#|| and if it inspires an au for on here - in the words of Lee: excellent 👍✨

[muse-stellium]

Me hyper googling au ideas not for rp but bc the sims gameplay be dull of all things

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

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A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

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The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else. 

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black. 

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials. 

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one. 

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison. 

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am. 

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it. 

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for. 

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house. 

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing. 

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval. 

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading. 

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents. 

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him. 

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.  

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it. 

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering. 

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone. 

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose. 

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing. 

8:59. 

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly. 

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm. 

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy. 

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock. 

But today is the day where everything comes to a head. 

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters. 

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty. 

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance. 

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning. 

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing. 

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet. 

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you. 

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears. 

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat. 

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action. 

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long. 

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly. 

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence. 

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed. 

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence. 

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester. 

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months. 

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare. 

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats. 

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. 

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me. 

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere. 

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it. 

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published. 

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach. 

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening. 

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to  catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet. 

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return. 

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung. 

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others. 

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you. 

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose. 

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game. 

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester. 

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance. 

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw. 

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried. 

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind. 

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone. 

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall. 

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?” 

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above. 

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach. 

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face. 

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare. 

But you hadn’t. 

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you. 

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer. 

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them. 

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected. 

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad. 

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with. 

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual. 

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him. 

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect. 

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class. 

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off. 

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him. 

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here. 

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?” 

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face. 

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind. 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you. 

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium. 

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time. 

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten. 

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need. 

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is. 

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord. 

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare. 

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy. 

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door. 

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation. 

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently. 

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door. 

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door. 

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend. 

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it. 

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold. 

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike? 

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom. 

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours. 

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with. 

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you. 

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one. 

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how. 

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting. 

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.  

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground. 

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once. 

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something. 

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it. 

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this. 

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you. 

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder. 

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud. 

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing. 

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage. 

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published. 

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume. 

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs. 

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye. 

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago. 

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently. 

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste. 

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days. 

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.  

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species. 

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago. 

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is. 

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago. 

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads. 

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads. 

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared. 

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive. 

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch. 

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear. 

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow. 

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes. 

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak. 

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood. 

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric. 

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even. 

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world. 

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all. 

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students. 

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style. 

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him. 

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You. 

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success. 

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing. 

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you. 

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours. 

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence. 

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different. 

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside. 

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her. 

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research. 

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh. 

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer. 

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity. 

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional. 

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes. 

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice. 

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim. 

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete,  well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features. 

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday. 

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task. 

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed. 

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening. 

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door. 

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in. 

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day. 

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips. 

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance. 

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person. 

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you. 

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?” 

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe. 

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came. 

Heeseung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it. 

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches. 

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost. 

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you. 

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway. 

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to. 

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes. 

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego. 

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.” 

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now. 

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly. 

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life. 

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heeseung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all. 

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way. 

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it. 

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course. 

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited. 

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance. 

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands. 

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you. 

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas. 

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper. 

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same. 

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry. 

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read. 

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry. 

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it. 

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this? 

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page. 

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information. 

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these. 

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads. 

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up. 

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all. 

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed. 

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission. 

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.” 

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like— 

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?” 

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze. 

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all. 

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet. 

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation. 

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend. 

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, “Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided. 

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, ��Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds. 

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even. 

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you. 

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much. 

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss. 

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say. 

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears. 

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours. 

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it. 

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing. 

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands. 

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value. 

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors. 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment. 

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it. 

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home. 

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you. 

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected. 

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind. 

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you. 

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works. 

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires. 

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting. 

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public. 

And then you make your way to the university library. 

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft. 

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website. 

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery. 

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between. 

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand. 

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels. 

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes. 

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents. 

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start. 

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page. 

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die. 

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date. 

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off. 

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity. 

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind. 

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name. 

The taste of blood. 

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash. 

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire. 

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts. 

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading. 

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book. 

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays. 

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire. 

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase. 

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality. 

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours. 

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you. 

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you. 

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave. 

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home. 

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound. 

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library. 

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint. 

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.”

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small. 

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another. 

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon. 

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them. 

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence. 

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.” 

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.” 

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable. 

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag. 

Sacred Monsters. 

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story. 

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you. 

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.” 

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him. 

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you. 

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect. 

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse. 

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks… 

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be. 

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end. 

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why. 

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now. 

 But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end. 

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives. 

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door. 

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look. 

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. 

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread. 

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes. 

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit. 

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist. 

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. 

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always. 

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence. 

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush. 

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is. 

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease. 

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense. 

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime. 

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads. 

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page. 

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat. 

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop. 

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred. 

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families. 

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it. 

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied. 

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now. 

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you. 

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems. 

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business. 

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain. 

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area. 

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers. 

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay. 

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings. 

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard. 

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing. 

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off. 

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now. 

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe. 

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside. 

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here. 

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response. 

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung. 

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room. 

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building. 

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange. 

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe. 

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you. 

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains. 

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away. 

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again. 

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction. 

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door. 

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now. 

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat. 

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear. 

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.  

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm. 

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel. 

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit. 

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come. 

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette. 

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person. 

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth. 

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit. 

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it. 

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true. 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would. 

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking. 

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions. 

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything. 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight. 

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck. 

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck. 

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics. 

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss. 

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory. 

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness. 

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would. 

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks. 

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel. 

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being. 

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat. 

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper. 

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck. 

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain. 

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air. 

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up. 

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you. 

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

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

words・15.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

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

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

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

“What the hell did you do?”

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

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

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

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

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

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

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

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

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

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

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

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

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

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

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

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

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

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

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

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

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

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

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

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

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

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

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

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

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

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

“Yep.”

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

“That’s bullshit!”

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

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

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

Then comes the yelling.

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

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

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

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

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

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

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

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

Piazza replied within the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

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

“Was it not?” You ask.

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

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

“What? Really?”

“No.”

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

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

“I do, but you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

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

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

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

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

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

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

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

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

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

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

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

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

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

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

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

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

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

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

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

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

“To dinner or to practice?”

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

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

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

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

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

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

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

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do kick him under the table, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

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

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

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

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

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

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

“I can’t promise anything.”

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

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

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

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

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

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

“Caring about me.”

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

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

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

“Motherfucker!”

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

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

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

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

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

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

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

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

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

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

With that, his attention span has run its course.

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

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

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

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

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

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

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

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

“Why is that?”

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

“It really is.”

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

“I really would.”

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

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

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

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

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

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

“Really?”

“No.”

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

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

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

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

Then he opens his texts.

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

He picks you up at 7:53.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay, I think.”

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

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

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

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

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

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

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

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

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to be alone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the arcade.

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

In person, that is.

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

Then you listen to it again.

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

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

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

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you see under these things?”

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

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

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

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

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

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

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

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

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

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

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

You stop thinking after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitor.”

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

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

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

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

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

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

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

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

“Let’s get this over with.”

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin is already out the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She really is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonwoo, right?”

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

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

“Also a singer?”

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

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

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

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

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

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

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

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

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

“Bet.”

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has always been him.

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

It’s not awkward this time.

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

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

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

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

He balls his fingers into fists.

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

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

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

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

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

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

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

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

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

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

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

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

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

Hyunjin thanks you.

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

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[jeonginsleftcheek]

In Der Palästra

pairing: prince!lee know x servant!afab!reader

genre: smut, royal au, angsty

word count: 4.7k

warnings: vague mentions of abuse(not by minho), oral (m receiving), kind of power play, unprotected sex (don't), honestly minho is kinda soft in this (lmk if i should add any more warnings)

(also i am so tired so if there are mistakes i apologize)

check out: Masterlist

a/n: (the song is not everyone's cup of tea but i hope yall enjoy the fic)

inspired by lyrics of this song:

You weren't supposed to be here, but your curiosity always got the better of you ever since you were a child. Back then, your soul and body weren't as tainted as they are now, there was a time when you were innocent and full of wonder.

Until all of the safe walls crumbled down around you and revealed the reality of being a nobody, just a servant for the royal family who owns the land and the sky. Their prince Minho, is someone you always fearfully admired from afar. His face is always stoic, devoid of any emotion as his dark cat-like eyes scan the crowd.

He never even spared you a look while you stood in the back, but your eyes were always trained on him, like he was a magnet pulling you into his direction.

You were looking for a little nook to hide in, just for a while before you have to resume with your duties, searching for just one moment of peace where you weren't used and abused, treated like an insignificant speck of dirt.

Since you always had a love for nature, you gravitated towards one of the gardens, but to your surprise you weren't alone. Your body freezes at the sight before you, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as you hide behind a bush of hydrangeas.

Prince Minho, in all his naked glory as he bathes in one of the wells, the clear water splashing against his strong body, dripping down his spine, caressing his porcelain-like skin.

You can't believe you came across a moment so delicate on accident, a moment of sensual masculinity as you observe movements of every muscle on his back and shoulders, his biceps, his backside, his thighs, and you can see his member hanging heavy between his legs.

You swallow the saliva that gathered in your mouth quietly, the admiration you have for the prince turning into a stirring feeling in your gut, like a beast awakening from a lifetime long slumber all the way from the depths of your soul, hungry for something more.

He is beyond beautiful, the sun is reflecting off of his perfect skin, almost blinding you as you keep staring at him, unable to tear your eyes away like you're hypnotized by his presence. You know you could literally lose your head for sneaking around and watching the prince bathe, but your soul is enveloped in darkness in every waking moment of your life, sometimes even seeping into your dreams, and prince Minho is like a sun shining onto you right now, warming up your cold soul.

You could say you adore him, like everyone does, you're sure he's never had to face the horrid and disgusting things that happen in the shadow-covered corners of his palace, the ones you were a witness and a victim to countless times.

You make a mistake by adjusting your footing and accidentally stepping on a branch, snapping it in half.

"Who's there?"- Minho's soft voice breaks the tranquility of the garden and your heart gets stuck in your throat. "Show yourself!"- he demands, turning his gorgeous body towards the direction of the sound and you get a good look at his defined chest and abs, his heavy cock bouncing a little.

You stay frozen for a moment, weighing your options. If you stay where you are, he will surely make his way to the hydrangeas and when he finds you, you will be reprimanded for peeping at him. If you try to run away, you would be caught and if you stepped out you might be yelled at. Whatever you do, you know you will be punished, the question is which one of the options would bring you the lesser punishment.

You opt for showing yourself, maybe he would be lenient with you if you came out and begged for forgiveness with everything you have.

You finally come out slowly, fear coursing through your body as you shiver, you eyes cast downwards towards the floor.

"What's your name, girl?"- the prince asks, surprisingly calm.

"Y/n."- you say quietly and he hums.

"You know it's rude to look at the floor while talking to someone."- he speaks up after a moment and you gasp, looking up at him quickly.

His face is stoic as always, but you can see his lips lifting up slightly into a small smirk, it's almost unnoticeable but you caught it.

"I apologize, your Highness."- you say, your voice trembling.

"And what about peeping at me while I'm bathing? Should you apologize for that too?"- he says and you gasp, throwing yourself down on your knees instantly.

"I am so sorry, your Highness! It was not my intention but I did it anyways! Please, I beg for your forgiveness, my Prince. I- I will take any punishment you give me because I know I deserve it!"- your eyes tear up as you beg.

The unnerving silence that follows your desperate begging is worse than being yelled at. You can only hear your own heavy breathing and birds chirping all around the garden before the prince speaks up again.

"Stand up."- he says and you scramble to stand on your feet quickly. "Come here and make yourself useful."

Your brain freezes for a moment as you look up at him.

"Can you follow orders?"- prince Minho asks in a slightly mocking tone.

"Yes! Yes, I can follow orders."- you quickly make your way to him and your legs tremble when you stand before him.

You've never been this close to the gorgeous prince, finally being able to see his sharp nose and jawline, his pretty pink lips and those deep dark eyes that stared right into your soul, like he knows what you're thinking.

"Help me wash my back while I think about what I'll do with you."- he sits, and you catch a glimpse of a smirk before he turns his back to you.

A shiver runs through your body, you're fearful of what kind of punishment will be dealt to you but you're also awestruck about the fact that you'll actually touch the prince's perfect body. If this is the last thing you do in your miserable life, maybe it's not so bad to cease to exist after this.

You grab the cloth he prepared and start gently cleaning his back, feeling his muscles relax under your hands. His skin is so soft and you wish you could worship it day and night.

It's eerily quiet again, but you're concentrated on the task you have, your hand holding onto the prince's bicep as you massage his shoulder with the cloth.

He lets out a little hum of satisfaction, before a chuckle escapes his mouth. You stop your movements as your heart beats faster.

"I didn't tell you to stop, girl."- he says and you quickly continue.

"I noticed you around the palace, you know?"- he says after a little while and you let out a small gasp of surprise. "You're one of the pretty ones. Which means you've probably been touched before."

You shiver when he says that, the feeling of unwanted hands on you making you recoil.

He turns to look at you and sees the sadness your eyes hold, and he observes you, making you feel small under his sharp gaze.

"It wasn't something you wanted, was it?"- he lifts his hand up and cradles your cheek, another gasp of surprise escapes your lips as you naturally lean into his touch, his hand gentle and warm in contrast of anything that ever touched you before.

You shake your head, letting out a weak 'no'.

The prince leans in without a word and when his lips brush against yours, your heart leaps out of your chest and you chase his soft lips but he moves away quickly.

"I'm not gonna punish you. I'm gonna punish the people who did things to you and other servants so don't be scared of me."- he says and your eyes tear up. You act without thinking as you throw your arms around his shoulders and start thanking him, tears running down your cheeks like rain.

His hands are on your waist and the touch snaps you out of your little sob fest, and you snap back to reality, moving away from the prince.

"I-I am so sorry, your Highness! I didn't mean to do that."- you wipe your tears quickly but his hands are still holding you.

"Do you fancy me, y/n?"- he asks, his fingers rubbing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

"I-I'm not allowed..."- you start but he stops you.

"Answer the question."- he says sternly.

"Yes, I do, my prince."- you nod and he smiles, making your heart flutter.

"Is it okay if I take your dress off?"- he asks and your core starts throbbing at the thought of being naked together with the prince.

"Yes, your Highness."- you whisper and he gently slides one strap down, his fingertips light on your skin as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss on your jaw.

His lips are gentle against your face as he leaves slow kisses across your jaw line to your cheek, his hand slowly sliding the other strap down, caressing your arm and making goosebumps rise on your skin.

His lips brush against yours again before he kisses you and you melt into him instantly, tilting your head back as prince Minho leads the kiss.

Your dress starts sliding down your chest, the valley of your breasts exposed as the prince swipes his tongue on your lower lip.

You part your lips, gladly letting him explore your mouth as he dominates you with his tongue, his hands speeding up the process of your dress sliding down your body.

Your breasts pop out and you shiver as the chilly breeze caresses your pert nipples. Prince Minho leans away from your lips to look at you and your arms lift up instinctively to hide away from him.

"Don't hide. You're beautiful."- he says, and you think it's absurd that the most perfect man you've ever seen is calling you beautiful. You don't believe him yet you still let him move your hands down.

"Can I touch you?"- he asks and you nod quickly, muttering out a quiet 'yes'.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs running on your nipples and playing with them and you let out a little whimper as you lean into his touch.

Your core drips with arousal and you subtly grind against the fabric of your dress, looking for relief as the prince squeezes and massages your breasts, the pads of his fingers constantly stimulating your sensitive nipples.

One of his hands comes up to hold the back of your head as he leans in and gently pulls your head back, revealing your neck to him completely.

Your breathing gets heavier as you try to focus on him but your eyes are getting hazy already and so is your mind.

Prince Minho pulls you a bit closer to his body, slotting his leg between yours. He leans into your neck, soft kisses are pressed into your skin all the way from your collarbone to your jaw. You grip at his strong arms as he slides your dress up on your thigh before covering his leg with it and pressing his knee into your hot and wet cunt.

You whimper a bit louder as his kisses get wetter and sloppier, his hand gropping your breast harder, his knee pressing into your heat as you rut against him. Your clit slides against him perfectly, your cunt making squelching sounds from the amount of arousal dripping from it.

Prince Minho smirks into your neck before removing all stimulation away from you and you whine a little at the loss.

Your head falls down and you finally look at him. A jolt of lightning runs through you when you see his pretty cock fully hard and leaking only for you, and without thinking, you slide down to your knees, your lips parting as you lean in closer to his member.

The prince chuckles and you snap out of your trance and look up at him, feeling a little ashamed for being so eager and entranced.

"You like it, hm?"- he teases, his hand tangling in your hair as you nod quickly again, your breasts shaking with the movement.

"P-please let me give you pleasure, my prince..."- you beg quietly and he smirks down at you, his eyes darkening with lust as he spreads his legs a little more to make place for you, pushing your head towards him gently.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."- the nickname makes your cunt throb as you put your tongue out, catching a drop of salty pre cum on it and the taste drives you feral so you push the tip of your tongue into his slit, licking at the rest of the pre cum gathered on it.

Prince Minho jolts forwards, the underside of his head sliding against your tongue. You look up at him as his lips part and he slowly moves the tip up and down on your tongue. Your eyes flutter as his breathing gets deeper and you let out a moan before enveloping your lips around his head.

The prince curses quietly as you nip at his underside with the tip of your tongue and play with him, sucking gently. His hand tightens in your hair and this eggs you on so you take more of him in your mouth.

You're not sure how much you'll be able to take because the prince is well endowed but his cock is worth the worship you want to give him, so you slowly slide down to take more of him, your hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock. Your other hand grabs at his thigh so you can brace yourself to take him into your mouth.

The prince's eyes darken further as your big eyes stare up at him almost innocently, your mouth stuffed full of his cock as you keep trying hard to take more with each bob of your head.

You suck on him eagerly, coating his member with your saliva as your eyes flutter, and prince Minho grunts lowly, his fingers tangle further in your hair and he grips it, his hips jolting upwards involuntarily.

The sight of the beautiful prince falling apart because of you, his eyes hazy and his pretty lips parted, his cheeks and neck flushed as he stares at you make your arousal gush out and drip down your thigh. You squeeze your thighs together and accidentally slide down on his cock more making yourself gag. The prince moans as his tip hits the back of your throat, and you breathe through your nose as you engulf his whole length, your nose ending up in his pubes.

He feels, tastes and smells heavenly and you swear you can cum just like this, with his cock fucking your fluttering throat slowly. You bring your hand between his legs to gently grab his balls and the prince whimpers, his hips fucking into you a little more desperately as you massage his balls and let him use your mouth.

You feel his cock twitch, his balls are heavy and full of cum and you're ready to swallow every drop he's willing to give you.

"I'm cumming!"- the prince announces and you whimper around him, bobbing your head faster and gagging on his length as he meets your movement with his thrusts.

"Ah!"- his eyebrows knit together, a bead of sweat running down his forehead as he shuts his eyes tightly, almost looking angry as he shoots his load into your throat nearly making you choke on the warm liquid. You swallow quickly and keep swallowing as you milk his beautiful cock until you feel him go limp in your mouth and twitch from overstimulation.

You release him and look up at him, your cunt is throbbing for any kind of touch and he sits there for a moment, still not opening his eyes as he tries to even out his breathing and come down.

"You took everything I gave you, hm?"- he looks at you suddenly, his hands cupping your face.

"Yes, my prince."- you nuzzle into his hands and he gives you a smile that makes your chest and core flutter.

He doesn't say anything as he slides your dress down more, gently caressing the folds of your stomach and you adjust your position so he can slide the dress off completely.

You don't miss the way the prince licks his lips when he sees your dripping cunt, your arousal making a mess on your inner thighs.

The prince kneels between your legs as he lays you down in the grass, your dress acting as a blanket you can lay on. His eyes scan your body for a moment and you feel self-conscious as he can see all your scars and imperfections, your body was far from the ethereal look his body held.

"Who did this to you?"- his fingers trace the scars on your thigh.

"S-some guards."- you answer quietly, avoiding prince Minho's eyes and looking up at the bright blue sky, the reflection of the sun making him look surreal in your peripheral.

"You know their names?"- he asks and you finally glance at him, shivering as you notice a different kind of darkness in his eyes, anger.

"Y-yes."- you nod.

"Good. You'll tell me later."- he says and with that he leans back and looks around before his eyes land on a pretty flower growing near by where the two of you sit in the grass. He leans towards it and plucks it out, firstly staring at it and you look at him with slight confusion in your face, wondering what he did that for.

"Stay still."- he says, and your questions are answered when the prince gently runs the petals on your nipple and you gasp quietly, arching your back. He looks at you intently as he starts slowly running the flower against your nipple and your sensitive body reacts with more arousal gushing between your legs, your hips lifting up and begging for friction.

The prince ignores your needy hips for now, his focus on stimulating your pretty nipples. You let out little moans as your nails dig into the dress spread underneath you.

You've never been touched this gently, you've never been looked at like this, your body never knew arousal like this.

Prince Minho slowly drags the flower down your tummy to your cunt as he presses it against your wet folds, running the smooth petals all over your heat.

You moan, your breaths coming out ragged as your body shakes gently, your hips fucking up into the flower. It's not enough pressure on your cunt but you're still dripping, your eyes tearing up from frustration and the prince leans in closer to your face, his lips attaching to yours before he leaves kisses all over your cheeks and neck.

You're getting lost in the gentle pleasure as prince Minho's lips trail kisses from your collarbone to your breast, before he kisses your nipple and then swipes his tongue against the hardened bud.

You keen, arching further into him and he takes your nipple in his mouth sucking on it as he puts a little more pressure on your cunt with the flower, his other hand caresses your waist and your eyes water again at being handled so gently that you can't help when your hips spasm and you explode, squirting on the flower and your thighs.

"Pretty."- the prince smirks as he looks at your arousal dripping from the flower and you whimper in embarassment as you turn away from him.

"Look at me."- he gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. You gulp and look at his hand which is now wrapped around his hard throbbing member, the flower set aside.

"My prince."- you whimper as he gently presses the tip of his cock into your clit. You gasp as he runs it on your dripping folds, your cunt is hungry for him, opening up to catch his tip a few times as he keeps rubbing you.

Every swipe of the head ends with him pressing it into your sensitive bundle of nerves and you whimper, lifting your hips up in hopes that he'll just put it in finally, giving you that delicious stretch.

"P-please."- you whimper.

"You want my cock, sweetheart?"- he asks, pushing just the tip in and you keen, spreading your legs even more and arching into him.

"Yes, please."- you whimper again, fresh tears gathering in your eyes again.

"You can have my cock."- he smirks leaning over you, his strong arms on either side of you as he gently grabs your wrists, holding them down and slowly pushing his big cock into your tight cunt.

The stretch is perfect, your pussy opens up for the prince, taking the shape of his cock as he pushes so slowly so you feel every inch of him entering you. His sharp eyes stare into yours the whole time as you whimper, your hands turning into fists as pleasure starts overtaking your senses.

Prince Minho grabs one of your hands as he bottoms out, grunting lowly and leaning your hand on his chest.

"Touch me."- he says and your hand is rough, your fingers calloused from all the physical work you do with them, you almost feel embarassed to be touching his fair, soft skin with your harsh hands.

The prince doesn't seem to mind as he holds your wrist, making you run your hand on his chest as his cock throbs inside you. Your pussy clenches around him and he groans, his hands sliding down to your hips, then to your thighs. He grips them, slowly sliding his cock against your wet, velvety walls.

You grab at the dress under you again, fisting it from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure his cock is bringing to you, hitting as deep as he can, touching your cervix with every thrust forward.

Prince Minho grabs your legs and presses your knees to your shoulders, leaning closer to you so your legs wrap around his shoulders.

"Ah!"- you whimper when he pulls his cock out only to ram it back in hard and fast.

Your brain gets foggy instantly as he stops holding back and starts fucking his cock into you harder, his heavy balls slapping your ass, his hips slamming down with strength, his whole weight crushing down on you.

His strong arms are on either side of your head, as he leans his body on yours, his dark eyes never leaving yours. You recognize a deep primal look of hunger in his eyes as he rams his hard cock deep inside you.

You would panic if someone else was above you like that but something about prince Minho brings you security and you feel safe in his hold like that.

You let go of everything, completely surrendering to the moment and you cum all around the prince's cock, moaning and shaking as your juices make everything more wet and slippery, making the prince grunt lowly.

The squelching sounds fill up the space between you as the prince looks down at your breasts bouncing between your bodies, your nipples dragging on his skin with each hard thrust of his strong hips. Both of your moans and breaths mix together in the small space between your faces as he keeps fucking you, his hips relentless and you clench down on his throbbing cock, exploding around his length again.

The prince pulls out slowly and you whimper at the empty feeling, but his hand comes down to caress your stomach.

"I would love to fuck a baby in you, but we'd both be in trouble if I were to do that."- he says, so casually and you almost choke on a moan as he flicks your clit, his other hand jerking off his hard member.

"Mm, I know..."- you swallow and he chuckles lowly.

"Get on all fours. I wanna cum on your back and ass."- the prince talks dirty, making you shiver, hearing stuff like that from someone seemingly pure and majestic.

You do as he says, leaning your chest down so your ass is up in the air and prince Minho grabs your flesh roughly as you listen to the squelching sound of his wet cock fucking his hand.

You moan, jolting a little, making your nipples graze against the rough fabric of the dress. You whimper, your neglected pussy clenching around nothing and prince Minho notices you moving against the ground, stimulating your nipples.

Without any warning, he plunges three fingers inside your sopping cunt and you keen loudly, gripping at the fabric under your body.

You don't know how he can finger you so good while jerking off at the same time but you don't have time to question anything, your mind hazy as you come close to another orgasm.

Prince Minho's moans get more high pitched and a particularly loud moan leaves his lips before you feel hot spurts of cum land on your ass and back, the feeling making you cream deliciously around his fingers.

He unloads everything on you, cursing under his breath as he gives your ass a smack, making you whimper.

He pulls his fingers out of your hole, bringing them to your lips.

"Taste."- he smirks as he hovers over you and you wrap your lips around his fingers, sucking on them and looking up at him hazily.

You wish this moment with the beautiful prince never ends but nothing lasts forever. He pulls out his fingers and helps you sit up.

You don't know what's gonna happen next, but you didn't expect the prince to grab a clean cloth, getting it wet before gently cleaning you up.

Your eyes tear up and a sob escapes your lips, as you've never been treated like this before.

"Shh, I know. It's okay."- he whispers, his hands soothing on your skin, his fingertips tracing every scar he can find on your body.

You feel like he's worshipping them as he leans closer and kisses the back of your shoulder gently before his strong arms envelop around your chest, pulling you to rest your back around him.

He caresses your body wherever he can reach and as you come down from the mix of all the feelings you just went through, you think this might be a dream.

"W-what now, my prince?"- you ask, your heart beating hard against your chest. Fresh tears are already brimming at your eyes as you imagine never being this close to prince Minho again.

"You're gonna tell me their names. All of them. Don't even try to think about sparing their miserable lives."- he says, sounding almost angry and you shiver a little as his grip around you becomes stronger.

He loosens his grip and makes you look at him.

"Do you understand?"- he asks and you nod as you stare into his eyes, feeling hypnotized by him again.

"Yes, my prince."- you confirm.

"Say my name at least once. I wanna hear it from your lips."- the prince says, brushing his thumb on your lower lip slowly.

You stare at him in shock, your heart leaping out of your chest and the prince just looks at you expectantly.

"M-Minho."- you say quietly, scared to utter his name informally like that.

"Again."- he whispers, closer to your face.

"Minho."- you say it a little louder and he smirks before pressing his lips into yours, giving you a slow wet kiss that has you feeling weak.

"I will take care of the pests today. And after that I want you to join me in my chambers."- he says and you gasp.

"B-but I-"

"Ah, ah."- he puts his finger on your lips.

"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart. There's a lot I want to know about you."- the prince smirks and you gulp, your eyes wide as they look at him.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny

[jaeyunverse]

the fake dating pact

pairing(s): park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre(s): fluff, suggestive, fake dating, enemies to lovers, rich kid au, cruise au

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): profanity, making out, implications to sex (no smut)

inspired by: dil dhadakne do

summary: in which ridiculous circumstances lead to a fake dating contract pact being struck between park sunghoon and you.

note: i’m ngl i thought i’d reposted this fic but i’m not able to find it so here we go LOL the sunghoon brainrot’s been hitting real hard lately

masterlist

There was a slight chance Sunghoon and you had crossed the boundaries you’d set when you first drew up your fake dating contract.

Okay, agreement would be a more accurate word choice since the document wasn’t legally binding, but the two of you took its contents very seriously. Together, you’d come up with a few mutually acceptable ground rules:

no kissing unless absolutely necessary

non-sexual acts of intimacy are acceptable in order to maintain the facade

keep arguments to a minimum no matter how insufferable the other person is being

no bed-sharing under any circumstances

no falling for park sunghoon even though he is the epitome of sexiness

The last condition was total bullshit, but you didn’t have it in you to make him get rid of it. Your mom had already done an excellent job at pissing you off; the last thing you wanted to do was get into it with Sunghoon.

One may wonder what caused the two of you to make this pact. Simply put, both your families desperately wanted to set you up with people you had no interest in dating.

(Not that you wanted to seek a romantic relationship with Sunghoon either, but we’ll get into that later.)

Lee Saerom had organised a cruise across the Mediterranean Sea on the occasion of her parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. Normally, your family wouldn’t have come within 10 feet of the Park family, but you were both good friends of the Lees and neither of you wanted to give the other the satisfaction of avoiding the trip.

Now that all the powerful and influential families of Seoul were gathered in the same place for a celebration spanning over a few weeks, your parents thought it would be a good idea to find you an ideal suitor who would help their company expand.

Word spread that you were seeing Lee Heeseung, the younger son of the Lees and heir apparent to their empire. The rumour was entirely false, but you had to admit it was a genius move on your parents’ part. Not only did it become harder for Heeseung and you to deny the allegations, but it made the Lees consider a future with your family’s business.

As if you weren’t in a shitload of mess already, the entire thing had somehow turned into a competition with the Parks beginning their own efforts to set Sunghoon up with Ning Yizhou.

The minor problem was that Heeseung and Yizhou were in love with each other, and neither of them had the courage to tell everyone the truth. They were both too afraid of disappointing their parents and bringing disgrace to their families.

You supposed it was a good thing Sunghoon and you had no such qualms. So, before things could escalate any further, the four of you got together and decided to put an end to this idiocy.

On the third night of the cruise, Sunghoon and you announced your relationship. Holding his hand and giving him lovey-dovey eyes felt ridiculous, but you would rather stomach fake dating him than see a wedge form between Heeseung and Yizhou.

Needless to say, everyone was shocked.

Yizhou even pretended to faint while Heeseung started sobbing hysterically. You couldn’t believe he actually pulled out a tear stick and applied it to the underside of his eyes when no one was looking. You wondered if he’d purchased it for this specific reason when you’d explored Turkey earlier that day.

Overall, it was a pretty convincing act.

The Lees and Nings were furious, but you weren’t particularly worried. In fact, you didn’t even care. Your parents had it coming their way the moment they dragged you into their scheming and plotting.

It took a few days for everyone to calm down and for the festivities to resume, but things pretty much went back to normal. Sunghoon and you both got tongue-lashings from your families, but they didn’t make you two break up.

Your reputations were already in the gutter; forcing you to end your relationship after all that had conspired would have been the cherry on top of your disaster of a cake.

The pre-decided course of action was to fake date Sunghoon till the cruise ended. Once you returned to your daily lives and enough time had passed, you would cook up a reason to break up.

It didn’t take long for your original plan to go to shit. As it turned out, spending a week pretending to love the bane of your existence had proved to be quite the opportunity to really get to know him.

Ever since you were a kid, you’d heard your parents say a lot of terrible things about the Parks. You’d been instructed to stay far away from Sunghoon. An impressionable and susceptible child such as yourself had obeyed every order they gave you.

You’d literally been hard-wired to despise and assume the worst of Sunghoon.

The wall of hatred you’d built between the two of you began coming down brick by brick once you learnt the kind of man he was. He was honourable and good and down-to-earth.

Of course, he was a dickhead to you for the same reason you were a bitch to him, but the asshole side of him was more endearing than annoying now.

His snarky replies no longer seemed to bite, and there was always an underlying film of adoration accompanying them.

Perhaps, he’d grown to care for you just as you had for him.

You certainly hoped that was the case, since regularly making out with someone who couldn’t be bothered with you wasn’t exactly your dream.

To this day, you had no idea how you’d ended up grabbing the collar of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his.

Maybe it was because he kept reminding you that you’d lost a bet to him and you wanted to shut him up, or maybe it was because he hadn’t bothered to button up his shirt and his abs were on full display, the ocean wind ruffling his messy hair.

Nonetheless, something seemed to snap in him when you made the move. He responded to your kiss immediately and pinned you against a wall. Thankfully, it was almost midnight and there was no one to witness your less than decent makeout session on the deck.

The next ten minutes consisted of his hands travelling under your loose shirt, fingers grazing the cold skin of your abdomen. Soon, your shirt was discarded, and your legs were wrapped around his waist.

Sunghoon hadn’t bothered stopping even when you ran out of breath. Instead, he’d taken the opportunity to leave bruises on your jaw and neck. The warm feeling of his tongue soothing the spots where he’d nipped at your skin with his teeth had caused you to experience a burning need for desire that went further than the second base.

The amount of reaction he’d gotten out of you was embarrassing. Never had you been unraveled by anyone so effortlessly. He had to muffle the whimpers that slipped past your lips as a result of his ministrations.

If it weren’t for the fact that you were making out in the open and were at the risk of being walked in on, things would have escalated. By the time you parted, Sunghoon’s lips were swollen, his face was flushed and he was breathing hard.

His eyes were hooded and dark, and he was gazing at you with an intensity that made you shiver.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, fetched your shirt from the ground and hurried away.

You didn’t even know why you thought things would go back to normal the next day.

One look at him, and your legs turned to jelly. You happily obliged when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and whisked you away from everyone else.

Soon enough, you’d breached almost all the conditions in your fake dating pact.

You spent most of your nights together—be it hooking up, lying in the comfort of each other’s arms or just talking till slumber claimed you. Never in your life had you imagined being at ease around Sunghoon.

Everything else faded away when you were with him. He made you feel yourself. He made you feel whole.

“Hey,” you murmured while you were both swimming in the pool one night, the stars shining brightly in the sky. His eyes were closed and his neck was tilted up, the back of his head resting on the decking behind. “Can I ask you something?”

Sunghoon hummed and opened his eyes, turning his attention to you. “Yeah.”

“I know we have a plan,” you continued, doing your best to ignore the droplets clinging to his skin, “and I know that we’re supposed to stop pretending after this cruise ends tomorrow, but have you ever thought about making this—” you pointed at him, and then at yourself— “real.”

He laughed softly and shook his head in amusement. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not joking—”

“Every single day,” he interrupted you. Wading his way through the water to close the distance between your bodies, he repeated, “I have thought about making you mine every goddamn day.”

He cupped your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered.

Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes and felt him press his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and passionate, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. It expressed what couldn’t be said using words, and you realised just how much you’d grown to admire and care for this man.

It physically pained you to consider the possibility of a life without him.

“Sunghoon,” you mumbled against his mouth. “I would say I love you too but I don’t wanna breach the contract.”

He chuckled and ran his tongue along your bottom lip, even going as far as to suck on it. “I thought you broke the last rule days ago.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face. You opened your lids and shifted to get a better look at his expression.

Sunghoon’s eyes were shining with happiness, and you thought you could gaze into them forever. You thought you could witness the grin on his face and hear his honeyed laugh without ever getting tired. You thought you could stand ground against anything life threw at you if you had him by your side.

You knew you could love him and be loved by him for as long as your soul wandered through the worlds.

“I love you too.”

[harufluff]

asking them to marry you on over the phone (unironically)

warnings - cursing, but that should be it.

genre - crack, fluff, bf!enhypen x fem!reader, established relationship au

wc - 1.1k

inspired by ‘you’re here that’s the thing’ by beabadoobee

yang jungwon

was stunned

actually thought he was having a heart attack for a second

he was doing something as simple as eating his gummies when you suddenly blurted out

"oh god- marry me."

man nearly choked on his gummy

more under the cut :))

"EXCUSE ME??"

if you were joking that was a bad idea cause he is fully prepared to marry you right that second >:(

either way, he's flattered

he thinks its honoring that you feel comfortable enough to say that

eventually you convince him to stop freaking out (it took way too long)

but even then, it still makes the heat rush to his face

thankfully it was just on facetime, so you couldn't see the red at the tips of his ears too much

he knows he's down bad fr 😋😋

lee heeseung

on the other hand mr i'm so confident on stage was like a little puddle

genuinely thought he heard you wrong at first

he was just sitting there zoning out for like two minutes and finally snapped out of it when he heard you say

"just marry me, you dork."

you thought it was funny lol 😎😎

probably should have thought that through cause you just messed up his heart with two words

"w-wait did you just- what did you say?!"

poor hee was so confused

"idk what did i say..."

"YOU SAID MARRY ME IDIOT"

"oh yea lol"

"FUCK YOU YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT"

he was a tad bit mad

just a little

literally walked over to your place so he could give you hugs and kisses 😤

park jay

he's been ready for this moment his entire life

literally got mad cause he wanted to say it

it ended with you having to beg him to stop talking

jay was cooking for the boys with you on facetime cause he was bored and everyone else would get in his way

so he gave you a call and you ended up staying on a call with him for over two hours

but the second he started tasting his food like the gourmet chef he is👌👌

suddenly he heard some of the best words he'll ever hear in his life

"ughhh- when we get married will you cook for me?"

poor baby whipped his head around so fast he almost broke it

"WHAT?? NOW?? BUT WERE ON THE PHONE AND- HEY YOU TOOK MY JOB I WAS SUPPOSED TO ASK YOU!!"

at this point you were staring at your phone with a blank stare

"what."

"you said marriage. you're stuck with me you can't leave me haha sucks for you."

"its ok i didnt want to anyway." 😊

whoops you just killed him with a smushy heart

sim jaehyun

he screamed

long story short, he almost fainted and quite literally did that "mrs rabbit has fainted" thing

the two of you were folding your own laundry together on facetime because, well, he gets lonely

obviously you said yes, because why wouldn't you??

"you look so cute and domestic, i love it. i could marry you this second if i could."

took him a couple of seconds

but eventually your words processed through his head and he SCREAMED

"THIS SECOND??"

"mhm!! you look cute." 😚

another puddle guess what you're the mop. come wipe up your jake puddle babe

he laid on the floor for a solid five minutes just processing.

anyway now hes at your house still a little jake puddle and he's making you watch movies with him on the couch.

park sunghoon

he was ready 🫡🫡

hoon got the phone and everything. he was ready to make the call to all the family

but obviously before that he took it a TINI TINY bit seriously

a tini tiny bit

basically it was morning and he was on tour so he was sad and alone (besides sunoo who was just offended that he even said that)

babe started drinking water until he heard

"i miss you a lot. when we get married, you're not aloud to do this to me."

spit water out of his mouth

it was kinda gross but did he care? no.

"MARRIED?? WHO SAID I WAS GETTING MARRIED TO YOU??"

he's a little mean when he's flustered ok?

"PARK SUNGHOON I'LL-"

"wait, you wanna get married to me? really??"

if you could slap him in the face you would, but truth is he was flattered.

he would marry you any day 💘💘

kim sunoo

also went along with it

you were going through all the snacks you found at the market with sunoo over facetime

to say the least he was just excited you were excited

"i got this thingy, and im not really sure what it is but it looks good."

the call went on with you eating the snacks and reviewing

"WAIT THIS IS SO GOOD SUN YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS SOMETIME."

"ill try it sometime then."

"we have to get it together and maybeeee you can buy it??"

"ill buy you any snacks you want, my love." 😋

"ugh marry me already."

SELF DESTRUCTION

"ANYTIME"

next time you go over to his place he had a little toilet paper boquet for you 😊😊

STOP I LOVE HIM

nishimura riki

my babe fr

another one who was a little too confident

you were on a ft with him late at night just for funsies

honestly the two of you were just messing around while eating snacks and making little crafts

anyway he was like quite literally about to fall asleep and he looked SO DAMN CUTE

like his eyes about to close and his lip is getting all pouty and UGH-

"night, ki"

"nooo i'm not asleep don't leave meeeee"

"lol you're so cute just marry me"

EYES ARE SHOT WIDE OPEN MAN HAS NEVER BEEN MORE AWAKE IN HIS LIFE

"married huh?? you're really that obsessed with me"

huh- OH WAIT THAT WAS A JOKE THO"

"NOT ANYMORE BABE IT'S REAL NOW"

aaaaaaand again you're stuck 😋😊

i literally love him sm

©harufluff 2023

[astraystayyh]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ winter falls

I'm so excited to announce this collab series with my @forlix where we'll be posting winter themed fics for each one of the boys!!!!! brainstorming these with xi was the most fun ever i hope you'll enjoy our collab (alternatively named dead dick december)

all the fics, except for Chan's, Minho’s and Han's are with a gender neutral reader.

minors & ageless blogs dni w/han’s fic as it is nsfw!

no holiday is specified by name so you can imagine whatever!

we're also opening a special taglist for the series! you can comment down here or send an ask to either me or xian to be added! (6/8 posted)

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Pieces of you ❆ bang chan @astraystayyh (8.7k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ single dad!chan. neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. [posted: 12/02/24]

In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chan and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

Something has melted ❆ lee minho @forlix

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ spy x family!au, fake dating!au, fluff

Your obnoxious coworkers never get off your ass about how single you are, and your temporary husband is too happy to make them eat their words.

Burning in the winter wind ❆ changbin @astraystayyh (4.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ (fake) enemies to lovers. hurt/comfort. college!au. [posted: 26/02/24.]

Sustaining an ankle injury during a ski retreat isn't fun. Especially when Seo Changbin volunteers to stay back to tend to you- the one man you can never get a read on.

The snow falls, we fall apart ❆ hyunjin @astraystayyh (13k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ roommates to lovers. angst. hurt/comfort. slow burn. longing.

when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

(+18) Empty my mind ❆ han jisung @forlix (6.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. [posted: 06/01/24]

For the first time in a long time, Han Jisung has something to lose.

Everything has changed (besides myself) ❆ lee felix @forlix (5.4k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff. [posted: 09/12/2023]

You spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

Warm winter ❆ kim seungmin @forlix

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff

“i don’t deserve you,” he breathes, “but god, i want to.”

Please fall before I fall ❆ jeongin @astraystayyh (2.8k)

☃︎⋆꙳•❅ childhood best friends to lovers. hint of unrequited love (they're idiots) [posted: 18/01/24]

3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours. (and ended up confessing along the way)

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

...titles are all inspired by han's incredible songwriting in Winter Falls, han write a happy song #challengefailed.

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

 

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied. 

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense. 

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable. 

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

 

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality. 

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together. 

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

 

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot. 

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

[seokgyuu]

→ PAIRING: Seokmin x Afab!Reader. → GENRE: College!Au, kinda comedy, small bit of angst if you look hard enough, teeny tiny fluff, smut MDNI. → SYNOPSIS: After having a crush on Lee Seokmin for three years, he somehow ends up wanting to be your roommate. Instead of rejecting him, you decide to give him the vacant room - right after confessing your feelings for him.

→ WARNINGS: roommate!seok, wet dreams, coming untouched (f), degradation, usage of the words slut, baby, angel, masturbation (m), making out, like really so much kissing, fingering, finger-sucking, she loves his fingers lol, unprotected sex (don't.. just don't), creampie.

→  WORDCOUNT: 11.5k

A/N: hi guys!! here it is (for some of you even on the date it was scheduled to be posted!), my first ever stand-alone svt fic! no part 2, no whole ass series, just this cute 11.5k baby I wrote after being deep inside my seokmin shaped hole (i am always in a seokmin shaped hole actually). i want to thank my bestie @honeykyeom for making the amazing header as well for being my inspiration for writing this <3 ily!! now, i hope you enjoy and as always please reblog & comment, these things are what makes writing worth while <3

You had a crush. A big fat stupid crush. And it was starting to get extremely annoying. You really tried to stop liking him because a.) he didn’t even know you existed and b.) even if he did he would never ever like you back because what are the odds for that to actually happen?

“People get together all the time, Y/N, stop being dumb,” Seungkwan, your best friend, would say on the regular since the topic came up basically every other day. Yet, you still didn’t believe the Lee Seokmin would ever give you so much as a second glance. He was too perfect. Perfect grades, perfect friend group, perfect face, perfect everything. You had first laid eyes on him on your first day of classes - he had started the same year as you, smile on his face, shiny new MacBook propped in front of him. He wore an adorable baby blue sweater and black rimmed glasses, his hair falling into his forehead and, god, you were gone the second you heard his honey dripping voice. 

That had been three years ago and now, both of you in your senior years, you still hadn’t talked to him even once. Or well, no, you had, when he had asked you for a phone charger which you had given him in exactly three seconds. You were still proud of that. 

*

“Hey, I heard you’re looking for a roommate?” 

“Are you- are you talking to me?” Your index finger was pointing at yourself while you blinked a few times at the person in front of you. 

“Uh, I mean, you are Y/N, right?” Kim Mingyu seemed just as confused as you. Probably because you were in fact Y/N and you were, in fact, looking for a roommate, but how on earth did he know that?

“No, I mean, yes, yes I am, but, uh, how do you- how do you know I’m looking for a roommate?”

“Oh, Seungkwan told me!” 

“You know Seungkwan?!”

Mingyu seems a little startled by your sudden outburst. You cleared your throat before chuckling nervously.

“S-sorry, I just didn’t know Seungkwan and you knew each other.”

“We go to the same gym, actually, and I told him my friend is desperately looking for a place and he told me you are in search of a roommate so…,” his smile was bright and pretty and you felt like you were about to wake up from a dream because why the hell was Seokmin’s bestie talking to you as if he had done it thousand of times before?

“I see, uh, I mean, I am definitely desperate for a roommate, rent you know, like, uh, I need to pay it soon and… well, I am short half of it and that’s what I would… need the roommate for,” you scratched your ear. Smooth.

“No, I understand! And my friend is just as desperate. See, he just broke up with his long-term girlfriend, she cheated on him, and now he just really needs to move out.”

“Oh, damn, sorry about that. You can tell him he can come by, eh, does tomorrow work? Like afternoon-ish? I have classes until four.”

“Awesome! I’ll let him know, thank you Y/N!”

Mingyu beamed at you, his hand up in the air as he waved, walking away and out of the building. Letting out a sigh you hadn’t even known you were holding, you grabbed your phone from your bag and unlocked it, quickly moving your fingers over the display to call Seungkwan. Walking out the opposite direction Mingyu had, you waited for your best friend to pick up, pushing open the door into the hot air of the early evening. 

“What’s up?” Seungkwan finally picked up and you rolled your eyes at the greeting.

“Hello to you too, Kwannie,” you said in a sweet voice, hearing Seungkwan scoff as a response.

“I’m in the middle of something, Y/N. So, what’s up?” 

“Kim Mingyu just asked me if a friend of his can move in with me,” you raised your brows as you walked over the campus to the parking lot, the keys to your car already dangling from your fingers, “care to tell me why you didn’t mention that?”

“Ah, that, well, I actually met Mingyu at the gym earlier today, like super early morning, and heard him talk to his friend on the phone and well, since I do have a few classes with him, I thought I should offer.”

“You should offer? Pretty sure it’s still my apartment you were selling off to a stranger.”

“Now, now. Mingyu isn’t a stranger now, is he? How many times have you stalked his insta now to look at that one specific gym picture of Seokm-,”

“Whatever, just- just please, for the future, let me know when you tell someone about my living situation, alright?”

“Sure thing, bestie. Now, can I get back to what I was doing?”

“Of course. Tell Hansol I said hi.” Before he could either protest or deny, you hung up and shoved your phone into your pocket. 

*

You dreamt of him again. It was a rare occasion, but it happened. Most of the time the dreams were innocent enough, just him touching your face, him laughing at your jokes, him simply acknowledging your existence. 

But this one was different. 

Seokmin was right above you, his body hot and sweaty. His eyes said so much more than words ever could and yet you longed to hear his voice. Longed to hear him say your name. He was buried deep inside you, his hips still, eyes never leaving yours. He throbbed, his whole body seemingly vibrated at how much he wanted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, wanting nothing more than for him to take you, mark you, fill you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his hand caressing your face and you moved your head, your mouth sucking in his thumb, feeling him twitch inside of you.

“You can’t really talk with that in your mouth, can you, Y/N?” Fuck, his voice was so low so deep and when he finally moved down to kiss your neck, stuffing his thumb even further down your mouth, his hips now beginning to thrust, all of you began to shake. 

Then, suddenly, you were in your living room, right there on that windowsill that connected the kitchen and the living room, his hips drilling into you. He was wearing a dress shirt and a black tie, but both of it was loosened around his neck, your hands on his broad shoulders as he seemed to have made it his goal to fuck you senseless. You were a moaning mess, his lips sucking harshly on your skin, you yourself being completely naked. His mouth was everywhere: your neck, your stiff nipple, your lips. He took all of you in and you breathed in every bit he gave you. 

“You’re so fucking good for me, baby, so good, such a good little slut, letting me fuck her like this.”

“Mhm, y-yes, I l-love the way you f-fuck me, Seok!” His grip on you got stronger, hands digging harshly into your hips as he threw his head back now, your eyes taking in all of his beauty. The droplets of sweat, the bopping Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the way his vein popped out right there on his neck…

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he moaned and you nodded strongly, feeling your own climax so close.

“Please, want your cum so bad!” you whined and as if those had been the magic words, Seokmin emptied inside of you, the feeling of his cum hitting you so deep-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You screamed, while your back hit the floor. You had fallen out of bed, your alarm blasting on the other side of your bed. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, sitting up slowly, your hand rubbing the back of your head. Funnily enough, that wasn’t the only part of you that throbbed. Just for a completely different reason. 

-

“You came in your sleep?” Seungkwan was impressed with you. You just wanted to punch him because why did he have to say that this loud right in the line for lunch?

“Shut up!” you said through gritted teeth and Seungkwan snorted, before grabbing the big spoon for the Kimchi.

“Don’t worry, no one is listening.” Instead of arguing with him you rolled your eyes and grabbed some Japchae before heading to the drinks. 

“But to answer your question: yes, I did. And no, that has never happened before. Like, I never ever had a dream like that, Seungkwan, never!”

“Aw, I can’t believe my best friend lost her wet dream virginity at the ripe age of 24!” He grinned as the two of you sat down at an empty table. You ignored him.

“It was so real. I honestly feel sick to my stomach. How could it have been so real?” 

It was truly astonishing to you. Hours had passed and the dream was still there, playing in your head over and over again, making you squeeze your thighs together more than not in the worst moments. Statistic class wasn’t supposed to make you horny and yet, you couldn’t say it hadn’t.

“I’m jealous. I never had an actual wet dream make me cum before, like yeah, I woke up with cum in my underwear before, but then again that’s kind of normal I guess?”

“Dude! You don’t need wet dreams to make you orgasm, you have a literal boyfriend!”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Seungkwan protested and you grabbed your juice box to take a dramatic sip from it. 

“Well, sounds like a you problem. Doesn’t change the fact you’re getting laid, though.” Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. He apparently didn’t have a comeback. Served him right.

“It’s not like you are trying to change that,” nevermind. You sigh, putting the drink down again.

“What am I supposed to do? Just hook up with a random guy and act like I’m not madly in love with someone who doesn’t know I exist?”

“He knows you exist, you god damn drama queen. You had every class together first semester!”

You ignored him. Instead, you decided that your Japchae is the most interesting thing you had ever seen. Seungkwan shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“You’re an idiot, Y/N. Like the biggest idiot I have ever met.”

“Takes one to know one,” you muttered as a response, feeling a piece of kimchi hitting your cheek the next second. 

*

You were home at four forty-five and hoped there would still be time to clean up the place at least a little bit before the potential-new-roommate-slash-friend-of-Kim-Mingyu showed up. In record time you found yourself standing in a semi-clean living room (meaning: maybe the floor showed some signs of needing to be vacuumed, but at least everything looked tidy) with all the windows open in hope for some cool air because you sure as hell weren’t going to turn on the AC without another person to cover the costs. 

Just as you finished changing into some clothes not sweated through, the doorbell rang. Quickly, you made your way to the door, buzzing them up, only to hear a knock on the door next. Oh, so he had been let in already. Putting on your most charming smile, you pulled the door open, only for the smile to fade the second you saw who stood there right in front of your door. 

“Y/N?” 

Lee Seokmin had just said your name. And he was standing in front of your apartment.

“Seokmin, what- what are you doing here?” You asked, oblivious to the situation. 

“I- uh, I- Mingyu said he told you I was coming?”

“Mingyu? No he said that-,” you lost your ability to speak just then. The friend Mingyu had been talking about-

“Wait, you- you’re the potential new roommate?!” Your voice was barely anything but a squeak. Seokmin looked a little lost, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his oversized yellow jumper.

“Yeah, did he not mention that?” 

Nope, seems like he forgot that part. You swallowed, pressing your lips together for a second while your brain tried to fully grasp the situation. This was Seokmin. Aka the guy you have been in love with for three years. And he wanted to move in with you. 

“Uh, no. Sorry, please come in!” You took a step back and Seokmin smiled at you (HE smiled at YOU!!!), walking into your apartment and looking around as you closed the door, hoping your racing heart would calm down. You wouldn’t exactly bet on it though. 

Seokmin took his shoes off and you watched him, already beginning to chew on your lip like you always did when you were nervous. He turned around and you quickly smiled, walking into the living space.

“So, this is the living room, it uh-,” you stopped speaking, your eyes now on the window connecting the kitchen and living room, on the windowsill you had just dreamt about last night. Your face suddenly got very hot. 

“It connects to the kitchen through that window, which I thought was really cool, big selling point,” you watched as Seokmin walked over to the kitchen, his eyes roaming through the room and when he stopped in front of the window, hand touching the sill you nearly felt yourself loose footing. Why the fuck did he have to do this? For a second you were convinced this was just another dream. 

“It definitely is unique,” he said, nodding and walking into the small but modern kitchen.

“Uhm, there is a dishwasher in the kitchen and a microwave. We don’t have an oven, but I am pretty sure I have like a small one in the attic. I am more of a take-out or quick meal kind of gal, so I don’t really use it much. But if you were interested in baking something, I could definitely get it down,” Jesus, why on earth were you talking so much? But Seokmin seemed to appreciate it, nodding understandingly as he looked around with a small pout on his lips. Maybe this wasn’t the right moment (or maybe it was the perfect moment) to stare at him, but you did. You watched his every move, how he checked out the cupboards, how he asked before he opened the fridge, how he pulled a hand through his hair as he asked a question. 

Oh! 

“Sorry?” You crossed your arms, the hotness of your cheeks only increasing. Seokmin chuckled.

“I asked if you had a certain system in your fridge with your old roommate.”

“Oh, well, not really. We kind of always planned what we were going to eat, she was a big cook actually. Enjoyed it a lot. I store my Ramen right here, wait,” you walked into the kitchen fully now too, to the cupboard next to where Seokmin was standing and got on your tiptoes to reach for the door, opening it in a swing.

“There,” you explained, looking over at Seokmin - only to see him look at you instead of the food. You blinked a few times. He blushed.

“Ah, yes, I see. Cool. So, uh, no system. That’s fine with me! I wouldn’t say I’m a cook per sé, but I can hook up some simple dishes,” he turned away, your whole body suddenly feeling a lot hotter than a second before. Nodding, you closed the cupboard again and walked back outside. Seokmin followed you.

You showed him the rest of the apartment (except for your room) and finally the two of you ended up in the living room again where you sat down on the couch. 

“I, uh, I would love to take the room, Y/N. But it’s obviously up to you.” His smile was so… you gulped down whatever response you had in your mind. Now wasn’t the time to eat right out of his hands, no, you had to think about this. On the one hand, you really needed a roommate. There was no chance you could hold this apartment by yourself and you really didn’t want to move. But on the other hand, this was Seokmin. You couldn’t just let him move in with you when you liked him this much, could you? At least not without him knowing. An idea popped into your head. It was risky and stupid and you would probably regret this. But then again - if he wanted to move in, and apparently he was just as desperate as you to get this room, it would only be fair to let him know what the situation was. 

“Look, Seokmin,” you started, your hands in your lap, your heart racing again (or still). You looked up at him, your cheeks still bright red. Seokmin watched you, unsure what to make of your current behavior. He decided to just let you talk.

“I really need a roommate. And you really need a place to live. Mingyu, uh, he told me about the break-up and I’m really sorry about that,” - you were also happy you hadn’t tried to make a move considering he had a girlfriend -, “but I would feel horrible to let you take this room without knowing the full truth.” 

Now, Seokmin got a little spooked. The full truth? Were you going to confess that you were a drug dealer? Part of some gang? But then you probably wouldn’t need a roommate considering you’d make good money. 

“I, uh, okay,” Seokmin swallowed hard. You took a deep breath.

“I like you. As in, I like you. I have for years now. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, and to be honest, even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have succeeded in getting over this crush. I’m not telling you because I am expecting anything from you, I promise, hell, I never planned on telling you ever. But you want the room and I would be happy to give it to you, I would just feel weird having you live here with this big secret to keep.”

There were approximately three minutes of silence in which you were sure Seokmin would get up and leave. He stared at you, his mouth slightly dropped and you could have kicked yourself for finding him endearing. Starting to shift on your seat once the third minute started, Seokmin realized he had been staring instead of answering. But then again, he really had not expected this sudden confession. 

“I, uh, I am flattered, Y/N, really, I just, I- I just got out of a relationship and-,”

“I know that! As I said, I didn’t tell you because I want anything from you. I have been happy liking you from afar, Seokmin. And who knows, maybe having you close by all the time will actually make me stop liking you. I mean, what if you’re like a total slob or listen to super weird historical podcasts?” 

“What do you have against historical podcasts?” Seokmin asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. You chuckled.

“Nothing in particular. But my last roommate listened to them on like full blast. Just got annoying at some point.” 

He nodded now, understanding. Yeah, he could see why that would be annoying at some point. Still, that wasn’t the real issue here. Or, well, was it really an issue? He cleared his throat. 

“I- I don’t take you as someone who would let her feelings get the best of her. And, to be honest, I’m not really the type of guy you should have a crush on, Y/N. But, uh, I’m still very flattered. And I don’t think this would stop me from moving in, as you said, we are both desperate.”

You were surprised and it showed. Seokmin chuckled.

“Or do you not want me here?”

“No! I do, I really need you to move in,” you said, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Seokmin nodded again. 

“Then it’s settled. I’ll get my stuff asap and then we’ll be roomies.”

“Can’t wait!”

*

Seungkwan thought you were insane. He hadn’t known it was Seokmin when Mingyu had approached him and now he regretted ever offering it. 

“What do you mean you told him?!” He was sitting at your small dinner table in the living room. You shrugged. 

“What was I supposed to do? Just let him move in and carry this huge ass secret with me all the time? I don’t think so.”

“You could have just told him no, Y/N.”

“Right, and then what? I see him in class every other day? How awkward would that be?”

“You mean as awkward as living with a guy who knows you have a crush on him?!” When you shrugged again, Seungkwan groaned, pulling his hands over his face.

“You’re seriously insane, I can’t believe you did this!”

And about a week after Seokmin had officially moved in, you couldn’t believe it either. 

Living with Seokmin proved to do the exact opposite of what you had mentioned in your chat with him. He wasn’t a slob. And he also didn’t listen to any podcast on full volume. He cleaned, cooked, gave you space. Every morning he got up earlier than you and prepared coffee, before going out for a jog - only to come back while you were having breakfast, looking all sweaty and sexy. The first time this had happened you had choked on your toast, drinking what felt like one whole liter of orange juice before finally being able to stop coughing. Seokmin had hit your back a few times, apologizing for startling you. And yet, he didn’t stop doing it, which made you used to it after a while (it didn’t).  

Instead of falling out of love with him, you found yourself drawn to him even more, craving his presence. When he was gone, you missed him, and when he was home you wanted to hear everything about his day, wanted to eat dinner with him, watch a new episode of that show you had started together. 

*

Seokmin was outside in the living room, his laptop placed on his lap, an essay he needed to proof read opened as he sipped on a can of beer. He was on his favorite spot on the floor, right in front of the couch, leaning his back against it. Actually, he had wanted to go to sleep an hour ago, but then he had talked with his sister on the phone and now he was back to this. It had been two months since he had moved in with you despite knowing you had feelings for him. Back when you had originally told him, he had felt like he should probably run because the last thing he needed right now was complicated. Things with Hyorin had been complicated enough. But, as he now knew, you weren’t complicated in the slightest. More so the opposite. It didn’t take long for Seokmin to begin to understand you and your patterns. It also didn’t take long for him to figure out how much you actually liked him. If he had been anyone else he might have taken advantage of that. Flirt with you, get you into his bed. But he was Seokmin, he wasn’t a guy who would do that. Not that he hadn’t… thought about it. Seeing the way you looked at him, especially after his morning runs or when he came back from the gym in the evening… it took everything in him not to imagine you looking at him that way when he was fucking you. 

Seokmin wasn’t a sex-hungry person, normally. Maybe because he had been in a long-term relationship for five years. But now, with his relationship being over for two months and the periods before that being dry in the sex department… he was starting to miss it. Dearly. 

So, when he sat there on the floor, his head focusing on the contents of this essay he wrote a day earlier in the library, he couldn’t really help getting distracted by the sounds coming from your room. His ears perked up and his head turned sideways, throat already drying up. Were you crying? Maybe you were-

“O-oh.”

His laptop slipped from his lap when he got up. His heart speed rose and sweat was starting to form on his hairline. That certainly wasn’t the type of crying he had meant. Slowly, he walked over to the door of your room that he only now realized wasn’t properly shut. He felt bad, guilty even, when he peeked through the small opening, seeing you apparently asleep. A dream? He licked his lips. Were you dreaming? 

“S-Seokmin.” 

Something inside him switched over. His whole body started to heat up, his cock desperately beginning to twitch in his briefs. Fuck, he hadn’t ever expected that hearing you moan his name would do so much. You were dreaming, yes, about him. And he heard you, heard you moaning, the whimpers. And god, did you sound perfect. He leaned against the wall next to your room, letting his dick get harder with every second, waiting for your noises like an addict. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get himself to move away and mind his own business. He was intoxicated by you. He took everything he could, every breath, as small as they might be. The sighs following the moan of his name. 

For now, he only listened. He didn’t want to touch himself here, didn’t want to be that type of person. But then again, he had already parked himself right outside your room, listening to you having a wet dream, it wasn’t like beginning to jerk off would make much of a difference. So, he slowly moved his hand, palming himself over his sweats, feeling how hard he was because of you. He closed his eyes, ears concentrating only on you. He wondered what you were dreaming about. What was he doing to you right now? Was he holding you down as he fucked you? Was he going down on you, tasting you? God, he really wanted to taste you. 

For a second he contemplated going in and waking you up - making your dream reality. But he couldn’t. Not knowing what he did. 

Opening his eyes, he suddenly felt guilt rushing over him and he was quick to close your door, making his way over to where he had sat earlier and grabbing his laptop. 

Once he was in his own room, door locked and all, he tried to clear his head of the sounds you had made, of the way it was him you were dreaming about. But with his cock this hard and you so close… it was no use. He put his laptop on his desk and laid down on his bed after, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t hear you from his room and, god, was he relieved. Not hearing you did not equal not remembering you, though. And so, knowing he was going to lose to his conscience anyways, he opened the drawer in his bedside table and got out the package of lube, squeezing a bit on his right hand, while the left shoved down his sweats and briefs, letting his erection hit the cool air of his room. 

He sighed in relief when his right hand began squeezing him, head leaned back into the pillows, hand now moving up and down slowly. You were right there in front of his inner eye, the way you sounded, but also the image of how you would look underneath him. Moaning his name, begging him to go faster. Then, he imagined your cheek stuffed with his cock, imagined your teary eyes when he began fucking down your throat. 

“F-fuck,” he couldn’t help but go faster, his hips lifting up his bed as he fucked his fist, wishing it was your pussy or your mouth, any of your holes would do. How badly he wanted to hear you beg, wanted you to be on your knees, mouth open and tongue out, ready to take whatever he was willing to give. Pouty lips and round eyes, wishing for nothing more than Seokmin’s cock filling you up. 

“God, just like that, Y/N, f-fuck,” he couldn’t help but moan as he came, his load landing on his clothed chest. 

Coming down from his high, Seokmin opened his eyes, blinking a few times before he really understood what had happened. Groaning, he let his left hand rub over his face, before he shook his head and sat up. He got rid of his shirt and threw it in the laundry bin, walking to the door unlocking and opening it to go to the bathroom - only to run into you who just came out of the bathroom. Your eyes grew wide when you spotted Seokmin - shirtless and sweaty and with this certain look in his eyes that made your legs grow weaker. 

Not knowing what he was doing, Seokmin walked straight over to you, his hands finding the sides of your neck, his lips crashing into yours a second later. You didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what to do - but you kissed him back, your hands on his broad back, as he pushed you against the wall, his meaty perfect thigh shoved between your legs now, pressing against your still sensitive core. You gasped into the kiss, his tongue now devouring yours, one of his hands moving down and underneath your shirt, grabbing your breast and squeezing it harshly. Your arms locked around his neck, moans getting caught by his skillful mouth. Were you still dreaming? 

“Seokmin,” you moaned when his hand squeezed your nipple and only then did he realize what was happening. Immediately, he parted from you, causing you to miss his kiss and touch the second he left. 

“What-,” you began, but before you could even finish the question, he had already turned around and walked back into his room, closing the door behind him. And locking it. 

*

He acted like nothing happened. You were anxiously waiting in the kitchen the next morning, but once he came back from his run he just showed you his normal goofy self, excusing himself to go take a  shower. The way you had stood there, fully ready (not really) to talk about the night before, still in your pjs, still dizzy from the dream you had had as well as the very real kiss afterward. Why had he done that? Had he suddenly turned into a sleepwalker? A sleepwalker that kissed his roommate as if he had been starving? 

You sure as hell weren’t going to bring it up first. So, you played along, pretending like it didn’t happen. 

“I am declaring you clinically insane, Y/N,” Seungkwan was munching away on his corndog, while you and his (not) boyfriend Hansol sat opposite him at one of the smaller booths of the diner.

“He started it,” you shrugged, grabbing your own corndog now to take a bite from it.

“Okay, and? You could have started the conversation. For example: “Hey roomie, so about that night where you came out of your room clearly just done with getting yourself off and then kissed me? Like really hard? Against a wall?” See, that would have been a great conversation starter.”

You deadpanned at him.

“You’re an idiot,” shaking your head, you leaned back in your seat, “what if he really like, I don’t know, was in a delirious state? Maybe he drank alone before bed and just had a black out?”

“Or maybe he is an asshole who can’t own up to his actions,” Seungkwan shrugged, “but sure, yours sounds way more likely.”

“Seungkwan is right, Y/N. You should just bring it up,” Hansol looked at you and you sighed, letting your head drop onto the table.

“I don’t think I can. I’m too mortified. What if he totally regrets kissing me and that’s why he is pretending like it didn’t happen?”

“That still doesn’t give him permission to act this way. I don’t care if he is deeply in love with you or hates you, I just want him to be humane enough to tell you.”

It stung, the way he was right. Whatever Seokmin was feeling, he had to share it with you. He couldn’t just- 

“Am I going crazy or is Seokmin standing outside?” You raised your head again, eyes wide when you realized you were, in fact, not going crazy. Seokmin was right there outside the diner, on the other side of the street, his phone in his hand, an anxious look on his face.

“Did you tell him you were coming here?” Hansol asked and you shook your head.

“No, we barely saw each other this morning.”

What was he doing here? And why did he look like he would rather be anywhere else? Your eyes scanned the surroundings, a sour feeling suddenly spreading in your guts. You were only a few streets down from your apartment, the street wasn’t exactly busy but had some really good places to eat. This was the perfect meeting spot for-

“Who’s that?” Seungkwan shifted closer to the window next to you, his eyes squeezed together as if he was trying harder to recognise whoever had just shown up next to Seokmin. You didn’t have to know her to… know her. Hyorin. His ex-girlfriend that had cheated on him. He had mentioned her to you only a few times, you being a little reluctant to ask considering he knew how you felt about him. But from what you had gathered he hated her, never wanted to see her again. So why was he here now? With her?

“Is that…?” Seungkwan looked over at you, worry displayed on his face and you pressed your lips together as you nodded. 

She was beautiful. Tall, long silky black hair. Her skin glowing even from here. She was the girl Seokmin should be kissing in his delirious state, in any state, really. You swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill out and averted your gaze. Your appetite had left you and you wanted nothing more than to flee the scene, go home and never think of this moment again.

“Should we leave?” Hansol asked, looking over at Seungkwan a little helplessly. Seungkwan nodded quickly and his (not) boyfriend grabbed your arm and helped you get out of the booth. As much as you felt like yelling at him that you didn’t need this help, as much did you appreciate the gesture. Seungkwan paid at the front desk and you left the diner, your heart in desperate need for some distraction. 

*

When Seokmin got home that evening, you weren’t there. A part of him was relieved while another one already missed your presence. Sighing, he kicked off his shoes and finally slipped down onto the couch, hands rubbing over his face. This whole thing was a mess. Today was a mess. Hyorin had called him and asked him to meet up and because he was who he was he had said yes. He should have known she would just try to apologize for the nth time, telling him it had only happened once and that he was the only one for her. Little did she know that he gave zero fucks at this point. He didn’t want her anymore, he didn’t love her anymore. She had broken his heart and stomped on it, had lied and cheated, had done all these horrible things to him. And yet, he was somewhat grateful because now he was right here. In your apartment. 

It was silly, really, because he had been dating Hyorin for two years already when he saw you the first time. You and your cute gray sweatshirt and the high ponytail. You, who had been the cutest person in every single one of your classes together. You, who he couldn’t develop feelings for because he had a girlfriend. Unlike Hyorin, he wasn’t a cheater. He had loved her, truly loved her. And he had been shattered when he found out about the other guy, feeling like he could never be fixed again. He had to get out of the shared apartment, had to leave it all behind as soon as he possibly could - and he had somehow ended up on your doorstep. It was crazy how the universe worked. 

And as if that hadn’t been enough, you suddenly confessed to him, turning all of his feelings upside down. Because what was he supposed to say? Supposed to do? God, he was heartbroken over Hyorin and yet there was this ray of light in the shape of a girl that loved to spend her evenings watching trashy teen drama and cry over a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s when a character you didn’t even particularly like died on screen. 

Seokmin didn’t want to allow him to like you. He was scared that maybe you liking him altered his brain chemistry, that perhaps he would want to be with you only as a rebound and you were too good, too perfect to be anything of that kind. And so, when that night had happened and he had lost his composure, he knew he messed up. He knew you had feelings for him, god, he probably would have figured it out even if you hadn’t told him. Not just because of the dream he had overheard but because of the way you looked at him. The way you smiled, the way you laughed. He didn’t want you to look at anyone else like that. 

The sound of a door unlocking filled the quiet room now and was soon joined by the giggles of a girl and the nervous laugh of a guy - and both of these voices were familiar to Seokmin. He immediately got up and walked over to the entry way - only to see Mingyu holding your waist as you, obviously drunk, tried to get out of your shoes.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin asked confusedly.

“Oh, hey Seok,” Mingyu said, holding you steady as you felt your knees giving in. 

“What- what is going on?” 

“We met at a bar, she was with Seungkwan and his boyfriend-,”

“He is not his boyfriend!” you interrupted him with a giggle.

“Uh, right, Seungkwan and his not-boyfriend were also super drunk and I called them a cab, but I really didn’t want to send Y/N home on her own so-,”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Seokmin now came closer, his eyes set on his best friend’s hand around your waist, his insides slowly but surely heating up with something he could only recognize as jealousy.

“Uh, I thought you were busy with… you know.”

Seokmin’s jaw tensed, his eyes fixed on Mingyu who had successfully held you down as you stepped out of your shoes.

“That has been resolved hours ago, Mingyu.”

“And how was he supposed to know that, hm?” The sudden sound of your voice made both men look over at you. Your hand was raised, finger pointed at Seokmin accusingly. 

“Y/N-“, Mingyu started, but you shook your head and finally freed yourself from Mingyu’s grasp.

“No! No, I’m tired of this! Was it nice? Seeing your perfect ex again? Do you want to go back to her now? Move out and act like I don’t exist? Like you didn’t kiss me?”

Mingyu held his breath. You had told him all this in the bar earlier, where he had met you and Seungkwan and Hansol and where he had realized that you were madly in love with his best friend. He felt bad about you having seen Seokmin with Hyorin, but even more did he feel bad because it was also so painfully obvious that Seokmin liked you, too. 

“I think you’re drunk,” Seokmin noted and you laughed, throwing your hands in the air. Mingyu stayed quiet.

“Do you, now? How observant of you, Seokmin.”

The two of you were staring at each other now, fury in both your eyes. Honestly, you didn’t know what he was angry about. After all you weren’t the one running back to her ex after kissing him the way he had you. 

“I, uh, I guess I should go now,” Mingyu pointed at the door with his thumb over his shoulder, “you seem to… well, have a lot to talk about.” 

The normally so cheerful and kind Seokmin didn’t wish his best friend a good night, nor did he even look at him when he left. Instead he kept looking at you, saw the way you waved at Mingyu and thanked him, your hand squeezing his arm. Lightning was shooting through him. Jealousy was about to eat him up, was about to make him grab you and yell that you shouldn’t touch Mingyu like that. It was dumb and he knew it. You made him crazy, you made him dumb. Like a teenager who was in love for the first time, unsure what to make of it. 

Once the door had fallen shut, you stormed past your roommate, ready to enter your room and not leave it until the next day. Just that you didn’t get far. Seokmin ended up grabbing your arm after all, his touch burning on your skin. 

“Mingyu is right, we do have a lot to talk about,” he said in a hushed voice, making you scoff. 

“Fine, then talk.” With whatever willpower you had left, you looked at him. Saw the way his eyes were full of an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint - the fury from before still slightly visible but not alone. Perhaps it was anger for you speaking to him the way you had. Or maybe he was just annoyed at you for being drunk and loud and stupid. 

“Look, Y/N. What happened between us was… it shouldn’t have happened, alright?”

“Why? Because you’re back together with your cheating ex?”

“No! God, no, I would never get back with Hyorin. And I can’t believe Mingyu told you about this and-,”

“He didn’t!” You freed yourself out of his grip, your eyes dangerously beginning to prickle, “I saw you. With her.” 

He inhaled audibly - he hadn’t expected this. You saw him? With Hyorin? No wonder you were this upset. He pulled his hand through his hair.

“She wanted to talk things out. And because I’m too nice of a person I told her yes. Y/N, I don’t want to be with her anymore. She broke my heart, she hasn’t been the girl I fell in love with for ages now.” 

“Why did you kiss me?” If you were honest, you didn’t really care about when Hyorin had stopped being the girl Seokmin loved. You were more interested in whether you were. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Pang. Your face flinched before your jaw tensed. 

“Right,” your voice was smaller than you had wanted it to be, and the tears were even closer to spilling now. Of course he regretted it. Regretted kissing you, regretted making you feel the way you had. Because why would it be any different? Perhaps you should have tried to hook up with Mingyu tonight just to feel something different than this ache inside of you. 

“I just- fuck, I just don’t want to take advantage of you. Of what you feel for me.”

Now, the tears of hurt were quickly changing to tears of anger. This man really had a talent in making you switch emotions in seconds. 

“Excuse me? You- what?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “don’t do this. Don’t make yourself look like a hero because you stepped back from kissing me. You did that because you wanted to. I didn’t come onto you even once in all the time you’ve been living here. So don’t you dare pin this on me or my feelings.” You hated that you began to shake and that your voice was higher than anticipated. You hated that the way he looked at you made you feel small and idiotic, made you feel as if you were the dumbest person on this earth. Instead of waiting for his response, you turned around on your heel, walking into your room and slamming the door shut behind you.

*

No one wanted to be in Seokmin’s shoes right now. After your fight he had also retreated back to his room, not exactly sure how to ever face you again. A day later he was at lunch with Mingyu, Cheol and Joshua and they all looked at him like he had suddenly grown three heads. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” Joshua judged, shaking his head. Seokmin sighed, throwing his napkin on the table. 

“Come on, was it really that bad?”

“Yes,” all three of his friends said in union, all their eyes on him, no sign of humor. Seokmin swallowed. 

“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” he mumbled now, letting his head fall, eyes studying the pattern of the wooden table.

“By doing what? Pushing away a girl that’s absolutely crazy about you? That has been nothing but kind and wonderful towards you? That you very obviously have feelings for?” Mingyu snorted, crossing his arms, “no, that most certainly wasn’t the right thing to do, Seokmin.”

While Seokmin stayed silent, Seungcheol and Joshua nodded, telling Seokmin, once again, that he was an idiot. It was no use, though. He already knew he was! He knew he had messed up and even though a part of him still thought that, maybe, his intention had been noble, the part was slowly but surely getting kicked out. 

“And what do you expect me to do? I can’t just go up to her and tell her that I was wrong for saying that. She doesn’t even talk to me!”

“Can’t really blame her, can you?” Seungcheol took a sip from his iced tea.

“Look, it’s only been a day. Let her calm down, give her space. Give yourself some more time to come up with the right thing to say. I’m sure it will be fine, you and Y/N will be fine.”

And as much as Seokmin appreciated the tough love followed by Joshua’s words of affirmation, he wasn’t sure it was really helping him. In fact, he wasn’t sure what could help him considering you started ignoring him from then on, even avoiding your shared space to either stay at Seungkwan’s place or just come home once Seokmin was already in bed. Every class you had together, you would sit right by one of the doors, arriving at the latest and leaving as soon as possible. Whilst Seokmin was trying his hardest to come up with a way to apologize to you, to win you back, you were trying your best to forget about your feelings for him. And for the most part it was even successful - you being mad at him and feeling like an idiot whenever you thought about the kiss you two had shared. But then again, only for the most part. 

“You can’t just force yourself out of love with someone,” Seungkwan said on the nth night you’ve been sitting on his couch, a bucket of ice cream in your arms, the AC on the highest setting because, holy hell, was it hot outside. 

“I can try,” you shrugged, staring at the TV screen. Seungkwan sighed, letting his eyes wander over your frame. You didn’t look your best, the hurt definitely coming through with bags under your eyes, your hair looking frizzy, the shirt you were wearing a stain right in the middle and when he had asked you about it, you couldn’t even tell him where that had come from. 

So, when he got a call from Kim Mingyu two days later, he was eager as ever to meet up and hopefully get you off his couch. 

The setting was in a small coffee shop, Seokmin seated nervously next to Mingyu who had ordered an iced americano for each of them. Seungkwan looked from one handsome guy to the other, clearing his throat.

“So, I’m guessing this is about Y/N?” he raised a brow and Mingyu quickly nodded, while Seokmin shifted on his seat, hands clasped around his plastic cup. 

“Yup. Do you have any idea what Seok over here can do to, you know, get her to speak to him again?” Mingyu pointed at Seokmin with his thumb and Seungkwan chuckled as he watched Seokmin slap the thumb away, his cheeks a bright red.

“I’m sorry, I would’ve never come to you about this, but I’m desperate at this point. She is never home and when she is, she makes it her mission to not even acknowledge my existence.”

“Yeah, when she’s not home she is at my place. And let me tell you, it’s getting incredibly annoying, considering I have a “not-boyfriend” that I’d really like to invite over,” clicking his tongue, Seungkwan leaned back and grabbed his own beverage, taking a sip from the bright blue straw, “so, I am more than happy to help.”

For a few minutes they brainstormed, Mingyu suggesting that maybe Seokmin should just ambush her, maybe get a pair of handcuffs and- yeah, he was shut down by both Seokmin and Seungkwan rather quickly. Seokmin said that maybe he should just continue texting her and that perhaps she’d come around, but Seungkwan shook his head, telling him there was no use, he had never met anyone worse at texting and reading texts than his best friend. 

After a moment of silence in which they all seemed a bit defeated, Seungkwan watched Mingyu take out his phone and open a message he had received on instagram. The only blonde at the table had never been quicker to sit up and almost knock over his drink.

“I know what you have to do.” 

-

It had been two weeks since you had last talked to Seokmin and for once you were inside your apartment, knowing that he was at class while yours had been canceled. It was nice to be back home during day time for a change, your feet propped up on the small coffee table in front of the sofa. A book in your lap that you had discarded for a bit to check your phone, only to be hit in the face by a cruel, cruel reality. The book slipped off your lap as you withdrew your legs from the table and instead kneeled on the couch, both hands gripping your phone tightly. 

“He has got to be joking,” you mumbled, feeling dizzy as you stared at the mirror pic Seokmin had posted half an hour ago. He hadn’t posted in months. Basically since he and Hyerin had broken up. His insta was mainly blank except for a few pictures he had taken of pretty sceneries. Never had he ever posted gym selfies. No. That had been Mingyu, showing off Seokmin’s body in his pictures as well as his own. 

To be fair, there wasn’t much body to see on the selfie. It was him in the gym, his long sleeved shirt rolled up above his elbows, showing enough arm to make you head feel crazy. His left hand was holding his phone, his fingers spread over it and, fuck, his hand. His hair was just slightly messy, his jaw and neck on full display and you forgot how to breathe. Arousal pooled in between your legs now and you honestly couldn’t even understand why. Perhaps, you thought, because this was the first time you had seen his face in almost two weeks and this picture just fed into all of your small kinks about him. Swallowing hard, you licked your lips and continued to bury your teeth into the bottom one, your pussy already throbbing. How pathetic. Little did you know you were about to become even more pathetic. Only now did your eyes spot the small symbol on the right side of the post, signaling you that there wasn’t just one picture. With a throat as dry as the desert, you clicked back on the post, a shaking index finger swiping to the left, only to be met by what could only be described as worse. There you had the body you had so desperately wished for. Leaned back on what you assumed to be a bench press, his legs adjourned in baggy jeans you had seen him wear a handful of times. Back then you had been happy to not see them on him this much because for whatever reason he was even more sexy in them. They weren’t even tight (as baggy jeans already suggested), but they still seemed to fit him perfectly. And now, with him manspreading over a bench in the gym, the red-white shirt with a car race theme, sleeves still rolled up, one arm hanging over his right thigh, holding onto the black leather beneath him, showing off a pretty vein you could literally already feel underneath your tongue. He was crazy. Crazy and mean and horrible and you knew all of this on purpose. His fingers on display, his thighs looking so big in those god forsaken jeans. Hair messy, jawline looking so sharp you were sure it could cut glass.

And as if all of this wasn’t bad enough, you suddenly heard the door clicking open. Your head jerked up, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed burgundy. When you saw Seokmin walk through the door and finally into the living room, you felt your phone slip from your hand and onto the couch. He was carrying a gym bag, his hair still slightly damp. His skin was glowing and his eyes were widened in surprise. He most definitely hadn’t expected to see you.

“I thought you had class?” He said, his gym bag dropping onto the floor next to him. You slowly got up from the couch.

“Got canceled. Yours?” 

“Same.”

Nodding, you came to a stop in front of him, his tall figure towering over you, your chest heaving, head clouded by the smell of his cologne, of the knowledge he had posted that picture most definitely to get to you. With a heartbeat the speed of light, you looked into his eyes.

“Did Seungkwan tell you to post those pictures?” you whispered. Seokmin hesitated. Then he nodded. 

“Did it work?” he asked, head slightly tilted to the side. 

Instead of answering, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips against his. Seokmin immediately reacted, hands on the small of your back, pushing you closer. This kiss was different from the first, not less exciting or dizzying, but you felt more in control, felt more like this was it, this was what you had craved for so long. 

Seokmin, meanwhile, was on cloud nine, your lips feeling so incredible on his. For him this was all he had wanted for the last weeks and while he had gotten that small taste back then, nothing could have prepared him for what he was feeling right now. All sense of self control left his body as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip, asking to be let in. Once your tongues touched, there was no way in hell this was going to end. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin while he moved his hands down, wrapping around your thighs to lift you up. Instinctively your legs swung around him, his hands leaving burns where he touched you. 

He moved over to the couch where you had sat before, sitting down with you now straddling him, both of your hands roaming around the other’s body. You let your fingers slide under his shirt and together you took it off, lips parting momentarily and letting you admire his toned chest, his abs and shoulders. You took your sweet time, fingers caressing his skin while your lips latched onto his neck, sucking harshly. Seokmin moaned, one hand on the back of your head, while the other laid on your thigh. 

With every passing second you felt yourself grow wetter, your hips beginning to grind down, both of your clothed crotches meeting, making both of you even more desperate. Seokmin grabbed your face, kissing you passionately once more, thumbs on either side of your cheeks. You whimpered when you felt him buck up, his erection already making your head spin. Never had you ever wanted anyone as bad. Finally, his hands moved to take off your shirt, leaving you in shorts and nothing else. A groan escaped him, hands all over your breasts, lips sucking your hard nipple inside his mouth, your head falling back, hands digging into his scalp. He was devouring your tits one at a time, hands squeezing them harshly as you couldn’t help but move your hips against him.

“S-Seokmin, please,” you whined, the arousal literally audible. Hearing you say his name like this… Seokmin parted from your chest and instead looked up at you. 

“Seungkwan told me something,” he whispered, one hand now moving down, while the other was back on your face, “he told me you take a… certain liking to my fingers.” The smirk on his face made you forget to kill Seungkwan later. You licked over your lips, biting down on it after, only to let out a small gasp when his right hand slipped into your shorts, pressing down on the wet spot between your legs. He sucked in a breath.

“Fuck, arren’t you wet for me, angel?” He whispered, while his other hand moved to your lips now, his eyebrows shooting up as he held eye contact. You knew what he wanted and you were more than eager to oblige. Parting your lips and stretching out your tongue, Seokmin felt himself twitch as he laid his index and middle finger on top of your tongue.

“Suck,” he then ordered you and without thinking twice, you did as asked. The fingers were long and thin and perfect and your eyes rolled back when you felt him press down on your tongue, his eyes becoming a little crazier with every passing second. 

“Both your holes stuffed with my fingers, what do you think?” his voice made goosebumps erupt all over your body, moaning around his digits while nodding wildly. Seokmin chuckled, not saying anything as he shoved your panties to the side, your hips almost automatically lifting so he could coat himself in your juice, his cock growing harder with every inch of him that got blessed with your arousal. 

“Think you can take two already?” when you nodded again, he immediately let his pretty fingers sink into you, both of you moaning at the contact. He sank in as deep as he could, until every bit was inside of you, knuckles deep, making him feel like he was either going to cum in his pants or simply explode. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, angel. Common, fuck yourself on my fingers and don’t forget to suck.” 

Your body began moving right away. Your mouth was sucking his fingers as if they were his cock, tongue pressing, tongue flicking against them. Head bobbing back and forth as your hips moved up and down on his other hand, his fingers feeling heavenly inside your walls. And when he put his thumb on your clit, you were sure the heavenly feeling would soon get you to cum all over him. 

“Good girl, doing so well for me, fuck,” Seokmin felt his throat dry up, sweat forming on the top of his head. How badly he wanted to fuck you right now, just get his fingers out and replace them with his throbbing cock - but he wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to see you live out your dream with his fingers buried inside of you, with your saliva coating his one hand and your perfect, sweet arousal the other. He wanted to see you come undone like this, fucking yourself on his fingers, before he took you the way he wanted, making you scream his name and beg him to make you cum with his cock. 

You felt your orgasm closing in on you, your movements becoming sloppier, eyes rolled back and the fingers in your mouth almost forgotten. Once Seokmin noticed, he grinned, beginning to fuck them inside your mouth himself, a high pitched moan escaping you and making another bit of precum shoot out of Seokmin’s cock. 

“Yeah, are you close, baby? Come on, I know you want to cum for me.” He leaned forward, the angle of his fingers changing slightly, hitting you right where you needed him and when his lips began kissing and licking at your neck, you couldn’t help but cum hard, your pussy clenching around his fingers over and over again, milking yourself for all you had. 

“Fuck,” he was in a daze, pulling both sets of fingers outside your holes, eyes searching for yours, before closing his lips around the fingers that had just made you cum so beautifully. You whimpered, pussy throbbing at the sight of him licking your arousal from his own digits. 

“Seokmin…,” you cried out and he pulled his fingers back, instead shooting forward now to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on his lips, hands now back around his neck, eyes closed shut as he kissed you with delicious desperation. 

“Fuck me on the windowsill, Seok, please.” 

He parted from you only for a second, before nodding and kissing you again, getting up with your legs wrapped around him, finally placing you on the narrow sill, hands gripping your shorts and panties and pulling them off your legs. You watched as he opened his own jeans next, letting them fall to the floor before finally revealing what you had only imagined so far. You couldn’t help but stare, your mouth watering at the sight of his big cock, all red at the tip and veiny, thick and a little bent to the left. Oh, how much you wanted him to ruin you. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby,” he purred now, arms back around your body, lips closing around yours again. Every inch of you was on fire, your hands immediately finding his cock, one grabbing his balls, while the other was around his girth, moving up to let your thumb slide over his slit. He twitched in your hand, a beautiful moan coming out his mouth that had you shivering. Spreading your legs further, you brought his leaking cock to your lips, letting the tip circle your clit for a bit, both of you moaning into the other's mouth, before finally lining him up with your sopping core.

“Please, fuck me, I need you so bad,” your voice was muffled against his lips and he nodded, replacing your hand with his to push inside you, the stretch having your nails dig into his shoulders, whimpers escaping your pink lips as he lowered himself into you until he bottomed out, his forehead now pressing against yours.

“You feel so good, so perfect around me, baby,” he kissed you softly, hands sliding over your sides up to your tits, and once he began squeezing them again, his lips finding yours, he began thrusting, first deep and hard, before he quickened, your legs pulling him even closer. He was perfect. The way he held you, the way his thumb was on your nipple, lips now sucking on the sensitive skin on your neck, cock fucking you deep and hard and quick, leaving no room for complaints. You didn’t know how to ever stop moaning his name, how to be quiet, how to not have your body already signal another climax. 

“A-am close,” you whined and Seokmin nodded, head now in between your neck and shoulder, kissing every inch of your skin. Nothing had ever felt this good, no sex with anyone had ever made him feel as if  he was going to cum within seconds, while also wanting it to never end. He sped up once more, hands back on your face as he wanted to cum with your tongue inside his mouth, with your lips claimed as his. You tried to match his pace, desperate and breathy moans filling the air that already smelled like nothing but sex. There was nothing you could do to prevent the orgasm rushing over you, your walls clenching around his cock over and over again, his movements getting sloppier with every second, your and his salivas mixing, running over both your chins when he finally sucked your tongue into his mouth as he came, hot white cum spreading in your pussy that now milked him for all he had, every little drop as precious as the other. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” Seokmin breathed into your mouth, his hands caressing your hair as he kissed your neck, both of you slowly getting down from your highs. You two stayed like this for a while. Him, kissing your neck, your shoulders, your chin and finally your lips. It suddenly feels like everything has fallen into place perfectly, like this is what should have happened the first time he ever stepped into place, maybe even when you first laid eyes on him three years ago. He stays inside you, your combined releases only slowly dripping out of you. How could he make you feel this precious? This fragile in the best way?

“Y/N…”, he then whispers after a while, his hands next to you on the sill, his eyes so soft and yet full of guilt. For a second you think he regrets having done this but then you hear his next words.

“I’m so sorry I pushed you away. I never should have done that. I was scared of my own feelings and of taking advantage of you, and I get now that I should have just talked to you about this instead of acting like I was protecting you when in reality I was just protecting myself,” he caressed your face, a stray lock of hair finds it’s way behind your ear by his finger.

“I get it. And I’m sorry too, for, you know, completely shutting you out.” You smile weakly and Seokmin chuckles, kissing your cheek again.

“I would have done the same. So, you forgive me?”

“Isn’t you coming inside me enough reason to believe I have?” You tease him with a slight grin and he turns red, looking down at him still buried inside your warmth. 

“Thank you. For forgiving me,” he looks up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “and also for letting me cum inside you.” 

You start laughing, pushing him away slightly by the shoulder and your heart seems to jump out of your chest when he kisses you again. You were sure  that you’ll never get tired of doing this. 

-

“So, if i want you to get turned on I’ll just need to post more gym pics?” Seokmin’s arm was around you, both of you freshly out of the shower seated on the couch. You scoffed, but felt your cheeks heat up.

“Shut up,” you couldn’t help but smile though, the fact he was so close to you, holding you. It was all too much but in the best way possible. You never wanted to let this man go again. 

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered”, he giggled now, and god, had you ever heard a more adorable sound? You doubted it. Just when you were about to respond (mainly to tell him to shut up again), you heard your phone ring. Looking over Seokmin’s lap, you saw your phone where you’d left it. He followed your gaze and grabbed your phone for you, a knowing smile on his lips.

“If we were to unlock this now, what would we find, hm?”

Ignoring him, you finally picked up. It was Seungkwan.

“Hi traitor,” you said, eyebrows raised. Seungkwan scoffed on the other side.

“Oh please, you can’t tell me y’all didn’t fuck.”

Seokmin, who was very obnoxiously leaning in closer to hear the conversation, giggled again, his cheeks turning rosy. You rolled your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I appreciate you spilling my kinks to people you barely know.”

“You know you do kind of love me for it though. So, you two together now?” You froze in place, while your eyes moved very slowly to look at Seokmin. What you saw made your stomach turn and twist and tumble and millions of butterflies suddenly started dancing Gangnam Style. His eyes were so fond, his features soft, the rose on his cheeks now accented by his bright perfect smile. When he nodded, his hand coming to caress your head, you couldn’t help but smile the brightest you ever had.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, we are.”

[badasbebi]

not my fault ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: discovering that a cute girl you saw at your college orientation is your roommate, you become eager to get to know her. however, things quickly go awry when she turns out to be much more difficult to get along with than you could've imagined and abruptly leaves you in the dust. fueled by your terrible experiences with her and rumors about her dating habits, you swear to stay away from her at all costs. will you be able to keep your promise?

✦ genre/au: fluff, my poor attempt at a rom-com, college!au, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, (very slight) roommates to lovers

✦ word count: 11k (im so embarrassed)

✦ warnings: isn't proofread bc this is toooo long. unrealistic portrayal of room-switching in college bc it's never that easy or quick irl. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: part 2 is already finished & will be posted very very soon. so, this is my first time writing a fanfic in like...years. this feels very strange, but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope someone out there has a lot of fun reading it! also, although this fic doesn't really have anything to do with the lyrics, this song was somewhat inspired by not my fault by renee rapp and megan thee stallion. <3.

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It was the first day of orientation at Seoul University, and you were utterly bored. 

You were sitting on a bench outside of the campus auditorium, people-watching as you waited for the opening ceremony to start. It was a hot day with the sun beating down on everyone, prompting an array of glistening foreheads and crinkling water bottles. There was a line of cars in front of you, people getting out with eager smiles and a mischievous glint in their eyes as they stepped onto the concrete, admiring what would be their home for the next four or more years. Your ears were filled with the excited chatter of hundreds of people meeting new friends and catching up with old ones.

You sat there, the sun warming your skin, looking for something or someone interesting while you waited for orientation to begin. 

You watched as a pairing, presumably mother and daughter, pulled up in a sleek car. They got out, and the mother began taking pictures of the daughter. The daughter looked around the campus with a wide grin on her face.

You looked away, taking a sip from your hydroflask. A boy wearing a shirt with your school's mascot. Boring. A congregation of girls who were so obviously here for sorority life, you almost laughed. 

A tall, dark-haired woman, with blue highlights, bangs, and thick, black-rimmed glasses, surrounded by a group of people.

You raised an eyebrow. That was interesting.

There were people crowded around her. Guys. Girls. Some, you presumed, were family. They all seemed to have their eyes on her.

You wondered why. As she talked, you studied her.

Her lips were moving, her facial expressions soft and open. Her voice was quiet, though, and you couldn't hear her words. She was pretty, extremely pretty, with luscious lips and a full nose. You liked her eyes the best. They were dark brown, but when the light caught them, they shined. 

She had a smile on her face, her head tilted, her hair cascading over her shoulders. It looked like a scene from a movie, her standing there, the wind blowing through her hair, the sun shining on her features.

She was laughing now, at something one of the guys had said. It was nice to watch. It made you feel warm. You smiled.

And then the girl looked at you.

You looked away, trying to pretend like you were not staring. But after a few moments, you stole a glance back. Her eyes were on you, her brow furrowed, a look of confusion on her face.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed. You looked down, staring at your nails.

“Holy shit it’s hot out here. If I pass out, I’m suing the school for child endangerment, because it is absolutely insane that we're still out here. Take your stupid water”

You looked up. Your friend, Lusher, was standing there, her hair frizzy, her makeup done, outstretching her hand to offer you the water bottle you told her to fetch,  and dramatically holding her other hand to her forehead.

You laughed, grabbing the water bottle. “Thanks, but I don’t think you can sue them for child endangerment if you’re not a minor, Lush.”

“I may not be a minor, but there are definitely some here. I’m just advocating for them! We need to make sure that children have a voice.”

You laughed, uncapping the bottle and taking a drink.

Lusher plopped down next to you. She looked around, scanning the place as you did. The attractive girl you were previously admiring was still standing there, laughing and chatting with others, people flocking to her like a moth to a flame. So, you did the only logical thing that a woman would do in your position—gossip to your friend about it. You tapped your friend on your shoulder repeatedly. She looked at you, an eyebrow raised.

You nod your head in the direction of the girl, and Lusher’s eyes follow. You could practically see her mind whirring.

"Well, hello there. Who is that?" Lusher said, wiggling her eyebrow, a smirk on her lips.

"I don't know!" you said, throwing your arms out. "That's what I was gonna ask you."

"Not you already having a crush. It's not even our first day, yet, y/n," Lusher teased. 

"Oh shut up," you groaned.

Lusher squinted. "She does look a little familiar."

You shifted toward her, excited. "Really? How?" 

"I think I saw her around when I was touring campus or something. Or Instagram? I'm not sure."

You nodded, watching as the girl said something, and the group around her laughed. Lusher glanced at you, observing your staring, and snickered.

"What are you even doing you stalker? Go talk to her!" She insisted, nudging your shoulder. 

"What!? No. No. Absolutely not. Not happening," you exclaimed, shaking your head.

"Why not?" Lusher whines.

"Because there are 5,000 people surrounding her, Lush," you said vaguely pointing at the group of people around her. "I'm not about to compete with that. No, thank you. I'll pass."

"Y/N," she groaned.

"Lusher," you replied, mocking her tone.

She huffed, rolling her eyes. You laughed.

"You're ridiculous," Lusher said.

"Thank you," you responded, a satisfied grin on your face.

You took a final sip of your water and then closed the cap. "Come on. It's almost time to go in."

You grabbed your friend's arm, pulling her up. She grumbled, and you chuckled, walking her toward the auditorium. As you walked away, you felt the gaze of a pair of shiny eyes following you. 

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Your mother groans, dropping the last box into the tiny bedroom. "That's the last one. My back is officially fucked."

"Mom, please stop swearing," you say, cringing.

"You swear all the time," she retorts.

"And where do I get that from?" you shoot back.

"You're my child. I can swear in front of you," she responds, ignoring your comment.

"Uh, no. You can't. You're old," you say, picking up one of the boxes and ripping the tape off.

"I prefer the term 'mature'," your mother corrects.

"What about 'ancient?'" you ask, faking seriousness. 

She rolls her eyes, grabbing one of your shirts and throwing it at you. You giggle, ducking to the side and letting it fall on the floor. She laughs, and you laugh too, and then you're both giggling uncontrollably. When you're laughing fit is over, you begin taking things out of another box.

The two of you spend the next few hours unpacking and organizing. You are not surprised when your mother decides that she likes her decorating ideas better, and rearranges everything.  Finally, the two of you finish, and you step back, admiring the room. Your mom puts her arm around your shoulder. 

"I think it looks good. What about you?"

You nod, smiling. "It does."

She sighs, leaning into you, and you wrap your arm around her waist.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, squeezing you tighter.

"Yeah. Starving."

"Good. Because I have some-"

The sound of your door opening cuts her off. You both turn around, and your heart leaps in your throat. Standing in the doorway is the pretty girl from the first day of orientation, wearing cargo pants and a hoodie. 

You're too stunned to speak. She's staring at you, and you're staring back. Neither of you says a word.

After what feels like a long time, your mother speaks, her voice filled with curiosity. "Hello? Can we help you?"

The girl's eyes snap to your mother, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"Oh. Uh...hi. I'm sorry. I'm Bada. Your new roommate," the girl, Bada, says, her voice soft and smooth.

"Oh, yes. You are," your mom responds, a wide grin on her face. She extends her arm. "Hi, Bada. I'm Y/N's mom. Nice to meet you."

Bada's eyes widen, and she gives you an almost nervous smile, her gaze flickering between you and your mom. She reaches her hand out and takes your mother's. "Nice to meet you, too, ma'am."

Your mother laughs. "No need to call me ma'am, dear. Please, call me by my name. And please, come in."

Bada hesitates, her gaze shifting to you, as if she's asking for permission. You smile softly, nodding your head, and she returns the gesture, entering the room.

"So, you're Y/N's new roommate. Tell me about yourself," your mother prompts, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

Bada's eyes flick back to you, her smile turning awkward. "Um, well, I'm from Incheon, and I'm a freshman. I'm majoring in dance," Bada says, her words sounding rehearsed.

Your mother nods. "Cool. Dance, huh? Do you perform?"

"Oh, um, yeah," Bada shuffles her feet a bit. "Sometimes. I was on the dance team back at my high school."

"Very cool. How's move-in day so far?"

"Good. Yours?"

"Great," your mother responds.

Bada's gaze turns back to you, and you shift, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Your mother seems not to notice, or she does not care.

"Are you here with your parents?" your mother asks.

"Uh, no. Just my mom and sister," Bada responds.

"I see. Where are they?"

"Getting dinner," Bada replies, her voice still soft.

"Ah," your mother says. She glances between the two of you, a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you two to get to know each other. It was nice meeting you, Bada."

"You too, Mrs. Y/L/N."

"Please, dear, call me by my first name," your mother responds, reaching out and touching Bada's shoulder.

Bada smiles, and then your mother exits the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Nice meeting you," Bada says, her tone polite.

"Nice meeting you too, Bada," you reply.

A moment passes. The tension is palpable. You can tell she's unsure of what to do, or say.

"Do you, uh, need help bringing your stuff in?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Oh, no. I'm fine," she responds.

"Okay," you reply.

More silence. Bada is still looking at you, her expression guarded. You clear your throat, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly.

"Is, um, this okay? Am I, uh, being a nuisance or anything?" you ask, choosing to stare at the wall behind her.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I can leave if I'm making you uncomfortable or anything. I don't want to be a bother," you say, shuffling your feet.

"No. No. Not at all," she replies, shaking her head.

"Oh, okay. Good," you respond, smiling.

She does not return the gesture. Her eyes are still on you, and her body is tense. You wonder if she's afraid of you, or something.

"So," you begin, clasping your hands together. "I guess I'll show you to your side of the room, then."

"Oh, um, okay," she replies, her voice still quiet.

"Here. Let me help you with that," you offer, stepping forward and grabbing one of her suitcases.

"No thank you. I've got it," she says, pulling the bag back.

"Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable," you say, letting go.

She drags the suitcase across the floor and sets it on the empty bed.

"I hope you don't mind. I didn't really get much choice in the furniture department. You're lucky you got the bigger bed," you say, laughing nervously.

"No, it's okay. Thank you," she replies, a tight smile on her lips.

"No problem," you respond, rocking back and forth on your heels.

Another moment of awkward silence passes. Bada begins unzipping the suitcase, taking out folded clothes and laying them on her bed.

"Can I, uh, get you anything? Like, some water or snacks or something?"

"No thank you. That's very kind, though," she says, her back turned to you.

"Okay. Cool. If you need anything, let me know. I'm always here," you respond, smiling.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replies, not looking at you.

"Well, okay. I'll just...leave you to it, then," you say, and then turn around and go sit at your desk, deciding not to push her.

You pull your laptop out, placing it on the desk, and log onto the college's wifi. You lean back in your chair, alternating between reading your syllabi and watching as she unloads her belongings. She has a lot of things. Clothes, books, shoes, accessories, makeup. She even has a large speaker system, which is surprising, considering the small dorm.

After a while, Bada stops, having finally finished unpacking. She stretches her arms above her head, revealing a tiny sliver of her stomach and the waistband of her boxers. Your cheeks burn, and you quickly look away.

"Hey, y/n?"

"Hm?" you ask, spinning around.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah. It's just down the hall," you reply, pointing to the door.

"Okay. Thank you," she says, standing up and leaving the room.

You sigh, and then get up, going over and plopping down on your bed. You could not get a read on this woman. When you saw her at orientation, she seemed so open, so friendly, so charismatic. But, right now, it was like you were talking to a wall. You couldn't help but feel a bit peeved. You wanted her to at least like you a little bit, or even tolerate you, but she was barely willing to even talk to you.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Maybe she was just tired, or had a bad day. That's probably it. That had to be it. Which, is fine. You were her roommate. You had a year to become friends. You'd be fine. 

You pull out your phone, deciding to scroll through social media. After a few minutes, Bada returns and sits on her bed.  

"Did you find it?" you ask, not looking up.

"Yep," she replies.

"That's good," you start, sitting up and scooting toward the edge of your bed. "Hey, I was thinking, since we're gonna be roommates and all, we should get to know each other, ya know?"

Bada turns, a blank expression on her face.

"So, dance," you continue. "What's that like?"

Bada's face changes, the guarded look falling away, replaced with an excited smile. "Dancing? Oh, it's wonderful. I've loved dancing for as long as I can remember," Bada gushes, her eyes lighting up. "I've been doing it my whole life. My mom and sister dance, too, actually."

You grin, her excitement contagious. "That's great. How many of you are dancers?"

"Just the three of us. Me, my mom, and my sister. Well, actually, my mom is retired now, and she's teaching classes at the studio," Bada continues, her smile growing wider.

"That's amazing," you respond, leaning forward. "Do you all perform together?"

"All the time. My mom owns a studio, and she teaches there. We teach classes and choreograph, and then, when we have enough students, we'll have shows," Bada answers, her voice becoming softer, and less animated.

"That sounds really cool. Do you, like, teach little kids and stuff?"

"Oh, no. Not really. I mean, we do, but only if a student's parents ask. Our main audience is teens, and adults," she explains.

"Wow," you say, nodding. "That's awesome. I can't imagine what that's like."

"It's a lot of fun," Bada replies, her eyes sparkling.

"What about your dad? Is he a dancer, too?"

"My father's not in the picture," Bada says, her eyes dimming a bit.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry," you mumble, suddenly feeling awkward.

"It's alright," Bada responds, her tone flat.

"Well, anyway, that's cool," you say, changing the subject. "What's the studio like?"

"It's really nice. We have a small space,  but it's cozy," she says, her eyes regaining some of their previous luster. "We've got a lot of mirrors and equipment, and the lights are low."

"Really? God, what you do sounds so cool."

"You think so?" Bada asks, her eyebrows raised.

"Totally. I'm kinda jealous," you admit.

"Thanks. It's nice to hear someone say that," she replies, grinning.

"Anytime," you say, returning the gesture.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, and you lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly, your phone pings, and you glance at the screen. It's a text message from Lusher.

Lush: hey u ready for ur first college party???

Y/N: no lol i'm exhausted from setting up.

Lush: oh come on. im trying to meet some cute guys here. dont make me go alone

Y/N: haha i'm gonna stay in tonight. maybe tomorrow or next weekend

Lush: boo. well, the invitation is always open. if u change ur mind, come find me.

Y/N: ok will do. ttyl

"Is that your mom?" Bada asks, interrupting your thoughts. 

"Huh?"

"Your phone," she clarifies, motioning to the device in your hand.

"Oh, no, just a friend from high school, Lusher. She goes here," you explain, sliding your phone onto your bedside table. "She was trying to invite me to a party to scout out the scene for boys."

"Ah," Bada replies, turning her attention back to her side of the room.

"But there's no way I'm going tonight. I'm way too tired after all of that packing," you continue, lying down.  

"Understandable," Bada replies, not looking at you.

"So, I'm pretty hungry? Wanna go to the dining hall and get some food, or something?" you ask. 

"No thank you. I think I'm just going to take a nap," she says, scooting under her covers and turning her body toward the wall. 

"Oh, okay. Alright," you say, feeling a bit disappointed.

It seems like you are back to square one. You sigh, and then turn around, facing the wall. This was going to be a long year. You reach for your headphones, plugging them into your phone, and put on a playlist, trying to ignore the slight ache in your chest. You were not sure why, but, for some reason, it hurt. You shake your head, pushing the feeling down. No, you were not upset. You were not going to be upset. Everything was going to be fine with time. You stand up, grabbing your backpack, and then exit the room, closing the door quietly behind you. The least you could do was give her some privacy. Maybe she needed some time to adjust to sharing a room with someone. 

You enter the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, and try to clear your head. No. Things would get better. She would warm up. You just needed to be patient. The elevator dings, and the doors open, and you step out, walking toward the cafeteria. You just needed to wait. She would come around. You were sure of it.

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Your alarm blares loudly. You groan, rolling over and snoozing it. The sun is barely up. You feel like a zombie.

You reach over and grab your phone. 7:30 am. Time for a run.

You slowly slide out of bed, wincing at the cold floor. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glance around the room. It looks exactly the same, except for the fact that your roommate is gone.

You yawn, stretching, and then walk over to her bed. The sheets are perfectly tucked, the pillows arranged neatly, and the blanket is smoothed out. She must have made her bed before leaving. You frown.

"I wonder what time she wakes up," you murmur, running a hand over the blanket.

You throw on some clothes, put your earbuds in, and stretch, before leaving the room.

As you walk through the hallway, your thoughts are still hazy with sleep. You have never been a morning person. But, running helps.

You take the elevator down to the lobby, and then exit the building, jogging onto the sidewalk. A cool breeze whips your hair around. You shiver, pulling the drawstrings of your hoodie tight.  After a few minutes, you find a nice rhythm, your breathing steadying, the music calming your nerves.  You pass the same few people, most of them in a similar state as you. Groggy. Disheveled. Exhausted. After 30 minutes, you start feeling warm. Your heart is pounding, and your chest is heaving. You slow to a walk, and then stop, resting against a tree. 

You close your eyes and listen to the birds, the leaves, the wind. It's nice. Calming.

"Y/n?" a familiar voice asks. 

Your eyes snap open, and you turn. A woman is standing there, a shocked look on her face.

Oh no, you think, once you realize who it is."Aiki?" 

"Woah, I knew it was you," Aiki says, her eyes wide. 

"Yeah," you chuckle awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck.

"What are you doing here?" Aiki asks, her mouth hanging open.

"I go here now. I'm a student. I have clases here," you overexplain

"Wow, okay," Aiki says, taking a breath. "So, how have you been? What are you studying? What's been going on with you? God, y/n, it's been forever."

"Yeah, it has. Um, I've been good. Just, ya know, moving and stuff so far. Haven't declared a major yet, though," you respond, feeling taken aback by her excitement.

"I see. Well, I actually have to go, but we should totally hang out. Maybe have coffee sometime, or something. Catch up," Aiki suggests, her eyes sparkling.

"Sure, yeah, that sounds great," you say, nodding.

"Cool, well, I'll see you around," Aiki says, a smirk on her face.

"See ya," you reply, waving as she turns and jogs off.

You stare after her, a strange feeling in your stomach. You had not seen Aiki since junior year of high school, when the two of you were forced to go on a trip with the rest of your class. During that week, the two of you became close, and, by the end, you were basically inseparable. The two of you spent the entire week attached at the hip, going sightseeing, exploring, and, on the last night, you even kissed her. It was a perfect week. And then, after the trip was over, you never spoke again. She transferred schools, and the two of you lost contact. And now, here she is, back in your life.

You shake your head, chuckling softly. It is almost too much. First, your hot roommate, and now, Aiki. The universe is messing with you.

You start walking again, continuing your route. You run for another hour, the sun now fully risen. Your skin is glowing with sweat, and you can't help but smile. You are feeling great.

You stop by the showers, washing up, and then head to the cafeteria. The line is long, and, despite the early hour, it is packed. You grab a tray, loading it with eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and a glass of orange juice.

"Oh my god, save some for the rest of us," a voice exclaims from behind you. 

You turn, startled, finding Lusher behind you, grinning.

"Jesus, Lush, you scared me," you say, shaking your head.

"Sorry, didn't mean to, but seriously, I'm starving. Move faster," she complains, her eyes falling to your full plate.

"What are you even doing here so early? It's Saturday. You're never up at this time," you question, raising an eyebrow.

"The beds here suck. Couldn't stay asleep."

"So, you just came here?"

"Duh. They have free breakfast," she responds, her eyes wide.

"Right," you reply, not convinced.

"I'm serious. Besides, it's not like there's anything else to do this early on a Saturday," she adds.  

"Okay, whatever," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"So, how was the rest of the move-in? Is your roomate cool?" Lusher questions.

"Actually," you begin. "You'd never guess who my roommate is."

"Who?" she prompts. 

"The hot girl I saw at orientation."

"No. Shut. Up," she responds, her eyes widening.

"I'm not kidding. Her name is Bada. She's a dance major."

"Holy shit, no wonder she looked familiar when I saw her. I think I've seen her around dance competitions and showcases."

"You have?"

"Yeah, a few times. She's really good. Damn," Lusher says, shaking her head.

"Well, I wish she'd open up more," you say, frowning.

"Why? Is she mean or something?"

"No, I mean, I'm not sure. She's kind of quiet. I'm not really sure how to describe it. She's not super friendly or anything, and we haven't talked a lot," you respond. 

"Hmm, that's weird. I have a few dance friends who've interacted with her before. From what I've been told she's super nice."

"I guess. Anyway, she's not really interested in being my friend, which is fine. But, it's weird, 'cause it seems like she's super popular. She knows a ton of people. I don't get why she's so weird around me."

"Maybe she's nervous or something. I mean, you're kinda cute, after all."

"Shut up, no, I'm not," you deny, rolling your eyes.

"Whatever you say, y/n," Lusher smirks.

"You're crazy," you mutter, grabbing a juice box. 

"Well, I hope you can change her mind. She's definitely cute."

"Thanks, Lush," you respond, not really meaning it.

The two of you grab seats near the windows. The food is mediocre, but your stomach is full and that's all that matters. You spend the next few hours chatting with Lusher about school, classes, and other things. Deciding you've had enough of the dining hall, you take Lusher to your dorm room, wanting to show her what your side of the room looks like. However, as soon as you open the door, you are met with the sight of Bada's side of the room-empty side of the room. Her bed is still perfectly made, and her closet is shut tight, and the desk is cleared off. Her things are gone, as if she was never there.

"What the hell?" you mutter, your eyes darting around the room.

"What's going on?" Lusher says, peering over your shoulder from the hallway.

"My roommate," you start.

"Bada, right?"

"Yeah. All her stuff is gone. Did she transfer or something?"

"Wait, what? Let me see," Lusher says, squeezing into the room and past you.

She scans the room, her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you weren't hallucinating her? Or having a strange wet dream?"

"Shut up. I'm serious. Look. Her bed is still made, and her side of the closet is completely empty," you insist, pointing.

"Well, maybe she's at class or something. Are you sure she's not just hanging out somewhere?"

"Why would she be? Class doesn't start for a couple days. And why would all of her stuff be gone?"

"Maybe she's one of those crazy studious types who starts early. And she has a very meticulous study routine that requires her room to be completely rid of stuff." Lusher suggests, shrugging.

"Who in the world would do all of that?"

"Someone who's organized. Maybe a person with OCD? A really anal-retentive neat freak?"

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Hey, you asked," Lusher says, throwing her hands up in defense.

You're about to curse at her, when your phone vibrates. It's a text from the college housing office.

"What is it?" Lusher asks.

"It's from the housing office. They want to see me about a roommate complaint," you read aloud, frowning.

"Roomate complaint? That's weird. Why would they call you instead of her?"

"Maybe they're not able to get a hold of her. I don't know. I'm not sure," you say, scrolling through the message.

"Well, whatever, go find out. We can talk more later."

"You're not coming?"

"No, I'm tired. Gotta catch some Z's. Go figure this out."

"Fine. I'll talk to you later, then."

"Later, loser," she responds, before walking away.

You sigh and exit the building, beginning your walk to the housing office.

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"Hello? Anyone here?" you call, stepping inside.

"Ah, hello," a voice responds.

A man walks up, an overly friendly smile on his face. He extends his hand, initiating a handshake. 

"Hi. I'm y/n," you start, shaking his hand. "I received a message saying you wanted to talk to me about a roommate complaint?"

He nods. "Yes, yes, of course. Please, follow me."

He gestures to a door, and you follow him into a small office. He motions for you to sit down, and you do, the chair squeaking loudly.

"Now, let's see," he begins, studying a piece of paper. "You're living in the new dorms, correct?"

"Yup," you confirm. "The one with the fancy bathrooms."

"Right, yes. So, your roommate is a Ms. Bada Lee?"

"Yes, that's her."

He sighs, letting the paper fall onto his desk. Clasping his hands together, he asks, "And, is there a problem between the two of you?"

You shift in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable."I mean, not really. I haven't seen her since Friday morning. Why do you ask?"

The man clears his throat. "We received a notice from her this morning, stating that she no longer wanted to reside in her dorm with you. She requested a room transfer and had all her things moved out into another room."

Your heart sank. This had to be a joke

"I'm sorry, but...what? Why? Why would she do that? I barely know her," you protest, shaking your head.

"Unfortunately, the decision has already been made, and the paperwork has been processed," the man replies, a sympathetic look on his face.

"But, this doesn't make any sense," you insist, leaning forward in your seat. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"I'm afraid the reasons are confidential, as is standard practice. All I can tell you is that the decision was made by the student, and we must abide by it."

You fall back in your chair, scowling. "This isn't right."

"I apologize, Ms. y/n, but there's nothing we can do. I'll inform the RA's and staff to expect you for a new room assignment. You likely won't get a new roommate until next semester, though. Otherwise, we're done here. "

"Alright, thank you," you mutter, standing up and heading to the door.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he calls.

You slam the door and storm off, furious. This is complete bullshit. What could you have done yesterday that was so bad that Bada would request a room change and make a complaint? 

As you walk back to the dorm, a thousand thoughts race through your head. Were you too loud the first night? Too pushy? Did you say something offensive or insult her?

You rack your brain, trying to remember if you said or did anything wrong, but nothing comes to mind. There was the one moment when you asked about her father, and she seemed a bit upset, but was that really it? Surely she couldn't have built resentment for you after that one, small slip-up. You even apologized to her. 

Maybe she just thought you were annoying? You're as confused as ever, and, pissed off. Whatever the issue was, there was no way it was significant enough for her to go directly to the housing office. She could have spoken to you about it, and you could have worked something out but didn't give you the chance. From the moment you met her, she didn't give you a chance. And now you probably have some sort of criminal-esque record with the housing office because of it. Great.

When you arrive back at the dorm, you go straight to your bed, laying down and burying your face into the pillows.

"God damnit," you mumble, your frustration overwhelming.

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The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, with you alternating between fuming, moping, and ranting to Lusher about the incident with Bada. The more you thought about it, the more irritated you felt. Why did such a sexy person have to suck so bad?

Despite the annoyance, you decided not to focus on the issue, opting instead to hang out with Lusher and your other friends. By Sunday night, however, your emotions had shifted back to sadness, and you were once again moping about the incident.

Before you knew it, it was Monday morning, and time for classes. You were excited, yet anxious, about the beginning of the school year. Despite the rocky start, you were determined to make the most of it. 

Currently, you're in your last class of the day, bored out of your mind. You're supposed to be taking notes, but your professor lost your attention halfway through the lecture. You fix your gaze on the window, where raindrops are running down the glass. It was cloudy and grey outside, and you could see a flash of lightning in the distance.

"And that concludes our lesson. Don't forget to check your emails because I will be sending you a reading assignment. Class dismissed." 

The sound of people packing up their things and moving around causes you to snap out of your trance. You quickly gather your own materials and head out the door.

On the way back to the dorm, the sky opens up, and it starts pouring. You pick up the pace, wanting to avoid getting soaked. As you approach the entrance to your building, you slow down, spotting Bada walking toward you. She looks just as unhappy to be out in the rain as you are, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, her hood hanging over her face.  

Uh oh, you think, not expecting to see her.

"Um, hi," you stammer, attempting to appear friendly.

She stops in her tracks, eyeing you cautiously. "Uh, hey," she says, her tone cold.

You cross your arms. "So, um, how's your day been?"

"Fine," she replies curtly.

"Cool," you reply. "Enjoying your new room?"

"It's okay," she says, shrugging.

"That's nice," you respond, not sounding sincere. 

An uncomfortable, but at this point, familiar, silence follows. You couldn't believe she wasn't taking this as an opportunity to apologize or explain what happened. If she weren't so tall and admittedly intimidating, you'd do something petty, like snatch the hood off of her head. Or pin her down until she fesses up. Or throw something at her pretty face to remind her that—yes, you are hot, but that doesn't mean you can escape consequences! But you're too gracious and realistic to do any of that, so you take the peaceful (though painful) route. 

"Well, I should get inside, I don't want to get too wet," you state.

"Okay, yeah," she replies, giving you a curt nod.

"Uh, have a good day," you say, turning around and heading toward the door.

"Thanks, you too," she calls out.

She walks past you, and you can't help but turn around, watching her retreating figure. "What a weirdo," you mutter under your breath, heading up the stairs. 

You hurry into the building, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

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Three months into the semester, you begin to hear Bada's name everywhere. Apparently, within the short time period, she's taken your school's dance team far and has gained quite a bit of attention for it. You're not surprised, given her athletic build and seemingly graceful demeanor. However, this has come with a price, and now, wherever you go, she seems to be there, her presence almost a constant. Similarly to when you first saw her at orientation, many people flock to her, and you hear a number of girls gossiping about how cool and attractive she is. With that, you begin to hear the rumors.

You've heard a lot of things about Bada, some good and some not-so-good. For example, you've heard that she's an excellent dancer and extremely talented. She's also very outgoing, sweet, and has a large group of friends. On the other hand, it seems as if she's built up a reputation for herself. You've heard people calling her a player and a flirt. Others have claimed that she sleeps with women just for fun, never sticking with anyone for too long.

You aren't sure what to believe, but you do know that your opinion of her is low. You still have no idea why she changed rooms and never gave you a straight answer, despite the numerous attempts you've made. In the beginning, you'd attempt to strike up conversations and casually ask her about it, but she would either ignore you or give you a short, vague response. You eventually stopped asking, knowing it was futile. Even when the two of you pass each other in the hallway, her eyes never meet yours, and you swear you can feel the disdain radiating from her.

But it's impossible to completely ignore her because, again, she is loved by many. To make matters worse, Lusher joined the dance team. Meaning, every time you visit Lusher during practice, Bada's there. Lusher tells you that she's a great teammate, but you aren't so sure. After all, you've only spoken a handful of words to her, and they haven't been particularly welcoming.

It's one of those days when you find yourself sitting on the bleachers, observing the dance team. You've come to watch Lusher, and you have to admit, the other dancers are amazing. However, your eyes always drift back to Bada. As much as you try to stop it, you can't help it. She's just so...stunning. She's wearing a tank top, showing off her arms, and baggy pants. Her hair is tied back in a bun, accentuating her features, and she has a serious, focused expression on her face.

You bite your lip, watching as she moves across the floor, her body flowing with the music. It's like she's gliding, and it's mesmerizing. You've never seen someone dance with such strength and power. You've been a fan of dance for a while, and you've never seen anything like it.

As the song comes to an end, everyone strikes a final pose. You watch Bada, her chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

You grab your water bottle, suddenly thirsty, and take a drink. You're still staring at her, and she glances in your direction. Shit.

You look away, hoping she didn't notice you watching her.

Lusher unfreezes herself from her ending pose and immediately comes running up to you.

"So, what did you think? Wasn't that awesome?" she asks, excitement evident on her face.

"Yeah, it was great. You guys were incredible," you compliment.

"Aw, thanks," Lusher beams. "You should come to more of our practices. They're a lot of fun."

"Yeah, maybe," you agree, noncommittally.

"Actually, do you mind coming to the locker room with me? I need to change, and we can grab something to eat afterward."

"Yeah, sure," you agree.

Lusher gives you a big hug, causing you to laugh. "Thanks, y/n," she smiles.

You follow her into the locker room, and she changes out of her sweaty clothes. You lean against the wall, tapping away on your phone.

"You can look, y/n, I'm not shy," Lusher teases, her shirt pulled up and bra strap undone.

"I know, but, I don't want to be a pervert," you giggle.

Lusher laughs. "You already are one, and I've accepted that fact a long time ago."

You pick up one of her spare pants, throwing at her.

"Hey!" she cries, feigning annoyance.

You smirk. "Sorry."

She rolls her eyes. "I forgive you."

You glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. You've never been in here before, and it's kind of fascinating. 

"Where's the bathroom in here?" you ask.

"Down the hall, to the left," she informs.

"Alright, I'm gonna go pee," you announce.

"Okay," she says, not looking away from her locker. 

"Be right back," you call, exiting the room.

You walk down the hall and open the bathroom door, making your way inside. You go to the first stall, shutting the door behind you. You take care of business, and as you're finishing up, you hear the sound of footsteps, and voices, entering the room. 

Not paying them much mind, you flush the toilet, standing up and zipping your pants. Until you here something that freezes you in your spot.

"Lusher's friend is pretty cute. Your type," a voice says.

"I guess," another, deeper, voice responds.

"Don't be so indifferent, Bada, she is pretty hot," the first voice chides.

"She's alright," Bada says, nonchalantly.

"Why not? It's not like she'd say no," the first voice presses.

"I'm not really interested, Tatter. She's good-looking but, I'm not attracted to her. At all. Not worth my time." Bada says.

You're stunned. 

"Really?" Tatter asks.

"Yes. Really." Bada says, firmly. 

You feel a rush of anger. She has every right to not find you attractive, but you can't help feeling insulted. Did she have to be so adamant about it?

"Well, damn," Tatter chuckles.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Bada shrugs.

"No, it's cool," Tatter assures.

"Let's head out, the others are waiting for us," Bada suggests.

"Yeah, sure," Tatter agrees.

Their voices fade away, and their footsteps become more distant. You step out of the stall, making your way toward the sink. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. You look tired and upset because, well you are.

The more you think about it, the more things start to make sense. No wonder why Bada has been so aloof and unfriendly with you. She didn't find you attractive, and henceforth decided that you weren't 'worth her time.' But what kind of shallow thinking was that? You had plenty of things to offer. Your personality, wit, intelligence, humor, and a bunch of other things. So, what did it matter if she found you physically attractive?

You splash some water on your face, trying to wash away your frustration.

It's settled. You didn't want anything to do with her. She had no right to dismiss you, and, as a result, you didn't have to treat her nicely, either. Two can play that game.

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You managed to go the rest of the school year without interacting with Bada. You saw her in passing and heard her name plenty of times, but you largely succeeded in your efforts to avoid her. For the most part, you didn't even think about her. Except, of course, when you got your new roommate after winter break, who was much friendlier, but ridiculously messy and, to be quite frank, annoying. Although this turn-out was not directly Bada's fault, throughout your 2nd semester you laid awake at night, cursing the tall sexy mean woman, as your roommate blasted Bhad Bhabie songs into the early hours of the morning. 

It's a new year now, though. And luckily, you do not have to worry about roommate troubles, because you you've gotten an apartment with Lusher. It's tiny and run-down, but incredibly close to campus, and after the issues you had your first year, you're just grateful that you're rooming with someone you actually get along with. 

Knowing that, you're excited to see what your second year will bring you. You walk to your first class of the day, which is, unfortunately, an 8 a.m. English class. 

You make it to the classroom, finding an open seat near the middle. You sit down, pulling out a notebook and pen.

As the seats fill, the professor begins his lecture, and the class starts.

However, about ten minutes into class, the door opens, and someone walks in. You look up, and your heart drops.

Bada is standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"So sorry to interrupt. I'm late," she says.

"It's okay, take a seat. We're just starting," the professor replies.

Bada's eyes scan the room, and when she spots you, she frowns. You look away, pretending like you didn't notice.

She continues to stand there, looking uncomfortable, before she decides to walk further into the classroom. The professor stops talking and looks at her.

"Do you have a seat yet?" he asks.

"Uh, not yet," Bada stutters.

"Take a seat anywhere, we're getting started," the professor responds, continuing his lecture.

You hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and when you look back, Bada is walking towards the empty seat next to you. She sits down, dropping her backpack, and your heart races.

"Can I borrow a pen?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Sure," you mumble, handing her a pen.

"Thanks," she mutters, writing something down.

Your heart is beating out of your chest. She's sitting next to you. Why is she sitting next to you? Is she doing this on purpose? Maybe she has some sort of vendetta against you. You're not sure.

You try your best to focus on the professor, but it's difficult. You can't help but stare at Bada, your eyes drifting down her body. You take in her attire. She's wearing a white t-shirt, a pair of baggy jeans, and a cap. Despite the simplicity of it, she looks phenomenal. It makes you want to scream.

As the professor goes on, Bada takes notes, seeming completely invested in the lecture, and you almost scoff. Who was she trying to fool? 

Once the lecture ends, you quickly pack up your stuff and rush out of the room, eager to put some distance between the two of you.

"Okay," your professor begins, clapping his hands. "If you look at the syllabus, you'll see that a big portion of your grade in this class is determined by your final project. This is a research-based assignment, and will require extensive library work. I've randomly assigned you partners to help you out, so, if you'd like, feel free to move around and meet your partners once I call out your names."

A group project? Great. Those always went well. Who was the sorry excuse for a partner you were going to—

"Y/n y/l/n and Bada Lee."

Fuck.

You feel sick. What the hell is this?

You look around the room, frantically, hoping to see someone who shares the same name. Alas, no such luck.

You see Bada shift in her seat, turning toward you, and you try your best to conceal your irritation.

"Hi," she says, quietly.

"Hey," you reply, coolly.

"I guess we're partners, huh?" she asks, a small smile on her face.

"Yep, looks like it," you respond.

"I'm, um, sorry for being late today. I had a meeting with a counselor," she explains.

"I'm not the professor, Bada. I don't care."

Bada seems taken aback by your harsh response.

"Right, um, okay."

"So, uh, do you have any ideas for the final project? I've thought of a few things," she continues.

"I haven't given it much thought," you lie, knowing that you'd spent the majority of last night planning and organizing your entire project.

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "That's okay, we can talk about it some more."

"Sure," you shrug, standing up and grabbing your stuff. "I've got to get to my next class, so, I'll see you later."

You quickly pack up your items and rush out of the room, eager to put some distance between the two of you.

"Y/n, wait!"

You freeze.  

"Your phone number," Bada says, jogging up behind you. 

You turn around, eyeing her cautiously. "What?" 

"Your phone number, so we can communicate," she clarifies, her tone a little more stern than it was a few seconds ago.

"Right," you mutter, fishing your phone out of your pocket and giving her your number.

"Awesome, thanks. I'll text you," she smiles, and then, to your surprise, she turns around and walks away.

You watch her leave, still confused. What just happened?

The next few days pass uneventfully, and you've been avoiding Bada like the plague. It's not difficult, given that the two of you only share one class together and remain silent the entire time. Truthfully, you weren't expecting to get anything out of Bada for this project. As soon as the professor called her name, you were resigned to the fact that you'd probably have to carry out this project yourself. Between dance and the apparent trail of girls that Bada has to deal with on a daily basis, there was no way she'd make time for it.

As a result, you were shocked when, after a week had passed you received a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown: hi! it's Bada. do you have a chance to meet up sometime? i have a few ideas for the project and wanted to talk to you about it.

You're not sure how to respond. This is the last thing you expected from her.

"Who are you texting?" Lusher asks, suddenly appearing beside you.

"What?" you ask, locking your phone.

"I was asking if you'd be home later, but you're clearly too busy texting someone to listen," Lusher laughs.

"No, I'm listening," you insist.

"Then, who are you texting?" she presses, curiously.

"No one. Just a girl," you reply.

Lusher wiggles her eyebrows. "I knew it," she giggles.

"Shut up," you laugh, smacking her arm. "It's not like that."

"Whatever you say," she teases, grabbing her jacket and slipping on her shoes.

"Are you leaving?" you ask.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go study with a few people. You coming?"

You shake your head. "No, I think I'm just gonna stay here."

"Alright, I'll see you later then," she says, waving and exiting the apartment.

You sigh, flopping down on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. You're not sure how long you lay there, but the sound of your phone vibrating snaps you out of your daze.

You grab your phone, checking your messages.

Unknown: this is y/n, right?

"Shit," you mutter, realizing that you forgot to respond.

You: Hi, sorry, it is. I got busy. Um, yeah, I have time tomorrow if you're free.

Bada: i'm available after 5 tomorrow. meet me at the library? 3rd floor?

You: Okay, sounds good.

Bada: great! see you then.

"Fuck," you whisper, tossing your phone onto the couch.

This is going to be a horrible year.

The next day, you find yourself walking into the library, coffee in hand. You check your phone, noticing that it's already 5:30 p.m.

"Crap," you whisper, picking up your pace.

You finally make it to the third floor, scanning the room for Bada. To your surprise, you spot her immediately, sitting alone at a table in the corner.

"Sorry, I'm late," you apologize, speed-walking over to her.

"It's okay," she smiles.

You pull out a chair and sit down, feeling awkward.

"So," you begin. "How are you?"

"Good," she says, quietly. She glances at your coffee cup, a frown on her face, before looking down at the items scattered across the table. 

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at the array of items in front of you. Bada's textbooks, her backpack, her phone. Two coffee cups.

"Wait," you say, realization hitting you.

"Yeah?" she asks, looking up.

"You bought me a coffee?" you state, the words sounding dumb as they come out of your mouth.

She blinks. "No."

"But, there are two coffee cups," you point out, feeling more and more confused.

"It's fine, you already bought one," she rushes out, sliding one of the coffee cups farther away from you.

"Wait, no! It's okay. I'll take it."

She stops. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, reaching out and grabbing the cup. "Thank you."

"Of course," she shrugs, looking embarrassed.

You pick up the cup, analyzing it, wondering if she put any poison in it. Unfortunately, you are not a chemist, and cannot decipher the contents of the beverage, so, you opt for the safer route and place the cup back down on the table.

"Did you have an idea for the project?" she asks.

"I did," you nod.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking that we could write an article. One of the prompts that was on the syllabus is an exposé, and I figured that it'd be easy to do a deep dive into the school's athletic program."

"Huh, that's interesting," she replies, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Interesting, good or interesting, bad?"

"Interesting, good. I like the idea. How far did you want to go into detail with it?"

"Well, I was hoping we could focus on the women's athletic department. Have you heard anything about them?" you ask.

"A lot. I hear my friends complain a lot," she says.

"About what?"

"So much. The coaches are demanding and strict and don't give the players don't get enough breaks. They don't get as much funding as the men's athletic program, either."

Disappointing but not surprising. "Is there a particular sport or athlete that stands out to you?"

"Um," she starts, a slight blush covering her cheeks.

"Yes?"

"I know a couple of basketball players. The captain, Doyeon, is really good, and I talk to her a lot. She'd probably be willing to help us out. They have a big game coming up, and their coach is going crazy because the school isn't giving them as much access to facilities as they did for the men's team. The basketball players were forced to practice outside, and the coaches are furious."

You can't hide your shock at this. Although you knew the women's team had it rough, you didn't realize there was so much drama happening behind the scenes. "Wow, that's...a mess. Did you want to talk to her about it? I'd love to meet her and get her perspective."

"Yes, definitely," she nods. "They should be practicing tomorrow. We can go watch them and interview her after. Would that work?"

"Sounds good," you agree, mentally making a note to cancel your plans tomorrow. You raise your coffee cup to your lips, momentarily forgetting about the possible dangers, and take a sip.  The moment the liquid touches your tongue, you are hit with a profusion of tastiness. It's sweet and delicious and everything you could have ever dreamed of. It's exactly the type of drink you'd order yourself. You glance over at Bada, seeing her watching you nervously, and decide to speak up.

"This is really good," you praise, taking another sip.

She smiles. "You like caramel lattes, right?" she asks. 

"Um, yes," you respond, confused. "How'd you know that?"

"Just, um, a lucky guess," she replies awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

You raise an eyebrow at this. Crap, you think. She must've put some sort of poison in here that mimics the taste of your favorite coffee flavor. You're screwed, but it's too late. You might as well enjoy the coffee. You take one last sip, savoring the flavor, then set it down. 

"Alright, well, I have some notes I want to go over, if that's alright," you say, pulling out your laptop.

"Okay," she replies, also taking out her laptop.

The two of you spend the next hour discussing the project, both of you getting lost in your own thoughts. By the time you're done, it's nearly eight o'clock, and the sun is setting.

"We should probably head back now," you state, packing up your items.

"Yeah, we should," she agrees, standing up.

The two of you walk out of the library, the campus quiet and dark.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she says, walking toward her car.

"Yep," you reply, waving and heading towards yours.

Once inside, you turn on the car, blasting the air conditioning. You turn on the radio, trying to distract yourself from the heat outside. 

"And in other news, the women's basketball team is still having trouble securing proper facilities. According to sources close to the team, the coach is frustrated and the players are exhausted.

"In other sports news, the football team is preparing for its season-opener against their rivals, the..."

You groan, turning off the radio and focusing on the road. Your stomach growls, and you realize that you haven't eaten anything since lunch. You consider stopping somewhere, but decide against it. You'll just eat when you get back to the apartment.

As you drive home, you think about the last few hours you spent with Bada. She was...interesting, to say the least. Today, she seemed more responsive to you than she had previously. In the past, she had mostly ignored you, rarely speaking to you unless necessary. Today, though, she'd been engaging and helpful. Perhaps, it was just because she cared about getting a good grade on this project. Once it's over, she'll probably return to her normal, snide self. That was okay with you, though. As long as she was cooperative while you worked on the project, you couldn't care less what she thinks of you or how she treats you afterward.

You park your car, heading up the stairs to the apartment, your mind wandering. Despite your best efforts, Bada is starting to worm her way into your head. It's stupid. You're being ridiculous.

This was going to be a long semester.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"I think I'm going to fall asleep."

Bada turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, please. You've never seen the game before. This is just the warm-up."

You glare at her. "It's been two hours," you point out.

"Yes, and the game hasn't even started yet," she says, matter-of-factly.

"I hate you," you grumble, crossing your arms. 

"You know you're the one who suggested we research a sports team, right?" 

"Shut up," you mutter, glaring at her.

The two of you have been sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs for the past two hours, observing the team's practice as they ran around an outdoor basketball court under the sweltering heat. Bada was not lying about the terrible working conditions these women were put under. You didn't understand how they had the ability to exercise in these circumstances. You were dying. 

"I need a break," you declare, standing up and stretching.

"No, no, no, no. Sit," she demands, pulling on your wrist and dragging you back into your seat.

"Let me go!" you yell, struggling against her grip. Why the hell was this woman so strong? For christ's sake, she was a dancer, not a wrestler. 

"Not until the end of the game," she states, gripping tighter.

"This isn't fair!"

"Life isn't fair," she retorts.

"You're such a bitch," you seethe, finally ripping your arm from her grasp.

"So, I've been told."

"Why are we here again?" you ask, slumping in your seat. 

"Look, just try to pay attention. I'll buy you a smoothie if you stay focused," she offers.

"Deal," you say, straightening your posture and turning to watch the practice.

"And now, the final play," the coach yells, blowing a whistle.

The team scatters, moving to their positions. Doyeon, the captain, dribbles the ball down the court, passing it to another girl, who moves closer to the net. Just as she's about to shoot, the girl trips, sending the ball spiraling out of her hands and in your direction. You gasp, scrambling out of the way, but you're not fast enough. The ball hits you square in the face, causing you to yelp as you fall backward in your chair. 

"Fuck," you whine, holding your hand to your face.

"Oh, shit, are you okay?" Bada asks, kneeling down next to you.

"Do I look okay you goofball?!" you shout, removing your hand to reveal a bloodied nose.

"Ooh, ouch," she cringes.

"Are you okay?" a different voice asks, and you look up to see the woman who had tripped approaching the two of you.

"I'm fine," you mumble, feeling embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry," she apologizes, bowing her head.

"It's fine," you shrug, standing up.

"You should come see the nurse," Bada says.

"No, I'll be fine. It's not that bad," you insist, wiping away the blood.

"Are you sure?" the basketball player asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's not the first time this has happened," you explain, trying to alleviate her concern.

"What?" Bada chokes.

"Please don't ask," you sigh.

"Okay, well, I should get back," the girl says, gesturing toward the court.

"Of course. Go kick ass," you cheer, smiling.

"Thanks," she grins, running back onto the court.

You and Bada watch the girl's retreating figure. Bada then turns to you, a look of concern on her face.

"Okay, come on. Let's get you cleaned up," Bada instructs, pulling on your wrist and leading you towards to one of the entrances into the building.

"Where are we going?"

"The locker rooms," she states.

"What? No, no, no, no," you protest, planting your feet and resisting her.

"I'm not letting you sit here while your nose bleeds. Besides, the girls have to go in there eventually. We'll interview Doyeon once she comes in." she explains.

"But—"

"Who cares? Come on, let's go," she urges, tugging on your arm.

"Fine," you concede, allowing her to drag you through the building.

Once inside the locker room, Bada leads you to a sink and forces you to stand still. 

"Hold still," she commands, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Cleaning up the blood," she responds, bringing the towel to your nose.

"Don't!" you hiss, swatting her hand away.

"You have to," she argues.

"No, I don't. I can do it myself," you retort.

"Just let me do it," she whines. "I've had to do stuff like this more times that I can count. I'm basically a professional."

"What? You having to clean up your own bloody noses? Why? Because of the amount of times you've gotten slapped in the face?"

"Hey!" she pouts.

"Well, are you going to answer the question or not?"

"Dance injuries. Now, will you let me help you?"

"Ugh, fine," you groan, rolling your eyes.

She brings the towel to your nose, gently dabbing the blood away. Her hand brushes against your cheek, sending a tingle down your spine. She's standing so close to you, her chest nearly presses into yours. You can smell her perfume, a subtle vanilla scent that seems to surround her. It's intoxicating.

When you glance up, her eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. They're a deep brown. Warm and inviting. You've never noticed how beautiful they are. Or maybe, you just haven't had the opportunity to study them this closely.

Her fingers linger on your skin, the tips grazing over the sensitive flesh.

"There. All better," she says, throwing away the paper towel.

"Thanks," you say, clearing your throat.

"No problem," she grins.

The two of you stand in silence, neither of you wanting to move.

"So," you start, breaking the tension. "Should we, uh, wait for Doyeon here?"

"Sure," she shrugs.

"Okay, um, I'm going to, uh, sit over there," you stutter, pointing to the bench behind her.

"Okay," she says.

You awkwardly make your way to the bench and sit down, keeping a safe distance between the two of you.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"A little lightheaded," you admit.

"Hmm, do you want some water?" she suggests.

You think of the possibly poisoned coffee. "No, I think I'm alright," you say.

"Okay," she nods.

Another awkward silence.

"So, you, uh, have a lot of dance injuries?" you ask.

"Yeah, a few," she laughs.

"Like, what kind?"

"Oh, nothing serious. Mostly bruises and sprains. Once, I twisted my ankle, but that was ages ago," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm," she nods.

"How many times have you had a bloody nose?" you inquire.

"That's a secret," she grins.

"C'mon," you press.

"Nope, not telling," she shakes her head.

"You're no fun," you huff.

"I'm lots of fun. You're just not asking the right questions," she smirks.

"Like what?"

"Like.."

The locker room door opens, and a group of women walk in, all chattering excitedly. Bada looks over, her smile growing wider.

"Doyeon!" she calls, waving her hand.

You turn, spotting the captain running over to you. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and sweat drips down her face. As worn out as she seemed, she still looked incredible. In a flash, you became hyperaware of your probably still disheveled looks as a result of your recent injury. Way to embarrass yourself in front of a pretty girl. 

"Hey, Doyeon," Bada greets, standing up and smiling at her. Doyeon outstretches her arms, enveloping Bada in a lingering, tight, hug.

"Bada! I missed you," Doyeon sighs.

"Missed you too," Bada replies.

"And who's this?" she asks, pulling away from the hug and nodding in your direction. 

"Oh, um, this is y/n, she's working with me on the project. I told you about."  

"Nice to meet you," you smile, extending a hand.

"Likewise," she replies, shaking it.

"So, are you ready to do this interview?" Bada asks, eagerness dripping in her voice.

"Yeah, let me get changed first," she replies, walking towards the lockers.

"Sure," Bada nods, watching as Doyeon disappears into the showers.

You glance over at her, her eyes still trained on where Doyeon had just disappeared. Something in your stomach sinks. 

"Oh my god," you scoff.

"What?" she asks, turning to face you.

"Don't tell me we're interviewing one of your little girlfriends," you grimace.

"She's not my girlfriend," she frowns.

"Whatever," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Seriously, y/n, we're just friends."

"With benefits?" you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

"Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"Because, it's my project, and I don't want it ruined because you can't keep your hormones in check," you reply, glaring at her.

"I'm not going to 'ruin' anything, alright? I'm perfectly capable of keeping my personal life separate from my school work."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," you mutter.

"God, you're so frustrating," she huffs.

"So are you," you snap.

"Well, it's a good thing this is just for a project, and you don't have to deal with me outside of class, then."

"But it's a shame I can't get rid of you sooner."

"Believe me, the feeling's mutual," she growls.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash a verbal assault, but you're cut off by the sound of footsteps. Doyeon walks up, her hair still wet, and her bag slung over her shoulder.

"You two ready?" she asks, grinning at the both of you.

"As we'll ever be," Bada sighs.

The three of you sit on the locker room bench, a small space in between each of you. Bada is scribbling something down on a piece of paper while Doyeon waits patiently.

"Alright, um, first question. How have the recent changes affected the team's practices and games?"

"Honestly, it's been pretty tough. We're used to practicing indoors, so the outdoor heat has been brutal. On top of that, we've had less access to facilities, which has made things even more difficult. All of this has taken a toll on our performance, both on and off the court."

"That's unfortunate," Bada frowns. "How have the coaches and other staff members been handling the situation?"

"Not well, honestly. They've been pretty angry and stressed. They haven't taken it out on us, but it's been noticeable. And, honestly, they have every right to be upset. This is a big change for everyone, and it's not something that was anticipated."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Bada sighs.

"Thanks," Doyeon says with a smile, placing her hand on top of Bada's.

The sight of it makes your stomach twist, and a scowl forms on your face.

"Uh, next question," you start. "Do you have any idea when the situation might improve?"

Doyeon tears her eyes away from Bada. "Hopefully soon. We can't keep playing like this. Something needs to change."

"And if nothing does?" you ask.

"Then we'll have to keep fighting. Like always," she shrugs.

"I'm proud of you guys. You've all been handling this whole situation with a lot of grace," Bada compliments.

"Well, I have a great team. Everyone has really stepped up and supported each other. We've got a lot of good people," Doyeon smiles.

"That's wonderful to hear," Bada grins.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

"Anyways, let's wrap this up," you say, clapping her hands together. "Last question. Is there anything else you think is worth knowing for our project?"

"Hm, let me think," she hums, placing her finger to her chin. "I don't think there's anything..."

"Well then, I think we're done!" you announce, swiftly standing up.

"Already?" Bada asks, glancing at her watch.

"Yeah, time flies, huh?"

"I guess," she mutters. "Alright, thanks for your time, Doyeon," Bada smiles, reaching across the space and squeezing Doyeon's knee.

"Of course," she beams.

You roll your eyes again.

"Well, I'll see you later, okay?" Bada says, standing up.

"Absolutely," Doyeon agrees.

"Great," she grins.

Bada turns to face you, a forced smile plastered on her face.

"We done?"

"Yep, let's go."

You and Bada make your way out of the locker room, leaving Doyeon behind.

"That went well," Bada sighs, once the door closes.

"Sure did," you mumble, barely able to contain the sarcasm.

"I can't wait to write up the report," she exclaims, her eyes lighting up.

"It'll be nice, yeah," you say.

"Maybe after, we could—"

"I need to go," you blurt out, cutting her off.

"What?" she asks, frowning.

"I'm, uh, late. For class. Sorry."

"Oh. Okay, um, I'll see you around, I guess," she says.

"Bye," you say, rushing past her.

You're not lying. You are late for class. But not nearly as late as you're making out. You speed-walk across campus, a million thoughts racing through your mind. No wonder Bada was so eager to do this project. It was just an excuse to spend time with Doyeon. And, judging by the way the two of them interacted, it wasn't the first time they'd spent time together.

You're not exactly sure why this is bothering you so much. You knew Bada got around. Maybe it's because you're annoyed that Bada didn't tell you the truth. Or maybe it's because you feel stupid for not seeing this coming. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that you're upset, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

You make it to your lecture hall, and as quietly as possible, slip into an empty seat near the back. Your professor drones on and on about the importance of deadlines and punctuality, and you find yourself completely unable to pay attention. Instead, you replay the day's events over and over again. Each time, you cringe at the memory of how oblivious and naive you'd been.

read part two

[nxtt2-u]

⏤ sugar cube ࣪ ⤹

you visit your baker boyfriend of seven months for a surprise breakfast date at his café.

꒰ lee felix + fem!reader ⏤ 2.2k words ꒱ oneshot

༄ content info & warnings !! established relationship. non idol au ; baker!felix. fluff & light crack(?) ⋆ some swearing & felix says something suggestive like once.

✉️𓂃 ࣪˖ the song that hyunjin sings along to is camp by basecamp! it inspired me to write this (despite the lyrics having nothing to do w the plot) so i strongly recommend you give it a listen :) this is lowk a filler fic cs i’m still working on that seungmin slow burn.. but enjoy nonetheless! feedback is always appreciated <3 unedited as of 8/17!

When you step into the cozy café your boyfriend owns, the small bell above the door cheerfully announces your arrival with a loud jingle. You slide your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and tread over to the counter with a yawn.

It’s quiet today, you note, and you discover why when your gaze drifts over to the usually-packed seats of the shop. You’re the only customer right now — it must be so empty because it’s not even seven yet, you conclude. With a tiny nod to yourself, you turn back to the display case stacked full of fresh sweet treats and lean down to get a better view, despite seeing the exact same selection every time you come here.

“Welcome to Sugar Cube Café!” A friendly voice calls out from the stock room. You look up and trace the sound to its source, finding the dark brown door to the space ajar. The voice continues, though it sounds a bit more winded now. “Someone will be with you in just a moment!”

“Take your time,” you call back in response and go back to peering down at the pastries on display. You silently contemplate on whether you should try something new as an upbeat song floats through the small shop.

A loud crash suddenly sounds from the back room and you jolt in surprise, blinking with bemusement. A second later, a familiar lanky man with a black mullet stumbles out, his fluffy hair mussed and the signature red apron of the café he wears slightly rumpled from all the commotion. You smile, biting back a giggle at your friend’s clumsiness, and he returns it as he moves to man the register.

“Hey!” Hyunjin says brightly as he presses palms down to lean on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while! What would you like today?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the barista doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak before his own mouth is running again. “Hold on, you never visit unless…” He quirks a brow, still grinning a bit toothily at you. “Are you here to actually buy a sweet treat for once or just to see your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face contrasts the seemingly-irritated action so strongly that Hyunjin knows you’re not truly annoyed. “Actually—” you start, but he scoffs in a knowing tone before you can finish.

Hyunjin feigns hurt as he dramatically slaps a hand over his heart. “How could you!” He wails, since no other customers are currently present due to the early hour. “And here I was,” he continues with a sniffle, “thinking you’d come to visit and try one of our delicious treats for once.”

You punch him in the arm in playful reproach and he whines loudly, hopping further away from you despite the already considerable distance between you two due to the counter. “I do visit for the treats, not just my gorgeous man,” you huff. He ignores you in favor of clutching his arm, howling like it’s a damn bullet wound. “You’re so annoying,” you sigh to conceal the small chuckle that escapes you as you go back to perusing the pastries.

While you fall quiet and take a moment to contemplate, Hyunjin finally tames his hair and straightens his apron as he quietly sings and sways along to the new song that comes on. You nod along to it for a moment as well before tapping on the glass at Felix’s signature brownies. You’ll just try something new next time.

Hyunjin follows the lyrics into the rap verse of the song as he goes to pull a box of the brownies from the display while you sidle back over to the register to pay. He returns and places it on the counter a minute later, free hand fumbling for a bag as he busies himself with ringing you up.

Just as you remove your card from the reader and prepare to ask Hyunjin about the name of the song, you startle when a deep voice calls from the back. “Hyunjin! What did you do with the flour?”

You grin at the familiar Australian twang that softens the vowels of the newcomer’s words. With an exaggerated sigh, Hyunjin pushes the bag into your hands and wanders to the backroom, quietly closing the door behind him this time.

You slip away from the counter to claim your favorite booth near the windows. As you settle onto the cushion that’s slightly warmed by the fresh sunlight slinking in, you appreciatively admire the plants that hang from the ceiling with a smile. This café is so cozy; you love how Felix and his crew decorated it.

You tug your phone out and begin to mindlessly scroll on social media while you wait for your boyfriend to come and meet you. Without looking, you pull the box of brownies out of the bag, only to jump for the third time today when you look up to find Hyunjin looming over you with a steaming cappuccino in hand.

He sets it down with a snicker. “I was wondering when you’d notice me. I would’ve stood here for an eternity if that’s how long it took, seriously. Anyways, Felix is wrapping up now, so he’ll be out in a sec—”

“No drink for me, Hyunjin?”

You laugh at Hyunjin’s startled expression, pleased to see he’s the one to spook this time. Felix slides into the seat across you with a cheeky grin and Hyunjin mutters something about his blood pressure before he’s bounding across the café and into the back room once more.

Your boyfriend looks spectacular today, as always. Today he’s donned a distressed sleeveless red, white, and black argyle sweater on top of a collared white shirt that also happens to be sleeveless. He’s paired it nicely with a black tie and black jeans to match.

The simple display of his lean muscles has you salivating more than the smell of the freshly baked goods that’s starting to waft into the air from the kitchen. You notice he’s foregone his apron at the moment, presumably because he’s here to sit with you.

Blissfully unaware of the thirsty observations you’re making in your mind, Felix reaches across the table to lace his digits with yours. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today? I could’ve made you something special, sugar,” he pouts, thumb rubbing small circles onto one of your knuckles.

Your crazed thoughts melt into something softer at his sweetness. You smile at his thoughtfulness and lift your intertwined fingers to splay them out in an attempt to compare hand sizes. “I wanted to surprise you,” you say. You see the beginning of a toothy grin forming on his face at your words, but he quickly stifles it when he sees what you’re trying to do.

He snatches his hand away with a rueful huff when he sees how your hands dwarf his in comparison, and he lightly kicks your shin under the table. “I take it back,” he sniffs in a haughty manner, looking out the window with his nose raised. “I will never make you anything ever again.”

You giggle, bright and gleeful, and it’s not long before he’s breaking into laughter when he sees your face scrunched up in amusement. He’s too cute.

Both of you eventually settle down and you find yourself steadily drinking your cappuccino while he nibbles on the brownies you bought. Hyunjin eventually brings him freshly steamed tea, as your boyfriend has a notorious distaste for coffee despite owning a café, and the two of you chat quietly about your upcoming plans for the weekend.

You’re in the middle of proposing a possible future vacation together when the door bell chimes and three other employees stroll inside, talking loudly amongst themselves with smiles warmed by the sticky heat of summer.

They nearly don’t notice you as they head to accompany Hyunjin in the back, but Jisung swivels around last second and waves with a grin while his coworkers continue to talk. The two of you wave back and resume your conversation when the trio finally piles into the other room.

“So, Jeju Island?” Felix asks, tilting his head slightly. You nod, setting down your now-empty coffee with an affirming hum.

“Yeah, I was thinking maybe we could visit next Spring. I want to visit the Cherry Blossom Festival; it’d be so fun to go together, you know?”

He nods and rests his cheek in his palm with a soft smile. “I’d love that. We can work everything out in more detail as it gets closer, but for now, it’s a date. Right, sugar?”

You grin and intertwine your hands with his once more. “Of course. I look forward to it, baby.”

Someone gags from beside you. You blink and twist to find Minho standing at the foot of your table, grimacing at the two of you in disgust. Felix promptly bursts into laughter at the sight, and you find it hard to keep a straight face when you hear the silly noise.

Once Felix is calm again and has wiped his tears, Minho sets down a to-go box of cookies. “Chan says to take the day off and have fun,” he says, cocking his hip to shift his weight and wincing when it pops. You snort on accident and he glares, though it holds no real heat.

Felix arches a brow. “What? Nah, I have to work today—”

“FELIX!” Someone barks from the back. The Australian accent that blankets the man’s words is a dead giveaway of who the voice belongs to. “I have a feeling you’re refusing right now!” Chan continues to yell. You feel bad for everyone in the same room as him right now.

You expect to hear another shout, but let out a relieved breath when he pokes his head out through the door a second later instead of continuing to destroy the ears of his coworkers. “Just go, man, we got today covered. You deserve a break!”

Felix opens his mouth to protest, but in the blink of an eye you suddenly find yourself pushed outside of the café doors by Jeongin, the newest and youngest employee. His eyes crinkle with the apologetic smile he gives as he locks the door, and the two of you just stare in disbelief as he prances off to the kitchen like he didn’t just kick Felix and his girlfriend out of the café he very owns.

You continue to blink owlishly at the now-locked handle until Felix just puffs out a laugh as he runs a hand through his hair. “Damn, there’s no way he just did that!” He exclaims, loud enough to be heard through the thick glass. Nobody comes out of the kitchen.

“Well, nothing I can do about it now,” he sighs, turning to you with a mischevious grin, despite knowing full well he can just go in through the back. You play along regardless.

“Yeah, it’s a shame right?” You reply, giving a disapproving head shake with a tut. “That’s actually crazy. Well, since you’re off for the rest of the day, we should totally go back to my place and cuddle on my couch to binge watch sad K-Dramas,” you say, twining your hands with his and already starting to drag him down the street.

He lets himself be tugged along and lifts a hand to cover his mouth as he gives a playfully scandalized gasp. “Wow, that’s all you want to do at your place for once? Shocker.”

You slap him on the shoulder and his words dissolve into the snickers you love to hear in his low timbre. Eventually the two of you make it to the metro and file into a car that’s thankfully not full despite the time nearing the start of most people’s work schedules. You manage to snag two empty seats side by side, and he leans onto your shoulder with a pleased sigh as you admire the scenery that whizzes by.

You play with the ends of his blonde locks as his eyes slip shut and he falls into that strange haze between asleep and awake at the gentle touches. Once you’re home, you’ll push him down onto your couch and cup his pretty face. You’ll pepper adoring kisses all over his freckled skin, pressing words of love into his features. You’ll eventually pull away to put on a K-Drama you’ve been meaning to watch, but it’ll quickly be forgotten when Felix tugs you into his lap to return the favor.

But for now, you let your boyfriend rest against your side in this crowded cab of the metro. You pull your gaze away from the windows to instead admire the slope of his nose, the plushness of his lips, and the freckles that dot his cheeks akin to the constellations above.

When his nose crinkles after a few minutes of quiet dozing and he lightly shakes away an oncoming sneeze, you realize with a dopey smile that you’re in love with him. You don’t know how such a small action could abruptly trigger a realization as grand as love, but you can’t wait to show it through delicate caresses and sweet kisses when you get home.

2024 © nxtt2-u on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

[carrie-tate]

Royal Smile

"Spending time in the company of friends, Todoroki Shoto sincerely wants to learn to rejoice with them. And they are happy to help him with this"

Lee! Todoroki, Ler!Uraraka and Midoriya [+ Iida]

Warnings: none, I guess? fluff, tickles and friendship :3

info: yes, I know you're used to me drawing here and not writing, but inspiration came over me and here we are… I'll tie this to the fact that I've overcome another milestone here. And yes, this is dedicated to the blurry fantasy au inspired by the 2nd ending of season 2

info2: according to the calculations, there are approximately +3.5k words here

***

The situation Shoto found himself in now was like the most banal plot from the books he read in their library. A team of completely different people gathered together, moving towards adventures to defeat a great evil. Midoriya Izuku, a simple and kind guy, an adventurer in its purest form. Ochako Uraraka, a sorceress and a witch, with a clearly positive outlook on life and fire in her eyes. Tenya Iida, a wandering knight who had accompanied the girl on her adventures even before their mutual meeting, clearly had a loyal and friendly disposition.

And himself. Todoroki Shoto. A runaway prince, tired of the pressure of status and his father, decided to accompany these three on their journey. It was a truly fairy tale plot.

Having become the fourth in this motley company, Shoto could already observe the established communication of the other three from the sidelines. Sociable, easy and without any formality. The complete opposite of what he had become accustomed to over the years of living within the palace walls. And it was worth admitting that he was starting to like these people.

Although for now he was still… on the sidelines. The other three did not dare to behave in a casual manner towards him, still taking into account his status and the fact that he might simply not like it. And Todoroki himself, due to his upbringing and simply the lack of proper experience, did not dare to take the first steps himself. Therefore, he remained a little further away, with an eternally thoughtful look.

But as the days passed, this awkwardness melted away like snow in the sun, quickly and imperceptibly. At least more and more often, someone from the company decided to joke with him or talk about all sorts of nonsense. A polite pat on the shoulder from Uraraka immediately became the first step for Shoto in their newly acquired friendship. And Todoroki sincerely wanted to respond to his comrades in the same way. At least try.

So one evening, when the company settled down for a rest at the edge of the forest, the prince made such an attempt. He tried to smile when he and Midoriya were collecting brushwood near the camp and the boy started talking about various plants that he managed to remember in this area and their properties. But seeing Shoto's face, Izuku stopped mid-sentence.

"What's... with your face..?" The young man asks carefully, choosing his words so as not to sound rude.

Todoroki's shaky attempt at a smile immediately disappeared from his face when the prince explained sheepishly.

"I... I was smiling," but it seemed to have turned out differently than planned, Shoto thought then. "Like you do it always..."

"Oh, good, and I already thought you had a cramp," Midoriya said rashly, but then realized how it sounded. Seeing Todoroki's even more gloomy face, he tried to smooth things over. "I mean, no! It wasn't that bad, like—!"

"I guess I don't have that skill at all..." The prince mutters resignedly.

This makes Midoriya sympathize. What kind of life do you have to live to... not have the skill to smile. He shifted the bundle of brushwood in one hand and patted Todoroki on the back with his free hand, trying to cheer him up.

"You don't have to despair that much," the boy says encouragingly when the prince turns his gaze to him. An awkward but sincere smile plays on Izuku's face as he watches Shoto sigh at his words. Midoriya doesn't hold back and honestly admits. "Although you really lack practice..." and then mutters to himself, having this habit of thinking out loud. "Although this usually happens on its own... it's not a skill at all..."

There was an awkward silence, broken by Midoriya's musings out loud, as they were still walking along the forest path, heading back to their camp. Then Todoroki made a completely unexpected request, looking at the boy.

"Can you... teach me?" He said it slowly. Even in a way, embarrassed, but still determined. The prince clearly wanted to get closer to his comrades and was eager to learn something new.

"Teach you?" Midoriya snapped out of his thoughts, blinking his eyes absentmindedly and looking at him. "How to smile?" He thought for a moment, thinking about how unusual it was. But at the same time… Why not? "What a challenge… But I can try."

Now Todoroki could try smiling again, he really wanted to. But the previous unsuccessful experience forced him to only nod very gratefully and expressively. But the prince's eyes clearly sparkled.

They continued walking as Midoriya continued to talk out loud about how exactly he should teach Shoto a skill that was literally natural from birth. He mumbled habitually, taking the new task habitually as a challenge for himself, raising his free hand to his chin.

“Although I don’t even know where to start…” Then he turns his gaze to Todoroki and asks. “What makes you happy? What made you smile last time?”

Walking next to him, the prince thought for a moment. And when was the last time he smiled? Not counting this attempt… Damn, he didn’t remember anything further than early childhood. And from there, the memories were too blurry. That is, he had absolutely no idea what to say to this. Shoto sheepishly admits:

“I… I don’t know.”

Midoriya frowned slightly, it sounded… seriously gloomy. "Has he really never smiled at anything for so many years?", Izuku couldn't help but think as he absentmindedly suggested:

"What, you didn't even have jesters in your castle…?"

"There were, but I never found them funny," Todoroki replied. He recalled the palace walls and its customs with obvious irritation.

"What, nothing at all?" Midoriya was horrified, even standing still for a moment, surprising Shoto. "No favorite book, no favorite music? I thought life in the palace should be filled with balls or other… celebrations?"

Todoroki also frowned at all of the above. Yes, he had read many books, they replaced people for him at times, but he wouldn't say that he could single out even one as his favorite. As for the celebrations and balls…

“They’re not nearly as fun as you might think,” the prince says. “There’s more hypocrisy and royal intrigue…”

“You don’t have to continue!” Midoriya interrupts the boy in a slight panic, realizing that he’s said something stupid again. He sighs as they continue approaching the camp. The situation turned out to be even more neglected than Izuku had assumed, and this clearly worried him. “But is it really nothing at all..?”

Todoroki thought about all this too. In fact, there was one thing that made him happy. Well, at least it looked like it. And he decides to suddenly voice it.

“I think our journey makes me happy,” in his usual neutral, thoughtful tone, but there was a sincere feeling of recognition in it. “Before you all, I didn’t feel so… appropriate.”

Izuku looked back at the prince with wide eyes. He had to admit, such a confession clearly touched him. Midoriya could even shed tears, but he held back. The guy smiles stupidly and nods.

“Well, then our goal now is for it to stay that way,” He answers when they have already approached the rest stop.

At this time, Ochako was once again sorting through the contents of her backpack. After all, any self-respecting sorceress should be aware of what she has and what she lacks. Herbs, flasks, notes, usually by the evening it all always got mixed up in one heap. Tenya, who was sitting next to her, was making sure that the hastily lit fire didn't go out before Midoriya and Todoroki arrived.

At the moment the two returned, Uraraka was examining, shaking and listening to a handful of crystals that she also carried with her, gathered into one chain on a string. The crystals rattled beautifully against each other, producing a quiet, pleasant music. But noticing how her friends came out into the clearing, Ochako immediately put this treasure aside, waving her hand at the guys. Mydoriya's words didn't go unnoticed by Iida.

"What's the goal?" The straightforward knight immediately asked.

Midoriya hesitated with his answer. He couldn't say so directly about Todoroki's request. He looked back at the prince and finally convinced himself that he didn't need to tell the details. Izuku laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he waved it off and finally put the brushwood on the ground near their fire. The guy decided to change the subject and his gaze fell on the crystals Ochako had left. He hadn't paid attention to them before, but now he saw this as an ideal excuse to change the topic. "And what is this?"

***

And now the conversation had flown in a completely different direction, where Uraraka, with her usual enthusiasm, was talking about her magical things. And then all three of them, plus Todoroki, who sat down next to them, discussed music, until the topic touched on dancing. It seemed that all three of them somehow remembered how they had a fun time listening to music with their cared ones.

“Now it’s clear why Midoriya had such an opinion about the festivities in the palace…” Shoto thought to himself, acting as an attentive listener. “It seems that others have it much… more fun.”

And the guy felt a slight prick from the opportunities he had missed. Only because he was unlucky enough to be born in these pompous royal conditions without the simple joys of life. But before he could fully immerse himself in his thoughts, Uraraka attracted everyone’s attention. She jumped to her feet and, folding her hands together in an energetic gesture, suggested.

“Let’s dance! I’ve missed it so much!” And as the most enthusiastic girl, she picked up her magic staff from the ground and immediately tried to remember a suitable trick for this.

A couple of magic words, a couple of ringing melodic crystals suspended from the nearest tree branch, and now soft music was heard throughout the clearing. Todoroki raised his eyebrows, once again convinced of the fairytale nature of the events he found himself in.

Midoriya was the first to be dragged off to dance, when Ochako pulled him by the arms with a wide smile. At first, the surprised boy kept stumbling, looking at his feet, until he finally relaxed and began to dance with the girl. Todoroki looked at them, then at Tenya, the knight restrainedly did not immediately give in to the fun of his friends.

But soon enough, Iida was dragged along. When even he, who seemed usually constrained by armor and rules, twisted dance steps that were more reminiscent of the movements of the hands of a clock in their precision than the wild jumps and turns from his sorceress friend. Todoroki looked at them with a mixture of envy and embarrassment, when Midoriya suddenly extended his hand to him with a wide smile.

And the persuasion that Shoto did not know the same dances as his friends did not help. The dances that he saw in the palace were more constrained and much more reserved... Fake, as the prince thought then. But he did not know how to real dance. But he was still raised to his feet and carried away to everyone else.

A step, a second, a third. Here he stumbled. Here he awkwardly tried to repeat the movement, turned and almost fell. But he was immediately caught back by the hands and put upright. The sounds of music and laughter mixed in his head. For the first time, Todoroki was not on the sidelines. He participated. He was a part of something. And this awareness spread in his chest with a pleasant warmth.

And this feeling made him want to smile, and it seemed that this time it was for real. But Shoto did not have time to consciously think about it. Uraraka, carried away by the dance, absentmindedly collided with him, nudging the prince in the side with her elbow. And before Todoroki could even think, a quiet gasp escaped his mouth.

There was silence, even the music died down. None of the three of them had heard such sounds from the prince in all these days. Izuku and Tenya exchanged confused glances when Ochako, assuming the worst, immediately rushed to apologize.

"Oh-oh, I'm so sorry, wait, did that hurt?"

"No," Shoto managed to answer confusedly. Honestly, he himself did not understand what happened. It happened so quickly that he himself did not realize why he... Almost screamed. Therefore, he assumed the most obvious thing for himself. "You... just caught me off guard, everything is fine."

The sorceress looked at Todoroki in confusion. At first, she was glad that she did not hurt him. But then she wondered why he reacted so... much. A wild thought crossed her mind, and Uraraka's face immediately blossomed into a grin of a guess as she asked.

"Wait, are you ticklish...?"

And in Todoroki's place, anyone would have been horrified by the mischievous sparkle in the girl's eyes. But Shoto didn't react at all, looking at Ochako with confusion and trying to understand what she was asking him about.

"Am I what..?"

"Huh? You don't know what this is?" Uraraka was surprised, even stopping her grin, although seeing his bewilderment, all three of them were confused.

In response, the prince shook his head, looking at the others and realizing that it seemed like he had missed something else in his life, something that everyone seemed to know. Midoriya tried to explain everything to him, speaking awkwardly.

“Well, it’s when one person touches another and…” The guy awkwardly gestures, trying to describe something so familiar and simple to him. “And they laughs..?”

Todoroki frowned, analyzing what he heard. This description did not fit anything from his life experience. And he could hardly imagine it. Midoriya was confusedly trying to think of a way to explain it clearly, but then Uraraka solved the problem.

“Something like that.”

Her thin hands quickly made their way under the breastplate of Iida's armor, squeezing his sides. Immediately causing a surprised wheeze from the knight, when he almost instantly almost folded in half, giggling, trying to move away from the girl. It was just the seconds.

Todoroki raised his eyebrows in surprise as the girl finally took her hands off her friend with a satisfied smirk. Tenya stumbled back, trying to catch his breath from the sudden attack.

“Uraraka!” The knight looked at her, trying to look menacing and angry, but it was clear that he was still smiling himself.

“I needed a demonstration.” The girl shrugged lightly, smiling innocently.

“You could have demonstrated it on someone else…”

Todoroki watched as Ochako snickered at Iida's frivolous indignation. At the same time, Shoto was trying to comprehend the whole process. It seemed simply crazy to him, could a simple touch to a certain spot in a certain way make someone laugh? And it seemed completely out of control…

At the same time, Izuku, who no one was paying attention to yet. He was also thinking. He analyzed Shoto's sudden reaction to this poke, suddenly deciding on a rash stupidity. The guy reached his hands to the prince's waist, when his fingers dug into his sides.

Todoroki's eyes instantly opened wider in surprise from the sudden contact. He didn't even think that Midoriya would think of such a thing. Exactly the same scream, even a squeak, burst out of his lungs from a shocking unfamiliar sensation, and after that, a quick and uncontrollable stream of giggles immediately followed.

"A-Ahhaha— Wh-What?"

And it was… A charming sound. Hoarse from unfamiliarity, but quickly revealed as a quiet and pretty laugh, which the guy honestly tried to suppress. It was worth admitting, no one expected such an immediate reaction. Iida and Uraraka were distracted from their joke argument and stared at Todoroki in amazement. At the same time, Midoriya rather only became more inspired, continuing to poke the prince here and there with curiosity, striking laughter out of the young man like sparks from flint.

Which Todoroki couldn't stop! It really was impossible to control, everything inside was shrinking into a lump from the influx of a new, unexplored feeling. Each new touch seemed to make laughter bubble in his throat with renewed vigor and burst out. Shoto did not even immediately realize that he could try to escape.

And when he tried, he took such a shaky step back that he stumbled and fell onto the grass, breathing heavily and hugging himself with his arms, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The smile was still firmly on his face when he hesitantly opened his closed eyes.

And he saw the three of them standing above him, exchanging glances, unable to contain their own giggles as they all seemed to share the thought that he looked… adorable. The smile did suit the prince unironically, and for the first time he looked alive, rather than as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Midoriya asks, smiling slightly apologetically as he squatted down next to Todoroki.

It seemed that Todoroki managed to nod and say that he was fine. Only now did the boy notice how hot his own face seemed to him now. Shoto continued to lie on the ground, looking at his comrades, suspiciously noticing the smirks with which (even the usually serious Iida) they exchanged glances.

“Then fine!” The sorceress clapped her hands, suddenly kneeling on the ground next to them. On the other side of him, across from Izuku.

Todoroki was starting to get nervous about this… but not in a bad way. And when he raised his head, he saw that Tenya had also ended up lowering himself to the ground behind his head. The prince thought that he was surrounded, and he was clearly not mistaken. Because when he belatedly inquired about what these three were up to, Midoriya immediately answered him:

“Well, you wanted to learn how to smile,” a bright smile played on the boy’s face, in which a mischievous plan was clearly hidden. "I think now is the time."

And before Shoto could object, he felt Izuku's fingers move along his sides again, immediately causing another cry and an instant reaction, when the prince closed his eyes in another fit of laughter. Just as he was about to try to grab Midoriya's hands, almost at the same moment Ochako joined the guy, making her way with her fingers to his ribs, causing another surprised squeak from Todoroki. Shoto's laughter became louder, even seeming to rise an octave.

Here he finally recovered from the shock, making an attempt to wriggle out of their hands. Well, or at least fight back with his own hands, trying to catch someone by the wrists and pull them away from him. But this newfound ability to fight was also brazenly taken away from him. Pausing for a moment, Uraraka said:

“Iida, could you hold his arms…”

“No, wahait—” Then Shoto knew it was all over for him when Tenya easily caught his hands, which had weakened from laughter, and pinned them behind his head.

And before the prince could try to convince the three of them to come to their senses, they returned to their previous activities without a trace of shame. Laughter came from his mouth again as he helplessly threw his head back, squinting his eyes. He tugged at his hands, but the knight’s grip was unwavering. And this inability to even lower his own hands seemed to only intensify these feelings, driving him into a corner.

Everything was mixed up in his head again. This sudden helplessness seemed so unusual for the usually stoic Shoto. But even this thought did not stay in his head for long, quickly replaced by a stream of sensations that his brain was frantically trying to process. Because Midoriya and Uraraka, with obvious excitement, seemed to find a completely new spots on his body every time, causing a completely new sounds.

Whether it was the tried and tested running of fingers along his waist, causing the prince to instantly burst into giggles. Or the careful fingernails running along his ribs, as if counting them, causing a new yelp each time, accompanied by laughter. Even when Iida, pressing Shoto's wrists with one hand, scratched his fingers along his neck with his free hand, it caused the prince to squeak in a completely unroyal way and want to pull his head into his shoulders like a turtle.

Only a couple of minutes passed. For Shoto, it seemed like an eternity. Finally, they left him alone, allowing him to breathe fresh air into his lungs. When Todoroki realized that they were no longer holding his hands, he did not hesitate to immediately turn on his side and curl up into a ball, pressing his hands to his sides and still unable to suppress the laughter remaining in his chest. He did not even remember the last time he laughed like that and whether he ever laughed like that at all.

The three of them looked at each other, pleased with their work. Slowly, the playful atmosphere gave way to the evening gloom, when it became noticeable how quickly the sun was setting. Midoriya and Iida suddenly remembered about the fire, which they had completely forgotten about and which had almost died out.

While the two were dealing with the source of heat, Ochako stayed with Todoroki, modestly placing her hand on his shoulder as a consolation.

And Shoto himself was recovering from his thoughts for a long time, watching the others with narrowed eyes. Despite what he had experienced, despite the feeling of helplessness, for some reason he strangely felt… happy.

[starlightxsvt]

Beautiful Liar | part of the Treacherous Tales Series

pairing ➳ dk x fem!reader

genre ➳ mafia au, dark romance? angst, smut.

wc ➳ 16.8k

synopsis ➳ you have old scores to settle and he's a pretty pawn in your game. but one must remember obsession leads to destruction.

warnings ➳ violence, mentions of mafia, murder, kidnapping & suicide, stalking, breaking and entering, manipulation, gambling, mention of rape, protected sex, teasing, male oral.

playlist ➳ beautiful liar- monsta x, vigilante shit- taylor swift, part goddess part gangster- madalen duke, horns-bryce fox, don't blame me- taylor swift, no body no crime- taylor swift, the hills- the weekend.

"I need him."

Your words dissipate into the cool air inside the car as your gaze remains focused out your window, trained on one certain man.

"What do you need me to do?" Changkyun immediately asks with violence underlying in his tone. You click your tongue in disapproval, not letting your eyes stray from your pretty prey. "You won't be doing anything this time. He is mine."

The man sitting in the driver's seat next to you only grunts in reply.

Through the passenger side window, you keep observing him, as the man smiles and talks to some students before taking his leave, walking inside another building as he disappears from your sight, making you sigh.

"Okay. You actually do need to do something."

"What?"

"Get me his schedule."

-

Theatre and drama were never your thing. Yet, here you sit, in Professor Lee's class as he talks about the history of theatre.

While the lecture itself is boring and definitely not worth the trouble you went through to sneak into his class as you are not a student, the man himself is pleasing to listen to and look at.

There is something boyish and innocent about him and as you watch him give the lecture, his voice so sweet and soothing that it is almost impossible to believe that he is related to the Lee family.

The two-hour lecture is surprisingly quick to pass by as you sit at the very back of the classroom, watching him carefully. With the clock striking 2 pm, the lecture finishes and students clear out of the classroom, leaving you behind who sits immobile in her place.

That manages to capture Professor Lee's attention. He takes off his reading glasses and tilts his head to look at you, blinking as if he's trying to remember you from somewhere.

With an amused smile playing on your lips, you stand up from your seat and strut to the podium slowly.

"Good afternoon, Professor." You greet, holding out a hand. He takes a look at your face and then your hand before softly shaking it. "Good afternoon. I don't think you are a student of mine."

Up close, the man looks dashing. Perfect sharp features; prominent cheekbones and a sharp nose, soft plump lips on his slightly tanned skin. Covered up to the neck with a white turtleneck underneath a black cashmere suit, he looks far from what he truly is.

So innocent, so deceitful.

You grin. "You are absolutely correct, Professor Lee. I am not."

He looks amused as well, raising a brow with the expectation that you are going to explain yourself.

"I am just a fan, you could say."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I came across your presentation at the Royal Opera House this July. I have been a fan ever since."

"Well...I am pleased to hear that. I hope I have managed to inspire you in some way."

"Oh, you have. Plenty." You can't refrain from a grin.

"I am glad then." He pauses for a beat as he takes a look at his watch. "You'll have to excuse me now. I have a meeting soon."

"Of course. I just wanted to say hi. Have a nice day." You take a step back.

The man nods, giving you a small smile as he starts walking out of the classroom, his shoes clicking on the floor. He looks gorgeous even from behind, the afternoon sun streaming from the windows in the hallway casting around him in an angelic glow.

Just as he is about to fully exit the classroom, he stops and turns his head. "I didn't get your name, though. Where are you from?"

You can't help but smile diabolically. "From the wrong side of the tracks, professor."

-

Professor Lee has a pretty house, made up of a rustic brick structure and well furnished black tiles for the roof, a perfect blend of modern and old. The wooden fence around the perimeter of the house is not hard for you to cross as you make your way through his yard, careful not to step anywhere that would leave a trace.

The perfect time to break into his place is now, midday, as he is currently busy teaching a class. Changkyun is keeping an eye on him, camped outside the university, ready to inform you if his position changes as you take your time combing through his house.

The front of his house has a CCTV camera, which is precisely why you broke in through the back. Carefully crossing the yard, you tiptoe along the side of the house and turn right where there is a window. Making sure that you are in a blind spot, you pry the window open after a small struggle and gingerly make your way in like a sneaky cat.

His house is beautiful, exactly fitting his image. The floors are made of dark wood as well as most of the furniture; a dark yet soothing vibe emanating from his abode. The window you used to get in leaves you in a small hallway and after looking around a little, you get a general sense of direction.

Straight from the hallway, there is his bedroom which is where you head first. You are somewhat disappointed when you find it so sterile. The room, composed of a queen sized bed, a dresser and a closet is pristine. Everything is neat, not a hair out of place as if no one lives here. There is no decoration, no trace of personalization like a picture or a painting which you find odd because you expected something that would indicate his ties to his dear family.

Not letting the disappointment get to you, you walk out of the bedroom, heading for the closed door on the left; twisting the knob, you open the door to find his study and a smile spreads on your lips.

It's a fairly large room, the walls on both sides surrounded by large mahogany shelves containing books about art, literature and others. You carefully step in, heading straight for the large desk in the middle.

To your utter disappointment, it doesn't contain any schedule or indication about the life of crime that he comes from. There is not a single sign that would tell anyone that he is the younger brother of the notorious ruler of District 1.

Instead, aside from his computer on the desk, there are only a few books related to theatre on one side and a few lecture sheets on the other. It is so unexpected that you are stunned to silence, standing in the middle of the room, almost starting to think that you came to the wrong house.

Changkyun's sudden voice from the bluetooth disrupts your thoughts. "___, he is leaving early. He just got in his car. I'm following him. You have about 15 minutes to get out of there."

"Fine," you mutter.

There is still enough time. But by the looks of this, you could have all the time in the world and still not find anything that would tell you he's one of the heirs to District 1.

Grunting you lean down and start checking the drawers only to find nothing; no secret meeting location, nothing that you can use to blackmail him or anything that will lead you to the main culprit, his brother.

Sighing, you stand up straight and look around the room. Maybe he is being extra cautious and doesn't keep any evidence here. Maybe he has a secret hideout for his life of crime.

The idea, however, doesn't make sense because you have been stalking him and the only place he frequents is the university.

It's odd.

It almost feels like he doesn't have any connection with District 1.

No, no. That doesn't make any sense.

"___, you have 10 minutes!"

"I know, I know!" You snap, annoyed.

Walking over to the bookshelves you gently drag your fingers over the spine of each book, hoping maybe one of them would be the key to opening a secret room behind the shelves.

Nothing like that happens.

Accepting your defeat, you come out of the house but not before placing a bug underneath the table in his study with the hopes of getting some information by spying on him. Crossing the fence, you take special care to make sure you didn't leave behind any trace of entry before finally exiting the perimeter of the house.

Once safely out of the range of his house, you stand on the opposite side of the road and watch Professor Lee pull up a few minutes later. Changkyun's car follows him half a minute later as he drives straight to where you are standing, before coming to a stop in front of you.

You tug open the door and get in on the passenger side.

"Why the long face? Find nothing?"

"Shut up."

-

A change of plans is the only way.

Your second plan is to court him which isn't really a problem given the man is as pretty as a doll and toying with him would be absolute fun. With the decision set, you begin phase two of your operation, stalking him.

Well, you were stalking him before too but now, you start to follow every single footsteps of him, quite literally.

You follow him everywhere, discreetly, of course, getting to know his schedule as precisely as possible before striking.

His routine is rather bland, he wakes up, goes to work, then goes to the gym and then comes back home. It is something you find odd, once again. No matter from which angle you consider, the equation does not add up. Still, you try to make the best of whatever little ammunition you have at hand and pretend to bump into him randomly.

Like, one sunny afternoon you pretend to wait for someone in the parking lot of his university right when he is to leave for the day. Surprisingly, he's the first one to approach you, as he gently grabs your attention. "Hey. We uh, met the other day."

"Oh, hello, Professor Lee. Glad you remembered. One of your biggest fans."

"Have you enrolled here?"

"Ah, I wish. I'm here to...meet a friend's daughter."

"I see. What's her department?"

You blink, not expecting that question but recover quickly. "You ask too many questions professor. Let me ask you one instead. Can I have your number?"

You see the tips of his ears go red.

So adorable.

He blinks, taken aback as he searches for the right words. "Well, uh, why?"

"Why? You're hot and intelligent. I want to go out with you."

"Well, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Just because." He replies, almost unsure, looking at you as if you are a bizarre creature.

You take a step towards him, an amused smile on your face from his reaction. Leaning close to him, you slowly fix the lapels of his jacket. Perplexed, he looks at the motion of your hands before moving his gaze to your face.

"Please, professor? One date is all I ask." You give him puppy eyes.

There is a sharp inhale as his pupils widen just a little bit while you gaze into his eyes, unblinking. The proximity is intense, you can smell his perfume, feel his breath on your skin and from the way he keeps looking at you, there is an urge to kiss him building within you.

Just when you are sure you can sneak in a kiss, he breaks the moment by taking a step back, out of your reach. Clearing his throat, he says. "I can't. I have a girlfriend."

Liar.

Not waiting for your reply, he opens the door to his car and gets in. As his engine fires up with a hum, you walk near the vehicle and lean in to look at him through the half open window. "Don't lie professor. You don't have a girlfriend."

He looks at you silently for a moment, his hands resting on the steering wheel. "This is why I won't go out with you."

You are confused.

"You seem to know too much about me and I don't like that."

With that, he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving behind a trail of smoke and your baffled self.

It's fine.

You know you are on the right track. He is definitely attracted to you so it is not over yet. In fact, it is only the beginning.

This is going to be so much fun.

-

For the next week, you make it your mission to pop up in front of Seokmin while he is out and about. You first pretend to run into him at his favourite coffee shop, acting delighted when he notices you. He seems wary upon seeing you and since it was only the first day of your mission, you let him off easy, saying that this is fate telling that you two are meant to be.

The next time you pretend to run into him again at the car park of the university, once again announcing that you are waiting for your friend's daughter. He keeps the conversation short, simply by nodding and getting into his car rather hurriedly. You, however, don't forget to throw him a compliment, looking as innocent and genuine as possible; like an innocent young girl who has been rejected by her desired man and now longs for him from afar.

That seems to work a bit.

The lesser you speak and the more innocent your attitude becomes, the longer your encounters last. Seokmin would start initiating the conversation and then ask formal questions as if to keep the conversation going or maybe, to test you and see what your true intentions are.

Either way, you don't fall for that.

Instead, you act detached, like a damsel who failed to capture the eye of the man she loves.

Finally, one morning, when you are walking out of the coffee shop, he stops you on your way by extending his hand to touch your elbow softly. You have to hide your smile before turning around.

"You know, I never got to see the girl." He says.

"Which girl?"

"Your friend's daughter. The one you come to the university for."

Ah.

"Oh, you didn't?" You blink innocently. He looks at you for a beat, before giving you a knowing smile. "You know, I think we both know that that's a lie."

You avert your gaze, acting like you did not hear him.

"As much as you seem to be enjoying this, I need you to stop following me around." He says, voice soft but firm and you know it's a command.

It's a shame you don't take commands well.

Tilting your neck to a side, you pop a muscle before giving out a loud exhale, composing yourself. "Have a nice day, Mr Professor."

You walk away.

-

You were getting tired of playing around. The man may be attracted to you but you are coming to a realization that it will not be enough for him to give him. He is cautious and given who he really is, he will never let a woman like you get close to him, no matter how much he may like you.

"I told you, we should have just kidnapped him. His brother would show up immediately." Changkyun complains out loud. The two of you have been sitting in your study for the past hour, trying to come up with a plan.

"You know I don't work like that. It's too easy. And too risky."

You have a bad habit. You always end up getting emotionally involved in every case you encounter. This one should not be an exception. In fact, this is the best place to get emotional because his brother hurt you by hurting your family. It is only fair you do the same to him now. And along the way, you get to tease a pretty man like Professor Lee. It is a win-win situation for you, almost.

In your world, betrayal is the sweetest revenge. If you can betray Professor Lee after earning his trust, that will be the sweetest revenge.

"I don't give up so easily, you know," you whisper, planning your next move.

-

"No teacher needs that much muscles, professor!" Your voice echoes through the empty gym at night.

Dokyeom whips his head around, dropping the dumbbell that was in his hand, eyes wide at your sudden voice. "You! How did you get in here!" You don't appreciate his accusatory tone.

"I come to this gym as well." You shrug, strolling towards him with your hands behind your back before plopping down next to him on a bench. He gives you an exasperated look. "Really?"

"Mhmm." You smile.

"Liar. What do you want? I told you to stay away from me."

You shrug. " Mhmm, can't do that professor. I miss you."

His lips thin, a sign that he is clearly not amused by your antics but it's a shame. You find all of this way too amusing.

You find him amusing.

"I know you are after something else. I am not stupid, ___." He turns to face you properly, his eyes carefully watching you.

A soft smirk plays on your lips. Of course, he is not stupid. Heir to the Lee family, he is the farthest thing from stupid.

"Did you have someone look into me, professor?" You ask nonchalantly.

"Look into you? What is that supposed to mean?" He asks, leaning closer to you.

You're treading in dangerous territory. You cannot give yourself in so quickly.

"I mean a smart, famous man like you has a lovesick stalker. I'm sure you had a detective or someone take a look into me, no?"

More like an intelligence member of the mafia. Maybe even his dear brother.

"So you are admitting that you are a stalker?"

"Oh, not just any, though. A lovesick stalker." You blink innocently at him.

He remains silent making you wonder if he is buying your words.

"Since you are asking me what I want, I assume you asked around and couldn't find anything, then?" You tilt your head, tone playful as you continue the conversation. You are not going to leave today until you are successful.

After a moment, he admits. "Yes. You run on the wrong side of the tracks, that is all I could find."

You chuckle. "There is nothing else to find, professor. I'm just a bad girl infatuated with you and your words and your passion for art."

"You? I am not buying that."

"Me? What is that supposed to mean?" You feel a little offended. "Can a girl not be a gangster and love theatre? Not every one of us gets to chase our dreams, you know."

You see his eyes soften as he remains silent, pondering your words. You watch him, carefully leaning closer to him before dragging a manicured finger over his bicep flirtily.

"What do you want?" His voice comes out breathy this time, those deep pools of chocolate in his eyes boring into you and oh god, do you love your name on his lips.

It would be even better to hear him say that in bed.

"A date with you, professor." You whisper, inching your face closer to him, your lips a mere few inches away from his and you don't miss the way his gaze drops to them before coming back up to your eyes.

"And if I say no?" He swallows. You pout, snaking a hand over his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath your palm, pleased that he lets you touch him. "Why would you say no, professor? I am really good in bed, you know."

He watches you quietly once again and you hate how you cannot tell what is going on inside his head. Is he falling for your words or is he simply piecing things together and trying to uncover you? There is a slight flush on his cheeks but you don't know if it's because of you or his workout.

His hand comes to grab your wrist, breaking your train of thought as he takes your hand off his chest and places it on your lap.

"Tell me something you have never told anyone before."

"What?" You are perplexed.

"Tell me something, anything, a secret, a wish, that you have never told anyone before. Then, I will go on a date with you." He replies.

Wait, what?

You blink, absolutely baffled at his words as he sits in silence, looking at you expectantly. His gaze is sombre and sincere, like he really wants to know you and for the first time in forever, your heart skips a beat, making you feel out of place and vulnerable. Quickly, you break eye contact with him and stare at your boots as you think of a reply.

"Don't think of making up a lie. I can tell, you know." He adds.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you internally roll your eyes at him. "I...I have this urge to leave everything behind and just go to an island. Or a place near the sea and spend the rest of my life there, where nobody knows me, where my past doesn't haunt me."

A long silence follows after your words and you cannot make yourself look at him, afraid of what you will find in his eyes, afraid of how they would make you feel and at the same time hating that these thoughts are bothering you.

"I am free this weekend." He murmurs standing up. You look up, surprised, excited. He puts on his hoodie, acting like he did not just agree to a date with you. As he starts walking out of the gym, completely ignoring your presence, you yell. "I'll text you!"

He turns around to look at you as if to ask how you have his number but simply gives you an exasperated look which you reply with a cheeky smile.

"I'm only free after noon." He declares, continuing on his path.

"No problem, professor." You grin.

-

You agree on an evening library date which is not really an ideal date for you but because of the facade you are holding up, you agree. The library is situated near his campus, an old architectural piece, with dimmed yellow lights and gold details and large windows, radiating a little bit of a gothic energy. He chose the library because of your (fake)interest in theatre, saying that the library would be the best place to discuss these things and you agreed because other than that, it is also not crowded and you can have his full attention.

Dokyeom hand picks a few books on the topic with pure enthusiasm as you follow him around, nodding to whatever he is saying. For the most part, you observe him, watching him with rapt attention, the details of his face, the change of his expressions as he talks, the movement of his hands—

And you have to admit, he has very pretty hands; long and bony, perfect to suck on.

Shaking your head at the ridiculous thought, you follow him to a private study room.

He pulls a chair and helps you sit down, making you smile at his manners. Once he is sat, he turns to you and asks. "Okay, then. What would you like to talk about today? Let's start with plays. What is your favourite play?"

"I don't know, what is yours?" You ask, blinking innocently at him as you rest your chin on your palm. He frowns. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"My favourite play is whatever your favourite play is." You reply sweetly, making him throw an exasperated look at you.

"Is this how you are going to be?"

"Deeply infatuated with you? Yes, professor."

Shaking his head, he opens a book, murmuring something under his breath but you see the soft hint of a smile playing on his lips, making you smile as well.

This should be easy.

Your date goes smoothly, with him discussing his favourite plays, playwrights and whatnot and you nodding along and watching him, throwing in some pointless questions here and there to appear interested. All the while in the back of your mind, you keep planning your next move. Seokmin isn't a stupid man and you know deep down, he sees through your pretence but seeing how he is still entertaining you means that you have captured his interest. And you have to use this to your benefit.

Fate seems to be on your side as on the way back home, Dokyeom suddenly asks if you are free for dinner.

You have to work very hard to mask the huge grin of satisfaction on your face when you say yes. Your response pleases him, visible from his reaction as he excitedly turns the car around and selects a restaurant.

Dokyeom goes all out for dinner, as you are guided to a private dining room upon entering the restaurant. You have to say that his effort impresses you. And of course, it solidifies your belief that he is falling for you. Smiling, you strut behind him.

He pulls out your chair for you, helping you sit down before ordering some appetizers and wine for you to get started.

"I'm a bit surprised you agreed to come." He speaks after a small pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I- I just had a thought that you were not serious about me. It almost felt like you lost a bet. I had the impression that you were just playing with me and wasting my time the last few weeks but I'm surprised you pulled through."

You only give him a smile in reply.

"You know, I believe you are one of two things. A weirdo who wants to bed a professor just for fun or, someone with a hidden intention, playing the long game."

"Aren't you smart, professor?" You grin condescendingly, resting your cheek on your palm.

"I know you are bad news, yet..." He pauses for a beat, sighing at himself. "Yet for the past week, I could not stop thinking about you. I'm in deep trouble, no?"

"You are," You smile. "In the sweetest trouble, I promise you."

He scoffs, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "Let's order the main course, shall we?"

The dinner begins with casual small talk as he tells you about his work and you listen, asking casual questions here and there. When you are taking your second serving of the alfredo pasta, he asks. "Tell me about yourself. Why do you do what you do?"

"Come again?" Your movements halt as you look at him.

"Your... profession." He seems to not find his words. "Killing people, threatening them, weapon business, fraud... whatever you do."

"Hm, I do a little bit of all of that but," you set your utensils down, looking up. "Interesting question, professor."

"Is it like a family business?"

Your eyes fly to his, looking for a sign in them of whether he knows your background or not. For a moment you tense up and hold your breath but his face remains the same, looking at you curiously as he sips his wine.

"No, not really." You reply before finishing your glass of wine. "Parents died early. They knew a few people who were in this business and I got involved."

"What business is it exactly?"

"Aren't you curious, professor?"

He shrugs, looking at you in silence, waiting for you to continue. You sigh, dropping your cutlery down and leaning back into the chair.

"My father was in the weapons business. After he passed away things were messy for a bit and I realized dealing with weapons was not my strong forte. Now I'm in the loaning business and I also do contract killing."

Dokyeom's eyes widen significantly and you can't help but laugh at his reaction. He is acting like he hasn't heard something like this before, living in the world that he lives in.

He looks around before lowering his voice and asking. "So you are like a thug that lends people money with high interest?"

"Yep."

"And you beat them up if they fail to return the money on time?''

"Precisely," you grin.

"And what was that about contract killing? What are you? A hitman?"

"You can say that. But I have clients of various ranges. I kill for politicians, for local gangs and even for civilians."

"For civilians?" He hisses.

"Yes, professor." You take a sip of your wine, swirling the bitter liquid around in your mouth. "Three months ago, the news of a young girl getting raped by a senator's son broke out. I'm sure you have heard of that. The girl was only seventeen and the guy came to her birthday party without any invitation, caused a ruckus and raped her that night because she refused to drink with him. The mother of that girl ran around tirelessly for help while she recovered at the hospital. Everyone she went to, told her to drop the charges for her own good. For one, it would take months, even years to complete the investigation and during that time they'd only get harassed, and two, they could never win the case."

"One day, the mother came to see me. I don't know how she found me and I didn't ask. She offered me her entire life savings and begged me for justice for her daughter. I didn't accept her money but I promised her I would avenge her daughter."

"Then...the death of that senator's son, you were behind it?" Seokmin whispers.

"Yes. I castrated him and then slit that bastard's throat."

"And the incident of the senator that came on the news, were you behind that as well?"

"Yes. He was equally at fault. He let his son go astray and then covered up his crimes. He did not deserve to speak another word so I cut his tongue. Fun, no?'

He doesn't reply to you but falls into a deep state of thought as you continue your dinner.

"Did I scare you, professor?" You ask, seeing him so silent.

He blinks a few times, coming out of his reverie. "No."

"Hm, doesn't sound like that."

Once more, you are met with silence as he watches you from the opposite side of the table, the look in his eyes serious, almost as if he is scrutinizing you. You start to grow uncomfortable under his stare, slightly worried that he might piece two and two together and see through you.

Surprising you, he says, "Looks like I misjudged you, ___. I shouldn't have. I apologize."

"What?"

"Not all actions can be boxed into black and white. What you did may be illegal but it was necessary and right. It won't undo everything that the girl went through, but it still makes the whole thing a bit fair."

For probably the first time in your life, you find yourself speechless. You open your mouth to reply but you realize that you are incapable of forming a reply to what he said. So, you just sit in silence, mirroring him.

"I don't know your past and I don't know what your struggles are but you are a good person, ___.''

Your throat has dried up by now as a weird sensation starts settling in your heart. It is uncomfortable and your appetite is ruined.

The man can probably sense your discomfort because he lets out a soft chuckle and leans back into his seat. "I just thought you should know that. I was not trying to woo you or anything."

You swallow a lump in your throat and force a smile. "Let's order dessert, shall we?''

Soon after that, you finish dinner and Dokyeom offers to give you a ride home and you accept it but only after a little internal debate.

Your own attitude baffles you. Why are you hesitating to let him drop you home? Is it because you have started feeling weird things under his company and now you want to avoid them?

No, that's outrageous. You are just tired from a long day of playing pretend.

The drive to your house is silent as you actively avoid having any conversation with him by facing the window and closing your eyes, your arms crossed as you pretend to go to sleep.

A good amount of driving later, you reach your house and tap in the code number for the main gate to open.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?'' You ask upon noticing his reaction; wide eye and mouth slightly open as he drives into your compound, coming to a stop in front of the steps that lead to your main entrance.

The house resembles a haunted mansion in many ways. It is at least a hundred years old, huge but empty, creepers growing around the black tiles, surrounded by dead trees and an abandoned garden. This is where you used to live with your family a long time ago and after your father's death, you left, letting that house collect dust. It is only recently that you started living here after you formed your plan to take the Lee family down.

"She is." He agrees with a nod before undoing his seatbelt. Before you can do that and open your door, he rounds the car and holds the door open for you.

The chilly night air hits your skin as you step out of the car. Dokyeom's gaze travels past you, marvelling at your home.

"Would you like to come in?" You surprise yourself by asking. He immediately nods with a sheepish grin. "I would love to see the interior."

"Well, it is a mess and full of dust but come along," You lead the way as he follows you closely. Holding the door open, you let him step in.

The door opens to a large space in front of a staircase leading upstairs. This area used to be for sitting, and now it is barren of anything. There is a large floor to ceiling window by the staircase, pouring the moonlight inside the space which is dimly lit by an antique chandelier.

"I see you didn't renovate." Dokyeon comments as he walks around, eyes scanning the space in wonder.

"Moved in recently."

"Hm, I like the style. If you end up renovating, I'd say don't change it too much." He advises. Humming, you start climbing the stairs. "My bedroom and the dining are upstairs. Wanna take a look?''

"Sure," he enthusiastically trails behind you as you come upstairs and show him the dining first and then the second bedroom before leading him to your bedroom.

"And here is my room," you hold open the door for him as he walks past you, the same look of wonder constant on his face.

"Wow," he walks straight to the open balcony, the night breeze flowing in strong, making the curtains dance. You slowly follow him, "I know right."

"I almost want to live here. Do you want to trade places with me?'' There's a boyish charm in his eyes and a genuine hint of glee in his voice as he looks at you with a smile.

"No thanks." You cannot help a small smile yourself.

A silence settles, a comfortable one in fact as you watch the view by his side in the cool night air.

"I had a good time today," he confesses, voice soft. You try hard not to acknowledge the funny feeling that spreads inside you upon hearing his words. Softly, you say. "Me too."

Your gaze moves to him and you find him looking at you, the look in his eyes is something you are unfamiliar with. Something that threatens to make your heart skip a beat, and make you forget what you are set out to do.

While you are lost in your thoughts, Dokyeom seems to have moved closer to you. His gaze has deepened and his face is suddenly mere inches away from you, taking you by surprise.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispers.

Fuck it. Part of your mission is to get him to bed, no? You will have to do it sooner or later.

You press your lips to his and fireworks go inside your head. It feels right, his lips moving against yours as you grab his jacket to pull him closer. By the time you two separate, you are breathless, your mind hazy. Dokyeom keeps looking at you like you are the most magnificent thing on this planet, his hand softly caressing your cheeks as your fingertips dance on his neck.

"Should I stay the night?"

There is a cheer of satisfaction within you. You let out a soft hum of acknowledgement which immediately brings his hands to your shoulders.

His lips are the epitome of temptation, your hooded gaze trained on it, stuck in a trance of pure desire. His fingers brush over your back in tantalising touches as he drops your coat from your shoulders, his eyes never straying from yours. Your hands move in a rhythm as you unbutton his blazer and reach for the hem of his turtleneck, helping him to get rid of it with a tug while simultaneously moving back inside your room and towards your bed, discarding the clothes messily on the floor.

His body is like an ancient Greek sculpture, lean and toned and you don't hide the hunger in your gaze. In silence, you push him towards the bed as he drops down to the mattress while you peel off your top along with your bra and then reach for the pants. Once you are left only in your panties, you strut towards him, a small smile on your lips because of the way he keeps looking at you, full of desire and burning passion.

Your hands move seductively as you take off his pants along with his boxers, making sure your nails scrape his thigh. With the fabrics gone, you see his cock for the first time, and my god is he blessed.

"What do you think? Will it please you?" He asks, making you smirk.

"Lie back professor," you order, standing up as he moves back into the bed, half lying against the headboard. You climb on the bed on all fours, positioning yourself on top of him. Leaning down, your lips tease him as your noses brush together softly. You whisper. "Let me give you a time you will never forget."

Something flashes in his eyes for a brief moment which you don't get to observe because his lips crash into yours, ensuing a fierce kiss. You moan into the kiss as his hands come to cup your neck and jaw, his lips pressed against yours relentlessly.

When you realise he is about to press you down into the bed, you break the kiss and inhale deeply. "Mhmm, no, professor. Let me take care of you first." You throw a wink at him and move down, your lips softly dragging against his skin, down his abdomen before reaching his half hard cock.

You take him in your hands, rubbing the base of his dick at a slow pace and watch his face raptly for reactions. As he grows hard against your hand, you lean down and take him into your mouth with one big swallow that makes Dokyem grunt out loud.

"Fuck!"

You smile as you continue your ministrations, moving your mouth up and down against his length while his body grows tense beneath you. Your tongue laps around his entire length, tasting him, teasing him as his breaths become shorter and shorter.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come soon."

His words work as a motivation for you as you increase your pace, swiping your tongue over his leaking tip before he finally explodes inside your mouth with a throaty groan.

You swallow every drop of him, a few trailing down the corner of your lips and you make a show of licking it with unwavering eye contact. Dokyeom lies flat on his back, panting harshly, hooded eyes watching you in an intense stare.

"Good, professor?" You grin, licking your index finger.

Exhaling loudly, he tugs you by your arm. "Come here!" Pinning you underneath his body, he kisses you, his tongue prodding into your mouth, tasting himself. You don't hold yourself back either, kissing him with equal passion until you forget where you end and he begins.

His lips meet your neck, kissing and sucking softly before trailing down to play with your sensitive nipples. As your whines grow in pitch and you grow restless, trying to break free from his grip and take over, he sits over your thighs, spreading his legs on both sides and resting on his knees.

"Do you have a condom?" He asks.

"Multiple," you reply, reaching for the bedside drawer.

As he puts the rubber on, you take the moment to appreciate his figure, his beautiful face, his bed-messy hair, his toned chest and abdomen and of course, his monster of a cock.

"You are one fine man, professor." You find yourself saying. You hate how you genuinely mean it.

"You are not too bad yourself." He flashes a grin before aligning himself with your pussy. As you take a deep inhale, he pushes in, making your body rise as you grip the sheets tightly in reply to the intrusion.

"Fuck, you're so tight."

Your response is to squeeze him tighter as you wrap your legs around his ass, pushing his body closer to yours. Delirious with pleasure, you start chasing his hips right away in a desperate rhythm of your own.

"Harder," you tempt, slinging your arms around his neck to pull him close. His breath fans your face, the slight perspiration on his temples clearly visible in this distance. In the yellowish hue of the room, his skin glows, giving him the appearance of a god, his messy hair tying everything together.

Dokyeom takes you up for the challenge as he increases his pace, making your head fall back as you let out a deep moan from the pits of your belly. He hits the perfect spot every time, driving you wild, bringing you deliciously close to the edge.

"Fuck, I need to come," you pant, hands reaching between your legs to touch your clit. Dokyeom, however, stops you by grabbing your both wrists and pinning them on top of your head, a cocky smirk on your face as he leans into your ear and whispers. "Say please first."

"Never," you immediately reply.

"Then you don't get to come."

"You asshole!" You hiss, trying to writhe free from his grasp but every time you move, his dick goes deeper inside you, amplifying the pleasure that makes you shudder.

"Come on sweetheart. You know you want to come."

"Ugh, no," you grunt, squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to tone done your need for release."

"It's just one tiny word," the devil keeps whispering in your ear, continuing his ruthless thrusts as you teeter on the verge of begging.

"Fuck! Okay, okay!" You yell. "Please!"

"Hm, that didn't sound nice." The bastard complains, making you furious.

"I swear to god—" He interrupts you with a fierce kiss, pushing his tongue so deep inside your mouth that you forget to breathe. Letting go of your hands, his fingers move down, trailing along your skin before reaching between your legs and flicking your clit. That action is enough as you come, fireworks going off inside your body as you twist to a side, your toes curling in pleasure. Dokyeom's body shudders on top of yours as he comes, continuing to kiss your mouth, your chin and your jaw.

Soon, a silence settles in the air as his body rests on top of yours. You don't find it in you to push him off so you let him be, comfortable in his warmth and embrace as you close your eyes, soon to be overtaken by sleep.

-

Days bleed into weeks that turn into a month as you start dating Seokmin. He grows fonder of you each passing day, the look in his eyes and his actions mirroring what he holds for you in his heart. He starts accepting your obsessive tendencies along with your profession, which pleases you immensely. You have your enemy where you want and things seem to be going your way.

Except one thing.

After you started dating Dokyeom, you have stayed over at his place only a few times. Of course, you made use of those times, snooping through his house in hopes of finding something that would lead you to his brother or at the very least, tell you of his ties to the mafia family of District 1. You never found a single thing. When you asked him about his family, he replied that he is an only child whose parents passed away because of a car crash.

A lie, of course.

Your plan is in motion but at the same time, you feel stuck. You have Dokyeom in the palm of your hand, you just need to get to his brother for everything to come together. You had dramatic plans for a reunion but at this stage, that looks quite impossible.

Maybe you should have just kidnapped him.

-

One weekend he invites you to his house for dinner as a celebration of him securing a contract with one of the biggest publishers in the country for his next book.

You put on your nicest dress and your fanciest heels for the occasion, your lips painted red as you strut to his front door with a bouquet of flowers.

Dokyeom opens the door looking a little more gorgeous than other days; his black hair brushed back sleekly, and wearing a cream coloured Ralph Lauren sweater with black pants. Tying the look together is his steel framed glasses which he looks fantastic with and which you adore seeing him wearing.

Whenever he wears those glasses you two end up having the most mind blowing sex.

Dokyeom remains rooted in his spot as he watches you, his eyes moving over your full frame with a look of appreciation and desire. You flash a grin, "Good evening, professor."

He blinks before smiling, "Good evening, ___. You look absolutely stunning."

"Thought I should dress up to celebrate you." You shrug. "May I come in?" You smile teasingly and he lets you in with a flustered laugh.

"Dinner is cooking in the oven. I will set the table up," he supplies as he helps you to take off your coat once you are inside. "Would you like some wine?''

"Sure," You follow him to the kitchen which has a soft aroma of the chicken roast, making your stomach rumble slightly. One of the many delights of dating Dokyeom has been his exceptional culinary skills. You watch as he pours wine into two glasses before offering you one, "The chicken will be done in ten minutes. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks," you receive the glass from him and stroll around the house, looking at his decoration, in the back of your mind thinking if any one of these plain items hides the key to his other identity. A phone call echos in the kitchen and you realize Dokyeom is getting a call. He accepts it with an apology directed at you before going to the porch to speak.

In the meantime, you sneak into his study. It is not even sneaking in, to be honest, because he has given you full access to every inch of his house and in fact, encouraged you to visit his study and take a look at his little library. You found it odd at first because his transparency shows that he has nothing to hide and as days pass by and you come up with no leads, a sinking feeling has started appearing in your belly. Not to mention that the bug you put underneath his desk has picked up nothing of importance, no conversation or phone call about District 1 or his mafia family.

Maybe you have made a huge mistake. Maybe he is some random innocent guy who just looks like the youngest son of Lee family and has fallen to your prey.

Still, you step inside his study with the hope of finding something new. Like every other time, your fingers comb through the shelves of his library before moving towards his desk, shuffling through the papers carefully to not disturb the arrangement. You also peek beneath the desk to make sure the recorder is still there and active before going through his drawers. It has become a routine check at this point, your fingers moving through his stuff in experienced movements as you hold your breath in anticipation of finding a lead.

It goes futile, of course.

With a defeated sigh you stand up to find Dokyeom standing at the entrance of his study with a completely foreign look on his face.

Shit.

A gasp of surprise and terror leaves your mouth as your eyes meet his and for several moments, a gut-wrenching feeling wreaks havoc within you. You hate how you feel, guilty like a criminal or even worse, a person breaking the trust they were given and getting caught red handed by the person who trusted them the most.

"What are you doing?'' His tone is flat and cold, something you are hearing for the first time. It takes a second for your brain to start functioning properly. "Just looking around, professor. You know I get snoopy sometimes." You tilt your head to the side, giving him a coy smile.

Dokyeom gives no reaction. He takes a few, slow steps towards you, his footsteps matching the beat of your heart as he comes to a stand in front of the table.

Then, his hand reaches below, searching for something beneath the table before coming back up with the bug in his hand.

Ah, fuck.

"What is this?" He asks.

"A bug? Who would do that to you, professor?" You ask innocently.

He keeps staring at you, the look of disappointment growing permanent on his face as you realize you are caught for good.

Fuck it, you had to reveal yourself one way or the other anyway.

With a loud exhale, you ask, "When did you find out?"

"Last week," he replies, tone clipped. "I was baffled when I found it. Nobody visited my place in the last few weeks except you. Stupidly, I told myself it cannot be you so someone must have broken in. I looked through the CCTV footage but I found nothing there was well." He blows out a long breath, shaking his head dejectedly, "I still prayed it wouldn't be you but the reality says otherwise, ___."

Hmm, it does.

"It was me," you announce, plopping down on his chair behind the desk while he watches you unamusedly. "And you are right. Someone did break in. That was me as well." You flash him an evil grin.

Whatever colour that was left on his face drains out as he keeps staring at you, unblinking, for a long period. You return his stare with one of your own, except you are curious to see his next reaction. There is also a feeling of dread somewhere within you but you decide to ignore it.

Dokyeom's palms come to rest on the table as he hangs his head low, remaining motionless. Finally, when he looks up, the look in his eyes has completely changed and his jaw is tight, giving you the first glimpse into the mafia heir that he really is.

You watch as he reaches for the scissors in the stationary holder sitting on his desk, and rounds the table before coming to stand right next to you, holding the tip of the scissors right against your neck as he leans down and hisses. "Should I slit your throat right here or should I hear you out?"

You must admit that you find this look on him very attractive.

You cannot help the grin, "Finally, you are acting like the youngest heir of District 1, professor. I like it."

His eyes widen slightly as the scissors move just a bit away from your skin. "What do you want?"

"To tell you that, I have to tell you a long story." Your smile drips with venom as you stand up and walk over to the sitting area. "Sit down. It's a long story." You say, motioning towards the sofa in front of you. He isn't enthusiastic but he follows your direction, sitting down in front of you, the scissors still in his hand.

You lean back into the cushions throwing one leg over the other as you look him in the eye.

"Once upon a time, six years ago actually, there was a man who used to deal weapons. His general clients were not high profile but one day he got orders from the mafia family of District 1. They had some issues with their regular supplier so they chose that man for a quick supply."

"The man had two daughters. One who was 18 at that time and another who was 16. Their mother passed away a couple of years ago and their father was always busy with either work or gambling so the sisters only had each other. The older sister took very good care of the younger one, making sure she was happy and protected all the time."

"Then one night, the mafia barged through the door, surrounding their house with armed men. The eldest and the youngest son of the Lee family also came. They dragged the father and the older daughter outside on the porch where they killed him with a clean shot in the head. Then they grabbed the older daughter and dragged her into their car, making her disappear forever."

"Meanwhile, the younger daughter watched all this from far away as the father's right hand man told her to remain hidden to save herself. After some digging around, it was found out that District 1 went to war with the Russians and they lost that war while also losing the head of the family, the father of the two brothers, Lee Jihoon and..." you pause before looking him dead in the eye and whispering, "Lee Seokmin."

Thick silence stretches in the air.

Dokyeom keeps looking at you, his fingers intertwined under his chin. "So, all this was a grand plan of yours to what, fool me? Betray me after making a joke out of me?" He asks. making you chuckle.

"You were only the beginning of my plan. I wanted to mess with you, of course, but I thought I would find out about your brother's whereabouts through dating you. I initially had a fun plan that I would show up uninvited in one of his business deals and ruin it, damage his reputation for good. However, that plan failed because I found no information about him or your family from you. You really hide that part of you well, no Professor?"

He remains silent.

"Now that my initial plan has failed, I think I will have to kidnap you, hm? Ask your brother for ransom. He would have no choice but to show up then."

Your words make Dokyeom scoff as he shakes his head, the corners of his lips turned up as if you have said the funniest thing ever. You don't like his reaction.

"You want to see my brother? I will arrange that."

"What?" You must have heard wrong. "What game are you playing now?"

"I'm not playing any game."

"Then why?" You narrow your eyes on him, your hand reaching to your back pocket to pull out the switchblade if necessary.

He looks at you for a long moment before letting out a breath. "I am impressed, that's all. I have to acknowledge your talent, no? Also, you deserve to know the truth." He looks you in the eye. "The real truth. Not some bullshit your father's right hand man made up."

"Don't you fucking tell me what is the truth and what is the lie, you murderer!" You seethe, clenching your fists.

You should just gut him right here.

Once again, he just smiles. "I will text you when he is available for the meeting. However, it will be one on one. If you bring someone else, he will not show up."

"I could still kidnap you."

"You are welcome to try but I guarantee you, that plan is going to fail. You are a smart woman. I'm giving you a good option. Just take it." He stands up.

"Well if you think that I alone am not a threat to your brother then you are mistaken. I can make his blood spill if I want to," You stand up and take a menacing step towards him. "If you find your dear brother dead after the meeting, don't blame me, hm?''

You don't wait for a reply as you turn on your heel and march out of the room. On your way out you find the dinner served on the table, the chicken cut nicely into pieces along with vegetables. Picking up a fork, you stab a few pieces of chicken, shove them into your mouth and then take a sip of the wine.

As always, his food tastes great.

With your coat slung over your shoulder, you pull open the door and yell behind you, "Thanks for the dinner, professor!"

You slam the door loudly behind you.

-

Lee Jihoon agrees to have a meeting with you one day later. Initially, you wanted Changkyun to drive you there but Dokyeom sent a text saying that he would pick you up because outside vehicles are not allowed entry into Jihoon's compound. Reluctantly, you agreed and after an absolute silent drive later, you reach the mansion of the mafia family of District 1.

The compound is stunning and heavily guarded, with checkposts and watch towers set at certain distances as well as multiple security screenings that you have to pass through. Once Dokyeom passes the final gate, the gorgeous mansion comes into view. Just upon entry, there is a large compound surrounding a giant water fountain in the middle of neatly trimmed rows of trees. Dokyeom stops the car at a small parking space near the front yard where the meeting will take place.

As the car comes to a stop you notice a small table and garden chairs set up underneath a large umbrella that is surrounded by multiple guards— the place of your meeting. With a deep breath, you step out of the car, along with Dokyeom who comes out of the driver's side door. Surprising you, he leans against the car with his arms crossed and starts looking around.

"You are not coming?''

"No."

You are perplexed but don't ask any further questions, busy with the task ahead of you. Tilting your head side to side, you pop your neck before marching towards the garden. Spotting you, one of the guards speaks into his comm. Throwing a mock smile at him, you drag a chair out and sit down, waiting for him to arrive. Out of curiosity, you turn your head behind to see Dokyeom in the same spot, staring off into the distance.

Weird.

A maid comes to serve two cups of tea before hurrying away and soon after, the man arrives.

Dressed in full black, Lee Jihoon steps out of the mansion and walks towards you, closely followed by two bodyguards, his body language is relaxed as he pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down. Taking off his shades, he looks at you, his eye contact calm yet unwavering along with something very powerful and dark brimming underneath as you come face to face with the man behind all your misery.

"Good morning, ___. My brother informed me about our interesting past." He speaks, his tone light, his facial expression laced with amusement as if he is catching up with an old friend.

"Then you know why I am here." You cut to the chase, trying to keep your tone as even as possible. Just hearing his voice irks you to your core.

"Remind me again." He hums, wiping his shades with a piece of cloth.

This motherfucking bastard.

"You killed my father! You kidnapped my sister! What—" You inhale deeply. "What did you do to her!" You hiss, unable to keep your voice from raising as your hands form fists, violent rage bubbling within you. There is a knife hidden underneath your bra and you consider pulling it out and stabbing him.

You can be quick but it wouldn't cause enough damage.

Besides, you need to know if your sister is alive.

"I see you are furious and I understand that feeling." Jihoon begins, throwing one leg on top of another as he links his hands together, leaning back to sit comfortably.

You hate how nonchalant he is about all this.

"Since I'm in a good mood today and my younger brother has asked for a favour after a very long time, I'll answer your questions. Let's begin with your father's death, shall we? My family had a deal with your father. He was to provide us with weapons and artilleries for a year because our usual supplier got murdered earlier that year and we chose him as a temporary replacement. In November of that year, a war broke out between us and the Russians. We went to war with those weapons. Guess what happened?"

You remain silent, staring at him in rage.

"The weapons stopped working. The guns would either jam or misfire. Hundreds of my men died and we lost that war. Your father sold us weapons that were crap. They were a batch of second grade weapons that he had lying around." Jihoon pauses for a second before resting his arms on the table and leaning closer to you. "You know why he did that?''

"Because he had gambled away the initial deposit we gave him. That led to an argument with his manufacturer who said the deal would be on hold. He could neither get the weapons nor cancel the deal with us so like a fucking coward, he sold us those shitty weapons."

"You are lying." You hiss.

"I was hoping you would say that. You see, I don't care whether you believe me or not, ___. You asked for the truth and here it is."

Bullshit.

Lee Jihoon is the master of manipulation, there is no way he is being honest right now.

"Then where is my sister? What did you do with her?"

His eyes darken at your words.

"She is alive. That is all you need to know." His tone is clipped.

You are immediately on your feet, the chair scraping backwards by your sudden motion. "Where is she, you fucking son of a bitch!" You bang your fists on the table, ready to jump on him. His bodyguard starts to come to you but Jihoon raises his hand as a signal for him to stand back.

"Sit down, ___." He remains unbothered. "Wherever she is, she is safe and well."

"Like I believe a word that comes out of your mouth! If she is really alive why won't you tell me!" You scream.

"Because your sister told me not to."

The ground slips away from your feet as your heart starts galloping. "What— what you talking about, you fucking liar!"

Jihoon gets up and walks towards you, fixes the chair back in its place and forces you to sit down by grabbing your shoulders.

"Look, ___. I am doing you the favour of explaining everything which I never do for anyone else. You can either act civil and stop calling me names or I have you escorted out right now." He threatens in your ear, his body leaning against the garden table. Your hands form tight fists in your lap as it takes everything within you to hold yourself back from punching him.

He says, "A word of advice for you, don't believe everything you see. Your sister has her demons that she had been hiding for a long time. She had them when we took her and she still has them. When she overcomes all of them, she will come find you."

You are stunned to silence.

"I- I don't believe you. You are making all this up." Your brain is scrambling, trying to fit the pieces together that you seem to have missed.

"Alright then. I'll contact your sister and tell her to write you a letter, maybe even attach some pictures. How about that?"

You remain silent.

Jihoon sighs and sits back down on the chair, before reaching for his phone inside his jacket. Swiping through the device, he finds what he is looking for before turning the screen towards you.

A gasp escapes you as your hands come to cover your mouth. It is a picture of your sister. You recognize her immediately despite the change in her features throughout the years. She sits by a window, a very subtle smile on her lips as she looks at the camera.

You could look at that picture forever but Jihoon takes the phone away, putting it inside his pocket as you blink away the tears from your eyes.

"You are all murderers. You ruined our lives." You whisper, your head hanging low as you stare at the green grass below your feet suddenly overcome with a feeling of helplessness.

Has she really been alive all this time? Has she been well?

"We never said we weren't. Our world abides by some rules and your father was well aware of those rules. His greed got the best of him and in a perfect world, his family wouldn't have suffered for his crime but in our world, that is the rule."

Tears brim in your eyes as you are overwhelmed with distraught.

"Thousands of people in district one had to die for your father's greed. It is only fair that he died. We didn't even make it painful and that is something our men were not blessed with." His tone becomes dark by the end.

"If you still don't believe me, I will mail you some of the investigation reports on that case. But this is as far as I'll entertain you, ___ and this is the last time I wish to see you in my premises unless I call you." Jihoon stands up, putting his hands in his pockets as you keep glaring holes into the ground.

"One final piece of advice, if you aren't serious about my brother, leave him." His words make you look up at him. "Me and Seokmin don't talk to each other anymore but for you, he contacted me after years, leaving behind his pride. He seems to have serious feelings about you. If you don't feel that way about him, leave. You got what you wanted."

Did you? Did you really get what you wanted?

"Goodbye." He puts on his shades and strides out of the garden, his bodyguards trailing after him as you are left alone with your thoughts and the tea which has now gone cold.

You get back into Dokyeom's car in silence. The man does not ask any questions or acknowledge you, mutely starting the car almost as if you are not even here.

You sit still, stuck in a trance as Jihoon's words replay in your mind over and over again. Now, you truly do not know what is the truth and what is the lie as you spiral into a dark pit of hopelessness. Could it truly be that Changkyun and his father lied to you? But why would they do that? Why would Jihoon lie to you either? He has no reason to. He is not afraid of anyone and he has no benefit from lying to you.

Your mind starts to numb from the continuous onslaught of thoughts. When you finally take a break from them and focus on your surroundings, you realize the car has come to a stop. It is parked on a small cliff that overlooks a mountain range far away. Seokmin looks at you expectantly, almost as if he is waiting for you to step out of the car. Without much thought, you do that and he follows you as you both silently tread towards a small bridge nearby. Resting against it, you take in the view for a few minutes, the man next to you doing the same.

"I heard you don't speak to your brother anymore." You decide to speak. It caught you off guard when Jihoon first mentioned it but you have been too preoccupied with other worries to address it. It is making sense to you now as to why you could not find anything at his house.

After a moment, his soft voice floats through the silence. "I used to be really close with my brother. I looked up to him ever since I was a child. In a world as grim as ours, he was a source of hope and a shelter for me." He breathes, his eyes focused ahead, clouded with memories. "It was a given that he was going to be the next don since he was the oldest but he always told me that I'd be a better leader, that I should be prepared to take over if anything were to happen to him. Sometimes, it felt as if he trusted me more than he trusted himself and I didn't want to let him down."

Seokmin comes to a pause as his gaze shifts from staring straight ahead to coming lower and lower, finally stopping at his shoes. With his head hanging low and a dejected posture, he whispers. "Everything changed after that war. Our father died along with so many of our men. The bloodshed was too much for me. I tried to suck it in by telling myself that I will overcome this. I will get used to it but the thing was, I didn't want to. I didn't want to get used to the violence, to the bloodshed, to that life and finally, after killing your father and taking away your sister, I gave up."

There is a heavy pause in the air. Your breath is trapped in your lungs as you watch him, waiting eagerly for his next words, urging him to continue while failing to find your voice.

"That night, I told hyung I was going to leave. I was going to denounce everything. My title, my inheritance, everything. My final gesture of loyalty and love for him was to aid him in killing the man that caused all the mess but my brother...He was...livid. He punched me, yelled at me and finally begged me not to leave. When I still said no he looked at me for a long moment." His breath shudders as he pauses shortly.

"I remember it so vividly. His face went completely blank as he ordered his men to escort me out, not even saying goodbye or looking back. That night I left and I never saw him again until...today. To the members of District 1, it was like the Lee family expanding their territory by having me step into the world of art under a new name. You also thought the same but now, you know the truth."

His eyes finally move as he shifts his position, leaning against the edge of the rail to look at you.

"Our world isn't fair, ___ and you cannot judge our actions based on the laws of the normal world. I do not like bloodshed or violence but I've realised that sometimes it is necessary to keep the balance. Killing your father was such a moment and—" he pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks at you desperately, almost like he's in pain as he searches for the right words.

"I do not regret it. I regret a lot of things but do not regret his death. I'm sorry that you lost your father and I'm sorry that you had a tough life. More than anything else, I'm sorry that you harboured all these negative feelings inside you only to realise that the truth was something else entirely. I'm sorry it had to be like this, ___."

You swallow, blinking to hold back tears. His eyes shine, mirroring yours as you both stare at each other in silence. You want to scream, yell at the top of your lungs that he is lying but you know that if you open your mouth, only sobs will come out. So you opt for watching Seokmin in silence as a gust of cool breeze flows by, messing your hair while you pray that it takes away your despair along with it.

"I'm going to leave you alone now. I'm sure you need some time to process everything. I just wanted to say my part." He whispers, slowly taking steps away. He pauses for a beat on his way to see if you say anything but you keep staring at the sky as if hypnotised. As his footsteps get farther away and the car's engine roars to life, your tears fall, cascading down your cheeks in endless streams.

-

Sleep doesn't come easily to you that night. With the rise of the sun, you get some shut eye before waking up and lying in your bed for hours, sinking deep into the hollow in your chest that feels like it's devouring you whole. Beside you, your phone rings multiple times with Changkyun's calls but you ignore them, not prepared to face him, not prepared to confront your best friend that he has been lying to you. When the growls of your stomach finally grow too loud for you to tolerate, you get up to eat something.

Inside your large house, you float around like a ghost, the emptiness and coldness of the structure mirroring how you feel on the inside. Your brain is too broken to think yet thoughts overflow, numbing you.

As you eat some cereal you finally decide to check your phone and you see Changkyun's message.

I dropped by your house this morning. You didn't open and you are not picking up.

Come to the seaport when you see this. We need to talk.

Your first reaction is to put your phone face down, ignoring the text. But as time ticks by and you see the afternoon sun going lower and lower in the sky, you change your mind. You need to talk to him. You deserve to know the truth from his mouth. Besides, the sooner you get this over with the better.

Maybe it's finally time to retire to a city by the beach, you think to yourself as you drive to the seaport.

-

The wind is high and the sun is about to disappear beneath the horizon when you reach the port. Parking your car, you walk along the edge of the platform, letting the cold her blow into your face as you watch the ships nearby get loaded with containers. As you stop to watch the sunset, you soon hear footsteps behind you and years of familiarity let you know it's Changkyun.

Sure enough, a few seconds later he comes to stand next to you.

"I have been trying to reach you all morning."

"Hm."

Your response probably comes unexpected to him as he shifts his position, turning to look at you, eyes intensely boring into you.

A gust of a particularly strong wind flows, disrupting your hair, covering your face with a few strands, almost as if shielding you from his scrutiny.

"Well?" He prods. You remain silent, staring ahead, racking your brain for the right words to start this conversation.

"___, what did that murderer say?" He asks again, his pitch rising.

"Not what I expected to hear." You give in with a sigh, turning your head to look at him in the eye. Changkyun's eyes widen just a fraction, a look of alarm settling on his face.

"I think we were not completely innocent, either." There's a coldness in your voice but he misses it, hissing. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

You tell him how the meeting with Jihoon went before posing the million dollar question. "Is that really the truth, Changkyun?"

With every word leaving your lips, you see his expression change, going from disbelief to betrayal to anger and then, to guilt.

A silence falls as you wait and watch him, holding your breath as his head hangs low, his hair covering his face as he stares at the ground. The remnants of your hope fade away with every passing second.

"Tell me the truth, Kyun! Did my father really gamble away the money?" Your voice is a desperate plea.

"So what if he did!" He scowls at you.

Your whole body freezes as your fears get confirmed. It takes a good moment for you to speak. "Why did you and your father lie to me? You said he was completely innocent, that he did nothing wrong yet got murdered by Ji—"

"For revenge! I lied so that we could take revenge!"

"Revenge for what!" You cry, frustrated. "You and I know very well what the rules are in this world. You would not spare me either if I did to you what my father did!"

"They took your sister, ___. God knows what they did—"

"She's alive." You whisper.

Changkyun's eyes widen, his mouth opening to say something yet failing to do so. He brushes a frustrated hand through his hair, exhaling loudly as he processes the information.

"What is the plan now?" He asks, his voice muted, looking at the ground.

"What do you mean what's the plan!" You cry. "Did you not hear me? There is no plan, Kyun. This is as far as I can go!"

"You do not mean that, ___!" His voice booms, eyes wide with rage. "They killed your father, ruined his empire, ruined every one of our fucking lives! They have your sister locked away for fucks sake!"

You say the words you never thought you would. "My father did not have an empire. What he had was a gambling addiction and a business built on a house of cards." Your voice grows meek, eyes shining with tears of pain and exhaustion. "As for my sister," you take in a deep breath. "Jihoon said he would make her write me a letter. He said she has reasons for hiding but she is safe. I have decided to trust his words for now."

"You—" Changkyun looks at you, baffled. "You are a fucking coward, ___! What about the work we put on all these years? What about us? What about my father? Who's going to avenge him!"

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. Blinking back tears, you try to compose yourself by taking in a deep breath. "I had a harsh wake up call that made me realize that all these years you were lying to me and using me to quench your bloodthirst. Who's going to avenge your father? Maybe you, if you are crazy but not me. His addiction led him astray and he committed suicide. What is there to avenge?"

"___! He ended up like that because the Lees killed your father and ruined our business!" He's like a madman as he steps closer to you, yelling. You yell back, "Just stop it, Changkyun! What do you want me to do, huh? March into Jihoon's house and start firing? Do you know the levels of security that place has? Whatever men we have, he has ten times more and I do not want my team to walk into a suicide mission without any cause. And most importantly, I will not jeopardise the safety of my sister! Jihoon knows her whereabouts and I need him if I want to see my sister again!"

"You... you—" Changkyun has turned red with fury as his words fail him.

You do not like how this conversation is going and your exhaustion makes you take a step back.

"We were carrying their sins with us but I have realised, we don't need to. Our parents...they made their decisions and paid the price for it. Let it end with them, please. I don't want to drag this any more. I am tired, Kyun." You whisper, praying the words to reach him.

Years of hunting and planning the destruction of one man has left you tired to your bones along with a general disdain for the world you have been living in. You were alone all along, chasing a ghost.

It is time to stop.

"No. You are not tired. You are a coward. A brainwashed coward." Changkyun sneers, venom dripping from his eyes.

"If that's what you would like to believe, then so be it." You conclude, not finding the energy to argue with him anymore. Your indifference irks him as he scowls at you, his hands clenched into fists.

You announce. "I am going to retire. You can take over from here on but I suggest you look into doing something new. Our business—"

"Don't you fucking dare give me advice!" His voice booms as he charges towards you. In the blink of an eye, he grabs you by the collars, livid. "Don't utter a single fucking word, you traitor! You fucking liar! You got some dick and decided to switch sides huh!" He seethes, gripping your collars tight and violently shaking you. The headache you already had intensifies but that isn't the thing that's hurting you.

His words hurt. Despite his lies, you considered him your best friend for the past six years. And maybe it's the attachment or the nostalgia of all these years that prevents you from fighting back.

You are done.

You have done enough fighting for a lifetime.

Mean words roll off Changkyun's tongue as he pushes you to the ground in a fit of rage, throwing his legs over your torso as he wraps his arms around your neck.

The next moment there is a click of a gun and you manage to peek over Changkyun's shoulder to find Seokmin standing behind him, pointing a revolver at the back of his head.

Your breath catches in your throat.

What the hell is he doing here?

Changkyun's grip on your throat loosens when he feels the presence behind him as he attempts to turn around. However, Seokmin presses the nozzle of the gun harder into his head, hissing. "Let her go. Now."

"Changkyun, please. Stop." You whisper, finally finding your voice. You do not like the look in Seokmin's eyes, something you've never seen before, something lethal and untamed and paired with the gun in his hand, you do not trust what he might do.

"Speak of the devil." Changkyun scoffs, looking at you, still holding a steady grip on your neck. "The boyfriend is here to save the day."

"Let. Her. Go." Seokmin repeats.

Changkyun looks torn, fury blazing in his eyes while also being aware of the gun being pointed at his head. With a frustrated grunt, he loosens his grip on your throat and you use that fraction of a second to tackle him by grabbing his arms and pinning him to the ground as you come on top. "Stop it, Kyun." Your plea is a whisper that is met with eyes full of wrath.

The next second Seokmin abruptly tugs you behind by your arm as he takes a step forward, becoming a barrier between you and Changkyun. The gun is still in his hand, pointing towards your friend.

"Seokmin put the gun down. It's fine." You try to step forward and pry the weapon out of his hand but he doesn't let you, holding you behind protectively with an arm outstretched.

"You may trust him, but I don't," Seokmin replies, eyes fiercely trained on Changkyun who has sat up. His eyes are equally furious with an underlying hint of challenge, as if he's daring Seokmin to shoot.

And he just might.

"For fucks sake, both of you! Enough!" You holler, clutching onto Seokmin to drag him further away from Changkyun who slowly stands up and brushes the dust off of him before looking at you with a deathly stare. Seokmin's grip on your arm tightens, the gun still in his hand but not pointed at him now.

You can almost physically feel the air thicken with tension.

"Don't try to contact me, ___. If I see your face ever again, there will be a bullet hole between your eyes." Changkyun grits out, sparing one last look of scorn at you before marching away.

With the kaleidoscope of colours of the dusk sky, you watch your best friend of years walk away, experiencing heartbreak and a weird relief at the same time.

Silence settles with the sun dipping below the horizon. Seokmin let's go of you, putting some distance between your bodies. Your eyes meet his as you exchange a silent look full of turbulent emotions.

Emotions you can't quite name yet feel overwhelmed with.

"How did you find me?" Your soft inquiry breaks the silence. He removes his gaze from you and looks at the ground. "Went to your place this afternoon. As I was pulling up I saw your car leave and I just...followed you."

"Why?"

"I... don't know. My gut told me I should." He replies calmly.

You sigh as another beat of silence fills the air. The sky is now fully dark, spread wide with different shades of purple. The wind has gotten significantly colder and you feel like if you stay out too long, it will settle into your bones.

Like the echoing coldness in your heart.

"You should not have interrupted. I was dealing with him."

Seokmin frowns. "Dealing with him? By lying still and letting him choke you?"

"Like I said—"

"Forget that,'' Seokmin interrupts you with a huff. "I went to your place because I had to tell you something." You look at him inquisitively as he fishes out something from the breast pocket of his trench coat.

Extending his hand towards yours, he pushes something into your palm.

A ticket.

"What is this?" You find yourself asking.

"Remember how you said you wanted to go to a place by the sea." He begins, his voice soft like his gaze. "Well, this is it. Now that everything is over, you can go and live by the beach. This cruise leaves tomorrow afternoon. It'll take a few days to reach Barcelona."

You look at the little piece of paper in your hand, letting his words wash over you.

"Think of this as an apology for everything. For what me and my family put you through." He adds when you don't reply.

"I see." Your voice is almost inaudible.

Seokmin says nothing for a few moments, as if waiting for you to speak but when you don't, he continues. "I am going as well. To Barcelona, I mean."

You move his gaze to him and blink inquisitively.

"I felt like taking a break after everything. I haven't been on a vacation for a very long time. I, too, wanted to see the ocean. When I got tickets, I thought I'd get one for you. We don't have to go together or see each other if you decide to go, that is..." He trails off.

You gaze at him for a while, memorising his features. Swallowing a sudden lump in your throat, you force a smile and give him a shaky nod.

"Well, then. I'll get going." He takes a few steps back, rubbing his palms together.

"Bye."

"If you don't come tomorrow, this is goodbye, no?" He asks as he continues to take small steps away from you, still facing you.

"I guess so." You reply. He stops and takes a long look at you before saying. "It was really nice knowing you, ___. Despite our history, despite the short time, I don't regret meeting you and... loving you." The last two words fade into a whisper, making you doubt if he even said them.

You don't get a chance to reply. You don't even get a chance to wholly process his words before he gives a wave, a small smile on his face before jogging away.

You stay rooted to your spot.

I don't regret meeting you and loving you.

-

The sun is shining stronger than any other afternoon when you step out of the taxi with nothing but a small bag pack on your shoulders. Receiving the boarding pass, you walk into the deck which is now empty because the ship is set to leave in just five minutes.

It is not fully empty, however, because one person stands, looking anxious, his eyes skirting around wildly.

When his eyes land on you, a smile of relief seems to appear on his face, triggering the corners of your lips to rise slightly as well. In silence, you walk to him.

"You came." His voice sounds glad but also as if he is trying to school his excitement.

"Did not want to waste a free ticket." You shrug, looking away.

Seokmin nods. "Right. Well, you are just on time."

"I know." There's a pause for a second as he looks like he wants to say something. A staff gives out the final boarding call which makes you continue your way into the cruise, followed by Seokmin.

Once you are boarded, you walk towards the front of the vessel, glad that it is not too crowded. The whistle of the cruise booming in the air signals the start of its journey as the sunlight and the warm breeze kiss your face.

"I'm glad you decided to come," Seokmin says, making you turn around to look at him. In the soft glow of the sun and the wind playing with his hair, he looks breathtaking.

After a moment, you whisper. "Me too."

Giving you a nod and a friendly smile, he walks away with his suitcase into the upper deck and out of sight while you stand and watch him go, the sun warming your skin.

-

1 month later

The evening air has a slight chill, not uncomfortable but just pleasant. You walk barefoot on the sand, hands crossed over your chest as your feet carry you down the edge of the ocean with practised ease. Around you, people enjoy the beach after a hectic day, children playing around laughing, parents taking videos, friends flying kites, couples walking hand in hand. The sound of the waves crashing to the shore along with the remnants of orange hues in the sky sets up a wonderful atmosphere, which, after almost a month, you have become used to but certainly not bored of.

You have never felt so much at peace.

This getaway was truly what you needed as you learned to spend time by yourself, alone with your thoughts, isolated from the world yet watching it pass by. It has been a palliative experience so far. You came to terms with your life, your past, your actions and your feelings for a certain individual.

Just one day into your getaway, a letter was brought to your room by a hotel staff and upon opening it, you realised Jihoon kept his promise.

It was a handwritten letter from your sister, along with a picture of her, sitting next to a large painting that she created. She looks different, not how you remember her, a different glow on her face that you did not remember because she was almost always melancholic.

You now feel a little guilty because you never asked her why.

Dear ____.

It has been a long while, no? I am sorry for being out of touch. It is unforgivable, I know but I finally found the courage to write to you after you came to visit Jihoon. When we were first separated something was chasing me that made me want to run away from everything. I put off connecting to you for your own good when I heard you were living with Changkyun and his father and just like that, years had passed. I occasionally looked into your whereabouts and I knew you were doing fine but I never found it in me to get rid of the guilt and just write to you.

I tried hard not to show it but life was not so kind to me before the last six years and getting taken away from our dad was probably the best thing for me.

It is a story for another day and there are still demons that I need to defeat. After that I will come to see you and ask for forgiveness. Until then, live well and rest easy knowing that I have been doing better for the past few years.

Your sister.

Reading the letter was bittersweet, the first emotion invoked within you was hurt and longing as you shed a few tears seeing your sister's picture, mused about the old days and wondered what she went through all by herself.

Initially, you had thought of writing back a reply but you decided against it because the words you wish to utter can not be confined within a paper. Instead, you sent out a prayer to the universe, hoping you would get to meet her sometime soon.

From a distance, someone calls out your name, calling your attention back to the present and you turn instinctively to find Seokmin jogging towards you through the sand, two cones of ice creams in his hands. A smile appears on your lips as you take a few steps towards him, reaching your arms out. Wrapping him in a soft hug, you plant a sweet kiss on his lips before taking an ice cream from his hand and reaching for the other as well.

"Both of these are for me right?"

The poor man looks conflicted. "Well, uhm, no but if you want you can have them."

You snort a burst of laughter. "You can have it, Min. Maybe save a bite for me."

Hand in hand, you two walk a little closer to the shore and sit down, letting the flow of the waves occasionally touch your feet.

Your relationship with Seokmin developed surprisingly but quickly after coming to Barcelona. Initially, you did not expect anything, too overridden with the guilt of your tricks and the history of your families to make any attempt to talk to him. Two weeks went by as you did not see each other, except for occasionally bumping into each other at the beach or the hotel lobby because as fate would have it, you two shared the same hotel. It was hard and uncomfortable, pretending not to see him when you ran into him and it would make you wonder if he felt the same.

It all changed one night when you were returning to the hotel after dinner and some drinks. Tipsy and wobbly, you focused extra hard to not bump into anyone as you made your way into the lobby of the hotel.

And there you bumped into him, quite literally.

"Hey there, easy," The man's hands hold your shoulders to stop you from falling on your ass. You look up and find Seokmin. Thinking that you are seeing things, you blink two more times before coming to terms with the fact that it was indeed Seokmin in front of you.

"Someone had a lot to drink," He says as you try to regain your balance. "Can you go to your room by yourself? Should I come with you?"

With a huff, you push him away, trying to appear independent as you take wobbly steps. Seokmin decides to escort you, as he follows closely behind all the way, one hand outstretched, ready to catch you in case you fall.

When you reach your room, Seokmin assists you in unlocking the door. Once the job is done successfully, you pause in the entryway to look back at him. He stands there, somewhat awkward and you consider whether to shut the door on his face or ask him to come in. Neither of them sounds like a good idea but still, you kick the door to open it a little wider and murmur as you walk in, "Come in, if you want."

You don't look behind as you head for the small fridge to retrieve a water bottle and chug it down. Seokmin steps in, a bit hesitant, closing the door behind him. You take a seat on the edge of your bed as Seokmin gingerly sits down on the couch placed in front.

A small moment of silence passes by as you two observe each other. He is dressed in running gear and judging from the pristine condition of his hair, you assume that he was on his way for a late night jog.

"We keep bumping into each other," Seokmin tries to break the silence. You nod, "Must be fate." You are not quite sure if you said those words genuinely or sarcastically. Seokmin does not reply, probably thinking that you are being sarcastic.

You find yourself asking, "How have you been?"

"Good."

"How long do you plan to stay here?"

"A couple more weeks maybe."

"Are you having fun?''

"Yes."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

He takes a moment before replying, "Not really. I'm more worried if I am making you uncomfortable."

"Hm," you hum and with that, the conversation dies down. You have a lot to say on your mind but your mind is not in its top condition right now as you have had a few drinks, which makes it a bit harder to arrange your thoughts and address them accordingly.

"I should get going, I suppose," Seokmin says, rubbing his palms on his thighs.

"Wait," the words slip out of your mouth in urgency and you are not even sure why you are telling him so.

The man blinks at you.

"I—" You don't know what you wish to say. "I guess I just wanted to say...I'm sorry."

Seokmin appears a little surprised hearing you say that as he sits up straighter. You huff out a long breath, looking down at the empty water bottle in your hand. "What I'm trying to say is that...I am sorry that I played with your feelings. I- I am sorry for using you. You are a nice person, professor."

You calling him by his old title makes him smile as he says. "I just realized I missed you calling me by that name."

"Professor?"

"Yes, ___?"

A small smile appears on your face as well as you bite your lip to stifle it.

"___?" Seokmin's soft voice makes you look at him. He looks unsure but also hopeful. "Hypothetically, if I told you that I still miss you and that I still long for you, what would you say?"

"Your breath stalls as you watch him, wide eyed. There is a sudden lump in your throat that makes it impossible for you to speak. You are scared you might start crying if you do so. Still, you breathe, "Hypothetically, I would say that I feel the same too.''

"And would it be a lie this time, my beautiful liar?"

You swallow as you watch him take slow steps towards you. When he stands right in front of you, his hands gently cup your cheeks, carefully tilting your head upwards so that you can meet his eyes. They shine with emotions unsaid, just like yours and the look on his face makes your heart soar, makes you forget everything, makes you want to be selfish.

"No," you whisper.

You get to see the slightest tilt of his lips to a smile as he leans down and presses his lips to yours, softly at first before you eagerly chase his lips and he reciprocates, moving the hair away from your face and holding your neck with one hand and stroking your cheek with the other.

The kiss is full of passion but also slow and sweet, an addictive combination that tells you that you are done for. With another kiss on your forehead, Seokmin lets go, stepping away from you.

"Will I see you tomorrow morning or will you declare this as a drunk mistake and start hiding from me?" He asks cheekily.

You can't help a smile. "I will expect you to pick me up at 9 am sharp. We will have breakfast together."

You will take it slow this time.

"Whatever you wish," He flashes his beautiful smile, heading for the door. As he is about to close it behind him, he turns his head around. "Goodnight, ___. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Seokmin."

-

Fast forward a couple of weeks later, you two moved out of the hotel and instead rented a small villa near the coast for an indefinite amount of time. You have no plans of going back home but you know that Seokmin's nature of work will require him to leave sometimes which you are fine with.

"So, I got an invitation to a seminar in London." Seokmins words jolt you out of the thoughts running in your head. "I don't think they are going to accept a no." He adds sadly.

"You don't have to say no." You reply. "Just go and attend it. Share your expertise with the world."

"Mhmm," he hums, looking at you in a contemplating gaze. "Would you consider coming with me?"

You blink. "Well..."

"It's a one-day seminar. We can stay a couple of days more and look around the city. It would be fun, I think."

You consider his words. It would be fun, actually.

You have no reason to hold yourself back from having new experiences now. You have punished yourself enough.

"It's a good idea." You reply with a soft smile that makes your boyfriend grin as he puts his arm around your shoulder, gently pulling your body closer to him. You let your head fall on his shoulder as you watch the sky grow dark.

No more lies now, it's just peace.

Your story that began with lies painted in red will end in red too, but this time the red will paint love.

A/N: Thanks for reading it till the end! I would like to apologize for the delay as this was supposed to be posted two weeks earlier but yk, life happened. The other two stories of this series are in the making but the next story will not be out before May. Also, I am planning on making a standalone for Jihoon's story which will not exactly be a part of this series but it's in the same timeline. It will be posted after all the stories of this series are completed. Anyways, stay safe and toodles!

Also, please leave a comment and reblog! It really motivates me to create more!

© startlightxsvt 2024 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, repost, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

[biniminisblog]

easy | lee minho oneshot

pairing: lee minho x reader

prompt: “did i do something? why are you suddenly acting so distant?” “just… because.” link to post here

genre: angst, fluff at the end, nonidol!au, kinda grumpy x sunshine, friends to lovers

word count: 1.6k

a/n: …idk what i wrote lmao. this is what happens when im in my missing minho hours. anw as always if you liked it pls reblog, comment, or send an ask and share your thoughts and feedback! also thank you to @dumplingsjinson for the prompt that inspired me to write this!

minho hates you. he hates you for making him fall in love with you. this wasn’t supposed to happen. this was all your fault. yes, your stupid smile and your stupid laugh and the way your eyes twinkle every time you look at him is the reason why he’s currently spiralling from his emotions.

despite his aloof attitude towards you, there was never a day where you failed to annoy him, even in the slightest. before, it was easy to just brush you off every time you try to get his attention. so easy to ignore the members whenever they talk about you. everything was easy back then. why couldn’t you just take the hint?

when you greet him enthusiastically so early in the morning, which he would usually just roll his eyes at, now makes his heart beat faster than it should have. and unlike before, his attention would instantly be diverted to the person who so much as just mentions your name.

he’s actually starting to think he likes spending more time with you, and not just as friends anymore. which is why he stopped hanging out with you. so when you suddenly appear before him outside of his apartment at eight pm on a friday, he knew he was fucked.

“hey…” you greeted him, and minho notices you slightly shiver from the cold. he gently grabs your arm and pulls you inside so you both don’t suffer from the harsh weather. after he closes the door, he turns to see that you were already sitting comfortably on his couch. another reason why he hates you is because of all the fond memories you both shared on that same damn couch. movie nights and cuddling were only some of the things he despised, recalling those memories where his heart fluttered the most.

“so, uhm, it’s been a while huh?” you lightly chuckle, but it was different to the usual joyful tone it had. now it seem more dejected. “you haven't been answering my calls lately, is there something wrong?”

he didn’t know how to answer that because yes something was wrong, but not in the way you think. he just settled with a simple shake of his head and plops down on the couch next to the one you were sitting on. it was hard not to notice the amount of space between the two of you, however the both of you don’t mention it.

“don’t worry about it, i was just busy so i couldn’t answer your calls.” to further prove his claim, he points to the copious amounts of paperwork stacked on top of each other on the coffee table. it was true that he was busy with work, but he always made time for you despite that. though he didn’t know that his feelings for you would be deeper than just a friend he would occasionally be annoyed at.

“minho, i’m not stupid. i know you’re ignoring me.” of course you’d catch on immediately, it was you after all.

“well if you knew that, then why are you here?” minho’s words come out a lot meaner than he expected, and he immediately regrets it once he sees the look of hurt flash in your eyes.

“sorry, it’s just that a lot has been going on lately and i—”

“did I do something? why are you suddenly acting so distant?” you cut him off, feeling frustrated at your friend’s lack of communication. you start to stand up from the couch to get closer to him, but minho was two steps ahead as he gets up first and heads to his kitchen. you follow him there and see that he took out a glass and poured himself some water to drink. you’re not sure why, but you think it’s just to prolong him from answering your question.

“minho please, i miss you! i miss hanging out with my friend, don’t you miss me too?” you plead, and minho’s facade breaks. his eyes soften and he puts the glass down so could walk closer to you. he stops right in front of you and moves his hand to caress your hair. you lean in to his touch, already missing the way his fingers would comb your hair soothingly. minho just smiles at your reaction before pulling away slowly.

“of course i miss you yn,”

“everything was fine so why are you doing this? why are you avoiding me?” yes, everything was fine and easy until you decided to mess with his heart. but you didn’t know that.

“just… because.” you scoff at his explanation, resisting the urge to smack him for not giving you a clear answer.

“because what minho? am i too annoying for you? do i talk too loudly? what is it minho!? i can’t take this any more, i thought we were friends—”

“and that’s exactly why!” you stop, and minho takes this as an opportunity to finally let it out.

“the reason why i stopped hanging out with you is because i don’t want to be friends anymore! don’t you see yn? i like you! hell, i’m in love with you! but i don’t want to be because i know you don't feel the same way. i mean, why would you? all i do is just say mean things to you.” minho breathes out a sigh and watches as you take in all the words he just said. however, he was too scared of your rejection, so he moved past you and headed towards the living room. you were still too stunned to move so you stay rooted in the kitchen.

“please just forget everything i just told you and i promise i won't ignore you anymore.” minho almost raps as he maneuvers his way towards the coffee table and he distracts himself by arranging his paperwork. some part of him wants you to just accept that and go home, but the other, more hopeful side, wishes for you not to forget and return his feelings too.

when you arrive at the living room, you see minho crouched down beside the coffee table. you quickly grab his arm, startling him from the sudden contact. you pull him up and give him time to regain his balance before giving your side.

“what if i don’t wanna forget?” minho only looks confused, so you elaborate further. “what if i don’t wanna forget that you like me? what if i like you too, have you ever considered that?”

you almost laugh at the comedic look on minho’s face as his eyes suddenly widen in shock. you don’t, instead you grab his chin and pull him down towards you. your lips touched and it was still for a moment before he finally kissed you back. only then do you both pull away from lack of oxygen. your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer and you rest your forehead against each other’s.

“so… does this mean we’re dating now?”

“do friends go around kissing each other like that?” you quirk an eyebrow and minho shakes his head at your sarcasm. it seems like he’s finally rubbing off on you.

“no they don’t.”

“good, ‘cause i don’t want you kissing your friends like that.” you both laugh and minho lifts you off the ground to spin you around, causing you to squeal in surprise.

“for the record, i don’t want you kissing your friends like that either.” after putting you down, minho gives you his signature smirk before kissing you once more and wrapping you up in a hug.

“and to answer your question, i’m in love with you too. so yes, we are dating.” you can’t stop grinning as minho continues to hug you, but he abruptly pulls away, causing you to look at him with confusion written in your features. he suddenly seems anxious, but he collects himself and takes a deep breath before talking.

“i’m just going to have to warn you that i may not be the best boyfriend in the world. i get moody a lot and say a lot of sarcastic things that may come off as rude. there are also times where i—“ he stops rambling after he hears laughter coming from you. he gives you a look that resembles an offended cat and you all but acknowledge it as you wipe away the tear that came out of your eye.

you cradle minho’s face with both of your hands, and he looks at you with such pureness in his big eyes that you can’t help but fall in love with him more.

“minho, i already know that you are all of those things, yet i still stuck around because i love you despite all of that, and i will continue to do so until you run out of snarky things to say,” you tease, and it gets a small smile from him.

“you’re right. if you were tired of me, you would’ve already dropped me while we were still friends.” minho jokes and you hum in response, giving him a peck to his cheek. you intertwine your fingers with his and with your other hand, run your fingers through his hair. “yes now stop worrying about that, you still owe me all the movie nights we missed because you’re an idiot.”

minho only replies with a laugh, silently agreeing that he is indeed an idiot. it surprises him how easily you break him free of his worries. and that despite everything that just happened, you still manage to crack his walls. but he guesses that’s how love works, it makes everything so much easier.

[artists-ally]

{Train Wreck} Cassian!sister x Azriel AU {Pt. 1}

Man it feels good to be back with this series again. If you're wondering why the title feels familiar, you might have read this before. I decided I wanted to pick it back up again, but I needed to make a few changes. So, here is the revised version of Train Wreck!! Feel free to re-read, there are some new things here and there, so it's definitely worth it!! Anyway, enjoy my loves! Part 2 will be up soon!! Title and series inspired by this song!

Word Count: 8,587

Warnings: angst, language, traumatized characters (will come into play later in the series, you've been warned now), abandonment,

Tagging: @thelov3lybookworm @needylilgal022 @librafairy @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @sarawritestories @claireswritingcorner @dawneternal @ninthcircleofprythian @blessthepizzaman @lady-of-tearshed @pit-and-the-pen

Summary: After six years, this is the first time Ira and her brother Cassian have been in the same room. Under less than ideal circumstances, they're forced to meet again. Will Ira be able to forgive Cassian for the way he left things? Will she be able to trust the new friends she makes? Will she ever be able to open up to her brothers hot-shot best friend?

~~~~~

“He’s going to say no.” No response from the peanut gallery in the front seat. “Seriously, he’s not going to be okay with this. You might as well let me out of the car now.”

“Will you just be quiet?” Arthur snapped, eyes locking with mine from the rearview mirror. “Need I remind you that this is your fault. You’ve left us with no other option.”

“I told you, it wasn’t me. That was–” “Cal, I remember the story. And that’s all that it is. A story, a fabrication that Arthur and I are no longer going to be entangled in. You may be able to fool the police with that lie, but you can’t fool us, Ira,” Dana snapped, whirling around to shoot me some daggers. She couldn’t look intimidating if she tried; her face was like a bunny, and every time she frowned it just looked like she smelled something rotten.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. There was no way he was going to take me. We hadn’t spoken in almost six years, I didn’t even know he was alive until three months ago when I heard about his engagement.

Fourteen years of growing up together meant nothing to him, I guess.

The big, riverside house came into view at the end of an equally impressive driveway. A shame for whoever had to go and collect the mail every morning. 

“Stay here, in the car,” Arthur barked. 

I opened the door and got out of the car, kicking a few stones. Man this place was flashy; a big fountain in the circular driveway, a line of cars over by a garage. Not to mention the very obvious multi-million dollar mansion that never seemed to end.

“Lord, give me the strength to not strangle this child,” Arthur sighed, marching to the front door. I snickered, he was always so uptight.

“Not a child, Arthur,” I countered. “I’m fucking twenty years old.”

“Give it a rest, Ira. We’re trying to help you since you clearly don’t understand the basic human morals of being a functioning member of society,” Dana said, opening the trunk, catching a bag as it tumbled from the stack.

“Sorry that I don’t like to conform to the idealistic fantasy that is modern society.” 

Turns out it’s hard to get a job with a criminal record. ‘We can’t hire a liability’ this and ‘we won’t have delinquents running our business’ that. So, I had to get creative with my… places of employment. It had been a fantastic plan. Brilliant even. Just something simple to save a few bucks so I could move out of this god forsaken place. But it got fucked up. Bad. And ended up with me in handcuffs.

This was my punishment. Instead of serving six months in county jail, I’m instead being dumped at this doorstep. Just what I always wanted. Knowing if I ever go back to the shithole I called home I’ll be arrested with a warrant.

I’ll never go in on a deal with someone ever again. 

“Get your stuff,” Dana dropped a few things to the ground. 

I came around the side of the car and heard the door open, and that lovely voice of his ring through my head. 

Great. This is going to go fantastic.

“Arthur? W-What are you doing here?” he said, a hiccup to his voice. 

“Cassian, good to see you,” the old man grinned, extending his hand. I watched through the windows of the van, saw Cassian stare at Arthurs hand and do nothing with it. “We uhh… we have something for you.”

“I don’t understand. How’d you find me?”

I could hear the crunch of gravel and I knew what was about to happen. Any second now I was about to come face to face with the douchebag I was dreading. I won’t lie, some small, juvenile part of me wished for him to be happy to see me. But I know it’s not gonna happen. 

“Dana? What the fuck is going on? Why are you here? How did you-”

“She’s not the surprise, Cass,” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and walked to the back of the car. I didn’t miss the way he shuddered. 

There was a sharp yank on my elbow and I was pulled from the safety of my hiding spot. I jerked away from his grip, fixing the sleeve on my favorite jacket. Then I looked up. Fuck he’s…

“Ira…” He blinked several times, as if he could ever mistake me for someone else. Then I watched the color drain from his face. “It’s uhh… it’s been a while.” “Don’t give me that shit,” I couldn’t be bothered to be pleasant. Nothing about this would be fucking pleasant.

Cassian looked from Arthur to Dana, then back to me. And to the duffle bag that I was holding on to. I could see him connecting the dots inside his thick-ass skull. “No. No no no–”

“Cassian, she needs someone to look after her,” Dana expressed, chasing after him when he turned around. 

“You cannot just plop her on my doorstep like some stray dog,” Cass shouted, throwing his arms in the air and all around.

“She’s your sister, for fucks sake,” Arthur joined. “She needs you to look after her. Since you left, Ira has done nothing but cause me headaches and gray hairs.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I walked over, throwing the bag down. “And I’d appreciate if you talked about me like a fucking human being, not some gag gift that is always shuffled around Christmas because no one wants it.”

“This is fucking ridiculus. I cannot take you in, Ira. I have too much going on.”

“Some things never change,” I huffed. “See, I told you he wouldn’t give me the time of day. You’re still the same selfish, self-centered asshole you’ve always been.”

“Don’t talk like that to your goddamn brother,” Arthor yelled, spit flying onto my cheek. It took every ounce of self restraint to not rip his fucking throat out. Do not stoop to his level, Ira. Calm the fuck down.

“Cass? What’s going on?” Someone called

Cassian scrunched his face, and my eyes went to the door. A pretty woman was standing there with her arms folded. She had a scowl on her face and narrow eyes. Her long brown hair was braided over her shoulder. 

He heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing, these people were just leaving.”

“Who’s here?” Another voice, a man, asked next. He was tall, had black hair and really deep blue eyes. They actually looked violet in the light. He was just as tall as Cassian when he came next to his side. The woman, with the most terrifying gaze I’ve ever seen, stood on his other side. 

Cassian muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead. “This is Arthur and Dana. My foster parents from years ago. And this… this is my sister.”

“Your sister?” Both of them exclaimed at the same time. 

He didn’t even tell them about me… 

I stand there, shocked to my core. God I knew he was an asshole, but he never once mentioned me? What a fucking–

“They were just–” “Come in come in,” the man stepped down and shook Arthur's hand. “I am Rhysand, call me Rhys. Welcome, we are so pleased to have you. Cassian never mentioned having visitors today.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Dana let out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard. She was one of those people who, when nervous, laughed after every sentence. I’ve come to despise the sound. 

“No, Rhys,” Cassian shook his head. “They are not welcome. Take your fucking shit, take your goddamn bags, and go. You’re not allowed back here.”

At least that’s something we could both agree on. Neither side of this party wanted to be here. The feeling was mutual. 

“Welp, you heard the man,” I clapped my hands together. “Sorry to disrupt your whole life, to remind you that I still exist but we’ll go now. We all know that you don’t want the responsibility anyway. You didn’t want it six years ago, so why would that change today?”

“You know goddamn well that if I had a choice I would’ve–”

“Okay, okay can we cool it a couple degrees here? Someone better start explaining what is going on,” the man, Rhys, said. He put an arm between Cassian and I. I wasn’t sure when I got in his face, but he might want to remove the barrier before it gets ripped off. 

There were a couple too many silent heart beats, but both of us backed down. Cassian glanced at Arthur and Dana, taking a deep breath. I watched his chest rise and fall. 

In for four, out for four. In for five, out for five…

A lump rose in my throat. 

I could practically hear the conversation between Cassian and Rhys. This silent exchange of glances and body language I’m sure I’d never understand. But then Cassian backed down. Literally, he took a step back, hands on his hips.

“Would you guys like to stay for dinner?” Rhys asked Arthur and Dana.

Dinner? Dinner? Oh fuuuuck no. The four of us haven’t been in a room together for six years, and this crackhead just asked if we wanted to have dinner?

“We would be delighted,” Dana accepted, shooting me a look from head to toe. “Since it’s still midday, would you mind showing us around the property? It looks gorgeous.”

“Certainly,” Rhys says, offering his elbow. Dana latches on like a lost duckling, Arthur trailing after her. 

And then there were two. 

I looked up at the clouds, finding no discernible shapes amongst them. Welp. Here fucking goes nothing. 

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Do not,” he pointed at me. “You are not staying here, whenever this little tour is over, you’re gone with them.”

“Gladly.” 

“How the fuck did you guys find me anyway?” His eyes were full of rage. Full of hate. Full of resentment.

“It's amazing the things you can find with twenty bucks and a library computer.”

“You hacked into a library system and stalked me?” Cassian was dumbfounded.

I just smirked. “It wasn’t that hard, don’t give yourself too much credit. Kinda hard to hide somewhere when your face is plastered all over your website. ‘Velaris Hotel and Casino’ has a catchy ring to it, come up with it yourself?”

“I swear to god if I ever see you set foot in my hotel or my casino you’re gonna regret it. I cannot believe you hunted me down.”

“And I cannot believe you abandoned me,” I screamed. Years and years of pent up aggression. Years and years of shower thoughts and late nights wondering what I’d say to him when this moment came. And every single thing I’ve thought of has flown out the fucking window. 

Cassian had the gull to roll his eyes. I almost smacked him across the face. 

“Yo, are you coming inside or what?” A third voice sounded. God, how many people live in this fucking house?

A petite, blonde girl was in the doorway, her eyes bouncing between us. 

“Well? You gonna invite me in or is that privilege only reserved for Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumb?” I asked, rocking back and forth on my heels. 

He looked me head to toe, and I got that same feeling as when Dana did it. Just raw disgust. 

“Break anything and I’ll murder you.”

“I’m thinking you’re gonna murder me regardless but eye-eye-captain,” I nodded, following behind his solid frame. 

The house was absolutely massive. I thought shit like this only existed in movies, not… wherever the fuck we were. Certainly not my normal run-down streets I was used to, and certainly not somewhere I ever thought Cassian was going to end up. 

There were cabinets filled with fine dishes and a chandelier hanging in the front entrance. There was a massive living room with the biggest TV and couch I’ve ever seen. Same with the kitchen and the dining room, which was being prepped by maids. Legit, actual maids. For fucks sake could this get any stranger?

Cassian took a left and went up a set of stairs. Classic Cass, running away at any chance he gets. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 

Cal: your a piece of shit I hope you know that

Me: You’re* but it’s fine.

Cal: i cannot believe you fucking left me

Me: Whoops. Sorry bud, I couldn’t stick around. You dicked me over so… guess that karma’s a bitch.

Cal: you know im bad with names

Me: WE USED EACH OTHERS MOTHER FUCKER. HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO FORGET MY NAME

Cal: hopefully pretty fucking easy because i don’t ever want to fucking see you ever again fuck you ira

Me: Right back atcha, asshole.

The only person that I had remotely trusted was out of my life. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone to trust. There were plenty of things I never told Cal. Plenty of things I kept hidden for my own safety. It was a strictly need-to-know partnership. I always got a little weary when he started asking too many questions. 

And I learned pretty fucking quick you can’t trust your own blood either. 

Lesson learned. Always. Trust. Your. Gut. 

I trailed behind Dana and Arthur, always five steps behind, close enough to hear, but far enough to make an escape should I need to. 

“Oh, and this is my wife Feyre. My darling, this is Arthur, Dana, and Ira, Cassian’s foster parents and his sister,” Rhys spared me a glance and I scrunched my face. Had Cassian really never bothered to tell them about me?

“Wow,” she had a small smile on her pretty face. Why was everyone here so pretty? “You look just like him. You both have the same eyes. And the same hair.”

“Great, what I’ve always wanted to be. Cassian's clone.” I couldn’t stop the eye roll.

“Ira,” Dana hissed. “Some manners?”

“Thank you, your Royal Highness.”

Dana smacked her forehead, mumbling something about gray hairs and a headache again. I chuckled. I thought it was funny. Especially the curtsy. 

“They are staying for dinner, I’ll let them know to set a few extra plates,” Rhys said.

“Good, I wouldn’t mind getting to know some of Cassian’s family,” Feyre nodded, that small smile still on her lips. We had all meandered outside to look at their yard, at the fountain in the front of the house. 

To no one's surprise, there was a matching one in the back by the pool. 

We all went inside after seeing the yard, but Cassian lingered at the back of the pack. While Rhys took Dana and Arthur around to the kitchen, Cassian yanked me–why was everyone throwing me around?–into a room off to the side. 

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Off to a great start.

“Wow, Cassie-”

“Do not call me that.” 

He used to hate it when I called him Cassie. Especially around his friends because they would make fun of him for days after. 

“No hi, how are you? No ‘it's good to see that my sister is alive and doing well?’” “Clearly not well enough since they dragged you all the way out here.” Cassian’s eyes were full of fire. Looks like he still had that canyon of a line between his bushy-ass-eyebrows when he was upset. 

“You don’t know anything of what I’ve had to endure the last six fucking years without you.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

I swallowed, I hated when he scolded me. “It wasn’t even that bad. They just gave me community service.” I lied out of my ass.

“Jesus Christ, Ira. What did they want to give you?” Cassian shouted for the whole house to hear. 

“Doesn’t matter, I got myself out of it. Like I always do, without your fucking help. I am capable of taking care of myself without you.”

“Yeah you seem to be doing a swell job,” Cassian looked me up and down, clearly judging my tangled hair and ripped up jeans that I’ve probably had since middle school. “I thought all of this was behind you, Ira. When I left you were-”

“Abandoned. You didn’t leave, you abandoned me.”

Cassian relaxed his shoulders. “You know if I could’ve taken you with me I would’ve.”

“No you wouldn’t have.” I was waiting for him to argue, to deny that fact. But he didn’t, and his haunting silence was enough of an answer. I scoffed, a hard, bitter noise. “You know I don’t blame you, no one would want to take a juvenile delinquent anywhere, especially somewhere like this place.”

“Ira-” “Save you’re fucking breath, Cass. You don’t have to pretend around me, you’ve never had to. Just play along with it for one night and I’ll be gone by the morning. Then I won’t have to be your liability to shoulder ever again.”

I didn’t wait around to see his response. Somewhere deep inside I was actually excited to see him. To meet the person my scrawny, gangly brother had turned into. Now he was… a man. Like a real man. I never thought I’d see him with long hair, but here we are.

He looked healthy. He looked happy. For fucks sake he was engaged. Albeit to the most terrifying looking woman I’ve ever seen, but they looked like they somehow worked.

I found Dana and Arthur with glasses of wine around a large table, two other women that I hadn’t met yet. 

“Ahh, this is her,” Rhys stood up, putting his hands on my shoulders. I immediately shrugged them off. “This is Ira, Cassian’s sister.”

“After all this time,” the pretty blonde woman spoke, looking at me from head to toe. “Who knew Cassian could keep you a secret.”

“You look just like him,” a girl who looked similarly to Feyre said, eyes wide. “I’m Elain. And that’s Morrigan.”

“Mor is fine, dear,” Mor smiled, coming over to me and Rhys. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Not really,” I grimace, but she linked her elbow with mine anyway, dragging me away. “I know that look. You’re overwhelmed. Follow me.”

I thought I was doing a good job at masking it. “You don’t know the fucking half of it.”

“I know Elain said this already, but fuck you look like Cassian,” she laughed, opening a room and revealing a giant bed with a balcony on the other side of some french doors. 

“It gets really fucking annoying,” I rolled my eyes. 

“Understood,” she nodded, not pushing it. “This is my room, you can go out on the balcony if you need some fresh air. Or the bathroom, whatever you want.”

This entire room was as big as the trailer I grew up in. I’ve never seen such a big bed, or a big closet. Jesus, she could have the entirety of Macy’s in there. 

She must’ve caught me staring at it cause she walked over and flipped on the light. “Wanna take a look?”

I snapped back to her, shaking my head. I shoved my hands in my pockets, digging my nails into my palms. Everything in here was so pristine, and I was so… not. I didn’t wanna step anywhere but the hardwood floor.

“I like your jacket, those are some really cool patches,” she smiled, taking a closer look. She reached out and touched one, the blue plaid square fraying at the edges. 

It was a cut out of Cassian’s flannel he left behind…

“Thanks,” I nodded, ignoring the lump in my throat. “I’ve spent a lot of time making them.”

“That's so cool, I have zero creative ability,” Mor sighed as she flopped back on the bed. 

“Neither do I, just something to pass the time, I guess?” I took my hands out of my pockets, digging some grime out from under my nails. 

I could feel her eyes on me. That tension. Knowing she’s about to say something. 

“Look, I know it’s not my place to ask, but–”

“Then don’t ask. Cause I’m not saying shit,” I said bluntly. “Sorry if that's rude but I don’t know you and you clearly don’t know me so… I don’t need the whole ‘I know what you’re going through’ speech. You don’t. No one does. Not even myself.”

Mor nodded, sitting up, propping her arms behind her back. “I’m a little pissed at Cassian too.”

My eyes snapped to hers. “Why?”

“Because he has never once mentioned you? I know some of where he came from, of bouncing around the foster system, about ‘siblings’ but… he never went into detail. I just assumed they were all other kids in the system, you know? If he would’ve mentioned something about you, trust me, we would have not waited this long to be introduced.”

That… makes me feel slightly better. 

“There's not much to know about me. I’m a fucking nuisance to basically everyone. Especially to Cassian, Arthur, and Dana apparently.”

“What the fuck is their problem?” Mor scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t know. Well– of course I know, it’s me. I’m their fucking problem and they’re trying to get rid of me. I made a dumb fucking decision, but I already did my fucking time. I don’t want anything to do with Cassian so I’m not sure why they’re dragging him into this mess.” 

Mor just looked at me sorrowfully. Fuck, why did I say that? I don’t want her pity. I can’t pretend she cares about me. 

She got off the bed and stood in front of me. She was shorter than I was, but not by a whole lot. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I know it’s fucking awful what they’re making you do, so I don’t blame you for wanting to hide. Help yourself to anything you need.”

And then she was gone. Blonde hair bobbing with her steps. 

This isn’t fucking happening. I’m not in some strange girls room, alone nonetheless, in a different city hundreds of miles away from my familiar streets. I was not about to be abandoned here by Arthur and Dana because they couldn’t stand to take care of me anymore. Not the first, not the second, but the third time I’ve been abandoned. 

Man this is some fucking bullshit. 

I just looked around, envying all of this. It was all hers. All this space, all these things. All these clothes and dresses and jewelry boxes… Why can’t I have these things?

I swallow my tears. I’m so fucking pathetic, why am I about to cry? This is so stupid. Everything about this is stupid. 

I head to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. 

A plan flickers to life in my brain. I know for a fact they’re going to sneak out and leave me and all my shit here. But, I’ll just leave in the middle of the night. Who the fuck is gonna stop me? No one. Who cares if I leave? Also no one. 

I won’t make the same mistake that Cassian did. When I disappear, no one will be able to find me.

I took a long look at myself in the mirror. My tired eyes, my tangled, ratty hair. But I could see it… the resemblance between him and I. The same eyes. Same nose. Same hair. I’ll never be able to unsee it now. 

Okay, Ira. just a few more hours and you're done. Done for good. You can change your name and move to Puerto Rico or something. Paris. Wherever you want to go. Well, you don’t know how to speak Spanish or French, which might be important but… that's why they have translating apps, right? You’ll be fine. You always are.

When I got back downstairs, there was a light chatter in the air. But it stopped the second I walked in the room. 

My hood was quick to go over my head. No one spoke as I sat down and poured some water from the pitcher into my glass. 

Thankfully conversation between Rhys, Feyre, and Dana resumed and the silence wasn’t eating me alive. I took out my phone and scrolled through instagram, posting a picture of a lake I had taken on the drive up here. Just like all the other posts, it wouldn’t get any likes. 

“How do all of you know each other?” Arthur asked. 

“Well I met Cassian when we were in high school, as well as our other friend Azriel,” Rhys started. “We made a deal with each other that when we graduate, we would do everything in our power to become the most powerful business owners we could. As you can see, that little pact is working quite well.” “How long have you lived here?” Dana asked next, clearly eyeing up Rhys. 

“For about three years now?” Mor answered, Rhys nodded. “We kind of all found each other on the same paths and stuck together. We sort of own and share everything around here.”

“That is lovely,” Dana smiled. “And what do you do?”

“I own a casino and a neighboring hotel,” Rhys smiled. The moment I had learned about this hotel and casino, alarm bells rang in my ears. The devil's playground, and it was calling my name. Maybe I’d hit up for a few poker hands. “Cassian runs the whole thing, and Azriel kind of has his own thing.”

“Who’s Azriel?” Arthur unfolded the napkin and laid it across his lap. 

“He is our other friend,” Cassian butted in, lips pressed in that line that I remembered. “He’ll be by later.”

“Great,” I rolled my eyes. “More people.”

“Will you please be polite for once in your life?” Dana whisper-yelled, clearly not being discrete enough since everyone looked at us. 

I just shut my mouth, grinding my teeth. It’s not worth it, it's not worth it, I told myself. A few moments later, a large tray with some type of bird on it came out. It was too big to be a chicken, but too small to be a turkey? Duck maybe? I don’t know, it didn’t matter. It was food. 

Everyone around me took their time while I ate like a heathen. Putting a little bit of everything on my plate and scarfing it down like someone was going to take it away from me. Guess I’m taking on the stray dog title pretty well. 

“So, Ira. What do you like to do?” Mor asked me. 

I don't know what part of my hood being pulled over my head gave off ‘I want to be a part of this conversation’, but here we go I guess. 

“I have many hobbies.” I could see Cassian’s eyes narrow from across the table. 

“Like?” Rhys stuck a green bean in his mouth.

“Uhh, f-fashion. And I’m very good at handling money. Other people's money. As well as picking locks and hotwiring cars-”

“She’s joking,” Cassian gave the fakest laugh– besides Dana’s– that I’ve ever heard. “We used to play cops and robbers when we were little, she always wanted to be the robber.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” he practically growled. “You did.”

This was crazy. This was actually crazy to be doing this right now. If I had any particular feeling about the things I did, guilty and ashamed were not some of them. Who gave a fuck if I stole from Walmart or faked being a waitress to make a few extra bucks? If anything they should be thanking me for the extra set of hands. Which they didn’t have to pay for. 

It wasn’t like I stole the Mona Lisa for fucks sake. 

“I guess I did.” 

“What was Cassian like growing up? I can only imagine some of the stories you have,” Nesta chimed in from next to Cassian.

“I have a few. One time, Cassian was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich-”

“Do not-”

“And he thought that the peanut butter was in the fridge for some reason. Turns out he grabbed a bottle of dijon mustard and used that instead. He took one bite and threw up everywhere. It took Dana a week to get the smell out of the kitchen.”

Everyone grimaced, poking fun at Cassian for making a jelly-mustard sandwich. “I guess that explains the nausea every time I make one.”

“You still can’t stomach even the smell?” My eyes were a little wide. That had to have been from when we were still in elementary school.

“Nope,” Cassian’s tone was harsh, fork forceful as it went into his mouth. 

“What is everyone laughing about?” A new voice said from over my shoulder. When I turned to look… holy mother of Jesus fucking–

“Azriel,” Rhys, still in a fit of laughter. “Listen to this: Ira, Cassian’s sister, told us why he runs for the hills every time he sees peanut butter.”

“S-Sister?” 

I could not have ignored the exchange between Cass and Azriel if I tried. Those alarm bells from earlier? They were deafening now. Much like Cassian and Rhys earlier, their eyes and body gestures were like a language in and of itself. Impossible to understand, but something was said. 

“Azriel, this is my sister. Ira,” Cassian gestured to me without looking. “This is Azriel. And my foster parents, Arthur and Dana.”

I held Azriel’s gaze for a second. I couldn’t quite figure out what his problem was, but he better not have one with me. I challenged his gaze, but he refused to back down. 

Azriel gave a not-so-subtle look at me, but didn’t say anything as he moved to sit with us. A sharp kick to my shin had me wincing. When I looked up, Cassian met my heated gaze. 

Don’t even think about it, he mouthed, glare set so deep in his eyes I wasn't sure his eye lids would peel off his face. 

One raise of my eyebrow told him I was up for the challenge. I could see his jaw clench, and that only made me want to push his buttons. 

I managed to break my vice hold on Cassian and look at Azriel from across the table. He had these lighter colored eyes, hazel I think. And a dark mess of hair. He wore a fitted black athletic tee, and black sweats with a Nike swoosh on the hip. I think I stared a little too long, cause when I looked back up at his face, he sent me a wink. 

I damn near gagged. He wishes. 

“And you’re engaged? That’s wonderful, Cassian. I am so happy for you,” Dana gushed while looking at Nesta’s ring. “Congratulations, you two. Do you have a date picked out?”

“No,” Nesta said sternly. “We are just going to wait things out. Until both of us feel ready.”

Cassian nodded, not offering up any words. 

“What would you guys like for dessert?” Rhys asked, listing off a few options. I stopped paying attention after chocolate cake because who would want to hear anything else?

“I’m afraid we better get on the road, it is a long drive back to our home. Thank you for dinner, it was delicious,” Arthur stood up from the table, shaking Rhys’s hand. “Cassian, a word, please?”

With a deep breath, Cassian stood up and followed the old man out of the room. 

“Okay, now that he’s gone, can we all agree that there is something wrong with him? I’ve never seen him so… so rigid in my life,” Mor blew out air from her lips, shaking her head. 

I offered a tad bit of insight. “Dana and Arthur are kind of fed up with me so they’re just gonna take off. And leave me here. But don’t worry, I’m just gonna find a bus stop in the morning and be gone before any of you wake up. No biggie.”

The room was silent except for my fork scratching on the plate. When I looked up, everyone was looking at me funny.

“Ira, what? They’re gonna leave you here?” Mor gasped.

“It is a long story. And they think I need a role model to get my life together. Why Cassian is that role model I’ll never understand because the last I knew of him he was just as irresponsible as I was.”

Rhys took a sip of wine, “How long has it been since you’ve seen each other?”

“Six years. But I mean you all probably know him better than I ever did so, might wanna ask that prick why he abandoned me.” I took a big piece of this chocolate cake into my mouth. “Fuck, this is good.”

“What happened?” Feyre prodded.

“We are lightyears away from you being able to ask that,” I laughed. “No offense but, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Again, the room was silent, except for a small snort at the end of the table. It wasn’t Elain because she was so red she looked like she was gonna pass out. And the only other one was Azriel. 

“Hint taken,” Rhys pressed his lips in a flat line. “Well, you are Cassian’s family, so you are always welcome in our home.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be. I’ll figure it out, I always have. It’ll be like I was never here,” I took another forkful and shoved it in. Damn, I was gonna miss this cake. “So, Rhys, you own a casino and a hotel. What do the rest of you do?”

I’ll pretend like I care for my own amusement.  

“Well, Cassian runs the casino and hotel,” Rhys pointed out again. “Azriel owns and runs the adjacent club. We basically have our own empire here.”

“Sounds riveting,” I rolled my eyes. “What about you Mor.”

“I am the best fucking bartender this place has seen,” she grinned. “And I model here and there.” “Wonderful.” So she’s a princess. Got it. 

“I have an art studio. I teach classes and do some workshops,” Feyre said. “But most of the time I am at home with our son Nyx. He is… he’s a handful. A spoiled handful.”

“Hey,” Mor said, “to be fair, he is the first kid in our group, what did you expect?”

“He’s barely two, he doesn’t need designer clothes that he won’t fit into after a few months anyway. It's a waste of money.”

“Feyre, darling, I don’t know if you’ve looked around, but we kind of have a lot of money. It could use some wasting,” Rhys patted her thigh under the table. 

I can only hope to have enough financial security to be able to say sentences like that. They could probably retire right now, all of them, and never make a dent in their fortune. Lucky bastards. 

“What is it that you do, Ira?” Azriel poked his head from around Mor. 

“Oh,” I sputtered. What the hell was I supposed to say? Certainly the fact that I commit petty crimes won’t go over well. “I’ve had a lot of jobs. I don’t have a set career yet.”

“So hot-wiring cars is just a hobby then?” 

A stream of water shot out of Mor’s mouth and onto the table. How did he even hear that?

“It’s a skill. Don’t come crying to me when your battery dies and you don’t wanna pay a hundred and fifty dollars for AAA to come and pick up your ass,” I deflected. Another skill I had built up over the years. 

“And the locks?” Wow, he was kind of an asshole with supersonic hearing. I could see why he and Cassian hung around together. 

“I was a locksmith,” I mustered up my best smile and scooted my chair so I was sitting at an angle.

“Ah, so it wasn’t just the ‘cops and robbers’ you and Cassie used to play growing up. Good to know,” Azriel wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He stood up, saying something about having to leave because he had to open up. 

Just as he was walking by, I stuck my toe into the walkway and he tripped over me. Azriel all but went through the wall, Cassian coming around at the last second and catching his arm. 

“You alright?” He asked as Azriel straightened himself out. 

“Yup. Fine.” The glare he gave me sent a smirk curling at my lips. Two can play that game, mother fucker. 

I, very gracefully, scratched the corner of my nose with my middle finger. He got the message. But so did Cassian.

“Your stuff is in the driveway. Go get it and meet me upstairs.” Cassian looked so pissed off. His shoulders were pinned to his ears again as he stalked away, that silence settling back in the room. 

“Guess that’s my cue to get a move on. Thank you everyone, a pleasure to meet you all,” I said with a genuine tone. They were all cool.  

The three duffle bags and backpack were not light as I carried them up the stairs, trying not to knock over all the decorations and pictures on the wall. One of them didn’t survive. It crashed all the way down and shattered on the hardwood floor. Cassian cursed from somewhere. 

With a thud, I let go of all the bags in some random room at the end of the hall. It was barely big enough to call a hobbit hole. There wasn’t a window or a real bed, just some cot with a pillow and a blanket. “Glamourous.”

“It’s the best that I could do,” Cassian all but rolled his eyes. 

“A couch would’ve been better,” I plopped down on the taught fabric, bouncing a little. “Sorry about the frame.” “It’s fine,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Ira I’m sorry about how I left you.” “Yeah well apologies don’t mean a fucking thing to me unless you fix it, Cassian,” I folded my arms over my chest. “And for the record, I would’ve understood if you would’ve just fucking told me what was going on. Instead, not only did you not tell me, you ghosted me.” I just blinked up at him, waiting for an explanation. “Well?”

Nothing. Not even a strangled breath. “I just had to.”

“That’s the best you can do? Are you seriously still that fucking thick in the head?” “I didn’t have a choice, Ira,” he shouted. 

“Yes,” I nodded. “You absolutely had a choice. You could’ve at least left me a fucking note with a number on it so I could talk to you. You were all I had, Cass. All I fucking had and you just disappeared. What did you expect me to do?”

Cassian shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I-I don’t know. I thought you’d get yourself together and make it out too. Build your own empire, like the one we have here.”

“In case you forgot, I didn’t get to finish school like you did.”

“Well that’s not my fault.”

The fucking nerve. I stood up, barely coming to his chest, and smacked him across the face. His head jerked to the side, and his mouth fell open. I shoved him into the wall on the other side of the hallway and he fell into it. 

“You are a piece of fucking shit Cassian.”

“Ira–” “Did you really think that I would end up alright without you there? Could you really be that fucking stupid?”

“I didn’t think that–”

“Of course you didn’t. You never have. You’ve only ever thought about yourself and what would benefit you. You never gave a shit about me, I was just a burden you couldn’t get rid of.” “That’s not true,” he gritted his teeth. 

“Tell me that I am not a constant reminder of dad. Or mom. Tell me.” I waited for a response. When nothing came, I felt the nausea roll through my body. “You are one sorry son of a bitch Cassian.”

“Jesus Ira you think I wanted to abandon you?” “You haven’t given me one other reason to believe anything different,” I was screaming now. I didn’t care if anyone else heard. “The last memory I have of you is seeing you packing a fucking bag and climbing out your window, what else am I supposed to believe about you?”

A door clicked open, and Azriel emerged. He looked at us with raised eyebrows. “Everything alright?” 

No, you fucking prick. 

“Just re-kindling our sibling rivalry,” I gave a mocking look, staring down Azriel. “Mind your own damn business. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Ira,” Cassian said, somewhat appalled. 

“Just fuck off, Cassian,” I waved my hand at him. “Like I said, I’ll be gone in the morning and you don’t ever have to worry about making it up to me again because you won’t be able to. Hope you are happy living in your perfect little bubble with your perfectly little circle. Hope they’re all more important to you than I ever was.”

I slammed the door shut quicker than he could get a response out, leaning against it. I hadn’t ever realized that I was shaking.

Whatever. Fuck him too. I don’t need Cassian. I haven’t needed him for the past six years. God, has it really been that long?

There was no use in unpacking so I just piled the bags in the corner of the room. And there was also nothing to do besides lay down simply because there wasn’t enough room to do anything else. 

Maybe when everyone has gone to sleep, or home, I’ll go sneak around. Take something just to piss him off. Nothing too valuable, but something really inconvenient like all the salt and pepper shakers or all the spoons. 

Or one of the Corvettes in the driveway.

My mind was racing with thoughts, but eventually I had fallen asleep because the sun was peeking through the crack under my door. I stirred and sat up, sighing loudly. 

I changed into a hoodie and some other jeans, slipping my jacket on knowing it'll be chilly. 

With far more precision, I made it downstairs to the front door. It unlocked easily, thankfully no alarm system went off. The crisp morning greeted me and I slipped out silently. 

Fuck, this driveway was long. Couldn’t they be normal and have a normal fucking sized driveway? It was so unnecessary. 

And of course there was nothing at the end of it. Just the road and nothing else. Not another house or anything. Who knows how far it could be until a bus station. Hopefully this place wasn’t filled with a bunch of weirdos and I wouldn’t get kidnapped. 

The thought of carrying all these bags for miles would tear up my back and shoulders. I didn’t have that much but… I needed all of it. 

“Ira!”

I whirled around and saw a Cassian shaped silhouette coming down the driveway. Oh great. 

“Come to demand I pay for the broken frame?” “Stay.”

What? “What?”

Cassian breathed heavily, “Stay. I-I am so sorry for what I said. And you’re right, I don’t ever think of anyone other than myself. And I’m sorry I never told you where I was going. I want to fix it, but I can’t if you don’t at least let me try.”

I dropped the bags, totally not believing what I was hearing. “And what if I don’t give a flying fuck if you want to or not?”

Cassian completely deflated. “Please, Ira. I made a promise to mom and dad that I would look after you. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I don’t feel like a piece of shit for what I did. I miss you.”

So what if he made a promise to mom and dad? He made a promise to me. To always stick together. To always be there. He hung me out to dry before I even had a chance to notice. His apology means nothing. His desperation means nothing. 

I fucking hated Cassian. More than anything right now I wanted to watch him be boiled alive. Could he really even help me anyway? What was the fucking point of any of this? I was already humiliated, and dragging innocent people into my bullshit surely didn’t help. 

I sucked in a big breath, hiking my bag up on my shoulder, ready to bolt. “Why should I?”

“Because what other option do you realistically have?” 

“That is not fair,” I flare my nostrils. “You have no right to waltz back into my life and pretend you give a shit about me.”

“You were the one who was dropped on my doorstep,” Cassian pointed out, making my stomach drop. 

“You know, you’re doing a shit job at showing that you legitimately want me to stay, asshole.” I was getting a little angry. Good things did not happen when I felt betrayed. “And for the record, I tried to talk them out of bringing me here, but they went around me and got a fucking court order. So, whether you want to believe it or not, it was not my choice to be here. I can’t even go back with Dana and Arthur because there will be a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Shit…” Cassian dragged a hand over his face. “Ira I’m-”

“Sorry? I know. But you lost the privilege of my forgiveness long ago. It is gonna take a hell of a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix what you’ve done to me.”

“I know, I know,” Cassian softened his eyes and his voice, standing tall in front of me. “Just… give me something. Anything, and I will never betray you ever again.”

Should I believe him? I have no fucking idea what to do. All my senses are telling me to run and don’t look back, but that gaping pit in my stomach that formed when he left seems a little less… gaping.  

This was gonna be a rough fucking time. Nothing about this is going to be easy, but… he was right. I didn’t have another option. Prison, if I really was desperate, but I didn’t quite feel like losing all my basic human rights.

If he wanted me to stay, there were going to have to be some sacrifices on his end.

Maybe a little room for petty behavior. 

“I want a real fucking room.” I demanded

“Any one in the house.”

“I want yours.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassian furrowed his brow. “Plus, I don’t even live here anymore. Just Rhys, Feyre and Nyx. Nesta, Azriel and I live in the next town.”

“So what, you all just visit together and pretend to be a big happy family?” I scoffed, kicking a stone. 

“We don’t pretend, Ira,” he didn’t say it rudely, but more matter of fact-ly. And he looked at me like I had never known what a family was. I guess he forgot that when he left it kind of ruined me. Or again maybe he just didn’t care what it would do to me back then. 

Cassian looked sad. Not depressed or upset, just sad. 

“Your room or I’m gonna walk away right now.” There was no room for negotiating in my voice. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but with a sigh he gave in. 

“Fine, you can have my room,” Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Actually it was. I spent weeks designing that room. All for it to go to fucking waste.”

“Sucks to suck I guess,” I smirked, shouldering two of my bags. I took a long, non-rage-filled look at my brother. Man… he looked so different. Six years is a long time to not see someone. 

I gotta make this work. “I’m gonna work hard, you know. I’m tired of always being in the fucking mud.”

“Yup. Me too.” Nice, asshole. “You’re going to have to follow some rules and check in. This isn’t going to be a free-for-all, you’re gonna have a curfew.”

“A curfew? What am I, thirteen?”

“Until you can prove to me that you’re not gonna go and rob a bank, yes, you’ll have a curfew,” Cassian picked up my other bags and started walking back to the house. “We’re gonna find you a job because I will not be funding your operation.”

“What happened to ‘we have a lot of money. It could use some wasting’?”

“Rhys wasn’t wrong,” Cassian said. “But just because we have it doesn’t mean you get access to it.”

“Jeez, sorry I brought it up, grumpy pants. And what kind of rules anyway?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Some of us like to get a full eight hours of sleep every day so I am going back to bed. You’re not allowed to leave the house until I say so, so find something to do.”

“Or someone,” I whispered to myself. But Cassian heard. “A joke.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you eye fucking Azriel,” Cassian practically gagged. “That is one of your rules. You are not allowed to be engaged with him in any type of way. The last thing he needs right now is you.”

“Right to the heart. And please, I could do better.” That part was debatable for sure. 

“I mean it, he’s been through a lot the past year and a half. It took him a long time to get to where he is and I won’t let you ruin it for him,” Cassian said possessively. “He, along with everyone else, is my family. Fuck with them and you’re dealing with me.” “News flash, buddy, so am I. We share the same DNA, and hair and eyes according to everyone else on the fucking planet.”

“Ira, I’m serious. If you fuck around with Azriel and I find out I sweat to–”

“Jesus, calm down Vengeance. Gotham is safe from the Joker,” I followed him inside, clicking the door shut behind me. “I won’t get involved with Azriel.”

“Good.”

He carried the bags to his car, telling me we’d make it to his house sometime in the afternoon. After that? I just… wandered. I looked in the kitchen, grabbing an orange and a few granola bars from the pantry. I slipped out the back door to the pool and sat on one of the lounge chairs. 

The sunrise was full of oranges and golds. Much different from the other sunrises I’m used to up on the roof. The soft wind blew the water in the pool, making gentle lapping noises. I closed my eyes. Stretched my legs. 

I’ve gotta be careful or I might get used to this. 

I know the ending of this book. Read these pages, seen the titles. It’s gonna be no fucking different. I’ll give it the good ol’ college try, but it’s never gonna fucking work. I’ll do something stupid, piss off the wrong person and Cassian will kick me to the curb. Just a waiting game. 

Nothing I can do about it, so I might as well see where fate takes me.

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [6].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. almost drowning, a nauseating amount of stupidity, swearing, sex jokes, bribery, the boys are shirtless for most of the chapter. WORD COUNT. 5.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly @satsuri3su @gyugyubin @junhuicosmo @skzenhalove @luvkpopp @yansbolobao @emer-syn @eggomi @drunkinjake @soobiverse @deobitifull @haechanspudu @yawnzzn27 @7myoi @toothfa-1-ry @imsiriuslyreal @maimoirs @whippedforbeomgyu

NOTE. this is my favorite chapter so far i think i peaked here. the ppt scene was inspired by anthpo, my professors' tendency to use the socratic method to instill trauma in their students, and hoshi from seventeen's tiger agenda. also, most of this was written before i found out odi has passed 😔 fly high little guy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 6 — the obligatory pool episode.

THERE’S A HEATWAVE IN TOWN. When you wake up, it feels like you got transported into Satan’s rectum. It’s sweaty and disgusting under your covers, and kicking them off does nothing to appease the hellish humidity inside your room. But when you roll over to grab the remote for the air conditioning, blindly press on the button, nothing happens.

You try again.

It’s not working.

You jolt up from your bed, hair a mess, and armpits too sweaty for comfort. A power outage. Of course, there’d be no power on the hottest day of the year.

“Fucking shit, I’m so hot,” you announce as you make your arrival downstairs. It’s only Sunghoon and Jay in the living room. They turn away from their game of jenga upon your arrival.

“Yeah, you’re super hot,” says Jay. “I mean, damn global warming sure sucks, huh?”

The wooden tower collapses. You stifle out a grunt of agreement. “Apparently some feeders in the neighborhood broke down,” Sunghoon informs you. “They’re still fixing it. The generator also wasn’t working when Heeseung hyung went down the basement to turn it on. I think we need to get that fixed too.”

Well, shit. That’s not good news. You give Sunghoon a pat on the head for speaking thirty-six words to you today before walking over to the kitchen. Last time you checked, there was a stash of popsicles in there. You’re pretty sure they haven’t been completely water-fied by the blackout yet.

For some reason, upon nearing the kitchen island, the fridge door is hanging open. You understand why when you step on something— er, someone— on the way towards your frozen delight. “Ow!” Beomgyu hisses from the floor. There’s remnants of cold wind filtering out from the refrigerator. Beomgyu has claimed it as his territory, and he’s glaring up at you from his spot. “Watch where you’re going.”

“‘Scuse me.”

You walk over him, hiking one leg across his torso before infringing upon his fridge monopoly to grab a half-melted melon bar. This isn’t exactly how Beomgyu imagined how it’d be like to be in between your legs. “I’m not sure if you’re dense or if you just don’t give a fuck,” he says, propping himself up by the elbows as you dig through a plastic bag.

“I really just don’t don’t give a fuck.” You snap a bite out of the pale green popsicle. “Want one?”

“Give.”

“Go get one yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’d love to.” You close the fridge door shut and make sure to kick his side with your foot when you cross over him again. He lets out a cry of pain. You turn back, satisfied with your cold exploits, but there is no wall separating the living room and the kitchen, so Sunghoon and Jay were witnesses to that entire conversation. “Do you also want a bite?” you ask. Their ears burn a couple degrees brighter before declining.

Was that an intentional insinuation? Yes. Do you enjoy destroying their composure on purpose? Also yes. It’s a new hobby you picked up since staying here, and it’s definitely one you’ll miss once your dorms get fixed and you’d have to move out. Jay and Jake are both particularly difficult to get through, but sometimes you can manage to fluster the former, just like now. Jake has been impossible so far. You’ll get him one day. He can’t be left unscathed.

This may seem terrible, and sometimes you do get a teensy bit conscientious when one of them starts crying or becomes temporarily incapacitated— until you remember they have this whole secret bet going on that definitely involves you, so you should be allowed to fuck around this much, right?

“Hey! Why don’t we have a pool party?”

The genius idea comes from Jake. You immediately run up back to your room upon hearing the suggestion to change into a bathing suit, pausing right before your door because you don’t want anyone waving the PD&J at your face for indecent attire again. So you throw on a beach kimono for the safety of your wallet. They emptied the jar out yesterday to buy some meat for a barbecue party that’s supposed to be scheduled this weekend, but looks like you’re gonna be having that sweet, sweet pork belly tonight right by the chlorine scent of the pool. 

You hurry downstairs, so fucking ready to be submerged in cool, refreshing water. But when you get to the courtyard— all the boys already loitering in and around the pool— you realize something. 

Something a little dangerous.

“You’re finally here!”

Oh no. They’re hot.

“We’re playing chicken fight, come jo—”

A rather scantily clad Sunghoon pushes an equally scantily clad Jake off Soobin’s unclothed shoulders and into the splash of the water. They are all bare-skinned, glistening wet, and although it’s not a bad sight to behold at all, it’s a discovery that you wish had remained undiscovered until you finally leave this damned house.

Listen. It’s not like you’ve never seen any of them shirtless or almost naked before. Jay was literally in his highlighter underwear when you first met him. But you were never put in a situation where you’re able to look at them closely because all those times have been meshed with something stupid.

It’s very easy to overlook their general attractiveness when they all act like third-graders, bitchless losers, scandalized Victorian men, or all of the above at the same time, in the same sequence. It’s really easy to forget that.

But Heeseung has his soaked tank top sticking to his skin and Beomgyu is pushing his wet hair back with a wide grin. Your housemates might actually be a tad bit more attractive than your prolonged, initial impression of them. This can cause a little internal trouble.

“Why aren’t you getting in the water?”

Soobin is the one that’s asking, having already left the water fight in the middle and is now looking up at you, chest deep near the pool’s edge. You look down. You’re not sure if he’s looking directly at you because you’re a little focused on his toned arms resting above the ledge, but if he is, then good on him for keeping up with his eye-contact practice hours.

“Hey,” you call out, crouching down and hugging your knees. “Do you work out?”

Silence. Pink scatters across Soobin’s cheeks. He coughs out an unintelligible response and disappears back under the water, quietly swimming away. Yes. This is how it should be.

Feeling a lot more at ease after confirming you still have the upper hand, you finally dip your legs into the pool and stretch out your back with a satisfied groan. Fuck, this is perfect. You’re honestly unsure how you’re supposed to transition back into life at the dorms when this house has a perfectly refreshing pool at your disposal. You don’t remember what life was like before this. You’d live here for the rest of your life if you could. But you have enough pride in your system to prevent you from extending your verbal contract with Jake. Two months. It’s a few days past the halfway point now. All you could do is enjoy this life of comfort as much as you can.

Until it gets ripped away from you in the form of Jake yanking your ankle and dragging you under the water with a horrifying splash. 

Before you know it, you’re gasping for air and grabbing the nearest thing your arms could reach out for so you don’t fucking drown— but when you finally manage to rise back to the surface, a loud inhale of air into your lungs, the person you managed to hold onto just happens to be Heeseung.

Heeseung, who’s looking down at you with wide, alarmed eyes while you’re wrapped around his waist. Heeseung, who shoves you back into the water out of panic and shock and whatever the fuck his problem is.

Jake rushes to pull you back up. Heeseung is dead to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He failed to kill you so he’s now down on his knees, timid palms on his lap, and head lowered in guilt.

“I am very sorry,” Heeseung repeats. “I am deeply reflecting on my actions.”

You’re sitting on the half log shaped chairs on the courtyard, still wet, arms and legs both crossed in petulance as Sunghoon quietly dries your hair with a towel from behind (no, you didn’t scare him into doing this). 

“Stand up.” He flinches at the tone of your voice. “Go get yourself dried up so we can finally start the barbecue.”

He’s awfully obedient. You watch as his slumped figure trudges back into the house. “Was that too much?” The back of your head hits Sunghoon’s bare stomach when you try to look at him. He’s holding your head in his hands with the damp towel in between.

“You’re always a little much,” he mumbles.

“Is that a bad or good thing?”

Sunghoon ponders for a moment, staring at your upside down face. “More is always better than less?”

You smile, snatching the towel from his hands and jumping off from your seat. “Good answer.” Two gentle pats of praise on his cheek set his skin on fire. Speaking of fire, you can already smell the scent of smoke and deliciously cooking meat wafting in the air, so you run over to Jay who’s on grilling duty, hoping to get an early bite.

“Can you pass me a plate?” he asks, flipping the cut up pieces of meat on the barbecue grill. “Thanks.”

“Gimme one.” You open your mouth, chasing after the slice of pork belly on his tongs until he brings it closer to your mouth for you to bite. “Holy shit,” you muffle out, hot air escaping from your lips.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good.” You swallow the piece. “One more?”

He lets you snack on a bunch of well-done beef before they could reach the plate and at some point he mentions, as you’re tearing open a few packs of ramyeon to cook, that you look a lot like the curled up pieces of shrimp he’s currently grilling. You narrow your eyes at him, hand dangerously hovering above boiling water with a square of raw noodles. “Are you trying to say I look charred and have a terrible posture?”

“No.” Jay raises a piece of shrimp in the air, showing it off to you. “Doesn’t it look cute?”

Now that you’re looking at it a little closer, it does look kind of cute. Huh. “Would you eat me if I was a grilled shrimp?”

Jay thinks about it. He keeps thinking until you start smelling something burning. “I’d keep you safe in my pantry,” he finally answers. 

“So you’ll just let me spoil over and die?”

His expression drops. “Fuck.” The shrimp is unsalvageable. “I guess I’d have to eat you.”

The rest of dinner goes on as you expect. Jay and Beomgyu take turns over the grill until Jake thought he’d be naturally gifted over the fire and ended up making charcoal with the last pack of galbi (“It’s fine!” he said. “I’ll take care of it!”) and today’s heatwave suddenly becomes a whole lot hotter with the rising flame on the fucking grill right when Soobin brings out the marshmallows for dessert. It gets quickly defused by a fire-hydrant bearing Heeseung. Now your charcoal galbi has toxic frosting on them. This is the sign to move on to the next part of the program.

The set of log-themed chairs on the courtyard has a bonfire set-up at the center. Of course this unreasonably nice house has that. It’s already getting dark, ink seeping into the orange tintent sky. Jake decides to redeem himself after watching Heeseung fail to set up the chunks of wood for the nth time. “You don’t know how to start a fire? Dude, that’s so lame.” 

“You burnt all our remaining meat with those fire starting skills of yours,” Heeseung huffs, stepping aside for the self-proclaimed camping expert.

“You still ate them.” You’re pretty sure that isn’t healthy.

“Because you would’ve felt sad if I didn’t.”

“You’re both equally lame,” Beomgyu chides, plopping down beside you with a bag of chips that you unceremoniously dig your hand into. “You two haven’t even had your solo chapters yet.”

A flame erupts on the bonfire. Both of them turn to look at Beomgyu. “What?”

“What are we arguing about?” Jay joins in, looking a little too excited for the squabble.

“About the fact that I’m cooler than both Heeseung and Jake.”

Heeseung’s expression falls flat. “You dropped out to become a streamer.”

“Leave of absence! I took a leave of absence and I’m coming back next year!”

Sunghoon and Soobin are both just ignoring the mess, roasting their skewered marshmallows on the bonfire and you aspire to be that level of unbothered. “Let’s consult a professional’s opinion,” Jay suggests, and all their eyes immediately fall on you. “Who do you think is the coolest?” Apparently that professional is you.

“This is like asking which dwarf is the tallest midget,” you wrinkle your nose. “But alright. Why don’t we settle this like real men?”

“Arm wrestling?” Sunghoon jumps in.

“Cooking contest?” Heeseung pitches.

“Do you want us to beat the shit out of each other right now?” Jake’s eyes fly wide open, alarmed. “I don’t think that’s a healthy way of settling arguments.”

“The fuck? No,” you spit out. “Thirty minutes. Prepare a powerpoint presentation explaining why you’re the coolest loser. Convince me. Ten slides max. Good luck.”

Something about almost naked men scattered around your home premises, aggressively typing on their keyboards with so much concentration and determination is so funny. You’re enjoying the raw bag of marshmallows by yourself beside the fire, watching as Heeseung starts panicking when you yell out “Five minutes left!” and starts typing even more aggressively. It’s pretty entertaining. Why haven’t you done this before?

At some point Jake brings out a projector and a projector screen to the courtyard. Seems like the power is back on, and your classroom of death has been set in place.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?”

You’ve produced a clipboard while they were working very hard on the PPTs earlier, legs crossed, fire crackling in front of you, and you click the butt of your pen in intermittent seconds as you scroll your eyes from left to right across the six boys standing in front of you. Heeseung looks confident. Jay and Beomgyu, too. There’s sweat dripping down Sunghoon’s forehead and Jake is furiously flipping through his notepad like he’s cramming for a final exam. But the poor, unfortunate soul that just had to look away from your gaze is none other than—

“Choi Soobin.” He flinches, nearly letting go of the laptop he has clutched against his chest. “Give it a go. The rest of you sit down.”

He looks rattled. “I’m not— I’m not really good at presentations,” Soobin chokes out, and the rest disappear from his side.

You let your chin rest on your knuckles, leaning forward. “Are you forfeiting? Is this a forfeit I’m hearing?” He doesn’t respond. You sigh. “Choi Soobin, are you settling with a D? A tiny, miniscule, measly D?” Beomgyu lets out a snort. You shoot him a sharp stare. “The other Choi, please shut the fuck up unless you want me docking points from you. Choi number one, please start your presentation.

Beomgyu straightens in his seat and Soobin hesitantly clears his throat, turning towards the blank, white projector screen as he holds the clicker with a visibly shaky hand. “Good— good evening,” he starts. “My name is Choi Soobin, and today I was tasked to explain why I am the coolest housemate out of the six. The answer is I am not. I’m not very cool. But—”

When he clicks to the next slide, your clipboard clatters on the ground.

“But I do have a hedgehog, and that’s kinda cool?”

“Holy shit,” you exhale a breathy squeak, the picture of the rodent’s cute little snout occupying half of the large screen. Soobin cycles through a bunch of photos of his hedgehog and the various screams of delight you’re eliciting after each photo makes him smile a little bit more. “Look at that little guy! Oh my god. What’s his name? Where is he? Can I meet him? Please let me meet him, Soobin I am begging you, I will get on my knees for you.”

“His name is Odi and he’s currently living at my parents’ house,” he explains. “I’ll invite you sometime.”

“That’s cheating! This isn’t part of the guidelines!” Jake interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at the photo of Soobin holding Odi in his hands. Your coos are unceasing.

Heeseung nods along. “Professor, I believe this is completely unrelated to our topic at hand.”

Soobin looks visibly offended. You straighten your expression and click your tongue. “Ahem,” you start. “As much as I believe that Odi is the darn cutest little shit to ever exist and I will die for him given the chance, Heeseung is right. Mr. Choi, I’m afraid I’d have to give you a C.”

He presses the clicker. The slide is back to the video of Odi running down a slide.

“Okay. B minus.”

Now it’s the one where he’s laying stomach-up on the floor.

“Fuck. God dammit. B plus and that’s it. Soobin, sit down. Heeseung, you’re up next.”

Soobin seems satisfied with the grade, dimples popping out with a smile as he takes Heeseung’s seat in the audience when the latter readies himself for his turn. He stifles out a cough-laugh, one corner of his mouth crookedly twitching upward, confidently sauntering up to the front with his iPad, and it’s mildly unsettling because he’s usually Nervous Boy #2. But it’s almost cheating how pretty his teeth are when he’s smiling. 

And apparently he’s aware of that fact. Because after projecting his title slide (LEE HEESEUNG 101: the anatomy of a Cool Guy™), the next thing that appears is actually a photo of his very charming smile, coupled with Chip Skylark’s “My Shiny Teeth and Me” as the background music for his scientifically-grounded explanation. The next slide is a zoom in of his eyes next to a photo of Bambi. He has a venn diagram. This is actually pretty compelling.

Heeseung is a good speaker. He’s really good. The rest of his presentation goes smoothly, finishing it up with a list of references in APA format. Jake and Jay give him a round of applause.  “If you have any questions, I’ll be more than happy to answer them,” he smiles.

“That was a fantastic presentation, Mr. Lee. I particularly liked the part when you demonstrated your ability to make very impressive, but also very alarming sounds with your fingers.” You flip through your very blank clipboard, nodding and throwing out hums at the times you deem appropriate. “I’d give you an A plus, but...I have one question for you.”

He nods. “Yes?”

“Heeseung, can you hug me?”

It evidently catches him off-guard, just as you predicted— persona of confidence crashing down like a waterfall as he stutters out, “Wh—what?”

You clear your throat. “Only cool people are able to hug me. I need to confirm that you’re cool.”

“I can hug you!” Jake declares right next to you.

You blindly reach out your arm to give him a head pat. “See. Jake says he can hug me so he must be pretty cool. Heeseung, you can do the same, can’t you?

There it is. He’s back to being nervous and you feel like your job here is done. “O–of course,” he stifles out, following it with a strained laugh of weak incredulity. “Why wouldn’t I be able to hug you?”

“Then prove it.” You stretch out your arms, ready to squeeze and be squeezed. “Give me a big ‘ol squeeze, pretty boy.”

You stay like that for ten seconds as Heeseung remains glued to his spot in front, eyes shaking and nipping at the dead skin on his lips. You let your arms fall back to your sides. “Okay. C minus. Next.” His expression quickly transforms into offense.

“I feel like this grading system is a scam.”

“No hug, no opinion. Sit your ass down,” you click your tongue, smacking him with the clipboard when he weakly trudges back and squeezes next to Beomgyu on the crowded seat to your left with the box of snacks occupying most of the fake log, even though there’s clearly enough space next to you because Jay already started walking to the front even without your instruction.

Jay does not give an introduction, only a rough clear of his throat and he opens his presentation with just a slide occupied with his face. Slide two is another picture of his face, only slightly zoomed out. The next one has the hashtag JWU. Then there’s a full body mirror selfie.

The rest of the presentation proceeds in the same manner— a wordless slideshow of what is possibly his Instagram feed and before you know it, it’s already over. “Okay,” you exhale, pressing your palms together in front of your lips. “I understand that you are indeed a very handsome individual, Mr. Park, but what does that have to do with the assigned topic?”

“The question is why I am the coolest one here,” he says. “I’m cool because I’m Jay Park.”

It falls quiet.

You finally break the silence.

“Shit, that’s a pretty compelling argument.”

“This is bullshit!” Sunghoon argues. “He didn’t even say anything! There was no discussion! He should be disqualified.”

Jay remains unfazed. He defends with irrefutable wisdom, “Sometimes pictures speak louder than words.”

“Damn.” You let your clipboard fall to your lap. “I’m giving you an A.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Your decision elicits outrage from some of your students. “How is he getting a higher grade than me?!” one of them raises.

“He’s getting a higher grade because he doesn’t think I have cooties, Heeseung.” 

Heeseung throws his arms in the air in defeated frustration as Jay takes his snug seat right next to you again, a victorious smile gracing his face. You run your eyes through your scratch paper once more, pen tapping at the edge of the board. “Beomgyu, do you want to go next?” you ask, which is a mistake on your part because he starts acting just as obnoxious as Heeseung, which— if anything— just triggers your desire to make him crumble to his knees.

He even pulls out a lecture stick, testing it out by snapping it at full length on his palm. Is the fucker trying to go after your role as professor? Where the fuck did his glasses suddenly come from?

“Alright,” Beomgyu begins, the first slide displaying the words Why Choi Beomgyu is the coolest Housemate. “First thing’s first, does anyone in the audience know what my name is?”

“Oh, me!” Jake raises his hand. “Choi Beomgyu!”

“Correct!” The next slide appears when he hits the screen with the stick, revealing his name in a large, bold font with large spaces in between each syllable. “Choi. Beom. Gyu. Choi Beomgyu. Now, I’d like to direct your attention to this specific syllable right here—” he draws a circle around ‘Beom,’ “—what does Beom mean?”

“Offense,” Sunghoon answers. Beomgyu’s face scrunches up.

“What? Fuck, no. Another meaning— oh! Yes, Soobin hyung?”

“Tiger?”

His eyes brighten. “Exactly!” 

The next slide is a photo of a tiger on a field of green grass, grooming its fur as Beomgyu passionately rattles on with fun facts about the animal. You have no idea where this is going. “Tigers are some of the most amazing creatures on the planet, they are the largest members of the cat family and are renowned for their power and strength. As the largest member of the cat family, Tigers are strong, powerful and one of nature's most feared predators—”

“Did you get that from a website?” Jay interrupts.

Beomgyu dismisses him. “Yes, I did, but that’s not the point. The point is—”

Next slide. A hit from his lecture stick. It’s more text. Beom = Tiger. Beom = Choi Beomgyu’s cute nickname. Tiger = Beomgyu. 

“We have discussed that tigers are the coolest animals in the world. My name has tiger in it. Therefore I am the coolest person here. End of presentation. Thank you.”

He drops the stick to the ground and is about to walk away with Jake’s applause, but your penetrating stare stops him right before he reaches the crackling bonfire. You scribble on the clipboard before letting it settle face-down on your lap. You look up at him. “Beomgyu, are you a furry?”

Beomgyu freezes. He lets your question settle in his system before voicing out a very loud, very crunchy, “What the fuck?”

“Is this your way of telling us that you’re a furry?” 

“No! What are you talking about?” he hisses. “I’m just saying that since tigers are cool, that means I’m also cool and—”

“So, you’re identifying with a tiger?” you cut him off.

He presses his lips together, cautious. “Yes…”

“Because you have the word tiger in your name?”

“Yes.”

“And because they’re cool?”

“Yes. We’ve established that alr—”

“Okay, so you’re a furry?”

“Ye— no!” he yells out. “I’m not a fucking furry!”

“Understood. You’re a furry in denial.” You write something down on the clipboard. Beomgyu’s shoulders slacken in defeat. “I’m giving you a B plus. Take a seat, Tigerboy.” Though he grumbles in distaste, he listens to you anyway, trudging deflatedly back to his seat next to the equally grumbly Heeseung.

There are two people left to be victimized. Jake looks excited, so you don’t want to indulge his positive emotions. “Sunghoon,” you call out with a pleasant smile. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something under his breath before forcing himself up the log without you having to tell him. “Good boy. Go set up your thing.”

Unlike the rest, Sunghoon doesn’t have a laptop or phone or flash drive with him when he awkwardly takes the presenter spot in front. He’s standing on the balls of his feet, arms tucked behind his back and lips tightly pressed together nervously. “Mr Park,” you pull down your clipboard. “You’re free to project your slides.”

“Well,” he coughs out. “The thing is.”

“Yes?”

He exhales loudly. “I don’t have any slides.” You raise a brow. “I don’t know how to use powerpoint.”

You look at him. “I see.”

“I don’t know how to use this projector, either.”

You pause.

“Okay. I understand.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Alright, next present—”

“Wait!” Sunghoon stops you. “I can still give my presentation, I don’t need any dumb slides! I’m just as cool, if not cooler than the rest of them, so you can’t just skip over me.”

“Mr. Park,” you start. “Unfortunately, one of the criteria for this presentation is the quality and organization of your slides. I do not see any slides being presented, Mr. Park. You may present next time once you’re fully prepared.”

“What about Jay?” he tries to reason. “He just showed you a preview of his camera roll!”

The man in question has his mouth hanging open, pausing in the middle of stuffing a nicely toasted marshmallow into his mouth. You let out a sigh. “He had philosophy, Mr. Park. Philosophy,” you explain. “Do you have philosophy? Are you confident that you can convince me with your words alone? Without the help of cute animals and pictures of your pretty face?”

At the mention of his face, his knitted brows of frustration quickly melt into faint pink hues dusting his cheeks. You sniffle a little, rubbing a finger under your nose as you flip through the next page of the clipboard that’s resting on your lap. “Meet me in my office after class,” you tell him. Sunghoon grunts and stomps back to his seat in defeat.

“This sucks balls.”

“You have quite a few options to pick and choose from here,” you hum. “Jake, you’re the last one up. Please tell me you have a presentation prepared.”

“I do, and it’s gonna blow your mind,” he grins.

“Looking forward to it.” You watch blankly as Jake runs up to the front to connect his laptop to the projector, an excited bounce in his every movement and you start wondering how you can shatter this one’s hopes and dreams.

He asks if he can start. You give him a nod. At the click of a button, something boomerangs into the blank screen with 2007 Windows graphics and animation. The atrocious mismatch of fonts say Jake Sim is the coolest one here and here’s why.

“Reason number one—” Jake starts his presentation, turning over to the next slide and your vision is attacked with more outdated graphics, more jarring transitions and animations. “—I’m super funny. Allow me to demonstrate.” He begins by clearing his throat. “What did the Italian chef get sent to jail for?”

“What?” you go along.

“Too much assault.”

An assault is also a very proper descriptor for his PPT aesthetic. An assault to your eyes. It’s like watching a car crash that you can’t look away from even if you try. Reason number two is that he has a great smile (he does). Reason number three is because he has a dog (he also does). Reason number four doesn’t exist because he miscounted and skipped over to Reason number five.

“And lastly, Reason number ten—”

He takes something out of his pockets. It’s a couple dozen bills being thrown into the air.

“I have a lot of money.”

The rest of the boys are quiet. Jake grows quiet too, chest rising and falling after that very enthusiastic presentation and his wide grin slowly melts into that muddled with nervousness and unease because you aren’t saying anything yet— just looking at him with stern eyes and a sharp gaze. “W-well?” he rasps. “How did I do…?”

“How much?” you ask. He cocks his head in confusion. “How much money do you have?”

“Oh.” Jake blinks, now understanding. “I don’t know but it’s a lot.”

Your eyes sparkle, posture straightening. “Will you give me some of that money?” The unease has left Jake and has now transferred to the other five boys around you. Oh boy. Oh no, their eyes all seem to be saying.

“Sure, why not.”

You clap your hands together. “Jake wins. Class dismissed. Good night.”

It doesn’t take long for chaos to break out.

Heeseung and Jay are demanding for a recount (there is nothing to count except the sweet, sweet cash you’ll be receiving) and Beomgyu accuses you of being a slave to capitalism (that should’ve been evident from how you tried to scam money out of them with nudity and a jar on your first week here). Soobin starts clearing up the projector set-up and Sunghoon is on his knees begging for another chance to do his presentation as you watch the digits on your phone screen bump up in real-time when Jake wires you a decent chunk from his bank account.

Another successful day at the residence. This heatwave is better than you thought.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.