at your eyes when Chan is muttering under his breath. You lean closer to hear him, but he stops. "Speak up, I can't hear what you're saying." "Nothing, go. Eat something." He turns his head away from you, buried into the pit of his arm and the pillow. You raise a brow, turning back on your side. "Why can't you just tell me? Have you always been this difficult?" "Y/N, I'm hard as a rock right now. You can get out or you can watch me take care of it, I frankly don't give a flying fuck." He spits, and you feel your cheeks heat as you clear your throat. You move his arm from your waist, carefully peeling the blanket back to climb off the bed. He lets you slide over him, before his hand shoots out to grab your wrist, yanking you back onto the mattress. You yelp, your back hitting the comforter as he quickly moves to hover over you, his lips crashing onto yours. Your hands fist his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut as he carefully licks into your mouth. 

You let him cup your face gently, his thumb softly caressing your cheek in tandem with the movement of his lips. He pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips quickly before your eyes open and he's looking down at you intently.

Neither of you speak, but you both know what he wants. His eyes dart all over your face, and you feel your cheeks heat as your hand shakily moves to palm him through his sweats. His jaw clenches at the friction, his hips involuntarily rolling into your hand when he shudders.

"Only if you want to." He murmurs, and you nod slowly. "I want to. Take your pants off." He pushes off you, sitting on the edge of the bed and you take the opportunity to kneel on your rug. It's nicely padded, but he scoffs as he grabs one of the pillows and makes you move onto it. He undoes the drawstring, but your impatient hands move to his hips and you pull the sweatpants down to his knees carefully. He hisses at the feeling against his cock, but says nothing as your hand wraps around it.

Your heart is racing as you stroke him a few times, his lip tucked between his teeth as he tries not to buck into your hand. "Don't tease me, please." He breathes, and you feel your lips twitch as you lean forward, spitting on the leaking head and spreading it carefully. You lick a stripe up the underside, following the thick vein with the tip of your tongue, working your hand at the base.

He groans, leaning back on his hands as you flatten your tongue against the head. You swirl it slowly, remembering how much he liked it the few times he let you go down on him. Chan, ever the giver.

"Fuck, baby, please." His hand moves to your head, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you take him into your mouth carefully, hollowing your cheeks as you let his tip hit the back of your throat. He sighs as you start to bob your head up and down, your tongue never stopping its laving as your throat constricts around his tip slightly. You push yourself to take him deeper, your nose slightly brushing his pelvis as he lets out a guttural groan.

“Can you shut up? My parents will hear you.” You pull off entirely, a frown on your spit-slick lips as he nods quickly, mumbling a breathy sorry. He sucks in a sharp breath as you sink back down on him, his hips involuntarily jerking into your mouth, making you gag slightly. "Shit, sorry–" "Just keep doing that." Your voice is slightly raspy, his eyes wide as he swipes your hair away from your face. "A-Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you–" "Do you want to finish or not? I can get up right now." You roll your eyes as you adjust yourself on the pillow, his hand still in your hair as he stands, tonguing his cheek. "Open your mouth." You do as you're told, instinctively sticking your tongue out as he holds his shaft, a soft moan from his throat before he leans slightly. The hand in your hair moves to your jaw, before a wad of spit lands on your tongue. You feel your cheeks warm, eyes fluttering shut when you feel his tip drag across your bottom lip. His fingers gather your hair again, his voice gentle as it hits your ears. "Let me know if I'm too rough." That's all he says before you feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, hearing him let out a quiet hiss as his tip hits the back of your throat. He's slow with his movements, methodical thrusts into your mouth as your hands rest on his toned thighs, digging your nails into the sides. "Eyes open, baby. Wanna see you." His voice is hoarse as it hits your ears, your eyes slightly watery as you peer up at him through thick lashes. His lips are bitten raw as he looks into your eyes – it proves to be too much for him as you whimper around his cock in your throat. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this." You ignore the way your stomach flutters as he rolls his hips messily, thumb coming to wipe the corners of your mouth from the bubbles of spit. Your hands move up his thighs, shoving his shirt out of the way to watch the way his chiseled torso flexes as he fucks into your mouth. He whines at your touch, his grip on your hair tightening as you notice a faint tattoo on his hip. You file it to the back of your mind as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, his release spilling onto your tongue with a whimper.

You move back slightly, his fingers carding through your hair as he softly massages your scalp. "You okay?" His breath hitches in his throat as he feels your tongue on his tip. He pushes you away slightly, before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling you off your knees. "You're fucking insatiable, you know that?" You shrug, "If you say so." He stares into your eyes for a moment, his own glazed over with a mix of lust and something you can't decipher. He leans forward a bit, brushing his lips to yours. You let out a shaky breath as he nips at them, watching your lower lip bruise slightly. "Pretty. I've always loved your lips." You roll your eyes, going to move away when he presses his lips to yours chastely. Once, twice, three times before his lips travel to your cheeks. He peppers kisses all over your face, making your nose scrunch as he pecks the tip of it.

"I'm sorry about everything yesterday." He murmurs, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. Your hands rest on either side of his hips, and you sigh. "It's whatever. Pull your pants up, what if someone comes in here?" "It's not whatever, Y/N. I hurt your feelings, and it was shitty of me to say those things. Especially when I didn't mean any of it, I was just…" "Angry?" You suggest, and he sighs as he moves to tug his sweatpants over his thighs. He ties the drawstring as he sits back down, your knees now settled on the pillow beneath you once more. "I don't know if I was angry. It's stupid, really. I shouldn't have spoken about it that way, is all. And I'm sorry." "You made me feel like I was just the first notch on your bedpost. You could've told me that was all I was to you, but it wasn't necessary. Not with the way you just started sleeping with other girls so soon after our break-up." The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and he gapes at you as you shift uncomfortably, opting to stand up. You pick the pillow up, fluffing it before tossing it onto the bed and drifting to your mirror. Your lips were a swollen mess, and you wiped at them with your hand before hearing a soft knock at the door.

You glance at Chan, who has a stoic look on his face before he stands up and answers the door. It's Rosie.

"Hey, babycakes." You call over Chan's shoulder, and he moves to the side as she waves. "Mommy told me to tell you it's time for breakfast!" "We'll be right there, pipsqueak. Ten minutes, tops." Chan smiles, and she nods excitedly, before bolting back down the hallway, screaming your estimated time of arrival. You smile to yourself as you yank open your dresser drawer, fishing out a t-shirt.

Chan's hands are on your waist as you root around, and you peer over your shoulder to see a soft glaze of tears over his eyes. Your brows raise in concern, and you twist to face him, your hands cradling his cheeks. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" "Do you ever consider how you made me feel? Or how you make me feel when you say things like that?" His voice is thick, and you feel your eyes begin to sting as your lips part. You shake your head slowly, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"Did you think about what I said last night?" He asks softly, and you avoid his eyes as you sigh, nodding your head. "You know that's not just about sex, right? That's about everything, ever. You're the only person who has ever made me feel that way." "What way? Like you need to fill a void? I get it, I'm shitty for breaking up with you on your birthday." You mutter, and he tilts your chin up to look at him. His eyes are still glossed over but hold a stern look.

"In a way that I feel like I can't fucking breathe without you. Nothing means anything to me since we broke up, but just a crumb of your attention makes me feel fucking insane. I don't think you understand how much you and your moods and the way you talk affects me. Everything about you drives me up the wall with want and need and I need you to understand that."

Your voice is lost on you, your throat constricting as he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumbing at the small hoops he's never seen you without. "I look for you in every girl I've been with since. Every single one, and none of them compare. None of them are as stubborn as you are, none of them give me shit when I do something stupid. If you want to talk about sex, fine. I've never finished, not once. None of them feel the way you do, none of them kiss the way you do. Not a single one of them can I close my eyes and have their body burned in my mind, not the way I have yours. Not a single one has filled the spot you left, and I'd rather die an honest death and tell you that no one ever will if it's not you." Your lip is quivering as you look away from him, and he rests his forehead on your shoulder as your arms drop to your sides. "Please, please tell me you feel the same." You can't. You want to, you feel the ache to fill his cup until it overflows deep, deep in your stomach. But you're scared this is just for the moment, the fact that the two of you are away from any available hook-ups within a ten-mile radius. You're afraid that this is something temporary, just like the first time – but this time, with the intent of ending.

You hadn't wanted to call it quits then. You hadn't but it was the right thing to do – no matter who chastises you for it. You'd known, in your heart, that Chan was the person you are destined to love forever – whether you knew it then, drunk and high that first night in his bedroom, or in the backseat of his car, or even that time under the bleachers at a national cheer competition…it doesn't matter. Whether you knew it'd be in this pathetic way, doesn't matter. You know now.

He's looking for a good time, you tell yourself. And you may be a good time, a great time, even – but you won't do that to yourself. "It took me two years to move on." You don't recognize your own voice, thick with tears and a bitter taste in your mouth. "Two years, and you fucked Chaeyoung in your bed because you saw Minghao and I doing stunts together and got jealous for no reason. You fucked Chaeyoung and Seonmi, within an hour of each other. You didn't even wait a month."

He doesn't speak, nodding his head in silence against your shoulder as he pulls you impossibly closer. His chest is flush to yours, and you can feel his tears soak into your collar. 

"All because you didn't want your fraternity brothers to flirt with me. All of this, years of pining after you, yearning for your touch, missing you in my fucking bed, because you're a jealous asshole who can't stand the idea of not being the only guy in my life. All of this, Chan, because you wanted to say that I didn't love you when I don't think I've ever been able to think of a future with a man that isn't you."

His hands grip your sides tightly, your own pushing against his shoulders as you let a choked sob fall from your lips. His eyes are just as red as yours, his cheeks just as tear-stained as yours. Heart, just as broken and empty of you as yours is of him.

"It's not fair to me. Not when I'm still hurt, not when I can still taste you in the back of my throat. Not when you ignored me for girls and drinks, not when I called my dad in the middle of the night because you weren't home and I'm worried that you're not answering my calls. Not when my mom thinks I'm the brute here, when it's you." He nods, eyes closed as he squeezes you in his arms. He rests his forehead on yours, "They're waiting for us. Wash up quickly." Your stomach sinks, but you feel your heart pick up a bit as he places a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. "I love you." You don't say it back.

Breakfast had been awkward, to say the least. You went to the kitchen after an hour, the two of you lying through your teeth to your parents about your red-rimmed eyes. Your father gave you a hard look, and you were set to clean the table after breakfast when Mrs. Lee offered to take you Christmas shopping.

"We can make a day of it, I miss my girl." She smiled sadly, and you'd only felt your cheeks warm as Rosie insisted she come along. Mrs. Lee agreed, and even roped Chan into coming, as well – his hesitance making your eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

He'd sat on your bed as you got ready, watching you tug on a nice sweater and a form fitting pair of winter pants. It'd begun snowing lightly during breakfast, and your father had suggested you layer up – though he was sure the snow wouldn't stick. You and Chan hardly spoke as he watched you get dressed, his eyes trailing your naked body shamelessly. He helped you put on your winter coat, and carefully helped you put on your watch – a gift from his mother one year. He picked your rings, mumbling about which ones fit the aesthetic of your sweater the best. The casual intimacy of it all was eating away at you, only for Chan to run his hand through your hair and kiss your cheek.

A silent vow that he'd earn you back, you both understood.

Mrs. Lee was a chatterbox – she made Chan sit in the back with Rosie, playing with the Barbies she insisted on bringing as she updated you on everything going on at the dance company. You and Chan had been enrolled as kids, Chan becoming a far better dancer than you were – but the two of you excelled the same amount when it came to gymnastics. Chan begrudgingly abandoned dance to cheer with you in high school, but he quickly became enamored with the sport.

Rosie stomped her feet as you asked her to leave the Barbies in the car, only agreeing when Chan said it'd be a shame if she lost them. You rolled your eyes as she asked him to pick her up, but he did so anyway, her pink cast scratchy against his neck. "Rosie, you know Channie's my best friend, right?" You teased her, earning a huff from the pouty six-year-old. She stuck her tongue out at you, earning a surprised laugh from Chan as he saw her in the reflection of a car window. The wind was biting, and you found yourself hovering behind Chan. As the four of you entered the mall, Rosie asked to be put down – only for Mrs. Lee to pull her close, holding her small hand within her ringed fingers as they wandered into a toy store.

"Cold?" He asked, snaking his arm around your waist. You shrugged, but your teeth chattered as you tried to speak. The two of you laughed in unison, Chan carefully swiping your hair out of your eyes as the two of you walked forward. You try not to let your face react as he interlaces your fingers.

"Did you get your mom's gift yet? I know your dad's is in the car, and Rosie's are all in my duffel." "Shit, I knew I was forgetting one. I got your parents tickets to a cruise, I need to print those, too." You tap your temple, and Chan gasps. "I'm their son, you can't get them a better gift than me!" "What did you get them? A picture of you in a frame from the thrift like you did in grade nine?" You roll your eyes, and he huffs, squeezing your hand. "No, I got my mom a few pieces of jewelry and my dad just wants a lawnmower." He rolls his eyes, and you snicker. "What'd you get me?" "My presence is your present." "Pretty shitty present, Chan." "Hey!" The two of you continue to bicker as you make your way to a few different stores – you swipe your card far too many times for you to count. Chan carries all your bags as you skip ahead of him, holding a cup of hot chocolate for your little sister as you find Mrs. Lee filed away with her in the back of a jewelry store. "What've we got here?" You squat down to Rosie's level, and she pulls her short hair back to show you her ears. "Mrs. Lee got me earrings like yours!" A pair of thin gold hoops sit in your sister's ears, and you glance up at Mrs. Lee with a pout on your lips. "You didn't have to do that, Mrs. Lee. I would've bought them for her." "Nonsense, it's the holiday season. I have her studs in my purse, don't let me forget to give them to your mother when we get back." She gives you a stern look, before glancing behind you, a smile on her lips. "Y/N's got you busy, huh?" Chan feigns annoyance as he huffs, "You could say that. What's going on here?" You turn to tell him when you see Rosie peeking into one of the bags before you cover her eyes. "No peeking! You'll see it on Christmas, babycakes." "Just one! Please, please, please!" She holds your hand in her sticky one, likely from any snack Mrs. Lee would've bought her at one of the stands. You grimace, before sighing. "Okay, one. When we get home, okay?"

"But I'm sleepy." She pouts, and you ruffle her hair. "Then you take a little nap in the car. You can use my coat as a blanket, okay?"

The six-year-old reluctantly agrees, before reaching for the cup in your hand. Chan and Mrs. Lee prowl the store together, their eyes lingering amongst all the glittering jewelry and whispers between them as you get offered a chair by a saleswoman. You tug Rosie onto your lap and ask her about what she did – she sleepily tells you Mrs. Lee took her on the carousel ride at the children's court, then bought her a piece of honey cake at a pastry shop. She yawns as she talks about a few pairs of shoes Mrs. Lee bought her – high top Twinkle Toes and a pair of winter boots to wear as the weather changes. She doesn't manage to finish the hot chocolate as she rests her head on your shoulder, and you finish it off before managing to throw the cup into a trash bin a few feet away.

Chan and Mrs. Lee are speaking to a saleswoman at the register, her eyes a little too heart-shaped as Chan fends his mother off to swipe his card. You hold Rosie close, your eyes watching the exchange as Mrs. Lee huffs, a triumphant smile on Chan's lips as they approach you again.

"Any more places you wanna hit before we go? My fingers are about to fall off." He shows the lines from the bags across his fingers, and you shrug. "You offered, now deal with it." He scoffs, but doesn't get a chance to retort as Mrs. Lee interrupts him.

"We should get going, actually. They did say it was going to storm pretty bad tonight." Mrs. Lee winces as the saleswoman walks up to Chan with a receipt, your eyes narrowing as he quickly tucks it in his pocket. Mrs. Lee speaks up again, "Kind of an odd thing to say, though, because it's been unusually warm." "First snow always sneaks up on us on years like this." You sigh, shaking your head as the four of you walk out of the store. You pick Rosie up, holding her on your hip as Chan shifts all the bags to one hand to push your hair out of your eyes.

"You guys are so cute!" An older woman compliments you both, just as Mrs. Lee appears next to you, her eyes slightly wide as Chan tucks your hair behind your ear. His cheeks tinge pink as his mother gapes lightly, but she says nothing as you walk towards the exit. You pull Rosie's hood over her head as you reach the doors, and tug her scarf up to her eyes before bracing the cold air. "Fuck, it's cold." You hear Chan mutter as Mrs. Lee shudders, her gloved fingers fumbling with the key fob as the car comes into view. You shiver as she pops the trunk, watching Chan carefully put everything in it as Mrs. Lee slides into the driver's seat, turning the heat on blast as she turns the engine on. You carefully slide Rosie into her carseat, trying not to wake her as you click her seatbelt in place. You slide your coat off, shivering immediately in the biting wind as you cover her lap with it before shutting the door quickly. 

Chan's eyes are wide as he sees you crossing your arms over your chest, your scarf the only layer protecting your neck as he nearly rips his coat off and wraps it around you. "Are you insane? Do you want to get sick?" He doesn't let you reply as he ushers you to the passenger side, nearly shoving you into the seat and all but slamming the door. He closes the trunk before getting into the backseat, his nose red from the cold. You glance at him through the rearview, watching him blow into his hands as he meets your eyes. He looks at you pointedly as Mrs. Lee pulls out of the parking spot.

You look away.

"So." Because your mother is at her restaurant editing the holiday menus and Chan has taken the rest of the day to spend time with his cousins, you've asked Mrs. Lee to help you pick out your Christmas Eve dinner dress. She is sitting at your desk as you model options for her, the current cranberry red dress a bit too short for her taste. You frown as you change in the closet, "So, what? What's up?" "When are you and Channie going to figure this out? I mean, it's been years." She sighs, and you hear her rustle through one of the shopping bags. You step out to see her holding the dress you bought for New Years' dinner, the black glitter mocking you as you sigh. "I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Lee." You smooth your hands over a forest green sweater dress with gold accents, before turning to her. "This one?" "You know what I mean, honey. There is still something between the two of you, don't think I didn't see the way he practically tore his coat off earlier." She shakes her head at you, and you scoff. "That doesn't mean anything, he's just a gentleman." "Yeah? Then what was last night's outburst about?"

You freeze, your hands fisting the dress as you go to pull it over your head. She peers at you through the full-body mirror, her eyes so reminiscent of Chan's. You purse your lips, looking away and at your socked feet as you slowly make your way over to her. You perch on the edge of your bed, "I don't want you to think less of me." Her hands hold your cheeks gently as you feel a tear roll down your face, her eyes wide and worried as she shakes her head. "Honey, I could never. You're such a smart and wonderful young woman, and you've always treated my Chan so well. You've been his biggest hypewoman, I could never think anything but the best of you." "I was the one who broke up with him, on his birthday." You say shakily, "I didn't remember it was his birthday, but that's on me. I just…I thought I was doing the right thing. I broke things off because I wanted us to focus on school. We were so busy after we went back from break that we didn't see each other unless we were at practice, and it was eating away at me." You wipe your eyes, Mrs. Lee's hands now folded in her lap as she listens. "No one can be upset with you for doing what you felt was best, honey." "Chan was." You scoff out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you sniffle. "He still is, I guess. We got home and we sat down in here for a bit, and we talked. He said that maybe it was better this way, that things had always been 'easy' between him and I, that involving feelings wasn't the best move. That our relationship was a dumpster fire, and that he's glad we got it out of our systems because he wishes it never happened sometimes. That he…felt like I didn't love him." You trail off, feeling a surge of tears roll down your face as you wipe at your nose with your sweater sleeve. You glance at her, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tilts her head. "And he moved on. I didn't. So…I don't know if it's fixable. I'm sorry to disappoint you, if you thought Chan and I would be something of a forever as anything more than just friends." You give her a sad smile, and she quietly sighs.

"He called me a few days after his birthday that year, you know." She nods, looking at her nails before she flicks her hair out of her face. Your eyes widen as you sit up slightly, "He did?" "He was a mess." She laughed softly, running her hands down her jeans. "He cried and cried, I remember asking him if he wanted me to go up to the campus. I was so worried about him, until he told me that you two weren't seeing each other anymore. Just a boy needing his mother because the girl of his dreams broke his heart." Her voice is slightly teasing, but your heart sinks. "What?" "Oh yeah, honey. Channie's not very good at hiding his feelings, we knew he liked you since you were kids. We figured it would take him a bit to realize it, but once you two came home for the holidays that year, it was like he was a different person. He walked in with so much confidence, not that he needed anymore." She snorts, and you laugh softly. "He just seemed happier, a lot brighter. Like he does when he dances." You feel your chest ache as you look away, her hands finding yours. "I know that in there, somewhere…there is a love waiting to be let loose again. I know maybe then, it was the right thing to do. I know you wouldn't have done it if you didn't think you had to, I've known your heart since you were a little girl. I know it's kind and strong and you're a good person, Y/N. Don't think about it too much, I know you've both felt that pain but trust me when I say, there is no life without pain. All I can tell you is to live without regrets." She squeezes your hands, and you sigh shakily, your eyes still letting tears flow. "What if we break up again?" "Then you can always say you tried." She shrugs, "You're Y/N, he's Chan. If I know anything, it's that you're both hard headed and you never give up on anything. Why make your relationship the first thing?" She gives you a warm smile as you nod, and she glances at the sweater you have on. "Maybe not this one, either." She wrinkles her nose, and you scoff in mock offense. "I've tried everything on in my closet! Why don't you pick something for me, then?" She grins as she gets up, skipping to your closet and rustling about. You check your phone, seeing a few missed messages from Chan.

Msg From: Chan 💗 [5:33PM] dude these guys SUCK [5:34PM] come hang out with me :( [5:34PM] i'm sick of this shit, soonyoung keeps making spitballs?? are we fucking thirteen??

You snort, watching as Mrs. Lee drapes a few options over her arm. Msg To: Chan 💗 [5:55PM] can't, hanging out with ur mom [5:56PM] do you want to take a drive later? i think the temp went back up a bit and it's not as windy

Msg From: Chan 💗 [5:57PM] oh so you hate me??? you get her tickets to a cruise AND you're hanging out with her? do you just wanna paint me as a bad son??? [5:57PM] i'd say yes but i don't think i'll be back until right before dinner :( but tomorrow after dinner at your mom's restaurant? maybe we can catch a late movie or something.

You don't get a chance to reply as Mrs. Lee whispers a small aha! She rustles around a bit more before coming out with only one dress, one you hadn't worn since you bought it because you never had an occasion. It was a long, champagne colored dress with a sarong skirt and long sleeves. The skirt was carefully ruched at the hip, before flaring out in an open slit. It had a sweetheart neckline littered with rhinestones, and you winced as you ran your fingers down the fabric.

"It's not too showy for dinner? We're just going to the restaurant." You sigh, thumbing the stitching. Mrs. Lee scoffed, "Your mother has worn far more extravagant things than this, do you remember when she wore a ball gown to New Year's last year?" You snort, thinking back to the way you hide your face as you walked into the Lee home last year. Chan made a comment under his breath about how insane the baby blue dress was, but everyone was more or less a fan. 

You also remember the way his hand slid a little too low on your back that year as rang in the new year with a hug.

Looking up at Mrs. Lee, she gives you a mischievous smile. "Go on, try it on! And we can do some hair and makeup stuff before we have to have dinner!"

Needless to say, your mother did a double take when she arrived home and saw that you were fully dolled up at the hands of Mrs. Lee. Her jaw dropped as she took in the wine red lipstick you stole from her bedroom and glittery eyeshadow, before a huge smile overtook her face and she rushed into your room to talk. It holed you away in the bedroom for another hour and a half before you graciously kicked both women out for just thirty minutes alone before dinner.

You stood in front of your vanity, dress hung back up your closet and a sigh filled the room as you reached for a makeup wipe. You peered at yourself, Mrs. Lee's words filled your mind as you ran your hands through your hair. Pursing your lips, you tie your hair back before hearing a knock at the door, and Chan opens it slightly.

"Hey. I'm home." He's not looking at you as he tugs his coat off, a sigh from his lips as you quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't sound very happy." "I'm just tired, I don't remember what it was like to shoot the shit with those guys." He scoffs, throwing his jacket over the back of your desk chair before sitting in it. His eyes widen as he finally looks at you, "You look pretty." "Thanks. Mothers." You shrug, before reaching for the makeup wipe you abandoned in order to tie your hair back. "Wait, wait, let me see." He reaches for your hand, pulling you towards him. You roll your eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed, your other hand on your knee as he looks at your face.

"Why haven't you ever worn this lipstick before? It looks really nice." His thumb pulls at your lower lip, before you swat his hand away. "Stop that, someone could walk in." "Then lock the door? I'm just looking at you." He rolls his eyes as he stretches, "Did you figure out what you're wearing tomorrow?" "Barely. I'm still overthinking it, but the Moms said to go for it so…we're going for it." You shrug, and he raises a brow. "Do you want to show me? Maybe a third opinion could help settle it." "Nope." You grin, before standing up to move back in front of the vanity. His hold on your hand pulls you back, his other hand snaking around your waist as he pulls you into his lap. You huff as he kisses your shoulder, "Chan. Seriously."

"I missed you." He pouts, leaning his cheek on your shoulder as you roll your eyes. "Yeah, well…" You trail off, your cheeks heating as he smiles up at you. He's about to say something when you hear a knock at the door, making you jump in his hold. You rip yourself away from him, nearly stumbling as you rip the door open. It's Rosie.

"Ooh, you look pretty! Can I try?" She hops into your room, puckering her lips as she looks into your vanity. You snort, "Hello to you, too. Do you come with a message or just demands?" "Dinner in ten minutes. Can I try now?" She jumps in front of the mirror, and you roll your eyes as you motion for Chan to hand you your makeup bag off the edge of the desk. He does, and you root around in it for the lipstick, pulling out a lip brush as well. You squat in front of her, "This is Mom's lipstick, okay? We can only use a little bit." She nods, letting you carefully trace the brush around her lips. You turn her around in the mirror when you're done, lifting her up slightly. "You like?" "I like!" She smacks her lips loudly, and you smile inwardly as you set her down. "Can I wear this tomorrow, too?" "If you ask Mom and she says yes, we can talk about it." You shrug, and she nods quickly, before grinning at herself in the mirror one last time. "Okay, bye! Thank you!" "Bye, babycakes." You laugh, closing the door as she runs out. You give Chan a glance, rolling your eyes as you reach for the makeup wipe. "Gotta love that kid." "Don't take it off." He pouts, standing up to slide next to you in the mirror. You scoff, "Why? You're just gonna stare at me over dinner and everyone's gonna think something that isn't." He huffs, resting his chin on your shoulder as you carefully wipe at your eyes. You peel one open, seeing him pouting in the mirror. You struggle not to roll your eyes as you turn your face to look at him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Stop pouting, it's not a good look on you." His eyes are wide as you continue to wipe the makeup off, his hand coming to ghost over your jaw as he makes you face him. "I missed you." He repeats, before nuzzling his nose against yours. Your breath hitches in your throat as his lips brush yours, before he whispers against them.

"I love you."

And just like this morning, you let him. You let him slot your lips together in a tentative kiss, your heart beating wildly in your chest as he turns you around, pressing your back into the vanity. His hands move to hold your hips gently, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your shirt as he pulls away. He doesn't move back much, brushing his lips against yours as he squeezes his fingers against you softly.

"Will you at least let me try to win you back?" You feel your skin grow hot as you look away, and your heart flutters in your chest as he cradles your face softly in his warm hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead, "Please?" You want to tell him there is nothing to win back, you'd always be there. If time was the issue, you'd wait – no problem. But there is that part of you that's hurt that wants him to fight for you. The part of you that wants him to beg for you back, the part of you that wants him to hold you tight and cry with you about how stupid he's been when you've been equally as stupid. Maybe in a different way, but you're both idiots in your mind.

You look into his eyes through thick lashes, the heat of his gaze making you want to melt into the ground. Chan, despite the history between you two and his bad habits, had always been both the angel and the devil on your shoulders. He could lead you down any path and you'd blindly follow, but you knew you were the same for him. The truth of it all was that your trust in Chan has never wavered, even when the pain of his actions settled into your bones.

"Okay." "Promise?" His eyes are wide as he holds his pinky out, and you sigh, closing your eyes as you nod and link your fingers. "Promise." You both kiss your thumbs and touch them to each other, before you wipe the stamped lipstick off his cheek. "Don't tell your parents anything or I'll get Soonyoung and Mingyu to put snow down your pants tomorrow." He rolls his eyes, "You still haven't let me introduce you to them, so good luck. I wasn't going to tell them in the first place, anyway, because they'd make me go to my room after Dumb and Dumber go back into town tomorrow afternoon. I still can't believe they didn't ask for the holidays off."

You roll your eyes, moving the makeup wipe to your lips as he traces circles into the skin of your hip under your shirt. "Double pay, probably. My mom is shelling out double pay at the restaurant these next few weeks." He hums in response, "Did my mom say anything I should know about?" You snort, "Wouldn't you like to know." "I would, thank you. Tell me." "I have to wash my face, Chan." You give him a pointed look as you push past him, moving to your bathroom as he sighs, trailing after you. "Okay, you can wash your face and speak." "Chan, get out of my bathroom. They're probably waiting for you at the dinner table." "If they're waiting for me, they're waiting for you." He reminds you, leaning against the doorframe. You huff, reaching for your face wash as you turn the faucet on. "Go. I'll be out in a minute." He sighs, before pushing off the doorframe and leaving without a word. You feel your chest heavy with worry as you lather your face wash into your skin, but you force yourself to push all your rushing thoughts to the back of your mind. If Chan is making the moves to make things right, you have to at least give him his flowers for that. He wouldn't pull a fast one on you, he's not that kind of guy.

Right?

DECEMBER 24, 6:05AM.

Dinner between the two families had been rather entertaining. Your mother was enamored with the earrings Mrs. Lee got for Rosie, and the parents discussed carpooling groups for the Christmas Eve dinner at your mother's restaurant. You and Chan would be the only ones not lumped into your father's SUV, and you couldn't help the way you glanced at Chan with a wince. He had a slight grimace on his face as he agreed quietly, the two of you holding up the façade of your fight so as to not make anything obvious. He snuck a few kisses to your lips as the two of you did the dishes, before the two of you turned in for the night. You showered and brushed your teeth, only to have to wait for Chan because you kicked him out of the bathroom before he could offer to save water by showering together. He'd pouted, but it didn't matter. There was a line you couldn't cross…and that's it, right?

Either way – Chan had pulled your back into his chest at some point throughout the night, not that you were complaining. Yesterday morning's shenanigans seemed to have continued – but this time, his hand was up your shirt as he grinded himself against your clothed cunt, nipping his teeth against the skin of your neck. You were about to turn over to kiss him when you heard the heavy knock of your father's hand on the door. You nearly shoved Chan off the bed with how quickly you sat up and jumped over him, answering the door with a flushed look.

"Dad, don't do that! I nearly shit myself." You hold your hand to your chest, and your father holds out two cups of coffee. "You have a shower, you'd survive." "Don't be gross." You grimace, carefully taking the cups and setting them down on the dresser. Chan sits up, eyes squinted as he stretches his arms over his head. "Good morning, Chan." "Good morning, sir." He mumbles, before running his hands over his face. Your father gives you a quizzical glance, seeing your eyes a bit low as he snorts. "You guys might want to wake up, the snow outside is insane and Rosie will want you guys to help her build a snowman." "You can't help her? It's barely six." You rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms as your father smooths your hair down. "I'll give you an hour." "Two hours." Chan groans from the bed, flopping back down and tugging the duvet over his shoulder. You snort, taking a quick sip from the steaming white mug. You crinkle your nose at the bitter taste, only to hear your father laugh softly. "Hour and a half. Deal?" "Deal." You nod tiredly, and he nods as he moves to shut your door. "Set an alarm, or I'm coming in here with pots and pans."

You only nod again, holding the coffee cup to your lips as he shuts it tightly. Looking over your shoulder, you see Chan sitting up on his elbows, a scowl on his lips. "Seriously?" "It's the holiday season and they haven't seen us all year, it's only normal that they want to spend time with us." You roll your eyes as you set down your cup, sliding back under the covers as he grunts. "They can't wait until the sun comes up for that? I love our families, but I don't wanna be outside in subzero temps." "It's not even subzero, dumbass. It's like, seventeen degrees out." You rest your head on your pillow, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Subzero or seventeen, it's still the asscrack of dawn." "Never too early to have your hand up my shirt though, is it?" You say pointedly, and he scoffs as you shift uncomfortably in your sticky shorts. "So if I pull your shorts down, you won't be wet? You weren't complaining." "I never said that, but you're complaining about it being the asscrack of dawn yet you're feeling me up in your pretend sleep." You shake your finger in his face, making him sigh as he lays on his side. "Sometimes I just like touching you, okay? It doesn't always have to end in something, baby." "You mean you like riling me up so I'll be the one to pounce. You're not slick, I know your tricks." You drape his arm over your waist as you face away from him, feeling his lips brush the shell of your ear. "So should I continue or are you going to play hard to get?" "You know, you just reminded me to shove snow down your pants. Maybe then you'll calm down."

He scoffs, pressing a kiss just under your ear before pulling you closer to him. You nestle into his warmth, feeling his hand slip under your shirt. He doesn't move it, his thumb caressing just above your navel as his breathing slows. You close your eyes, but not feeling the thick veil of sleep creeping up on you. Huffing, you turn on your back, making Chan stir slightly but he says nothing. You stare at the ceiling, the early morning sun barely peeking in through your blinds. 

"You're thinking too loud."

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you snort. "Sorry, did my thinking disturb you?" "Go back to sleep, we're not going to get a chance to rest until after dinner." He sighs, before you roll onto your side to face him. "I can't."

He hums, opening his eyes with a sigh. "Better start trying, baby. It's been like twenty minutes since your dad left." 

Rolling your eyes, you shift lower to press your face into his stomach. His hand cards through your hair gently, his fingertips grazing the skin of your neck as they dip below the collar of your shirt. "Comfortable?" "It's alright." You retort, making him laugh quietly. "Just alright?" "You don't need your head to grow any bigger, Lee." "Humor me, will you?"

"Never." You huff, fisting the material of his sweatshirt. His breathing slows once more, but yours still can't match his. Frustration festers in your stomach, and you find yourself tracing circles into his sweatshirt before pushing it up slightly, bunching it around his ribcage. Your fingers make contact with his warm skin, drawing shapes into it with your dull fingernails when you feel him softly tug at your hair.

"Don't start something you can't finish, baby."

You scoff, your breath warm against his skin. "Shut up." He only hums, your fingers continuing their tracing when you find yourself pressing your lips to his skin softly. Once, twice, three times as you move around his slim waist. He shifts slightly, a shaky sigh falling from his lips as you nip at the skin around his navel. Your palm pushes his hip down until he gets the hint, moving to lie on his back as you push his sweatshirt higher. Your thighs rest on his as you straddle him, and you feel the outline of his cock against the soaked fabric of your shorts.

You can feel his eyes on you as your tongue pokes out from between your lips, licking a stripe up his sternum before pressing a kiss between his pecs. You pepper kisses across his chest, feeling his breathing ragged beneath your wandering hands. Your thumb lightly ghosts over his right nipple, and you feel him jolt beneath you.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He groans, making you smirk against his skin as you flick the tip of your tongue against his nipple, his hands flying to your hips to hold you steady. "Baby." "Stare at the ceiling or something, stop interrupting me." You shrug, before pulling his sweatshirt higher. "Take this off." He obliges, nearly ripping the piece of clothing over his head before sitting up slightly, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a searing kiss. You let out a squeak of surprise, his tongue snaking into your mouth at the opportunity. Your hand snakes up his torso, your fingers pinching lightly at one of his nipples. His hips jerk roughly against you, a moan spilling into your mouth as you pull away quickly, clamping your hand over his lips with a scowl.

"Shut the fuck up! Do you want them to hear you?"

He licks your palm, making you grimace as you wipe it on his shoulder, his hand on your neck pulling you back down to his lips. "I don't give a fuck who hears me as long as you're the one making me sound like this."

"Yeah, well I have shame. Shut your mouth before I put something in it." You snip, but his other hand snaps the waistband of your shorts against your hip. "Yeah? You'll shut me up?" "You're a sick freak." You scoff, shoving yourself off him. "Go lock the door."

His eyes widened as you began to undo the drawstring of your shorts, your thumbs sliding under the waistband with a pointed look. "Hello? Lock the fucking door, Chan." He nearly falls off the bed getting out of the sheets, making you snicker to yourself as you shove your shorts down your legs. You ignore the few strings of arousal connecting you to the ruined cotton and the way the cool air of your bedroom makes you wince, reaching for your phone as Chan slides back into the bed. 

7:15am.

"We only have fifteen minutes." You flick your shorts to the side as you move back over Chan, his eyes wide as he glances at them. "Baby." He breathes, holding them up by the waistband.

"Shut up, I'm ovulating or something." You roll your eyes as a blush coats your cheeks, making him snort. "Or something? Just admit you like it when I feel you up in my 'pretend' sleep." He makes air quotes with his fingers, making you scowl as you take the shorts from his hand.

"Open your mouth, since you can't stop running it." He sticks his tongue out at you, before happily opening his mouth. You stuff the crotch of the shorts into his mouth, ignoring the way his eyes flutter at the taste makes your core clench around nothing. You try not to look at him as you settle yourself onto his chiseled torso, the same faint tattoo mocking you as you try to figure it out. Biting your lip, you gently roll your hips against him, the feeling of the hard muscle against your clit enough to make your legs tremble slightly. He groans around the shorts, his hands moving up your thighs as you grind down against his stomach.

With every rut of your cunt against his lower stomach, you can feel his painfully hard cock poking the meat of your ass. You ignore the way he winces every time, moaning softly around the soaked shorts as his hands move higher on your thighs, his grip only making you whine. It's not long before his stomach is covered in your arousal, your whimpers filling his ears as he covers your mouth with his hand before taking the shorts out of his mouth.

"I can make you cum faster than this." He whines as your thumbs circle around his nipples, but you roll your eyes, "I like it this way." "I know b-baby, but I'm two seconds from blowing in my pants." He sighs shakily as you move his hand from your mouth, pinning it above his head. Your lips brush against his as you lean forward, looking into his glossy eyes. "I'm not fucking you, you have to earn that." "Sit on my face." He breathes against your lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of them as you shake your head. "We won't have enough time–" "Two minutes, you know me." He begs, weaseling his arm out of your grip to push you up his torso as you huff. "Chan, it's risky–" "Everything about our entire relationship has been risky, why stop now?" He whispers, and you look at him to see a slightly dejected look in his eyes. He wants to please you, you know he does – and you want him to make it up to you. All those lonely nights missing his face between your thighs like a starved man, all the useless vibrators that got you nowhere near the orgasms he pulled out of you. "Make it fast." You mutter, moving to kneel over his face. He nods silently, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you down, his nose bumping your clit and making you jerk. "Chan!"

"Shh, baby." He murmurs, nosing at your pussy like a dog after a bone. "You smell so fucking good, missed this." 

You squirm as he places a kiss on your clit, your fingers holding onto the metal headboard for stability as he flicks his tongue against it teasingly. He moans into your wet heat, his pouty lips wrapping around your sensitive bud as you force yourself to swallow your whines, rocking your hips against his face, feeling your end coming embarrassingly fast.

"Chan." You breathe out, reaching down to pull at his hair as he furrows his brows, his tongue messily collecting your arousal with soft grunts. "Mmh?" You don't say anything, hoping he just knows what you mean as you let a whine slip, your thighs tightening around his head. He forces them apart, using his strength to grind you against his tongue. You're a whimpering mess above him, your thighs trembling as you fall forward against the headboard. You're gripping the metal with your hands as you come undone with a whisper of his name, feeling your stomach cave in as he keeps licking at you.

A knock at the door makes him stop (and you jerk), his arms holding you firmly against him as he clears his throat. "Yes?" "Are you guys up? Why is this door locked?" It's your mother, and she jiggles the doorknob as Chan laughs, lying on the spot. "I'm sorry, I'm changing! Y/N is about to get in the shower, she'll be out in twenty minutes, I promise." "Tell Y/N to wear leggings under her pants, it's freezing out there." She's not suspicious, and Chan gives you a look of relief as he answers. "Will do! Thank you!" "You're welcome!" The two of you sit in silence as you wait a few moments, before you feel Chan's tongue snake through your folds. You try to push off his face, but your legs feel like jelly as he fucks the tip of his tongue into you. "S-Stop, we have to go." "I bought us twenty minutes, gorgeous. Let me do what I gotta do." He mutters, practically making out with your clit as you squirm away. "Chan, we have to get up." He sighs, his hands massaging your thighs. "Can never relax, hm?" "Be so fucking serious." You scoff, mustering all your energy to get off his face. He watches as you lay on your stomach with a groan, "I can't even get up. Fuck you, man." "Please do. I never want to cum in my pants again, this shit feels so gross." He grimaces, sitting up and running his hands over your thighs, digging his thumbs into the sore muscles. You peek at his pants, your fingers coming to lift the waistband when he swats your fingers. 

"Come on, we have to shower or they won't buy it."

"Any time I've showered with you, you've tried to slide your dick between my asscheeks. I don't trust you." You snort, and he only lands a soft smack to your outer thigh. "It's a wonderful ass, can you blame me? But, for the sake of time and your so-called shame, I'll skip out on it." "Ugh, fine."

Chan stays true to his word, the ten-minute shower consisting of nothing but soft kissing under the showerhead and soapy hands sliding around naked bodies. Him finishing in his pants isn't a lie, either – and you apologize by letting him tongue at your nipples for two minutes. Every touch landing where it's not supposed to, pulling soft whines from each other as tongues slipped from mouths to collarbones before he reminded you that you couldn't mark each other above the neck if you wanted to remain undiscovered.

Chan toweled his hair dry and got changed quickly to appease your awaiting parents, but didn't leave the bathroom without a kiss…or three, to your lips. He lingered a bit as you dried your hair, a warm smile on his face as he watched your scrunched face in the mirror – when you caught his eye. "What?" "I love you." 

He doesn't wait for you to respond, only tucking his coat under his arm as he exits your bedroom. You pretend it doesn't make your knees weak as you pull two pairs of leggings on, and your snow pants. You pretend it doesn't fill your stomach with butterflies as you tug on two pairs of socks and your heavy boots. You pretend it doesn't make your cheeks warm as you pull on one of his t-shirts under your sweater, and you pretend it doesn't make you tingle with excitement as you shove on your coat and tuck your scarf under your chin. You slip out of your bedroom with your lip balm in your hand, only to see Mrs. Lee and your mother scolding Chan as he sits in one of the dining room chairs, your mother's hair dryer blowing hot air in his face. He's wincing as they let him have it, a pout on his lips as he sees you. "Tell them you hogged the hairdryer!" He begs, making you smirk. "I'd be lying, wouldn't I?" You reach out to ruffle his hair, sticking your tongue out at him as you make your way to the kitchen. You see Rosie and your father holding hot packs to their faces, your little sister's nose red from the cold. "Have fun out there, babycakes?" You ask, leaning on the island with a smile as she nods quickly. "Mingyu and Soonyoung helped me make a snowman! You and Channie have to help me, too. It has to be bigger!" "You met Mingyu and Soonyoung already? I haven't even met them!" You feign offense as she nods, your father rolling his eyes. "If you had been up earlier, Chan could've given you a proper introduction." "I was not going to be up at six in the morning to make a snowman, I'm sorry." You shrug, before checking your watch. "It's only eight, how are you guys so chipper?" "We don't have to wash all the dishes after supper. So I guess you're off the hook for not being up earlier." Your mother snorts from the kitchen entrance, a red-cheeked Chan following behind her. He sticks his tongue out at you, making you snort. "Nice hair, man." "Shut up." He rolls his eyes, and your mother sighs as she slides two plates of breakfast food in front of you. "Eat up, we've got a busy morning." You and Chan glance at each other, knowing she means that the entire family has to work to tire Rosie out enough that she takes a nap sooner rather than later. If she goes down later, everyone will be late for Christmas Eve dinner.

Which will make your mother very upset, and God forbid you make your mother upset during the holiday season!

You and Chan practically scarf your breakfast down as Rosie excitedly recounts how Mingyu and Soonyoung kept fighting over what carrot would make the best nose for her snowman. She smiles cutely as she holds up a carrot your father was holding, "But I saved the best one for our snowman, guys!" Your heart melts as she says that, your lip jutting out in a pout as you shovel the last of your waffles into your mouth. You take your plate and Chan's to the sink as she continues speaking, careful not to get your sleeves wet as you wash them quickly. Chan dries them as she gets to the part where Mingyu spit a raisin at Soonyoung, making you choke on your water. Rosie stops mid-story, tugging your father out of the kitchen – insisting she was all warmed up and ready to go back outside. "Save me!" Your father mouths as he allows your little sister to drag him out, making you snicker to yourself. Chan slides the plate into the cupboard, running the rag around the sink basin as the kitchen grows quiet. You swallow the last of your water, only to feel Chan's fingers on your jaw.

"Just a quick one." He utters quietly, his eyes darting to the entryway as you roll your eyes, pecking a chaste kiss onto his lips. He can't help but hold you in place, kissing you again slowly when you hear the door open. You push him away, sliding your empty glass onto the island as Mr. Lee yells into the house. "Get out here!" You both nearly trip over each other trying to exit the kitchen, Mr. Lee shoving two pairs of gloves in your hands as he shoves the two of you out. Chan shivers next to you, looping his arm with yours as you carefully make your way off your porch. You tug the gloves on, giving him the other pair as you brave the winter air.

"It's colder than a witch's tits." You hear someone say, and your head whips around to see two guys sitting in two folding chairs next to an abomination of a snowman, holding cups of coffee between ungloved fingers. Chan rolls his eyes as he tugs you towards them, their eyes averting to you and the one with blond hair nearly spits his coffee out.

"Don't be fucking weird, okay?" Chan says, and the blond one scoffs. "You didn't say she was a fucking bombshell, Chan!" "Maybe because it's none of your business if she is or isn't! She'd never date you, anyway." Chan pulls you close suddenly, and you smile sheepishly at the two men.

"Hi, Y/N." The brunet smiles at you, his eyes trailing you a bit too long for Chan's liking. "Don't look at his teeth, that's how he gets you." Chan covers your eyes with his hand, making you scoff as you pull it down.

"Don't be a baby, Chan." You roll your eyes, before extending your gaze to the men. "It's nice to meet you guys. Who is who?" "Mingyu." The blond one points at the brunet, who points back at him. "Soonyoung, resident idiot.' "Hey!" Soonyoung shoves him, making Mingyu snort. "It's the truth, Rosie made him eat a disk of snow with raisins on it."

You laugh as Chan sulks, making you pinch his cheek and coo. "Don't be jealous, Channie. As long as neither of them is taller than you–" "Suddenly, I need to stretch." Soonyoung says with a grin, and Mingyu rolls his eyes as Soonyoung tugs him up. Soonyoung is only two inches taller, but you find yourself whistling lowly at Mingyu's height.

"You're huge, dude." You look up at him, earning a huff from Chan. Mingyu smiles around the rim of his cup, shrugging as he takes a sip. "You're not the first to say that, but I can fit you in my schedule if you'd like to see what else is big." "Dude, no fair. He doesn't wash his socks, you know." Soonyoung scowls, making you snort. "Yeah? What about you, Soonie?" "Enough! We're out here to build a snowman that's better than your absolute monstrosity, not for you two to hit on my best friend until I vomit!" Chan stomps his foot like a toddler, and you laugh, patting his chest. "Chan, buddy, reign it in! Go get Rosie." He looks hesitant as his cousins make eyes at you. There's a pout on his lips as you pinch his cheek again, whispering in his ear. "Be a good boy and fetch, yeah?"

He should be embarrassed at how quickly his cheeks tinge pink at your words, ignoring his cousins' teasing as he turns on his heel to find Rosie. He watches from his peripheral as they joke with you, how easily they make you laugh and how you fit right in with the duo. His heart warms a bit at the idea of his extended family liking you so quickly, but the idea quickly gets shoved aside as he remembers how flirtatious and greasy his cousins can be. The next two hours are spent with Mingyu and Soonyoung calling you pretty and cute to bother Chan, and you instigating the compliments to get under his skin. Rosie got tired halfway through building the snowman, and made you promise you wouldn't finish it without her. She gave you the carrot for safekeeping, making you tuck it into your jacket pocket as your father hauled her into the house. Your mother and Mrs. Lee made a quick trip down to the restaurant, and your father and Mr. Lee opted to salt the driveways and sidewalks for the dinner trip later that day.

Chan? He's tonguing his cheek as he packs snow in his hand, hearing Mingyu call you gorgeous as you take a sip from his cup of coffee. He chucks it in his direction, hitting Mingyu square in the shoulder. Mingyu stops talking as he feels the impact, his jaw dropping as he sees the snow sliding off the leather of his thick jacket. He wipes the snow off his jacket with a boyish grin, and your eyes widen as Soonyoung quickly throws a snowball at Chan – who dodges it and lands one of his own on Soonyoung's chest.

You snort to yourself as the trio begin to throw snowballs of various sizes between each other, opting to settle in Mingyu's folding chair with your legs crossed. You hold his cup of coffee, before calling out to the men. "Whoever wins gets to help me pin Chan down and shove snow down his pants!" Mingyu smirks, running his tongue over his teeth as he zeros in on Chan – who is gaping at you. "Oh, come on! That's not fucking fair!" "Good luck!" You hold up Mingyu's cup, tilting it towards them as the two men begin to chase after Chan, who has a hefty head start as he hides behind your father's SUV before hopping the fence to your backyard. Your dad snorts as he salts the sidewalk you're sitting on, "You're awful to that boy, you know." "A little snow down the pants never killed anyone." You retort, making him shake his head. "How're Mingyu and Soonyoung? Nice fellas, eh?" "If you count them flirting with me to piss Chan off nice, I'd say so." You grin, and he rolls his eyes. "You're something else, honey. Just talk to the kid." "I do talk to him, Dad. Trust me, I talk. He just doesn't listen." Rolling your eyes, you hear something reminiscent of a battle cry when you see Chan pelting Mingyu and Soonyoung with snowballs as he whizzes past you and your father, making you both double over in laughter as they round the corner into the next neighborhood. It fades to quiet for a moment, before you hear yet another shriek, followed by a fuck yeah!

You and your father look up to see Mingyu holding Chan over his shoulder, thrashing in order to free himself. Soonyoung throws his scarf around Mingyu's waist, effectively tying Chan's legs to the bigger man. Chan slumps against Mingyu, and you almost feel bad as your father shakes his head at you, "Not too much snow, Y/N. Be considerate." "You got it, boss!" You call after him as he shuffles into the house, and Mingyu grins as he presents Chan to you, turning around to show you the defeated pout on his face. "You hate me, Y/N. You hate me and you're going to freeze my dick off with a chunk of snow." "I could never hate you, Channie. But, I do want you to suffer just a bit." You smirk, and he sighs. "Put me down!" "Will you run?" You take a sip of the cup, and Chan's eyes flash with jealousy. "No. But you can't use more than a snowball's worth of snow. Promise me." He holds his pinky out, and you wait until Soonyoung turns around to grab his coffee to peck his cheek. He flushes, but you can just barely tell under his wind-bitten skin. "No promises, Channie." Mingyu manages to wrestle his arms behind his back, Soonyoung just teasing Chan as they all watch you gather snow in your gloved hands. Chan whines pitifully in Mingyu's hold as you approach with a decent amount of snow in your hands and an evil smile on your face.

"Y/N, please. I'll beg, I will! Don't do this–" Your best friend squirms in Mingyu's arms, and you make kissy faces at him as your hand pulls at his waistband. The flannel lining is stark red against the white snow, and Chan braces himself as you press a shameless kiss to his forehead.

"Y/N, don't! I'll buy your breakfast for a month! I won't ever drop you during practice again, baby please–fuck!" Chan thrashes against Mingyu as the snow slides down his legs, having foolishly only worn the snow pants over his boxers. "Oh you fucking hate me, oh my God! Let me go!" He frees himself from Mingyu, who can barely hold himself up from laughing as Chan shakes the snow out of his pants, jumping around like a frog to warm himself up. "Go get in the shower before you get frostbite on your balls!" Soonyoung calls after him as he races into your house, making you snort as you finish off the last of Mingyu's coffee.

"Love that guy, he's so easy to torture." You roll your eyes as you take Mingyu's chair once more, earning a warm look from Mingyu. "How long did you guys date back then? He only told us so much." You shrug, "Couple months. A really good two months, but…just the two."

You toy with the cup, before Soonyoung sighs. "He's a good kid. Please don't break his heart again, I don't think he can take it." He rubs his neck, and Mingyu nods, kicking snow off his boot. "It's funny that we've never met you until now, Chan has talked about you as long as he's been able to."  The statement makes you snort. "Yeah, well. Chan's a jealous guy, that's how we even started dating in the first place. He didn't like that his frat brothers were making eyes at me when I helped him move in, but I guess he just never understood that…" You trail off, clearing your throat when Soonyoung finishes your sentence. "Understood that he's the only one for you?" He tries, and you sigh, nodding. "Yeah." "That's cute. Like, so cute. Adorable, even." Mingyu teases, and you lightly punch his shoulder. "Shut up." "I always thought Chan would end up with you. The amount of times we'd have to kick him off the Playstation because he'd talk about you instead of playing his turn was insane." Soonyoung scoffs, taking a sip from his cup. "I think I've heard your favorite color at least eighty times in my lifetime, tell me it's still green." "It is still green, ha." You smile shyly, and Mingyu lies down in the snow, staring at the sky. "Well, it's nice to know Chan has someone who clearly cares. I know you guys broke up because of school, right? Too busy and all that." "I felt so overwhelmed. We broke up and he made the fucking Dean's list, I was crushed when I didn't. Then again, Chan's always been better at masking how he feels when it comes to…things between us." Shrugging, you feel the heat of Soonyoung's gaze.

"Finding out about all those girls must've gotten to you, huh? He was an idiot, I told him he was when he talked to me about it. He cried, too. Dumbass." Soonyoung rolls his eyes, and your own widen. "He cried? Why?" "He told me two years ago, I think it was summer. I came up here, but you'd gone to a cheer camp for a few days and you came back the day that I left. We got drunk in the backyard and he cried his eyes out about you, and how none of the girls compared to you." He shrugs, and Mingyu pipes up. 

"I was there, too. My best friend was apparently the one who told him to fuck other girls, I cannot tell you how big of a fight we got into when I confronted him about it. It was so ugly, and I was pissed for so long."

"Wonwoo is also one to fucking talk, he's been stuck on one of my friends for ages. Last time he visited, I swear he lost his mind seeing her in her bikini." Soonyoung scoffs, and you nod quietly, "Chan is a dumbass, you're right."

"How long did it take you to move on? Did you?" Mingyu asks, propping himself up on his elbows. You frown, shaking your head. "I slept with one other guy, a year ago. It was okay, but you know." "It wasn't Chan." Soonyoung says softly, and you only slump in your chair. "I felt so pathetic. I still do, sometimes. It's hard not to think about those other girls when he's constantly just…there. He's both the angel and devil on my shoulder, he's consistently encouraging me but then he comes home for the holidays with me and he hurts my feelings." Mingyu sits up fully, a furrow on his brow as he looks at you.

"What do you mean?" "Ugh, it doesn't matter. It was stupid, and he apologized but now…now he's acting like he's in love with me, still. And I…don't know how to take it, or if I should believe him." You murmur, covering your face with your hands as Soonyoung hums. "Well, what did he say to make you think he's still in love with you?" "He said it, verbatim. He says he loves me, he said he wanted to try to win me back. He said that nothing meant anything to him after we broke up, and that he's looked for me in every girl he's been with since." Your voice is slightly muffled by your gloves, and you miss the endeared glances Soonyoung and Mingyu share.

"Then there you have it, Y/N. Not much to question when he's so outright, is there?" Soonyoung speaks around his cup, and you sigh, pushing yourself off the chair. "I guess…I don't know. We're taking a drive after dinner tonight, we might talk then. When do you guys leave?" "In about two hours. But, give us your contact information, you're funny." Mingyu holds his phone out, and you roll your eyes but quickly type in your information. Soonyoung hands you his as well, and they both send you a text to confirm their numbers. You give them each a hug goodbye, with Mingyu pinching your cheek and telling you to just go with the flow. Soonyoung ruffles your hair and tells you that at the end of the day, Chan is just a man and no matter how much you love him, you've got to put yourself first.

And you agree.

You don't get a chance to check in with Chan after saying goodbye to his cousins, because your father ropes you into waking Rosie up and helping her get dressed for dinner. You're holed away in her room, carefully curling her hair when she asks you about Chan.

"Do you hold hands with him?" She asks you suddenly, and you look at her in the mirror, the bathroom light making her dress glitter brighter. Hers was a soft ivory color, likely one to match your mother's. Your father had told you he'd get a champagne tie and pocket square so you'd all look cohesive, and you'd agreed as he left you to babysit Rosie – only for your mother to bang around in the kitchen moments after he left.

"With who, babycakes?" "With Channie, Y/N!" She whines as you spray her hair, and you snort. "Sometimes. When we cross the street, or sometimes just because. He's my best friend, we can do stuff like that." "Have you ever had a crush on him, Y/N?" She wiggles her eyebrows in the mirror, and you laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "Yeah, I have. You can have crushes on your friends, it's very common. It's not always the best idea, though. It can be really hurtful if they don't like you back." "So were you boyfriend and girlfriend or not? Because you say no but Mommy said yes." She got you, hook, line and sinker. You gape at her, and her eyes are pointed as you scoff. "Okay, fine. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for a little bit." "A little bit!? Why not forever? Ugh!" She gripes, and you can only hold back your shock as you smear a little bit of sunscreen on her face. "Well, sometimes things just don't work out, babycakes. Plus, Channie and I will always be best friends." "Daddy told me that he and Mommy were best friends and now they're married. Maybe you and Channie can get married, too!"

You feel your chest grow warm at the idea of marrying Chan, and the fact that Rosie liked him so much that she wanted that for you. You recall your father also telling you the story of how he and your mother met, and why he was so adamant that you and Chan would figure it out. He told you that story so many times over the years, you had it practically memorized.

"Maybe, Rosie." You grin, kissing her nose. "No promises." "It's okay, Channie promised me." She shrugs, climbing out of her chair as you freeze. "What? What'd you say?" "I said, Channie promised me. I asked him yesterday when we were playing Barbies in the car. But it's a secret, so don't tell him I told you." She says sternly, making you gape as she abandons you to find your mother downstairs. You take a deep breath, ignoring the way your stomach fills with fluttering as you make your way downstairs. You see Chan sitting at the dinner table, hair mussed from the wind outside as your mother serves him a cup of coffee. His eyes catch yours, and you quickly look away as you jump the rest of the stairs and dart into your bedroom.

You barely make it to your bedroom without the tears spilling down your face, and you lock the door behind you. You slide down the door, pulling your knees to your chest as you think back to all the moments between you and Chan. All the times he said he loved you, all the times he said he couldn't imagine a life without you.

The time in the backseat of his car, almost three years to the date – where he said both over and over again. Where he dragged his lips anywhere you'd let him, whispers of how perfect you were for him and how insane you made him feel. Where he made you cry as he touched you just right, biting at your shoulders and digging his dull nails into your hips.

Where he told you that you'd tattooed your name across his heart and it was yours forever.

Your body shook with ragged sobs, and you forced yourself to get up off the floor as regret only sank further in. You broke up with him. It was the right thing to do, for the sake of your friendship and the idea of any future together. It was the right thing to do.

"Fuck." You hold yourself over the sink of your bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and letting it drip into the basin. Your tears mixed with the water, and you hear a soft knock at your bedroom door, before the doorknob wiggles. "Y/N? Are you alright in there?" It's your father. You quickly dry your face with a towel, tossing it into the sink before ripping the door open. "Hey, Dad. D'ya get your stuff?" "Honey, are you alright?" His face is worried as his hand comes up to your cheek, and you quickly nod. "I'm good, I promise. I just had one of those moments, you know. Seasonal depresh and what not." He quirks a brow at you, "Seasonal depresh?"

"Dad!" You whine, and he shrugs. "Yes, I got my pocket square. Can you check if it matches your dress? Oh, tell me you're gonna go for curls this year, because your mom is and she's mad that Rosie's are 'too tight.'" He rolls his eyes at the same time you do, making you snort. "Yeah, I'll check. I'm gonna start getting ready now, can you let Chan know so he doesn't come barging in here?" "He's at his house, he just left. He'll be driving you both, though, so you can be comfortable in your shoes." He nods, and you take the pocket square. "I'll get this to you when I'm done, okay?" "For sure, honey. I'll be back later, don't rush." He nods, closing the door as he leaves. You toss the pocket square onto the vanity, before looking into it with a slightly defeated look. You grimace, before grabbing a towel out of one of your drawers.

It didn't take you too long to get ready – you got in and out of the shower, and did your hair within two hours. Your makeup was done an hour later, with Rosie barging into your room and demanding you put lipstick on her, too. You rolled your eyes at her, telling her to say please, telling her to say thank you – both of which she did after you swiped the wine red on her lips. She scampered out of your room as you slipped into your closet, your mother appearing in your doorway to offer her help with zipping you up.

"You look just like me sometimes." She murmurs as she zips the dress, her fingers nimbly hooking the clasp at the top. She runs her fingers through the large curls you'd given yourself, smiling at you in the mirror. You give her a weak one in return, when she sighs, her hands on your shoulders.

"I wanted to apologize, baby." Her eyes are worried as you glance at them through the mirror, your fingers fumbling with the jewelry box in front of you. "Apologize? For what?" "A few years ago, I told you that I thought you were a little too harsh with your words around Chan. I think I went as far as calling you the brute of the relationship, didn't I?" She asks softly, and you look away as you tongue at your lower lip. "Yeah." "I'm sorry. I spoke to Chan earlier after his cousins left, he came in for a cup of coffee before he went to go get ready for dinner. I asked him a few questions about you, and he told me what he said to you a few days ago." She tucks a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at the hoops she'd given you so many years ago. "It was really shitty of him to speak to you that way, and I told him so. I also told him that if he thinks he has even a remote chance of fixing things with you, that he better get on it soon. You're too kind for your own good sometimes, darling." "You think so?" You mumble, your eyes falling on a necklace Chan gave you for your birthday the year Rosie was born. You hadn't had a party that year, insisting Rosie was more important than anything else. He'd given it to you anyway, on the bus the morning of your birthday. You cried like a baby into his shoulder.

"I know so, honey. I know that somewhere in that heart of yours, you're waiting for him to make things right. Sometimes, I don't agree with it, but I also know you. I know you don't give anyone who doesn't deserve a second chance even a moment to speak to you. You're strong like that, just like your father."

You smile inwardly, her fingers lightly pinching your cheek. "I know you're good at taking care of yourself, but I also know Chan can take good care of you, too. I want you to be happy, and I know Chan makes you happier. You should've seen how you came into the house that year you were dating. You were smiling from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat." She leaves with a kiss to your cheek, careful not to smudge her own lipstick onto it. She closes the door quietly, but not before you hear the Lees greet your father warmly as they filed into your home. You thumb at the necklace, the simple heart-shaped locket opening to a picture of you and Chan as teenagers. You often wore it open, liking when people asked you questions about the picture. No bigger than a coin, the gold locket has always been something you carried with you even if you didn't wear it.

"Y/N, I'm here for my pocket square!" Your father knocks on the door, and you open the door, holding it out. "Here you go." "Oh, honey! You look so pretty!" Your father covers his face as you spin, before he takes his pocket square. "Wow, you look so much like your mother sometimes." "Funny, she said the same thing." You snort, and he uses the vanity in your bedroom to fix his pocket square carefully. "We discussed seating charts, you're sitting between Chan and Rosie. Is that okay, or should I switch one of them out?" "That's fine. Can you actually send Chan in here? I need to talk to him." You nod, and your father glances at you in the mirror. "Are you sure?" "Positive. Won't take long."

Your father leaves with a kiss to your hairline, and you fumble with the necklace until you hear footsteps outside your door. You lean carefully, hearing a deep breath before a knock. "Come in." Chan slides through the door with closed eyes, almost like he's bracing himself for something. You snort, "What the hell is wrong with you? Open your eyes." "Your dad said you need to talk to me, and if you're going to dump me again, I don't need you to look beautiful doing it." He rushes out, making you gape. "Chan." "I'm serious. I haven't seen you yet but I know you look great. I mean, you always look amazing but I don't think I can handle you dumping me on Christmas Eve when you're in one of those pretty dresses you always wear." He can hardly breathe, and you can't help but laugh. "Nobody's getting dumped, please relax. I just need your help putting my necklace on." "I don't believe you, you could've asked your dad." He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut so tightly you're worried they might never open again. You walk over to him, running your fingers through his hair carefully, before thumbing at the small silver hoop in his ear. "You know we're not exactly together, right?" "In my mind, we've been married since we were in second grade and Hyewon officiated it." He scoffs, and you quirk an eyebrow. "Is that why you promised my sister we'd get married?" His eyes open wide, his lips parting slightly. "She told you?" "Oh good, your eyes are open. Help me put this on." You turn around, grabbing the necklace off your vanity. You pinch the chain carefully, holding it out to him when you look up to see his hand covering his mouth. His eyes rake over you slowly, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as he walks around you. You shift uneasily as he makes it back in front of you, "Do I look okay?" "Okay?" He whispers, making you look in the mirror. You run your hands down the bodice of the dress, "Is it too much?" "Too much?" He's still whispering, his eyes still running up and down your frame as you grow nervous. "Chan! You're freaking me out!" "Oh, baby." He murmurs, taking a few steps closer to you, taking your hand gently and making you spin for him. You feel nerves settle in your stomach, when he finally speaks. "You look so beautiful. I truly don't think words can express how absolutely angelic you look, are you real? Please tell me you're real, this would be a cruel dream." His eyes are wide and slightly glossy as he turns around, and you hear a soft sniffle. You watch his hands move around his face from behind him, your eyes growing wide as he turns back around, teary-eyed as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "No, it's not too much. You're never too much. You look great. Are you ready?" You gawk at him, "Chan, why are you crying?" "Nevermind that." He shakes his head, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. Your brows are furrowed, and you hold out the necklace. "Help me put this on." He glances at the necklace, his cheeks and ears burning a soft pink hue as you spin around, moving your hair to the front. He sighs shakily, carefully looping the locket around your neck and clipping it. You adjust the locket, your lips pursed as you open it. "Wear it like that." He speaks behind you, his hand appearing on your hip in the reflection. You raise a brow, closing the locket only to hear a whine as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you open it, adjusting it to show the small photo of the two of you. "How was saying goodbye to your cousins? They had a lot to say about you." "It was fine. We sent them off with your mom's leftover cake, and Soonyoung finished it in the car before they even drove off. Mingyu was pissed." He snorts, and you hum quietly, reaching for the jewelry box once more. You sifted through your rings, Chan pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

"I missed you." He pouts, and you give him a half-smirk as you peer down at him. "Did you, now?" "Stop talking to me like that, I'll get hard. You did it earlier too, but I was ashamed then, there were people around." He buries his face into your neck, and you snort out a laugh. "What are you talking about? I'm not talking to you in any sort of way." "Oh, so telling me to fetch like a dog isn't talking down to me?" He scoffs, cheeks aflame as he meets your eyes in the mirror. You suck your teeth, sliding on one of your rings with a shake of your head. "You liked that? You're something else, Chan." "I've literally always been like this, you just didn't notice before." Rolling his eyes, he wraps his arms around your waist. This is when you notice his suit jacket cuffed with silver cufflinks, a gift from your father years ago for graduation. You twist slightly, the top two buttons of his black shirt undone to show off a few layered chains. Some were gifts from you.

Your hand pushes him back slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as he lets you run yours all over him. Your fingers tug at his belt buckle, "You look really nice." "You can do better than that." He chides, and you swallow a scoff but roll your eyes as you pull him to you by his belt loop. You press your lips to his lightly, "You take what you're given, or nothing at all." He breathes out heavily against your lips, and you move your hand to rest on his stomach. "Are you ready? They're going to want to take pictures before we leave."

He can't reply, the two of you springing apart when you hear a knock at the door. You cough as Chan blinks, before opening it to reveal Rosie. "Hi, pipsqueak." "Mommy said that if you're not in the living room, she's going to leave you both here." She relays with a roll of her eyes, and you hold back a snort. "Can't have that, can we?" Rosie asks Chan to pick her up as you slide on one last ring, your fingers fumbling with the lights. Rosie's pink cast is around Chan's neck as he holds her on his hip, and you instinctively slot your fingers with his before remembering your parents will see you. He squeezes your fingers lightly, a sheepish smile on his lips as you let go.

"Wow!" Mrs. Lee is the first person you hear as you step into the living room, your cheeks burning as she clambers over. "Look at you, honey! Oh, you're so grown up." Her hands are tucking your hair behind your ears, the both of you missing the way Chan's eyes fill with adoration as he delivers Rosie to your father. He clears his throat inwardly, watching the way your parents move in front of your fireplace for photos. He can't keep his eyes off you the entire time, even as his parents shove the two of you together for a photo.

"Chan, don't act like you did on prom night. Act like you wanna be here." Your mother scolds him playfully, and you feel your heart flutter as you tug his arm around your waist. His fingers easily settle low on your hip, your own finding his shoulder and you rest your cheek on top. "Smile!" Chan's fingers squeeze your hip as everyone turns away, sneakily pressing his lips to your temple as you begin to move away. Your eyes are wide as he walks away, grabbing your coat off your father's hands and helping you slide it on from behind. Everyone is trying to help Rosie, and he takes the opportunity to whisper in your ear.

"I'm so in love with you. I wish things were different right now." He sighs, carefully tucking your hair into the hood of your coat. You feel your cheeks heat as you turn so he can zip it up, wrapping your scarf loosely around your neck as he connects the zipper at the bottom. 

"I know. Eventually, okay? Just give me some time." You mumble back, tucking the end of your scarf into the coat as he nods defeatedly. You resist the urge to caress his cheek, run your fingers through his hair, kiss him. A weak smile is all you can muster as he straightens fully, adjusting your scarf so the zipper won't snag.

Your parents are looking your way, your mother watching the way Chan carefully zips your coat up. Your father smiles as he makes your mother turn away, "Your keys are in Chan's coat. Lock the door, come on." The two of you scramble behind your parents, Chan hastily shoving his coat on as you wrap his scarf around him as he walks forward. You tuck it into the coat as he zips himself up, his hand holding you steady in your heels as you step onto the porch. He locks the door quickly, trying the doorknob twice as your father helps your mother down the steps, and he offers his hand when he looks at your feet. "Y/N, why are your shoes open-toed? Are you out of your mind?" "I didn't have any heels that matched! It'll be fine!" You huff, and he gestures at the snowy pathway leading to your car. "Your toes are going to freeze and then you're going to get sick and die. Do you want to get sick and die, Y/N?" He scoffs, and you feel your scream caught in your throat as he picks you up princess-style. "Chan! Put me down!" He ignores you as he steps off the porch, carefully maneuvering his way to your car as you huff. Your lip is jutted out in a pout as he unlocks your car, bending at the knee to open your door and carefully set you down on the seat. He buckles your seatbelt in for you as your father pulls out of the driveway, giving you a honk as he turns out of your neighborhood. Chan shuts your door, rounding the front of the car to the driver's side. "You didn't have to do that." You mutter as he slides in, sticking the keys into the ignition as he shivers. "Yes, I did. Don't be brat, just let me take care of you." You don't reply, picking at your nails as he plugs his phone into the aux, handing it to you. Shuffling one of his playlists, the two of you freeze as you hear the opening notes of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic flow through the speakers. Chan purses his lips, single handedly unplugging his phone and tossing it into the backseat. "Nope. No music tonight, it seems."

"I thought you liked that song." You reach for his phone, grabbing it off the edge of the backseat and sliding it into the cupholder as he pulls out of the neighborhood. He has a tick in his jaw as he flicks on the turn signal, "I like it when we're in the backseat and you're on top of me, not when I'm driving you to dinner and not when you're in my clothes on the drive to your house." Your jaw could very well be on the floor the way you're gaping at him, his fingers reaching over to close your mouth. "Chan." "What? I think about that night all the time." He scoffs, turning onto the main street that makes the drive to your mother's restaurant five minutes longer. His hand floats down to your thigh, settling high on it through the slit of your dress. Tonguing your cheek, you stare out the window as your hand settles atop his. "You mean the night that–" "Shut up." You snicker to yourself, sliding your fingers between his. "You know it's not the worst thing in the world, right? Tons of people have breeding kinks." He winces as you say it, making a strangled noise of discomfort from his seat before glancing at you. "Y/N, I want you to take a really good look at me right now and tell me that it wasn't weird." He scoffs, and you shrug, facing him.

"It wasn't weird. I liked it." You admit, "I think the slightly weirder part was calling you daddy, but some things you do out of…you know." You trail off, feeling your cheeks hot as you look out the window. Chan makes a noise of approval, his hand flipping beneath yours to interlace your fingers. He brings your knuckles to his lips, a chaste kiss pressed on top of your rings. "I know, babe." The rest of the ride is silent, some shy glances shared before you pull into the parking lot where your father is waiting with Rosie. You smile, squeezing his hand in the shadow of the center console before letting go. Chan pulls around the building, looking for a parking spot. "We're still taking that drive later, right?" "If you're not too tired, or drunk." He snorts, and you gasp, landing a soft smack to his arm. "I got drunk one time!" "You called me daddy one time, I think that goes to show that you're game for anything at least once." He teases, and you sigh inwardly. "I guess that's true." "I know it is, I know you like the back of my hand. I love you." He says, mostly to himself as he pulls into a spot just a few feet from the door. Killing the engine, he looks over the steering wheel at your father. "Can your dad see us from here?" "I don't think so, he's entertaining Rosie. Why?" You unbuckle your seatbelt as he gets out, and you feel the door close as he rounds the car to open your door. You wait, before feeling the cold gust of winter air rush into the car. You shiver, grabbing Chan's phone out of the cupholder and taking his hand to step out. He pulls you close, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears as you look into his eyes. "Something wrong?" "No." He shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he thumbs at your earlobes. You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" "Don't drink tonight." He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you nod slowly. "Any special reason?" 

He shrugs, before looping his arm with yours and pulling you towards the front of the restaurant. You can't help but look up at him with a shy smile as he guides you around piles of snow, before seeing the flash of a camera. You blink rapidly, before looking up to see your father holding Rosie on his hip, her hands holding a camera. Chan greets your father warmly, and Rosie shows him the photo. "Can I see, too?" You ask, peering over Chan's shoulder when Rosie tilts it away. "No." Your pout does nothing to sway your baby sister, making Chan snicker at you. The four of you walk into the restaurant, the warm air of the establishment like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. "I still can't believe your parents named both their businesses after you." Chan murmurs as you walk to the reserved room your mother arranges every year, and you snort.

"What can I say, they love me." You shrug, resting your head on his shoulder. Rosie looks over your father's shoulder, a crinkle in her nose as she sees the closeness between the two of you. "Are you sure you're not boyfriend and girlfriend?" "We're sure, babycakes." You laugh softly, moving to pull yourself away from Chan but feeling his fingers interlace with yours before you can. You glance at him, only to see him sticking his tongue out at Rosie, who blows a raspberry at him. A pit of anxiety opens in your stomach as your father opens the door for you both, letting you slip by when you feel Chan's fingers let go of yours, and a murmur of Can I talk to you, sir?

Rosie enters with you, Chan and your father lingering at the door before they take a turn back outside. Your eyes widen as Rosie leads you to the table, your mother sharing the same quizzical look. "Y/N, where's Chan? Did you guys fight?" "No, no. He's…he's with Dad." You reply absently, pulling your coat off as your mother helps Rosie out of hers. The table is set and covered entirely with food, the roast pig being the main attraction in the center of the table. You find your seat, pulling Rosie closer to you to fill the strange pit you feel. Chan and your father don't appear for another ten minutes, but they're both rather stoic as they enter – but you see a soft smile on his face as Chan takes his seat opposite your father.

"Everything okay?" Mrs. Lee asks gently, and Chan nods. "Don't worry, all good." If anyone notices how quiet you are during dinner, they don't say anything. You feel the heat of Chan's gaze more than once, but everyone is too wrapped up in the food and the conversation – to even notice the fact that Rosie fell asleep into her mashed potatoes. You're the one who realizes she's fallen asleep, cooing as you carefully wipe her face and wrap her coat around her as her head lolls onto your arm. You scoot closer, lifting her onto your lap and resting her head on your chest.

"Did she fall asleep?" Your mother asks incredulously, making you snort. "Right into her mashed potatoes. Don't worry, I got it." You wrap your arms around her, leaning back in your chair. "Your dinner, though?" Your mother points at your picked plate, and you shrug. "I'll take it home. No big deal, I'm not exactly hungry. I could fall asleep right now, too." You shake your head, running your fingers through your sister's hair. Your mother nods, beckoning one of her waitstaff to wrap the plate up for you. His name is Hansol, and he carefully takes your plate and disappears with it.

Dinner continues for a few more hours, and you reach over to Chan and tug on his sleeve. He gives you a glance, concern in his eyes before you tap your wrist. He checks his watch, flashing it to you. Midnight. You wince, looking over to your father to see him glancing at his own watch. "Oh, man. It's really late, we should get going." He hisses, and your mother's eyes widen as she sees the time. "Shit, I told them we'd be out by eleven. Alright, up. Let's get going." Your father takes Rosie from your lap, and your mother carefully pulls her coat over the pink cast. You watch tentatively, ready to step in at any moment when you feel Chan's hand on your shoulder. Jumping slightly, you feel the soft fabric of your coat. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Arms, please." You don't look at him as he works around you, until Rosie is on your father's hip and Chan is wrapping your scarf around you. "You're distracted tonight. Everything okay?" Chan's voice is soft as he zips your coat up, his own already settled on his frame. "What did you and my dad talk about?" You blurt, and he raises a brow as he follows the four parents out of the room, who are still chattering about everything and anything. He scans your face, concern weighing heavy on his brows before he smiles. "I didn't ask him to marry you, if that's what you're worried about. That's further down the line." Seeing the way your shoulders settle, Chan loops his arm with yours. "Did you want me to ask him?" You don't respond, letting him lead you out of the restaurant. Your parents are all still talking as your father buckles Rosie into her carseat, her eyes opening slightly as you pass by. You wave at her, only for her eyes to close again. Smiling to yourself, you wait for your parents to acknowledge you and Chan waiting by the front of your father's SUV.

"Going for a drive?" Your mother asks gently, and you nod. "Home soon, don't worry." You hold your pinky out, only for your father to clasp it with his own. "Take your time. Drive safe."

Your eyes search your father for answers, and he only smiles. "See you at home, honey."

Nodding slowly, you and Chan bid your parents goodnight, your mother's eyes lingering as Chan walks you back to the car. You can feel your chest a bit tight as he opens your door, but give him a strained smile as he gets into the driver's seat.

"Alright, what's eating you? Besides me." He jokes lightly, pulling out of the parking lot. You see your parents' car already at the stoplight in the street, the light turning green just as Chan pulls into the street. "Nothing." "You're lying." He plugs his phone into the aux as the light turns red, a click of his tongue as he presses shuffle on yet another random playlist. The soft melody of Scared To Live by The Weekend pours out of your speakers as he takes the oh-so-familiar turn down the same road you've taken this drive on every year. It's scenic, it's always decked with Christmas lights and it leads you right to a random cliff that overlooks the entire city. You sigh as he holds his hand out for yours, interlacing your fingers and leaning back on the headrest. You recline your seat a bit, crossing your legs at the knee. He lets go of your hand and you cover your face with your arms, his fingers sliding up and down your exposed thigh.

"You can always talk to me, you know." He murmurs over the music, this time it's Fantasy by Bazzi. You nod silently, hearing a hum from him as he traces circles into your skin with his thumb. The drive is silent aside from the music, Chan's comfort seeping into your body via his hand and your shoulders losing their tension as he pulls into the deserted cliff. You'd found it years before you went to college, and enjoyed retreating there to get high together behind your parents' backs. You also exchanged one Christmas gift here every year, basking in the privacy and security of each other's warmth on the hood of whoever's car you took that time.

"So? What's going on?" He parks the car, lowering the music as he turns to look at you. You peek at him from beneath your arms, a pout on your lips. "Nothing, really. I'm good."

Chan moves your arms from your face, his fingers coming to poke at your cheeks with every word. 'You are such a bad liar, baby."

You groan, "It's stupid. It's so stupid because you're probably not going to have to deal with until you're in your fucking thirties but I've been dealing with it since I was in high school." Your pout makes Chan thumb at your lip, an understanding look in his eyes. "You mean that same conversation your parents keep having with you about having kids and getting married?" "Yes! Ugh, that's why I was so quiet at dinner. And why I was so pissy on the way here from campus. I do not want to have this fucking conversation again this year, especially when I don't even know what's going to happen when we leave." You fall back into your seat, feeling Chan's hand cup your knee. "I'm so sick of being asked the same shit, I'll get married when I get married and I'll have kids when I have kids. What about my career? No one but you and my dad ask about what I want to do after college. What if I want a master's degree? What if I want a doctorate?" Chan listens intently, his eyes flowing between worried and understanding. "Well, what if? Do you want to do that? What do you want to do after we graduate? Do you want to move back here, do you want to move somewhere else, do you want to pursue something more? Do you want to work full-time?" "What does it matter what I want? You want to get married, Chan." You sigh, and he shakes his head. "It matters because you're your own person, not an extension of me. I don't want to get married if you don't want to, and definitely not if we're not well established. Stable present makes for a stable future, and I want things to be just as easy as they always have been between you and me. You call my name, I come. If time is the issue, I'll wait. I waited my entire life before freshman year, and I've waited three years since then."

You peer up at him, "So you're serious about marrying me? You weren't kidding?" "Respectfully, I don't think you've ever sounded more insane than you do right now." He scoffs, sitting up and pulling you with him. Your lip is jutted out in a slight pout as you thumb the seam of your dress, Chan's fingers grazing your jaw as he makes you look at him. 

"I love you, Y/N. I'd wait an eternity for you, as long as you're happy. I want you to feel fulfilled, and I know that you're not going to if I try to tie you down with bullshit. Yes, I want to get married. Yes, I want to marry you. You've seen me through every stage of my life and as painful as it may have been for you because I've been an absolute douche, you stuck by me. I don't know how else to make you understand that you're important to me, and that includes embracing who you are as an individual. Even if you say no to anything I offer, the house, the ring, the kids, the fucking pursuit of happiness by my side…none of it matters as long as I know that you're happy with yourself." You don't realize you're crying until his thumbs wipe at your cheeks, his fingers tucking your hair behind your ears. "I love you, endlessly. I'll always be here, and I know maybe that's not what you need to hear to be comforted but I need you to know that." You sniffle slightly, "What if my mother pressures me enough that I make a rash decision? What if she manages to get to me just like she always has?" "She won't. Even if she did, I know you in ways she doesn't. I know every side of your heart, I know how kind and forgiving it can be and I know how cold and cruel it can be. I know you're strong and independent and you don't need me to ever speak up on your behalf, but if ever your voice is lost on you, I can. I have, and I will continue to do so. Your honor is mine, even if mine isn't yours."

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, wanting the conversation to end. "I forgot your gift at the house. I'm sorry." 

"That's alright. I still have yours, if you want to go sit while I get the blanket." He presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, allowing you to change the subject. "I feel bad, though." "Go sit for me." He nips at your ear, making you jolt as you shove him. He smirks as you scoff, wiping at your face carefully as you open the door and step out. You shudder as the cold hits your feet, but you hoist yourself onto the hood of your car as Chan pulls the thick blanket you brought from your apartment out of your trunk. The metal is still warm before you feel him kill the engine, the motor dying under you as he shuts the door, shoving your keys into his pocket. He drapes the blanket over your face as you feel him grab your ankle. Jolting, you push the blanket off, seeing a pair of socks clenched between his teeth as he undoes the strap of your shoe.

"Where the fuck did you find those?" You let him slide the black sock over your foot, and he shrugs. "Your cheer bag is still in the trunk. I know these are new, though, because I put them in there before we left for practice last week." He shrugs, slipping off the other shoe and putting the sock on, covering you with the blanket once more as he rounds the car to throw the shoes into the backseat. You stare at the clear sky as he slides onto the hood next to you, a soft sigh from his lips as you drape the blanket over his leg.

"I didn't ask your dad to marry you, I promise. I just talked to him about how I felt and what he thinks I should do." You hear him say softly, and you turn to see him looking at you already. Your brow raises, and he holds up a white box. It's from the jewelry store you found Rosie and Mrs. Lee in when you went to the mall, the silver logo stamped on the top. "He said I should be honest and tell you what I want, and listen to what you have to say. So, uhm…this is more for you and I than anyone else, but I…I understand if you don't want it." He pops it open, a slim gold band slotted into the cushion with a thicker one, presumably for him. The rings are studded with stones, emeralds and sapphires with smaller white diamonds scattered about. You look at him, a certain softness to your gaze that has only ever been present for him.

"A promise ring?" He shifts under your gaze, cheeks tinging pink as he sits up, sliding off the hood of the car. He paces slightly, "I know it's so…ugh, it's so high school. And we're not even together, and I'm willing to wait–" "I'm not." You interrupt, "I'm tired of waiting, Chan."

His eyes are wide as you shrug, holding your hand out for the box. "Can I see?" He hands it to you, your fingers pinching the delicate band and holding it up to your eyes. "Is this what you bought when you were fighting your mom at the register?" "It's also why your class ring went missing last month, but that's neither here nor there." He admits sheepishly, making you gape. "You took it! You little rat, I knew you had something to do with it."

"I needed it for the sizing! And I got it back! Do you…do you like it?" He asks shyly, resting his hands on either side of your legs as he leans closer to you. You nod, "I love it, it's beautiful. Good eye, I guess." "Can't you just give me a compliment without making it sound so forced?" He rolls his eyes as you replace the ring, holding the box in your hand. You shake your head, "I'll have a lifetime to do that. Do I get to put yours on for you?" "You're taking it? You're saying yes, I mean?" His eyes are wide as he scans your face, and you scoff. "Obviously? We still have a lot of growing to do, but I don't take the steps to make a decision unless I know it's the right thing to do. You know that." "Including breaking up with me on my birthday?" "Including saying yes when you ask me to be your girlfriend in about two minutes. I should make you wait, but I'm impatient." He rolls his eyes, leaning slightly closer. You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his, feeling your cheeks heat as he brushes his lips to yours. "I love you." "You're right, I do deflect a lot." He laughs, peppering kisses around your face as you scrunch your nose. "Be my girlfriend, please. I'd be nothing of a man without you." "I mean, I guess if you want me that bad–" "Respond properly or I'm taking your socks off." "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend." You roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to his lips. He kisses you back softly, his hands moving to hold your face carefully. "You know the ring means you'll also say yes to being my fiancée and then my wife, right?" He speaks against your lips, kissing you between words. "Mhm." You hum in response, before taking the thicker ring out of the box in your hand. "Let me put this on you. You can't take it off, like, ever."

"Wait, you first." He pulls away, taking the ring out of the box and sliding it into his coat pocket. He takes your hand in his carefully, "I think I'm gonna cry." "That's okay. I've seen you cry before. I've seen you throw up and I still think you're a pretty okay guy." You joke to ease him, noting the way his fingers tremble slightly as they slide the ring down your finger. It fits snugly, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before looking up at you. "Are you sure?" "Are you?" You hold up his ring, and he nods slowly. "If I'm not sure of anything else in this life, I have the comfort of knowing I'll always be sure of you." "When did you become so profound?" You tease, slipping the ring down his finger. He scoffs, "What part of you deflect and I don't did you forget? I've always been this way! You've just gotten good at ignoring me because you don't like to admit my compliments make you feel some type of way." "You just make me nervous." You confess quietly, tugging on the lapel of his coat. "You think you don't make me nervous? I can't talk to you sometimes without getting my tongue twisted."

"Your tongue does better things than talk, Chan." "I thought we were having a wholesome moment here." He flicks your forehead, your hand moving up to swat his hand away. He grabs it midair, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. "Are we still keeping this under wraps?" Your eyes widen, "Shit, are we?" "I mean…my mom knows I got these." He winces, and you click your tongue. "Your mom also told me you're a crybaby who called her and said I broke your heart."

"I may be a crybaby but at least I can tell someone when I love them." He scoffs, making you furrow your brows. "You wanna play that game? Because I have so much shit from Soonyoung and Mingyu, too." "Tell me you love me!" He whines, and you roll your eyes. "I'm your girlfriend, not your puppet. I'll tell you when I'm good and damn ready." "Great, I'm ending the year with a girlfriend that hates me." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before sucking his teeth. "I did this to myself." "If you get me out of the cold within the next twenty seconds, I'll let you go down on me when we get home." You offer, before a shriek rips through you as he throws you over his shoulder. 

"As you wish, girlfriend."

DECEMBER 31, 9:42PM.

Chan in fact, did go down on you when you got home. Twice on your bed without even taking your dress off, and once in the shower. Your legs could barely hold you up, but that doesn't really matter when your boyfriend forgets his own strength while pinning you against the bath tile.

Christmas Day was rather uneventful aside from unwrapping gifts, with Rosie screaming excitedly about the extensive sets of Legos and Barbie dolls you and Chan got for her. Your parents gifted you and Chan a vacation to Bali, set for after your graduation, as well as a new pair of earrings. The Lees gave you a rush of nostalgia as they gave you yet another locket, this one with a picture of you and Chan as babies.

Chan watched the exchanges quietly, and the night concluded with you and him falling asleep watching a movie in your bed. His parents never did make him move to his bedroom after Mingyu and Soonyoung left, and your parents didn't mind him staying so long as you were fine with it. You still didn't fuck him, but he was perfectly content with waiting – so long as you didn't mind his tongue between your thighs in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn. You spent the next few days simply existing within your families. You got your nails done with Mrs. Lee, and took Rosie along with you. Rosie got her cast off and cried when the physician cut through your signature, tears only stopped by a scoop of chocolate almond ice cream on a waffle cone. You spent a bit of time with your mother at the restaurant, tasting a few of her new recipes and coming home to sleep in Chan's arms with a stomach ache from all the food. Per usual, Chan continued his whispered sweet nothings and you shied away from him often, only for him to pull you back into his embrace and kiss you until you couldn't breathe, followed by murmurs of I love you. 

The days were quiet, and your families were slowly growing used to having you and Chan around – something that always backfired on them, because the two of you usually left a day or two after ringing in the New Year together. It helped you beat the traffic back, and it helped you decompress from spending so much time with Chan.

Not that you'd need to do that this time…because, well. You know.

"Do I look okay?" You ask your mother for the billionth time, smoothing your hands over the front of your dress. She rolls her eyes as she sprays a bit of perfume in the middle of your back, making you flinch at the sensation. "You look lovely, darling. Please, get a grip! This is just the same people we've rung the New Year in with every year. Nothing new, nothing to be nervous about."

Your mother sprays perfume on her wrists, before dabbing them on her neck. "Go downstairs, check on Rosie. I'm going to be so upset if your father let her have anything that could stain that dress, it was too expensive to ruin." You sigh shakily, looking at yourself in the full-length mirror your mother had in her bedroom. Your dress was black and glittery, ending at your mid-thigh with an open back that left little to the imagination as it stopped just at the dip of your spine. It had straps that sat off your shoulders with a low-cut neckline, and you only wore a necklace that Chan had bought to play off the rings he'd gotten you. It sat nicely at the base of your throat, the only gift he gave you in front of your parents.

"Y/N!" Rosie called from the bottom of the stairs as you reached the first one, and you smiled down at her as you made your way down. "Babycakes! You look so pretty in your dress!"

"Thank you!" She beams up at you, holding a pink lollipop in her hand. Your father is sitting on the couch, eyes closed as you walk up behind him. "Catching up on sleep, old man?" "You know it. I love having you kids here, but I'm exhausted from all the socializing. I only have so many things to say." He sighs, and you snort. "Don't worry, just a few more days. Chan and I are leaving on the third, I think."

It's not long before your mother comes downstairs, her dress a sparkly burgundy this year. Her lipstick matches it, and your father presses a kiss to her temple as he helps her tug her coat on. Rosie is settled on your hip, her head resting on your shoulder as the four of you walk over to the Lees, and you already regret the thin coat you chose to layer over your dress. You shiver as you walk up the steps to the porch, Rosie fighting sleep as you bounce her around.

"Don't sleep, Rosie! It's just a little party!" You wiggle her around, her giggle tired as your mother knocks on the front door. Chan appears as he throws it open, ushering everyone inside. His eyes meet yours, widening at the necklace sitting on your skin. You feel your cheeks heat as you walk past him, setting Rosie down and tugging her coat off as he closes the door. You lower to her height, "Don't fall asleep, okay? You feel sleepy, come find me." You tap her cheeks, and she nods as she trails off to find your mother, who is greeting Mrs. Lee with the bottle of wine you brought over. Chan helps you stand upright, a soft smile on his face as he pulls you into a hug. "I haven't seen you since this morning. I missed you, gorgeous." He mumbles into your ear, and you roll your eyes as you weasel out of his embrace. "You always miss me. I'm literally across the lawn." You tug your scarf off, and he takes it, his hand awaiting for your coat. "What did your dad make this year?" You nod in the direction of the kitchen, the rich smell of lemongrass and garlic filling the house. He opens his mouth to respond, only for his words to get caught in his throat as you slide your coat off, his eyes landing on the expanse of your back. It's speckled with glitter, courtesy of your mother, and you swing your hair behind you as you hand him your coat.

"What? Are you okay?" Your voice is concerned as you glance at him, your hands moving to smooth the front of your dress. He blinks, before his mother's voice cuts through the air. "Y/N! Oh my, let me see your dress! Give me a spin!" She sets her wine glass down on the table, and you give her a warm hug before she spins you around. "You look stunning! Come, we have to take your picture." You give Chan a glance over your shoulder, his ears red as he snaps out of his daze, hanging your coat on the door as Mrs. Lee pulls you into the living room with your parents. She poses you all in front of her Christmas tree, before it's just you and Rosie. Rosie yawns as Mrs. Lee takes the photo, and you tell her it's best to just let the kid take a nap. "You can put her down in the guest bedroom, but can I get a picture with you and Channie first?" She nods, and you open your mouth to protest but she calls him over before you can say anything. He looks a bit bewildered as he walks over, clearing his throat as he stands next to you. You feel an awkward air floating off of him as he makes no move to touch you, and Mrs. Lee huffs. You quickly wrap his arm around your waist like you did on Christmas Eve, expecting his hand to fall in the same low spot on your hip – but you feel it ghosting over your back as you resume the same position. You don't say anything, just smiling as Mrs. Lee snaps your photo. She thanks you, turning away with the permission to drop Rosie in the guest bedroom.

"Wanna tell me what your problem is?" You mutter to Chan, who sucks his teeth. "Wanna tell me why you wore this dress?" "Oh, so I'm the problem? Good to know." You grit, before you pick Rosie up off the couch, hoisting her over your shoulder as you make your way to the guest bedroom. Chan follows closely behind you without you realizing, and is leaning in the door frame as you tuck Rosie into the bed, carefully covering her with the blanket so as to not be blamed for creases in her dress. You kiss her forehead, walking out of the bedroom only to bump into Chan, who grabs your arm and pulls you into his bedroom with a quick tug. "Bro." You're frustrated, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pull your arm out of his grasp, only for him to pull you into him by your waist. "Don't call me bro, I literally made you cum on my tongue this morning." He scoffs, his grip is bruising against your skin. "Who's the insatiable one now? Over a dress? Really?" You roll your eyes, but it seems your boyfriend has no time for your goading as he pushes you against his door, lips pressed against yours in a searing kiss. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he slides his hands down your back. He pulls away with a nip to your lip, leaving you to pout as you chase after him. "Not just a dress, you in this fucking dress. What were you thinking?" "Wanted you to see me in it." You confess quietly, your eyes glued to his lips, now slightly stained with your red lipstick. He sighs, "Don't act cute. I can't be mad when you do that." "Don't be mad at me. Don't you think I look pretty?" Your eyes feign innocence, blinking up at him as he groans in lust-fueled frustration. "Not mad at you, baby. Never mad at you." He rests his forehead against yours, "I want you so fucking bad, it's pathetic." "Have me." You murmur, nosing at him as he shakes his head. "I can't, not right now. Certainly not in my parents' house." "Oh, but when it's my parents' house, it's fine??" You snort, making him laugh softly, brushing a kiss against your lips. "For old time's sake, I'll say yes. Keeping up with traditions and whatnot."

"They're gonna wonder where we are." You sigh, before feeling his hands travel further south. You swat them away, "If you're not gonna fuck me, you can't feel me up and leave me all needy. It's not fair." "I like it when you're needy." He kisses your jaw, and you scowl, pinching his nipple through his shirt. Of course, the rat bastard only leans into your touch, eliciting soft whine from his throat. "You're such a fucking freak!"

"You're literally the reason I'm this way. You're the blueprint." He rolls his eyes, before he turns you over, pushing your chest against the door as he presses his hips into you. Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh falling from your lips as he grinds against you. His fingers toy with the hem of your dress, shoving it up slightly when you hear a gasp from his lips.

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me." 

He moves away entirely, and you feel him sink to his knees behind you. He pushes your dress up, the fabric bunching around your hips to expose your bare ass. You'd forgone underwear in hopes of things going this direction tonight, but certainly not this early in the night. But by all means, you're willing to let bygones be bygones as long as Chan keeps touching you.

You can almost hear his internal battle as he pushes you forward a bit, spreading your thighs with his hands. "You're gonna kill me one day, aren't you? In cold blood. I'll be dead because you can't behave." He's fighting himself as you glance over your shoulder, a look feigning disinterest on your face as you shrug. "Take it or leave it."

He chooses to leave it, but not before sinking his teeth into your thigh, pinning your arm to your back when you reach to swat at him. "Chan!" "Shut up, they'll hear you." He rolls his eyes as he stands, using his free hand to massage the bitten area. "You can wait, right? It's only two hours." "I don't want to." You pout, pushing back against him. He lands a quick slap to the meat of your ass, your cheeks flushed as he whispers in your ear. "You're gonna have to, baby. Be a good girl for me, yeah?"

You huff, squirming against him when you feel his hand slip between your thighs. His fingertips drag slowly through your wet folds, just barely breaching your entrance when he pulls them away. "Open your mouth."

You turn to see him licking his fingers clean, your heart beating wildly in your chest as he repeats himself. "Open. Don't make me do it for you."

"Kiss me first." He does as you ask, tugging the fabric of your dress back down as he snakes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands fist at the lapels of his suit jacket, whining into his mouth before he pulls away. Your lips jut out in a pout, a soft chuckle from Chan before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Open up." You do as you're told, sticking your tongue out for him to spit onto. Your eyes flutter shut the moment you feel it, his hand on your jaw pulling you forward to kiss him. Your legs feel like jelly at his touch, feeling him mumble those three little words against your lips.

"I love you. Don't act up and I won't, either." He holds his pinky out, and you reluctantly link yours with it. He wipes the corners of your lips, "Go. I have to…calm down."

"Tell me you love me again." You look up at him, making him roll his eyes as he bites back a smile. "If I tell you again, will you get out?" "Maybe." You smile back, making him physically turn you, his hands on your shoulders as you turn the doorknob to his room. "I love you, baby. Now, go." You slink out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you slip into the bathroom. Your skin feels hot as you look in the mirror, your lipstick only slightly smudged – a blessing, truly. You pat your fingers over your swollen lips, before checking the hem of your dress. You tug it lower, making sure it covers everything before ruffling your hair and taking a deep breath.

Two hours. Easy.

Not easy.

It's been an hour and forty-five minutes, and you can feel your patience wearing thin as Chan acts like nothing happened.

He's standing across the room, talking to your mother with a soft smile on his face – just like he has been for the last thirty minutes. His wine is the same color as her dress, listening to her drone on and on about the benefits of turmeric in cooking as well as body products. Your cheek is resting on the heel of your palm, your other hand holding your second flute of champagne as you stare at your boyfriend without a care in the world – when you see a little head start floating your way, a frumpled blue dress catching your eye.

"Y/N?" She calls tiredly, rubbing her eyes as she looks around for you. "Babycakes! I'm over here, come sit with me!" You pat your lap, setting your champagne on the table as she makes her way over to you. She climbs into your lap and you smooth her hair down as she rests her head on your shoulder.

"How was your nap? Any good dreams?" You ask, twirling a piece of her hair in your fingers. She shakes her head, "No dreams. Just sleep." She shrugs, yawning as she buries her face into your neck. You wrap your arms around her, rocking back and forth and humming quietly.

It's not even five minutes when she falls limp with sleep in your arms, and you rest your cheek atop her head as Mrs. Lee makes way to you, her silver dress stunning as she extends her hands. "Do me a favor, honey. Go steal Chan from your mother, we're going to start the countdown soon and I'm sure you want to spend a few moments with him.” Her eyes twinkle like she knows something, taking Rosie from your lap. You nod sheepishly, standing up and tugging your dress down slightly. You grab your flute of champagne, smiling inwardly as you make your way across the living room to Chan's side. You squeeze your mother's shoulder lightly to get her attention, her voice stopping in the middle of a rosemary and thyme soap recipe she's reciting. "Yes, darling?" "Rosie's up. Might wanna check on her, I can't gauge if she'll sleep tonight." You wince, and your mother nods, putting her wine glass down on the coffee table. She walks away, your father joining her in the kitchen when you feel Chan's hand on your lower back. "Hey." He pulls you into his side, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You try not to lean into the touch, a soft smile on your lips. "Hey. Tired?" "Exhausted, actually. I do not want to be here right now." He sighs, and you open your mouth to reply when you see Mr. Lee turn the television on to the New Year's Eve countdown from the Lotte World Tower. You smile to yourself as Chan shuffles you both behind the couch, his hand keeping skin-on-skin contact the entire time. You miss the glance your father gives you as you lean your head on Chan's shoulder, the way Chan's fingers run up and down your side.

You miss the way your mother joins him in looking at the two of you, the way Chan's looks at you adoringly. The way your arm wraps around his waist, and your fingers trace circles into his side, the glint of the ring he gave you mocking her in the light. Your mother gives your father a look, one that screams is that what I think it is? Your father only shrugs, draping his own arm around her shoulders and making her face the television. The reporter is excitedly moving around the prepared stage, talking a mile a minute about all the musical achievements by artists in a rapid fire attempt to fill the last two minutes to the countdown. Mrs. Lee slots her fingers with her husband, and you find yourself finding Rosie's sleepy eyes on your father's shoulder. She smiles, giving you a thumbs up and you scrunch your nose at her, giving one back. She points at Chan, and you tap him to get his attention for her. He looks up, meeting her eyes and receiving the same reaction. He gives her one back, and she closes her eyes, turning the other way.

"She's adorable." He murmurs as you look up at him, "She is." The reporter smiles widely as the large number 10 splays on the television. Your parents break into chatter, Chan's parents drifting over to yours slowly. You tug at Chan's sleeve, earning a hum as he looks at you once more.

"Do you ever think about what our kids will look like?" You whisper, and he nods. "Sometimes." 9…

"Do you have names?" "A few."

8…

"Do you think about our wedding?" "All the time. I'm going to cry like a fucking baby." 7…

"How do you feel about a summer wedding?" "Whatever you want, baby. I'd get married in the woods if you wanted." 6…

"Like in Breaking Dawn?" "That wedding was beautiful. I cried, remember?" 5…

"I do. You cry a lot, you know?" "Emotional vulnerability is sexy, is it not?"

4…

"You think so?" "I know so." 3…

"Hey, Chan?" "Yes, Y/N?" 2…

"Are you gonna kiss me?" "Yeah, babe. I'm gonna kiss you." 1…

"I love you." You mumble, pressing your lips to his as the reporter boasts a Happy New Year from Lotte World Tower!

His hand is low on your back as he kisses you deeply, your own holding his cheek as your parents cheer and congratulate each other. You hear a soft voice above it all, "Channie and Y/N are kissing."

You pull back from Chan to see your parents gaping at you, and Rosie smiling before she lays her cheek back on your father's shoulder. "I told you they were boyfriend and girlfriend. You owe me fifty bucks, Mommy."

You gawk at her, Chan coughing awkwardly as your mother covers her face. "You bet on us?" "I assume the two of you managed to talk things out." Your father's voice is level, a warm smile on his face as Chan clears his throat. "Yes, sir." "And everything is okay…now?" Mr. Lee chimes in, your face growing warm as you nod, "Yes, sir." "And you're…together? Officially?" Mrs. Lee asks calmly, a grin fighting its way onto her lips as you and Chan flush embarrassedly. "Yes." You say in unison, and Mrs. Lee smiles from ear to ear, holding her hand out to your mother.

"You owe me a hundred bucks." "Wanna take a drive? I don't want to see money exchange hands." Chan scoffs, and the parents start arguing within themselves – mostly your mother defending herself and your father rolling his eyes as he fishes his wallet out, eager to pay your mother's debts.

"We're outta here." You announce, grabbing your coat off the rack. Your father gives you a nod, "We'll be here a while, it seems. Be safe, honey."

You nod, placing a kiss on Rosie's head before you leave. "Thanks, babycakes." "You're welcome, sissy." She smiles tiredly, closing her eyes as you ruffle her hair. You slip out, Chan closing the door behind you as you tug your coat on. "We're not actually going on a drive, you know that, right?" His gaze is pointed, and you roll your eyes as you pull him off his porch, the cold winter air nothing in comparison to the heat on your skin as you fumble for your keys. He keeps his hands off you as you both make your way to your house, your fingers trembling in excitement as you stick the key in the lock and turn it. You push the door open carefully, and he slides in behind you, shutting it with his foot and locking it behind him.

You peel your coat off, handing it to him to hang on the rack by the door. He's oddly quiet as he does the same, before silently taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. He lets you walk in first, locking the door behind him as you step out of your heels.

You feel his hands on your bare waist, pulling your back to him as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, feeling his lips trail up your shoulder, before his teeth tug on the necklace he gave you. "Can we keep this on?" "Yeah."

He hums softly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. His hands move to your arms, "Can we take this off? Is that okay?" You nod silently, letting him slip the straps of your dress down your arms, the fabric pooling around your hips as he sighs, keeping his hands on your sides as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your spine, breathing you in like you're the only oxygen he knows. His teeth tug at the hem of your dress, pulling it over the swell of your ass with ease. The flimsy fabric falls to your feet, his teeth nipping at your hip before you feel him stand, his hands on your waist turning you around.

"I love you." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed as yours open. You look at him in the moonlight, every eyelash, every tired line, everything that is the Lee Chan you love illuminated before you. Your hands move to his shirt, "Is this where I say it, too?" Your comment makes him smile inwardly, "If you'd like. I heard you, when you kissed me. You don't have to, I know you do." You feel so vulnerable under him like this, but you know him. You know he's just as vulnerable as you are, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and untucking it from his belt. Your voice feels lost, but you clear your throat as you push his shirt down over his shoulders, revealing toned arms and the same muscular chest you loved to lay your head upon on sleepless nights.

"I love you, endlessly." You say softly, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. He nods silently, pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hands move to his belt, carefully tugging the leather strap from the silver buckle. You pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the ground as Chan's hands come to your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently as your hands unbutton his slacks, carefully tugging the zipper down as you brush a kiss to his jaw. 

He stops you from pushing his pants down, his lips finding yours with a gentle insanity one can only describe as love. He swipes your hair back over your shoulders as he lets your hands rest on his waist, his lips pouring every single word into your mouth with a passion you'd only ever felt with him. This is the kiss you missed for three years, the soft grip of his hand in your hair as he guides his tongue against yours fluidly. This is the man you longed for unknowingly for your entire life, so loving and soft and sensual as he sucks on your tongue with a quiet moan. 

This is the love you'd patiently waited to return to you, the way you felt the cool metal of his matching ring against the warm skin of your thigh as he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms draped over his shoulders. This is the love you'd wantonly waited for, the way he eased you onto your bed, not letting you untangle yourself from him as he continued to kiss you so agonizingly slow, you could feel your arousal slightly soak into the waistband of his slacks. 

This is the love you'd yearned for, where he remembers every single one of your buttons. How he doesn't stop kissing you because he knows you love the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his hand only slides from your thigh to your dripping core because he knows you hate when he's not touching you constantly. How he steadies himself above you by pinning one hand above your head, interlacing your fingers as his other hand spreads your thighs for him.

"I love you." He whispers against your lips, not giving you a chance to respond as he carefully glides two of his fingers through your slick folds, earning a shiver as he traces your clit slowly. You mewl in his ear, his skin prickling with goosebumps at how wet you are for him. He presses a kiss to your jaw, "My gorgeous girl. So perfect for me." You bite back a whimper as his hand lands a rather wet slap to your clit, your body jolting into his as he chuckles. "Still like that?" He does it again, your thighs flinching around his hips as a broken moan leaves you.

He kisses your lips, swallowing any sounds you could've let out as he stops teasing you, his fingers carefully curling into your entrance. You shudder against him, a high-pitched whine from you making him laugh against your mouth. "Feel good, baby?" His thumb circles your clit as his fingers scissor you open, the pads of his digits brushing that spongy spot inside you that makes your breathing shaky. Your walls are impossibly tight around his fingers and it makes him dizzy, feeling you clench around his hand every time he reaches that spot he knows can make you cum within minutes. "Faster, please…" You run your hand through his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. He kisses you messily, bullying his fingers into you faster and feeling you pant yes, just like that softly against his lips. "Just like that? Like it fast, baby?" He mocks you, loving the way you nod dumbly. "Love it, love you, Channie.." Your eyes are teary as he brings you to the edge, his stomach fluttering at your soft whines. You made him feel like he was on fire, overstimulating his every sense with your whimpered begging for more as he nipped at your chest, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he mimics you, "Yeah, love me? How much, princess?"

"So m-much, think about you all day. Want you all the time, f-fuck…" Your thighs tighten around his hips, "Want me all the time? You're so cute. So needy for me, huh?"

You can only nod, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes as your nails dig into his shoulder, a tell-tale sign you're going to cum if he keeps going. He pulls a guttural moan from you, his favorite of them all as you coat his hand and wrist with your orgasm. "That's it, baby. Let go for me." He works you through it, your thighs trembling just like the first night the two of you slept together, your moans becoming nothing but soft whines against his lips.

"S'too much, too much.." You push his hand away with a whimper, your eyes barely open as you watch him lick his fingers clean like he did earlier. You shift under him, blinking your eyes as wide as you can, watching the way his tongue slid between his fingers. "See something you like?" He purrs against your lips, his wet fingers flicking your lower lip as you nod your head.

"You." Your voice is soft, and you see his eyes soften slightly as he smiles shyly. You wrap your legs around him, running a hand through his hair again, tugging slightly. "Want you." "You have me, baby." He kisses you chastely, relishing in the way you chase after his lips, huffing. "Kiss me like you mean it." You pull him closer, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth as he connects your mouths. The kiss is wet and messy, and you can feel him rolling his hips into you, the tip of his clothed cock rutting against your clit deliciously. But, you want it off.

"Take your pants off. Wanna feel you." You bite at his lips, and he moans, rutting against you like he can't stop. You whimper, your hips moving in tandem with his as you reach down and snap his waistband against his skin. "Fuck." Chan breathes against your jaw, shoving his pants and underwear down with one hand before he lets go of your hand, pulling them off fully with a hiss. He moves back up to kiss you, your nails digging into his back as you hold him close, your legs tight around his hips as he grinds his heavy cock against your wet heat. You're messy but that's how he likes it – your thighs twitch with overstimulation as he ruts his cock against you, leaning up to watch the way he leaks beads of precum onto your skin. "So fucking pretty." His thumb finds your clit, smirking at the way your thighs close slightly.

"So wet, too. Messy, messy girl." He grunts in your ear, "Can I put it in? Can you take it?"

"Please." You breathe out, making him meet your eyes. "Please what, baby?"

You scoff at his teasing smile, but you don't miss the adoration in his eyes as he plants a kiss to your lips. "Use your words."

You don't respond as you pout slightly, his lips brushing against yours. Your eyes are shy as he tries to find your gaze, a hiss from behind his teeth as your fingers reach between you to wrap around his shaft, his hands fisting the sheets around your head as you align him with your entrance.

"Please? Want you." Your eyes are wide and watery, too much for him to handle. 

He caves, moving your hand out of the way to sink into you –  his tip barely breaching your walls when you hear a whimper from Chan, his eyes glued to your glistening folds. Your head falls back with a groan as he slides in deeper, a whispered chant of fuck, fuck, fuck from his lips as you clench around him. You whine, digging your nails into his bicep as you push his hips down the rest of the way with your legs, hearing him groan at the way you swallow him perfectly.

"D-Don't, don't move. Just…wait." Your eyes are screwed shut, Chan's running all over your body. A singular bead of sweat runs down your neck, his fingers instinctively reaching to wipe it. You lean into his touch, your eyes still closed as you take his hand in yours, kissing his fingertips. "I love you." "I love you too, baby." He murmurs, and you shake your head as you lean your forehead to his, holding his hand to your chest. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, "This is how I feel every time I see you. There has never been a minute of my life that I haven't been so pathetically in love with you." He doesn't respond, his eyes glazed with unshed tears as yours open. You blink at him silently, your arms moving to wrap around his neck as you press a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks. "Obsessed with you." You mumble against his skin, feeling his hands wrap around your thighs with a shaky breath. "Missed you, my baby." Your admission is followed by a kiss to his lips, Chan's eyes fluttering shut as you drag your lips down his jaw. "I missed you, my love." He whispers in your ear, the pet name one he only used during your relationship. His teeth graze on your earlobe, before he plants a kiss on your neck as you run your fingers through his hair, pulling him to your lips. You slot your lips with his carefully, swallowing a whimper as you feel his hands push your thighs apart more. 

"Ready? Want me to go slow?" His voice is shaky, making you run a hand through his hair. "Whatever you want, baby."

He nods, giving an experimental roll of his hips – his chest swelling with pride as your eyes roll back with a soft groan. You let him set the pace, the delicious drag of his cock making your hands fist the sheets as your head falls back against the mattress. His fingers are bruising around your thighs, his eyes glued to your face, biting back his moans as you whine pathetically.

"Feel good?" He murmurs as he thrusts into you a little harder, before letting go of your thighs and pinning your hand above your head, interlacing your fingers. Your eyes are closed and you can barely feel your head nodding as your limbs buzz with lust, a moan meeting his neck as you mouth at it. "Need words, baby." He leans to nip at your lips, feeling your other hand tug at his hair. "Feels s'good, daddy, fuck.." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and Chan swears his brain short-circuits as he buries his face in your neck. He feels dizzy as he breathes in your perfume, hearing you whimper as he bullies his cock into you faster. 

“So. Fucking. Wet.” He groans, his teeth biting at any surface of your skin as he grips your hips bruisingly. "Missed you so much, baby. W-Wanna fill you up, shit. Make you mine f-forever." His ramblings are only slightly incoherent, your cheeks warming as if you're not both naked right now, the only thing remaining is your jewelry – all of which he's given you.

"Y-Yeah? Want it, want you to fill me up..." You rasp, tightening your legs around his waist as he whimpers loudly. Your fingers rake through his hair, pulling his head away from your neck and meeting his eyes. They're full of a certain craze you've only ever seen during your relationship, a dark look of lust that swirls from the depths of the brown in his irises that makes you shiver as you press your lips to his. It's messy and rough, his hand circling the base of your neck to steady himself. Your own wrap around his wrist, sliding your tongue into his mouth with practised ease. 

He sucks on your tongue messily, whining as you clamp down around him. You feel his hand loosen around your neck, sliding up to cup your face softly, your own moving to his back. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he thrusts into you, the tip of his cock brushing you just right that you moan into his mouth.

"Right there? There?" He pulls back, pistoning his hips into you as you nod frantically, your eyes filling with tears as your nails drag down his back. He tries not to close his eyes at the sensation, loving the way you bite down on your lip when his thumb pulls it out from under your teeth. "Wanna hear you, baby. Wanna know who's making you feel good." 

You can hardly speak through your whines, his vision going blurry as your nails dig into his hips. His lips find the shell of your ear, "Come on, baby. Tell daddy who's making you this wet." Your cheeks heat as you whimper into his skin, your lower lip dragging against his sweatslick cheek. You tug at the small silver hoop in his ear, "Y-You are. Always m-make me feel s'good, daddy. W-Wanna cum for you..." You trail off as his teeth nip at your neck, your voice reduced to breathy whines as he bites down on your chest. His tongue quickly licks over the indents of his teeth, as his hands move to your thighs, pushing them apart as he towers over you. Your eyes open only enough to see the wad of spit drip from his lips, your hips jolting as it slides down your clit. 

"Don't need it. Just like seeing you squirm, baby." He murmurs, pushing your knees to your chest as he continues to fuck into you. Your eyes fall on the ruddy blush on his cheeks, his own glued to the way your cunt swallows him perfectly. His fingers tighten around your legs, his lip tucked under his teeth as he screws his eyes shut, but you can't stop looking at him. The slope of his neck, littered with nips from your teeth that'll disappear by morning. His broad shoulders, slick with sweat and covered in deep, red marks from your nails. His chest, littered with faded love bites from the past few mornings waking up by his side. His forearms, flexing with every push of his hips, similar to the way they do when he holds you up against the shower wall. The sheen of your arousal on his fingers, the gold ring on his left hand that matches yours covered in a mix of spit and your cum. It's overwhelming, the way your insides feel fuzzy and the way your vision zeroes in on his ring, the glint in the moonlight mocking you.

"I can't wait to marry you." You mumble, covering your face with your arms as Chan jerks to a stop. You can still see him through a crevice in your arms, and you watch the way he swallows carefully. "W-What?" "I said, I can't wait to marry you." You repeat slightly louder, your eyes widening as you feel him twitch inside you. He scoffs quietly, "Babe, you can't say that." His eyes close, and you hear him take a deep breath as you sit up on your elbows.

"Why? I want to marry you." You huff, your mouth opening to say more when a sudden thrust from Chan's hips knocks the wind out of you. His whimper fills the room as he spreads your thighs out of habit, "I w-won't last if you say t-that." 

You can barely speak with the way he's drilling his cock into you, his thumb working tight circles into your clit as your head falls back against the sheets with pleasure. You manage to string your words together, your stomach filling with that familiar heat as you speak, "W-We have the rest of o-our lives, b-baby…" He whines loudly as his hips are flush to yours, shuddering slightly as he fills you with his release. He has a pout on his lips as he overstimulates himself through his orgasm, leaning into your soft whines, brushing his lips against yours. "I love you." He whispers as you clench around him, the band in your lower belly snapping as you whine pitifully as his hand slides in yours.

The air around you settles, Chan reaching to brush your hair out of your eyes and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you, baby." You nod loosely, a mumble of I love you tumbling against his clavicle. You feel him pull out slowly, a hiss from the both of you filling the silence. Wincing lightly, you go to sit up but his hand on your chest stops you. "Lie down." You don't question him as he slides one of your pillows under your head – but your brows are furrowed as he kisses down your body, sinking to his knees as he reaches the edge of your bed. You sit up slightly, "Chan, are you–" He doesn't reply, looking you in the eyes as he flattens his tongue against your sloppy cunt. Your eyes widen as he looks away, his arms wrapping around your thighs carefully. You're far too sensitive for this, but you can't seem to look away as he sucks your clit between his pouty lips. "You're fucking f-filthy, Lee Chan." "Open your mouth." He shrugs as he speaks into your skin, and you scoff out a laugh. He raises a brow as he looks up at you, making your cheeks flush. You sit up on your elbows, his arms pulling you closer to his face before fucking the wet muscle of his tongue into your spent hole. Your gasp is almost unnoticeable, your eyes starry as you watch him collect the mix of your releases in his mouth.

Your thighs tremble in his hands, your mind fuzzy with overstimulation as you whine softly. He pulls away, rising off his knees and sliding his thigh between yours as his hand finds your cheek. You instinctively open your mouth as he looks into your eyes, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he spits his release onto your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut at the taste, feeling him snake his tongue into your mouth in a wet kiss. He pushes you back against the pillow slowly, his hand moving from your cheek to interlace your fingers as his lips trail down your jaw.

"I think your parents are home." He murmurs, and you try your best to zero in on any sounds that could allude to such. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, "Do you want to stop?"

You don't respond, hearing the jingle of the doorknob as Chan tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. You cover your mouth as a breathy moan slips out, feeling Chan smile against your skin. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head frantically as you hear your mother sigh and the creak of the stairs under their footsteps. Your father's footsteps are heavy behind your mother's light ones, and you hear the door to their bedroom open, the hinges desperately in need of an oiling. It closes, and you breathe out carefully.

"I have so many questions but I can ask them later. Can you go again?" You mutter, feeling him scoff against your skin. "Is that how you're going to ask me?" "I can always just ride you until you cry like I did in the back of your car three years ago." You huff, feeling Chan pinch your hip. "Can you even hold yourself up?" He smirks down at you, making you furrow your brows.

"Watch me." "I intend to."

JANUARY 1, 5:44AM.

The only reason you and Chan stop is because he's made you soak through your sheets twice, the edge of your bed sopping wet as he carefully carries you into the bathroom. How he's even able to stand up is beyond you, your legs loosely wrapped around his bare waist as he leans to turn the water on in your shower.

You wince as he sets you down on the edge of the tub, his fingers expertly releasing the clasp on your necklace and draping it on your bathroom counter. "Don't want it to snag in your hair." He murmurs as he helps you back up, your legs hardly functioning as he makes you step into the tub. The hot water feels great against your hips, your lips parting against Chan's chest in a soft groan as he holds you to him. He laughs softly, and you feel the pads of his fingers digging into the sore muscles. "I'm sorry, baby. Maybe that last position was too much, hm?" "Fuck all the way off." You mutter, resting your cheek on his chest as he coos at you. "How's that for three ways to Sunday?" "Great. It was great, wonderful. If fucking someone three ways to Sunday was an Olympic sport, you'd win gold every time." You confess quietly, your eyes barely open as you hear him pop the cap of your shampoo. "You know, you talk a lot when we have sex." "Mmh, do I? What did I say?" You feel his fingers card through your hair, making him snicker. "For one, I think you're the one with the daddy thing. You said it more than once and I'm honestly a little impressed with your commitment to the bit…if it is a bit." "Shut up. Wash my hair like a good boyfriend." Your cheeks grow hot as he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to your hairline. "You also asked me when I'd marry you, and that you'd marry me tonight if you could." "When?" Your head snaps up to look at him, and he shrugs, a teasing smile on his lips. "If I recall correctly, you were face down–" "Enough." You turn away, pressing your forehead to his chest once more. "You're not supposed to make fun of me, I was vulnerable." "M'not making fun of you, baby. I'm absolutely enamored with you, I'd also marry you tonight if you'd allow it." He shrugs as he tilts your head back to rinse your hair, and you pout up at him. "I have a question." "Shoot." He feels your hands trace his torso, before you flick his hip. "What is this?" He looks down, the faded tattoo you'd been wondering about peeking through your fingers. He sighs, "It's a tattoo, babe. What else would it be?"

"Well for one, it's shitty. Second of all, of what?" You run your thumb over his skin, making him snort. "It is shitty, because I was drunk and I got it done with Soonyoung and Mingyu at their friend Seungcheol's apartment. It's also shitty because Seungcheol wanted someone to practice his fine line technique on and I was so wasted that I volunteered." "You've never been that reckless unless you're with me. Where was I? And what is it!?" You insist, and he snorts as he pours your body wash on your loofah. "It's your name. I kept saying it because I always think of you when I'm drunk and Seungcheol assumed it was what I wanted. It was actually very pretty when it was new, it's just faded now. There's a little red splotch somewhere, it was a heart."

He nods as you gape at him, "My name?" "It was two years ago. I was actually going to call you before Soonyoung threw my phone in the pool and told me I didn't deserve to call you if I wasn't going to beg for you back. I was always willing, I was just scared you'd reject me because of how much of a douche I'd been." "How'd you explain this to your hookups?" You blurt, and he smiles. "I didn't. They always knew. I don't know if you want me to talk about that, though. Your feelings are important to me and I was so shitty to you then." "You're a dumbass, both for not just talking to me and for getting this done at someone's apartment. You should get it redone at an actual parlor, I heard Hansol does tattoos now." You trace the faded ink, and he snorts. "I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just branding me like that."

You don't say anything as he runs the sponge over your body, your eyes pointed as he scoffs. "But I'm the freak." "I counted thirty six positions, you are the freak. God forbid I want a little something to kiss before I go down on you." You roll your eyes, and you hear him choke as he pushes you back slightly under the water. "Careful, you'll sound like me if you keep that up." "Oh my God, I fucking asked you if I was too rough! You insisted I keep going!" He whines, landing a soft smack to your thigh as he washes your legs. You snicker, holding onto his shoulders, looking down at the red lines you'd inflicted. "Oh, your back is gonna hurt, babe." "Well worth it, in my opinion. I honestly thought I was going to lose my mind yesterday." He sighs as he stands upright, your arms wrapping around his waist as he presses a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get my shit together, my love." "You know you've never called me that outside of those two months we were together?" You murmur, and he nods. "Mmh. Can't call you something you aren't, can I? I mean, you'll always be the love of my life but you weren't exactly mine and I didn't deserve you then, anyway." "And you do now?" You ask softly, and he shakes his head as he switches you out to stand under the showerhead, wincing as the hot water hits his back. "No. I'm always going to be undeserving of you, especially after the shit I pulled. But I have no problem spending my lifetime proving that I love you."

You don't reply, holding onto him silently as he cleanses himself. Your eyes linger on the flexing of his muscles, the way his face twitches as your body wash stings the aftermath of your nails digging into his back. "I'll be nicer next time." You assure him as he rolls his eyes, a mumble of no you won't from his lips as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

The sun is beginning to peek into your bedroom by the time you and Chan exit, and you sit in your bathrobe as Chan strips your sheets. He makes your bed in silence, hiding his yawns with shakes of his head and fishing through your drawers for his old clothes. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old cheer shirt of his, tugging them on before easing your tired form into your own pajamas. You nearly trip as he slides your shorts up your legs, his fingers cheekily pinching the swell of your ass as you swat at him.

"Unlock the door." You remind him as he slides you under the fresh blankets, and he nods, his breath minty from your toothpaste as he presses a kiss to your nose. He unlocks it quietly, checking the time on his phone before sliding in next to you. "What time is it?" "Almost seven. Rosie's gonna barge in here." He mumbles as you settle on top of him, your head on his chest as his hand slips under your shirt with a sigh. "I love you." "I love you, Channie." You murmur into his shirt, your eyes heavy as he pulls you impossibly closer, planting a kiss on your cheek without a word.

3:41PM.

You're the first to wake up, feeling like a train hit you as your muscles take in the absolute marathon you put yourself through with Chan the night before. You grimace as your back pops, stretching carefully so as to not wake up your boyfriend – who is curled into your chest, his arm hanging off your hip. Biting back your smile, you carefully run your fingers through his hair before sighing inwardly. 

Sitting up slowly, you see something on your dresser. It's a framed photo, and a Polaroid tucked into the corner of the frame. You squint at it, unable to make out the shapes without rubbing at your eyes. Chan stirs next to you, a pout on his lips as he peels his eyes open. "Lay down, I'm cold."

"Hang on." You slide out of bed, wincing as you stand up. Your eyes land on the photo once more as you stand in front of your dresser, and it's you and Chan in a gold frame. It's the night of the Christmas Eve dinner, and it's slightly blurry but you can see the way you're smiling up at Chan shyly, and the way his eyes are starry as he looks down at you. It's the photo Rosie took, the one she didn't let you look at.

The Polaroid is also of you and Chan, in your bed with the same clothes you have on now. They must've walked in in the morning when neither of you responded, because you're both sound asleep in the photo. He's holding you close, and your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your promise ring glinting against his neck in the flash of the camera. Your foreheads are pressed together, cheeks flushed in the soft morning light.

The note sits under the frame, and you look closer at the frame. Between You and Me, it reads, and you feel your cheeks heat as you slip the note out.

We've been trying to teach Rosie how to be careful with her money, because your mother started giving her an allowance a few weeks ago. She wanted to get you a Christmas gift but didn't know what you liked, and instead of asking…she took your camera from when you were a little girl and snapped a photo of you and Chan at Christmas Eve dinner. She told me when we were getting the photos developed that she thought Chan was really important to you, and that she knew she was, too – so it was like a win-win situation, to give you a gift of the things you cherish the most.

She's pretty good at making something out of nothing, and she begged me to take her to that old thrift store you loved in high school. She found this frame near the old book section that you walked through a lot, too. So profound for a child, but I digress. The Polaroid is from me, consider it an apology for allowing your mother to make such insane bets when we all knew that the two of you were bound to fall in love. P.S. Rosie's pretty good at capturing beautiful moments. Do you think she'd make a good wedding photographer? ♡

– Dad.

Your vision is blurry as you feel the heat of Chan's body behind you, his fingers carefully picking the frame up and looking at it. "You're so in love with me." He murmurs, and you half expect to look up and see him smiling – but his face is serious, his thumb ghosting over your face in the photo. You swallow nervously as he stares at the photo, clearing your throat.

"I am. Is that…okay?" You whisper, and he nods silently, closing his eyes as he sets the photo down. "We're taking that home, right? We can't leave it here. I want to see it everyday." He's not looking at you, holding the Polaroid gingerly in his hand. You watch as he sets it back down, his fingers plucking the note from your hand, leaning against the dresser as he reads it. He's blinking back tears and you feel your chest warm as he sighs, running his hand over his face. "We need to get Rosie that Lego set your dad said no to. The really big one, what was it?" "Rosie has never even seen Titanic. She just wants it because she thinks the boat is cool, and my dad said no because it's seven hundred dollars." You snort, and he shakes his head. "Don't care. She needs it. I need to buy it, where are your keys?" 

"We'll take my dad's, I don't feel like moving her booster seat." 

You smile to yourself as your boyfriend hands you a pair of jeans to slide on as he roots around for his socks, and you quietly slip out of your bedroom after tugging them on. You see your parents sitting around your dining room table, a few drinks and a deck of cards spread out between the four of them. Rosie sits quietly in Mrs. Lee's lap as Mrs. Lee explains the game, and you clear your throat. "Good afternoon." You say softly, and the parents turn their heads to look at you. They're smiling, and Rosie lights up, wiggling out of Mrs. Lee's lap and running towards you. "Did you like my present!? I made it for you!" "I know, babycakes. I loved your present." You pick her up, holding her on your hip as she moves your hair out of your face. You turn to your father, who has a knowing look on his face. "You mind if I take her for a bit? Chan wants to buy her something." "No sugar. She got a filling this morning." Your mother murmurs over her cards, taking a sip of her drink as she nods. Rosie huffs in your grasp, about to protest when Chan appears behind you. "Hey. Ready?" 

His cheeks are ruddy as he greets your parents, and none of them say a word as you tug on your boots as he makes Rosie fetch her coat. She's nearly bouncing off the stairs as she runs back down, and Chan helps her put it on as she eagerly asks what she's getting and why she's getting it.

"Titanic." Chan shrugs, and your father nearly spits out his drink as you shove the two of them out of the door, grabbing his car keys off the hook. "Y/N! Don't buy her that, it's too expensive!" "Can't hear you, Pop! See ya!" You grin cheekily, slipping out the front door and seeing Chan and Rosie giggling as he buckles her into her seat. Your heart warms at the sight, and you make eye contact with Chan as he shuts the door. He smiles, tilting his head towards the passenger side door as he opens it for you. You climb in silently, his eyes watching your every move. "You okay?" "I love you."

EPILOGUE – JANUARY 7, 5:30AM.

"Do you have to go?" You'd already stayed four more days than you'd originally planned, and you were really cutting it close by driving back on a Sunday. Rosie's eyes are tired and pleading as you hold her on your hip, Chan struggling to shove the last bag into your trunk as you snicker. "We do, babycakes. But don't worry! I'll come home with Channie in April for your birthday! Isn't that fun?" "I guess." She pouts, resting her head on your shoulder. "Will you call me everyday?" "Yes, I'll call you everyday." You nuzzle your nose to hers as Chan huffs, slamming your trunk shut. "Babe, someday you're going to have to pack this car and you'll understand why I sleep on the way back to campus." He's red in the face as your mother ventures outside to retrieve your little sister, Mrs. Lee in tow with a bag full of goodies for the trip back to campus. You smile softly at your mother as she takes your now crying sister, your heart aching as you wipe her tears.

"Don't cry, Rosie. We'll be back soon, I promise." Chan nods, holding his pinky out for your little sister to take. She sobs into your mother's parka as she does so, and your mother gives you a warm smile. "You guys take care of each other, okay? No more breaking up!" "No more breaking up." You both repeat, your cheeks flushing as Mrs. Lee gives you both a hug goodbye. Your father appears, holding up two tumblers full of hot chocolate and Mr. Lee hands Chan an envelope. "Pocket money. Don't let Y/N starve on the way home, she told us you only fed her beef jerky." "I did not!" He begins to protest, but you clap your hand over his mouth with a wide smile. "Thank you, Mr. Lee. I appreciate you worrying about my appetite." The goodbyes are not nearly as sappy as they usually are, but you know it's because they're looking forward to graduation. It will approach fast, you know you'll lose yourself in the excitement of it all and best of all, Chan will be right there with you. You're in the car waving to Rosie until you turn the corner, before your shoulders sag against your seat. You pout, making Chan smile as he reaches to pinch your cheek.

"Rosie will be okay, baby." "I know, I know. I just wish I was around more to see her grow up. She won't think I'm as cool by the time I'm finally around to hang out and stuff." "Babe, she's seven this year. She's gonna think you're cool." He rolls his eyes as he stops at a red light, connecting his phone to the aux and handing it to you. You sigh, unlocking his phone to see a photo of you and Rosie at the Lego store on New Year's Day as his home screen, paired with the same sentimental baby picture that rested in your locket as his lock screen – that one never changed. You say nothing as your cheeks warm, opening his Spotify and pressing shuffle as he turns left to take the exit to get onto the expressway.

You both tense as you hear the beginning notes of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. He gives you a sideways glance as the lyrics start pouring through, and you clear your throat quietly.

"There's an exit…up ahead. It leads–" "Into the woods, yeah. I'm just gonna–" "Yeah. Should I-" "Start taking your coat off, mhm." "Got it. Are you gonna–" "Yup. Didn't bring any condoms with me." Your cheeks flush as you queue the same stupid sex playlist you made three years ago as he silently takes the exit before the one for the expressway, tonguing his cheek as he drives into the still-dark solace of the woods. You have your shirt off by the time he finds the same spot you found three years ago, and by the time he kills the engine, you're in the backseat.

"Hey, Chan?" The opening notes of Kiss It Better by Rihanna fill the car as he all but rips his coat off.

"Yes, Y/N?" "I love you." He smiles, kissing you tenderly as he lays you down in your backseat.

"I love you, baby."

haologram © 2024 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[supi-wupi]

Practice Crush - Soonyoung

pairing: Soonyoung x reader synopsis: You’re the clumsy newcomer at his dance academy. Hoshi offers to help — and ends up falling for your determination, not your footwork. wc: 4.1k genre: Fluff, Slowburn (im sorry..), Slice of Life, (light) Angst, Diary Entries warning: Mutual Pining, Teasing, Food Mentions, Crushing so hard it hurts™(yes), Joshua helps out a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOSHIIII!!! hope you guys enjoy this one!!

13/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today was my first class at Polaris Dance Academy. I almost ate the floor during warmups. Twice.

Everyone here moves like they’re made of music — smooth, confident, in control. And then there’s me.

Flailing like a baby giraffe on a sugar rush.

The worst part?

I tripped over my own shoelaces right in front of Kwon Soonyoung. Hoshi. As in Polaris’ golden boy. The living embodiment of rhythm.

He smiled.

Helped me up.

Said, “Careful. The floor bites if you’re not nice to it.”

And I laughed, like an idiot.

I think I might have a crush on him.

No.

I definitely do.

—

14/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal (Hoshi)

Note to self:

New girl in Level 1 contemporary — name tag said “Y/N.”

Tripped mid-turn. Landed on the floor with her arms flailing like she was in a cartoon. It was kind of impressive, actually.

She looked so embarrassed.

I offered her a hand, told a dumb joke about the floor biting. She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

Cute laugh. Big eyes.

Looks like she tries really hard. Like… really hard. I respect that.

Might offer to help her after class. I remember what it felt like to be the one always behind.

Plus…

She has this determination in her eyes.

It’s kind of magnetic.

—

17/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So I stayed after class to practice the transition into pirouettes — the one that always makes me feel like a broken spinning top.

And guess who stayed too?

Hoshi.

He asked if I wanted help.

ME.

I said “sure” so fast I think I accidentally bowed twice.

He adjusted my arm position gently, told me to breathe, not hold so much tension in my shoulders. I nodded like I understood any of it, then spun straight into the mirror.

He didn’t laugh.

He just said, “Okay, we’re gonna try again. This time, you trust yourself.”

No one’s ever said that to me before. Not like that.

I think I might cry.

Or spin again.

Or both.

—

17/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N stayed late again. She’s really serious about improving.

She’s still clumsy, but there’s something alive about the way she moves when she forgets she’s nervous.

Her turns are off balance, but her passion is dead center.

I told her to trust herself.

She looked at me like no one’s ever asked her to before.

We practiced for an hour.

I forgot how fun it was to teach someone who actually listens.

And when she finally did a clean double spin — the way her eyes lit up…

I don’t know.

I think I’m in trouble.

—

21/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Hoshi called me his partner during class today when the instructor asked why we were always hovering around the corner of the studio.

Partner.

Okay, sure, he meant practice partner. But STILL.

Also, he tied my shoelaces for me before warm-ups. Who does that??

(Angels. That’s who.)

He even remembered I like peach tea.

He brought me one after practice and said, “Fuel for your spins.”

What am I supposed to do with that kind of sweetness??

Melt???

Because I did.

—

22/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Y/N nailed her turn sequence today. She actually shouted, “YES!” in the middle of the studio and scared half the room.

I was so proud I high-fived her — maybe a little too hard — she nearly fell again.

This girl is chaos. Endearing, determined chaos.

Brought her peach tea again.

She called me “Dance God Hoshi” and I think I blushed.

Not sure if she notices how I keep watching her when she’s not looking.

Not sure if she knows how proud I am every time she gets a step right.

Definitely not sure what to do about the fact that I want to hold her hand next time I fix her arm position.

But maybe…

Maybe one more practice together. Then I’ll tell her.

—

28/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I didn’t trip.

Not once.

Hoshi said, “Look at you, not kissing the floor!”

And I said, “Maybe the floor and I are on speaking terms now.”

He laughed.

Then he asked if I wanted to grab snacks after practice. Just the two of us.

I think I said yes.

Or nodded?

I might have squeaked.

We’re meeting tomorrow.

He said, “Consider it a reward for surviving your first week without face-planting.”

But I think he meant something more.

Or maybe I hope he did.

Either way…

I’ll wear my best shoes.

The ones that don’t come untied.

—

29/03/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

So… I didn’t die.

The snack date happened. It was real.

We sat outside the corner convenience store with triangle kimbap and those honey butter chips he swears by.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t a date date.

But then he said, “This is nice. I don’t usually get to slow down like this.”

And he looked at me.

Not his phone. Not the street. Me.

I told him he deserved to rest too.

He smiled. That soft one he usually saves for right after practice when the sweat’s still clinging to his hair.

He said, “You always say stuff that sticks.”

My brain short-circuited. I just nodded and shoved chips in my mouth like a gremlin.

But I think… I think I’m falling.

Or already there.

—

29/03/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date with Y/N today.

She called it a reward, but honestly, it felt like a reset button for my entire week.

We didn’t talk about dance. We just talked.

About our favorite snack combos. Our worst auditions. Her fear of elevators.

She told me she never expected someone like her to belong at Polaris.

I wanted to shake her.

How does she not see what I see?

The way she lights up when she’s proud of herself?

The way she makes even messing up feel… joyful?

I wanted to tell her she belongs everywhere.

But instead I said, “You’re the best part of my Tuesdays.”

She choked on her soda.

Worth it.

—

02/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I caught him staring.

During warmups, of all things.

I wasn’t doing anything impressive. Just a side stretch, halfway to a cramp.

But when I glanced up, he was already looking — like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to.

He smiled. Didn’t look away.

And I swear, my heart did a fouetté.

After class, he walked me to the bus stop even though it was raining and he had his own rehearsal to get to.

No umbrella. Just hoodie hoods and shared space.

He said, “Tell me when you get home, okay?”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he wants to keep me safe.

Like maybe… I’m not the only one falling.

—

02/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Rainy day.

Y/N smelled like clean laundry and lemon candy.

Not relevant to dance notes, but I don’t care.

She’s getting better. Her spins are smoother. Transitions more fluid. I told her she looked strong today.

She blushed. Said, “I’ve got a good coach.”

Coach? God. I hope she doesn’t think this is just that.

I walked her to the bus. No umbrella. Didn’t care.

I watched her leave through the foggy bus window, and for a second, I thought:

I want this.

More snack dates. More shared jokes. More her.

But I don’t know how to say it yet.

So for now, I’ll keep spinning beside her.

Until I find the courage to fall.

—

05/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Today, I almost said it.

It was after practice. Everyone else had left, and the mirrors were fogged from how hard we’d gone on the final set.

I stayed behind to stretch. He stayed behind just because.

He sat across from me, legs stretched out, holding a water bottle like it was the only thing grounding him.

He said, “You know… you make it hard not to look forward to class.”

And I —

I panicked.

I laughed. Like an idiot.

He smiled too, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

And I wanted to fix it.

I wanted to say,

“I think I like you.”

But my mouth said,

“Is it because I bring snacks?”

He played along. Of course he did.

But I saw the flicker.

The almost.

I think we’re both standing on the edge.

But I don’t know who’s going to jump first.

—

05/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She laughed.

When I told her how I felt — or, well, almost did — she laughed.

And I don’t know if that was her way of running or her way of not knowing what to do with the truth.

I said, “You make it hard not to look forward to class.”

What I meant: You make it hard not to fall in love every single time you walk into the room.

She made a joke about snacks. I laughed too.

What else could I do?

Maybe I’m reading it wrong.

Maybe she doesn’t feel the same.

Or maybe she does, and we’re both just cowards.

But if I don’t say it soon, I think it’ll eat me alive.

—

07/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He brought me a peach drink today.

Said he saw me looking at it last time but didn’t get it because I “hesitated too long like a dramatic film character.”

I told him I was being responsible.

He said, “You can be responsible after dance practice.”

He’s always taking care of me in these quiet, tiny ways.

Does he know he’s doing it?

Does he know I notice every time?

I didn’t laugh at anything today.

I just looked at him, held the bottle in both hands, and said,

“Thank you, Hoshi.”

His ears turned pink.

Maybe I haven’t missed my chance.

Not yet.

—

10/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She tied my shoelaces today.

I didn’t ask her to. I was talking to Chan, sitting on the floor post-practice, and before I could notice — she just knelt down and double-knotted them.

Said, “You’re going to trip like this. Again.”

I said, “Maybe I want to fall.”

It came out before I could stop it.

She paused. Eyes flicked up to mine — that deer-in-headlights look she gets when she hears something she’s not ready for.

Then she smiled. Said, “Well, try not to fall around me. I might trip too.”

…what does that mean?

I’m going insane.

—

10/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He said he wants to fall.

And I think I did. Right then and there.

Also: his laces were a disaster. Honestly, I might be in love with a walking health hazard.

But when he said that — when he looked at me like that — I could barely breathe.

So I made a joke. Again. Because it’s easier than saying,

“I already fell. You just weren’t looking.”

God.

How do people do this? How do you say something like that out loud?

—

12/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Snack date: secured.

I told her, “I owe you a drink for tying my laces.”

She rolled her eyes but agreed.

So now we’re going to the corner store tomorrow after practice.

Just us. No Chan. No mirrors. No excuses.

I think I’m going to wear my lucky hoodie. The one that makes me look less nervous than I am.

I won’t confess. Not yet.

But maybe I’ll hold the door open a little longer.

Maybe I’ll walk on the outside of the sidewalk.

Maybe I’ll try to make her laugh without hiding the way I look at her.

God help me.

—

13/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

We have a snack date tomorrow.

Well, not a date date.

It’s “payment for laces” apparently.

(But I know he didn’t actually care about that.)

I spent twenty minutes today picking out what hoodie to wear.

Then realized I’m just going to sweat through it in class anyway.

Still… I hope he notices.

I’m not going to confess. But maybe I’ll buy his favorite chips.

Maybe I’ll lean a little closer when we walk.

Maybe I’ll say his name without a reason, just to see how he looks at me when I do.

Maybe he’ll look back.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She waited for me outside the studio today.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Hair still a little damp from practice.

I think I forgot how to speak.

We walked without music. Just the sound of traffic and our steps falling in sync.

At the store, she picked the seaweed chips I always grab — I didn’t even have to say it.

I picked her drink before she reached the cooler. She blinked and said, “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “You always get it after evaluations.”

She looked at me like she’d never realized I was watching.

I wanted to tell her — I always am.

But instead, I asked if she wanted to sit at the bus stop across the street.

We did.

Didn’t catch a bus.

Just sat there. Sharing snacks.

At one point, our fingers brushed. I froze. She pulled back like it burned.

And then she apologized.

Why?

I almost said something. Almost asked if she felt it too.

But then the bus actually came, and we both stood up too quickly.

She waved goodbye. I waved back.

Neither of us left until the bus drove away.

—

14/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

He remembered my drink.

He remembered.

I didn’t think he paid attention to things like that — but maybe he always has.

And he sat beside me. Not across. Right next to me. Our arms kept brushing and I couldn’t stop shaking.

Then our fingers touched.

It was barely anything. But it felt like lightning.

I pulled away. Like an idiot.

And he didn’t say anything. Just went quiet.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to say, “Don’t stop looking at me like that.”

I wanted to lean my head on his shoulder.

Instead, we both stood like strangers when the bus came.

We didn’t even take it.

We just… left.

I miss him and he was right next to me.

What is wrong with me?

—

15/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

She didn’t sit next to me during warmups today.

She always does. Always.

Today, she sat next to Jiwoo.

She didn’t even look over when I cracked the same joke she always laughs at.

I think I messed up.

Or maybe she’s just trying to play it cool.

Well, newsflash: I’m not cool.

I’ve never been good at pretending.

I keep replaying the bus stop in my head.

What would’ve happened if I didn’t let go?

—

15/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I avoided him today.

Not because I wanted to.

But because if I looked at him, I might’ve blurted it all out.

Might’ve said: “I like you.”

“Not as a partner. Not as a classmate.”

Just —

“I like you.”

And I can’t do that. Not yet.

Not until I know he feels it too.

I think he does.

But thinking isn’t knowing.

And knowing means risking it.

And risking it means losing what we already have.

And I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that yet.

—

16/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Joshua was in the studio today, just hanging out while we cleaned choreo.

He leaned against the mirror, sipping iced coffee like he wasn’t quietly clocking every interaction I had.

And then, out of nowhere, he said —

“You two are exhausting.”

I blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward Y/N, who was across the room tying her shoes.

“You like her. She likes you. The rest of us are just collateral damage at this point.”

I opened my mouth to deny it. He raised a hand.

“Don’t even. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching.”

I laughed it off. Said he was imagining things.

But he didn’t smile. Just tapped the lid of his coffee and said,

“You think you have time, but one of you is going to run eventually. Don’t let her.”

I’ve never seen Joshua that serious before.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Is she already running?

—

16/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

I caught Joshua looking at me weird today.

Not weird-bad. Weird-like-he-knew-something.

And then he said the strangest thing when we passed in the hallway.

“You should talk to him. He’s more obvious than he thinks.”

I froze. Asked him what he meant.

He just smiled and walked off like a rom-com side character who knows he’s moving the plot along.

Joshua never says anything unless he means it.

And now I’m spiraling.

Because if he sees it… does that mean it’s real?

Does Soonyoung actually like me back?

Or am I just reading into things again?

I don’t know. But tomorrow… maybe I’ll test it.

Just a little.

Just enough to know if I should stop hoping.

—

18/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

Today was supposed to be a full group practice.

Except — when I showed up, only Y/N was there.

No Dino. No Seungkwan. No Minghao.

Just her, stretching by the mirror and blinking at me like she wasn’t expecting it either.

I checked my messages. The group chat said practice was pushed an hour.

Sent… by Joshua.

From my phone.

I nearly sprained something realizing it.

He must’ve grabbed my phone when I left it unlocked during warmups.

That little…

Okay. He’s not wrong.

Because now we were stuck in that cavernous studio, alone, with no music playing, just the faint sound of traffic outside and her laugh —

God, her laugh.

We talked. Not even about anything important.

What snacks we’d get after this. If sweet potato tteokbokki was superior (it is). Whether the backup dancers in that viral TikTok were dating.

It felt too easy.

Too comfortable.

Too much like something I want every day.

And then —

She looked at me and said, “Hey, can I tell you something?”

I swear to god I forgot how to breathe.

But then she bit her lip.

Laughed.

Said, “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

I didn’t press.

I should’ve pressed.

—

18/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Dear Diary,

Joshua is so sneaky.

Practice was moved — or so I thought.

Only Soonyoung showed up.

The rest of the team rolled in later, all pretending to be clueless.

I saw Joshua wink at me.

He planned this.

And I almost said it.

I really did.

I was going to tell him. Not the whole truth. Just something close.

Just, “I like hanging out with you.”

Or, “I always look forward to our snack runs.”

Or, “You make me feel like maybe I’m not crazy for hoping.”

But it got caught in my throat.

And instead I said, “Never mind.”

I hate how close it was.

He looked at me like he was ready to hear it.

Like he’d been ready.

Joshua gave me a window. And I shut it.

Why am I like this?

—

21/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

Joshua “accidentally” gave us the wrong directions to the café.

I know he did.

There’s no way that man confuses left with “just head down that alley behind the record shop and you’ll see it.”

Soonyoung and I ended up walking through half the neighborhood, wandering into a street market, sharing samples from a tteok stall like we were on a drama set.

We didn’t rush.

He didn’t even try to find the café after a while.

He just kept talking. Asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Your favorite flower is still hydrangeas, right?”

“Wait, didn’t you say you hate mint chocolate?”

“I remember you said that song reminded you of summer. Why summer?”

He remembers everything.

And then, it happened.

We were standing under a cherry blossom tree near the bus stop. Pink petals caught in his hair.

I reached up to brush one off, and he grabbed my wrist.

Not hard. Just… held it.

He said, “Y/N.”

And then he broke.

Like he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He said:

“I like you. Not as a friend. Not as a practice partner. I think about you all the time. I wait for your messages. I say dumb things just to make you laugh. I— I wasn’t supposed to say it like this.”

He looked terrified.

Like he thought I’d run.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

All I could do was whisper, “I know.”

And then: “Me too.”

He smiled like the sun came out.

And then the bus arrived.

We never even got to the café.

But I don’t think it mattered.

We got somewhere better.

—

21/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

I told her.

I actually told her.

I thought I’d explode.

I thought the petals falling between us were mocking me like, “look at this idiot, about to ruin everything.”

But she didn’t run.

She said “me too.”

I keep hearing it in my head. Over and over.

I said it messy. I said it nervous. I said it like a boy who's been falling in love quietly for months and finally hit the ground.

And she was already there waiting.

We didn’t even get our snacks.

But I don’t care.

She likes me back.

She likes me back.

—

24/04/2024

Diary Entry – Y/N

He waited outside my studio with two bags of hotteok.

Didn’t even say hi at first. Just grinned and held them up like a peace offering.

Like, “Hi, I confessed my feelings under a cherry blossom tree, now take this pancake.”

We walked to the same park bench we always used to go to.

But this time, we sat closer. Shoulders brushing.

We still talked like before — about dance, stupid group chat memes, Seungkwan’s dramatic rants — but it felt different.

More deliberate.

More… ours.

He gave me the last bite of his hotteok.

He always used to fake-argue over who got the last piece.

This time, he didn’t. Just held it out and smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world.

When I wiped powdered sugar off his cheek with my sleeve, he went completely quiet.

Then he said:

“This feels like everything I didn’t know I was missing.”

And honestly?

Same.

We haven’t kissed yet.

But I think we’re building up to it.

And for once, I don’t mind waiting.

I’m not scared of slow anymore.

Not with him.

—

24/04/2024

Practice Notes – Soonyoung’s Journal

“First official snack date.”

That’s what I wrote in my planner. In all caps. Circled twice.

I showed up too early. Paced around the block. Almost ate the hotteok out of nerves.

She looked tired when she came out of the studio, but when she saw me, she smiled like I was exactly what she needed.

We sat at our bench.

And everything felt familiar but new.

Like we were rereading a favorite book, but suddenly noticing all the feelings between the lines.

She wiped sugar off my cheek and I almost forgot how to breathe.

I wanted to kiss her.

But I didn’t.

I just held her hand instead.

Small, simple.

But she squeezed back.

And that was enough to set my whole chest on fire.

We’ve danced through so many songs together.

But I think we’re finally learning this one — the one just for us.

Step by step.

Beat by beat.

[supi-wupi]

Search My Body

Synopsis: What's better than 1 hot DILF? 2 hot DILFs.

Pairing: dilf!officer!Seungcheol (SVT) x afab!reader x dilf!officer!Jeonghan (SVT)

Genre: smut, established relationship, non-idol! au

Rating: mature

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap, threesome, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), daddy kink, manhandling, creampie, overstimulation, orgasm denial, dom!Seungcheol, dom!Jeonghan, sub!brat!reader, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: We're so back.

Thank you papa @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me with the title! Thank you twin @tomodachiii for helping me with the banner! Thank you @bella-feed and @supi-wupi for betaing! @sanaxo-o I promised you dilf!Jeonghan, so here you go, I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Click here to join my taglist!

Read part 1 here!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Sunlight peeks through the blinds, illuminating the room in a soft glow. A soft groan comes from behind you, and the arm resting on you pulls you closer. You turn around and snuggle your face into the firm chest that you've come to love so much.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Seungcheol mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep.

"G'morning, daddy," you murmur, voice muffled against his chest.

Seungcheol groans, nipping at the shell of your ear in warning—you giggle, fully aware of what that nickname does to him.

"Such a brat," he rasps out before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

"Can't help it when it comes to you," you tease.

"I really need to put you in your place," he huffs playfully.

"Who says that's not exactly what I want?" you grin.

"How did I get so lucky with you?" he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"Well, I did blatantly flirt with you and basically begged you to fuck me," you reply matter-of-factly.

Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head at the fond memory of your unhinged antics. It's been several months since then, and while neither of you has put a label on it, the relationship between you two is unmistakably real, filled with care, affection, and something that feels a lot like love.

Seungcheol spoils you endlessly, even encouraging you to quit your stressful job, assuring you he'd take care of everything. And at this point, you've practically moved into his penthouse.

"I'm going to be late," Seungcheol mumbles as he shifts to get out of bed.

"No~" you whine, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close.

"Sweetheart, I have to go to work," he chuckles, gently rubbing your back.

You look up at him with puppy eyes and a pout, silently pleading for him to stay a little longer—and, as always, he gives in, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you for just a bit more. You let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer, soaking in his warmth for as long as you can.

"There's a surprise coming later," he murmurs.

"A surprise?"

"Mhm. Just something I think you'll look gorgeous in," he says with a soft smile.

"Cheol, another gift? You're seriously spoiling me," you whine.

"Can't help it when it comes to you," he grins, throwing your own words back at you.

"You're seriously acting like a sugar daddy," you tease with a chuckle.

"As long as I get to be your daddy," he shoots back, earning a playful slap from you.

The two of you laugh before settling into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's presence in the quiet morning.

Your ears perk up at the sound of the front door opening. You furrow your brows in confusion—Seungcheol usually isn't off work until way later. Thinking he probably got out of work early to surprise you, you quickly head to the living room, excited giggles escaping your lips.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see that the man who entered was, in fact, not Seungcheol. A tall, slender man stood in the middle of the living room. His chocolate eyes raked over you, a subtle smirk on his lips.

Eyes widening in alarm, you quickly look around to see if there's anything nearby to protect yourself from the intruder.

"Ah, you must be the girl that Cheol has been fawning over," he muses, his honey-laced voice breaking the silence.

Your eyes dart back to him, confusion and alarm etched onto your face.

"Calm down, Dollface," he chuckles, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a friend of Cheol's."

"A friend?" you ask, guard still up.

"His best friend, actually," he states. "I'm hurt he hasn't told you about me."

"Oh," you mumble, still not trusting the stranger.

He steps closer to you, his long legs easily reducing the distance between you two. Your mouth slightly goes agape when your brain registers just how tall he is—he easily towers over you, making you feel small next to him.

"I'm Jeonghan," he smirks, stretching forward his hand to shake.

Hesitantly, you place your hand in his—his fingers are long and slender, but rough with calluses, much like Seungcheol's.

"Y/N," you mumble.

"Pretty name for a pretty face," he murmured with a subtle smirk. "Pleasure meeting you, Y/N." He then leans down and places a kiss on the back of your hand, lips lingering a moment too long.

Heat rushes to your face at his actions—you quickly withdraw your hand away, mumbling a stuttered response, earning a chuckle from Jeonghan.

"Shame Cheol isn't here, I would've loved to spend more time with you," he said, voice low and laced with something unreadable. You shift in place, feeling a weird warmth spread throughout your body.

"I shall take my leave then, see you soon, Dollface." He smirks before turning around and leaving. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as he steps away from you.

He pauses just before leaving, turns back around, and says, "Cheol's a lucky man to enjoy this view every day." With a wink, he steps out.

Your eyes widen, and a wave of heat rushes through you as you realise you'd been standing there the entire time wearing nothing but Seungcheol's shirt—one that barely covered anything.

Grabbing a pillow from the nearby couch, you scream into it, mortified and praying for the ground to swallow you whole. God, you really didn't want to ever see Jeonghan again.

Opening the car door, Jeonghan slips into the passenger seat right before Seungcheol takes off.

"What the—get out!" Seungcheol screeches when he spots him.

"Nope. I'm carpooling with you," Jeonghan says with a cheeky grin.

"No, you're not. Now get out!" Seungcheol hisses.

"Wow, that hurts, Cheollie," Jeonghan says, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Don't call me that," Seungcheol grumbles."Now, get out, I'm gonna be late."

"For what? A date with Y/N?" Jeonghan teases, and Seungcheol freezes.

"How did you—"

"I have my ways," Jeonghan smirks. "So, when are you introducing her to me?"

"Never," Seungcheol mutters.

"Ah, my heart. It aches," Jeonghan gasps, earning an eye roll from Seungcheol.

"I want to meet her," Jeonghan says plainly.

"No."

"I'm going to annoy you until you let me," Jeonghan grins.

Seungcheol lets out a long sigh, already knowing Jeonghan won't stop once he sets his mind to something. It actually reminds him a bit of you.

"Fine," he grumbles.

"Great!" Jeonghan beams. "Dinner this Sunday at my favourite restaurant."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but mumbles an agreement. Satisfied, Jeonghan fastens his seatbelt and settles in, while Seungcheol shoots him a look of pure disbelief.

"Uh, get out?"

"Nope. Still carpooling," Jeonghan replies, unbothered.

Muttering curses under his breath, Seungcheol starts the car anyway, knowing full well that arguing with Jeonghan is a battle he's never going to win.

"Cheol, stop we're in public," you giggle, trying to remove his hand that's groping your ass.

"But your ass looks so good in that dress, sweetheart," Seungcheol purrs, hand still kneading your ass. "I knew you'd look gorgeous in this."

You squeal and giggle, trying to swat Seungcheol's hands away. He's brought you out for dinner, saying he wants to introduce you to a friend of his. You're doing your best to stay composed and make a good first impression, but it's hard to focus when Seungcheol seems very fixated on your behind.

You finally manage to pry his hands off as the two of you step into the private room he reserved. But the second you walk in, you freeze, eyes widening at the person already seated.

"J-Jeonghan?" you gasp, jaw dropping.

Jeonghan, who had been scrolling through his phone, glances up and smirks. "Y/N," he says smoothly, "I did say I'd see you soon."

Seungcheol looks between the two of you, clearly confused. "Wait…you guys know each other?"

"Told you I have my ways," Jeonghan winks, then gestures for you both to sit.

You take in Jeonghan's appearance as you settle into the seat beside Seungcheol. He's wearing a silky black blouse with a deep V-neckline, offering teasing glimpses of his chest. His slightly long black hair is styled in a half-up, half-down look, perfectly framing his angelic features. You can't help but marvel at how he manages to look both effortlessly masculine and delicately feminine at the same time.

"So, how do you two know each other?" Seungcheol asks, still visibly thrown off.

"I already told you—I have my ways," Jeonghan replies with a cheeky grin.

"Jeonghan," Seungcheol warns, tone sharp.

Jeonghan laughs. "Alright, alright. I ran into her when I stopped by your place the other day. You weren't home, but lucky for me, Dollface was."

Your cheeks heat up instantly at the memory of that unexpected and very awkward encounter.

"Dollface?" Seungcheol mutters, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm. Suits her, don't you think?" Jeonghan smirks.

Seungcheol grumbles something under his breath while you shift in your seat, your body growing warm under the weight of the situation.

"God, Dollface, you look absolutely delicious in that dress," Jeonghan purrs, his eyes shamelessly raking down your figure.

"O-Oh, thank you, Jeonghan," you mumble, quickly taking a sip of water to hide your burning face.

"Please, call me Hannie," he adds with a wink, and your heart skips a beat.

Seungcheol scoffs, rolling his eyes at Jeonghan’s antics, prompting a snicker from the latter.

"What's wrong, Cheollie?" Jeonghan teases, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing at the nickname.

"Stop doing that," Seungcheol grumbles.

"Doing what?" Jeonghan asks innocently, raising a brow.

"You know what," Seungcheol hisses.

"I'm just making conversation with Y/N," Jeonghan grins, all faux innocence.

Sensing an opportunity to tease Seungcheol, you chime in, "Yeah, Cheollie, Hannie's just trying to talk to me."

"Y/N," Seungcheol groans, already regretting bringing the two of you together.

"See? Let me chat with the beautiful lady," Jeonghan beams. "Cheol's always such a party pooper. At the precinct, everyone calls him the lame boss."

"Wait—you guys work together?" you blink in surprise.

"Unfortunately," Seungcheol mutters, while Jeonghan chuckles.

You bite your lip, your curiosity piqued. Something about Jeonghan being an officer just made him even more attractive.

"I didn't expect you to be a police officer," you mumble shyly.

"Looks can be deceiving, Dollface," Jeonghan says with a wink—and once again, your face burns red.

"Oh, and I'm single, by the way," Jeonghan adds with a smirk, making your heart skip a beat.

"She doesn't need to know that," Seungcheol scoffs.

"Just thought she might want to," Jeonghan grins, completely unbothered.

"Are you a DILF too?" you tease, making Jeonghan burst into laughter while Seungcheol groans in disbelief.

"Oh, I've definitely got plenty of experience," Jeonghan purrs, voice low and smooth, making your body flush with heat. "How about I show you just how experienced I am?"

Seungcheol's hand suddenly lands on your thigh, squeezing it in warning; you simply shoot him a cheeky grin in response.

"I think I'd love that," you smirk, deliberately provoking him.

"Brat," Seungcheol mutters under his breath.

"You know you love it, Cheollie," Jeonghan says with a teasing grin, and you can't help but giggle.

Seungcheol abruptly stands, and your smile falters, unsure if you've taken things too far.

"Cheol, I'm sorry, I—"

"Let's go," he says, grabbing your arm firmly.

"You too," he adds to Jeonghan, who rises with a lazy grin.

"But we haven't even ordered yet," you mumble as Seungcheol leads you toward the car, Jeonghan trailing close behind.

"I have a feeling he's more in the mood for dessert right now," Jeonghan snickers.

Seungcheol swings open the back door of the car. "Sit," he orders, and you obey without protest, suddenly feeling the shift in atmosphere. Jeonghan slips in beside you, and Seungcheol gets behind the wheel, heading straight for his penthouse.

The air inside the car is thick with tension, every breath you take laced with anticipation. You shift uncomfortably, goosebumps trailing along your skin.

You gasp softly when Jeonghan places a hand on your thigh. It doesn't move—doesn't slide up or down—but the weight of it alone has your pulse racing. You glance toward the rearview mirror, only to meet Seungcheol's sharp, unreadable gaze locked directly on you.

You're playing a dangerous game…but god, do you love it.

Jeonghan's hand stays still, yet it's enough to have you squirming in place, heat pooling under your skin.

The drive to the apartment felt longer than usual—your mouth dry like it was stuffed with cotton, and your body tense beneath the weight of Jeonghan’s hand. The air was thick with anticipation, and not a word was spoken; only the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal filled the silence.

When you finally arrive at the penthouse, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Seungcheol steps out first, opens your door, and without a word, pulls you close by the waist. His grip is firm, possessive, and grounding. With Jeonghan following just behind, the three of you make your way into the building and toward the elevator, the tension crackling like static in the air.

"Cheol I—" you start once you enter the living room.

"Did I allow you to speak, brat?" Seungcheol hisses, grabbing your face.

You let out a squeak, shaking your head in protest. Seungcheol hums in response, fingers squeezing your cheeks until your lips purse into a pout.

"Since you're both determined to be brats," he muses, a smirk playing on his lips, "why don't you fuck each other right in front of me?" Your eyes widen, heart stuttering at his words.

Before you can react, he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. A whimper escapes you as you melt into it, kissing him back.

"You can stop whenever you want, sweetheart," he murmurs against your mouth, breath warm. "Just say your safeword, and everything ends. No questions."

The reassurance sends warmth blooming in your chest. You can't help but smile as you nod, heart fluttering.

You kiss him back, the heat between you electric, and Seungcheol growls as his hands roam your body. A breathy moan escapes you when he grips your ass, his touch possessive.

Then, lips press against the back of your neck, and you gasp. Seungcheol's gaze snaps over your shoulder, a low warning rumbling in his chest.

"Did I say you could do that?" he growls.

Jeonghan's voice drips with mischief. "I was getting impatient."

You giggle, twisting around to loop your arms over Jeonghan's shoulders—only for Seungcheol to let out another possessive growl. Jeonghan smirks before sealing his lips over yours.

His kiss is nothing like Seungcheol's. He teases, pulling away just as you lean in, leaving fleeting nips along your lips. A frustrated whine slips out, and Jeonghan laughs against your mouth.

"So adorable," he purrs, "No wonder you kept her, Cheollie." Your cheeks flush at his words, and behind you, Seungcheol chuckles, dark and pleased.

Jeonghan's lips trail slow, teasing kisses down your neck, his fingers toying with the buttons of your blouse. A gasp slips out when his hands slide beneath the fabric, sending goosebumps skittering across your skin.

"I wanna see you," he murmurs against your throat, breath hot, "all of you."

With deft, playful fingers, he undresses you, and you shiver as cool air kisses your heated skin.

"Absolutely gorgeous," Jeonghan breathes, his gaze raking over you as his fingertips trace delicate paths along your bare waist.

You flush under his heavy stare, suddenly hyperaware that you're the only one exposed. Your hands lift to his shirt, eager to even the playing field—but he catches your wrists with a smirk.

"Ah, ah, not yet," he purrs, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips.

Heart pounding, you bite your lip as Jeonghan slowly sinks to his knees in front of you, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

A whine rips through your throat as he leaves teasing bites on your inner thighs, so close to where you need him most.

"Barely touched you, and you're already dripping," he hums.

"Jeonghan, please," you beg, growing impatient.

With a smirk, Jeonghan dives into your core, lapping up your juices. You moan and throw your head back as his tongue circles your sensitive nub. His movements are playful, teasing—giving you what you want but taking it away just as quickly.

Your legs tremble from the pleasure, and you can barely hold yourself up—you grab hold of the couch behind you, not trusting your legs to keep steady. A tight coil of pleasure winds low in your stomach, throbbing with need—you're so close, but not close enough. Desperate, you rock your hips harder against Jeonghan's mouth, chasing your release as you ride his face. A deep, approving moan vibrates against you, spurring you on—he loves how frantic you've become.

"Don't you dare cum." Seungcheol's command cuts through the air. You whine as you look at him.

"I-I can't—"Your voice breaks into a whimper as the tension coils tighter, teetering on the edge of release. "I can't hold back anymore—"

"No—!" The broken cry escapes as Jeonghan withdraws, stealing your climax at the last possible second. Your body arches uselessly, chasing what's already gone, frustration burning through every nerve.

Jeonghan straightens up, clicking his tongue as he wipes his mouth. "Ah-ah. No rushing." His thumb swipes over your lower lip, silencing your whimpers. "I want to watch you fall apart for me, Dollface."

Jeonghan whirls you around, bending you over the couch in one swift motion. Your core is completely exposed now, vulnerable to their hungry gaze—a rush of embarrassment floods your cheeks before you can even protest. But all thoughts of modesty vanish when his palm cracks sharply against your bare ass.

The sudden impact makes you yelp, the sharp sting blooming into a delicious throb that shoots straight to your core, and you squirm instinctively. Jeonghan's low chuckle behind you tells him he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

The sound of Jeonghan's zipper cuts through the air, and you start to turn—but before you can even look, he's already sheathed inside you in one brutal thrust, your slickness making it easy. A choked gasp tears from your throat as he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips stealing your breath.

His fingers dig into your waist, holding you in place as he fucks into you relentlessly. Your vision whites out when he bottoms out, the sharp pleasure-pain of his tip hitting your cervix drawing a wanton moan from your lips.

"I'm—I'm close!" you sob, teetering on the edge.

"You're not allowed to," Seungcheol snarls—but it's too late. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body clenching around Jeonghan as you fall apart. He follows with a few more ragged thrusts, spilling inside you with a groan that sends shivers down your spine.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the trickle of his cum down your thighs. Seungcheol strides forward, yanking Jeonghan's hair back hard enough to make him whine.

"Did I say you could fill her up?" he sneers.

Jeonghan flashes a Cheshire grin. "Whoops."

With a growl, Seungcheol shoves him away—then turns his burning gaze on you, a mess of oversensitivity and Jeonghan's claim.

Seungcheol strips in seconds, his clothes discarded in a heap before his powerful hands are on you again. In one effortless motion, he spins you to face him, those beefy arms lifting your trembling body like you weigh nothing. Your legs, weak and useless now, dangle as he holds you flush against him, the heat of his bare skin burning into yours.

His lips press against yours in a searing kiss, hungry lips desperate to reclaim what's his. You moan as you open your mouth, fully submitting to him.

"I'm going to fuck his cum out of you," Seungcheol growls against your lips, his hands tightening possessively on your hips. "Until there's nothing left but me. Until you remember who you belong to." A shiver wracks your body at his words, equal parts threat and promise, as his breath burns hot against your mouth.

A choked moan escapes your lips as Seungcheol sheathes inside your spent hole, the oversensitivity making your toes curl. He wastes no time and starts to thrust into you with an animalistic pace.

"D-Daddy!" you choke out, eyes rolling back as every nerve in your body lights up.

The pleasure builds too fast—Seungcheol’s ruthless pace turning you into nothing more than a writhing, overstimulated mess beneath him. Your hazy gaze drifts past his shoulder to where Jeonghan lounges naked in an armchair, lazily stroking himself as he watches with a smirk that makes your stomach flutter.

"Eyes on me," Seungcheol snarls, and you obey instantly, his dark stare pinning you in place.

Then it hits—your orgasm shatters through you with a broken cry, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. But he doesn't stop. His thrusts stay brutal, dragging you through the aftershocks until tears streak your cheeks from the sheer too much of it all.

He finishes with a feral growl, spilling into you so deep you feel it leaking out almost immediately, warm and sticky between your thighs. Across the room, Jeonghan arches with a quiet groan, painting his stomach in streaks of white—his eyes never leaving your ruined, trembling form.

The three of you take a moment to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling as Seungcheol gently lowers you back down. His hand stays firm on your hips, not trusting your legs to hold you up just yet.

Jeonghan watches the two of you with an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

"Round two in the shower?" he offers with a grin.

"No," Seungcheol says flatly.

"Yes," you chime in at the same time.

You and Seungcheol exchange a look before you break into a giggle.

"Daddy, c'mon~" you pout, eyes wide and pleading.

Seungcheol groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Insatiable little brat," he mutters before pulling you into a kiss that has you giggling all over again.

Without another word, he scoops you up into his arms bridal-style, making you squeal and laugh as he heads toward the bathroom. Jeonghan trails behind with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying every second of the chaos.

After all, when it comes to you, Seungcheol just can't help but spoil you.

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