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pohyuck · 4 days ago

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never just friends

ᯓ friends to lovers, hyuck & reader are both graduating, and both pining ☻ 5.3k wc!

ᯓ this one is inspired by one of your requests! but as someone who just graduated, it also draws a bit from my own daydreams, of having a high school or college sweetheart to walk across the graduation stage with :p

──── ☀︎

an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said.

they both want to fix it. neither knows how

but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now—before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for good

because sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen

──── ☀︎ ────

the first snowfall of the semester comes early, blanketing the campus in white, like the sky is trying to cover up everything you’ve tried not to feel

you’re late. again.

the lecture hall door creaks open, and thirty pairs of eyes glance your way, but only one glance really lands

haechan.

you hesitate, just for a second. it’s not because you’re surprised to see him, of course he’s here. he always was. it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying not to feel something either. and just like that, ten months of silence feels like it never ended, like it’s still hanging in the air between you, thick and unfinished

the only empty seat is next to him. of course it is.

you make your way down the row, slow and quiet, and slide into the chair beside him. your hands grip your pen too tightly, like maybe it’ll hold you together

“wow,” he says under his breath, not even looking at you. “out of all the seats in the universe.” you don’t skip a beat. “trust me, i’m just as thrilled”

the professor starts talking. you try to focus, to pretend you can’t feel the weight of his presence next to you, but then your arms brush. just for a second. and neither of you move

it shouldn’t feel like anything. but it does. ten months ago, he was your best friend. now, he’s the guy you don’t talk to, or even look at

outside, the snow keeps falling. soft, steady, like the sky knows something you don’t. and for the first time in a long time, you let the thought drift in, uninvited but welcome– maybe this isn’t really the end.

*flashback* it’s nearly 2 a.m., and the campus is asleep, except for you and haechan. you’re both lying in the middle of the quad on a cheap picnic blanket he stole from his roommate. the sky is clear, a velvet canvas dusted with stars, and the cold grass presses through the blanket, prickling your back. but you don’t care. not when you’re laughing like this

“i’m serious,” he says between gasps, “if i ever become famous, i want my wikipedia page to say i invented ramen grilled cheese. that was a cultural reset” you snort. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire.” “greatness requires sacrifice”

you turn your head toward him, grinning in the dark. his eyes are already on you, soft and bright beneath the moonlight. this is what it used to be like– easy. effortless.

you’d tell him anything. he’d listen like it mattered. and he’d always, always find a way to make you laugh, even on your worst days.

“remember when we were fifteen,” you say, “and you swore we’d drop out of college to become youtubers?”

he groans. “okay, first of all, you said we’d be a duo. you were gonna do baking, and i’d handle commentary.” you nudge him with your elbow. “and you were going to get us cancelled in week one.” “that was part of the brand”

you both laugh again, the kind that starts small and builds into something uncontrollable. it fills the quiet night, echoing between empty buildings and forgotten dreams. and somewhere between the laughter and the silence that follows, you realize how much you love him

not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees kind of way. just in the way your heart settles when he’s beside you. in the way the world feels less sharp. in the way you want to pause this moment and keep it in your pocket forever.

but you don’t say it. you never do

instead, you breathe in the night and whisper, “let’s not grow up too fast.” and he, still watching the sky, replies, “not if we can help it” *end of flashback*

you don't even remember how you got roped into it. one second, your friend from the media club was rambling about their "senior spotlight series" something about legacy, friendship, full-circle moments, and the next, you're sitting on the cold steps of the old library waiting for him

because apparently, when people think of iconic friendships on campus, they still think of you and him. the best friends. the duo. they don’t know the story stopped a while ago. quietly. like a door that never fully closed

he arrives five minutes late, with that same careless swagger he’s always had, like nothing touches him, not even time. he meets your eyes for a second before looking away

“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, voice light, but not teasing. you shrug. “didn’t think you would either”

the media team gives you a quick rundown. photos first, then a short filmed interview. “just a few questions about your friendship,” the girl says cheerily. “how you met, favorite memories, what you’ve learned from each other. that kind of thing”

you want to laugh. or maybe scream.

instead, you sit beside him on the stone bench, pretending your skin isn’t on fire just from being near him again. the camera clicks. once. twice. and then the girl says, “okay, now look at each other”

you hesitate. he does too

but you turn. and for the first time in what feels like forever, your eyes meet– and stay.

and there it is. the weight of the silence. the things you never said. the laughter that used to be effortless. the memory of a night under the stars when you almost told him you loved him– and didn’t. “perfect,” the photographer says, completely unaware. you look away first

a few minutes later, you're sitting in front of a camera. someone asks, “what made your friendship so special?” you blink. haechan stays quiet

and all you can think is: do we even get to call it a friendship anymore?

the lights in the small studio hum quietly, the camera lens trained on you like it’s trying to see straight through your chest

the interviewer smiles, warm and expectant. “so, what made your friendship so special?”

you glance sideways at haechan. his jaw is tight, but his eyes hold a flicker of something, maybe nostalgia, maybe regret

you breathe out. “it was easy,” you say finally. “like… no matter how bad the day was, or how messy everything got, we somehow made each other feel like it was okay to just be ourselves”

the camera keeps rolling, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat and haechan shifts in his seat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you remember. “we knew all the worst parts, and we didn’t run”

you want to say that’s what makes it different now, that you both ran, or maybe froze. but you swallow the words

“did you have a favorite memory together?” the interviewer asks. your mind flashes back, the quiet quad nights, the laughter spilling over like a tide

“the night we stayed up until two in the morning, just talking,” you say, voice catching a little. “we didn’t have a plan. we weren’t worried about anything except being there. it felt like time didn’t exist”

his eyes find yours, and for a moment, it’s like the space between you isn’t so vast

“yeah,” he says, “like the world was smaller with just us in it”

the interviewer smiles, clearly moved. the camera clicks off

you both sit in the sudden stillness, the kind that stretches between people who used to be so close it hurt

neither of you says it– but both of you know it’s true. maybe this is the first step to finding your way back

the interviewer steps away, giving you both space, but the air still feels tight, like a held breath neither of you knows how to release

you shift in your seat, fingers twitching. then, almost without thinking, you glance down at the stack of papers in your lap, the notes from the interview questions

one slips and flutters to the floor. before you can reach for it, haechan’s hand is already there, picking it up. his fingers brush yours for a second as he hands it back, and it feels electric. you both freeze.

then, without looking up, he murmurs, “can’t believe you still remember that night”

your heart twists, and you nod slowly. “how could i forget?” he laughs. soft, genuine, and unexpected “guess some memories don’t fade,” he says

you want to say something. anything. but the words catch in your throat. instead, you smile. just a little. and for the first time since this whole mess began, it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so far apart after all

*flashback* you never imagined that something as small as a grade could break you

it was the week of midterms. you and haechan– both top of your class, the golden duo of the liberal arts department, had always pushed each other to be better. friendly rivalry, or so you told yourself

but that week, it wasn’t friendly

the final paper was due on a friday. you stayed up all night, pouring everything into it, hoping your research would outshine his. you saw it as a challenge, and maybe a way to prove who was better

when the grades came back monday, he had a perfect score. a hundred. you had ninety-seven

you felt the sting more than you expected.

later that day, you bumped into him in the library. you tried to joke it off, something like, “congrats on beating me.” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you almost had it. next time”

you nodded, but inside, the competitiveness twisted into something bitter. that evening, you found out he’d told your classmates you weren’t serious enough about your future, that you cared more about winning than learning.

you confronted him the next day, heart thudding in your chest. “why would you say that? you know it’s not true.” he looked away, frustration lining his face. “maybe you do care more about being the best than about us”

the words cut deeper than you expected. “you’re making this into something it’s not,” you snapped. he shook his head. “maybe it’s exactly what it is.”

the argument spiraled– voices raised, accusations flung, pride blocking every bridge back. by the end, you weren’t sure why you were fighting anymore– just that you couldn’t stop

that night, you didn’t text him. he didn’t text you.

and that was how it began. *end of flashback*

you meet ryumi and yuki at your favorite campus café, the cozy warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension you’re carrying

ryumi orders a chai latte; yuki grabs a black coffee. you’re just trying to focus on the steam curling up from your own cup

“so,” ryumi says, leaning forward with that gleam in her eyes, “what’s really going on with you and haechan? sitting next to him in class? that must’ve been... something”

you take a slow breath, staring down at your cup. “it was weird. like, we used to finish each other’s sentences, and now we barely talk. it’s like there’s this wall between us that neither of us knows how to climb”

yuki frowns, “do you want to fix it? i mean, you guys were inseparable. it’s hard to imagine it all just... ended” you shrug, voice soft. “i don’t know. i want to. i guess i just don’t know where to start. we both got hurt, and maybe we’re scared of getting hurt again”

ryumi reaches out and squeezes your hand. “sometimes the hardest part is just saying it out loud. maybe you need to talk to him. like, really talk” you glance up, meeting their encouraging eyes. “yeah. i think you’re right”

yuki grins. “we’re here for you.” you smile, feeling a flicker of hope light up inside. maybe this winter isn’t about endings after all

──── ☀︎

the camera’s red light blinks steadily as you and haechan sit side by side again, the earlier awkwardness softened into something quieter, something more real

the interviewer smiles gently. “you’ve already shared some memories about your friendship. but i’m curious, what’s something you’ve learned from each other that you didn’t expect?”

you glance at haechan, and this time, his eyes meet yours without hesitation.

“i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness,” you say slowly. “haechan taught me that it’s okay to show the parts of yourself you think might scare others away. he’s not just this confident guy everyone sees, he’s brave enough to be himself, even when it’s hard”

haechan clears his throat and then nods. “and from y/n, i learned patience. she has always been steady, even when i was reckless or stubborn. she showed me that sometimes, the best way to handle things isn’t to charge ahead, but to wait and listen”

the interviewer leans forward, intrigued. “is there a moment that stands out, something that changed how you saw each other?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, “there was a time when everything between us was breaking apart,” you say. “but even then, he never stopped caring. he was the first one to reach out, even when i pushed him away. that made me realize how much he truly meant to me”

his smile is soft, almost shy. “yeah… i guess sometimes you have to lose something to understand how much it matters”

the room feels warm despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, you both sit with the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, this story isn’t over

the interviewer finally shuts off the camera, and the sudden silence feels heavy, but not in a bad way. more like the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said

you breathe out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. looking over at haechan, you catch the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips

“didn’t expect that to go so... deep,” you say, half-teasing but mostly amazed. he shrugs, eyes still fixed on the floor for a second before meeting yours

“yeah. feels weird, but good. like peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there,” he says, and you nod, cheeks warming. “i guess sometimes it takes a camera and a stupid interview to say what’s been stuck inside”

haechan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, his voice low. “maybe it’s not so stupid after all”

you want to say something, something that might change everything, but the words get caught in your throat. instead, you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling less like a canyon and more like a bridge

outside, the winter sun filters through the window, promising something new. and for once, you both believe it just might be true

──── ☀︎

haechan flopped onto his dorm bed, rubbing the back of his neck as yangyang tossed him a bottle of water

“man, you’ve been stuck in your room all day,” yangyang teased, plopping down on the floor. “you need to get out, clear your head”

him and his friends were scattered around the room, lounging in various states of exhaustion from midterms

jeno nudged renjun. “there’s a party tonight at dery’s place. might be good to blow off some steam”

jaemin grinned. “yeah, come on, haechan. you’ve been avoiding everyone since that interview with y/n”

haechan stiffened a little, the memory of the interview still fresh. “i’m not avoiding. just… thinking”

yangyang raised an eyebrow. “thinking or overthinking? you were practically glowing after you guys finished. that was new”

“yeah,” jeno chimed in, “it was like you finally said some of the stuff you never could before. been rough, huh?”

haechan sighed, glancing out the window. “yeah, it’s complicated. we haven’t been ‘us’ for a while. but maybe… maybe that interview was a start”

renjun nodded thoughtfully. “sounds like you two have some unfinished business. party might be good for a break, but don’t lose sight of that”

jaemin smirked. “or you could end up at the party, thinking about her the whole time.” haechan chuckled softly. “yeah, probably”

yangyang stood up and stretched. “well, party or no party, you gotta do what feels right. but a night out could be just the distraction you need.” haechan nodded slowly. “maybe you’re right. i could use some fresh air”

jeno tossed him a set of keys. “then what are you waiting for? let’s go.” as the group headed out, haechan took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and something like hope swirling inside. tonight wasn’t about fixing everything–it was just the next step

the bass thumped through the crowded dorm common room, a chaotic swirl of laughter, music, and chatter filling every corner. haechan weaved through the crowd, a drink in hand, trying to focus on the easy conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting back to you, being lead to the point for him to convince himself that he’s hallucinating as he laid eyes on you. he hadn’t expected to see you. especially tonight

and yet, there you were, near the snack table, laughing with a group of friends. his breath hitched for a second as your eyes caught his across the room

for a heartbeat, everything froze– the noise, the people, the flashing lights– all faded into the background

you looked surprised, then smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips that made something inside him unclench

haechan swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way over, each step feeling like a mile. “hey,” he said, voice quieter than he’d intended. you looked up, startled but pleased

“haechan. didn’t expect to see you here”

he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “yangyang dragged me out. figured i needed to get some fresh air… or whatever this is.”

you laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “yeah, i needed the same”

there was a pause, neither of you quite sure what to say next. finally, you broke the silence. “so… how did the interview go? i saw some clips online” he smiled, a little sheepishly. “honestly? it was harder than I thought. talking about us, about what we lost”

you nodded, eyes searching his

“but maybe it’s a start.” he met your gaze steadily. “yeah. maybe it is.”

the music throbbed louder, but this moment, this unexpected meeting, felt like the quiet in the storm. and for the first time in a long time, haechan thought maybe things could really change

for a few minutes, the conversation flows easily, memories, jokes, small smiles. then, like a shadow slipping through the light, the topic shifts

“so,” you say, voice careful, “do you still think about… what happened? why we fell apart?”

haechan’s smile falters. his eyes darken just a little. “all the time”

you look away, heart tightening. “it was such a stupid fight. over grades, of all things.” he laughs, but it’s bitter. “yeah, who knew academic competition could wreck everything?”

the music pulses around you, but all you feel is the fragile thread between you– stretched, but not broken. and somewhere beneath the tension, hope flickers

the tension lingers, thick but no longer suffocating. instead, it feels like a wall just starting to crack. haechan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the weight of months. “i don’t want to keep pretending none of this happened. or that it didn’t hurt.”

you meet his gaze, “me neither. maybe… we owe it to ourselves to try again. to actually talk, not just compete or hide behind silence.” he smiles, small but real, the kind that reaches his eyes. “yeah. maybe this time, we don’t let pride get in the way.”

the music shifts to a slower song, and the crowd moves around you both, but all you feel is the space shrinking between you.

“want to get out of here?” you ask quietly.

“definitely ,” he says, offering his hand.

as you take it, a surge of something hopeful blooms inside– a fragile, beautiful chance to rewrite your story. and maybe this time, you’ll finally get it right

──── ☀︎

you’re curled up on the worn-out couch in your favorite campus coffee shop, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon swirling around you

your friends are gathered close, their eyes warm and expectant. “so,” yuki says, grinning, “spill. how’s the whole ‘reconnecting with haechan’ thing going?” you bite your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “it’s… complicated”

they exchange knowing looks. “come on, you can tell us” you take a deep breath, heart pounding. “the truth is… i never really stopped liking him. not just as a friend. maybe it was there all along, but i was too scared to admit it”

ryumi reaches over and squeezes your hand. “girl, we’ve been waiting for you to say that forever. it’s so obvious to everyone but you.”

yuki chimes in, “you guys were perfect together. you owe it to yourself to fix this before we graduate. what if you never get the chance again?”

you glance down, feeling both hopeful and terrified. “yeah, but what if it’s too late? what if we’re too far gone?” they shake their heads firmly. “no way. you’re not giving up on something that means this much. not now”

their faith feels like a lifeline, and suddenly, you’re ready. “okay,” you say, voice steady, “i’m going to try. for real this time”

your friends cheer, clinking their coffee cups together. “to fixing what’s broken,” they toast.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe it just might be possible

later that night, your room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. outside, the campus is still, the world muted beneath a blanket of stars

you sit on your bed, your heart feels heavy, tangled with memories and “what ifs.”

what if you had been braver? what if you hadn’t let pride get in the way? what if you told him how you really felt back then?

a sigh escapes you. but somewhere beneath the regret, there’s a flicker of something new– a fragile hope that maybe this time, things can be different

you stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the message app. your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest, but you know this is the moment. no more hiding, no more silence.

seconds feel like hours. then, a reply: "yeah. i’d like that.”

taking a deep breath, you type: “hey, can we talk? i think there’s a lot we need to clear up.” you hit send before you can change your mind

relief floods you, warm and sudden. the night air is crisp and quiet when you arrive at the quad. the familiar stretch of grass, the faint glow of distant street lamps– everything feels the same, yet charged with possibility

moments later, haechan appears, his expression unreadable but softened by the low light. you both stand there for a beat, the weight of months hanging between you

“i’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “about how easy it was... before everything went wrong.”

he nods slowly. “me too.”

you take a step closer, the cold grass crunching softly beneath your shoes. “maybe we can find that again.” haechan meets your eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. maybe this time, we won’t let it slip away.”

and in that quiet moment, under the stars where it all began, you feel the first real hope of something new

after that night in the quad, things didn’t suddenly get perfect. but somehow, once you broke the silence, every day felt more at ease—little by little.

most afternoons, that’s where you ended up— the quad, the place where everything used to feel effortless. you’d bring some snacks, maybe a playlist on his phone, and just hang out

one day at the library, you studied side by side, textbooks open, but honestly, you barely focused. you’d throw playful jabs back and forth about who’d get the better grade on the next paper. when you got stuck on a tough question, he reached over to help, and your hands brushed for just a second. and that little touch felt like a spark

nights became your thing again. you’d walk the quiet campus paths under the stars, talking about things you’d never said out loud before. your hands bumped, lingered, and no one pulled away

the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it felt like something waiting to happen. and for a second, it felt like you were just kids again, no past hurts, no tension, just the two of you

it wasn’t instant or perfect, but day by day, you were finding your way back. and honestly? it felt better than you could have ever imagined

──── ☀︎

“graduation’s coming fast.”

“too fast,” he agreed. there was a pause before he added, “i think about walking across that stage and not having you beside me. and i don’t want that. not again.”

your heart thudded, slow and loud in your chest. “i don’t either. we’ve come too far to go separate ways again.” he looked at you–really looked– and something in his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you both to this moment. “what we have… it’s not just something we stumbled back into, is it?”

you shook your head. “no. we chose this. we’re choosing it every day.” he reached out then, his fingers brushing yours, and this time you didn’t hesitate. you tangled your hand in his, holding tight

“i want to walk with you,” he said softly. “not just at graduation, but after. wherever we’re going, wherever life takes us.”

and under that star-scattered sky, you squeezed his hand and smiled. “then don’t let go.”

──── ☀︎

graduation week arrives in a blur of last papers, goodbye hugs, and the kind of bittersweet laughter that seems to echo longer than usual. there’s a countdown hanging in the air, not just to walking the stage, but to the end of this chapter, of this version of your lives. you feel it in every corner of campus. but when you’re with haechan, somehow, it still feels like home

he waits for you after class with your favorite drink in hand, like clockwork. walks you back to your dorm. teases you about crying at rehearsal. everything you used to do, but different now. warmer. closer.

that night, the sky is clouded over, the quad quiet but not cold. you’re sitting on the blanket again, this time under a string of fairy lights your friends strung up for some end-of-semester picnic. most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving just you two. a little music hums from someone’s portable speaker a few feet away, distant and slow

he’s lying beside you, arms tucked behind his head, his voice low. “do you remember our first night out here? not the ramen-grilled-cheese night. before that.” you nod. “we had no idea what we were doing. you told me you wanted to be a novelist.”

“and you told me i’d probably write your acknowledgments because i talk too much.”

he laughs softly, eyes shifting toward you. “i think i just liked the idea of doing something worth remembering… if it meant you'd be there.” the quiet stretches between you, and this time it’s not soft, it’s full

he sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow, face suddenly closer than it’s been in weeks. your breath catches

he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you in the kind of silence that feels like something tipping. the kind that always comes before a first kiss

“i think I’ve been falling for you since the second time we sat here,” he says finally, voice barely audible. “but i didn’t say it, because i thought i already lost you once.”

you blink, heart pounding.

your hand finds his cheek, and he leans into it so naturally, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams. and then, slowly, without any of the usual drama or panic, he kisses you

it’s soft at first, like a question. his lips move against yours carefully, like he’s still afraid you’ll vanish. but you kiss him like you never will again. like this is your answer to every quiet moment you never spoke through. every almost.

when you part, foreheads pressed together, he exhales against your skin. “we’re really doing this.” you smile. “yeah. we are.”

that night, he walks you home, fingers laced with yours the whole way. you don’t say goodbye at the door, not really. just a kiss goodnight, a promise, and the quiet comfort of knowing this time… neither of you is walking away

──── ☀︎

the ceremony is over, but your head’s still spinning. there are too many hugs, too many camera flashes, too many people crying while confetti falls from nowhere

someone’s blasting a graduation playlist from the speaker. a champagne cork flies past your shoulder. and yet, through it all, you only see him

haechan, laughing in a sea of caps and gowns, eyes scanning until they land on you. and then he’s moving toward you, weaving through friends and faculty like the only place he wants to be is next to you

and when he reaches you, neither of you says anything at first. you just smile, tired and teary-eyed and overwhelmed in the best way.

“hey,” he says, breathless. “you did it.”

“you too,” you reply, voice thick with emotion. “we did it.”

he lifts his hand slowly, hesitates, then brushes your tassel back from your cheek, his fingers lingering. “can i steal you?” he asks.

you nod. he takes your hand without asking this time, and the two of you slip away from the noise, around the back of the old library, and across the campus you’ve memorized together, to the quad

it’s quieter here. golden. the sunlight’s softer now, dappled through the trees. the grass is warm under your feet, and the stage feels far behind you. you sit down, still in your gown, heels kicked off, hearts thudding

“so…” he starts, playing with the corner of his sleeve, “we graduated.”

“we did.”

“and we kissed.”

you laugh. “yeah. that too.”

there’s a beat of silence, and then he looks at you– really looks at you– and you feel it in your chest, how serious this is. how long it’s been building

“y/n..” he finally breaks the silence,

“i’ve loved you for years,” and this time, there’s no hesitation. “even when we stopped talking. even when i hated myself for messing it up. i never stopped”

you don’t answer right away, not because you’re unsure, but because your throat is tight and your heart is full and you’ve waited so long to say this

“i loved you when we were fifteen and thought youtube fame was our calling,” you finally whisper. “i loved you when I didn’t know how to show it. and i love you now.”

he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s soaking up the weight of your words. “so what does that make us now?” you smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“whatever we want to be. we’ve got time now.”

he kisses you again– soft and certain, like there’s no turning back. and when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “okay. then let’s start with this: i’m yours.” you take his hand again, lacing your fingers through his. “and i’m yours.”

around you, the sun keeps setting. the quad begins to empty. and as the last chapter closes behind you, a new one begins, quieter, sweeter, and filled with everything you never had the words for before

and as the world shifts around you, futures unfolding, time pulling you forward, his hand stays in yours, steady, warm, familiar.

no more pretending.

no more almosts.

just you and him, in the place where it all began, hearts speaking the truth your mouths had once been too afraid to say

because some love stories never needed to start with a kiss to be real. some love stories were written long before the first chapter

and this one? it was never a friendship gone wrong. it was always a love that took the long way home.

because the truth is— you were never just friends.

203 notes · View notes

luvvhaechan · 26 days ago

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haechan fic recommendations

MDNI !! hey peeps!! just so you know, i will be making another list of shorter fics ( under 1k ) and a smau masterlist!! lmk if youre interested, will also keep on adding to this list btw!!

red velvet hearts. - @ choerrypuffs - 7.7k

lights out , lights out pt2 - @ hhaechansmoless - 17.8k + 15.8k

caramel haechan masterlist - @ mejaemin

love virus , love virus 2 - @ twilightau - 7.6k + 5.6k

love jones , love jones 2 - @ lisired - 12.4k + 13.1k

would you film my s*x tape? - @ sweetiechenle

the boy is mine - @ domjaehyun - 101k ( 6 parts )

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yuta-nakamots · 3 days ago

Text

Love Again - L.Jeno

Pairing - Ex-Boyfriend!Jeno x Female Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst, University!AU, Winter Guard!AU

Warning(s) - mention of a breakup

Summary - Every Wednesday, you rehearse a show about falling in love again opposite Jeno, the male lead and the ex you never truly got over. Between lingering touches and unspoken words, you start to wonder if the story you’re performing might still be yours to finish.

Word Count - 6.9k

Author’s Note - This is based off of the team Black Gold’s show from 2019. Whether you’re familiar with winter guard or not, I highly suggest watching the video I have linked since it provides a lot of insight into aspects of the show and moments I will be describing in the fic. I know winter guard is a pretty niche thing and is mainly only popular in the US but nonetheless, it is an art form that I am passionate about and would love to share with others.

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona @yowmaman (join my taglist!)

Written for the Death of Creation Collab hosted by @ncteaxhoe. Part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection.

Now playing: The Greatest Bastard - Damien Rice, Love Again - Baekhyun, Only Always - Jake Miller & Neriah, Hampstead - Ariana Grande

Your Wednesday nights always smell like sweat and gym floor wax. The overhead lights flicker once before holding steady, casting long reflections across the polished hardwood. Practice hadn’t started yet, but you’re already stretching in the far corner, spine curved over your leg, forehead nearly brushing your knee. Around you, the familiar pre-rehearsal buzz hums. Rifle straps slap against gloved hands, flags unfurl with a sigh, and Chenle is shouting something about forgetting his water bottle again.

You should feel at home. You’ve spun for years, since high school, in fact. This team, this activity, it’s supposed to be muscle memory by now. But this year feels different.

Jeno sits on the other side of the gym, taping up his rifle. His posture hasn’t changed, shoulders loose, focused but calm. You haven’t spoken to him since your breakup five months ago. It was quiet and clean, no screaming, no grand spectacle—just silence where love and laughter used to be. Now, every Wednesday, you fall in love with him even though it’s choreographed, counted, and timed to the music.

This season’s show is called ‘Love Again’ and it is romantic, lyrical, and painfully tender. The team’s director explained it as being about two people who lose each other and find their way back through something they both still believe in. You didn’t know the plot of the show when you showed up for auditions at the start of the season, nor did you know when you and Jeno were announced as the leads of the show. But the universe, or perhaps just the director, had a cruel sense of irony.

Chenle’s voice beside you pulls you from your thoughts. “Ready to fake-love your ex for the next three hours?”

You shoot him a look, but your eyes dart away quickly. Jeno is already walking to the center of the floor, claiming his spot for warmups. You rise slowly from your spots, rolling through each vertebra of your back. This is what Wednesdays are about.

“You’re doing that melodramatic yearning thing again,” Chenle mutters as he sips from his water bottle beside you. “Very poetic. Very heartbroken.” You elbow him gently, but the tension in your chest stays coiled. He always jokes like this, loudly and mercilessly, but there’s warmth beneath it, a silent way of telling you he sees what you’re carrying.

Warmups start with stretches, dance basics, and across-the-floors. Pliés into relevés, turns into leaps, the usual rhythm of sweat and precision. The tarp beneath your feet is slightly slick from the humidity and heat, but your body moves on instinct. Still, your thoughts wander to a certain person with every pass across the floor.

He somehow ended up next to you during flag warmups. His movements are quiet and deliberate, controlled even in warmups. There’s the same control in the way he extends his arms, like he’s always moving with meaning, and you hate that you remember what it felt like to be held by them. You try not to look at him. But your eyes keep catching on the way his shirt clings to him, the way his fingers flex after a catch. You look down, counting the beats in your head, breathing in for four and out the next four, then tossing.

After warmups, the director claps twice. “Water and then set for a dry run! From the top.”

Everyone scatters, grabbing equipment and a quick swig of water before returning to the floor with rifles and sabres in hand, flags rolled tight under arms, while the props team brings two wooden chairs and a large matching table to the middle of the tarp. After placing your flag, you take your place sitting on one of the chairs, the one on your left still empty as Jeno sets down his rifle. Once he’s sure it is in the proper spot, he makes his way to the center, his eyes scanning the floor like he’s already somewhere else.

The music starts low, the soft plucking of a guitar, delicate as a memory. You begin moving through the opening choreography, climbing up onto the table with Jeno. At the same time, your teammates flutter around like leaves. Your body is familiar with the motions, but your mind is frayed at the edges. When the moment comes, the one where you’re supposed to meet his gaze while reaching out to him across the table, you look just over his shoulder. Close, but not close enough.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. Chenle makes a subtle, exaggerated heart stabbing motion from where he waited off on the sidelines. You almost break character.

The routine flows on, Jeno’s hands find your waist, lifting you with his strong arms, a turn, before finally separating, and both of you slide off the table. Each beat is perfectly timed, but something feels off. It’s like trying to perform underwater. Everything is there, but dulled by distance.

You’re doing the show. You’re just not feeling it. Not yet.

The routine shifts, and you meet your cue to break away from Jeno and join the ranks of your teammates spinning flags. Your flag waits curled near the edge of the mat, your fingers curling around the cool metal, and your arms tightening into muscle memory. Across the floor, Jeno’s moving too, his sabre deftly swinging from his hands. This is the split of two lovers, torn apart and dancing in separate storms.

Your flag unfurls, unveiling its deep emerald green and fading into smoky lavender at the tail. Silks swirled around you as rifles and sabres were thrown into the air, all the equipment merging like oil and water. Controlled chaos. Emotional geometry.

You’re focused on the counts now, on the way the flag whips around you on count sixteen right before the prep into a toss, releasing on count two. Anything except the way Jeno’s figure flutters across the floor. Anything but the knowledge that soon enough, he’ll be in front of you again.

In less than a minute, you meet at the table again. He’s already there, waiting for you with his sabre firmly gripped. He handles it with precision before extending it toward you, hilt-first. You take it as the rest of the team stills around you, feeling like the world has slowed down. You draw closer to Jeno, and in a seamless move you’ve rehearsed a hundred times, he lifts you into a turn and flips you over his shoulder.

Your body folds with the momentum, and for the briefest second, you’re suspended in his grasp with your face inches from his. You can feel the heat of his breath, and you can see the taut line of his jaw just as his eyes flicker to yours. Before you can fully process the moment, gravity is pulling you away, and you land on your feet as Jeno reclaims the sabre from your hands.

You step away from him as the others flood in, flags blooming open in arcs of green and lavender, framing the two of you as you rise onto the table again. The music swells, and now comes the part you hate the most.

Jeno’s hand finds yours, and your bodies slide and pivot around each other, the choreography meant to mimic forgiveness, ache, longing. His palm brushes your cheek while your fingertips trace along his spine. It’s nothing and everything at the same time.

Around you, the ensemble spins in hypnotic circles, flags moving like waves, but you’re only aware of how close Jeno is to you and the tension of unspoken words. You hold onto him a second longer than you should before climbing off the table, breath caught in your chest. Relief floods through you like cold water. You’re allowed to leave him now.

You walk away from the table, dragging the wooden chair across the floor, its feet rumbling faintly against the tarp. You head for your corner while Jeno mirrors you, chair in hand, walking the opposite diagonal. Neither of you looks back, not even once.

The ending pose approaches as the music returns to its quiet beginnings, guitar strings and vocals, bare and familiar. Across the floor, Jeno stops, then reaches out, giving you your cue. You lift your arm, just barely, but you don’t meet his gaze. You can’t. Instead, you stare at the light reflecting off the tarp, the hum of the gym’s overhead lights suddenly feeling louder than it should be. Your hand hovers in the space in front of you, floating in a story that isn't real. Or maybe it is.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Not right now. The final note lands, and you let your arm fall. The final chord fades into the echo of breathing, yours and the rest of the team’s, heavy and uneven, echoing off the gym walls. The hush after a full run-through always feels a little like the aftershock of a dream. Disoriented, buzzing, not quite real.

You sink slowly to the floor beside your chair, palms planted on the surface of the cool tarp, heart still pounding in your throat. Across the gym, Jeno drops his arm and lowers himself next to his chair, head tilted back against it like he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up any longer.

“Alright, I give it a solid eight out of ten for emotional repression, and a ten for dramatics,” Chenle says, walking over and dramatically fanning himself. “Seriously, you two almost made me believe love exists again.”

You glance up at him, an eyebrow raised. “Was that supposed to be encouraging?”

He plops down beside you and shrugs. “Depends. Are you planning on pretending not to be in love with Jeno again next Wednesday, too? Because if so, I have notes.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “I wasn’t pretending to be in love. That’s literally the problem.”

Chenle leans back, hands firmly placed behind him, one leg shifting mindlessly. “Yeah, well, you were also very much pretending not to be in love, which is basically the same thing, just with worse lighting and more tension.” You let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Chenle nudges your ankle with his toe. “You okay?”

You nod, slowly. “Just…tired.”

Chenle doesn’t push, not this time. Just leans his head back, eyes on the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be over there pretending to stretch if anyone asks. But if you and Mister Dramatic Rifle Toss over there decide to actually talk and ruin the show by becoming functional people, please do it outside of practice hours. I’m begging you.”

You chuckle softly as he stands and wanders off, muttering about winter guard being for “people with unresolved trauma and killer quads.” And then it’s quiet again. The kind of quiet that only comes after moving your body through something bigger than it knows how to hold.

You’re still catching your breath, and Jeno’s still across the gym, still not looking at you. Yet.

The gym feels colder the following week, the kind of cold that bites at your fingers and stiffens your limbs before you even begin. The air smells like floor cleaner and generations of dust. The silence after warmups is louder than usual.

Two more weeks. That’s all that’s left before the first show. Only one more practice after today, and that practice is the dress rehearsal. Today, there were no costumes, no makeup to hide behind. Just the raw bones of the routine and the quiet, mounting pressure to get it right.

Your director claps her hands, sharp and expectant. “Full run. From the top. I want every breath intentional, every motion clean. This is your moment, so start acting like it.”

You take your position next to Jeno, seated at the table, the tarp stretched like a battlefield beneath your feet. You don’t look at him, but you feel him. The tension between you radiates like heat.

The music starts. For some reason, every count is harder than the last. The lift near the end of the second chorus almost buckles your legs. Jeno’s hands are sure under your ribs, but your breath catches when you look down and meet his eyes, just for a split second.

When the ending hits and the final chords fade, you collapse next to your chair, muscles trembling, lungs straining to catch up. Jeno hits the mat just as hard on the opposite side, shoulders heaving with effort, his arm still loosely extended from the final pose, his hand yearning for yours. It’s the most in-sync you’ve felt with him in weeks, and yet it feels like your bodies have been through war.

“Alright,” the director says. “Better. Still not enough from the duet, though. Especially that lift, it’s gotta look effortless. Right now, it looks like you’re both terrified of touching each other.” Your stomach sinks. She points directly at the two of you. “Both of you, stay. Everyone else, water break. Take ten.”

You stay seated, hoping Jeno will say something first. He doesn’t, he simply drags himself to his feet. Chenle tosses you a sympathetic look as he walks by, but doesn’t say anything either, just mutters something to another member about “emotional constipation” and “god complex couple therapy.”

You slowly rise to your feet. You’re dripping sweat and everything hurts, but you move toward the front of the table to set for the lift, because that’s what the routine demands. You and Jeno take your places again, the same cue, the same breath.

You meet his eyes this time as the director counts you in. The first time, you’re up and over. Your hands on his shoulders, his grip at your waist. It’s functional, and you land just fine. “Again,” she commands. The second time, your heartbeat’s pounding too hard for rhythm. You stumble, but Jeno’s hand steadies you, lingering on your skin. You don’t look at him as you come out of his hold this time. “Again.” The third time, you’re too fast, too tense. As you dismount from the lift, your foot catches the edge of his and lands squarely on his instep.

Jeno hisses through his teeth, pulling back instinctively. “Seriously?” he snaps under his breath, limping slightly as he shakes out his foot. “Watch where you’re landing.”

You recoil, sharp from fatigue and frustration. “Maybe don’t let me go so close to your foot next time.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tight. “That’s not how the lift works. You’re supposed to step out wide, not crash land like a–”

“I know how the lift works,” you bite out. “I’m not the one who adjusted the timing.”

“I adjusted it because you were off count.” The silence that follows isn’t the same as before. This one simmers.

“Again,” the director interrupts. No sympathy in her voice, just expectation. You both reset, not speaking. The fourth time, your muscles feel heavier than they should. You get through it, but the landing is shaky, and neither of you makes eye contact. “Again.” The fifth time, Jeno’s fingers falter just slightly at your waist, but you don’t call him out for it. You land clean, but still, the director isn’t satisfied. “Again.” Finally, after the sixth try, you both stay frozen in place longer than necessary, your gaze locked on his while his hands sit on your waist. Not acting, not performing, just…there.

He exhales, and his voice is low. “You okay?”

You glance down at the mat, then back at him. “You’re the first person who’s asked me that today.”

Your director watches you both, eyes narrowing. She crosses her arms, then nods once. “Good. Finally starting to feel like you meant it.” Then, with a glance at her watch, “take five.”

You’re already sinking to the floor before she finishes speaking. Jeno lowers himself beside you, slower, one knee cracking audibly. Neither of you laughs. The silence returns, only now it feels less suffocating, just exhausted.

Someone turns on the ancient electric fan in the corner of the gym. Its low whir echoes over the tarp as the blades speed up, sending blessed gusts of air over your skin. You both lie back, side by side, not touching, but close enough that your arms could brush if one of you shifted even slightly.

The fan blades blur, a lazy halo of motion. You watch them spin for a long time. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like to be electrocuted?”

Jeno doesn’t laugh, just lets the question hang before he responds. “Depends…” he murmurs. “By the fan, or by you stomping on my foot again?” You huff something that might be a laugh, but it gets caught in your throat. The moment stretches again, softer this time. Then, almost too softly to hear, “sometimes it feels like that,” Jeno whispers. “Like we keep shocking each other every time we get close again.”

Your chest tightens, and you can’t bring yourself to answer right away. The air hums between you. Someone shifts the fan, strong gusts of air brushing cool against your face now. You close your eyes. “Maybe we’re just bad wiring.” There’s another silence. “Or maybe we never figured out how to ground each other.” This time, when your fingers brush his on the floor, neither of you pulls away.

A sharp voice cuts through the quiet. “Break’s over!” your director calls, already clapping her hands to rally the rest of the team. You flinch at the sound and open your eyes. Jeno’s fingers pull back just a fraction too late, brushing yours one last time before he stands. No words, just a breath that says something close to goodbye, at least for now.

You both return to the mat in silence, but together, and this doesn’t go unnoticed. Chenle jogs past, late from his water break as usual, his gaze flicking between you and Jeno. He doesn’t comment, just quirks a brow at you like he’s connecting the dots.

Practice ends two hours later. Everyone is drained, peeling off layers of sweat-soaked practice gear, mumbling about school assignments and dinner plans and the upcoming dress rehearsal. Once you’re packed and helped out with putting all the equipment away, you finally step outside into the chilled night air, gym lights still bleeding through the windows behind you, fading into the darkness while you walk towards your car in the parking lot.

You had just made it to your car when you heard footsteps behind you. “You know,” Chenle begins, “I thought you were going to kiss him for real back there.”

You turn around, finding Chenle leaning against his car, parked next to yours. His hair is damp with sweat, half a grin on his face. You try to smile. “You’re lucky I didn’t.”

“Mmm,” he hums, crossing his arms. “But you were talking. That’s new.”

You shrug, unlocking your door. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Chenle doesn’t move. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

You lean against your car instead of getting in. “It’s complicated.”

“You still in love with him?” he asks plainly, like he already knows the answer.

You don’t respond immediately, instead opting to trace the edge of your keys with your thumb. “...Yeah,” you finally say. “I think I am, and I hate it.” Chenle’s quiet now. You take a breath, heavier than the others. “It’s been five months,” you continue, staring out across the almost empty parking lot. “It was clean, quiet, and no screaming. Just…the sound of someone closing a door and not coming back through it. One day, we were in love, and the next, he stopped showing up in the ways I needed. I stopped asking him to. That was the scariest part. We didn’t even fight for it.” Chenle listens, hands tucked into the sleeves of his jacket. “I think I keep hoping he’ll say he regrets it,” you admit. “That, maybe, he made a mistake. But then we get close like that, and I remember why it fell apart in the first place.”

You close your eyes, and it all comes rushing back. It was late at night, you were sitting across from Jeno on the floor of his apartment’s living room, both of you eating something from takeout boxes. The TV glowed softly in the background, and he laughed at something on his phone.

“You didn’t read my message,” you told him.

“Huh?” He didn’t look up.

“Earlier. I asked if you could come practice with me. I needed help with the new toss.”

“Oh.” He swiped a notification away. “Sorry, I got busy.”

You nodded. It wasn’t the first time. There was another night, that time, you were waiting at the café near campus. Your coffee had gone cold when you finally got a message from him.

“Sorry, can’t make it. Had a last-minute meeting for a group project.” You weren’t even surprised anymore.

The one that stayed with you the most was where he sat across from you on the gym bleachers after the first rounds of pre-season training, sweat soaking through his collar. You turned to him, searching his face for something, anything. “I feel like we’re drifting,” you said.

Jeno just stared at the floor. “Maybe we are.” That was it. No promises of doing better, no arguing, just quiet.

Chenle’s voice pulls you from the memories. “Do you think he’s still in love with you?”

You shake your head, a tired smile pulling at your lips. “I think he’s still learning how to be close to anyone, and I just got tired of teaching him.”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves along the pavement. Chenle tilts his head, like he’s studying you. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out before the last show.”

You look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “I mean…just because you’re done pretending to be lovers on the floor doesn’t mean that’s the end of your story.”

You blink. “That’s a little optimistic, even for you.”

“I’m being serious,” he says. “You two, whatever you are, whatever you were…it didn’t just disappear because the counts ran out. You said you stopped asking him to show up, right?” He looks at you, and his voice softens. “Maybe this is him trying.”

You stare down at the pavement, jaw tight. “You think that changes anything?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But if you still care, maybe it’s not about changing anything. Maybe it’s about deciding whether it’s still worth stepping in, even when the timing sucks and the music’s messy and no one’s calling the counts for you anymore.”

You let the silence settle again. A car passes on the street behind you, headlight flashing over your legs before fading. Chenle straightens, tugging his bag on his shoulder. “Don’t close the door just because the scene’s over. Some of the best parts don’t make the final cut.”

You smile faintly, blinking against the burn behind your eyes. Chenle nods towards your car. “Drive safe, alright?” Then he pulls open the door to his car and slips in, turning the engine on and shutting the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, keys still in hand, heart heavier and lighter at the same time. For the first time in months, you wonder about not what ended, but what might still be unfinished.

The air in the gym is full of nerves and hairspray. You sit in the bleachers with your compact mirror propped open on your knee, brushing pink shadow into the waterline of your eye, not enough to look pretty, just enough to look ruined. The kind of pink that makes you look too raw, too real, like you’ve just stopped crying or maybe never did. You set the brush down, pick up the setting spray. One long spritz, then another. It mists your face and evaporates quickly in the stale air.

Chenle climbs the bleachers and drops into the space next to you, already in costume. His top clings to him like a second skin, layers of gauzy nude fabric crossing over his chest and draping at the sides like extensions of himself. “You’re either gonna spin like you mean it,” he starts casually, opening your pack of bobby pins, “or keep dancing like you regret everything.”

You glance at him. “That was poetic. Kind of mean, but poetic nonetheless.”

“Write it down,” he jokes, sticking a pin between his teeth while he fixes a piece of your hair that came undone. “Make it the title of your next breakup playlist.”

You roll your eyes, but let him finish pinning the loose strand back into place. “You don’t think I’ve been giving enough?”

“I think you’ve been giving everything except the parts that count,” he states plainly. “You’ve been performing with grief, not love.” His words settle heavily between you. You don’t argue because he’s not wrong. He leans back to look at your face. “Today, just try. Let yourself look at him like you did the first time.”

You tuck your compact back into your bag and stand with the heap of your uniform in your arms. “And what if that’s not safe?”

Chenle shrugs, already rising beside you. “It’s not. But neither is standing still and acting like everything is fine.”

During the first run in costume, the tarp feels too stiff beneath your feet, the lights too bright overhead. You don’t feel beautiful or confident in the costume, just exposed, like someone peeled your skin back and decided the world should see what your heart and soul look like.

The music starts, and you dance. Not like muscle memory, not like memory. Like emotion. You look at Jeno during the quiet guitar introduction, and for the first time in months, you let him see it, the grief, the ache, and the trace of what once was. He meets you there. Every catch, every lift. This time, you don’t flinch when his hands touch your ribs, and you don’t avoid his eyes when he turns with you in his arms. You stay in it, you stay with him.

When the final pose lands, your chest heaves, and your fingers are outstretched towards him, as if you could touch him across the distance of the mat. If you could, you’d feel the way he doesn’t let you g,o and he’d feel the way you do the same.

Everything goes quiet as silence fills the gymnasium until the coaches are clapping, someone’s crying near the sidelines, and your teammates are clapping each other on the back for a job well done. But inside you, it’s silent. Like something holding its breath has finally exhaled. You leave the floor like a ghost, floating more than walking. Your costume rustles faintly as you move, sweat cooling into your skin, turning the delicate fabric heavy.

You don’t go far, just to the edge of the floor, where the old electric fan was buzzing on a metal folding chair. It whirs in low, choppy waves, like it can’t commit to one speed. You sit in front of it and close your eyes, letting it chill your body. You let yourself feel something, anything, after everything you just spilled onto that tarp.

Your hands are still shaking. When you open your eyes, you’re not entirely surprised to find Jeno standing in front of you, behind the fan. He doesn’t speak right away, just sits beside you, his knee knocking yours. You can still smell the fabric glue on his costume and the fresh tape from his rifle, still see the glitter of sweat near his temples and in his hairline. Finally, he asks quietly, “do you think it’s too late to love again?”

You keep your eyes on the spinning blades. There’s a beat of silence between you, one that says everything. All the weeks you didn’t speak. All the things you meant to say. All the ways you tried not to look at each other and failed. Then you answer, just as softly, “it’s Wednesday. We always start over on Wednesdays.”

He lets out a short breath, almost a laugh. Not happy, not bitter, just real. Your shoulders brush. His hand is on his knee, gripping it tightly. Yours isn’t far. You don’t reach for him, but you don’t move away either.

The following Wednesday arrives wrapped in sleep deprivation and road noise, your team crammed into charter buses and hotel rooms. Your hotel room hums with that strange, in-between quiet that only exists when two people are getting ready in parallel. Your other roommates are out, probably running through tosses in the parking lot or begging another teammate for extra hair gel while you and Chenle occupy the bathroom. There’s something sacred about this part, the getting ready, the ritual of transforming nerves into purpose.

Chenle hums the melody of the show just slightly off-key as he paints highlighter across his cheekbones in the mirror. His uniform hangs on the bathroom door, the soft, gauzy fabric swaying slightly from the AC vent. You stand next to him in the bathroom, half-dressed in costume, with a hotel robe wrapped around you. Your makeup bag is open, a brush held loosely in your hand. Chenle glances at you in the mirror. “You’re thinking too loud.”

You blink. “Could you hear me?”

He turns to face you. “Yeah.”

You sigh and lean forward, bracing yourself on your palms. “I don’t know what I'm doing.”

Chenle raises an eyebrow. “With your makeup or your life?”

“Both,” you admit with a weak smile.

He places the broad fan brush down and steps closer to you, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Okay, what about it?”

You hesitate. “I’m nervous.” He hums, already expecting that much. “I don’t know if it’s the show, the expectation, or…Jeno,” you add quietly. “I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to jump or run.”

Chenle is quiet for a beat. “What if you just…walk?” You look at him, lost, and he just shrugs. “Everyone always talks about big leaps and dramatic moments, but maybe today isn’t about that. Maybe it’s about walking toward what you want, one count at a time.” You’re silent, letting his words settle. The soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound for a moment. Then, he adds more gently, “like I said before, you don’t have to have it all figured out right now, you just have to mean it. The emotion, the movement, the connection, you just have to let it exist. That’s what makes it real.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “And what if I fall apart?”

“I’ll catch you, the rest of the team will, in fact. Or maybe just Jeno. And if none of us do, at least you’ll look stunning doing it.” Chenle picks up your makeup brush and holds it towards you. “Now finish your makeup before I do it myself.”

You laugh and take the brush from him, hands steadier than before. As you start blending the layers of pink near your waterline, you glance at Chenle through the mirror. “Thank you.”

He smirks. “For being your emotional support or your backup makeup artist?”

“Both,” you say again, this time feeling a whole lot more confident.

A few hours later, at the school gym, everything shifts with the momentum of pre-show fear. The air is loud with other teams, rifles clattering against the floor, someone playing music too loud in a bathroom, an entire ensemble chanting warmups in time with a ticking metronome blasting through a Bluetooth speaker.

You stand near the entrance to the warmup gym, waiting for the previous group to clear out. You’re cradling your single flag, costume already clinging in all the wrong places. Your hair is done, your makeup is fixed, but your heart is a mess. Pounding, aching, too full of emotion with nowhere to go.

Chenle sidles up beside you, serene as ever, his uniform somehow pristine even in this chaos. He adjusts his equipment in his arms, the weight of two flags and a sabre looking light in his hold, while he gives you a once-over. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. “Exactly the energy I was going for.”

He smiles, stepping into your space like he always does when he knows you’re about to spiral. “Listen to me,” he starts, adjusting the neckline of your costume without asking. “You’ve done the work. You’re here. You don’t need to prove anything, not to the judges, not to him, not even to yourself.”

You scoff lightly. “Poetic as always.”

The corners of his lips perk up. “Never not working on something new to say.”

You don’t get to thank him before the director calls for warmups, just as the previous team filters out the doors on the opposite side of the gym. Chenle is pulled away into a different conversation, another teammate drawing his attention away from you.

You go to your normal spot in the warmup block and set your flag down, just about to readjust your costume, when Jeno appears beside you, quiet and steady. He doesn’t speak immediately, just reaches for a flyaway strand behind your ear and tucks it into place, his fingers brushing the curve of your jaw on its way down. It’s a small touch, quick, but it roots you and burns a little too. “You’ve got this,” he says, not loud or performative. His words are meant only for you to hear. “You always have.” Then he’s gone, walking towards his spot among the rest of the weapons, taking your peace with him.

The minutes blur, and warmups feel all too fast. You’re corralled with the rest of the ensemble into a tight hallway, the lights from the gymnasium illuminating the familiar faces around you. Just as soon as the group in front of you starts their show, they’re already ending, and it’s your turn.

Following the introduction of your team and this year’s production, you take the floor in silence except for the hum of the crowd. The tarp unfurls like a storybook, each performer placing their equipment and taking their spots as supporting characters. You walk to your opening position with Jeno at the table, your eyes catching only briefly before you drop your head onto your arms, waiting for the cue of the music.

The quiet plucking of guitar strings silences the room, and the first few counts are breathless as you begin the choreography with Jeno. Then the music swells, and so do you, dancing with every inch of yourself.

This time, it isn’t grief that moves you, it’s longing, memory, and something dangerously close to hope. And Jeno, right next to you, meets every count with the same brutal honesty. He moves with you like he’s rewriting the ending to your story, holds you in his arms like he’s never dropped you.

Your eyes meet across the table when they’re supposed to, and this time, you don’t look away. You see him, really see him, and it steadies you. The table beneath your feet becomes less of a stage and more of a bridge between the silence of your past and the clarity of now. Chenle stands on the sidelines, his lips pulled into a grin, making you break character for half a second, your lips twitching into the smallest smile before pushing yourself back into the music.

The routine flows forward. Jeno’s hands find your waist again, lifting you with precision and something warmer, like he knows exactly what it took for you to be here with him, dancing like this. When he spins you in his arms, it’s not technique that keeps you sturdy in his grasp, it’s trust. The turn lands smoothly, and you separate, sliding off the table like water, but nothing is dulled now. Every motion burns with clarity, and the air is electric.

When you reach for your flag, the metal is cool in your grip, but your body is burning in all the places where Jeno touched you. The silk blooms from your hands, green and lavender, arcing through the air with impossible grace. Across the floor, Jeno’s sabre flashes under the lights. You move separately, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like pain. It feels like nostalgia, tension, buildup, a necessary pause before reunion, a breath before the confession.

When the music crests again and you return to the table, Jeno’s already there, sabre extended hilt-first, but now there’s no hesitation. You take it like a promise. The moment slows as he picks you up, flipping you over his shoulder, and suddenly, the air between you is charged, not with what you lose, but with what you might still have. Your face is inches from his, allowing you to catch the softness in his eyes, the unspoken “I’m still here” laced into every count.

Then the moment is gone, gravity returns you to the floor, and Jeno reclaims his sabre, but everything is different now. The silence between you is no longer empty. It’s full of things you both understand but haven’t said yet.

The final movement begins. The rest of the team surrounds you and Jeno on the table, their flags unfurling in hypnotic waves, but you only feel the weight of Jeno’s hand finding yours again. You rise together in the choreography, but this duet isn’t just choreography. It’s forgiveness given shape. When his gloved palm brushes your cheek, you don’t flinch. When your fingers trace the line of his spine, it’s filled with reverence. You’re not pretending anymore, you’re remembering, you’re asking, you’re answering.

When it’s time to leave the table, your body resists for half a second, not out of fear, but from knowing what it means to let go with love. You step down, each breath trembling, and drag your chair with care across the floor. The rumble of wood against tarp feels less like a goodbye and more like a punctuation mark. Across the mat, Jeno does the same. Neither of you looks back, there is no need to. Everything has already been spilled out into the open.

The final notes return–soft guitar, haunting vocals. Jeno reaches out first, and this time, you lift your arm fully, deliberately, gaze locking onto his like a vow. It isn’t just a cue, it’s an answer. The last chord fades, and silence falls like snow. You sink to the floor, hands trembling against the cool tarp, lungs burning, but your heart isn’t caught in your throat this time. In the opposite corner, Jeno collapses beside his chair, chest rising and falling, arms limp, but his eyes are open, and they’re on you.

The applause comes a beat later, crashing in like a wave. You’re swept up in it, teammates rushing to pull you into hugs, Chenle screaming something unintelligible, hands grabbing yours, voices cracking with adrenaline and joy. The world blurs at the edges, your body still vibrating from the music, from the way you danced like your soul was on the line.

Backstage is a storm of motion–sweaty uniforms half-unzipped, smeared makeup, people crying for reasons they can’t quite explain. But your heartbeat is the loudest of it all, and it feels like you’re floating.

A few hours after the chaos, the team having come down from their high, everyone is lined up on the gym floor, blinking under the harsh lights alongside the other teams. Banners sway from the ceiling like quiet witnesses. Your team stands shoulder to shoulder, toes to heels, hands gripped tight, bated breaths held.

Third place is called for the division. Not your team’s show. There is a brief applause as the group celebrates before the gym falls into silence once more. “In second place…” The pause is too long. Static from the microphone crackles. Someone brushes against you. “Love Again!”

The name crashes into you, and the gym explodes into screams and cheers. Your director, coaches, and staff throw their hands into the air, teammates leaping into each other’s arms. Chenle is whooping at full volume, practically screeching, while someone else is crying, maybe the same teammate from earlier, maybe not. You’re being hugged from all directions, and a silver medal is being placed around you, the metal cold and heavy against your skin.

Amidst the commotion, you find Jeno, or perhaps he found you. Regardless, you both gravitate toward one another like you’ve been choreographed to do all along. In the center of it all, swarmed by sweaty uniforms, tears-stained makeup, and raucous laughter, you find a quiet meant only for you and him.

Jeno puts an arm around you, his fingertips toying with the lanyard of the metal. He leans in close enough that you can hear him over the noise. “You walked toward me like you meant it,” his voice soft. “It’s been a while since you did that.”

Your throat tightens, so you simply smile. “Chenle told me I’d look stunning even if I fell apart.”

Jeno breathes a quiet laugh, eyes shining. “You did.”

There’s a moment, your shoulders brushing, heartbeats aligning, and the rest of the gym disappears. Then, softly, “it’s Wednesday,” you say.

Jeno’s smile turns warm, familiar. “We always start over on Wednesdays.”

The show may not have won gold, but with Jeno by your side it feels like you won something even better. You won each other again, and maybe this time, you won’t let go.

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Like We Just Met - L.Jeno

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botchedbrat · 4 days ago

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renjun who helps you take your makeup off and does your skincare for you when you’re just so tired. his gentle hands rubbing the cleanser onto your face, applying your toner pads for you, and when he’s done he finishes off with a kiss to your forehead.

“let’s go to bed now, my love.”

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #renjun fluff #nct x reader #renjun x reader

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hisunflower · 1 day ago

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♡ ྀ goodnight kiss | lee haechan.

ིྀ summary: you spend a day with haechan like any other, but by the end of it you feel different; a new kind of feeling, unlike the many days before, hoping it’ll last forever.

ིྀ word count: 5.8k !

ིྀ pairing: fem!reader x bestfriend!haechan.

ིྀ cw: just softness, comfort, humor, fun, kissing, slice of life, mundane life, fluff, and feelings.

ིྀ started: 7.29.24 | continued: 6.3.25 | finished: 6.4.25

author’s note: it’s been forever since i’ve written anything, but i’m so proud of myself for being able to make a comeback! i truly love writing. this has been in my drafts for the longest time (since july 29, 2024) and on (6.3.25) I thought to myself, no more collecting dust, no more trying to perfect it, no more trying to be so linear about it—because honestly, that random stream of thought of pure imagination is what I miss the most about having fun with my writing. So, here I give to you, a little short on how I perceive our soft haechan.

You lay on your back as the sunset lit room fills with the faint scent of vanilla, from the small diffuser in the corner of the almost quiet bedroom—watching as the evaporated mist disappears into the air and spirals with the breeze created by the opened window.

The sheer curtains follow cue by lifting and falling every few seconds and along comes the remaining bird-songs of the day, the loud barks of a few dogs who alert their owners of passersby and the last bit of dying conversations held, before nightfall awakens the nocturnal.

Alone in the sheets, wrapped perfectly in the fluffy white duvet, there is peace.

You shift in bed, looking off to the side, and across the room is the person you love to do nothing and absolutely everything with.

Haechan.

There is peace in doing nothing with him; there’s a special kind of silence in spending time together that feels good and there is peace in doing everything with him that no one else can offer.

Most times conversations last hours upon hours without realization, somehow the two of you escaping time within each other and finding a safe place right here in the middle, as two hearts become one in an instant.

Just being together is enough for the both of you and of course you can be the voice of what the other is feeling without saying a word.

There’s some things that are so natural that just fall into place as if they are meant to be from the very beginning. And that’s exactly how you feel about Haechan, a puzzle piece that fits perfectly in your life, someone you can’t afford to lose. Being around each other even reminds you of the true value of contentment, bringing you to realize the richness of your friendship.

It was some summers ago when you met him through a close friend. During one conversation after greeting each other, there was an instant click of relation or connection that neither one of you could explain in words, but after the first gathering, there was an increase in wanting to meet up over time—you asking your friend—“will Haechan be there?” him asking the same, “is y/n going?”

One day that same friend tells you they’ve gotten their number changed—which was a lie—so on a random weekend you called, not expecting to recognize the voice on the other side, only for a smile to form on your face once you realize it to be Haechan’s.

Till this day you still don’t know whose idea it originated from, but you could probably take an extremely lucky guess by now.

Whenever you think of Haechan, a blooming field of sunflowers appears standing tall with the beaming sun. Sometimes you imagine if he were amongst the flowers, the sun would be hanging up behind him, likened to be his halo.

Most of the time you feel a sense of comfort when you’re reminded of how he makes you feel inside. Warm. Cozy. Safe. A small boat sailing along a calm current, the sunlight sparkling off the reflection of the water like glitter from the aura of his tan skin, or a therapeutic stroll as your mind trails off somewhere while your feet do all of the work.

Since you’ve started attending more social events with mutual friends over time, the holidays you spend together are your favorites, especially Christmas and birthdays.

Although, whenever the functions end, you somehow end up together. In the car rambling about the party, catching a last minute movie not caring if you’re late to it because you’re sharing a large popcorn together, going out for dinner because neither of your bellies are satisfied or maybe you guys don’t mind stuffing your faces if it means being together for a little while longer.

Or like now, as you lay in his bed while he creates a playlist on his computer, typing away and dragging his cursor everywhere across the screen as low classical music plays in the background.

By the way, he’s in that hoodie you love seeing him in. the chocolate brown one and of course he knows that; but what better of you to have worn the shirt he let you borrow?

You suddenly sit up as the memories fade from you like dandelions blowing in the wind. You move the blanket down your legs and stand up to stretch, thereby catching haechan’s attention. He turns around in his rolling chair and gazes at how his oversized shirt lifts half past your bare thighs and settles back down covering your sweat shorts completely.

His eyes shift from your legs to your eyes as a soft smile forms over your oblivious face.

“Up already? I was just about to climb in,” he whines, leaning back into his chair and running his ringed fingers through his medium length hair. He looks so disheveled in the cutest way possible. His black hair strands are still sticking up and flying everywhere. His bare face looks so soft and natural as he puckers his plump lips at you. And the way he has just thrown on a pair of gym shorts and a hoodie, doesn’t make how much more you find him attractive today any better.

He watches when you make your way towards the window as the crickets start to chirp from outside. “I was just going to close the window since the sun has already set.” The window sill is locked in the middle and you don’t realize it. So you keep trying to push it down, but it won’t budge.

The desk chair bounces as Haechan walks up behind you. His body slightly presses against yours with no space whatsoever.

Snapping the bolt unlocked, he slides the window down with ease as both of his arms are on either side of your body near your hips. He forces it shut until you both hear a snap and he steps back only an inch before speaking up again.

“You always forget the lock Sunshine. Here, let me show you again for next time." He slides the window back up and lets you close it on your own.

Sunshine.

“See, you got it,” he smiles, “easy?”

You nod as he lightly presses at your waist for you to move over, and he closes the curtains. And for the first time you feel a little bit more shy than usual, so you choose to break the silence before your flushed face attracts all of the attention.

A few hours have passed since earlier, but ever since earlier, you just weren’t able to get the window occurrence out of your head. And before you knew it, your stomach began to fill with butterflies because of Haechan.

You’re smiling now, even in this very moment just thinking about it, wrapping yourself in a blanket that’s on the loveseat sofa in his living room—where the two of you had moved to when Haechan got a message from his roommate, Mark, that he’s on his way back home.

You’ve always found Haechan attractive, since the day you met him. He’s always been so nice and kind to you as well. But why today of all days are you starting to feel shy around him? You push the thought aside and try to focus on the present moment…but what you’re feeling is present too…right?

Don’t overthink it. It’s just another day.

You look to the corner of your eye and see Haechan hugging a large couch pillow next to you. He’s sitting crisscrossed, intently watching a bear cub documentary on the flatscreen television. His lips are barely parted, but there’s enough room to see his teeth. He’s wearing his hood. Messy strands of hair crowding his face that managed to escape.

He’s so cute.

Before you can divert your attention, he turns his head to you and lifts his eyebrows as if waiting for you to say something.

“Hmm?”

“Hmm?” he mocks, poking your side through the blanket earning a small yelp from you. “Don’t act all clueless now y/n.” He continues to tease you. “I saw you staring.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Haechan tugs on your blanket, but you tuck it underneath your feet as he tries to unwrap you from it. “I literally felt your eyes y/n,” he says as he throws the pillow off to the side.

He plops his body on yours and grips at your cover. “Haechan!” you yell under his weight, as he suddenly snatches the blanket off of you in the blink of an eye. He sits up laughing and puts the blanket on the opposite side of him, scooting back to his side of the couch.

You try to reach for it behind him, but he grabs your arm and pulls you forward until you clumsily fall into his lap. “Haech-!” you say in between laughs. He flips you over as you try to get the blanket, but he traps you in place facing him, covering your upper body with your crossed arms.

“Let me see something,” he’s pulling your arms apart while at the same time poking and tickling you. “Wait, Haech-ahh!” you scream in between giggles, “stop!”

Haechan often tells you that he can’t go a day without making you laugh, because that sound is his favorite thing in the world. And if he can’t make you laugh, he’ll try his best to at least make you smile.

“You weren’t staring huh?!” he laughs and lifts your arms, but as soon as he does, you wiggle yourself free from his grip to quickly sit up and catch your breath.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say while escaping to the other end of the couch with a fast beating heart.

He laughs, his dimple showing on his cheek. He’s tucking the blanket further into the corner and crossing his legs. “Why are you all the way over there?”

“Because you can’t be trusted!” you declare while fixing your hair.

“Me?” pointing his finger at himself in disbelief, “can’t be trusted?” he clicks his tongue, “Yet, you tell me everything.”

He is so mischievous.

“I do, don’t I?” you teasingly shake your head at him.

“Yeah...” he softly smiles back at you, sighing and leaning his head on the back of the couch. “You do.”

There’s a moment of silence before he sits up and grabs the pillow he had from before. His attention back on the screen where there’s two baby cubs play-fighting in the wild. You think he looks just like them right now.

Even with how rough he can be with you, he’s still so soft and lighthearted in essence, which you love about him so much. How he’s never too serious with you. How childlike he is at heart. How everything feels nice with him, as if perfection is the only natural thing in this world and it’s all right with him.

How if you could spend every second with him, you would choose in a heartbeat. And this is the first time you’ve admitted to yourself that you’d choose him if anything.

He quickly turns back to you after a moment and you snap back to reality. “Hey, let’s play a game.”

You stand up to grab a rice cracker from the container in front of you on the coffee table. “Did you finally get another controller?!” you ask with excitement, scooting close to him while ripping the small clear package.

You love watching Haechan play his video games and playing them together wherever you are. His last controller broke, but he told you he’d be buying another one soon so you guys could play the game together again. You really missed staying up laughing together playing duos.

“Staring contest.”

Okay I was not expecting that, but at least I know what to buy him. Or maybe I should just buy my own and bring it over.

You pause and lift one of your eyebrows higher than the other. “Come again?”

“I think you love embarrassing me,” you admit, sitting back and biting into the sweet cracker.

“Come on, you said you weren’t staring at me before right? Well now I want you to.” He steals the other rice cracker in your package and breaks it in half with his teeth.

He wants me to stare at him? If we were kids this would be such a much easier challenge, but it feels like I’m being tested today.

“You want me to look at you so bad,” you chew, “I need a break first.”

“You do that enough already.”

“Apparently not!”

Haechan breaks into a smile and a cute laugh escapes him. He knows he makes you use a lot of your energy with him when he’s sitting there just fine enjoying all of this and making you work.

The audio from the tv isn’t as clear anymore over the crunching from the both of you, but Haechan is purposely loud as his attention never left you from the moment he asked the question.

You carefully side-eye him as his eyes burn into you. You ball up the plastic wrapping and place it on the glass table just for it to slowly straighten out again.

“Are you getting a head start?” you ask, finishing the rest of your wafer and drinking some of your water.

“Can I not look at a pretty girl.” he says rather like a statement.

You nearly choke as you swallow, but you keep downing your water so you won’t have to face him.

“You eat really fast,” you say, trying to redirect the spotlight onto him.

“You felt my eyes right?”

You can even feel the smile on his face by his tone. And when you turn to face him, you’re right.

Why is he so damn bold?

“Haechan this is silly,” you say shyly as you look off to the side, once the softness of his eyes meet yours.

It’s true that you tell Haechan everything and this seems to be exactly something you’d tell a best friend about—how a guy is making you feel nervous who you never intended to make you feel that way. However, in this case he is the best friend and the guy.

A guy that you’ve known for quite a while now, who’s grown very close to you and somewhere in this moment, you feel that there’s room to draw even closer.

“I’m over here,” he smiles, sleeves covering his hands.

He’s smiling, like this is a game. Oh, right. It is. But he’s just so—almost too—handsome today. Is it just me? I mean it’s him, but…what?

You finally face him and try to clear your head, but your mind just won’t stop trying to connect and tie a knot with your heart in them feeling the same things.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” You lift your hands to your face, stopping midway to rest your hands in your lap, “okay,” you look once and laugh, “I’m sorry—I can’t!”

A laugh escapes him as his eyes watch you not being able to compose yourself. You can tell he’s checking out all of your features. The way your eyes drift off when your cheeks glow a soft pink, when your lips curve to reveal the smile you try to hide and how you try to cover your pretty face when what you’re feeling inside is just too irresistible. He notices everything.

“I’m really trying—stop.”

“I'm not even doing anything,” he says in between laughs, “y/n you’re so silly, oh my god.”

He reaches for his glasses that are naked on the coffee table and puts them on his face. He doesn’t say anything, but slowly looks at you and smiles with his full set of teeth in an overly exaggerated way.

You burst out laughing as he rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we can try next time,” you cry, but he just whacks you with his pillow and throws the blanket you had before onto your face.

You reach for his glasses, but he moves his head around to avoid you. “Nope!”

While going back and forth with him as he’s grabbing your wrists, you mention something about how if you wear his glasses, you’ll be able to stare at him easier.

Then he’s still, but when you try to snatch his glasses, he pretends to bite your fingers making you flinch back.

“Chani!” you squeal, before pulling his hood down playfully exposing his wild hair.

You keep trying and on the last grab, he takes hold of your hand and quickly kisses the back of it before grabbing your head and pulling you into his chest as you try to escape, but truthfully you would like to stay there forever.

Mark had come home not too long ago. He'd been out all day with a couple of their friends that you had met and hung out with before who had slowly become your friends in time too.

After several encounters with said friends, you became the girl who started tagging along with Haechan to most of their events. This meant that wherever he was, you were and wherever he wasn't, neither were you.

This didn’t happen all of the time now, but it was reoccurring and expected by others for him to mention you at least once no matter where, when and how.

Your friends always joke that you both are a secret couple and that they have already claimed their spots at your wedding.

Everybody that knows you, knows him and everybody that knows him, knows you. The two of you are basically an inseparable pair everywhere you go.

Mark walked into the apartment to see the two of you sitting close-knit on the couch, waiting for him to unlock the apartment door. “So you guys come to the front to cuddle instead of getting a room?” he jokes, closing the door behind him and hanging his keys onto the hook next to the front door.

“We were actually waiting for you Mark, come join us.” Haechan taps a spot next to him on the couch with his fist, but Mark ignores his offer by rolling his eyes with a smirk and kicks off his shoes onto the mat.

“Hi Mark,” you say, flashing him a smile.

“Hi y/n.” He walks over and throws himself onto the cushioned chair beside the couch with a huff. “Chenle threw Jisung in the pool today.”

Mark took out his phone to show a video of the aftermath.

Chenle walked alongside the pool with his shades on, pretending not to know what happened while Jisung yelled, “hyung!” in the water. Jisung swam swiftly and climbed out of the pool to hunt Chenle down as he ran away and laughed past the camera, with a drenched Jisung chasing after him.

The next hour consisted of Mark’s storytelling of his day.

You love listening to their adventures on the days they hang out together. All of the crazy things they did and their friendship group lore. You also appreciate how welcoming they are to you every time they see you.

“Y/n you should come swim with us sometime.” Mark yawned. “Haechan will be your personal lifeguard.”

Haechan blushed, “go to sleep Mark.”

You only laughed because you were too shy to say anything else and yawned after Mark with Haechan following, looking like a baby bear.

“No, let’s all watch something. I’m gonna go shower and come back to spend time with my parents since I’ve been out all day,” Mark jokes, causing Haechan to say something under his breath with a chuckle.

“Parents?” you question, rubbing your tired eyes.

“Yes.” Mark stands up and points to the both of you as he walks to his bedroom.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he demands.

Once he closes the door behind him, he sends a text to your trio group chat.

Message notif.

Mark 🐯

don’t sleep guys

10:01 pm ✓

After trying to take votes on what to watch, which was Haechan’s idea just between the three of you, everyone finally agreed on a film.

So far you and Haechan have been eyeing Mark because he keeps dozing off every now and then, convincing himself that he isn’t tired, joking that he was awake when you’d catch him with his eyes completely closed.

Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch from being exhausted, which left you and Haechan alone once again.

“Don’t sleep huh,” Haechan whispers under his breath.

Mark is snoring softly on the chair with his legs sticking out over the arm of the chair. The blanket only covers the upper half of his body, but he looks really comfortable.

To be honest, while the movie is playing, you can’t help but think about how Haechan helped you with the window earlier. How his body pressed so closely against yours. How he called you Sunshine. How you laid in his bed, in his sheets, wrapped in his blankets. How you couldn’t even look into his eyes earlier. How he makes you laugh so easily by his words, his actions, his touch.

It’s like everything you’ve done before, suddenly has more to it than before? Like there’s something new, a new feeling that you wonder if you should even allow yourself to feel it.

Your mind plays the scenes of everything from today as your eyes stare at the film in front of you. Only you know what you’re really watching, but you wonder if he can see inside of your mind too.

You’ve been coming over so often that everything has felt so natural, but it isn’t until tonight when you truly think about how much Haechan must really like having you around.

After all, it’s always him who asks you to come over if you don’t mention wanting to see him first.

In the beginning of visiting each other, you’d only stay together for the day, but as time went on, the day would slowly turn into evening and evening into night.

As of recently you've stayed over pretty late, but never overnight and by this time he usually asks if you want him to drive you back home.

However, not a soul has mentioned it and it’s only getting later as the moon will be at its peak soon.

But you didn’t mind it, especially since you’re laying on his lap again, as he plays with your hair while the movie plays quietly in front of you.

By this time it was almost midnight and still neither one of you had mentioned you going home. You both finished the movie while Mark slept through the whole thing.

Really, Mark was only awake for the intro credits and before you knew it he was knocked out. He looked so peaceful that you didn’t want to wake him, so Haechan told you it’s alright if you just leave him in there with the kitchen light on.

He did check the living room from his bedroom door to see if Mark was still in there, but the entire apartment was dark so he assumed his roommate had gone to bed and turned off all of the lights.

Message notif.

hae bear 🐻💗

[1 attachment (of Mark sleeping]]

11:21 pm ✓

“Haechan you’re so mean!! Look at his feet,” you snicker as you point at the multiple .5 pictures he took of Mark at different angles before leaving the living room.

“You’re no better, you're literally crying.”

“Mark’s gonna get you so bad in the morning.”

“I’ll tell him it was your idea.”

After laughing quietly for literally 30 minutes straight, the both of you had finally calmed down. The butterflies in your stomach were a pain from laughter, but it was a good feeling.

You lay in bed together as the ceiling fan blows on medium speed and the playlist he created this evening plays on low.

“These are mostly my favorite songs.”

“I know,” he replies.

Haechan is laying on his back. His fluffy hair is spread across his pillow as you both lay underneath the covers.

You sit up on your elbows beside him and without realizing it, you start playing with the string of his hoodie in the midst of silence.

“It’s late,” he whispers, looking at you with soft tired eyes.

You look at him, “yeah,” biting your bottom lip as you lay on your stomach.

You tilt your head a little, causing Haechan to laugh softly.

You look at him all shy, but he smiles away.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks as he watches you twirl the string into a spiral on his chest.

It’s quiet before you answer. Trying to think of anything, anything, but the images your mind keeps painting. “Hm, I don’t know. I’ll do anything with you.”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous y/n.”

…

You’re completely speechless.

The spiral unravels itself and your heart is practically jumping outside of your chest. Your cheeks are heating up, but thankfully the only light in the room is the computer screen which slightly illuminates the bed and your faces.

Haechan sees just how you’re taking his choice of words. He likes making you feel this way. He always notices when you try to hide it, but that never works. He just pretends like he doesn’t know.

“Y/n…” he puts his hand on top of yours on his chest, “would you like to stay the night?”

His hand is so soft, his chest warm, his heartbeat, comforting. “Really?” you ask. You have no choice, but to want to feel reassured.

“Yeah, I mean it’s already really late an-” he begins to explain.

“Yes.”

You’ve never spent the night with Haechan before, but being in the same bed with him was nothing new. You took naps together all of the time, but just the thought of waking up next to him as the night turns to morning makes your heart flutter, you have to admit.

And now there’s really no resisting the way you’re feeling about him now.

“Can I get a goodnight kiss?” He points to his right cheek with his left finger. “I’m tired.”

A part of you feels like Haechan is doing the absolute most, but you go along with it. Plus it’s just a little kiss goodnight.

This guy is just full of surprises today.

Leaning down you give him a quick peck on the cheek. This was the first time you’d ever been so close to his face and your lips barely made contact.

“That was too fast,” he’s smirking with that damned dimple turned towards you again. “It felt like a feather.”

You give him another one, a bit slower this time. His cheek is really soft. You’ve only pinched it with your fingers before because he can be a real cutie with his squishy cheeks and he knows it.

“One more?” He asks for the third time.

You’re flushed. No doubt about it. You sit up from your elbows and look at the way he lays there with his eyes closed off to the side. He looks so good laying here right now.

You kind of can’t withstand him.

“Haechan...” you whisper.

“Y/n…”

“Chani, you’re being greedy, I’ve given you two kisses already!” you say under your breath.

“Well I’m not satisfied, so give me more.”

You’re getting slightly annoyed, but not seriously at him at all, but annoyed more at yourself at the fact you’re so nervous around him now.

All he asked for was a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but here he is asking you for one after the other. It shouldn’t be this complicated, but he’s confusing you.

Just greedy.

As you aim for his cheek, you swear in your head that this is the last kiss you’ll give him and you’ll force him to go to sleep afterwards because he cannot keep getting away with this.

“Don’t ask me again.”

You close your eyes and lean down with your puckered lips. Haechan swiftly turns his head and catches you off guard as he kisses you gently with a silent invitation of his own.

Your first thought isn’t really a thought at all, because what just happened, causes you to toss yourself out of the sheets.

You gasp and cover your mouth with one hand and he lays there with a peaceful look in his eyes with giggles that sneak past his smile.

“Haechan!” you whine as he laughs, tilting his head back into the pillow. You shove him playfully by lightly pushing him off of the bed.

He’s grabbing onto the sheets and onto you so he doesn’t fall. You don’t actually want to push him off the bed and onto the floor, but you do want to run away and have him not look at you for a while.

Embarrassed, you sit up and pull your shirt up enough to cover your face over your eyes.

You’re secretly smiling and blushing as you hide, covering the fact that as the seconds pass, you begin to see how cute his little trick was, instead of how childish it could be seen. While at the same time you have mixed feelings of happiness, being flustered in front of him, and just having kissed your best friend.

He kissed you…

Haechan…

kissed

“you...”

…

The mattress bounces as he sits up in front of you, catching his breath and trying to find your face.

“Y/n?” he tugs at your shirt, pulling it down revealing your glossy eyes. “Y/n?”

Your eyes slowly well up with tears and now Haechan is concerned as he realizes you’re crying. “Hey, Sunshine I’m sorry, that was silly of m-”

“You’re my first...” you feel a bit sheepish about it as the confession slips out, almost childish. You went through all of your youth without even dating a single person, yet alone kissing anyone, so you almost felt wrong, but you didn’t care because you can be honest with Haechan, always.

You know he won’t look at you any less just because of your lack of experience. But he almost doesn’t know what to say.

His facial expression grows soft, his attention to you is concentrated and you can feel him wanting to reach out to you.

You lift your head completely, looking into his eyes through your blurry vision.

The truth is, “I wanted it to be you Haechan.”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad you goof,” you grab him by the neck and throw yourself onto him, hugging him tightly, “I’m crying because it is you.”

He sighs with relief and holds your waist tight, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re not upset with me.”

Haechan lifts your chin and wipes your tears, “hey…”

You look up at him, “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. Okay?” he reassures you with his palm gently on your cheek and his thumb wipes the tears from your eye. “I want you to know I did it because I actually wanted to—not as a joke, okay?”

You nodded.

And didn’t really understand why a pucker on the lips brought you to tears, but all you could think about was how much time you’ve been spending with Haechan over all of this time. Everything was playing in your head of your past of all of the good moments.

Something so simple sparked something so deep.

And what he’s about to say to you now is what brings you back to the present wishing you could stay here forever.

“I think you deserve a better first kiss than that...” he says as he grabs your hand and kisses the inside of it and your wrist.

He leans forward, “may i give you your first real goodnight kiss?”

You give him the go once you nod and close your eyes. His warmth closes the distance between the two of you and once his lips touch yours, you see the very first time you met him and you think to yourself, maybe that’s when you fell in love. When you breathe him in, you smell his scent and can hear the first time the both of you shared a laugh.

He kisses you so gently that you swear your heart is exploding with fireworks that would light up the entire sky of the Earth.

His hands travel your back while yours wrap around his neck. He’s sitting crisscrossed while you sit with both of your legs off to the side as if you are wearing a skirt.

A soft whimper leaves from you once you feel his tongue slip past your lips, causing him to smile and hum in your shared experience. Your hand snags at the hem of his jacket and with a break of the kiss, he pulls it over his head.

Haechan’s lips are back on yours. Your lips in sync, the sound of connection filling the room. The taste of him is so sweet and addicting. And you pull him closer to you by running your fingers through his hair.

“Talk about greed,” he smiles into the kiss.

“Well I wanted more,” you say mockingly, giggling as you push him to lay on the bed.

You give him a moist kiss on the lips, pulling the cover over the both of you and laying down on his chest with your arm across his body.

It’s quiet for a moment until you whisper, “can I have another kiss?”

“Will you be mine?” he asks with his chin resting on your head.

You look up and grab his face, “if you’ll have me.”

He looks into your eyes, “of course, my Sunshine,” he promises, as he returns one sweet kiss after the other.

“I’ve liked you for a very long time and I want to love you for even longer,” was the last thing he whispered to you as you fell asleep in his arms.

You lay on your back as the morning sun peaks through the curtains and fills the bedroom with streaks of golden light. The fan above spins the faint scent of vanilla from yesterday as it fills the room and the low hum of an air purifier runs against the wall.

The chest you lay on heaves up and down as two breaths synchronize into one.

You look around and notice the plants in the different corners and the ones hanging from the ceiling that you gifted, add on to the life that you feel here in this room.

There’s a nice presence. Even at the computer desk, which has a custom pc and a monitor, a stand with headphones and a controller on it. Especially the Michael Jackson vinyl framed on the wall and the cork board with Polaroids that included you in many of them.

From outside comes the hushed early bird-songs of the morning, the bicycle bells and laughter of children and the subtle hum of traffic from behind the closed window that is ready to be opened, to welcome a soft new world from the inside.

Together in the sheets, wrapped perfectly in the fluffy white duvet, there is peace. Your favorite calm that feels so naturally perfect like he was meant just for you.

And so you shift in bed, looking off to the side, and next to you sound asleep with arms wrapped around you securely, is the person you love to do nothing and absolutely everything with.

Haechan.

(p.s. no matter how long something takes to produce, never ever give up if you really want it to manifest. remember that you can do anything as long as you keep going. proof for me is being able to finally get this fic out after so long; which I genuinely thought was impossible, but I proved myself wrong by doing what I felt was right, keeping my love for writing and here it is. if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much. keep going).

- kiki <3

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 4 days ago

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[3:37 am]

(cw: Johnny is drunk, allusions to weed but no smoking)

Shortly after you and fratboy!Johnny started dating, you quickly learned you weren't one for frat parties. You felt like you owed it to your boyfriend to try it out, to get a feel of his world, to find out parts that made him who he was. Yeah, you didn't like it. After a couple, you learned that you quite liked fresh that didn't stink of skunk, you liked floors were your shoes didn't stick, and you liked having space to move. After just three parties, you learned that these guys really did throw parties that lived up to the crazy stories you'd overheard.

That didn't mean though, that you ever deterred Johnny from having a good time. He understood that you liked your chill time to yourself and you understood that sometimes he needed to fulfill his stereotypical fratboy role. It was never an issue. Especially since he was always sure to update you when he was going to bed safe and sound.

Some night, like tonight, it seemed, the parties went way later than usual. You had already gone to bed hours ago when you were woken up to the sound of your phone vibrating on your pillow. You were half asleep but just lucid enough to understand what Mark was telling you.

You weren't disappointed or mad at all for being woken up or for trudging across town while Mark stayed on the phone with you until he met you at the halfway point between your place and the frat house. He greeted you with a soft smile and started explaining what exactly was happening, "he's been at the booth since everyone left a few hours ago. He's so out of it. He's been doing karaoke, which is fine I guess, but he's doing covers of song covers. He's doing Glee karaoke."

Your brows furrow but you don't say anything. So out of it and doing karaoke? You'd never seen Johnny out of it or sing when he was at parties with you. He only ever kept it to one drink or stayed sober so he could watch over you and make sure you were safe and comfortable.

The house was fairly quiet compared to the few parties you'd been to in the past. There were a few of the guys lingering and cleaning up the mess that the party goers had left behind. You follow Mark through the house, into the backyard where your boyfriend stands behind his mixing table with a mic in hand as he sings along to a song your sleepy brain can't quite place.

"Yoooo! It's ya boy DJ Johnny Be and his sweetest thang Honeybee in the house!" Johnny yells into the mic before he pushes a button and an air horn sound goes off, "Honey! You're here!"

"Can you get him to bed before we get another noise complaint, please?" Mark asks in a whisper before he heads back inside.

"Hi, love," you greet with a tired smile, "how are you doing?"

"Hon, I'm on top of the world! I feel so good, I had a really good set! I missed you but you are looking so good and beautiful and cute right now. I'm loving your pajamas," Johnny rambles with his eyes blinking slowly.

You feel your cheeks heat with bashfulness from his onslaught of compliments. Johnny is never one to hide his admiration of you, always telling you how much he cared for you but always quiet and almost always in private. He knew how little you cared for such public, over-the-top displays. Maybe it would have bothered you if this was in front of a crowd of people you didn't know, but right now it was just the two of you. It was just your drunk boyfriend expressing his adoration for an audience of you and you alone.

It was new, surprising too but not in a bad way. You knew that your boyfriend was a fratboy. Not just that, but he was vice president of his frat. Even as hard as he tried to hide his party side, you knew it existed. He knew it wasn't a world you were particularly fond of and he was more than particularly fond of you, so if that meant he was giving up a few beers at a few parties he'd do that (and more) for you. So this living entity of a fratboy in front of you was a new being entirely. Maybe you kind of liked it...

You joined him behind the table with a gentle hand on his shoulder, "do you want to go to bed now, love? It's really late."

"I have to serenade you first, Honey. I saw some girls online saying something about their boyfriends bringing whole bands and a horse to sing to them. It sounds sick! But I have my controller and that will have to do for now, Bee," he tells you with his eyes on his laptop, "what time is it anyway?"

"Almost four in the morning, love," you reply quietly.

"You walked here at four in the morning?!" Johnny yells as he sets his mic aside and slams his laptop shut.

"Mark met me halfway, Johnny. It's fine. He was concerned because you weren't slowing down on your energy," you offer as you rub his upper arm calmly, hoping to convince him to retire for the night.

Johnny shakes his head, "oh, good. Mark is a good kid. Forget the serenade, Honeybee. I'll give you a bedtime lullaby. Let's go."

As you lie on Johnny's chest and he hums a song under his breath to lull you to sleep. Even though he smells a bit sweaty and a bit like beer, you feel like tonight has made you fall even harder for Johnny. Drunk, high, half-asleep, or snoring in your face, you'd love every version of Johnny there was.

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct blurbs #johnny imagines #johnny x reader #johnny fic #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh imagines #johnny suh fluff #fratboy!johnny

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idkanymark · 1 day ago

Text

[Strawberries & cigarettes]

haechan x y/n | college au | short au | inspired by a song

INTRO: Do you ever get the feeling you know someone—really know them—even if you've never said a single word to each other?

That’s how it is with Haechan.

NOTE: not read proof

Sometimes,

Sometimes it just happens

You find what you were never looking for on a random Thursday on your school rooftop

That day you saw him

Leaning against the railing, cigarette tucked lazily between his fingers, hair kissed golden by the late afternoon sun. He didn’t see you. You stayed hidden, something about the moment too fragile to interrupt.

He took a final drag, exhaled slow and thoughtful, then popped something into his mouth.

Strawberry mint

A contrast of sour and sweet, and from that day you couldn’t help but wonder what his lips taste likes

Strawberries and cigarettes.

It lingers in your thoughts like the ghost of a song stuck in your head. Sweet and sharp. Familiar, but unreachable.

Like him.

----------------------------

At first, you tried not to be there when he was. You’d hear the door creak open, the soft scuff of his shoes on the concrete, and you’d slip away quietly—like a shadow avoiding the sun.

But somewhere along the line, you stopped leaving.

Maybe it was the way he stood at the edge, not like someone chasing a view, but like someone catching his breath. Or maybe it was how he never brought anyone with him. No loud laughter, no flirting, none of the charm you’d see him toss around like confetti in the courtyard.

Up here, he was quieter. Still.

He was not "Haechan"

Sometimes, you wondered if the rooftop was his only real version of silence, too.

The guy part of the Dreamies—loud laughter echoing down hallways, mischief written in his smile, always surrounded by people like he was born to be the center of gravity. And yet, somehow, he always feels a little bit out of reach.

It became a kind of ritual—him on one end of the space, you on the other. Not speaking. Not acknowledging. Just existing in the same stillness. It should’ve felt awkward, but it didn’t.

Not even once.

You started to time your walks by him. Not on purpose, not exactly. But you noticed the days he didn’t come up. You noticed that those days felt heavier. Like you were missing something small but important, like the last lyric of a half-remembered song.

And even though he never spoke to you, his presence said something.

And so did yours.

Until today—when, for the first time, he breaks the silence.

He turns around slowly, cigarette half-lit between his fingers, and catches your eyes.

"Didn't know this spot was taken” he says. Not defensive. Not cocky. Just honest. Almost cautious.

You blink, unsure if you imagined it, unsure if you should respond.

“You’ve been here before” you say finally, your voice steadier than you feel.

He glances around like he’s seeing the place differently now. “Guess I have.”

He walks over—not too close, but closer than usual. The air feels stretched thin between you.

“You always come around the same time” you add, a little quieter. “When the light’s like this.”

Golden hour settles soft across his skin. You wonder if he knows how he looks in it. You wonder if it matters to him.

He exhales, smoke curling in front of his mouth. “And you’re always already here.”

It isn’t a question.

You meet his gaze. “Yeah.”

A pause. Then, slowly, he reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulls out the now-familiar foil.

Strawberry mint.

He unwraps it casually but doesn’t look away from you.

“I noticed you, too.”

-----------------------------

The next day, you don’t mean to wait for him.

You tell yourself you're just up there for the air, for the quiet. For the way the sky bleeds into orange and pink this time of day. But when the door creaks open at 5:03 and Haechan steps out onto the rooftop, something in you softens—like a thread pulling gently loose.

He spots you instantly. Doesn’t look surprised.

No cigarette this time. Just a bottle of Coke in one hand and that familiar silver wrapper poking out from his hoodie pocket.

“You always come here for the sunset?” he asks, walking toward the railing where you’re leaning.

You nod. “It’s quieter than the library.”

He huffs a soft laugh and takes a sip from the bottle. “Guess that makes two of us.”

For a few minutes, there’s only the sound of fizzing bubbles and wind. It should be awkward, but it’s not.

There’s something in the silence now—shared, not separate.

You glance over at him. He’s staring at the sky like it’s telling him a secret. There’s a crease between his brows, soft but there, like he’s trying to hold something back.

“You always seem different up here” you say before you can stop yourself.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Different how?”

You hesitate. “Quieter. Less… full of noise.”

He turns his head then, eyes meeting yours. They’re warmer than you expect. “People expect me to be loud. Funny. The mood-lifter. It’s easier that way.”

“Is it?” you ask softly.

He shrugs, but there’s a weight in the gesture. “It works.”

You look down at your hands. “You don’t have to work up here.”

That hangs in the air for a second too long.

Then, he smiles—not the big, teasing grin, but something quieter, a little crooked. The kind of smile you want to memorize just in case it never happens again.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the mint again, holding it between two fingers.

“You want one?”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I mean…” he shrugs. “If we’re going to keep sharing this rooftop, might as well make it official.”

You take it. Your fingers brush his as you do, and it’s such a small thing, but it sends a flutter up your spine.

The mint is cold on your tongue, sweet at first, then sharp.

Just like him.

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cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Text

marry me, mr. jeong

summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.

pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: romance, slow burn, fluff, emotional smut, domestic married life, eventual pregnancy, emotional growth, healing.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.

wc: 19,7K

notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮‍💨💍🖤 i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.

you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.

jeong jaehyun.

your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.

you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.

you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.

tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.

“you’re still here, byun?”

you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”

you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”

he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”

a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.

“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”

you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.

“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”

you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”

another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”

he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”

and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.

you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.

the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.

your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.

you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.

you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.

you didn’t hear him come in.

you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.

“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”

he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.

you blinked.

right. the report.

you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.

you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.

“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”

you nodded. “understood.”

“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”

“yes, mr. jeong.”

and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.

you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.

the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.

as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”

then jaehyun spoke.

his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.

until he said your name.

“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”

you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.

you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.

“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”

you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.

when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.

like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.

when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.

“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.

“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”

he nodded. “you earned it.”

later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.

the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.

the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”

the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”

“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”

jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.

“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.

when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.

“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”

you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.

“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.

jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.

“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”

you took a breath, not daring to look at him.

“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”

jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.

“i can celebrate with you.”

you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”

he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you whispered.

“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”

the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.

you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”

“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.

you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”

“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”

you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.

he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”

“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”

jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”

he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”

and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.

you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.

you didn’t sleep.

not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.

your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.

you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.

you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.

then—

“good morning.”

his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.

you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.

“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”

he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.

a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.

you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.

you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.

he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.

“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.

you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”

his expression didn’t change.

“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”

you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”

“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”

you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?

he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.

you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.

you’d never felt so out of control.

you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.

you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.

you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.

why would he say that? why now? why you?

he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.

so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.

but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?

he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?

a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.

but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.

leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.

he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.

“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”

not a question. not a request.

he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:

you wanted to know.

you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.

he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.

you stared straight ahead.

ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.

the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.

you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.

“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”

you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”

“anytime,” he said dryly.

and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.

the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.

“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”

you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”

“love it.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”

he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”

“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”

you said nothing.

because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.

how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?

he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.

you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.

once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“why me?”

his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”

“do you say that to all women?”

he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”

“i never said you did.”

you exhaled slowly. ��i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”

his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.

“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”

you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.

“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.

you saw him as a man.

a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.

his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.

you saw him differently.

you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.

and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.

“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”

just like that.

your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”

but you were thinking. too much.

his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?

your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.

you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”

for a beat, the world went still.

he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.

he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.

“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”

you swallowed hard.

and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.

you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.

you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.

and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.

jung jaehyun.

same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.

but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.

it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.

“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.

you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.

the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.

you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.

after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.

he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.

“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.

once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.

“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.

“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.

“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”

you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”

“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”

you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”

he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.

“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”

you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.

the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.

the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.

you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.

not knowing was part of the charm.

“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.

“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”

you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.

there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.

and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.

a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.

it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.

you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.

“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”

jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.

“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.

he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.

a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.

he did.

“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.

“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”

no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.

the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.

every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”

you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.

“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.

you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.

as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.

he still didn’t touch you.

he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.

but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.

“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”

he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.

“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.

but inside… you felt it.

your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.

you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.

but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.

jaehyun noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.

you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.

by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.

"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.

"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”

you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.

the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.

he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.

“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”

you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”

“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”

you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.

at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.

you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.

the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.

after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.

“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”

he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”

you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.

“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”

you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”

he nodded. “siblings?”

“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”

jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”

you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”

jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”

“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”

you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.

before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”

he shook his head. “only child.”

“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”

jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”

he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”

you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.

you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”

he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.

the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.

he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”

you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”

he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.

he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.

your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.

and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.

they lingered.

because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.

you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.

still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.

the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.

today was one of those days.

you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.

“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”

you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”

“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”

you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”

he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”

you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.

“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”

jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.

you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”

“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.

jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.

the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

his skin was warm under your lips.

he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.

“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”

you grinned and didn’t answer.

he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”

he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“me too.”

you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.

and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.

and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.

one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.

he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.

you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.

you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.

the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.

jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.

“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”

your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.

��of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.

he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.

that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.

this time, he didn’t say hello.

he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.

he never rushed.

never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.

but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.

and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.

you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”

you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”

the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.

“wait—what?”

and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.

“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”

his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.

“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.

“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”

you froze.

he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.

married.

you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.

you shook the image out of your head.

“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.

“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”

friday night came like a slow exhale.

he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.

you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.

“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.

“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.

when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.

you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.

“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”

you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”

he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.

“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”

tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.

“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.

“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.

you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.

you answer.

“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”

you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.

“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”

you rub your temple. “mom—”

“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”

“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”

“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”

before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.

the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.

you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.

“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”

your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.

“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”

he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”

your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.

friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.

jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.

“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.

the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.

when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.

and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”

inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”

your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.

“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.

you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.

then comes the chaos.

your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.

“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.

jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.

he freezes.

and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”

the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.

he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.

he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”

and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.

this might just be the beginning of everything.

the month of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.

jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.

one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.

jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.

the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.

jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”

you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”

jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”

you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.

both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”

you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.

jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.

you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”

his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.

his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.

what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.

when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.

when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.

you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.

you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you.

his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”

you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.

your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.

he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”

when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.

your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.

after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.

your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”

you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”

he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”

and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.

you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”

your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”

he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”

you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.

when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.

he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”

your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.

you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”

your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.

this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.

“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”

he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”

that night at the motel changed everything.

it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.

after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.

but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.

it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.

by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.

you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.

and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.

“i love you.”

your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.

you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.

“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”

and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.

it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.

what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.

and the craziest part?

you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.

jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.

he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.

“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”

you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.

he took you out that night.

you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.

“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”

your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.

“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”

jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.

“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”

you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.

you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.

you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.

so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.

“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.

you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.

“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.

“yeah?”

you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.

“i want to marry you.”

his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.

“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”

“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”

he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.

“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”

“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”

he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”

you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”

his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”

and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.

the proposal happened three days later.

he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.

he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.

he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.

and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.

“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”

he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.

your eyes began to water.

he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

a velvet box.

he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.

“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”

he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.

“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”

you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.

you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.

the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.

"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."

you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.

jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”

the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.

jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.

“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”

your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—

cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.

“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”

you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”

the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”

the parents came next.

you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.

"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"

you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.

“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”

“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.

then it was his parents' turn.

you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”

they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.

they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.

from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.

the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.

“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”

and then came the parents.

jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”

her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.

they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.

and then, jaehyun.

when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.

he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.

“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”

“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.

“we did it,” she whispered.

“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”

the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.

their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.

they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.

“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.

“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”

and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.

it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.

you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.

mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.

when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.

you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.

jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”

you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.

you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”

“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”

the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.

jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.

“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”

you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.

he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”

the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.

and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

beautifully yours.

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