#Matcha Packaging | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovemni · 5 months ago

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is it a kiss if we share a straw? ✿ 'cause i like you a (matcha) latte

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎ . . 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 !

⟡ read the prequel ; bonus/filler here! ⟡

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader g. fluff , humour , uni!au , classmates to lovers, skz ensemble. I3,7OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. bantering , jokes , intimacy , pets. ✦ requested. ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ oh god when i tell you all i had reached the IOOO blocks limit.. i almost died. so i had to edit this entirely to merge some blocks. haha.. the sequel is much longer than the prequel. well, you all deserve it since you loved the prequel !! i loved this fic so much >< thank you to the lovely iza for helping me w the titles bc my brain almost died !! also y'all please send me some requests for valentines/galentines month <3 anon. claims are also open !! hope you all like it !!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

it was a normal morning. seungmin had woken up to the sound of jisung dramatically singing in the shower, half-dressed and flinging water everywhere like they were in some kind of k-drama opening sequence. he had stepped over piles of jisung’s clothes, debated throwing one of his textbooks at him, and had finally settled at his desk, groaning at the mess around him. it was too early for this.

and yet— knock. knock. knock. the loud, rhythmic knocking echoed through their shared dorm. jisung, now out of the shower, poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. "you expectin' someone?" seungmin stared at him. and then his eyes widened. oh no. he was expecting someone. before he could even get up, the knocking intensified—faster, louder, insistent. jisung pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth and smirked. “that’s a very excited knock.” seungmin scowled. “shut up.” the knocking was immediately followed by a singsong voice. “seungminnnn~ open up!” jisung practically lit up. “oh my god.” he gasped. “is that—” seungmin groaned, pushing past him and heading for the door. and when he opened it— y/n stood there, practically glowing in the morning light, wearing sneakers that looked like they had been through war.

in her hands?

two matcha lattes in takeout cups.

a small bag of pastries.

and another little package tied up neatly with string.

she grinned up at him. “good morning, seungminnie.”

he deadpanned. “never call me that again.”

she giggled and stepped inside, unfazed by his immediate rejection.

seungmin closed the door behind her. “you’re early.”

she hummed. “i like being early.”

“of course you do. isn't that why you were always early to our study sessions at the café?”

jisung, still standing by the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, wiggled his eyebrows.

“so this is what you two were doing instead of the café.”

y/n turned to him, brightening. “jisung! good morning.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “don’t entertain him.”

too late.

jisung grinned. “are those for me?”

y/n gasped, clutching the drinks to her chest. “no.”

jisung pouted. “not even the pastries?”

“i brought these for seungmin and me,” y/n stated proudly. “and these—” she wiggled the little package tied with string, “—are homemade treats for star.”

seungmin blinked.

she baked for his dog.

for his dog.

well, star was hers first but you get the point.

“wow,” jisung muttered, shaking his head in amazement. “so this is what love looks like.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him.

“get out.”

jisung dodged with ease, snickering as he padded toward his room. “i’ll leave you two alone. have fun being married.”

seungmin turned to y/n, about to say something—

only to find her already halfway to the couch, scanning the room excitedly.

“where’s star?” she asked, looking around like an impatient kid.

seungmin sighed. “he’s in my room.”

y/n immediately made a beeline for his door.

“y/n, don’t just barge in—”

too late.

she had already swung the door open, stepping inside like she owned the place.

and then— her heart melted. because there, curled up in a nest of blankets on seungmin’s bed, was star.

his golden fur was slightly tousled from sleep, his body curled into himself, peaceful, warm. and when he lifted his head, his dark brown eyes blinking sleepily— y/n felt her entire soul leave her body.

“hi, baby,” she whispered, stepping closer.

star’s ears perked. his nose twitched. he recognized her.

in an instant, his tail thumped against the mattress, his body wiggling with excitement.

y/n squealed. “you remember me!”

seungmin leaned against the doorway, watching as star launched himself off the bed and into her arms. y/n caught him, stumbling slightly as she hugged him tight, her face buried in his fur.

she giggled, pressing soft kisses to his head. “i missed you.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “it’s been one day.”

y/n ignored him completely, pulling out the treats she had baked.

“look what i made for you, star,” she cooed, untying the package. “i made them with lots of love.”

seungmin snorted. “he’s a dog, not a boyfriend.”

y/n gasped, scandalized. “seungmin, take that back.”

“no.”

she glared. “you’re lucky i brought you a latte.”

“yeah, yeah.” he waved her off. “come on, let’s start the project.”

she pouted but followed him to the table, star happily munching on his treat at her feet.

seungmin slid into the chair across from her, sipping the matcha latte she brought.

(he wasn’t going to admit it, but it tasted really good.)

y/n, on the other hand, was already distracted.

“you know, seungmin,” she mused, sipping her drink. “i think you should get star a cute sweater.”

he raised an eyebrow. “a sweater?”

“yes.” she nodded firmly. “something classy. maybe a turtleneck.”

jisung, from the hallway, “a dog in a turtleneck??”

y/n gasped. “oh my god. yes.”

seungmin groaned. “you’re insane.”

she just grinned. “and you love it.”

seungmin opened his mouth to argue— only to close it again.

because, for some reason, watching her sit there, smiling so brightly, sipping her matcha like she owned the world—

he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. maybe he did love it.

maybe… he was starting to love a lot of things about her. and that thought? was a little terrifying. but still, a little exciting.

so, when thirty minutes into their so-called project work, seungmin had come to a harsh, undeniable conclusion: this was not a study session.

it was a y/n-admires-star-and-gets-distracted-every-five-seconds session. and it was infuriating.

"y/n," seungmin sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "focus."

"i am focused," she argued, still not looking at him.

seungmin followed her gaze—

she was star-ing at star. again. [see what i did there?]

the golden retriever was curled up beside her chair, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. and y/n? she had completely zoned out mid-sentence, her cheek resting against her hand, eyes soft as she watched star’s ears twitch in his sleep.

seungmin clicked his tongue. "what exactly are you focused on?"

she blinked, barely registering his words. "him."

jisung, from the kitchen, snorted.

"are you serious right now?" seungmin groaned.

y/n hummed. "mhm."

seungmin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "i knew this was a bad idea. we should’ve just gone to the café."

y/n finally tore her gaze away from star to look at him, gasping in fake offense. "excuse me?"

"you heard me," seungmin deadpanned.

she scoffed. "first of all, rude. second, blasphemy. third, i brought you a matcha latte, and this is how you repay me?"

jisung cackled. "she's got a point."

"shut up, squirrel-face."

y/n pouted dramatically, sinking into her chair. "you don’t appreciate anything. i bet star appreciates me more than you do."

seungmin exhaled sharply. "he's a dog."

she gasped. "and? that just means he has purer judgment."

seungmin narrowed his eyes. "so what you’re saying is that my dog likes you more than me?"

y/n grinned. "oh, absolutely."

jisung smirked. "can’t argue with that one."

seungmin threw his pen at him.

"okay," seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples. "since you're so focused on star, tell me—what exactly is so fascinating about him?"

y/n lit up. oh no. this was a mistake.

she leaned forward, clasping her hands together like she had been waiting for him to ask.

"well, first of all," she began, "look at him."

seungmin deadpanned. "i do look at him. every day. because he's my dog."

"dude, it's been three days since you've seen him. and the first was at the adoption cent-"

she ignored the two. "he's literally the cutest thing. did you notice how his ears flop when he breathes?"

jisung muttered, "here we go."

y/n gasped dramatically. "and the little scar on his eyebrow? he looks like a pirate. a handsome pirate."

seungmin tilted his head. "handsome pirate?"

"yes!" y/n cried. "he has this rugged, mysterious look—like a hero with a tragic past."

jisung choked on his water.

seungmin stared at her, baffled. "you think my dog has a tragic past?"

"...he does," y/n huffed. "the whole reason he was in the shelter is because— well, he was abandoned.. and not treated with care. which is why he deserves all the love in the world now."

her voice softened slightly at the last part.

and for a second—just a second—seungmin didn’t have a sarcastic remark ready.

he just watched as she gazed at star again, her fingers lightly brushing against the fur on his back.

soft. gentle. affectionate.

there was something about the way she cared that made something uncomfortable stir in his chest.

he quickly cleared his throat. "so you're saying he’s a main character."

"obviously," y/n nodded. "if this were a movie, he'd be the heartwarming, lovable side character who helps the protagonist through tough times."

"then what does that make you?"

she blinked.

then she grinned. "the best friend. duh."

jisung chimed in from the kitchen, "pretty sure you're the main character here."

[han's mind rn: the fourth wall??? what is it?]

y/n laughed. "oh no, seungmin's the main character. he's all broody and grumpy and—"

seungmin raised an eyebrow. "and what?"

she smirked. "secretly a softie."

jisung howled.

seungmin groaned, shoving his textbook over to her. "read. before i kick you out."

y/n giggled but picked up the book obediently, flipping through the pages. "fine, fine. but just so you know, i'm gonna see star every single day from now on."

seungmin sipped his latte. "did i have a choice?"

"nope."

he exhaled through his nose. "figures."

jisung snickered. "damn. she already owns half of this dorm and it hasn't even been a day."

y/n beamed. "you're right. i should start bringing decorations."

"don't even think about it."

she winked. and somehow—between y/n's constant distractions, jisung's unhelpful commentary, and star snoring at their feet— seungmin found himself not minding it at all.

. . .

seungmin had a headache. not because of uni. not because of work. but because the girl just wouldn't shut the fuck up.

the study session had officially derailed at this point. and to make matters worse, jisung—his supposed best friend—had fully switched sides and was entertaining y/n’s nonsense instead of helping to keep her on track.

“seungmin, do you think star has dreams?” y/n asked suddenly, staring at the sleeping dog beside her with a fond smile.

seungmin blinked, deadpan. “huh?”

“like—what do you think he dreams about?”

jisung smirked from across the couch, munching on one of the pastries y/n had brought. “bet he dreams about running through a field of treats.”

“or maybe about fighting evil!” y/n gasped, dramatically throwing a fist in the air. “like a true hero.”

seungmin dragged a hand down his face. “y/n, i swear—”

“or maybe he dreams about you,” she cut in, turning toward him with a teasing grin. “since you’re his owner and all.”

he hesitated. for a second. and for some reason, that second was too long.

y/n noticed.

her eyes twinkled, mischief curling at the edges of her lips. “oh my god. do you care about that?”

seungmin scowled, turning back to his notes. “i literally do not care.”

“liar.”

jisung snorted. “she got you there.”

seungmin groaned, flipping to another page in his textbook, pretending to focus. “can we please study?”

y/n hummed. “mmm, maybe later.”

his eye twitched. “maybe later?”

she nodded, taking a sip of her matcha latte. “mhm.”

jisung laughed. “yeah, man. priorities.”

seungmin closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

he could throw them both out. he could lock the door. he could actually get his work done in peace.

but he didn’t.

instead, he sighed and turned his head slightly—just enough to see y/n sitting on the floor, her legs tucked under her, her fingers running absentmindedly through star’s fur as she murmured something to him.

soft.

she was soft. i'm aware i mentioned it before. but this man is just too smitten and he doesn't wanna admit it.

moving on.

it was annoying how much that was becoming a fact in his life.

his throat felt weird.

he cleared it. “if we’re not going to study, at least do something productive.”

y/n looked up. “like what?”

jisung pointed lazily. “laundry.”

“ew, i'm not washing some boys' laundry. pass.”

“dishes.”

“hard pass.”

seungmin sighed. “what i meant was.. help clean up the disaster you made on the table. not your chores, jisung.”

jisung pouted. “it was worth a try.”

she stood up, stretching her arms over her head before reaching for the empty takeout cups. seungmin didn’t know why—but his eyes lingered on her for a second too long.

the way her sleeves slid slightly down her wrists. the soft hum she let out as she moved. the light clicking of her rings as they tapped against the cups.

it was—

subtle.

but not enough. he looked away, shaking his head as jisung smirked at him from across the room.

don’t. seungmin mouthed.

jisung grinned.

seungmin glared.

jisung winked.

seungmin threw a pen at him. (x2)

by the time evening rolled around, the three of them had managed to not study for a total of six hours.

seungmin didn’t even know how that was possible.

somewhere in between y/n stealing one of his blankets (“it’s cold, seungmo, have a heart”), jisung and y/n dramatically reenacting an entire scene from a movie (“what are we, if not cosmic dust floating in the abyss?”—“jisung, shut up”), and y/n curling up beside star again (“you’re the cutest thing in the world—yes, i mean you, star”),

seungmin had lost control of the day.

and yet.

he let it happen.

because when y/n turned her head slightly and smiled at him—genuinely, softly, with that bright look in her eyes like she was just happy to be here—

seungmin didn’t mind it at all. not one bit. soon, enough, it was right after the sun had set, and y/n, unfortunately, had to leave.

she unlocked the door to her shared dorm, pushing it open with her shoulder. the soft hum of the night filled the space as she stepped in, her body exhausted but her heart… full.

“where have you been?”

rina’s voice rang from the couch, where she was lying upside down, her head hanging off the edge as she scrolled through her phone.

aeri, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cup of tea, smirked. “let me guess—seungmin?”

y/n shut the door behind her, pausing. “…no?”

a beat of silence. aeri and rina stared at her.

y/n groaned, kicking off her shoes. “okay, yes—but it was for the project!”

aeri snorted. “mhm. project.”

“yeah, totally.” rina rolled onto her side. “is that why you’re smiling like an idiot right now?”

“i am not—”

“you so are.”

y/n scowled, throwing a cushion at them. “shut up.”

they laughed, rina catching the cushion before sitting up properly. “seriously though, how was it?”

y/n sighed, plopping onto the couch beside her. “it was… nice.”

aeri hummed, sipping her tea. “just nice?”

“yeah. we didn’t even get much work done, honestly.”

rina raised a brow. “you didn’t get work done? that’s new.”

y/n shrugged, rubbing at her eyes. “i dunno… star was there, and jisung was being jisung, and it was just…” she trailed off, her gaze softening.

they noticed.

aeri set her mug down, tilting her head. “you really like that dog, huh?”

y/n smiled, running a hand through her hair. “yeah. a lot.”

she didn’t say more. she didn’t have to. because they both knew what she wasn’t saying.

knew how much that golden retriever meant to her.

knew how much she had worried about him for days.

and now—he was safe. with seungmin, of all people.

her stomach flipped at the thought.

“seungmin’s a good guy,” rina murmured after a moment.

y/n blinked, looking at her.

aeri nodded. “yeah. kinda stiff, but still.”

y/n huffed a small laugh. “yeah. he’s good.”

she didn’t realize she was smiling again. she didn’t realize how warm her chest felt.

she only realized when aeri and rina exchanged knowing looks.

“omg—”

“no.”

they gasped.

rina grabbed her arm. “you like him.”

“i do not—”

aeri smirked. “y/n and seungmin, sitting in a tree—”

“i will throw you out.”

they died laughing as y/n groaned, shoving her face into a pillow. her heart thumped in her chest.

god. she hated them.

but maybe, they weren’t entirely wrong.

the air was crisp. sunlight streamed through the glass windows of the university’s main hall, casting golden streaks across the floor. y/n walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder. the campus was bustling, students huddled in groups, talking, laughing, yawning from their morning exhaustion. she weaved through the crowd, searching—

“y/n!”

she turned at the sound of her name, spotting felix and hyunjin across the hall.

felix waved dramatically. “we were about to call you.”

hyunjin grinned. “where were you last night? we tried calling you.”

y/n sighed. “oh my god, not you too.”

felix perked up. “ooooh, why? who else asked?”

she immediately regretted speaking.

hyunjin gasped. “wait, wait—was it seungmin?”

y/n choked on her coffee.

felix clapped. “that’s a yes!”

“i hate you guys.”

they cackled as they walked toward their lecture hall, hyunjin slinging an arm around her shoulders. “c’mon, spill. what happened?”

y/n groaned. “nothing!”

felix wiggled his brows. “oh? you sure?”

“i will end you, lee felix.”

the university library was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with them in it. the scent of old books mixed with the sharp aroma of coffee, and the late afternoon sun filtered through the large glass windows, casting soft, golden hues over the long study tables. dust motes floated lazily in the warm light, drifting like tiny fireflies in the still air. the heavy shelves stretched toward the ceiling, lined with worn spines and crinkled pages, whispering secrets of past knowledge. somewhere in the distance, the occasional sound of a page turning or a muffled cough punctuated the silence, but at their table, silence was a foreign concept.

y/n sat between felix and hyunjin, her open notebook filled with neatly written notes, margins lined with underlined key points and little doodles she barely remembered sketching. the steady scratch of her pen against paper was a familiar rhythm, almost meditative, yet constantly interrupted by felix's restless shifting and hyunjin's occasional, dramatic sighs. across from them, aeri was flipping through her economics textbook, brows furrowed, her highlighter hovering in hesitation before finally marking a passage in a precise, straight line. rina, on the other hand, looked far too unbothered for someone who was definitely lagging behind, sipping lazily on her iced americano, the condensation dripping onto her untouched notes. the cup left a wet ring on the paper, but she didn’t seem to care, content to simply exist in this moment of chaotic tranquility.

felix stretched his arms above his head before slumping back into his chair with an exaggerated groan, the wooden legs creaking under his weight. he adjusted his reading glasses, even though they served no real purpose beyond aesthetics. "so let me get this straight," he began, tilting his head as if the angle would somehow change the reality of the situation. "you guys have been studying for the past week and i just found out we have an assignment due tomorrow?"

hyunjin snorted, flipping his pen between his fingers with practiced ease. "lix, it was literally on the syllabus."

"who reads the syllabus?"

aeri sighed, flipping a page, her expression exasperated yet unsurprised. "people who want to pass, maybe?"

felix rolled his eyes before turning to y/n, nudging her arm with the side of his hand like an impatient child. "you’re good at this. help me."

y/n sighed dramatically, her gaze shifting from felix’s pleading expression to the scattered mess that was his notes—half-written sentences, numbers that had no business being in those equations, and a truly concerning number of crossed-out attempts. "i always help you."

"that’s ‘cause i’m your favorite."

rina leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "that’s funny, because i thought i was her favorite."

"i thought i was," hyunjin added, raising a brow.

aeri scoffed, feigning offense. "she likes me the most. y/n, tell them."

y/n stared at them all, unimpressed, tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook. "none of you are my favorite."

a beat of silence stretched between them.

"yeah 'cause it's probably seungmin now." murmured a devastated hyunjin.

felix gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if physically wounded. "how could you?"

hyunjin wiped a fake tear. "we were best friends, y/n."

aeri shook her head in disappointment. "wow. betrayal."

rina sighed, sipping her coffee with the air of someone deeply wronged. "i trusted you."

y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. "oh my god, shut up and study!"

felix pouted but leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand. "fine. but only if you explain this." he pointed to his book, where a bunch of equations were scribbled down, some very wrong.

y/n took one glance and winced. "felix… what is that?"

"my attempt at math?"

"it looks like you just guessed."

"…isn’t that how math works?"

aeri smacked his arm with her highlighter. "no."

hyunjin burst into laughter while rina shook her head, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "you are so hopeless."

felix whined, turning back to y/n. "okay, okay, explain it to me."

y/n sighed, but there was fondness in her voice. "alright, listen carefully…" she leaned in, grabbing a pen, and started breaking down the equations step by step, her handwriting smooth and deliberate, looping over the lined paper in a way that made even numbers look elegant. felix watched with exaggerated concentration, nodding along as if he actually understood, though his occasional side glances at hyunjin betrayed his confusion. hyunjin watched for a few seconds before stretching his arms out with a groan. "i give up. my brain hurts."

"same," rina mumbled, propping her cheek against her palm.

aeri rolled her eyes. "you guys have the attention span of goldfish."

"i have the attention span of a very smart goldfish, thank you," hyunjin corrected, tossing his pen onto his notebook with a soft clatter.

felix nodded. "same. i’m a gifted goldfish."

"omg, lixie, what if we become cute goldfish together!"

y/n groaned, pressing her forehead against the table for a dramatic moment. "yeah, actually, why don't you? the pool's in the next building!"

y/n had a talent for many things. writing poetry? check. memorizing entire songs after listening to them twice? absolutely. winning over strangers with her sunshine personality? without a doubt.

but being on time? yeah, no.

her eyes widened as she looked at the time on her phone. the numbers blinked back at her, unforgiving and merciless. oh shit indeed.

the library around her suddenly felt suffocating, the quiet hum of study murmurs and the distant shuffle of pages all blending into white noise. the golden afternoon light spilling through the windows no longer felt warm and dreamy; it was a glaring reminder of the twenty minutes that had already passed.

“oh shit.”

felix and hyunjin, who were still lounging at their study table, looked up in unison, their gazes slow and unconcerned. the contrast between their leisure and her rising panic was almost comical.

hyunjin blinked. "language."

“oh my god, i’m late!” y/n scrambled to shove her books into her tote bag, her movements frantic and chaotic. papers crumpled under the force of her hands, and in her rush, her elbow nearly knocked over the remnants of her coffee. the cup wobbled dangerously before felix, ever the observer, reached out and steadied it with a lazy hand.

“i was supposed to meet seungmin twenty minutes ago!” her voice wavered somewhere between hysteria and despair.

felix, unfazed, took a slow sip of his drink. “oh, he’s gonna murder you.”

“i know!”

hyunjin grinned, resting his chin in his palm. “do you want us to attend your funeral, or would you prefer we just remember you as you were?”

“not helping!” she hissed, yanking the strap of her bag over her shoulder with more force than necessary.

aeri, who had been listening from the next table, raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "you guys are studying again?"

y/n waved a frantic hand. "yes, but listen—i planned something. a genius plan. a brilliant plan."

felix leaned forward, intrigued, though his smirk suggested he was already expecting something ridiculous. “do tell.”

“we’re not studying in his dorm.”

hyunjin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “then where?”

y/n’s fingers flew over her phone as she sent a frantic ‘sorry! on my way!! don’t kill me!!!’ text before looking back at them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“i thought… instead of just sitting indoors, we could take star out.” she grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “maybe a walk? or even better—a garden! a little picnic study session! nature, fresh air, vibes.”

felix stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter. "you’re just using the project as an excuse to hang out with star, aren’t you?"

“…no.”

aeri smirked, arms crossed. "uh-huh. sure. and does seungmin know?"

y/n cleared her throat, her gaze darting to the side. "…he’ll find out when we get there."

hyunjin grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “so basically, you’re kidnapping him.”

“i prefer the term forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,” y/n corrected, lifting her chin in faux sophistication.

felix leaned back in his chair, his laughter still lingering in the air. “or it's more of a date.”

“okay, okay, i have to go.” y/n swung her bag over her shoulder with all the grace of someone teetering on the edge of disaster. “if i don’t text in the next hour, assume seungmin has buried me alive.”

“will do,” hyunjin said cheerfully. “good luck, kidnapper.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t stop to argue. instead, she bolted out of the library, weaving between study tables and stacks of books, her hurried footsteps echoing against the quiet hush of the space. the moment she pushed through the heavy doors and into the cool evening air, her heart pounded against her ribs.

seungmin was so going to kill her. but at least he’d have to do it after their impromptu picnic.

“notice how she didn't deny about it being a date?”

y/n practically sprinted to her dorm, dodging students and weaving through the hallways like she was in an action movie. her hair whipped around her face, strands catching in the soft glow of overhead lights, and her breath came in short, determined bursts. her mind raced faster than her feet, already imagining seungmin’s unimpressed stare, his sharp eyes narrowed in something between disappointment and reluctant amusement.

she nearly crashed into rina, who had just stepped out.

“woah—where’s the fire?” she laughed, stepping aside.

“in seungmin’s eyes if i don’t get there soon!” y/n yelled, yanking open the door and rushing inside.

“told you he’d kill you one of these days.”

“yeah, yeah,” y/n huffed, throwing her tote bag onto the floor. she hurriedly grabbed her water bottle, some notebooks, and very important essentials—star’s treats, a small blanket, and, of course, snacks. rina peered into the bag, her expression knowing. "you realize you’re doing more for this dog than you did for our last project, right?"

"first of all, rude," y/n shot back, stuffing one last thing into her tote. "second of all—no time to argue, i gotta go!"

she waved lazily. "don’t get yourself murdered."

y/n barely heard her as she bolted out of the dorm, her feet pounding against the pavement, heart racing. the wind bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. she had a mission.

so, by the time y/n reached seungmin and jisung’s dorm, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but victorious. she knocked rapidly, shifting her tote bag from one shoulder to the other. the door swung open, revealing jisung with terribly disheveled hair, not that she judged.

“ah,” he said, arms crossed, his features alight with mischief. “so you do have a death wish.”

y/n pouted. “i apologized!”

“thirty-eight minutes late,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “a bold move, considering the man inside is the seungmin.”

y/n huffed, lifting the three matcha lattes in her hand. “bribery, if you will.”

jisung’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he stepped aside. “well, in that case, welcome.”

she stepped in, spotting seungmin at his desk. he barely looked up.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” y/n whined, setting the drinks down. “i had a valid reason.”

seungmin glanced at the drinks, his lips twitching. “bribery won’t work.”

“but this bribery includes your favorite matcha latte. i brought one for you too, ji!” she grinned.

jisung nodded. “compelling argument.”

seungmin sighed but grabbed the drink. “fine. you’re forgiven. for now.”

the second y/n stepped into the hallway, her eyes immediately searched for the golden fluffball.

“star!” she gasped, dramatically dropping to her knees as if she’d been away for years.

star, in all his fluffy, golden, star-like glory, perked up at the sound of her voice, tail wagging furiously.

“oh my baby—” y/n cooed, completely ignoring seungmin as she placed her tote bag down and reached for star. he excitedly trotted toward her, his tail thumping against the floor as she cupped his face and showered him with scratches.

“i missed you so much,” she whispered against his fur, her voice soft as she ran her hands over his head and back. she checked his food bowl, peeked at his bed, and gave him a homemade treat like the concerned parent she definitely wasn’t but absolutely felt like.

seungmin, watching the whole ordeal with an unimpressed expression, sighed. “are you actually here to study or just to visit him?”

“both,” y/n shot back, still petting star. “but mostly him.”

“figures,” seungmin muttered.

“good. now, time for the next part.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “what next part?”

y/n blinked innocently. “oh. did i forget to mention?”

seungmin stared. “excuse me?”

jisung, watching from the couch, was thriving on the dynamic. “okay, so are you guys going now or…?”

y/n stood up suddenly and grabbed seungmin’s wrist. “yep! let’s go.”

seungmin blinked. “go where—”

“no questions.”

“so you're kidnapping me now?”

“i prefer the term ‘forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,’” y/n corrected.

seungmin’s deadpan stare could have melted steel.

“no.”

“yes.”

jisung, delighted, grabbed a snack. “i voted yes ages ago.”

y/n huffed. “well, too bad, seung. you’re coming whether you like it or not.” she grabbed his wrist and pulled.

seungmin groaned. “i hate this already.”

“no, you don’t.”

“…no, i don’t.”

jisung waved. “have fun, lovebirds.”

“say that to my face when i come back to you and minho making out on the couch.”

“um, is privacy just a concept now???” jisung's eyes widened and he almost fell off the couch from the remark. “leave us alone!”

and just like that, she was dragging him forward, with star happily trotting beside them.

seungmin let himself be pulled (because, really, what other choice did he have?) as jisung waved them off. as they stepped outside, y/n grinned triumphantly. she was taking seungmin and star on a picnic.

call it a date, if you want to.

this was a win, either way.

the streets were alive with the hum of the noon—the soft chatter of pedestrians, the occasional honk of a distant car, the faint rustle of leaves as the wind carried whispers through the trees. the golden hour painted the world in warmth.

seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets as y/n led the way, walking slightly ahead with star. the breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair, lifting them gently as if the wind itself were playing along. she was practically bouncing on her feet, occasionally turning back to look at seungmin with the biggest, most childlike grin ever.

he hated how cute it was. star trotted beside her, his tail wagging as he happily sniffed the air. the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby café mixed with the subtle fragrance of damp earth, the aftermath of a brief afternoon drizzle. y/n giggled, reaching down to scratch star’s head.

“you’re such a good boy, you know that?” she cooed, her voice soft. “you deserve all the happiness in the world, my baby.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “i hope you know you’ve just activated his ‘spoiled prince’ mode.”

y/n shot him a look. “excuse me? star deserves to be treated like royalty.”

“he’s literally been in my dorm for one day, and he already walks around like he owns the place.”

“that’s right, baby, you’re the king. own it.”

seungmin muttered something under his breath, but he couldn’t hide the amused look in his eyes.

they turned a corner, walking past a row of small cafés. the air carried hints of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, the kind of scents that made everything feel a little warmer, a little cozier. y/n pointed at one of them.

“oh! that’s where felix and i go for late-night coffee runs.”

“late-night coffee runs? you mean ‘let’s see how much caffeine we can consume before death’ runs?”

“how dare you? we are simply connoisseurs of the fine art that is coffee appreciation.”

“you’re addicts.”

“you sound like aeri.”

“well, maybe aeri is right.”

“betrayal. i trusted you.”

“you trust way too easily.”

“that’s called being nice, seungmin.”

“more like being reckless.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “you’re just mad because i forced you outside.”

“i am mad,” seungmin deadpanned. “i was perfectly fine at home, but no, you had to drag me into the world of socializing and fresh air.”

“fresh air is good for you.”

“no, staying inside and avoiding people is good for me.”

y/n snorted. “you are such a grandpa.”

seungmin side-eyed her. “and you are such a child.”

“and yet, here you are, following a said child to a picnic.”

seungmin sighed, looking up at the sky. “this is my life now.”

y/n just laughed, swinging their hands slightly before realizing what she was doing and immediately letting go.

seungmin didn’t say anything. they reached a quieter street, lined with trees. the golden hour made everything glow, and y/n looked at the street, eyes sparkling.

“it’s so pretty,” she murmured.

y/n suddenly turned to him, her expression soft. “aren’t you glad i dragged you out now?”

seungmin glanced at her, taking in the way her eyes shone in the golden light, the way she absentmindedly reached down to scratch behind star’s ear, the way she looked so effortlessly happy.

he sighed. “i guess it’s not that bad.”

y/n grinned. “that’s the closest thing to a compliment i’ll ever get from you, huh?”

“correct.”

she giggled, and they walked on, letting the peaceful evening carry them forward.

the park was bathed in golden sunlight by the time they arrived, the grass glowing under the warmth of the late afternoon. the blades swayed gently with the occasional breeze, casting playful shadows over the earth. the air smelled of sun-warmed leaves and the faint perfume of wildflowers that lined the walking paths. birds flitted between branches, their soft chirping blending seamlessly with the rustling of leaves. in the distance, laughter and chatter wove into the afternoon air—people jogging along the winding trails, couples lounging on picnic blankets, and children chasing soccer balls with delighted squeals.

but for y/n, it was perfect. a vast, open space. fresh air. the scent of flowers. and most importantly—star.

“finally!” y/n cheered, practically skipping onto the grass as she let go of seungmin’s wrist and crouched down.

“star! you’re free! run, my love, run!” she dramatically spoke.

the dog, catching onto the excitement, let out a happy bark and dashed across the field. his golden fur shimmered under the sunlight as he zoomed in circles, his ears flopping with every movement. the grass bent beneath his paws, tiny petals bursting into the air where he ran.

seungmin exhaled, rubbing his temples. “i feel like i’m babysitting two creatures at once.”

y/n shot him a playful glare. “excuse you. i am a fully functional human being.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “are you? because i just watched you sprint into the park like a five-year-old.”

“i am excited, seungmin! let me live!” y/n huffed, standing up straight and placing her hands on her hips. “look at him. look at my son being all happy.”

seungmin followed her gaze, watching as star excitedly sniffed around, kicking up grass with his paws. he had to admit—watching the dog so free and joyful was kind of… nice. the late sunlight glowed against star’s fur, a halo of gold against the soft green of the park.

y/n, noticing seungmin’s soft expression, nudged him. “see? this is fun. you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

seungmin scoffed. “i'll have fun when we finish our project.”

y/n gasped dramatically. “you love star. you love spending time outside with me. you just don’t wanna admit it.”

seungmin turned to her, deadpan. “i tolerate you at best.”

y/n smirked. “mm-hmm, sure, mr. ‘i secretly enjoy this but will never admit it.’”

seungmin ignored her, crouching down and clicking his tongue. “star, come here.”

star, tail wagging, instantly ran over to seungmin. y/n watched in amusement as seungmin gently patted the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“wow,” y/n teased, arms crossed. “you really are a softie.”

“i am not,” seungmin retorted.

“oh, you so are,” y/n giggled, dropping down beside them. she reached out, rubbing star’s belly as he flopped onto the grass.

for a moment, the world was quiet—just the sound of birds, the occasional laughter of kids in the distance, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. and then, unexpectedly, seungmin chuckled.

it was soft—barely there—but y/n heard it.

she turned her head quickly, eyes turning into little crescents as she smiled, looking at the guy while he pet star.

“your smile is adorable, you know,”

“can we go and actually study now?” seungmin insisted, turning away.

y/n grinned mischievously. “seungmin has a pretty smile, confirmed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

“make me.”

seungmin shot her a look. “do you want me to throw you in a bush?”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

seungmin smirked. “test me.”

y/n, still grinning, turned back to star, petting his fur. she didn’t push further, but something about this moment—seungmin smiling, actually enjoying himself—made her heart feel… warm.

then, after what felt like forever of running around with star, playing fetch, and letting him explore every flower patch in sight, they finally settled under a large oak tree. the bark was rough against their backs, but the shade was cool, offering a soft reprieve from the sun’s golden heat.

seungmin stretched his legs out, pulling out his laptop. “alright. now can we actually get to work?”

y/n sat cross-legged across from him, her notebook and a takeout cup in front of her. “yes, yes, fine.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you say that, but you’re still petting star.”

y/n froze mid-pat. “…okay, maybe i have a problem.”

seungmin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you definitely have a problem.”

still, he opened his laptop, scanning through the project notes. y/n followed along—at least, she tried to. but every few minutes, she found herself glancing at star, who was now napping beside them, his head resting on her thigh. he noticed.

“y/n.”

“hm?”

“you’re not paying attention.”

y/n blinked. “what? yes, i am.”

seungmin gave her an unimpressed look. “oh yeah? what did i just say?”

y/n panicked. “uh. something about, businesses..?”

seungmin sighed. “you’re impossible.”

y/n pouted. “look, i am listening, but how can i not admire this beautiful creature sleeping on my lap?”

seungmin side-eyed star. “yeah, yeah, he’s adorable. now focus.” y/n huffed, reluctantly turning back to her notes.

for a while, they actually worked—throwing around ideas, writing down key points, and organizing their research.

at some point, though, y/n noticed the way seungmin’s brows furrowed when he was focused, how he tapped his fingers against his laptop absentmindedly. and more than once, seungmin caught y/n just staring at him.

“what?” he finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

y/n shook her head. “nothing.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “are you admiring me now?”

y/n scoffed. “you look peaceful when you're reading.”

seungmin just blinked. “well.. i'm reading.”

they continued working, but there was something different now—something softer in the air. subtle things.

like how y/n adjusted star’s sleeping position carefully so he’d be more comfortable. like how seungmin absentmindedly handed y/n her coffee when he noticed she hadn’t taken a sip in a while.

like how their shoulders would brush every now and then, neither of them pulling away. it was all so small, yet it lingered.

and when the sun dipped lower, when the air got a little cooler, when the world felt quieter, y/n found herself thinking—

maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

“star, come back, you little menace!” she giggled, barely able to keep up.

seungmin, standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, watched the scene unfold with an unreadable expression. his gaze flickered between y/n’s bright, joyful smile and the way star eagerly circled around her, tail wagging furiously.

it was ridiculous, how happy they looked together. ridiculous, and maybe a little… endearing.

star, realizing he was being chased, took that as an invitation to run even faster, his paws kicking up little tufts of grass.

“seungmin!” y/n called, breathless. “help me!”

seungmin sighed. “you brought this upon yourself.”

y/n pouted dramatically. “rude.”

still, seungmin finally crouched down and clicked his tongue, calling for star. instantly, the golden retriever skidded to a stop, his ears perking up as he sprinted toward seungmin instead.

y/n gasped, stopping in her tracks. “traitor!”

seungmin smirked as star practically crashed into him, licking his face. “i guess he likes me better.”

y/n stomped over, hands on her hips. “he does not!”

seungmin wiped his face with his sleeve. “he literally abandoned you for me.”

y/n huffed, flopping onto the grass beside him. star immediately lay down between them, tongue lolling out in content.

“fine,” she said dramatically. “maybe he likes you a little bit.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “wow. high praise.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attention back to star. she rubbed his belly, murmuring sweet nonsense as he wagged his tail in delight.

the moment was peaceful. warm. the kind of easy happiness that made time feel slower.

until—

a blur of brown and white fur came bounding toward them, yapping excitedly.

another dog, a lot smaller than star, skidded to a stop right in front of them. her fur was a mix of ginger-brown and cream, her ears flopping as she wagged her tail in excitement.

“oh?” y/n blinked, watching as the new dog sniffed star curiously.

before seungmin could react, a voice called out.

“berry! berry, you little gremlin, get back here!”

a guy—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in casual sweats—ran toward them, slightly out of breath, his australian accent quite evident. his curly hair was ruffled from the wind, and he had a charming, easygoing smile as he stopped a few feet away.

“oh man, i’m so sorry,” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “she just—she loves meeting other dogs.”

y/n, already grinning, waved him off. “no worries! star’s the exact same.”

the guy straightened, flashing a sheepish smile. “yeah? that’s good. she’s too friendly sometimes.” he gestured toward the excitable golden retriever, who was now playfully nudging star’s side. “her name’s berry.”

y/n gasped. “that is the cutest name ever.”

the guy laughed, clearly amused. “you think so? i was kinda worried it was too cutesy, but she looks like a little berry, so it stuck.”

seungmin, who had been standing quietly the whole time, resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

this guy is too friendly.

and y/n is too easily charmed.

“i’m chris, by the way,” the guy continued, offering a hand.

“y/n!” she shook his hand enthusiastically. “and this is seungmin.” she nudged seungmin’s arm. “say hi.”

seungmin sighed. “hi.”

chris chuckled. “nice to meet you two.”

seungmin nodded stiffly, before deciding to step back, returning to where their books were laid out under the tree.

y/n, completely unaware of the shift in his mood, continued chatting.

“so how old is berry?” she asked, scratching behind the pup’s ears.

“just over nine! she's been an amazing girl.” chris crouched down beside her, watching as berry and star playfully tumbled over each other. “she’s usually tired but still excited, though.”

y/n laughed. “oh, she's adorable. star has the energy of a child with unlimited sugar intake.”

chris snorted. “that’s the best kind, though.”

seungmin, from where he sat, clicked his tongue.

what’s so funny? what’s so interesting?

he tried to focus on his notes, but his mind kept drifting back to y/n’s voice—bright and animated as she talked to this guy like they’d known each other forever.

it was annoying. not that he cared. of course not.

except he did. a little. maybe. a tiny bit.

“seung!” y/n called suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “come back here! your kid's making a new friend, and you’re missing it!”

seungmin sighed, shutting his laptop a little too aggressively.

when he walked back over, y/n gave him a big, innocent grin. “welcome back. did you miss us?”

seungmin looked at her. then at chris. then at the two dogs playing.

“no.”

y/n laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “liar.”

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. he hated how she could read him so easily.

chris, still petting berry, smiled. “you guys come here often?”

“sometimes, alone though. he just adopted star two days ago.” y/n chirped. “seungmin and i have a project, but i lowkey tricked him into coming here instead of the library.”

chris laughed. “genius.”

seungmin groaned. “please don’t encourage her.”

chris just grinned. “i mean, i get it. if my friend tried to make me study in a library instead of chilling outside with pups? i’d revolt.”

y/n gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “seungmin! you hear that?! i am validated!”

seungmin stared blankly. “i am regretting my life choices.”

chris chuckled. “well, if you guys ever wanna do another dog hangout, berry and i are around a lot.” he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “here, y/n, you should give me your number. we can plan something.”

seungmin nearly choked.

y/n, completely oblivious to the way seungmin visibly tensed, beamed. “oooh, yes, of course! looks like our dogs are already friends.” she quickly typed her number into chris’s phone, and seungmin felt a very unreasonable surge of irritation.

chris stood, grinning. “cool. see you guys around!” as he walked away, berry gave star one last playful nudge before trotting off after her owner.

the moment they were out of earshot, seungmin exhaled.

y/n, grinning, turned to him. “that was fun, huh?”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you gave a random guy your number.”

“he’s not random! he has a dog, seungmin. that makes him automatically trustworthy.”

“that is the worst logic i’ve ever heard.”

y/n just laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “you’re cute when you sulk, you know.”

seungmin scoffed. “i do not sulk.”

y/n just smirked. “mmm-hmm.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but as they sat back down under the tree, watching star flop into the grass with a content sigh, he found himself almost smiling.

almost.

so with chris and berry gone, and star finally exhausted from his zoomies, seungmin and y/n settled back under the tree where their books, laptops, and coffee cups were scattered. ☆, now thoroughly worn out, plopped onto the grass with a deep, satisfied sigh, his golden fur catching the sunlight. he lay near y/n’s side, occasionally shifting to rest his head on her lap as she absentmindedly scratched behind his ears.

seungmin, on the other hand, was busy flipping through pages of notes, fingers tapping against his knee. he had somehow ended up with y/n’s pink highlighter, and though he’d never admit it, he kind of liked the contrast of bright neon ink against his otherwise meticulously organized notes.

“well,” y/n stretched, her head tilting back as she groaned dramatically, “we have two days to get this done. two. days. and i still have, like, 40% of the work left.”

seungmin glanced up. “you should be worried, but you don’t look worried.”

she grinned. “because i have you to keep me on track.”

he blinked, unamused. “i regret letting you meet my dog.”

y/n gasped. “excuse me? star was mine first.”

seungmin smirked, tapping the back of his pen against his notebook. “i literally signed the adoption papers. he’s mine now.”

y/n pouted, leaning down to rest her cheek against star’s fur. “baby, did you hear that? your so-called dad is so mean.”

star wagged his tail once but didn’t move.

seungmin scoffed, but there was something fond in the way he looked at her.

“anyway,” he said, flipping a page. “we need to get through at least two sections today if we don’t wanna pull an all-nighter before submission.”

y/n sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “alright, alright. time to be productive.”

for a few minutes, it was actually quiet. seungmin explained a concept, y/n listened, asked questions, and for a rare moment, she was focused.

and then— star stretched, rolling onto his back with his paws in the air.

y/n immediately melted, again.

“oh my god,” she whispered, “he’s so cute.”

seungmin closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. “y/n—”

“just look at him!” she gushed, putting her laptop aside to rub star’s belly. “how am i supposed to study when this exists?”

seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose. “you dragged me here for a study session and now you’re the one getting distracted.”

y/n pouted. “i can’t help it!”

seungmin let out a slow exhale before leaning forward to flick her forehead.

“ow—hey!” y/n rubbed the spot he’d flicked, looking betrayed.

“focus,” he said, smirking.

y/n narrowed her eyes but sighed, reluctantly returning to her notes.

minutes passed. then an hour.

despite her initial distractions, y/n actually did well. she caught up on most of the sections she had been behind on, taking notes diligently while seungmin occasionally tested her on concepts.

somewhere between paragraphs and equations, their coffee cups ran empty, and star dozed off beside y/n, his soft snores blending into the comfortable silence.

when the sunlight softened into afternoon hues, y/n stretched again, cracking her back dramatically.

“i think we actually made progress,” she said, sounding surprised.

seungmin glanced at her, amused. “you doubted me?”

“i doubted me,” she corrected. “you, on the other hand, are like an annoyingly effective tutor.”

he smirked. “annoying but effective. i’ll take it.”

she snorted.

then, after a beat, she turned to him with a softer expression.

“thanks for today,” she said.

seungmin blinked. “for… studying?”

“well, yeah,” she shrugged, “but also for letting me see star. and for putting up with my distractions.”

he glanced away for a second, pretending to focus on closing his laptop. “it’s fine. you were less annoying than usual.”

y/n gasped. “seungmin. was that… a compliment?”

he groaned. “forget i said anything.”

but y/n just giggled, nudging his shoulder.

. . .

with the study session wrapping up, y/n shut her notebook and stretched, arms reaching towards the sky as she let out a satisfied sigh.

“i think my brain is officially fried,” she declared, flopping back onto the cool grass.

seungmin rolled his eyes, finishing up his notes. “you always say that after studying for an hour.”

“that’s because my brain isn’t built for intense academic labor.”

“yeah? what is it built for?”

y/n hummed, glancing at the sky. “talking. music. daydreaming. falling in love with random fictional characters—”

seungmin scoffed. “should’ve figured.”

y/n giggled, turning to her side to look at him. “what about you? you’re a music major, right?”

he nodded. “yeah.”

“so, you like music?”

he blinked at her. “no, y/n, i hate it. that’s why i chose to major in it.”

she snorted. “okay, i get it. but like… do you just sing, or do you compose too?”

seungmin hesitated, eyes flickering to the grass as he picked at the hem of his sleeve. “…i write, too.”

y/n’s eyes widened. “wait, really?”

“that’s so cool,” she grinned. “what kind of stuff do you write?”

he glanced away, pretending to be uninterested, but there was a faint pink dusting his ears. “it depends.”

“depends on what?”

“…on the mood.”

y/n tilted her head. “like, do you write sad songs when you’re sad?”

“sometimes.”

“and happy songs when you’re happy?”

seungmin exhaled a laugh. “yeah, something like that.”

y/n hummed in thought before sitting up, crossing her legs. “can i hear something someday?”

he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “you wanna hear my songs?”

“well, yeah,” she said like it was obvious. “if you wrote them, they must be good.”

seungmin looked at her for a moment, slightly taken aback.

it wasn’t that he hid his music, but he also never had someone be this… interested.

y/n, on the other hand, seemed genuinely eager. her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity, her black curls catching the golden sunlight as she leaned in slightly.

“…maybe one day,” he finally said.

she gasped, dramatically placing a hand on her heart. “did i just get kim seungmin to agree to something?”

he rolled his eyes. “regretfully.”

y/n laughed, the sound soft and warm, blending into the lazy afternoon air.

then, after a beat, she asked, “so, when did you start writing?”

seungmin hesitated, staring at the ground for a second before answering. “…high school, i guess.”

“because you liked it?”

“because i needed to.”

y/n’s playful grin softened. “needed to?”

he sighed, leaning back on his hands. “…it was just an outlet, i guess.”

y/n nodded, understanding. “music’s like that, huh? the way it can say what words can’t.”

seungmin turned to her, surprised. “…yeah.”

for a second, they just looked at each other.

the breeze was soft, rustling through the leaves, and the golden afternoon light framed y/n’s face perfectly.

seungmin swallowed.

she was—

“…anyway!” y/n broke the silence, grinning again. “do you have a favorite song you’ve written?”

he blinked, shaking off whatever that thought was. “not really.”

“what? no way.”

he smirked. “i don’t.”

“well, what’s your most recent one about?”

he hesitated, the corner of his lips twitching. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

y/n groaned. “you are so annoying.”

“you’re the one asking questions.”

“because i wanna know you!” she huffed.

seungmin stilled.

y/n blinked, realizing how that sounded, and quickly scrambled to fix it. “i mean, like—! not in a weird way! just in a ‘we’re friends and i’m curious’ way—”

seungmin chuckled, amused at her sudden flustered state.

her face was slightly red, lips pursed, avoiding his gaze.

and he—

…was noticing too much.

clearing his throat, he glanced away, staring at star, who was now lazily sprawled across the grass, napping.

“…it was about wanting something you can’t have,” he finally said.

y/n turned back to him, blinking. “what?”

“the last song i wrote,” he said, not looking at her. “it was about that.”

y/n tilted her head. “oh…”

silence.

“…like a person.. or a thing?”

seungmin’s jaw tensed. “something like that.”

y/n’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t push.

instead, she smiled gently. “well, if you ever wanna share, i’d love to hear it.”

seungmin glanced at her.

she meant it.

it was in the way her voice softened, the way her eyes held nothing but warmth.

“…yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “maybe.”

y/n grinned. “i’ll hold you to that.”

seungmin exhaled, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched.

and as the afternoon stretched on, filled with more questions, quiet laughter, and stolen glances—

he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

the golden hues of the afternoon had softened into a dusky warmth, but neither of them had moved from their spot. the books had been closed a while ago, pushed aside, making way for idle chatter and occasional banter. star was still sprawled across the grass, now lazily flicking his tail in his sleep.

y/n reached for her matcha latte without thinking, bringing it to her lips as she listened to seungmin talk.

“so, basically, jisung thought he was auditioning for a singing position but it was actually for theatre,” seungmin smirked, recalling the tragic yet hilarious memory.

y/n, mid-sip, choked on her drink. “what?!”

seungmin watched as she coughed, eyes wide in disbelief.

“you’re telling me he— he accidentally signed up for a theatre audition? how does one confuse that..”

“oh yeah.” seungmin nodded, crossing his arms. “i swear, i’ve never seen him improvise so fast. he ended up just… dramatically narrating the lyrics to some song.”

y/n wheezed. “please tell me there’s a video.”

“there is.”

“i need to see it.”

“we all do,” seungmin sighed. “but it’s buried in the archives of shame.”

y/n wiped the corner of her mouth, shaking her head. “jisung is actually insane.”

seungmin hummed in agreement, watching as she absentmindedly took another sip of matcha.

it took him approximately three seconds to realize—

that wasn’t her drink.

it was his.

his eyes flickered between the cup in her hand and his own, which was still sitting untouched beside him.

for a split second, he considered telling her—maybe teasing her for it.

but instead—

he said nothing.

maybe it was because she looked so natural, holding it like it had always been hers. or maybe it was the way she kept laughing, completely unaware of the fact that she had just—

whatever.

it didn’t bother him.

which was weird.

but before he could overthink it, y/n placed the cup back down, already moving to stretch.

“i need to move,” she groaned, standing up. “my legs are gonna cramp.”

seungmin leaned back on his hands. “what, so you’re just gonna run away?”

“not run,” she corrected, dramatically dusting off her jeans. “just gonna go play with my favorite boy in the world.”

seungmin raised a brow. “i’m right here.”

“i meant star, you nerdy narcissist.”

seungmin scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her crouch beside the golden retriever, gently running her fingers through his fur.

“cute.” there was a mumble.

star blinked up at her sleepily before sighing, dramatically rolling onto his back.

y/n gasped. “oh my god. you are so adorable.”

seungmin exhaled, his gaze lingering.

there was something about the way she was—so effortlessly warm, so naturally affectionate.

the way her eyes softened when she looked at star. the way she giggled when he licked her cheek. the way she—

“…min, look!”

he blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as y/n turned to him, beaming.

“what?”

she pointed at star, who was now trying to hold her hand between his paws.

seungmin huffed out a small laugh. “yeah, yeah. he likes you.”

“like???” y/n scoffed. “loves. he loves me.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, pushing himself up from the grass and walking over to them.

as he approached, star wagged his tail excitedly, shifting his attention to him.

“see?” y/n grinned. “he loves you, too.”

seungmin crouched down, scratching star behind the ears. “obviously. who wouldn’t?”

y/n shot him an unimpressed look. “you have no shame.”

he smirked. “why would i?”

y/n groaned, flopping onto the grass dramatically.

star, thrilled by her sudden movement, barked before immediately climbing on top of her.

“wait, no—!” y/n squeaked.

seungmin stood over them, arms crossed. “this is hilarious.”

“help me, you traitor!”

he shrugged. “nah, you’re his favorite, right? deal with it.”

y/n glared at him through a mess of golden fur, breathless from laughing.

and seungmin—

he noticed it again.

the way her cheeks were flushed. the way her curls were sprawled against the grass. the way—

“…oh my god, is this your revenge?” y/n gasped.

seungmin snapped out of it. “what?”

“you planned this.” she squinted at him, grinning. “you trained star to betray me.”

he snorted. “yeah, because i totally trained a dog i adopted yesterday.”

“exactly!”

he rolled his eyes. “you’re insane.”

“thank you.”

with that, she finally managed to wriggle out from under star, sitting up and dusting off her clothes.

star happily plopped his head onto her lap, sighing contently.

y/n smiled, running her fingers through his fur.

and seungmin—

he exhaled, sitting beside them.

he didn’t get it.

didn’t understand why—

why it was so easy to be here, with her.

why it was so easy to look.

but for some reason—

he didn’t mind figuring it out.

soon, the sky had started shifting into deeper shades of indigo, the golden warmth of the sun melting into something softer, quieter. they hadn’t moved from their spot under the tree, their books still scattered on the blanket beneath them, long forgotten. star had long since worn himself out from his zoomies, only to reawaken with another surge of energy, bolting across the grass like a streak of gold.

y/n had her knees tucked up to her chest, her chin resting lazily atop them, watching the dog with the kind of fondness that made something in seungmin’s chest tighten.

“you do realize you’re going to be his favorite person for life, right?” she mused, glancing at him with a knowing smile.

seungmin, leaning back on his hands, scoffed. “he better be loyal.”

she gasped dramatically. “loyal? seungmin, that’s a dog. of course he's loyal.”

he laughed, tilting his head. “yeah?”

y/n exhaled, flopping onto her back. “yeah.”

“finally,” he hummed, shifting to look down at her, “it seems you're tired.”

she lifted a hand, flicking his forehead. “against my will.”

seungmin chuckled under his breath, rubbing the spot absentmindedly. “right. that’s why you’ve been making it your life’s mission to barge into my dorm every day like a ray of sunshine.”

y/n opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. she clamped it shut, lips pressing into a line.

seungmin smirked. “that’s what i thought.”

“you’re so annoying,” she grumbled, turning her head away.

“yet you’re still here.”

“stop repeating that!”

his laugh was warm, effortless.

the silence that followed was comfortable—easy in the way that it lingered without pressure, stretching between them as the wind stirred through the leaves above. the distant sounds of the park continued—laughter, conversation, the occasional bark—but between them, the world was quiet.

y/n was still lying on her back, her eyes tracing the deepening hues of the sky. seungmin sat beside her, his gaze naturally drawn to her profile—the soft curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. his hand rested against the blanket, fingers idly toying with the hem. he wasn’t entirely sure why he was still looking, but something about the way she was bathed in fading light made it impossible to glance away.

“do you ever just…” y/n’s voice was softer now, thoughtful. “feel so full of something but don’t know what to do with it?”

seungmin stilled.

“…what kind of ‘something’?”

she exhaled slowly. “like…” she turned her head, meeting his gaze. “something warm.”

his fingers curled slightly against the fabric beneath him.

warm.

he knew that feeling. he’d been feeling it this entire time.

a slow, deliberate kind of warmth. the kind that sneaks up on you and settles beneath your skin. the kind that lingers, even when you’re trying not to think about it.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before.

y/n’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his.

he didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was her—her breath hitching as she leaned ever so slightly closer.

maybe it was him—the way his hand lifted, fingers grazing against her wrist, tentative but not hesitant.

maybe it was something neither of them could name, something inevitable. all he knew was that when their lips met, the world stopped.

it was soft at first, unhurried—like a quiet realization unfolding in real time. her lips were warm, plush, molding against his in a way that sent a slow, curling heat through his veins. he could feel the tentative way she responded, the hesitation melting away as she pressed closer. his hand moved on instinct, cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing against the delicate skin of her cheek.

and then—

she sighed against him.

and something in seungmin broke.

the kiss deepened, slow and intoxicating, the warmth between them turning into something more. his fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head as he kissed her deeper, tasting the faint remnants of matcha on her tongue. her hands gripped his sleeves, clutching onto him like she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.

a slow drag of lips. the slide of warmth. the gentle push and pull, like a silent conversation in a language only they understood.

she made a soft sound—a quiet, involuntary sigh against his mouth—and seungmin groaned, his grip tightening. in one swift motion, he pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around her.

she gasped against him, fingers gripping his collar now, knuckles white.

seungmin barely pulled away, his breath mingling with hers. “okay?”

y/n nodded, dazed, her lips already parting for him again.

and so he kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, more deliberate. like he was savoring it. like he wanted to memorize the way she felt against him. the warmth of her. the way her lips yielded so easily to his. the way she sighed when he angled his head just right. he was good at this—really good at this. she could feel it in the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to kiss her like he had all the time in the world.

it was dizzying.

overwhelming.

addicting.

when they finally pulled away, y/n was breathless, her cheeks burning. seungmin exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. she looked adorable. her lips were pink, slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“wow,” she whispered.

seungmin smirked. “yeah?”

y/n blinked, nodding furiously. “yeah.”

he chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “good.”

for a moment, they just breathed, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

then—

a sudden blur of gold zoomed past them. they both turned just in time to see star bolting across the grass, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

seungmin sighed, rubbing his temple. “of course.”

y/n, still dazed, let out a giggle, her fingers still curled loosely around his collar. “guess he approves.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “yeah, yeah.”

y/n bit her lip, looking down at him. her gaze flickered to his lips. seungmin caught it. his smirk widened.

“you so wanna kiss me again.”

y/n shoved his shoulder. “shut up.”

he laughed, his arms still around her. “you’re not even denying it.”

y/n groaned, burying her face into his shoulder. “shut up.”

seungmin just grinned, his fingers slipping back into her hair.

yeah. this warmth? he could get used to it.

they stayed like that for a while, tangled in the warmth of each other, the air still thick with something unnamed yet understood. neither of them moved immediately—not because they didn’t know what to do next, but because this was nice. the weight of her against him, the slow rhythm of their breaths, the way their fingers stayed lightly curled in each other’s clothes as if neither was quite ready to let go.

eventually, though, reality had to set in.

y/n exhaled, shifting slightly in his lap, her fingers still resting on the collar of his hoodie. “we should probably… y’know.”

seungmin hummed, making no move to let go. “should we?”

she narrowed her eyes, giving him a half-hearted glare. “don’t be annoying.”

he smirked. “i literally can’t help it.”

rolling her eyes, she lightly flicked his forehead before pushing herself up, and immediately regretted it. her legs were numb, her heart was still racing, and the moment she was standing, she suddenly realized—

we just kissed.

the weight of it hit her all over again, sinking into her skin, making her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite place. seungmin was still sitting, looking obnoxiously unbothered, like he didn’t just leave her completely breathless. she huffed under her breath, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves.

meanwhile, seungmin watched her, eyes sharp, amused. he could see the way she was avoiding his gaze, could see the way her fingers twitched, adjusting her sleeves.

it was cute.

“something wrong?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

she snapped her gaze to him, lips parting, face slightly pink. “huh? no! why would anything be wrong?”

seungmin’s smirk widened. “mhm.”

“i—” she huffed, crossing her arms. “you’re so annoying, i swear.”

he finally stood, stretching his arms above his head before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “and yet…”

y/n groaned. “seungmin.”

he chuckled, glancing at her before tilting his head toward the scattered books. “c’mon, let’s pack up.”

she nodded, relieved for the momentary escape from the weight of that kiss. but even as they gathered their books, even as she stuffed her things into her tote bag, she could still feel it. the warmth, the way he held her, the slow press of his lips against hers.

she turned her back to him, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

seungmin noticed. he definitely noticed. but he didn’t say anything.

instead, he grabbed her unfinished matcha latte—the one that had started all this in the first place. without thinking, he lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. and y/n, ever the observant one, immediately noticed.

her eyes widened. “did you just—”

he raised a brow. “what?”

“that’s mine.”

seungmin blinked, licking his lips, as if only now realizing. then, he shrugged. “you drank from mine first.”

y/n’s face turned red. he smirked.

flustered, she grabbed her bag, whistled for star, and stormed off in the direction of the dorms. seungmin let out a soft laugh before following.

. . .

the walk back was… not awkward. but not not awkward.

there was something lingering in the air between them, something unspoken, something charged. y/n found herself hyperaware of everything—the distance between them, the way their hands occasionally brushed, the sound of their footsteps on the pavement.

seungmin, for once, wasn’t teasing her.

that, more than anything, made her nervous. she risked a glance at him. he was walking with his hands still in his pockets, eyes ahead, looking as relaxed as ever. if anything, he looked… deep in thought.

“seungmin.”

he turned his head. “hm?”

she hesitated. “are you—are you being weird?”

his lips twitched. “what does that even mean?”

“i don’t know,” she groaned, hugging her tote bag closer. “you’re quiet. you’re never quiet.”

he gave her a look. “i am quiet.”

“not around me.”

seungmin exhaled through his nose, looking away. “…i guess i’m just thinking.”

y/n frowned slightly. “thinking about what?”

he shrugged. “stuff.”

she narrowed her eyes. “what kind of stuff?”

at that, he glanced at her, meeting her gaze for a moment too long. “you.”

y/n’s breath hitched. her face burned.

seungmin looked back ahead, as if he hadn’t just casually said something that made her entire body short-circuit. she opened her mouth. closed it. opened it again. closed it again.

seungmin smirked to himself. they kept walking.

by the time they reached his dorm, the air was slightly less charged, but only because y/n had started rambling about how star needed a new toy collection. she was already planning an entire schedule for star—days when she’d take him out, what treats she’d bake, whether she should get him a sweater for when it got colder.

seungmin just listened, hands in his pockets, nodding occasionally.

when they reached the door, y/n turned to him, rocking on her heels. “so… see you tomorrow?”

seungmin leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head. “you’re not barging in again?”

she pouted. “am i that annoying?”

seungmin’s gaze flickered to her lips for a split second before he smirked. “nah.”

her heart did a thing. she quickly looked away. “okay, well. goodnight, seungmin.”

“ ‘night, y/n.”

she turned, starting down the hall, feeling a little lighter. just as she reached the end, she heard his voice.

“hey, y/n.”

she stopped. looked over her shoulder. “yeah?”

seungmin shoved his hands further into his pockets. for a moment, he just looked at her. then, with a slow, knowing smirk—

“sweet dreams.” and then he shut the door.

y/n stood there. processing. then, with an exasperated groan, she spun on her heel and stormed toward her own dorm.

her face was burning. seungmin, on the other side of the door, chuckled under his breath.

yeah. this was definitely going to be fun.

soon, y/n barely had time to recover from seungmin’s stupid smirk before she opened her dorm door and was immediately met with a chorus of gasps and dramatic expressions.

aeri was lounging on the couch, legs crossed, sipping on what looked like matcha tea (as if that wasn’t already triggering enough). rina was sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, arms crossed, eyes deadly sharp. felix and hyunjin?

they were standing. right in front of her.

like interrogators. waiting.

y/n blinked. “uh—”

aeri squinted. “you’re late.”

rina narrowed her eyes. “suspiciously late.”

hyunjin placed a hand over his chest. “and you didn’t text us back.”

felix gasped dramatically, gripping hyunjin’s shoulder. “she never does that.”

y/n gaped. “never?”

aeri pointed her straw at her. “never.”

“i was busy,” y/n whined, slipping off her shoes. “i did text you guys.”

“hours ago,” rina said.

felix crossed his arms. “so where were you really?”

y/n opened her mouth. closed it. looked around at all their expectant faces.

aeri gasped. “wait.”

everyone turned to her.

she pointed. “you look different.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened. “she does.”

felix leaned in, inspecting her face. “…she’s glowing.”

“i am not—”

“you’re blushing.”

y/n clapped a hand over her face. “i am not blushing.”

rina smirked. “did something happen?”

y/n groaned, throwing herself onto the couch beside aeri. “can i please just breathe?”

“no,” aeri said.

felix gasped again, grabbing hyunjin’s arm dramatically. “wait—what if—”

“what if she kissed seungmin?” hyunjin finished, eyes gleaming.

y/n choked. “what—”

“she totally did,” rina gasped.

aeri sat up, pointing. “you so did.”

felix clapped his hands. “we knew something was happening between you two!”

“i—no you did not—”

“we totally did,” hyunjin argued. “seungmin has never let someone drag him out for picnics.”

aeri wiggled her brows. “did you finally kiss, you slow-burn idiots?”

y/n smacked a cushion over her face. “i hate you all.”

“she’s not denying it.”

rina snorted. “so? how was it?”

“excuse me?”

felix and hyunjin jumped onto the couch, both of them pressing closer.

“be honest,” felix whispered.

“was he good?” hyunjin asked.

“did he—” aeri leaned in, smirking. “use tongue?”

“oh my god—”

. . .

meanwhile, in another part of the building, seungmin finally stepped into his dorm, tossing his bag near the door. he expected peace. silence.

maybe jisung playing some dumb mobile game and minho scrolling on his phone. instead..

the moment he closed the door, jisung and minho—sitting side by side on the couch—turned to look at him in perfect unison.

seungmin paused.

jisung raised a brow. “you’re late.”

seungmin exhaled. “oh my god, not you too.”

minho sipped his coffee. “he seems unusually… relaxed.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “and?”

jisung smirked. “you never come back relaxed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, moving toward the fridge. “you guys are annoying.”

jisung gasped. “minho. minho. look at him.”

minho hummed. “i see it.”

seungmin turned. “see what?”

jisung grinned. “you got some, didn’t you?”

minho smirked. “i knew you liked her.”

seungmin groaned, running a hand down his face. “you both need to shut up.”

jisung sat up, eyes gleaming. “you did kiss her, didn’t you?”

seungmin exhaled, grabbed a water bottle, and took a long sip.

minho raised a brow. “he’s avoiding.”

“he’s totally avoiding.”

seungmin sighed, leaning against the counter. “i hate both of you.”

jisung grinned. “we love you too.”

minho smirked, setting his cup down. “so? how was it?”

seungmin scoffed. “what is wrong with you people?”

jisung gasped dramatically. “you didn’t like it?”

seungmin froze for half a second.

jisung smirked. “ohhh, you totally did.”

minho nodded, smug. “he liked it.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

jisung grinned, leaning back. “it’s okay, you can tell us. we don’t judge.”

minho nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “we definitely judge.”

seungmin exhaled. “i hate you both.”

jisung smirked. “we know.” . . . “so…” rina wiggled her brows. “you’re seeing him again tomorrow?”

y/n groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “i see him everyday.”

felix smirked. “because you love him.”

y/n choked. “i do not—”

hyunjin held up his hands. “we’re just saying.”

aeri snickered. “you so do.”

y/n grabbed a cushion and screamed into it.

her friends just laughed.

meanwhile, back in seungmin’s dorm, minho stretched, setting his cup down. “so, what now?”

seungmin shrugged. “dunno.”

jisung smirked. “you gonna kiss her again?”

seungmin grabbed his pillow and chucked it at him.

jisung yelped.

minho snickered.

seungmin just leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, watching jisung groan into the pillow.

he would kiss her again.

he absolutely would.

but they didn’t need to know that.

yet.

“not like you two didn’t kiss or do each other while you had the dorm to yourself.”

minho didn’t even blink.

jisung, however. jisung choked on his own breath.

minho exhaled. “ah.”

minho took another sip of his coffee, unbothered. “he has a point.”

jisung spluttered. “excuse me?”

seungmin smirked. “you’re telling me you guys were alone for hours and did nothing?”

minho shrugged. “not my fault if he’s loud.”

jisung died. “i was not loud.”

minho hummed, setting his coffee down. “mm. sure.”

seungmin snorted. “see? it’s so obvious.”

jisung clutched his chest. “i hate you both.”

minho stretched. “no, you don’t.”

jisung threw a pillow at him.

seungmin just sat back, grinning, absolutely enjoying this.

jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i hate my life.”

minho patted his head. “that’s okay. i love you.”

seungmin smirked. “aw.”

jisung screamed into his hands.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @jeongs-world

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diamonddaze01 · 1 month ago

Text

FIELD NOTES: FROM THE SHALLOW END

༄.° pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | ༄.° wc: 7.7k ༄.° genre: nanny diary au | au pair!reader ༄.° warnings: definitely some angst + self-spiraling, bad/negligent rich people parenting, consumption of alcohol, mentions of vomit ༄.° a/n: for cam and em's carat bay collab! was so grateful to take part in another collab and experiment with my writing style a bit :)) please do check out all the other amazing authors in this collab, they are all so so so dear to me

Entry #1: On the Indigenous Habits of the Affluent Family on Summer Vacation June 13th, 3:04 PM

In the wilds of Carat Bay, the modern matriarch is most commonly spotted with an oat milk matcha and AirPods, muttering something about KPIs. The modern patriarch is nowhere to be seen, having mumbled something about a “board meeting” and “golf with the boys.” Their offspring, small but feral, roam through chlorinated terrain. Their natural prey? Au pairs in department store swimsuits.

Junseo had eaten four frozen lemonades and was now in the middle of what experts in the field might call “a sugar-induced sprint toward cardiac disaster.”

“Junseo, no running by the pool!” you shout, too late. He slips, recovers, and keeps going like a greased piglet on roller skates.

Across the concrete savannah of Carat Bay’s family pool zone, Junhee is in her usual position: crouched at the border between chlorinated civilization and murky wilderness, pool noodle in hand. She is attempting to commit amphibicide via repeated poking of a highly displeased frog.

“Junhee, love, leave the frog alone—he lives here!”

“His name is Boba!” she screams back.

The frog does not look like a Boba. He looks like he’s reconsidering all of his life choices, which, frankly, makes two of you.

Your sandals squeak—a mistake you didn’t realize you’d made until about an hour into your first shift. They’re cute, sure. But tractionless. Supportless. Flat as your social life ever since you moved back in with your parents and became, for lack of better options, an anthropologist in exile.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Just a few months ago you were crossing the graduation stage in soft linen, clutching your master’s degree in anthropology like it meant something. You had been so certain academia would need someone like you—sharp-eyed, good at syntax, fluent in both fieldwork and feminist theory.

Turns out, the only people hiring anthropologists in this economy are tech companies doing ethics theater and pharmaceutical firms in need of plausible deniability.

You had been dying slowly on your parents’ couch for exactly three weeks when your friend Lexi sent the flyer:

Want to make $$$ babysitting rich kids all summer? Full access to country club, pool, catered lunches. No drowning allowed. :)

You had laughed. And then, somewhere between the fourth rejection email and your mother asking if you wanted to help organize her sock drawer, you’d sent in a resume. You even lied and said you liked children. Two days later, you were hired. The check had commas in it.

Now you’re standing in a wet Target swimsuit, sunburn blooming across your chest, wondering if the rash on your neck is from stress, sweat, or the “reef-safe, organic, mommy-formulated” sunscreen that smells like expired chamomile and four-day-old chlorine.

“Junseo,” you call again, “do not eat that bandaid!”

The bandaid goes into his mouth. The bandaid is chewed. You scream internally.

Your employer, Mrs. Cho, the mother of these twin terrors, has not moved from her perch in the family cabana for the last forty minutes. She’d tossed you a dismissive “just make sure they don’t drown” before retreating into her kaftan and a Zoom meeting. She’s been there ever since: AirPods in, matcha sweating on the teakwood side table, gesturing wildly as she mutters about influencers and packaging aesthetics.

You, meanwhile, are the last line of defense between civilization and frog-assisted chaos.

Later, after bribing the children into a nap with gummy worms and a story you mostly made up about a magical flamingo who goes to therapy, you collapse onto a sun-warmed lounger just outside the cabana. It's one of the only moments of quiet you’ve had since arriving. The kind of quiet that rings a little in your ears.

You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Maybe consider what a plane ticket to literally anywhere else might cost.

That’s when you feel it—a shift in the light. A shadow cast across your body.

You blink up.

There’s a boy—no, not quite. A man. Mid-twenties, maybe. Dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, expression unreadable. His nametag says Wonwoo. He’s wearing the Carat Bay staff polo, a towel slung casually over his shoulder. His left hand holds a chilled bottle of water, condensation trailing lazy rivulets down his fingers.

He offers it wordlessly.

You take it, startled. “Thank you,” you say, your voice hoarse from yelling and sun.

He doesn’t speak. Just gives you a single, small nod, and walks away.

You watch his back retreat into the shimmer of pool heat, the bottle already cold against your lips.

You don’t know it yet, but this is the last peaceful moment you’ll have for a while.

Entry #2: On Power Hierarchies and Poolside Social Climbing June 20th, 11:35 AM

In most pack dynamics, the alpha asserts dominance through elaborate displays of confidence. At Carat Bay, this involves hosting themed pool parties and knowing the regional manager’s golf handicap. Among the matriarchs, alliances shift over whose offspring made swim team and who dared to bring store-bought cupcakes to the birthday cabana. It is important to master the subtle art of pretending one is not competing.

You lose your hearing somewhere around the fifth time Junhee screams, “I DON’T WANNA BE A ZEBRA.”

Junseo, face flushed with fury and injustice, echoes her like a demonic chorus: “WE’RE NOT ZEBRAS! I WANNA BE A T-REX!”

“Fine,” you hiss, crouched on the cabana floor with one knee in a puddle of apple juice, “be a godda–dang dinosaur in a zebra onesie, just get in the outfit.”

Today is not your day.

Today is Savannah Safari Birthday™, an event as horrifying as it is aggressively coordinated. The themed party, hosted by one of the more alpha Carat Bay mothers (you learn her name is Seoyeon, but she goes by Stacie, spelled with an ‘ie’ like a threat), has transformed her family cabana into an influencer’s fever dream. Giant cardboard giraffes. Balloon arches in beige and gold. Matching straw hats for all children. And a disturbingly lifelike stuffed zebra standing near the dessert table like it's waiting for a sacrifice.

You wrangle the twins into their assigned costumes—faux-animal-print rompers with little ears on the hoods—while they shriek like banshees at a frequency NASA might want to study.

By the time you emerge into the main cabana area, sweating and frayed, the pool moms are already circling each other like predators in designer plumage.

“Did you hear?” one says, adjusting her visor. “Eunkyung got waitlisted for pre-competitive swim. Waitlisted. And they just redid their pool.”

A blonde with glistening shoulders gasps theatrically. “Waitlisted? Oh no. Maybe she can take up something less... saturated. Pickleball, maybe.”

There’s laughter, brittle as pressed glass.

You hover near the fruit skewers, pretending to supervise the twins as they pelt each other with animal crackers. That’s when you hear it: the first volley fired in your direction.

“Aw, is your niece helping you today?” one of the moms trills, gesturing at you without looking. Her sunglasses are enormous and opaque.

“She’s adorable,” another adds, tone sweet and scalding. “That suit is so… real. You just don’t see people being brave about texture anymore.”

You blink, mouth parting slightly. You’re not sure whether to laugh or start quoting Margaret Mead in self-defense.

“Actually,” you say slowly, “I’m their au pair.”

They blink back, uncomprehending. One finally nods. “Oh! Like an assistant.”

Sure. Like that.

You eventually find yourself corralled in a shady corner with the other au pairs and nannies—two from Portugal, one from Toronto, and one with an indeterminate accent who looks like she’s seen war. Together, you trade horror stories like wartime nurses. One saw a child try to feed a wedding ring to a koi fish. Another was asked to prepare an all-raw vegan lunch for a toddler who eats crayons. You are both horrified and comforted. Trauma loves company.

It ends, as all things do, in carnage. A child screams because someone else got to sit on the fake zebra. Another sobs over the injustice of the animal-shaped cupcakes melting in the heat. You grab the twins, now sticky with fruit and full on far too much cake for their afternoon nap, and make a beeline for the cabana exit just as one of the moms begins berating a nanny for not predicting her daughter’s alleged strawberry allergy.

You’re almost free.

Almost.

And then you crash directly into someone solid.

You go down like a bowling pin.

“Oh my god!” Junseo howls. “YOU FELL!”

“Like, BOOM!” Junhee adds, collapsing into giggles.

You are on the hot concrete, stunned, clutching your elbow and your remaining dignity.

And there he is again.

Wonwoo.

He’s traded his polo for a linen button-up, slightly wrinkled and unfairly flattering. He looks down at you, impassive.

“Hey,” he says.

You blink up at him. “Hi.”

He offers a hand. You take it, and he pulls you up with barely any effort. His hand is warm. Callused. There’s a quiet strength to him, like a character in a Ghibli film who lives alone in the woods and speaks only in cryptic haikus.

Before you can say anything else, one of the moms descends like a hawk. Or a hyena that’s recently had fillers.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” she purrs, practically draping herself across his side. Her teeth gleam. “I didn’t know you were back from Singapore. Is your father joining us for the benefit this year?”

He gently disentangles himself.

“He’s expecting me for lunch,” he replies, tone polite and final.

Her lips purse. You watch her recalibrate in real time, already turning toward another potential social rung.

Wonwoo glances back at you. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something faint in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or pity. Or just wind.

Then he’s gone.

Later, when the twins are face-first in naps (which took a significant amount of wrangling to achieve) and your phone finally has a signal, you search his name.

Jeon Wonwoo.

Son of the owner. Executive board. Dartmouth-educated. There’s a press photo of him at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a sustainability initiative.

Of course.

You drop the phone onto the lounge chair beside you and cover your face with a towel.

Maybe he’s not so different from the moms after all.

Or maybe worse—maybe he’s just better at pretending he isn’t.

Entry #3: On The Nanny Condition (Also Known As: “Doormat Syndrome”) June 30th, 12:47 PM

Subservience in child-rearing roles is often mistaken for passivity. However, this is more accurately understood as the practiced stillness of someone who has weathered too many juice spills and tantrums. It is not a weakness, but a form of strategic surrender – resignation honed into an art.

It starts the way all days start now: with screaming.

You don’t even flinch anymore. Junseo has weaponized volume as a strategy. Junhee has started using phrases like “I’m telling Mommy!” even though Mommy, at this point, might as well be a cryptid. You text Mrs. Cho about the lunch situation and get no response. You text again. Then once more, with slightly more passive-aggression. Still nothing.

Mr. Cho is presumably in a meeting, on a plane, or golfing through time. His only presence this week has been the sound of an engine disappearing down the driveway at six-fifteen each morning. You’re beginning to suspect he has never actually seen the twins awake.

By 11:30, it’s full meltdown hour. Junhee has decided to sob violently about the wrong flavor of juice. Junseo is lying on the pool deck and pretending to die of hunger. You make the tragic mistake of attempting to fix this by visiting the snack bar—only to find it’s out of chicken nuggets.

Of course it is.

The cabana attendant (your supposed lifeline in this glittering suburban dystopia) is nowhere to be found. Probably hiding behind a towel cart and Googling how to fake appendicitis.

A mom walks by, sipping iced espresso in a wine glass. She clocks the situation—the spilled juice, your panicked rustling through bags, the tantrum echoing off the water—and gives you the kind of look normally reserved for videos of shelter dogs.

Then, like a scene change in a commercial for laundry detergent, he appears.

Wonwoo. The cabana attendant from three down, and apparently some sort of summer camp MacGyver.

Without a word, he crouches beside your mess of a pool chair, reaches into his tote, and withdraws two juice boxes like they’ve been summoned by divine intervention.

“Trade secret,” he says, handing them over. “I keep a stash for emergencies.”

The twins freeze mid-wail. Their heads swivel toward the juice. Junhee actually snatches it like a raccoon who’s just spotted an unattended churro.

You mouth thank you as chaos briefly, miraculously, subsides. Wonwoo gives a small shrug, like it's no big deal that he's just singlehandedly de-escalated a Code Red tantrum. Then he starts rummaging through his bag again.

“Here,” he says, offering you a slightly squished protein bar. “You look like you might pass out before 2. Not a great look in front of the junior elite.”

You stare at the bar, then at him. “Are you always this prepared?”

He squints at the twins, now peacefully arguing over whether dinosaurs could swim. “Experience.”

He rises, but pauses. “Oh, and: sing to them,” he adds, like it’s obvious. “The nap goes easier if you sing. Something simple. Doesn’t matter what.”

You blink. “You know a lot about naps.”

He smirks. Whisper-soft, barely there. “Only the essential ones.”

And then he’s walking away. You’re about to call after him, maybe say something actually coherent, when you spot it. Just barely poking out of his overstuffed bag, next to sunscreen and a spare shirt:

A Secret History, cover creased, dog-eared, loved.

The twins fall asleep in your lap thirty minutes later, sticky fingers curled around juice boxes, heads tilted together like cherubs.

You hum a lullaby under your breath. It works.

Maybe this doormat thing isn’t about surrender, you think, watching the sun cut soft lines through their hair. Maybe it’s about endurance. Outlasting the storm. Knowing when to bend, and when to hum.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re not the only one pretending.

Entry #4: A Brief Field Guide to Cabana Boys (Genus: Mysteriousus Hotus) July 12th, 7:30 PM

Often underestimated, the Cabana Boy is a curious species: quiet, observant, and frequently found next to industrial-sized coolers. Contrary to popular belief, he is not just decorative. He may, in fact, be reading Donna Tartt during fireworks displays and composing short fiction between towel runs.

You're not sure when you started paying attention. Not in the obvious way—wrangling two five-year-olds who are constantly on the verge of a sugar-induced existential crisis leaves little room for distractions. But somewhere between juice box negotiations and sunscreen reapplications, you noticed the pattern.

Wonwoo clocks in for his 1:00 PM shift at 12:53 on the dot, every day. Rain or shine.

He always brings a slightly crumbly granola bar at exactly 12:45 and hands it over without ceremony. He’s also taken to giving unsolicited (but disturbingly effective) child-wrangling tips.

“If you let them watch an episode of Clifford in the shade, they mellow out.” “Junhee will eat steamed broccoli if Junseo is watching.” “They nap better if you hum the Indiana Jones theme.”

When you ask how he knows this, he just shrugs.

“I’ve watched them grow up here.”

He folds towels into perfect thirds—perfect enough to undo the entire previous shift’s work, muttering about symmetry.

And he always—always—has a book in his bag. You’ve clocked A Secret History, Beloved, Middlesex, and now—somehow—Antigone. You, being a civilized person, use sticky notes. He dog-ears. He highlights. You try not to hold it against him.

Then one night, the miracle. A fireworks show lures both Mr. and Mrs. Cho into spending quality time with their children—together—and for the first time in thirty-one days, you are given a few hours off.

You wander the resort grounds in what you tell yourself is idle exploration. You're not looking for him, not exactly. You're just…curious.

You find him perched in the shade outside the Cabana Attendants' Shack, book open, fingers curled at the spine. The sunset drapes him in gold.

“Greek tragedy?” you ask, nodding at the cover.

He startles slightly. Then sees it’s you and offers that small, lopsided smile that always feels like a secret.

“Loyalty to family and all that.” He snaps the book shut. “Why, do you have a favorite?”

The conversation unfolds in sideways glances and thoughtful pauses. He’s more well-read than you expected—not that you ever assumed he was dumb, but you didn’t quite picture him as the kind of guy who casually references Antigone while sipping Gatorade.

You want to bring up the fact that he’s the rumored heir to the waterpark conglomerate whose name is literally embroidered on your staff polo, but you don’t. He doesn’t bring it up, either.

Instead, you trail him as he clocks back in and begins his closing duties. You talk as he refolds towels, delivers last-call lemonades, and waves kids off the splash pad.

He’s soft-spoken but sharp, a bit of a walking contradiction. He debates philosophy with the same tone he uses to explain popsicle storage procedures.

He quotes The Odyssey unprompted. You’re unsure if you’re gagging or swooning. Possibly both. He laughs. The good kind—the kind that makes you want to say something clever, just to earn it again.

And then:

A string of texts from Mrs. Cho.

Where are you? Can you be back in ten? Junseo is trying to drink the pool water again.

Three hours gone in a blink.

You sigh, brushing off your shorts. “Duty calls.”

He doesn’t protest. Just reaches into his bag and hands you a worn paperback with a faded spine.

“You’d like this,” he says. “Don’t worry. I only highlighted a little.”

As you jog back to the family villa, the book clutched under your arm, you catch yourself smiling. You don’t know what exactly just happened—but you know you’re already looking forward to tomorrow.

The Cabana Boy: mysterious, mythological, mildly infuriating.

You’re definitely going to need another field guide.

Entry #5: On Emotional Labor (And How to Pretend You’re Fine) July 18th, 3:56 PM

Among caretakers, the phrase “I’m fine” functions less as a truth and more as a survival mechanism – an autopilot response honed through repetition, like muscle memory or disassociation. It’s not an admission of wellness so much as a polite way of saying: I have exactly six fruit snacks and half a juice box keeping me together right now, please do not ask follow-up questions.

Today is the worst day on record. Not just this summer—ever.

Junhee is feverish and glassy-eyed. Junseo hasn’t stopped crying since 9:07 AM. The phrase “I want mommy” has been used with increasing volume and ferocity for six straight hours.

And still, Mrs. Cho floats in after breakfast, clacking away in her designer heels like you’re just another inconvenience in a long string of logistics. She deposits them into your arms with the same care one might give a bag of dry cleaning. She clacks off in Valentino heels without a glance back. She says “they’ve been so moody lately,” as if their tear-streaked faces and refusal to be peeled off your torso aren’t a screaming counterargument.

Even Wonwoo, usually the child-whisperer, strikes out. He tries Clifford. He tries juice box diplomacy. He even pulls out the secret popsicle stash. Nothing works.

The grand finale: Junhee vomits bright blue Slushie all over your shirt just as Mrs. Cho reappears.

She gasps, horrified—not at her child, no. At you. “This is completely inappropriate. What did you even feed him?”

You’re too shocked to speak.

Wonwoo watches from across the cabana, eyes wide, towel frozen mid-fold. And then—just like that—you snap.

Your eyes are already stinging, breath hitching. You mutter something about needing a minute, and walk fast. Not away from the cabana—out.

You don’t know where you're going, just that it needs to be anywhere else. You barrel through pool chairs, past shrieking toddlers, past lifeguards gossiping about hot guests, and you barely notice the quiet footsteps trailing behind you.

A hand catches your upper arm. Not rough, just... certain.

Wonwoo pulls you into the cool, echoey silence of the staff locker room and sits you down like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You don’t resist.

You sit, shoulders trembling. He turns to his locker, rifling through it. A few seconds later, he tosses a shirt into your lap.

“Here. It’s clean. Smells weird, though. You might smell like sunscreen and... me.”

You pick it up with shaking hands. Chlorine, citrus deodorant, rain. Wonwoo. It hits like a trigger.

And then— You lose it.

Not the gentle, single-tear kind of cinematic breakdown. No. This is a crash out. Full-body. Unfiltered.

You're pacing now, the shirt clutched in your hand like a lifeline, voice cracking with every word.

“I hate this family.” “I swear to God, if that woman says one more thing about how hard parenting is—while dumping her kids on me like they’re furniture—I’m gonna lose my actual goddamn mind.” “I’m twenty-three! I should be backpacking in Spain or studying abroad or—I don’t know—eating a yogurt in peace without someone screaming about their sock being too tight.”

You kick a locker.

“And I’m trying so hard. I’m doing everything right. I’ve read so many blogs, Wonwoo.”

You turn toward him, eyes red-rimmed and wild.

“And you know what I get? Vomited on. In public.”

He hasn’t moved. Just sits on the bench, legs spread, arms on his knees, staring up at you like he’s watching a fire he’s not sure how to put out. Like he knows he’ll burn if he gets too close—but also that maybe it’s worth it.

“Are you… done?” he asks, finally. Gently.

You stop. Blink. And then let out a small, wet laugh that sounds more like a sob. You sit down hard next to him, the adrenaline draining from your limbs all at once.

“I think so.”

He leans back slightly. Not touching you, but close enough that you can feel the calm radiating off him.

“Better?”

You don’t answer immediately. You don’t know. But you nod anyway. And he accepts it, like that’s enough.

You sit there, the two of you, in chlorine-scented silence. His shirt still bunched in your lap. Your breathing slows. You count your heartbeats.

And for the first time all summer, someone lets you be tired. Not “still smiling” tired. Not “push through it” tired. Just... human.

You think, maybe, that matters more than anything.

Entry #6: On the Sociocultural Function of Shared Snacks (And Other Low-Stakes Intimacies) July 25th, 6:23 PM

Anthropological theory suggests that the exchange of Goldfish and Capri Suns constitutes a primitive yet potent form of courtship. Especially when accompanied by verbal rituals such as, “You look like you need a break,” and, “Do you want the last one?” While not as elaborate as other mating rituals, these offerings appear to hold significant emotional currency. Further study is required, but initial findings suggest: this may be how modern love begins.

There’s a rhythm now. He always saves the last piña colada juice box for you. You always act like you don’t care and then accept it anyway, muttering something about “fake cocktails for fake lifeguards.” He always laughs. You always drink it.

You make fun of the way he organizes the towel bins—by saturation level, apparently. “This one’s damp-damp, and that one’s wet-wet? You okay, Marie Kondo?”

Wonwoo shrugs like he’s heard worse, like maybe he’s even proud of it. “It brings me peace.”

It’s easy with him. He always finds his way to your cabana when things are quiet. No one sends him. He just appears. He drops into the lounge chair beside you like he belongs there, legs stretched out, sunglasses slipping down his nose. Sometimes he brings snacks—peanut butter pretzels, Goldfish, gummy worms he claims are “for the kids.” You both know better.

You talk books. Somehow he’s never read Magic Treehouse, which you find personally offensive. “It’s basically required reading for emotionally unstable gifted kids.”

He grins. “Sounds like I dodged a bullet.”

“You’d love it,” you tell him, tossing a pretzel at his face. “You’re such a Virgo.”

“I’m not a Virgo.”

“Spiritually, though.”

He makes you laugh at least once a day. Not a polite laugh. An ugly, tired, full-body snort—the kind that feels like exhaling something heavy.

One afternoon, your fingers brush when he hands you a juice box. The contact is brief, but it lingers. Just enough to make you glance up, and he’s already looking back. Not with some dramatic, swoon-worthy gaze—just steady. Familiar. Like he knows you. Like he sees you.

And then, inevitably, the twins start screaming about a grasshopper. One of them insists it’s going to bite their nose off. The moment cracks clean in half. Wonwoo groans, gets up, and trudges off to play bug bouncer. You watch him go, vaguely amused. A little disappointed.

Later, when the cabana is blissfully quiet again, you ask him something you’ve been holding onto for a while.

“Why do you work here when you don’t need to?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at the pool, unreadable. For a second, you think he’s going to deflect with a joke—but instead, he says, quietly, “It’s easier to know people when they’re not pretending.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s been sitting in the air this whole time, waiting for you to notice.

You don’t quite know what to do with that. But you don’t push.

Instead, you hand him the last peanut butter pretzel without a word. He takes it. And for now, that feels like enough.

Entry #7: On Burnout, Bus Rides, and the Quiet in Between July 31st, 8:39 PM

The much-awaited night off is often viewed as an unproductive lull in the performance of domestic labor. But for the emotionally fried caretaker figure, it is the only sanctioned absence where no one cries, no one spills, and no one demands apple slices cut the “right” way. It is the lone moment in which the help is not expected to perform servitude with a smile. In anthropological terms: a brief return to personhood.

You end up at a bus stop just outside the waterpark. The sun’s long gone, and so are your responsibilities, at least for the next few hours. You’re not even sure where you’re headed. You just wanted to leave. To move. To breathe. You might be a little tipsy—courtesy of the fully stocked cabana bar—but that’s between you and whatever god watches over tired girls with aching feet and full hearts.

Wonwoo finds you under the weak, flickering light of the stop like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have the night off,” you say, nudging a pebble with the toe of your sandal. “Didn’t know where to go. I’m not from here.”

He looks at you for a moment, then smiles. “You’ve got the whole night off?”

You nod just as the bus pulls up. He doesn’t hesitate, just holds out his arm and asks, “Wanna do something fun?”

You giggle, loop your arm through his, and climb aboard.

The bus ride is a quiet kind of lovely. The kind that lets your bones settle after a day of noise and chlorine and children threatening to stage a coup over who gets the blue floatie. You’re too tired to flirt, and he doesn’t seem to mind. He offers his shoulder, opens a book, and lets you lean.

“I didn’t know you took the bus,” you mumble, sleep thick in your voice.

He chuckles. “Why? Thought I had a Porsche?”

You smile into the fabric of his shirt. “What kind of chaebol son doesn’t have a sports car?”

“I do,” he says, tapping his fingers as he leans in close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne. It’s earthy. Warm. “It’s just hard to park.”

Eventually, the bus rolls into a small downtown area lit with fairy lights, where families drift between ice cream shops and late-night cafés. Wonwoo takes your hand and tugs you down a side street, stopping in front of what looks like an abandoned bookstore. The sign is faded. The windows are dark.

You squint. “On my one night off this summer, you brought me to a murder scene?”

He scoffs, already pulling keys from his pocket. “I clerked here in high school. The owner never asked for them back.”

Inside, the air smells like dust and old stories. He flips on a few lamps and the space flickers to life—messy and charming in a way that feels sacred.

What follows is, undeniably, a reading date. But you both pretend it’s not. It can’t be. Not when summer is almost over. Not when you’ve seen what happens to girls who let themselves want too much.

Still, you talk. You read. He shows you where he used to stash beanbags as a teenager and the corner of a shelf where he carved his name when he was seventeen. He pulls down a hollowed-out book that still contains an unopened bag of gummy bears. When he throws one toward you, you catch it in your mouth without breaking eye contact, and he laughs so hard he nearly drops the whole bag.

At some point, you sigh about how much you miss Cherry Garcia ice cream. He disappears, and a few minutes later, returns with a milkshake.

“It’s not ice cream,” he says, offering it to you, “but it is Cherry Garcia.”

You take one sip and groan. “You’re dangerous.”

“We can split it,” he offers, clearly pleased with himself.

You settle back into the beanbags with the milkshake between you. His shoulder brushes yours. Your pinkies touch. You’re pretty sure this is what love feels like—soft and slow and unbearably sweet.

You’re just about to lean in when your phone rings.

Mrs. Cho.

You answer, and before you can even say hello, her voice cuts through, sharp and desperate. “I need you back. They won’t sleep until you sing to them. Come back now.”

The twins are screaming in the background.

You shoot up, already apologizing, already stuffing your phone in your pocket and looking for your bag.

Wonwoo follows you to the door. Just as you reach for the handle, his hand wraps gently around your wrist.

“You’re the only person from the waterpark I’ve shown this store to,” he says, voice low, almost unsure, and it takes all the willpower in the world not to push him up against the stacks and kiss him stupid. “We should– we should do this again. If you want.”

You should go. You have to go. But instead, you rise on your tiptoes and press a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“I would love that,” you whisper.

Then you're gone, milkshake in hand, racing back to the chaos. But the softness of that night stays with you.

Entry #8: On the Perfect Family (And Other Bedtime Stories) August 12th, 1:56 PM

Anthropologists agree that the family unit, built on generations of blood and loyalty, is sacred. This theory begins to unravel around 1:07 PM, when the matriarch of the Cho family – Balenciaga-clad and Bluetooth’d – screams at her offspring for dripping popsicle juice on her Hermès towel. The offspring seek emotional refuge in the arms of the hired help. This only infuriates the matriarch further. Field notes suggest that the sacred family unit may, in fact, be a PR stunt.

The cabana smells like sun-warmed linen and something floral—maybe Mrs. Cho’s perfume. You sit cross-legged on the floor, the twins clambering onto your lap, sticky popsicle juice glistening on their chins. Junseo hiccups, eyes wide, while Junhee presses her damp cheek against your arm, seeking shelter.

Then it happens.

A sharp, slicing voice cuts through the quiet: “Why is there juice dripping on my Hermès towel?” Mrs. Cho storms in, Balenciaga heels clicking like thunder on pavement. The Bluetooth earpiece flashes a faint blue as she glares at you, voice rising like a storm.

The twins flinch. Junhee blinks up at her mother like she’s seeing a stranger. Junseo presses closer to you, face buried in your shirt. You feel the warmth of their small bodies, the tremble in their chests. You are not their mother. You know that. But in moments like this, someone has to be.

Mrs. Cho snaps, “Do not coddle them. This is why they don’t respect me.”

You stand slowly, steadying the children behind you.

“I’m just trying to calm them down,” you say, carefully.

“Oh, please.” Her tone sharpens. “You don’t think I see what you’re doing? What everyone sees? The other mothers laugh behind your back — the little nanny girl and the owner’s son playing house.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m not—”

“I’m not finished.” She steps closer. “You are not their mother. Stop pretending to be. Stop making them believe you are.”

You blink once, twice. And then you break.

“No,” you snap. “You stop. You stop making them believe I’m their mother. You leave them with me for ten hours a day, five days a week. You miss their birthdays. You forget their allergies. You don't even know Junhee likes frogs or that Junseo has nightmares when it rains. You don’t see them. But I do.”

She stiffens. You press the twins behind you gently.

“For fuck’s sake, Mrs. Cho,” you whisper, too tired to yell anymore. “Do you really think this is how good mothers act?”

The silence that follows is jagged. Sharp.

You don't wait for her to respond. You turn. You walk — briskly, almost blindly — past the frozen faces in the walkway, past Wonwoo standing by the corner, unreadable.

You don’t stop until you’re outside.

Night comes like a soft blanket. You’re at the twins’ bedside again, tracing their damp hair, humming lullabies until their breathing evens out. Mrs. Cho sits stiffly across the room, staring at her phone. Her husband lounges on the couch, like nothing happened. As if nothing ever happens.

You're walking beside the lazy river, hands stuffed into the pockets of your hoodie, when you hear the familiar tread of footsteps behind you.

Wonwoo.

You don’t look at him.

“I heard everything,” he says.

You don’t say anything. You keep walking.

“She was way out of line.”

You stop. “You don’t need to defend me.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m angry.”

You turn to him. “Why? Why do you even care?”

He falters. “Because I—”

You laugh bitterly. “You what, Wonwoo? You care about me? You want to play the hero now? Where were you earlier? When she humiliated me in front of everyone? You just stood there.”

“I didn’t know what to do—”

“You never know what to do,” you snap, voice cracking. “You always wait until I’m falling apart and then you show up when it’s safe again. When I’ve already picked up my pieces.”

His jaw clenches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds like sandpaper. “I should’ve said something. I wanted to.”

“And now what? You want me to pat you on the back because you chased me down after sunset?” Your voice breaks. “This isn’t a fucking romance movie, Wonwoo. You don’t get points for showing up late.”

He stares at you — really stares — and then he says, low and quiet, “I didn’t chase you down for points.”

You shake your head and look away.

“I came because I couldn't let you walk away thinking I didn’t care.” He takes a step closer. “You’re not just someone I flirt with by the pool. You’re not just the girl who helps with the twins. You’re...”

His voice falters.

“You’re the only person who makes this place feel real.”

You feel the ache of it — like something soft tearing.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

“Neither did I,” he says. “But I’m here.”

And then he kisses you.

It starts hesitant — a question, a breath — but when you don't pull away, he deepens it, slow and hungry. One hand slides to your jaw, the other finds your waist. You kiss him back like you’ve been holding your breath for two whole months. Because you have.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Come with me.”

You nod, breathless.

You stumble through the grass, past the empty lounge chairs, half-laughing, half-shaking. He kisses you again by the maintenance shed. Again near the outdoor shower. You lose track of where you’re going. You only know his hands, his mouth, the way he looks at you like you’re something he’s been dying to touch.

By the time you reach the locker room, he’s pushing you gently against the door, lips trailing fire down your neck.

“Fucking finally,” he groans, like it’s been killing him not to say it. His voice in your ear makes your knees buckle.

You grip his shirt, feel the muscles of his back flex under your fingers. He smells like chlorine and sunscreen and gummy bears and sweat and you want, want, want.

He kisses you again, deeper this time — all tongue and teeth and desperation. The kind of kiss that says I missed you, I wanted you, I want you still.

And then, suddenly — mid-kiss, mid-moment — the world crashes back in.

He’s the son of the owner. He drives a Porsche that probably never sees the road and reads Bukowski like it’s gospel.

You? You read bedtime stories and wipe juice off a Hermès towel. You’re an au pair with a paper degree and an expiring visa. Your chest tightens with a thousand what-ifs.

The summer is bleeding out.

And you're kissing a boy who might not be yours when it ends.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Entry #9: On the Danger of Wanting More August 19th, 4:21 PM

In most societal structures, the help is expected to exist quietly on the periphery – present but visible, useful but never central. And falling for someone above one’s pay grade? Historically ill-advised, frequently humiliating, and almost always doomed. But anthropologists agree that humans are predictable irrational – no amount of emotional detachment can fully protect you from a boy that kisses you stupid and casually quotes Euripedes.

You pulled away after the kiss, gasping. Dizzy. Brain short-circuiting.

The class divide. The logistics. The impossible futures.

He’s the son of the owner. He could never work another day and still live comfortably into infinity. You’re scraping together tips and spare change, trying to stretch your contract into a real life. He’s got gilded options. You’ve got a ticking clock.

So you avoid him.

When you see him walking toward the cabana for his daily granola bar pilgrimage, you redirect the twins toward the kiddie pool. When he shows up with your favorite pina colada — extra pineapple, no cherry — you pretend it’s nap time. You dodge, deflect, disappear. You rehearse polite excuses until they become muscle memory.

It takes a week for him to finally corner you.

You’re headed to the bathroom, sunglasses on, hoodie up despite the August heat. He intercepts you by the towel stand.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, not angry but confused.

You blink. “Nothing. Peeing?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“No…”

“You are,” he says, stepping closer. “Don’t lie. You won’t even look at me.”

You focus intently on a damp footprint on the pavement. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“What did I do wrong?”

He says your name like it matters. Like he means it. A question and a plea and a prayer all at once.

“I thought this was going somewhere,” he says. “Where did I go wrong?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Swallow. Then:

“You didn’t.”

His shoulders drop in relief. He starts to move closer, arms lifting — but you stop him with a hand on his chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat. “I did.”

Now he looks confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Wonwoo,” you sigh. “One day, you’re going to take over. You’re going to be CEO of a global resort empire. And me? I’m going to be here. Covered in five-year-olds’ snot and banana crumbs, probably chasing a preschooler into a fountain.”

“So?” he scoffs. “I don’t want this.” He gestures broadly at the lazy river, the snack bar, the sunburned luxury. “I’m not staying. I got into an MFA program. I’m leaving at the end of the month.”

That throws you. “Wait—what? Really?”

He nods. “I want to write. Always have.”

You blink. “Okay… and?”

He reaches out and takes your hand, threading your fingers together like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t have it all figured out,” he says softly. “That’s okay. Neither do I. But what are you gaining from babysitting your own life?”

You want to laugh. Or cry. Or kiss him again. Maybe all three.

But you don’t answer. Not yet.

That night, you get a text.

[Attachment: IMG_0142.jpeg]

A photo of an email. Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to the Creative Writing MFA program at—

[Attachment: PDF Lease Agreement]

Two bedrooms. Hardwood floors. Half a mile from the university. Your hometown.

Then a message from him:

You could write too, you know. I’d read every word.

Entry #10: On Exit Strategies (And the Beginnings We Don’t See Coming) August 23rd, 7:54 AM

In the study of human nature, we often assume that endings are marked, observable events – clean breaks punctuated by ritual. But fieldwork reveals a more complex truth: endings, like goodbyes, are rarely so precise. Sometimes the dissolve quietly, like mist off the surface of a morning pool. Sometimes they masquerade as beginnings. And sometimes, they don’t happen at all – not really.

It’s your last day at Carat Bay.

The twins start kindergarten on Monday. Their regular au pair — a disheveled girl who looks like she once studied French literature and now only speaks in juice box negotiations — has returned.

You say goodbye to the kids, crouched low to meet their eyes. Junhee hugs you, sticky-fingered and sad. Junseo asks, “Who’ll sing to us now?” in a voice so small it nearly breaks you.

You press teary kisses to their damp little heads. Promise they’ll be okay. They’re good kids. You tell yourself that means something.

You say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Cho.

Mrs. Cho barely glances up from her phone. She waves vaguely. Her acrylics glint in the sun.

Mr. Cho squints at you from over his tablet. “We had a new nanny this summer?”

You roll your eyes as you walk away, his confusion trailing behind you like bad perfume.

You drag your suitcase down the cobbled path toward the villa’s front gate, sunscreen and chlorine still clinging to your skin. The early morning air smells like pool chemicals and hotel pastries.

And then you see it — the Porsche, parked crooked in the drive like it doesn’t know it’s expensive.

Wonwoo is leaned against the side, arms crossed, sunglasses perched low on his nose like he’s auditioning for a commercial titled Regret Nothing.

He straightens when he sees you, already moving to grab your suitcase.

“So,” he says, like it’s casual. Like it’s not everything. “You comin’ with me?”

You pretend to think. Just for show. Just for the story.

Then you’re moving — fast, reckless — throwing your arms around him like you never learned how to say goodbye. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that feels like a collision — breathless, greedy, impossible. He laughs against your lips as you stumble back against the car, the heat of the hood warming your spine.

“You ever driven a Porsche?” he asks, his grin crooked, summer-sick and daring.

You break the kiss just long enough to smile. “Not yet.”

He presses the keys into your hand like a promise. Like a dare. Like the start of something you didn’t plan for — and maybe that’s the point.

You take the keys. Open the door.

And you drive — not toward an ending.

But into something new.

Epilogue: On Retrospective Analysis and the Unscientific Nature of Love Not Dated (yet)

Anthropologists caution against emotional entanglement with their subjects, citing compromised objectivity, blurred boundaries, and the potential erosion of professional distance. This author would like to report that such boundaries are far more porous when your subject brings you coffee and quotes Aeschylus. In the interest of full disclosure: This author ignored the rule. Repeatedly. And with alarming enthusiasm.

Three years later, you live together in a house with creaky floors and a crooked porch light. Wonwoo brings you coffee before you've asked for it, sets it beside your laptop with the reverence usually reserved for sacred texts. He reads your pages in silence, a red pen tucked behind one ear, and presses soft kisses to the back of your neck when you write too late into the night.

The work is fiction. Technically. But when he gets to the part about juice boxes and Clifford the Big Red Dog, his fingers find yours. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that slow, knowing smile he saves for when he catches you pretending not to be sentimental.

He's finished his MFA now. Teaches English at the local high school, spends his afternoons grading essays about Of Mice and Men and trying not to laugh when his students call The Iliad “a chore to read.” He comes home smelling like school lunches and adolescent chaos, drops his bag by the door and finds you, always.

The Porsche sits untouched under your window—an inheritance he never asked for, gathering dust and sun-bleached leaves. He takes the train instead. Says he likes the time to read.

Sometimes, you still wake up waiting for someone to call your name and hand you someone else’s kids. Sometimes, you still flinch when your phone rings. But mostly, you write. And mostly, you’re okay.

There is no neat conclusion. Only this: You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to keep them, too.

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