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starseungs · 3 days

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our love untold. hhj.

hwang hyunjin x gn!reader — for those who grew up loved, it eventually becomes a norm to the point that the nuances between its types become untold.

genre/s — fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, college au, fine arts student!hyunjin • 3.1k words

warning/s — miscommunication as a result of no communication, children being mean for no reason lol, not much actually

note — #3 on the your love through the ages series | gave hyunjin the confession of a lifetime so look forward to that ... i want what they have </3

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Hwang Hyunjin has always been a constant in your life. For as long as you could remember, a life without him was practically nonexistent. You had nothing against it, though. Spending your everydays with Hyunjin was a delight. The bond between you two was so strong that your families had no choice but to also become friends just so that they could finally satisfy both of your constant needs to be around each other.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to do much for that setting to work out well since your families clicked in an instant. A little too well, in fact, that you may have doubted its authenticity more than once or twice during the span of your lived life. Hyunjin had his fair share of those thoughts alongside you as you caught both of your parents eating lunch together on a random Tuesday afternoon—notably without the both of you.

Granted, you should’ve already seen that this was going to happen. You and Hyunjin grew up getting significant amounts of emotional support from your parents, who had big hearts holding lots of love to share. Naturally, birds of a feather would end up flocking together; which could also exactly be said about your dynamic with your best friend. With the way you were brought up, it was almost impossible for you to turn out any more different than the ones who raised you—to which you, to no one’s surprise, did end up adopting their tendency to express love easily towards others.

If only your younger counterpart knew how hard it was actually going to be to feel reciprocated in society.

You remember the scene like it was just yesterday, with the feeling of the soft play sand being molded by your little hands still fresh in your mind. The local playground sandbox was five-year-old you’s favorite spot in the whole world, just right beside your family home’s living room. It was a place where you felt at ease, happily sculpting clumsily shaped masterpieces from the slightly damp medium as your parents sat on a bench a few meters away, joyfully taking the opportunity to have some time with each other.

On a normal day, things would stay that way until right before three o'clock, when one of your parents would scoop you up to go home (the parent was often your father, who pitifully had a massive losing streak on rock paper scissors). However, that particular day was unlike any other day you’ve had so far.

The anomalies started with two kids looming over you, their eyes shining with a mischievous glint. Despite the number of times you’ve gone to the playground, you have never actually interacted with the other kids there. Your family had just moved to the area three months ago, and you were still yet to enter an actual school where you could familiarize yourself with nearby children.

While you did have thoughts of approaching the ones you saw often in the playground, your first attempts at doing so ended less than ideal, with the kids being uncomfortable with you being someone new. Due to that, you stuck by yourself for a while with the mindset that you’d be friends with whoever wanted to approach you instead. And that was why seeing those two children standing next to your sand sculptures instantly put a smile on your face.

Their words started off innocent—simply asking why you were playing all alone. Yet when you joyfully explained why, your expectations for the interaction took a wrong turn. The two kids started teasing you, saying that you must’ve been really lame for no one to even want to become your friend.

At first, you were mad. You wanted to let them know that you tried your best to make friends, up until you realized that it was you who wanted to be friends with them too, to which you started to become self-conscious. Thoughts like ‘what if they’re right?’ spiraled in your little mind, making you unable to say much in defense. The last straw was when one of them kicked the little sand house (which, in truth, looked more like a square hill) you were working on, making beads of tears decorate your waterline.

However, the tears didn’t actually drop until a pitched voice of a boy called out to the three of you staying at the sandbox. You watched as the new face marched in a determined manner towards all of you, only stopping in front of the two kids who teased you. Your glistening eyes watched in fascination as he scolded the other two, telling them that they were being mean to you. Thankfully, the whole exchange ended without much issue—the kids then muttered a short apology before scurrying away. The slightly taller boy stared at you before bending down to plop himself in front of your now-ruined sand house.

“Are you ok?” He says, his gaze now locked at the pile of sand between the two of you.

You could only nod enthusiastically, again happy to have someone talking to you positively. “Yeah,” you said while scooping up a small amount of the fallen sand. “I wanted to play with them, though.”

The boy before you beamed. “I’ll play with you instead!” He reaches for a handful of sand. “My name is Hyunjin. I like the sandbox too.”

That was how your parents found you a little while later, excitedly squealing while clinging to Hyunjin with a vice grip. His parents soon followed suit, joining yours in watching him grin while listening to you plan to build a model of your dream home together with sand. Numbers and words of appreciation were exchanged, officially starting the days with Hyunjin as your closest friend.

Being best friends with Hyunjin was basically like having someone attached to your hip, with the only difference being that you also wanted to be attached to his. If possible, you liked to do everything together—there were meals that were shared at the same table, outings that were done with both of your families, and schoolwork that you did together without even needing a word of agreement. Days, hours, and seconds with Hyunjin were a norm in your life, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Growing up, you never really questioned the comments thrown at the two of you. With how close you two were but looking miles different from each other to be relatives, the common conclusion people normally had of your relationship with Hyunjin was a romantic one. He was often attentive when it came to you—always bringing you snacks for lunch, spontaneous gifts just because something reminded him of you, and carrying your bag like it was the most normal thing in the world. This was often dismissed by him, though, which made you follow suit. After all, you yourself couldn’t see where the thought even stemmed from. You did acts of service for him too. What mattered the most was that you liked Hyunjin as he was, so hanging out with him constantly was reasonable in your eyes.

Well, that was until your first year in college, years after your initial meeting.

“Do you ever think it’s odd?” You start carefully, slowly pulling your hands away from his face after smoothing out his skincare mask. Hyunjin cracks open his left eye to glance up at you from his head’s position on your lap.

“What is?”

You motioned toward the situation you two were in. “That we still hang out like this. Even though we’re not kids anymore.” Hyunjin evidently frowned underneath the mask, slightly creating folds that showed his displeasure.

“No?” He replies, almost offended. “Why would I think that?”

There was truth in his words. Just like he said, why would he be offended? The two of you were never bothered by what others thought before, so why start now? You pursed your lips. Perhaps you were the only one suddenly having an issue.

It all started when you went out for dinner with a couple people from your department. The table talk was just as usual—until they mentioned Hyunjin. Some girls you went to class with expressed their jealousy towards your relationship with your ‘boyfriend', which they described as ideal. Your attempts at correcting them only ended up with you in the hotseat, being grilled like the meat everyone was eating at the moment. There was no way he didn’t have romantic feelings for you, they said. The dynamic they’ve observed so far between you two was too much to be platonic, they added. Their words only added fuel to the fire that was your frenzied state when they asked you to confirm specific scenarios that had happened with Hyunjin, to which they snapped their fingers and yelled out that it was clearly something lovers do.

But what was exactly so wrong with best friends still having sleepovers in their early twenties? Was there a problem with the two of you making plans just for the two of you that lasted the whole day? So what if he had the tendency to buy you both matching items? Sure, his parents call you often to check in, but isn’t that normal? You’ve watched how your parents treated their other friends with love in similar ways during (limited) times you’ve met them too, so why were you now so conscious of everything Hyunjin did ever since that dinner?

“I don’t know,” you said meekly. “It’s just that I feel like I’m taking too much of your time. These are things you should be doing with your significant other, not your childhood friend.”

When Hyunjin scoffs at your words, your eyes widen. “Well, I don’t have a significant other, and I’m doing this,” he points to his facemask, “with you right now. You can worry about it when the time comes.”

You didn’t know why, but somewhere deep in your heart, you never wanted that time to ever come.

Life always comes with surprises, though. The moment you unconsciously dreaded came sooner than you expected it to—just a whole year after your conversation over skincare in your tiny apartment room. Your fear came in the form of a student shifting to Hyunjin’s major, her skills catching his attention that was normally on the both of you. First came the comments, with Hyunjin complimenting her outputs in their classes together, telling you that the new girl had serious talent and how she should’ve majored in fine arts from the beginning. Next came his gaze; curious eyes always landing on her whenever she appeared in the vicinity you two were in. A growing feeling clawed at the pits of your stomach that made you nauseous every time you saw his interest cement on her.

How amazing was that for you, because now you had to distance yourself from someone who was basically your other half, just because you couldn’t handle the ugly thoughts you had for your best friend’s happiness. The last thing you wanted was to hold Hyunjin down—he deserved to freely like who liked, and decide who he wanted to be with as he wished. And until your brain gets the memo to agree with it, you were going to stay out of his sight for as long as possible.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was a complete mess. The poor man was lost; the past few nights were spent pondering over what he could’ve done wrong for you to avoid him so obviously like this. It had only been two weeks, but Hyunjin felt as if you had gone M.I.A. for two years instead. He had never gone this long without you, always making sure to contact you as frequently as he could when physically apart. To be fair, you still did answer to his texts, even if they were riddled with ice and coldly cut short. You had gotten skilled at dodging his visits too; always either out of your apartment or having found different routes out of your department’s building when he stubbornly waited outside. A few of your class friends gave him looks of pity whenever they saw him still adamant to see you, telling him to hang in there and that lovers’ quarrels don’t last that long.

Lovers. That was a familiar description Hyunjin has heard over the years of your friendship. He had always denied them politely out of respect for you, but they were always kept in the corners of his mind. Truth be told, the thought confused him endlessly. What was it exactly that others saw in the way he acted that he didn’t? His parents always told him to treat everyone he appreciated with love, and that he did—especially with you. He’s seen the way his father showed his appreciation for his mother and aimed to imitate that (yes, his father loved his mother romantically, but his father also gave gifts to his friends, so what was so different?), but all that ever did was bring suspicion over you two.

But you were happy with his acts of care, and it made him happy too. Shouldn’t that be the only thing that matters? Clearly, not with the way he was stuck in front of his blank canvas, the eerie color of plain white glaring at him to complete his painting project. Except that Hyunjin found himself completely unable to do so. His mind was barren, with not a single inspiration in mind. And this worried him.

On any other day, he was what you would call the epitome of a creative soul. He saw the world around him in a naturally imaginative way, easily piecing stories in his head from the smallest of things. It was the same reason why he chose to be in fine arts, majoring in studio arts, where he could relay his own vision. In short, Hyunjin had no clue as to why he was even struggling this much. He found himself comparing his skills to those of the new student in his department once again. Oh, how he wishes he could go and ask them for advice—her work served as an ignition for him to do better.

As one of the best students in the program, he found himself seeing her as a rival of sorts. Not anything negative, though. A healthy one-sided rivalry, if you will. Groaning, he shifts his gaze from the canvas to give his eyes a break, casually scanning his previous works propped up in a nearby corner. As he continued to work his way through them from afar, his mind floated over to think of you.

In that split second, something seemed to click in his brain.

You watched your clock tick at an even pace, the hands displaying the ungodly time that was judging you for still being awake. Granted, being awake at two in the morning was miles better than still being awake at four, which was just asking for an eventual headache since you still had class in the morning. The past few days have felt odd, to say the least. Despite knowing exactly why that was, you refused to acknowledge it—still hung up on the thought that you should get rid of whatever you were feeling before you would face Hyunjin again. Yet, it was times of the day like these when you wondered how he was doing without you. Probably still well, right? If it’s Hyunjin, then he would have no problem getting along just fine with other people.

A frantic knock on your door made you jump out of your thoughts with the way it echoed through the silent space. Like any other person would, you were automatically on guard. Who in their right mind would visit you without warning in the depths of the night? It was only when you saw your phone turn on with a message notification that you scurried to fling the door open.

“Hyunjin!” You fussed over him, gripping his arms firmly to give him a thorough lookover. “Is everything okay? Are you alright? Did something happen? Does something hurt—no, did something hurt you?” The words seemed to roll off your tongue so easily, preventing you from snapping out of your worries to see what expression he had on. All your mind was telling you was to find a way to chase whatever problem he had far, far away from here, where it could hurt him. But your rambling came to a halt when you felt his body slump against you, feeling the way he shook as suppressed sobs were forced out of him. Alarm bells immediately rang in your head.

“Let’s go inside first—”

“I’m so sorry,” he hiccuped. “I’m so sorry. Really sorry, Y/N. I don’t even know if I’m apologizing for what I’ve done for you to avoid me like this, or for not even knowing why you’re avoiding me in the first place, but I’m so sorry.”

“Hyune, no—”

“I know I can be an idiot at times, but I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you like this,” he said, still crying his heart out. “I was struggling to find something to paint about for my project earlier, and I can’t believe it took me this long to even figure it out. I can’t go on with meaning in my life without you, Y/N. You’re everything to me. You’re my world, my muse, and my light. For the longest time, you have been, and I would even risk saying that you have since the moment we met on that sandbox. All that I am has pieces of you deeply imbedded in my soul, and the reason why I see my surroundings in vibrant colors. Everything reminds me of you, and us, and all the times we’ve spent together and losing you would be the same as losing me. Y/N, I love you in a way I could never give to others—”

“Hyunjin.” You cupped his face, coaxing him to breathe. An imaginary string inside of you stretched and tightened as you looked at his mesmerized face, looking at you like you had hung the moon up in the sky. His eyes showed an emotion you were well acquainted with, yet the intensity and fervor burning inside were unfamiliar to the ones you had felt before.

This was definitely love. And it was the type of love you had spent the past couple of years pondering. The answer finally came to you. Hyunjin breathes.

“—It’s you, and always will be.”

You closed the gap, the touch of both your lips saying more than what was ever confessed from when you were five to the present.

It was your love untold.

SERIES TAGLIST ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix @xocandyy @heaveniseverywhere @kayleefriedchicken

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whatsk-poppinhomies · 3 days

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Pairing : Non!Idol College AUKim Seungmin x F!Reader TW : angst ; tsundere Seungmin ; reader injury but not super serious ; lots of use of the word fuck ; slightly suggestive if you squint ; mentions of drinking but reader doesn't ; fluff at the end though ; Word Count : 8.4k A/N : You all picked Seungmin and Seungmin you shall receive! I don't even know how long this will take to finish writing to post, I'm currently setting up this part on May 4th, so... works got me fucked up a bit. I finally finished it on May 27th jfc. I'm so sorry for making everyone wait! I hope you enjoy this Anonny! Request : Anonny : Could you do one with Felix or seungmin, you’re their best friend and you both have feelings for each other. Felix or seungmin finds out about it and goes out with girls to try and make you jealous but instead you end up distancing yourself from him because you can’t bear to look at him with other girls, he notices and comes to you and you guys make up and kisses and fluff pls 😊

“Bestie boo boo!!” You called out, running over to Seungmin and wrapping your arms around him from behind. You could tell it was him just from the back of his head, that’s how close the two of you were. It had been that way since middle school when your parents moved and you got transferred to his school. He was your first friend, your only friend for the longest time.

“Hate it when you call me that…” He mumbled, but you could feel his chest vibrating with silent laughter. What you couldn’t see was the deep red blush that covered his cheeks and the shy smile that tugged at his cheeks. For the longest time you looked at him as just a friend, the two of you had even dated other people through high school, consoling each other after breakups, being each other’s wingmen, the stupid shit that best friends do for each other in high school. Now that you were in college though, you couldn’t help but really see him, see him as more than a friend… The only problem was that he didn’t see you as anything more.

You lightly slapped him on the back, an overly dramatic scowl on your face, waiting for him to turn around. “Yah! Look at me…” He slowly turned around and you made sure to change the scowl to a pout when he finally looked at you. Neither of you could keep up the act long though, it took less than 4 seconds for both of you to laugh. “Seriously though, you’re bestie boo boo, it isn’t changing.”

He rolled his eyes before grabbing the strap of your backpack and pulling you closer. To say your heart almost jumped out of your chest was an understatement, all the years of watching k-dramas… was this your moment? “You annoy me. Why are we friends again?” He muttered, throwing his arm over your shoulder and practically dragging you along next to him as he walked. Your silence had him stopping and looking at you though, his eyebrow arched, a flash of worry glinting in his eyes. “I’m joking… That was a joke. I know that you’d be helpless without me.”

Your lips popped as your mouth fell open, the smug look on his face both aggravating and extremely attractive at the same time. “I am not helpless. I don’t even need you.” That was a lie, you needed him in more ways than what he was thinking, but you kept those thoughts to yourself as you moved out from under his arm and walked ahead of him. Your pride was short-lived as you stepped on a rock, your ankle twisting in the process and a tiny yelp leaving your mouth.

Seungmin had run over to you immediately, dropping his bag beside him so he could grab onto you, his hands firmly gripping your waist to hold you steady, and even though your ankle was sore, the electric feeling that coursed through you from his touch overpowered the pain completely. “You walk away for… what was that? 5 seconds? Maybe 6?” He sighed softly, shaking his head as he looked you over, and he must have taken the flustered look on your face as one of pain because he quickly grabbed his bag with one hand, his other arm staying around your waist as he slowly walked with you. “Is your ankle okay? I can carry you. Do you think you can make it to the nurse?”

“I don’t even need to go to the nurse…” You muttered, trying to upkeep your i’m totally fine act, all while also trying to keep your heart beating at a steady pace with his arm still wrapped around you. “You’ll just mock me the whole time anyway… I mean, who trips over a rock… so stupid.” You continued to mumble.

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth and you were ready for him to start firing off the jokes that you’d most likely hear for the next month or so, but he let out a soft sigh. “I’m not going to make fun of you for getting hurt, I’m not a complete asshole.” You huffed loudly out of your nose, and little did you know, he thought every little thing that you did was absolutely adorable, he just didn’t know how to tell you. “I’m taking you to the nurse no matter what, so if you want me to carry you, I will.”

Oh to be carried by him, to be held in his arms… or maybe being piggybacked across campus, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding onto him so tightly… “No, I’m fine. It was just a little twist, they’ll probably laugh at me for coming in with something so small. It probably isn’t even anything.” He hummed softly, his arm moving away from your waist and you felt pathetic for noticing the lack of warmth immediately. The electricity that you had felt coursing through your veins was suddenly gone and it was strangely sad for you.

The lack of his support also meant that your weight was now completely on your ankle and you could feel just how badly you had twisted it. You winced at the pain that shot through your whole leg, and you either weren’t good at hiding it, or Seungmin was just really good at picking up on everything. Whatever it was, he quickly stepped in front of you, squatting down and hitching his arms around your knees to lift you onto his back. “You’re so stubborn.” He grumbled, and it’s like the added weight of you being on his back didn’t faze him at all. In fact, he started walking faster towards the medical building, a man on a mission, and being so close had the butterflies in your stomach going absolutely crazy.

“Try not to walk on it.” The nurse said as she finished wrapping your ankle that had swollen to twice its size by the time you got to the building. “Go straight home and prop it up on a couple pillows, put some ice on it to take some of the swelling down. Use the crutches. If it hurts, take some ibuprofen and that should help with the pain.” You nodded along to everything she was saying, but you weren’t exactly listening, focusing more on the way Seungmin was staring at you intently, and you didn’t know if the expression on his face was one of disappointment or annoyance.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t walk on it and that she keeps it propped up. Thank you.” He spoke for you, bowing his head as he got up from the chair that was on the opposite side of the room. Grabbing your crutches, he walked over to you and helped you up off the bed, the paper underneath you crinkling loudly with every movement. “Do you need me to carry you again?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes, taking the crutches from him and situating them under your arms before doing your best to keep your balance and move forward at the same time, which was quite difficult.

“You can go to class, I’ll be fine.” You said, and while you’d love to get ahead of him, it was too easy for him to keep up with your little hops. “Seriously… This is so humiliating, I just want to be alone. Stupid fucking rock.” He sighed softly beside you, but he didn’t leave your side, always at the ready, his arms shooting out instinctively to catch you when you looked like you were wobbling a little bit. “Seungmin…”

“What kind of best friend would I be if I let you walk home by yourself on crutches?” He quizzed, but it was a hypothetical question that you both already knew the answer to. “I’ll make you some ramen too so that you don’t have to get up. I want you to keep your leg up, like the nurse said.” He continued, it felt like he was scolding you. “I’ll go to your classes and get copies of the lectures that you missed today so you won’t be behind.”

“Thanks dad.” You pouted, but kept staring at the ground, not just because you were sulking, but because you couldn’t seem to walk straight with the crutches if you weren’t watching your feet at the same time. You weren’t even sure how long you were going to need them for, but within the first 20 minutes, that’s all it took for you to dread them for a lifetime. Your underarms hurt and strangely enough, having “3” legs to walk on was more of a hindrance than anything.

“I can come over after my classes. We can watch a movie? I’ll keep you company while you’re healing since you can’t really do anything else.” Watching a movie with Seungmin… just the two of you… maybe it would turn into cuddling… maybe he’d kiss you… You could fall asleep on his lap while he runs his fingers through your hair. It would be a dream come true, it would be the perfect evening. “I’ll even bring snacks. I’ll buy your favorites.” It’s like he was trying to bribe you to say yes, not that he needed to.

“Sure… Yeah. As long as I can pick the movie.” You looked up at him with a pursed lip smile, the lack of attention on your feet had you stumbling a bit, and he quickly caught you again. He didn’t even have to look at you to know you were wobbling either, he just reached out to steady you before dropping his arms back to his sides. “This sucks…”

///

“Don’t you have baseball practice?” You asked tiredly as you leaned against his shoulder, curled up under a blanket on your couch, the movie playing on the television was just background noise at this point. “I don’t want the rest of the team to get mad… You’re their best player.” That wasn’t even you trying to hype him up either, he truly was the best player on the team. That’s why it was so hard for you to believe that he wanted to spend most of his free time with you. He was the all star player, every girl on campus had their eyes set on him, yet he made it seem like he only wanted to be around you. It just didn’t make any sense, and you wondered if maybe he was doing it out of pity considering you were less popular, well, you weren’t really popular at all.

You always caught the glares that the girls would send your way when you walked by with Seungmin by your side, and if you listened hard enough, you could almost hear them shit talking you, as if you were in some way forcing Seungmin to hang out with you. “Eh, they can handle one practice without me.” He said nonchalantly, stretching his arms above his head before getting up off the couch. “You hungry yet?” He didn’t even wait for your answer before walking to the kitchen and raiding your cabinets, pulling out two ramen bowls. “What are you gonna do when I go back to my dorm?” He asked, as if trying to make small talk while waiting for the water to boil in the pot on the stove.

“Probably gonna run a marathon, do my laundry, use the stairs in the building for the first time since I’ve lived here. Ya know, goof around a bit.” You teased, but when you turned to look at him, you could tell he was less than impressed at your answer and he didn’t find it as funny as you did. “Jeez, you’re such a sour puss sometimes. Obviously I’m going to listen to the nurse and keep my leg propped up. I’ll just be here, all bored, probably starve while I watch YouTube videos on my phone.” It was like you couldn't give up the chance to be a smartass, and Seungmin knew that, so he just rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back to the water that was bubbling on the surface now.

“Don’t you have any friends that can spend the night or something to help you out?” He questioned, and you weren’t sure why, but the way he said it made it seem like he didn’t really want to be there. Maybe you were just reading into things, you did have the tendency to do that, but you thought that maybe he would offer to stay to help you. Not just that, but you were sure that he knew well enough that you didn’t really have any friends, not ones that would willingly give up their nights to help you.

You don’t know why you were so upset honestly, but your bottom lip trembled as you looked around your living room, trying to look at anything but him. “Just forget about it. You can go.” You said softly, hoping that he’d hear you and he’d just leave without another word. The oven clicked off and you heard soft footsteps carrying him from the kitchen into the living room where you were sitting, your breath held, but then he came into your view, his eyebrows creased with worry as he looked at you. If you weren’t so upset, you’d laugh at him, but you turned away from him instead. “Seriously, you can leave. I can do this on my own.”

His eyes closed, a loud sigh blowing through parted lips, hot breath hitting the side of your face as you continued to avoid looking at him. “What’s wrong? Look at me…” His voice was below a whisper, although it was tinged with annoyance rather than the worry that masked his features. “I’m making you something to eat, what more do you want me to do? I’m trying to help you and you’re trying to kick me out. I don’t know what else you want from me.” It was evident that he was getting more and more irritated the more he spoke, and the fact that you still hadn’t looked at him was only upsetting him more. “Fine… Do it on your own.” He muttered, standing up straight and turning on his heel to head out the door.

Sure, simply explaining to him why you were upset probably would have been better, but you were too upset to talk to him about it. It’s not like he was unaware of why you would be upset at the comment he made. He knew damn well that you felt less than adequate being his friend when he was so popular and he was quite literally the only friend you had. He always tried to invite you out to hang out with his friends and their girlfriends, but you knew they didn’t actually like you, they simply tolerated you because for some reason, Seungmin liked having you around. To them, it didn’t matter that the two of you had been friends for so long. He was popular now, he was lusted after by every girl on campus, he was a star… and you were a nobody. He might have a bunch of friends that would help him if he were to get hurt the way you did… but you had nobody, nobody but him.

Kicking him out didn’t seem to prove any kind of point though, it only made you feel lonelier. You had absolutely no one now to help you, and while you knew that Seungmin was only a text away, you were sure that after the way you treated him he wouldn’t feel as inclined to come over and help you. You were truly on your own, and you didn’t know how you’d do anything without his help. You were adamant though, you didn’t need him, you didn’t need anyone. You were sure that he had better things to do anyway. You weren’t going to burden him. It seemed like he didn’t want to stay around and help you, not when he was asking if you had other friends that would be able to do it… Maybe he was trying to get rid of you.

///

“Thought you were going to be over Y/N’s all evening?” Felix asked as soon as Seungmin walked through the front door. Felix wasn’t exactly popular either, not in regards to being a jock, he was more into computer games that occupied most of his time. Both guys were sure that if they hadn’t been paired up as roommates, they wouldn’t even know of the other's existence. Yet, since becoming roommates almost two years ago, they had gotten just as close as Seungmin and you were. “How’s she feeling by the way? Is she okay?”

Felix was the only one that had been told of your accident earlier in the day. He was the only one that Seungmin thought would care. He knew that his baseball friends weren’t all too interested in you, and if it were up to them, you wouldn’t be hogging all of Seungmins time in the first place. “I don’t know, man. She got really upset and kicked me out… I thought I’d be able to tell her today.” Seungmin dropped down into the empty seat at the table that Felix was sitting at, running his hands over his face before dropping them down onto the table with a heavy thud. “Maybe she just doesn’t like me…”

Now if there was one thing that Felix knew, it was about Seungmins crush for you. It wasn’t even a crush anymore, it was more than that. Seungmin was head over heels in love with you, and Felix heard about it every single day. He had only found out about it when Seungmin had invited you over to his place for a bit, the first and last time it ever happened, and Felix had been there. Once you left, Felix had told Seungmin that he thinks that you’re really pretty. It almost turned into a full blown argument as Seungmin shouted about how Felix couldn’t have you and that you were his. That’s when it had all been laid out on the table, and that was about five months ago. Felix thought that Seungmin would have told you by now, but apparently he hadn’t. He couldn’t understand why though, it’s not like you didn’t like Seungmin back. That was painfully obvious… Did Seungmin not even notice? “You’re blind… Aren’t you?” Felix commented, and Seungmin lifted his head, staring at Felix incredulously. “She likes you… Even I can see that. I don’t know why you won’t just tell her, it’ll probably make the both of you feel better to just get it all out.”

“Dude, she doesn’t like me. If she did, she wouldn’t have kicked me out.” Seungmin retorted, and Felix felt like he was talking to a brick wall. How could Seungmin be so clueless? “I was literally in the middle of making food for the both of us! It’s like she got mad or something and just told me to leave. I asked her if she had any other friends to help her when I wasn’t there… Maybe she had her boyfriend coming over and what I said reminded her and she needed me to leave before he got there… She never told me about a boyfriend though. I feel like I would know about something like that… She would have told me…” Felix was absolutely dumbfounded by how stupid Seungmin sounded right now. Even Felix was able to figure it out immediately after knowing what Seungmin had said, but for some reason, he was just unable to put it all together.

“Dude… She likes you… Just tell her!” Felix said, trying his best to not get annoyed with Seungmins lack of critical thinking. But Seungmin shook his head, pushing away from the table, eliciting a loud groan from Felix whose head fell back to stare up at the ceiling in complete disbelief. “How long are you going to drag this out, man? The longer you wait, the lower your chances are. If she thinks you don’t like her, she might just move on. Think about that for a bit.”

And he did, Seungmin did think about it. He thought about it a lot. The thought was raising hell in his brain no matter where he was or what he was doing. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t focus in class, he couldn’t even focus during practice. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you potentially being with someone else, and that pissed him off. You couldn’t be with anyone. You were his.

That’s why he started looking up what to do online, which probably seemed stupid to anyone else, but he couldn’t just outright tell you that he was in love with you. He wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection if you didn’t like him back. He couldn’t take Felixs word for it because, even though Felix was his friend, he was also the type of guy that thought that a girl simply smiling and waving at him meant that she liked him… Which was crazy.

In the end, he found a lot of ideas, but only one seemed like it would actually work. It was also easier to pull off than any of the other ideas he came across online. This one would be foolproof. If you didn’t react, it meant that you didn’t like him and he would finally be able to move on, although he wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to do that. If you did react though, he would know that you did like him, and he would finally be able to tell you. He hoped that it worked, it seemed like it would… He just really wanted it to work out in a way where you would truly be his in the end.

///

It had been two weeks since you kicked Seungmin out, and while you hadn’t completely ghosted him, your replies to his texts were rather short. You were still upset, and your mind was racing with the thought that he was slowly but surely trying to ease you out of his life. There were so many girls that wanted him, having you around was probably ruining his game with all of them, and, while you weren’t clingy to him by any means, the two of you were always around each other, and you were sure that made it hard for him to get with anyone else.

Still, his birthday was coming up soon, and you were finally fully healed from your little accident two weeks ago (you cared for yourself the entire time, even when Seungmin asked if you needed help), and you were sure that he’d have another party like he had every year before. You wondered if you were still invited though, and while you didn’t want to be the first person to text him, you thought that maybe sending him a quick Happy Birthday message would open the door for him to tell you, or at least ask you to come to the party.

“Hey… Happy Birthday, Min.” You quickly sent it, and like any other time you texted him first, your stomach would twist up in knots as you awaited his reply. Love was crazy in the way that it made people feel. It was like that feeling alone took control of all your other emotions and made them come out at times when they weren’t necessary, and it made them come out too strong… Which is why you kicked Seungmin out in the first place. You loved him so much that you were scared of him not loving you back so you tried to get rid of him completely. It was so stupid.

“Hey! Thanks! You still coming to my party tonight, right?” Did he actually want you to come or was he just asking to be sure that you weren’t? Dammit… He always made you feel so conflicted. Maybe if you just told him that you liked him, you could just get it over with, get the final answer and whatever comes next… Well, that’s up to fate. Maybe… Maybe you could tell him tonight… At the party. If he said no, you would just leave, run home and cry under your blanket and avoid him for the rest of your college years. It wouldn’t ruin his party, he had so many friends, they’d probably all get together and laugh at you anyway. You just needed to get it off your chest once and for all. You couldn’t keep hiding your feelings, you couldn’t keep going about your days like you were okay with just being friends… You needed to let him know.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ll be there!” You texted back, and you already felt your heart speeding up at the thought of standing in front of him and telling him. The sweat was beading up on your forehead and your hands felt clammy. You didn’t even know what you were going to say, but you knew that trying to follow a script would only make you more nervous and you’d get tongue tied and end up rambling. The words would come effortlessly once you stood in front of him, the way they would fill your brain whenever you were around him, just waiting to be unleashed upon the man that you had loved for longer than you could remember. It would happen tonight… You’d tell him everything, you’d tell him how wonderful you thought he was, how funny he is, how he makes your day better just by smiling in your direction. You’d tell him that he’s the only person you’ve been able to ever think about or see yourself with, that you’ve always liked him, that you’ll always love him no matter what. He needed to know… And you needed your answer.

The outfit you had chosen for the night was dressier than what you’d wear to any of the other parties… If you had ever been invited to any other parties… And it was surely much dressier than what you usually wore. A floral dress that sat just at the middle of your thighs, the color accenting your skin tone and framing your figure in all the right areas. It was the last thing you put on after doing your hair and your makeup, because honestly, you knew that if you looked at yourself in the mirror you’d get even more nervous and decide not to go at all.

You wanted to catch his eye though, you wanted him to know that you could be just as pretty as the other girls that chased him around campus… You were worthy of his attention, and maybe even his love if he wanted to give it to you. It was hard not to feel anxious though, as much as you tried not to be. You were worried that you’d end up sweating off your makeup which you had spent much longer on than usual because you wanted to look perfect for him. It wasn’t too late to back out, just change your clothes and walk into the party in the regular clothes that you always wore when you went to his birthday parties… But this one was important… This one was the difference between spending the rest of your life pining over your best friend or finally being able to be his.

The music from the bar could be heard from outside the front doors, and you knew that it was most likely packed inside with all of his friends from baseball, and most likely all the girls on campus that were trying to hook up with him. You didn’t want to be surrounded by them, and you weren’t quite sure how you’d get him alone for even a second to tell him what you wanted to, but you were there and you were hellbent on telling him tonight, so you took a deep breath and walked into the bar, trying not to make eye contact with the people who seemed to stop and stare at you with wide eyes.

It wasn’t hard to find Seungmin, he was in the center of the room, a beer in one hand and his phone in his other hand as he chatted with some guys that you remember seeing on the field when you went and watched him play. He was preoccupied, and it was only the beginning of the party… You didn’t have to tell him right now… You could at least enjoy yourself for a little bit before potentially breaking your own heart.

“Hey! Glad you’re here!” The voice came from behind you, and when you turned around you saw Felix, a wide smile raising his freckled cheeks and creasing his eyes. “You look good by the way! Have you gotten a drink yet?” He had to shout above the music, and while you had heard his last question, you were too focused on the compliment he had given you right before. It sent a wave of heat rushing through you as you became more aware of his eyes that were looking you over. It didn’t seem disrespectful, but no one had ever looked at you that way, it had you just a little bit flustered.

“Uhm… No… No, I just got here…” You stammered, and he nodded, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you through the crowd towards the bar, standing quite close to you as if you’d get lost in the mass of people if he wasn’t practically connected to your hip. “I’ll just have a water for now… Thank you…” You told the bartender, and sure, it might seem a little lame to order water at a bar, but you didn’t want to be drunk when talking to Seungmin, he might not take you seriously.

“Staying sober tonight, huh?” Felix joked, and you let out a small giggle as you shook your head. That wasn’t the plan entirely, but you didn’t want to start off your night with shots or anything either. Plus, you had walked for a good bit to get to the bar, and the last thing you wanted to do was rehydrate with alcohol. “Have you gotten to see Seungmin yet? I know it’s probably hard to get to him, he’s been being pulled in all different directions by a bunch of different people.”

You hummed softly, it would be harder to get to him than you thought, but you were adamant now. You’d have him to yourself, even if it was just long enough to tell him that you loved him. “It’s okay… I’m sure he’ll come find me when he has the chance to.” You said, just loud enough for Felix to hear you. “You wanna go grab a table? I walked all the way here and my legs are kind of tired…” You offered, and he quickly nodded, his hand once again finding the small of your back as he led you to one of the empty tables, a little further from all the noise.

“It’s so loud in here… I don’t know why he chose to have his party at a bar of all places…” Felix said, finally able to lower his voice just a little bit. You knew exactly why though, and you were sure that his new group of friends had some kind of say in it. Seungmin would probably be beyond drunk by the end of the night, and that had you more than slightly worried.

“Hey! You finally made it!” Seungmins voice boomed over the noise, and your head instinctively whipped up to the sound of it. He froze for a split second when he looked at you, but his adams apple bobbed as he cleared his throat, running a hand through his already sweat-dampened hair as he chuckled. “I’m gonna go dance, you both gonna come out?” He asked, and while you knew Seungmin was a wonderful dancer in private, you had never expected him to dance in public, especially around all of his friends.

“Sure…” You said, feeling a little shy. Maybe he wanted to dance with you? It’s not like you hadn’t been close to him before, he gave you piggyback rides often, but the music that was playing right now was surely not something that you’d dance to in any other way than sultry… Maybe even a little seductively.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you slowly got up out of your seat, trying not to lose Seungmin in the crowd as you followed behind him. The heat quickly dissipated when you saw his hands grab the waist of another girl, pulling her against him, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. Nauseous was the only way to describe the way you were feeling. It was like you couldn’t breathe and the walls were closing in on you. You wanted to cry and your entire plan shattered right in front of you as you watched the man you were in love with move so sensually, so provocatively with another woman.

“Y/N…” Felixs voice came from behind you once again, clearly seeing the same thing you were, and you simply shook your head, turning around and rushing to the exit, hoping that some fresh air would at least help you breathe, and being away from everyone on campus who already thought you weren’t good enough to be with Seungmin allowed you to finally let out the tears that you had been holding in. “Wait! Y/N!” Felix called out, breathless from racing after you, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you from running off again. “It’s okay… It’s okay…” He repeated, but it’s like the sentiment had the opposite effect on you, and you let out a sob, turning around resting your forehead against Felixs shoulder as you continued to cry.

“How do I stop loving someone, Felix?” You whimpered, and you heard him sigh, the sound almost as sad as you were. “He’s too good for me… I shouldn’t have ever loved him… I’m so stupid, Felix. I was… I was gonna tell him tonight… I’m so fucking stupid.” One arm wrapped tightly around your waist as his other hand pet over your hair, quiet shushes attempting to console you. Did Seungmin even know that he had just broken your heart? Would he even care if he did know? You were just friends, it was foolish to fall in love with him, now you were fully aware of that. His friends would never accept you, and although he had never striked you as the type, maybe his popularity with his friends meant more to him than his almost lifelong friendship with you.

“It’s gonna be okay…” Felix once again said, his hands moving to cup your cheeks, a soft, sympathetic smile gracing his angelic features as he wiped away the tears that fell from your eyes. “We don’t have to stay here… I can walk you back to your place or… we can go grab something to eat? You look so beautiful, I wouldn’t want your outfit to go to waste.” He was trying, and you respected that, you appreciated it, but there was no way that you’d be able to keep your mind off of what you just witnessed long enough to pretend you were okay in a restaurant.

“I just want to go home…” You mumbled, and Felix nodded as he started walking beside you. He didn’t ask any other questions, he didn’t say anything else. He was a great friend, and whoever was lucky enough to be with him… You knew he’d make them feel loved and supported no matter what. He was a wonderful person, he truly was an angel. “Thank you, Felix… Really…”

///

“What the fuck!?” Seungmin was seething as he paced back and forth across the floor, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair. “Why would you take her home!? You fucked up my whole fucking plan!” Seungmin continued to shout at Felix who sat on the couch, just as pissed off as Seungmin but for an entirely different reason. “I thought we were buds!” His palms slammed down against the kitchen counter, his forehead pressed against the cabinets as he tried- and failed -to calm himself down.

“Oh fuck no! Don’t pull that shit with me!” Felix threw it right back at Seungmin, his own voice booming, the deepness of it sending vibrations through the air. “You tell me you love her and that you want to be with her, and then you pull some shit like that! This isn’t my fault! If you would have listened to me in the first fucking place and just told her how you felt, everything would be fine!” Felix was breathing heavily as he defended not only himself, but you as well, even if you weren’t there to hear it. “She was going to tell you that she loved you, but instead, she got to witness you attempting your stupid fucking plan! And guess what! It didn’t work! She’s devastated!”

Seungmins head lifted from the cabinets, his face peeking around the corner as he looked at Felix. “She loves me? She told you that?” He whispered, just needing to be sure that Felix was being 100% honest right now, because if he was… well… he had just made the biggest mistake ever and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to fix it. Felixs eyes rolled as he nodded his head, although the movement was quite snarky, but he had a reason to act that way. Felix had told him from the beginning that you liked him, but Seungmin didn’t want to listen, he wanted to find out in his own way… Everything was backfiring. “What do I do? I… She probably doesn’t want to see me… She’s probably so upset… Fuck!”

Felix shook his head, lounging back on the couch as he let out a humorless chuckle. “I ain’t helping you anymore. I already tried, and you went and did your own fucking thing. Figure it out yourself now.” The response definitely had Seungmin fuming again, but he didn’t have time to hash things out with Felix for another hour. He needed to check on you, which was easier said than done. You probably wouldn’t even open the door for him, and he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but he really wanted to apologize and tell you that he loves you, even if you might not feel the same way anymore.

It had been three hours since Felix had walked you home and made sure you got in your house alright. He had given you a hug and waited out in the hallway, making sure to watch that you not only closed the door, but that he also heard it lock before he walked away. In those three hours, the only things you had managed to do were change out of the uncomfortable outfit that you had chosen for the stupid party, clean your face, and then go right back to crying as you curled up on your couch.

Your phone vibrated on the arm of the sofa, and you were pretty sure that it would be Seungmin, and for the first time, you were hoping that it wasn’t. You didn’t have anything to say to him, you didn’t even know what you’d say to him. You were still devastated, and you didn’t want to talk to him at all. When you lifted your phone, it was a relief to see that it was Felix, but the relief was short-lived when you read what he had sent you.

“Seungmin is on his way over to your place. Look… He’s like, madly in love with you, it’s almost disgusting. You’re all he talks about, and he didn’t know that you liked him back, so he was trying to test it and make you jealous by dancing with another girl… Don’t worry, I called him out on his bullshit. BUT! I think it would be so funny to flip the tables and pull some shit on him too… I don’t know… But if you don’t want to see him or if you’re still upset, you can always text me, alright. I just wanted to let you know.”

Seungmin did that… To make you jealous… Because he was… In love with you? It made absolutely 0 sense in your mind, but the brain of a hormonal college man worked far differently than yours did. But to flip the tables on him, you would have never thought of doing something like that… not if Felix hadn’t put the idea in your head. You would have been so hung up on the fact that Seungmin did in fact love you, that you would have let everything else slide and gone running into his arms. You knew exactly what you were going to do though, and you were going to love every second of doing it. “Thanks Lix! I’ll let you know how it goes!” You quickly texted back before relaxing on the couch, mentally preparing for when Seungmin came to your door.

Just slightly faster than sprinting, that’s how fast Seungmin was running. Along with nighttime came a slightly chillier air that burned his lungs whenever he took a deep breath, but the lights illuminating the windows on your building were like a beacon calling to him, pushing him to keep going just a couple minutes more, and then he’d finally be there.

It was almost 2 in the morning now, and he wondered if you’d even still be awake. Had you cried yourself to sleep? He was the cause of it if you had, and his heart broke at the image in his mind, you curled up in your bed, the covers tucked under your chin as tears streamed down your face and soaked your pillow. He would never forgive himself for hurting you, especially when he could have gone the simpler route and just listened to Felix. He would have already had you if he had done that. He felt stupid, so damn stupid.

Bursting through the lobby door, he went straight to the elevator, his pointer finger slamming against the call button, already impatient after only 5 seconds of waiting. Why did you have to live on such a high floor? Just as he was about to turn around and take the stairs, the bell rang out and he rushed into the little box, his finger once again repeatedly pressing against the button to close the doors and then the number of your floor. The elevator was moving at turtle speed and it felt like this was all being done on purpose, just to make him wait longer to see you.

When the doors finally opened, he ran to yours, his hands coming down hard against the wood. Other tenants on the floor rushed out of their rooms, eyes wide, the urgent sound of his knocking made it seem like there was an emergency, and to him, there was. He felt like he was about to lose the love of his life, but to other people, he was just a madman, and honestly, a nuisance.

Your door flew open and he was met with the most beautiful, heart stopping scowl. He had wanted to kiss you many times before, but now he wanted to kiss you way more. “Christ, Seungmin. What do you want?” You hissed, your own head looking around your door frame and shooting an apologetic look to your neighbors before your eyes were back on him, your glare so cold it sent chills down his spine.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I did that, and I’m sorry I upset you. I thought… I don’t know, that it would make you jealous and maybe you’d argue with me and I’d just, I’d just kiss you and tell you that I loved you and we’d laugh about it later. I didn’t think it would hurt you, I didn’t think it would make you cry, and I’m really… really sorry.” The words were spewed out so fast, it only took him about 25 seconds to go from the first word to the last. It took him just as long to catch his breath after saying so much without even a breath in between.

“It’s whatever, Seungmin. I don’t even care… I mean… Your stupidity really opened my eyes and showed me that there’s someone out there who wouldn’t hurt me like that to try to show me they love me.” Someone else… There was someone else? He blinked a few times, and even though it was clicking, he didn’t want it to make sense, but he knew that the only other person that you had talked to tonight was Felix. But you couldn’t be talking about Felix… right? There’s no way in hell that he’d let something like that happen. “You can go now…”

“No, you’re not kicking me out again!” He screeched, realizing that he was still standing outside of your apartment and then pushing his way in, closing the door behind him. “Call me stupid, hate me, ignore me… Do whatever you have to… Just… Don’t go to someone else. Please. I love you, I’ve always loved you. Your cringy little nicknames that you give me and all your little quirks and habits. I love all of that. I love the way you always sit front row at my games and hold up the little signs that you made yourself and cheer for me… Even when I’m sitting on the bench. You’re beautiful, and I’ve never felt so fucking idiotic in my life… I don’t want you to be with anyone else… Who is it? I’ll kick his ass for taking you from me.”

Your head shook as you crossed your arms over your chest, your eyes closing as you let out a slow sigh. “Why does it matter who it is? He didn’t take me from you anyway, you were too busy trying to make me jealous and grinding up on some other girl to even notice that he was with me almost all night.” You retorted, and Seungmin saw red, his fists clenching at his sides. It was Felix. His nostrils flared as he turned on his heel without another word, ready to go right back to his place and beat the shit out of Felix… That is, until he heard you laughing. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, turning his head to look over his shoulder at you.

“What? What’s funny? You think this is funny?!” It was a mixture of anger, jealousy and sadness that had his voice rising in pitch and volume as he stared at you, but your laughter only got louder as your head fell back, and then you slowly walked over to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the door. “Seriously, Y/N. I know it’s Felix. I’m gonna… Fuck! This isn’t funny! He knows how I feel about you… I can’t believe he’d do some shit like this… I’m fucking-” Before he could finish his sentence, your lips were on his, and he was shocked to say the least.

When you pulled back, it was like his head was spinning, but in a good way. His cheeks were burning and he knew that you could probably see the blush forming under his skin. “Looks like you’re the one that gets easily jealous… It’s cute… You get so angry, like a bear or somethin’... Gonna start calling you boo boo bear now.” You were teasing him… But that meant it was all a joke… You didn’t like Felix… You still liked him.

He let out a little growl, playful as he gripped onto your hips and backed you up against the nearest wall, your eyes sparkling in the light that hung on the ceiling as you looked up at him, your cheeks pulling up in a cheeky smile. “You’re a smartass… You’re lucky I love you, ya know that? Now tell me you love me too, come on. I came all the way over here, was pranked viciously by the girl I love… I deserve to be told that I’m loved.” He pouted at you, a look that he reserved solely for you, but you gave him a quick peck before wiggling out of his hold and running to the other side of the room, your giggling contagious as he chased after you. “Just tell me you love me! Come on!”

“You have to catch me first!” You squealed, dodging him every time he got close to you, but he knew that you’d run out of breath soon, and he was just waiting for his chance to pounce. He continued to chase you though, loving the sound of your fits of laughter in between heavy breaths. Then your movement got slower, and you dropped down onto the couch, your hands held up in front of you. “Time out real quick!” You were breathless, strands of hair clinging to your sweat beaded forehead, but he didn’t follow your rules, and he pounced on you, pinning you down onto the couch, hovering just a few inches above you.

Silence hung in the air, the only sound was that of his racing heart in his own ears and your panting from beneath him. It had his mind wandering, but he needed to stay focused, he needed to hear you say it. “I won…” He could barely get his voice above a whisper, his throat dry from exerting so much energy. “Do I get my reward now?”

Your hands moved up to brush the hair out of his face, lifting yourself up just slightly to press a kiss to his lips, it had more meaning behind it though, it was deeper, it lasted longer, and he melted into it, his own lips moving against yours in perfect synch. Once your head fell back against the pillows, you looked almost drunk, your eyes slightly hazy, your pupils dilated as you looked up at him. “I love you, Seungmin… So much…” You murmured, and at those words he finally let himself collapse, his head resting against your chest, listening to the thrum of your heartbeat as your fingers pet through his hair. “Now you’re my boyfriend boo boo, right?”

“Mmhm… and you’re my girlfriend… g-... my girlfriend goo goo? No? Give me some time. Either way, you’re mine.”

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luvknow · 2 days

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sanguine satellite | lee minho

Summary: The last time you saw Minho was five years ago when you rejected him to live out the rest of your twenties in the city. The next time you see him is on your birthday with another woman in his arms, and it sparked everything that was good, bad, and ugly. Now, after years of not being in each other’s lives, Minho tries to repair the friendship he broke while you fight your changing feelings. As you struggle navigating your friendship with him, you struggle more to navigate being single in this next stage of your life. Characters: Lee Minho x fem!Reader, feat. other idols Genre: friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, romance, angst, emotional hurt with comfort, happy ending, slice of life Additional warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, food, aged up a bit and in turn age insecurity, a lot of mentions of a best friend with another idol WC: 18.1k

Today was a pivotal day in the office. Quarter two earnings were released to the public and other divisions of the company and, well, let’s just say with the increasing rise in inflation and the impending recession that everyone refuses to acknowledge, no one wants to buy anything. As a result, the earnings reported negative and stocks dipped, morale was low, and to top it off, it was only Monday.

In a way, this was a metaphor for your life; a tumbleweed of all things that could go wrong did go wrong and formed into an amalgamation of nothing to show for. Some people found value in the mundane, but this was supposed to be the peak of your career, your magnum opus, before progress plateaued and you couldn’t stand the idea of not feeling enriched. To wake up, leave, work, and go home was the reason you wanted to leave your home in the first place for something richer in the heart of the city. But you felt defeated after clocking out at 8:30 PM and slumped on the seat in an empty train cart.

The view of the lively apartment high rises and the warm light of slow brick-and-mortars made the late night train rides worth the twenty minutes. Work wasn’t always this draining, but after climbing the corporate ladder, more money meant more responsibilities and it quickly drained the light from your eyes as it did with many of your peers and friends. Youth was fleeting and today you felt like Ponce de Leon searching for the fountain to no avail, but at least the train would take you as close to it as it possibly could.

After packing up your life from home five years ago to move with your friends, the only plans twenty-something-year-olds ever had in place were reservations at 9:00 PM because you called the hottest spot the day-of and drinks at the bar next door after clocking out at 5:00 PM. You were young, excited, and hungry for life, barely sober most days and experiencing what it meant to be young; but what must be given, something must also be taken. Now, rent was rising, salary increases were few and far in between, and instead of deciding what martini you should be ordering, you were stuck wondering if being a worker bee individual contributor was worth the lull schedule or if taking the path to management and telling whiny subordinates what to do was worth the salary bump.

You and your friends once joked that stuff like this was what people in their thirties worry about. Today is your thirtieth birthday.

You didn’t have time for dinner and once again thanked the real estate Gods who put a restaurant so greasy at the corner of your block that you practically slid on a snail trail to the front door of your loft. So, here you were; eating under-salted french fries, chugging a crispy diet cola, with oil stains on your white button-up, ready to spend the rest of your birthday and probably the rest of your life alone on your overpriced and uncomfortable couch watching the latest drama you’d sob your eyes out to. All you needed now was a pet as your companion and you’d be the whole single-in-your-thirties package. Maybe you’d use that as leverage in your dating apps: looking for a partner, a pet, or both.

After fumbling with the keys, you sighed into your dark, cavernous home and dropped your bag at the door. When you turned on the lights, you saw the ghost of your soul leave your mouth in a loud gasp.

“Surprise!!”

You were greeted with streamers, glitter, balloons, and your closest friends wearing little party hats with their beautiful smiles. You never doubted they remembered, and most wished you happy birthday at midnight, but you should have sensed something was wrong when Chaeryoung asked for your door passcode because she ‘forgot her chapstick on your coffee table.’

She was the first to tackle you in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, mi amor!”

“Let the woman take her shoes off first, damn,” Jisung scolded.

“Wow, there’s certainly a lot of you,” you giggled after prying her off. “You guys shouldn’t have. Really! It’s Monday.”

“All the more to celebrate something worthwhile,” Chan grinned, handing you a glass of wine. “Welcome to the club.”

“Ugh, thanks.” Chaeryoung yanked away the oily bag of fries while you were distracted with the happy juice. “Hey, I’m hungry!”

“Don’t fret! We are having a dinner party because that’s what thirty-year-olds do.”

“Except we ate already because we thought you were coming home well before 9:00 PM,” Hyunjin grinned sheepishly.

“No, yeah, I love when my friends watch me stuff my face.”

The dining table was decorated with burgundy candle sticks, red roses, and black bows. It was definitely a step-up from your twenty-first bubblegum pink and pastel confetti birthday, but this almost seemed… meek? Romantic, sure, but a little dark for a birthday. As Chaeryoung scrambled to fill your plate with take-out and prepare the cake, everyone took their place back at the table. The lights dimmed and out came a jet black cake with a toy knife and red frosting that read, ‘Happy Deathday to Your 20s!’

“A bit dark, but accurate,” you mused.

“Make a wish-!” A knock came at the door. “Shit.”

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Chaeryoung, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were present and those were the only people you regularly hung out with. Who could be left?

“Are people still coming?” you asked.

The boys collectively shot a look at a wide-eyed and frozen Chaeryoung, none of them willing to break the news or catch a stray. “Um…”

“What did you do?” you accused. “You didn’t invite that one guy I told you about last month, did you?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Another knock. “Coming!”

“It’s not a coworker, is it?”

“Worse,” Jisung mumbled. “For you, at least.”

“Minho!” Chaeryoung exclaimed happily. “You’re just in time!”

“What -” you hissed at the boys, “- the hell?!”

They all held their hands up in defense. Minho passed the threshold and your twenties flashed before your eyes. The once blondish short and styled middle part now hung loose in soft chocolate strands; eyes that once held the universe were dark and doe-like; and arms that once moved freely in his sleeves now tightened around them. He was a completely different man who you hadn’t seen in five years and here he was at a pivotal moment of your life, about to celebrate you and the life you’ve lived without him for the better half of the last decade. It took all your might to lift your sore legs to walk over to greet your guest and restrain from strangling your best friend. He wore clothes appropriate for a casual dinner party that didn’t spill into the blues of corporate-wear, clearly aware of this occasion, and a small gift bag. His appearance was intentional, not upon happenstance, which made this whole ordeal a lot weirder.

Following him in, hand-in-hand, was a woman. A stranger. Two strangers in your home.

He pulled away from Chaeryoung’s death grip and you locked eyes. It’s awkward, to put it politely; to put it rudely, it was horrifying. Your nervous system certainly felt nervous, firing fight-or-flight responses the way he drank you in like the first sip of a bitter negroni. How someone could evolve and change to the point of being unrecognizable should be studied by Darwin.

He’s the first to break with a small smile to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Happy birthday, _____.”

The bag is small and neatly wrapped with care in your favorite colors. The woman behind him smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have. And thank you…?”

“Oh, right. This is Karina, my girlfriend of two years.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And happy birthday!”

You brain buffered when she bowed. How awkward, because you haven’t heard anything about her other than her existence. You never thought he’d have someone so beautiful. Minho blocked you on social media a long time ago, so you wouldn’t have recognized her. Chaeryoung had to kick you back to life. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you, too! Welcome to my home.”

“There’s wax on the cake!” Jisung warned.

“Oh, hurry in! _____ was about to make a wish!” Chaeryoung pushed the three of you to the dining area.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue watching him dap up the boys and watching her hug them so warmly. You never faulted them for being neutral. They were just as much as his friends as they were yours but having him here created a thick glass wall on your side of the table, like he was icing you out in your own home; that you paid with your own hard-earned money, mind you! This was as close to a defense mechanism you could build.

Nine people were watching you, all of whom were paired with another in the room except Chaeryoung, in your home. There’s a heavy shroud of dread that’s draped over your makeshift invisible box you struggled to keep upright. This was supposed to feel like a celebration of you, but it quickly turned rotten when you realized you were the only single person on your own side of the table, being made a spectacle as the couples moved closer and watched more intently. It was like they were watching a ghost of singles-past, feeling more appreciative of the life they procured together as you watched their hold on each other tighten ever so slightly.

“Make a wish,” Jisung sang.

You stared blankly at the three sparkling candles. What was there to wish for? You had a good career, a warm home, food on the table, and loved ones who kept you up on your feet. You supposed a better work-life balance would be feasible, but that was something within reach and in your control. To wish is to pray and to pray is to beg, and you weren’t one to beg for anything except for the pickles Chaeryoung picked out of her sandwiches. What was something that even you couldn’t control, something you had to ask some spirit dwelling in the ether for?

A flash of Minho’s eyes boring into yours made your face hot. Maybe you’d just let this wish go to waste instead.

You blew out the candles and applause erupted with Chan eager to cut into the cake. It was your favorite flavor from your favorite local baker whom you trusted every birthday and holiday to deliver the finest treats. At least this part of your birthday was perfect.

“So, what does thirty feel like?” Hyunjin asked. “Do you want the number of the senior home down the street from me?”

“Ha ha,” you drawled. “Aren’t you next, Hwang?”

“Actually, Minho’s next – ow!”

Chaeryong didn’t hide how she elbowed his ribs. She then gave a wide smile and her fingers danced. “Do you feel more mature?”

“As mature as a dry-age steak.”

“Well, you pair well with red wine, at least.” Chan raised his glass. “Here’s to you and to all of us, our priceless friendship!”

Most of us, you wanted to correct, but decided against being uncouth. “Cheers!”

When you were all in the younger halves of the twenties, conversations were about memes, pop culture, and the new hottest bar that just opened. Now, as you were ranting about quarter one earnings and the Windows 11 update, the others doubled down on the corporate jargon. Even Karina, who revealed she was a consultant in tech, participated in the conversations. Minho was the only one who remained quiet, but he was simply enjoying the company, leaning back in the chair with his arm around his woman. For someone who had never visited or even wished well on past birthdays, he was making himself quite at home.

Your birthday dinner lasted long enough to finish off three bottles of wine between everyone and for all the food to disappear, making clean-up much easier. As everyone scrambled around your home clouded in buzzed-up nonsense, Jisung was the one to tour your apartment with Minho and Karina, telling the tale of every picture you hung on a wall or framed on a credenza.

“This was when we went to London one summer after my graduation,” he said. “I’m the youngest, so I was the last one and we decided to make it a big celebration. I think this was the day Minho and _____ got lost and almost hopped on a train to Edinburgh by accident. This one was from Chaeryoung’s twenty-fourth birthday. I think Minho took this picture, actually.”

“Where are you in these pictures, Minho?” Karina wondered innocently.

There’s a breath of silence in the loft aside from you who didn’t pay any mind to his girlfriend’s ignorance. Not like you expect your fallout to be a topic of conversation over a candle-lit dinner date, anyway. You also didn’t expect that look on Minho’s face when he realized that to be true.

“He’s usually the one behind the camera!” Jisung answered, not exactly lying. “You’ve seen his Instagram and how he composes his cat pictures.”

Minho didn’t try to correct him, and they quickly moved on.

As it was the first day of the working week, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were the first to leave. For whatever reason, Minho and Karina decided to stay back. Karina’s motive was unclear; either she was really bad at reading the room or the effort to be friends was genuine, but even when Minho asked if she wanted to leave with everyone, she decided against it.

“Let me help you take the garbage out,” she offered Chaeryoung.

“I can do it,” you and Minho said in unison.

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday and this one had a little too much to drink before coming here and when we got here.”

Chaeryoung gave you a sympathetic look as they carried several bags out to the ground floor. What a convenient day for the chute to be broken! They’d take the five-to-ten minutes of traveling to the ground floor out to the back where the bins were.

And then there were two, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, unable to look each other in the eyes after five years of abandonment.

“Hi,” he greeted again, lips flat-lined and unsure of how to move this conversation forward.

You beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His tongue poked his cheek. “I ran into Chaeryoung last weekend at the bar I work at and asked what she was doing for your birthday.”

“Why would you ask that?” you asked coldly.

“I… just knew she'd be doing something for you. Maybe she took it as me asking to get invited, but that wasn’t my intention. I think she panicked, invited me anyway, and here I am.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that asked, ‘but why would I?’

You looked away. “Isn’t this a far drive for you?”

“I live here now. Well, not here; on the other side, closer to downtown and near that bar.”

“Oh. How long have you been a city dweller?”

“About two years now.”

That lined up with his relationship status. It was a fact that it was easier to find partners in the metropolitan, yet somehow you were the only one to remain alone after being one of the first to move here. How was it that Minho managed that in under a month? And if he’s been here for two years, how have you not realized that?

You swallowed the rest of the wine in your glass. “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” He ran a hand through his tired head of hair, creating a split down the middle. The redness on his face had spread from his nose to his cheeks, as it always did when alcohol invaded his bloodstream. “I see why you wanted to move here.”

He, too, must have seen how time was of the essence, and with what little time you have in your young lives, the highest quality of life would be to live where your peers were thriving. If only he understood this years ago.

You nodded sourly, feeling the loneliness resurface after having to repress it for so long. “I’m happy for you.”

“Your mother once told us, ‘mean what you say and say what you mean.’ You don’t have to lie.”

“Don’t tell me what my mother says.”

Tension as thick as jell-o separated you from him. There’s a brief stare down after your threat, or what sounded like a threat, and you swear there’s hurt behind those big eyes of his, but he wouldn’t be the victim here; not when he was the one who left your life and blocked you out of his. He didn’t have the right to be offended by your unwelcoming attitude when he was never welcome to begin with. On your birthday, at that.

Chaeryoung saved the evening and rushed back inside, afraid of the damage you’d tell her later.

“Ready?” Karina asked, squeezing Minho’s bicep.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, being the first to break contact. You didn’t help him see his way out, but he said over his shoulder once more, “Happy birthday, _____.”

“Thank you for coming,” you called out sharply.

“It was nice meeting you!” Karina said cheerfully.

“You, too.”

Chaeryoung, the kind woman and hostess as she is, hugged them both and hastened to lock the door. She rushed back, clinging to you and holding your arms inside, likely afraid that you’d break something or chug the rest of the fourth bottle.

“I’m so~o sorry!”

“He told me how it happened. Tell me why I’m not surprised?”

“It was at the bar near your work that I told you about. You didn’t come because you had some reports to submit before midnight. And who do I see behind the bar? Minho, of all people! He was running that shit like the navy! It was hard to talk long over the music, but we said our hellos and he quickly brought up the fact you were turning thirty and asked what I was doing because he knows how much I love you and I’m the bestest friend ever – Anyway, I told him about the surprise, and he looked so damn sad! Jesus Christ, so you know me, an empath, I had to at least offer him an invite. I didn’t think he’d take it, nor did I think he’d ask to bring a plus one, like, yesterday!”

In the midst of her ramblings, you squirmed free from her grip and pulled the poor pouty girl into a tight hug. “I will not let him ruin what you’ve done for me. I love you and appreciate you.”

“It was so hard!” she whined. “The boys are so unreliable! I ask them to buy something for decorations, they don’t answer, and when I ask a few days later they’re like, ‘I got it a while ago,’ and I’m like, ‘why didn’t you say something?!’ and they’re like, ‘I didn’t think I’d need to as long as I brought it the day-of.’ Can you believe that?!”

“After over ten years of friendship, yes, yes I can.”

After cleaning up the remaining crumbs and dishes, Chaeryoung found the gift that Minho and Karina left on one of the chairs. “Did you open it?”

“No. What if it’s a bomb? Can you do it?”

She tossed out the tissue paper and peered inside fearlessly. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“A gift card and a perfume bottle; a pricey one. Ooh, it smells good!”

The gift card was to a new bar that was opening on the same block as your office. Your boss was excited to finally have a happy hour location so close that you haven’t gone a day without hearing about it since its announcement. The name on the card said ‘DAHLIA’ and the amount it held was five hundred dollars.

“Huh,” Chaeryoung mused, “isn’t this address very close to where you work? And you like dahlias. Scary coincidence.”

“Do you think he’s stalking me?”

“Maybe it’s Karina.”

The perfume was in a sleek clear bottle with a white face and gold cap. It smelled of marshmallows, orange blossoms, and neroli. It would be the most expensive thing you’d own, cosmetics wise.

“They open on Friday,” she said giddily. “We should go!”

The projected menu on their social media did look really good… and they had variations of your favorite drink and ones you’ve never heard of.

“Think of it as a ‘celebration’ to the start of a new quarter! Since it’ll be slower now, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, accepting that poor-quality reasoning for a twenty dollar cocktail. “Ok, let’s go!”

Your best friend squealed happily and dug through your closet, plucking out the shortest skirt in your wardrobe.

On Thursday, Chaeryoung canceled on you to go on a third date with the guy she’s been seriously interested in. She was hoping to finally become an exclusive dating couple; not exactly boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but they’re not allowed to see other people since they’re exclusive, so it’s a label-without-the-label situation that you struggled too hard to grasp. If the majority of your peers thought that way about dating, maybe it was a good thing you remained single.

When you exited your office’s high-rise that day, on your way to the train, you passed by an alley in between the Italian place and the coffee shop you and your co-workers frequented. There was an inconspicuous red ‘OPEN’ light at the end above a black door that caught your attention. In a small serif font, the letters ‘DAHLIA’ was stamped on the door. Friday was supposed to be the official opening day according to their social media pages, but there was no mistake it was open as indicated by the bouncer standing guard.

You did have the gift card in your wallet, and you were craving that crispy green tea highball they had in one of their posts. It was only 6:00 PM, maybe they’d have some happy hour deals going on and you could report back to Chaeryoung with your findings.

You walked up to the doorman. “Hi, are you open –”

“I.D.”

Well, that answers that. He allowed you to pass into the low-lit glowing bar. It wasn’t busy like a Friday evening, but almost all of the tufted couches and chairs were filled, leaving a semi-vacant bar up for grabs. The aura of the bar is what one might describe as ‘vibey and chill’, as the low hum of the bass from the hip-hop song in the background vibrated your heart. This was as soft as a soft-opening could get.

On the menu, there was a special on the drink you were looking forward to and a snack pairing: rice paper and seaweed chips with a salt and togarashi seasoning. You knew all those words separately but couldn’t comprehend them together.

“I.D., please,” the bartender asked.

You fumbled for your wallet and mumbled, “Why bother carding at the door if you’re just –”

You dropped your wallet when you saw Minho at the other side of the bar in a white button-down that was buttoned barely half-way. His lips curled teasingly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you gasped, popping your head up after picking up your wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that the only way you’ll greet me from now on?”

You felt your face burn even before any alcohol entered your system. “Chaeryoung mentioned you worked at the other bar nearby.”

“I own that one, too. This one I just opened.”

“Oh, well, that makes more sense. Wait, ‘own’?” He nodded sheepishly. “But that bar has been there forever. I thought that old guy owned it?”

“He was looking to retire, so I jumped the gun and bought it. Kept it mostly the same, added some things I thought would pick up a trend, and it did so well that I was able to open ‘DAHLIA’.”

“That’s incredible,” you congratulated. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that the gift card is so expensive.”

He smiled, but it didn’t translate to his eyes. “Do you work nearby?”

“At the tall building down the street.”

He’s just as taken back as you are. Maybe he wasn’t stalking you. “Crazy coincidence. But it’s late already. Long day?”

You sighed. “Most days are this long.”

“Yikes. Can I get you a drink?”

“The green tea highball looks good.”

“Coming right up.”

Minho rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and did his witchcraft. In a highball glass, a ludicrously elongated ice cube was placed. Then, two shots of Japanese whiskey from the mid-shelf (never mind the overpour), an ounce of cold brew jasmine green tea, and what little space was left was topped with club soda. Using a long bar spoon, Minho mixed its contents and offered it to you with a stainless steel straw.

You hummed happily. “Whoa.”

“I agree.”

“Where was this on my twenty-first?”

“I dare you to Google the whiskey I used and see if you think we could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“I see your point.”

There’s a long pause of waiting for the other to say what they mean and to mean what they say. You thought about how coldly you displayed yourself to Minho and it ate up your thoughts the whole week. Even when he was the one who wanted you out of his life, he was the one to find you and it seemed he was here to stay, to be next to where you worked, and to be a part of your everyday life as you’d think about him every time you passed this alley between the office and the train. Was this a gift or a curse?

The wound was still fresh, but he was not the only one to blame.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I –”

“I think –”

You both paused again. After all these years, your wavelengths were still in sync.

“Go ahead,” you offered.

“I think…” …We shouldn’t talk when we see each other? I shouldn’t have given you a gift? We should unpack the trauma we gave each other over coffee some time? “You should try the snack pairing.”

Possibly the best words to leave his lips. “Please.”

“One sec,” he said before running to the kitchen.

Your palms were sweaty, but if anyone asked, you’d feign it was from the condensation on the glass. Your first real conversation with Minho in five years was more stressful than presenting to upper management. Any courage of apologizing had fizzled and the fear of being vulnerable was chilling. You hoped the rest of the drink would give you that push.

Minho came back slightly breathless with a bowl of curly seaweed and rice chips with red seasoning. He stared at the glass that was almost full just a second ago.

“Would you like another one?”

Your vision was already swirly. “No, thank you. But these look delicious.”

The crunch from the fried rice paper was loud enough to make some heads turn. It was salty and the seaweed flavor shined through. The punch from the togarashi made you wish you had taken up the offer on another drink.

You let out another happy hum, and your sinuses cleared. “Wasabi!”

“Really sobers you up, huh?”

“I can smell colors.”

He let out a genuine laugh and you got a glance of his little bunny teeth. You wondered if he’d still have them when he was sixty.

The shy bartender fiddled with the kitchen towel. “You were going to say something?”

“Right. I’m –”

“Excuse me!” a customer approached the bar. “Can I have an espresso martini?”

“Absolutely!” Minho said in his customer service voice.

Espresso martinis were all the craze these days, especially with the ladies. You understood why, they were delicious and reminded everyone of a sweet little treat before the work day. You watched as Minho threw in his Boston shaker ice, vodka, coffee liqueur, and cold brew, and shook with all his might. The muscles you noticed on your birthday shined through, as the veins on his forearms and biceps were put to work. Your eyes traveled shamefully to his open chest, focusing on the groove in between. He poured the creamy drink into a martini glass and added it to her tab.

You drank the complimentary ice-cold water before he returned.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m the one interrupting your work.” Despite drinking a multitude of fluids, your throat was dry and sharp, like the words were scraping skin on their way out. Just say it, dammit! “I’m sorry how I treated you on Monday.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that after so long.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have.”

“For that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for attending.”

“You should have chosen another time to meet.”

“Your thirtieth birthday is important. It’s a huge milestone. I couldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He hung his head in a way that a puppy would when being punished. “I know.”

“You –” you choked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what or how to feel.”

“Maybe we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Hi,” he held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Minho, I’m a bartender and chef, and we met when we were nineteen.”

“Minho –”

“Would you like to get coffee next door some time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

The rush of after-work over timers hit the bar like a thirsty school of fish. Two other bartenders jumped in, but they needed Minho to keep up a good speed. From his navy pants pocket, he pulled out his business card and slid it over.

“My number’s on the card.”

It was different from the one you had saved on your phone and he knew that. “Wait, I need to close out my tab.”

“It’s on me. Let me make up for Monday.”

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before taking the next customer. His mannerisms made every customer smile or blush. ‘Come closer’ he’d gesture with his finger, leaning in to hear their order, and winking after handing off the final product; rinse and repeat.

You left a hefty tip under your glass and slipped away from the crowd. At home, you spent half an hour rubbing your cheeks, unaware of how sore they were after the train ride.

The business card hung on your fridge under a London magnet. Every day, you’d wake up, stare at it while filling your water bottle, leave for work, come home, and stare at it some more as you prepared dinner. In the same serif font in black ink, in the center of the card was his full name. Under it said ‘Restauranteur’, followed by ‘DAHLIA’, the Japanese flavors-inspired bar, and ‘RED LIGHT’, the one with American flavors. His phone number and email were in small print, all information embossed on an off-white business card. ‘Classy’ was the most appropriate description of such a card, while yours was so plain in comparison. Technology products didn’t need that kind of pizazz, to be fair.

The next time you saw Chaeryoung was for a girls’ night-in on a Wednesday to gush about her new exclusive not-boyfriend. She noticed the business card while putting the dishes in the sink and plucked it from the fridge, already aware of what transpired on Thursday before.

“‘Restauranteur’,” she scoffed. “Ok, Minho.”

“I know, right? Can you believe he bought out that sleazy old man?”

“I always wondered why the quality went up all of a sudden. I can’t believe he hid that from everyone else, too! We’ve all been meeting around that area for months! Why did he give you this, though?”

“I guess he changed his number.”

“What? He’s had this number for a while now.” You shot her a deadpanned look. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have known whether he changed it or not. Did you hit him up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It feels… too soon.”

“Five years feels too soon?”

“No,” you sighed, unable to form the words in the right sentence. “We’re already on awkward footing after my birthday. And seeing and talking to him made my blood pressure spike to an unhealthy degree.”

“So, you’re nervous?”

Nervous wasn’t right. It felt much deeper than that. “Afraid.”

If anyone knew the degree of pain and confusion you held for Minho, it was Chaeryoung. She always did her best to understand, but there are some things one must experience to understand, and this was one of them. She held you firm by the shoulders and knitted her brows.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

The music streaming on your phone paused as your best friend moved swiftly to the couch, already propping her feet up on the chaise before you could register what happened. The clicking of your phone keyboard over the bluetooth speaker snapped you back and you ran to join her.

“Wait, don’t!” you warned.

“‘Hey, bro’,” she said as she typed, “Too casual?”

“I’m thirty. I don’t say ‘bro’.”

“All right, jeez. ‘Hello, Minho. I hope this text finds you well. Per our last meeting – ’”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“I’m kidding, relax! ‘Hi, it’s _____. It was nice seeing you on Thursday.’”

“I wouldn’t say it was a ‘nice’ meeting.”

“Oh, my God, shut up. ‘Good to see you on Thursday,’ happy? ‘Would you like to get coffee some time?’ And send. This is fun, it’s like when we used to project our dating app DMs on the TV! Oh, wow he’s typing already. Asshole, he never answers any of us in the group chats until the next day.”

Texting a boy and sweating, waiting for his response… Were you thirteen again? The notification ding made your heart jump.

Your brows furrowed, matching Chaeryoung’s. “‘Hey! Of course I would. Just tell me when.’ Um. Tell him sometime next week?”

“‘Tomorrow at 11:00AM?’”

“Chaer!”

“‘See you then.’ You’re welcome!” she cheered, tossing your phone on your lap.

“Now he’ll think I’m excited…”

“Whether you are nervous, excited, or afraid, shouldn’t that mean something? That maybe you still have him in your cold, dead heart somewhere?”

“It took years of therapy to heal what was wounded. I don’t know if this will feel like closure or if I’m opening up my stitches.”

“And I’ll be here to help suture if it comes to it; again and again!” she encouraged, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I just want our friend group back together, you know? This is a start, sort of.”

“I know. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Too late.”

The day it happened, the clouds were grey, and they cried and cried, pouring down the heaviest rain of the year. It rattled Minho’s windows like bullets made from hail, drowning the silence and filling the room with nothing but sorrow.

Tonight, you were celebrating your new job and the big move. After the plates were emptied, the music that played over his speakers slowed, and filled with wine and tenderness, you two swayed to the rhythm in each other’s arms. First, he had your hand in his and lightly hovered over your waist, leading the waltz across the living room with ease. As the songs progressed, his hold on you tightened. He laced his fingers with yours, traveled his hand to your lower back, then placed the other there, too, after wrapping your arm around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and nuzzling so sweetly it made your heart soar.

He sighed happily, shoulders relaxing under your arms. “Should we be doing this?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you replied light heartedly, “you are just a friend, after all.”

“Do friends do this? Should we ask Chaeryoung and Jisung?”

“Not if you want to hear them gagging all night.”

His breathy laughs hit your lips and his eyes fluttered closed. “I want to kiss you.”

You’ve wanted to kiss him for five years. “Then kiss me.”

“And I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” You took a step back, hating the cold air that replaced his space. “What do you mean ‘stay’?”

“Don’t leave,” he begged.

“Minho –”

“Stay here with me.”

“No,” you said firmly. “This is the biggest thing to happen to my career, and I’m not throwing away this grand opportunity. Won’t you come with me instead?”

“You know I can’t leave my family right now.”

“Then,” you sighed, “do I wait for you?”

“Wait? We have options; what about long distance?”

“You know how vigorous my career is. I work long days and long nights. I can’t call you or text you the way that other people do.”

“So what?” he argued, throwing his hands up in frustration.

This was the first time you were having this talk. Never before had either of you revealed the feelings that mingled in the air whenever you were in the same room together. For years, you repressed them, too scared to cross the thin line that separated friendship from lovers and unwilling to feel vulnerable and reveal the true feelings of your heart. Because truthfully, you wouldn’t have time. You wouldn’t have time to drain and pour your heart into something – someone – that wasn’t the projects that laid out on your office desk, and how was that fair to someone you loved so dearly? As much as you wanted to love and to give, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you repeated. “That’s not fair to either of us. We deserve one hundred percent of each other, not fifty, or even ninety.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” he mumbled.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “How could you spring this on me the weekend before I leave?”

“This was my only chance –”

“No, it wasn’t. You had five years. Five years! And you know how important my career is to me!”

“What about me? Aren’t I important to you, too?”

“Don’t,” you stuttered.

“No, it’s not that I’m not important, it’s that your career is more important. Is that it?” When you couldn’t answer, he nodded his head, accepting the poor answer. “All I wanted was for us to try.”

“I can’t give you one hundred percent of me.”

“Then I’ll give more! One hundred ten percent; one hundred fifty!”

“How long can you last like that when you don’t know when we’ll be together again?”

“I won’t know unless we try.”

“I don’t want to try. Trying means uncertainty. For five years, I have been certain about you. But I’m certain it won’t work when we are not present.”

“We’re going in circles.” Minho turned and ran a hand through his fluffy, light bronze hair. This color on him, you remembered, made him look so young.

“I can wait,” you whispered. “We can be friends still, and –”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You couldn’t decide if your mouth should hang open or sew it shut forever. Still, you managed to slip out, “What?”

“It’s all or nothing for me, _____.” His eyes mirrored your glossy ones and the tip of his nose that was just on yours a second ago was reddening. “I don’t want friendship with you. I want love and passion, and I want you to tell me you want it, too. We aren’t friends; we never were really just friends, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

He closed the gap and his hands found yours, squeezing so tightly it was almost painful. “Then show me that you know! Tell me you want this! Tell me you don’t want to be just friends! Tell me you want me, desire me, that you can’t go a day without having me, the way I would for you!”

You shook your head. Long distance relationships never worked. You witnessed it through your coworkers, through friends, and bosses, and even old classmates who had deleted every existence of their past love and left no digital footprint on their timeline. Every relationship you ever knew to be long distance had never worked out, and you knew this one wouldn’t be any different.

He let go and stepped away. “I wish you a fulfilling life in the city –”

“Don’t do this.”

“– and I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you –”

“Minho, please…”

“– I can’t be just friends with someone who has my heart and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Instead of rescinding, instead of apologizing and taking the leap of faith, taking the risk that came with being vulnerable and open and raw so you could see what it meant to be loved and cherished by someone who wanted to love and cherish, you decided to lock your heart away and to never reveal it to anyone ever again.

That was the last time you saw Minho. On your thirtieth birthday, he broke every layer you built to protect yourself in a matter of seconds.

“Earth to _____!”

In between ‘DAHLIA’ and your office, there was a coffee shop with outside seating. As you waited at one of the tables, the record player in your head had recalled that night, and once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it finished. Just as you finished, Minho arrived and waved a hand in front of your face and you wondered how long it took for you to notice.

“Sorry! Daydreaming.”

“About work?”

Did he truly think your mind was entirely consumed about work? “Yeah. Work.”

“Well, you keep daydreaming, and I’ll get us coffee. What would you like?”

“No, it’s my turn to get you something!”

“Nonsense! You also tipped me way too much. You still order the usual?”

If you were one thing, you were consistent. “The usual.”

Minho would do this finger-gun thing when he was feeling awkward, and he did so as he walked to the counter. His outfit wasn’t as formal as the night you saw him at the bar. His jeans were black and his sweater a bright cobalt; a color that allowed him to be the center of attention when he wasn’t asking for it.

You were the one to ask him to meet - or rather Chaeryoung was - but you didn’t consider what you’d talk about.

He came back with your usual and his usual, which was an iced americano. At least he, too, was consistent, and that hadn’t changed.

“Busy at work?” he asked, clearly not sure what to talk about, either.

“Yeah. Always busy, sadly.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hours would be long.”

“No,” you confirmed, “I wasn’t. What about you? What’s your work day like as the city’s coolest restaurateur?”

“You flatter me. I work at ‘RED LIGHT’ during the day, and head to ‘DAHLIA’ at night.”

You tried to estimate his work hours in your head. “Back-to-back?”

“Yup.”

“Everyday?”

“Kind of. If it’s slow on like, a Monday or Tuesday, I’ll head out early and let the closers handle it. Otherwise, my day off is whenever I feel like it, but it’s not a real day-off. I use those days to answer emails and organize the budget or the inventory. Takes every waking moment to run a restaurant or bar, you know?”

“I don’t know. How do you balance everything?”

“Well, I love my job. It’s hard, but I don’t find it draining. I guess that helps. I don’t mind waking up at five in the morning, working, and going to sleep, at least not yet. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall someday, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.”

You’re afraid to ask the next question. “How do you balance your relationship with Karina when you’re so busy?”

“Phone calls, Facetime, designated nights for dates, surprise visits, little gifts and flowers here and there,” he nodded, looking at the table. “It’s hard, but we’re trying. That’s what’s important.”

Your coffee’s bitter and you didn’t want to bother with it after a couple of sips, but you keep at it to keep your lips occupied and to hide the way your teeth grit at the underlying accusation. “That takes a lot of patience. Some people struggle with that.”

He caught your drift and it appeared he realized he deserved that. “And you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even casually?”

“No. Some dates here and there, but they never stick.”

“Why is that?”

“Either they’re boring, too intimidated by a strong female corporate supplicant, or I’m the problem.”

“Isn’t it -” he began but stopped himself. “Never mind.”

“Say what you mean,” you pushed light heartedly.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

It’s true that it seemed like Cupid made his way around your friend group and you were the last to get hit. When your friends came home at night, they’d be welcomed into open arms and warm bodies. You came home to snacks and warmth was in the form of a fuzzy blanket you kept on the couch. At the height of your career, you once believed that love could wait, that it would find you at the right time and you’d know right then you were ready. As Minho sat across from you picking your brain about the emptiness that came with climbing the corporate ladder, the fear of feeling incomplete was imminent.

You wouldn’t let him see that part of you.

“I like my alone time.”

“But you have so much love in your heart.” He cleared his throat, regretting the arrangement of those words when he saw how your face twisted. What would he know about what’s in your heart? “Who do you give your affections to?”

“Must it be romantic?” you retorted. “My love is given to those you saw on my birthday.”

“I guess not. You’ve always been a romantic, though.”

“Five years is more than enough time to change who I was the last time you saw me.”

“Is that change good?” he asked nervously.

‘Is the result of feeling loveless from rejection and isolation a good change? Are you an idiot?’ you wanted to ask. But that would put the blame on him and blaming him meant acknowledging how much he affected you after all these years.

“Is that change good,” you repeated thoughtfully. “Neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“I think the decision we made five years ago put us where we are today; we’re both successful young adults thriving in a beautiful city. But I lost you as a result. So, the good must come with some bad. That’s neutral, no?”

His lips formed a smile, but again, it did not travel to his eyes. “You know, I was scared to come here today.”

“I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“At first I thought, ‘wow, Chaeryoung did not try hard to pretend to be you at all.’”

You giggled. “No; no, she didn’t.”

“And then I thought, ‘we’ll be in public. She won’t kill me in front of people, right?’”

“Kill you!”

“But I know that wouldn’t have stopped you either way,” he grinned. “You haven’t killed me yet. Is it crazy of me to think of this as a good sign?”

“A sign! Is there something you’re looking to gain out of this meeting?” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, “a friend.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, but your face twisted in a way that mimicked your thoughts. “A friend?”

“I know you and I have said and done some unkind things back then that we may not be able to forgive each other for, but after seeing you on your birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. You may not believe me, but I miss you.”

Your head and your heart were in conflict. You had spent all this time trying not to miss him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unwilling to say the truth. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you all of a sudden. But… do you think it’s possible? That we could be friends again?”

How quickly would you lose him a second time? “I think we shouldn’t force it.”

“Friendships bloom naturally, of course.”

A flash of pink blurred your peripherals before it became the center of your attention. Karina held a finger to her lips as she approached Minho from behind, covering his eyes with her slender fingers. He took her hand and kissed it, leaning back to look at his glittering diamond with hearts in his eyes. They were a beautiful couple and it was as clear as day how much they adored each other. Witnessing love was supposed to be like looking at a garden of roses, but as you sat across in a front-row seat, you thought to yourself how much you disliked the smell of roses, anyway.

“Hi!” she greeted happily. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have lunch plans.”

You shook your head, dismissing the tightness in your gut. “No, please interrupt. I’m sorry for keeping him.”

“Would you like to join?”

You would rather jump off the roof of your fifty-floor office building. “Thank you, but I made plans with my co-workers already.”

“Then, we’ll have to get dinner some time!”

It pained you how much you disliked her. She didn’t deserve it. “Dinner some time sounds great.”

As Minho got up to leave, he leaned over the table and in a hushed tone said, “I just want you to know that you still cannot hide your feelings on your face.”

“My boss thinks it’s my killing charm.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Minho’s wink was like a button that set off every alarm in your body. As he walked away, hand-in-hand with the love of his life, you tortured yourself watching them recede until they rounded the corner.

–

Unfortunately, it was common workplace etiquette to have drinks with your coworkers after hours now that your schedules had slowed down. How convenient it was that ‘DAHLIA’ was open and even more so that your coworkers were eager to go. Initially, you tried to wiggle out of going, but your close comrade Choi San wouldn’t allow it.

He slammed his veiny hand on your desk, and you jumped. “Jesus -”

“_____ _____,” he boomed, loudly announcing your government name.

“No.”

“Come on! You haven’t joined us in, like, forever!”

“Forever will continue.”

“And if I bribe you with free drinks?”

You paused typing. “I’m listening.”

“You, me, and the forty-fifth floor at ‘DAHLIA’ in ten minutes.”

“‘DAHLIA’?” you repeated. “Does it have to be that bar?”

“Mingi already called the place to reserve. Why, is it not good?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Then make haste, my lady!”

The whole way across the street, San had his arm around your shoulder in a tight grip, too afraid to let you slip at the slightest chance of hesitancy. The smooth skin of his forearms touched your neck and it was close enough to smell the cologne he dabbed just minutes before leaving the building, which you now realized to be on purpose.

Inside, a bunch of young corporate acolytes gathered all throughout the bar, all of whom you worked and were familiar with. Minho, though busy taking their orders, saw you and San come in. He did a double take, eyebrow twitching upwards at the arm suffocating your neck. Your lips formed the words, ‘kill me’, as San guided you forward to the line to order.

Small talk with San was never small when he easily filled you in on his latest interests and hobbies. The other women in the office who were nearby engaged with him enthusiastically. Admittedly, there were a multitude of reasons why San was popular around the office. He was intelligent, always willing to lend a helping hand, had a positive attitude even when days were long and tough, and most importantly, he was so hot that your boss had to jokingly warn him several times to tone it down. His argument was it wasn’t his fault that button-downs were tight on his back and arms.

Minho was the one to usher you forward with his index and middle fingers.

San wrapped his arm around your shoulder again for no apparent reason. “Hello!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Hi. _____,” he addressed to you informally.

“‘Sup, Minho,” you sighed.

“You two know each other?” San inquired. “Is that why you didn’t want to come?”

San’s only flaw was that he talked too much. Your jaw ticked. “Old friends. And no, that’s not why.”

“Oh!”

“What can I get you two?” You thought you heard ice in Minho’s voice, but you must be mistaken.

You needed something strong. “A negroni, please.”

“Double that,” San said.

Minho neither confirmed nor denied hearing the order before starting on it. Finally, you’re able to breathe easier when the weight of San’s muscly arm lets you go, confident that you wouldn’t book it out the bar. He instead turned his body to you, creating a wall and making you feel like you were under a microscope.

“Your presentation to the team yesterday was, um, amazing,” he stuttered.

Calling a weekly work presentation amazing was odd; he’s heard you lead them probably a hundred times by now. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“And the way you were able to answer all of the questions Boss Man fired at you? It’s no wonder you’re his favorite.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite.”

“Well, you’re my favorite.” As soon as those words left his lips, he pursed them together and shut his eyes. “I-I mean the team’s favorite.”

You nearly snorted, though your smile was hard to hide. “That’s… certainly an honor -”

“Two negronis,” Minho interrupted as he pushed the glasses forward.

“I got it,” San reiterated.

“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you over in a bit; gonna talk to my good ol’ friend here,” you forced a grin. Like an obedient dog, San joined the others at the reserved tables.

“Wow, he’s…” Minho trailed off. “A lot.”

“Mother always said not to say mean things.”

“That was me being nice. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

“Minho! That would be highly inappropriate workplace behavior,” you teased, though he didn’t seem amused. “Besides, what do you know about my type?”

He smirked. “I think I would know better than anyone.”

The twinge in your chest was crushing. Had Cupid returned with sturdier arrows? “Remember, things can change.”

“Did they, though?”

Why did that matter? “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The whole night, San hovered over you like a shadow, more than he ever had before. Maybe he saw Minho as competition after your coworkers prodded for the story behind you and the hot bartender. He wouldn’t have to worry, though, as he was highly mistaken about both Minho and having interest in someone you worked with.

You would thank San in the morning for dragging you out that night because he reminded you the importance of camaraderie. It was nice to be surrounded by people who shared the same professional struggles as you and it was freeing for everyone to let their walls down. Many of your co-workers were also single and struggling, filling the bar with chatter about failed dates and competing to see who had the worst one as of late. This was the first night in a long while that you had fun, and even though the man that haunted your thoughts was less than twenty feet away, you wouldn’t let him ruin this one night out of many.

But you felt it; that burn in the back of your head like twin cigarettes had bore themselves into your skull; the piercing eyes of an onlooker who couldn’t look away from you and the buff man next to you all night. Each time you tried to catch him in the act, he had anticipated it, busying himself with a customer or peeling orange twists, and when you looked away, you’d feel it again.

Like a worm eating its way through an apple, the fire in Minho’s eyes consumed you.

–

‘Wya?’

On a random weeknight, Minho texted you this just as you were leaving the office. You looked around outside looking for a sniper or an inconspicuous spy but did not see anything suspicious or sensed any danger. To that, you replied with, ‘Leaving the office. Why?’

‘Don’t move.’

If you weren’t panicking before, you were now. Then, from around the alley where ‘DAHLIA’ was, Minho popped up with a tote bag on his arm and an apron slung over his shoulder. He waved and flashed his feline smile, unaware of how cryptic his texts were.

“You didn’t literally have to not move,” he teased.

“Maybe you should normalize giving context.”

“Context is: do you have dinner plans tonight?”

Your plan was to pick up grocery store sushi and binge watch TV, if you’d call that a plan. “Not really. Why?”

He gestured to his tote bag. “I was going to my test kitchen. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”

You considered saying no, but free food was involved. Plus, this is what friends would do, right? “Where’s this test kitchen of yours?”

“In my townhome. ‘Test kitchen’ just sounds cooler.”

The train ride to Minho’s place was the same distance as yours, just in the opposite direction. There wasn’t a ‘nice’ or a ‘bad’ side of the city, but you definitely wouldn’t classify this as the ‘bad’ side. Rows and rows of townhomes occupied endless streets in this neighborhood and each one had its own charm. Minho’s was right in the middle and the reddest, brickiest one on the block while the others had conformed to a more modern grey stucco-style.

The inside was anything but traditional though, with touches of modern style and technology. The first floor was similar to your loft, with an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room meant for a true host and entertainer. The kitchen, of course, was the most updated, with a fancy six-burner stove, a magnetic display of different knives, and a giant white-granite island.

Soonie, Doongie, and Dori greeted Minho first by rubbing up against his calves and then greeted you second, unaware of the time that passed and recognizing your scent like you were only gone on a short trip.

You gasped happily, scratching their little heads and ears. “My fat ‘n furry step-children!”

“Looks like they missed you,” Minho chuckled.

“Oh, I missed you, too!” you cooed. “Can I help with any prep?”

“Can you help wash the produce?”

“Yes, chef.”

You tried not to stare too long at Minho while he tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. There were vegetables in his tote bag you’ve never seen before, like the bulbous onion-like thing that smelled of licorice and a variation of a mushroom that looked like it would turn you into a zombie.

“Everything’s a vegetable or a fruit,” you noted.

“I’m attempting some vegetarian and vegan options outside of a salad and some dessert. If it doesn’t work out, the Thai place down the street is really good.”

Minho instructed you to cut vegetables in ways that you didn’t even know had a name to the technique. You had to tell him to talk to you like a five-year-old because you were not someone who knew what it meant to julienne a carrot or prepare the mise en place.

The first dish was a seared cabbage wedge. Cut the head into wedges; sear on the pan; make a soy-sugar-rice-vinegar saucy thing; shave a potato and toast it like a breadcrumb; retrieve the soy-and-smoke-cured egg yolk and… shave it?

“What do you mean ‘shave it’?” you muttered, holding the hardened yellow orb of congealed something in one hand and a sharp sword-like thingamabob in the other. “Isn’t it going to burst?”

Minho, bless his heart, stood behind you and guided your hands together. His hands, despite going through hundreds of washes and touching all things hot and cold, were soft and warm on top of yours. He had you shave one quarter of the solid egg yolk over the dressed cabbage wedge.

“The yolk is cured, so it’s solid all the way through,” he said.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and it turned hot. Was the oven set to a thousand degrees? “O-Oh! Wow, that’s cool. Is it done?”

It was only then that Minho released his hold. “Yup. Try it.”

Cooking was a hidden form of sorcery. It was one of the most complex and delicious dishes you’ve ever eaten. Salty from the potato breadcrumb, savory from the egg yolk, and sweet from the soy sauce, feeling different textures and flavors so good you had to stop yourself from moaning.

“Good?” he asked. All you could do was nod vigorously with eyes wide and glittering. He smiled genuinely and his eyes sparkled, too. He opened his mouth and said, “Ah~”

That was your cue to feed him a bite. You gathered the perfect amount of everything onto a fork for him. As he chewed, his brows knitted together thoughtfully and you’re unsure of what that expression meant. From his pocket, he took out a small field notes book and scribbled something quickly.

“You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I like it a lot.”

“Why is your face like that?”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look so angry.”

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Next was a vegetarian bone marrow. Nothing about bones or marrows sounded remotely vegetarian, but Minho handed you two fat king oyster mushrooms to halve and remove the centers while he sautéed a medley of other mushrooms in salted butter, garlic, and thyme. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as you both worked. Nothing felt awkward, or forced, or as bitter as your last meetings were.

As you waited for Minho’s further instructions, you toured the living space and observed all the pictures. You were in about half of them. Most were of your entire friend group, but many were significant moments in your lives, like graduation, birthdays, talent shows, or candid solo pictures. After all these years, when you kept any evidence of him hidden in a shoe box in your closet, he displayed you loud and proud. You glossed over the number of pictures of Karina for your own sake but seeing her face that many times made you stop looking.

When you turned back, Minho was staring at you so intently, he forgot to pretend he wasn’t watching.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Um, the next step is ready.”

Under an immersive blender (“Immersion blender, silly.”) was the sautéed medley and the guts of the king oyster mushroom, softened cream cheese, and olive oil. The paste was bagged and piped back into the charred and seasoned center of the cut-out king oyster mushroom. With a flame torch, Minho darkened the paste, creating a bruleed outer layer, and topped it off with pink peppercorns, pecorino, and chives. Triangles of buttered toast were the vehicle.

Minho took a spoon and scooped out the center. “A little bit of ‘marrow’ and voila. And the ‘bone’ is edible, too, obviously.”

Your eyes teared up at the fireworks of umami. “Will you cater for my next birthday?”

“For you, I will.”

After course upon course of seared and leafy bites of savory and salty goodness, you greenlit practically all of them to Minho’s dismay (“Guinea pig means to critique, not suck up to.”). Dessert was the final leg of courses. From preserved lemon sorbets to chocolatey bites of flourless cake, you would fall into a deep sleep tonight on a cloud of spun sugar.

“I’m drunk on life,” you sighed happily.

“I like you best that way.”

“Seriously, Minho, you have something really good here. I’m no expert, but I think –”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Chocolate on your lip.”

“Huh? Here?” you licked once.

“Not even close.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Where’s a napkin?”

“Hold still, will you?”

Minho held your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted up. Like a surgeon, he meticulously wiped away all evidence of your inner chocolate-devouring goblin with his other thumb. For a moment, he lowered his hand to wipe it on his apron, but he caught you looking at his lips.

“Th-Thanks,” you whispered.

He took the chocolate-covered thumb and sucked it clean, maintaining his gaze before it lowered. “My pleasure.”

The kitchen felt hot and it was hard to breathe. The alarms in your head went off again; the longer you stayed, the faster you’d fall. “I-I should go.”

“Wait –”

“This was great by the way!” you called as you backed up towards the door. “S-So good! And thank you, I will pay you back for any groceries!”

“That’s not necessary, I invited you here.”

“Let me know what you decide to add to the menu, and I’ll-I’ll stop by some time, yeah?”

You didn’t give him the opportunity to answer before running out the door.

–

The following weeks after your inappropriately intimate tasting, you avoided Minho as long as you could. It hadn’t even been a month since you saw him for the first time and you already crossed the thin line that was never meant to be crossed. You couldn’t even be strong for that long before you fell back into the routine of desiring the one man you weren’t allowed to have.

This was the curse of Cupid. He had successfully shot and landed an arrow into every friend you loved, pairing them up with their person and the match-up was so right it was scary. Somehow, at the perfect time under the correct circumstances, your friends found the ones that completed their other half, or so they said, and you witnessed love in full bloom every time it happened and everyday since. When it was shoved in your face like that, how could you not think about what you were missing out on every single day of your life?

You used to think considering a couple as two halves was a disservice to humanity. Halves implied that part of you was missing; it suggested that one could never be whole alone, that they spend their whole lives finding someone who fit the two-piece puzzle. A two piece puzzle was supposed to be the easiest puzzle in the world, but in a box filled with over eight billion pieces, it would take forever for Cupid to pair the pieces. At twenty-five, after that stormy night, you once believed that you could survive as one single piece among the eight billion for the rest of your life at the bottom of the pieces pile, if it came to it; but now that you’re the last of the friend group to yet find your match - at thirty, at that - maybe Cupid had a point to the whole two halves make a whole argument.

Because admittedly, as much as you tried to convince yourself on your thirtieth birthday, you didn’t feel whole. Hell, you barely felt like half; and every time you saw Minho, bits of you were being chipped off to the point that you were scared of losing your half of the puzzle.

To distract yourself from thinking about Minho licking chocolate from your lips, you finally jumped the gun and downloaded dating apps for the first time. Well, Chaeryoung and Jisung did.

“Put on your bathing suit,” she ordered.

“Excuse you.”

“What? All your selfies are so normal!”

“Normal is a good thing, Chaer.”

“But it’s not,” Jisung piped in. “Dating is not what it used to be. Before, it was as simple as looking pretty, saying your favorite song or movie, and naming the restaurant you want your first date to be at. Now, you have to get personal. Name a niche hobby, what character from a TV show represents you the most, what childhood trauma affected your frontal lobe development -”

“Ok, I get it.”

Jisung and Chaeryoung sandwiched you tightly on the couch even though the view of the tablet was easily seen. Chaeryoung filled in all the prompts for you a little too enthusiastically while Jisung was there to judge through the lens of the male gaze and snacks.

The woman beside you cackled evilly. “This is so much fun! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

“Seriously. What man made you do this?” Jisung teased.

You yanked the tablet back. “No one.”

“Liar.”

“Who do you think, Han?” Chaeryoung stated bluntly. “Who else could have brought this blessing upon us?”

“Oh,” he mused, “duh.”

“Shut up, both of you! No one made me do this. Am I not worthy of finding love?”

“Of course you are. Just not this way.”

“Why not this way?”

“Just watch.”

The second someone completes their profile, it’s like the app forces it at the top of everyone’s algorithm. You received a lot of interest and private messages in the first five minutes, many of which were… bold…

“Men are so uncouth,” you groaned. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shrugged, pointing to his head and then his groin. “Two heads, two brains.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Chaeryoung swiped left at lightning speed. “Too young, too old, too short, too tall, too smart –”

“I like smart,” you pouted.

“The key to a healthy relationship is to be smarter than them.” Jisung didn’t argue, as he was happily committed to his intelligent partner (a mystery to all, as no one knew how he bagged a research fellow).

There’s a knock on your door. The three of you look at each other in confusion.

“You two need to stop secretly inviting strange men to my home,” you accused before getting up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jisung defended, “did you?” Chaeryoung denied.

When you opened the door, a disheveled Minho stood there with an oily bag in his hands. He raised a brow. “Am I that strange?”

Just as you were trying to trust in the dating app algorithm, the Gods and Cupid said, ‘let there be chaos!’ “You, specifically? A little bit.”

“Ha ha,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah!” Jisung called from the couch. “This is girl time, Min!”

“Shut up!” Chaeryoung pulled Jisung up from the couch and they both patted your head before rushing out the door. “We’ll see you later, _____!”

“Y-You don’t have to leave!” you practically begged.

“Honey, it’s past-nine on a weekday, yes we do!”

“I didn’t realize the time,” Minho frowned, looking at his watch. “I was nearby with Hyunjin and thought I’d stop by with some fries to make up for Chaeryoung tossing them out on your birthday.”

You don’t even remember that happening. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I can come back another time.”

“No!” you said an octave too high. “No, please come in!”

Minho’s outfit was more casual than ‘DAHLIA’s typical button down and tight slacks and you deduced he was working at ‘RED LIGHT’ today. There were multiple oil and/or beer stains on his shirt and his hair was parted and pointing in different directions, evidence of his hand having to go through it several dozen times out of stress.

“You look…”

“I know,” he sighed, plopping the bag on the table. “There was a work-lunch event today that turned into dinner for some corporate slugs. Then, Hyunjin was looking at a location for his coffee excursion and asked for my help. Four hours later, I’m starving and thought of you.”

He was thinking of you a lot lately, it seemed, and it was hard to deny that you reciprocated. “This is wonderful, thank you. I owe you two dinners now.”

“You don’t ‘owe’ me anything. Friends don’t owe; they treat.”

“My treat next time, then.”

“And the next,” he reminded with a smirk. “What were you girlies doing just now?”

“Um,” you hesitated, cheeks stuffed with potato. “Making me a dating profile.”

He raised a brow in the same way when he saw you walking in with San: questioning and dissatisfied. “You never had one before?”

“I was on-and-off when I first moved here, but I couldn’t stand to open the apps after a couple days of usage.”

He does the thing with his fingers when he gestures to come close. You noticed his hands were veinier now than when you were younger.

“Let me see.”

“Let you see my dating profile?” He nodded. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you an opinion through the male gaze.”

“Why do you think Jisung was here?”

“Certainly not that.”

Defeated, you handed him your phone with the app open. There’s a twinkle of curiosity wondering how he’d react, but you wanted to tame that fire quickly. He scrolled and swiped, then scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.

His face was stern when he said, “You already have a lot of admirers.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer and continued to scroll. “What about that guy you work with?”

“San? What about him?”

“Nothing came of it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that would be inappropriate?”

“Is that the only reason stopping you?”

You squint your eyes at your all too curious friend who hadn’t looked up from your phone since taking it. He popped fries in his mouth rhythmically like a metronome until he caught the heat from your gaze. He looked up and did a double take.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Why are you so curious?”

“So, there’s another reason stopping you?”

“And if there is?”

“And if there is…” he repeated, fiddling with your phone charm. “Would you tell me?”

The inkling of assumption tickled annoyingly at the corners of your mind. Was he asking to let you know that he knew he was the reason for your desires? Or was he asking to tease you, to prove to you that if you had made the right decision all those years ago, you could have been in Karina’s position? That all this time you spent away from him, your journey for companionship started too late. And sure, your bank account was as filled as your stomach, but was it worth it when you had no one to share it with?

He waited patiently for your answer, but you heard his foot tapping rapidly on the wood. Your mouth opened, then closed, and you finally shook your head in shame, because your lips were cursed to speak the truth or nothing at all and you would rather deny than to admit.

He licked his lips, and that gesture alone sparked something in your core. Then he nodded in a way that expressed sourness, as if this confirmation was exactly what he expected but not what he was hoping in both the nonverbal response and the underlying tone that trailed behind it.

You broke the silence. “How’s Karina?”

“Good.” He was quick to shake his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch a month ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve… been too busy.”

Shameful and embarrassed, was what you gathered from his response. As he should; to criticize your decision only to repeat the cycle when he found fulfillment in his career was so… Hypocritical was not a strong enough word. Betrayal, perhaps, was the most correct, but that didn’t satisfy you, either.

You wouldn’t get satisfaction from any angle, though. No matter how you viewed it, it was selfish to consider yourself relevant here. Minho was hurting; everything you feared about relationships had flowered before him and crushed the idea that perfection could be achieved as long as both people tried. But it seemed that although he tried, it wasn’t enough, and maybe his ideals were more out of the ordinary than he anticipated.

“It’s put a bit of a strain on our relationship. She wants to settle down and I… I thought I did, too, but… you know, my places have been growing so much, and…”

As he trailed off and off through a list of excuses, it took you all the way back to the night that it rained. You also spat excuses from your pockets and got nowhere. Now, Minho was on your side, but it didn’t feel great, either.

“What’s more important to you?” you asked.

That was the age-old dilemma, wasn’t it? What was most important to someone as an adult who spent most of their life getting educated and preparing for the professional world to milk money from consumers; the career they adored and earned or the love they found along the way? One could argue they could live without love, but could one live with themselves if they gave up their dream? How many rom-coms have you and Minho laughed at where the world that movie was set in was in a vacuum and the couple always chose each other? Though the plot was fake, the dilemma was real, and the choices they made in the movies were just not realistic.

“Important,” he chuckled, understanding what you were getting at. “Why can’t both be important to me?”

“They can, but it’s clear your efforts are imbalanced in one direction. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”

The fries were long gone. Minho stood up and tossed the bag in the trash before grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine leftover from your birthday and two glasses. You supposed tonight would be the most appropriate night to finish it off. Plus, Minho needed it, apparently.

“I tried, you know,” he sighed, “I really did. I text every night; I send her flowers to her office; I cook for her, shower her with gifts, and tell her regularly that I-I…”

Minho didn’t complete his thought, but you knew what he meant to say. Why would he not, for your sake? “That you love her?”

“Yeah. That I loved her.” Your glasses raised in sync. “I get it. I’m not as present, and I get her love language is quality time, but when did the thought stop counting?”

“Have you considered you two aren’t compatible?”

“Anyone can be compatible, no? Where’s the effort?”

Now you were feeling annoyed. Were these digs subconsciously at you? “Effort can only go so far. You said her love language is quality time. You could do everything in between, but you’re not there to hold her, to kiss her, to tangle under the bed sheets as much as she wants, then guess what? She’s never going to feel the love that she wants and deserves.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

“I don’t know what you want. Does she? Do you?”

Minho chugged the rest of the cabernet in his glass, nose wrinkling, before pouring in more with a heavy hand. You ignored how cute his nose looked. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Ok, so you can’t complain is what I’m hearing.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose, annoyed that someone who he confided in didn’t feed into his fantasy that his ideology was gospel.

“Ahh!” he groaned loudly to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. I thought this was supposed to get easier when we were older?”

“What? Love?” you scoffed. “Look at us; I’m stuck on the apps and you’re stuck in your ways. You think this gets easier just because we have more ‘life experience’?” Your air quotes were overly exaggerated. “No, dude. People are dumb at every age.”

“I’m not dumb,” he pouted.

“You’re a little dumb.”

He giggled a bit and it traveled down his belly to a full laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, too, which grew into your own fit of laughs, and the condo was filled with ugly laughs and tears of joy, pain, and all that was locked inside your’s and Minho’s souls since inception. These nights were the ones you once looked forward to.

When the giggles died down, he stared blankly at the swirling wine in the glass and asked, “Do you think we could have worked out?”

You felt your cheeks and nose flare brightly. “Worked out? Like if we tried?”

In some other tangential timeline, Minho moved to the city. Maybe he still bought out ‘RED LIGHT’, and you would visit him everyday after work and bring your coworkers in to show off your hot bartender boyfriend. Then, you’d take the train home together. You’d wind down on the couch watching a couple episodes of something light and crawl into bed in each other’s arms. Your lips would never leave his unless it was to come up for air, arms wrapped around his naked torso as he crawled on top, and mumbling praises and poems of how much you adored him.

Like an asteroid that orbits a planet, you revolve your life around him and his happiness. If you tried long distance or if you gave up your career, it would be a difficult feat, and happiness would not be found in that desert. Leaving for the city was for the best. He eventually found his oasis, and you were still on the long journey of finding yours in between the infinite dunes.

Before you realized, your nose burned some more and your vision blurred. “I think it still would have been really hard.”

“Would it have been worth it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but the wine in your veins was overtaking, “it would only have been worth it if it was with you.”

“Then, why?” he begged. “What happened to ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’?”

“After all this time, you still can’t see what I see. I never want to risk something where I would lose you. So, I didn’t think I’d lose you if I said no.”

“This is… so stupid…”

“Don’t insult me in my home.”

“No, I… I…” he stuttered, and it’s just now you see his eyes were glossy, too. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s so fucking stupid.”

It was stupid; you moved out to move on, and here he was at your door bringing you french fries and opening bars across from where you work, invading your life like a decade-old infectious disease with no ailment known to man-kind. It was stupid; he was taken, spitting out confessions of his failing love story to the one he ended, telling you he still thinks of you before he sleeps. It was very stupid, and it pained you not to fall for it.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“______ -”

“You can’t think of me.”

He reached out across the table to take your hands. You allowed it, because you were a weak, weak woman, starving for touch and hungry for him. His skin was rough and tired from the dehydrating soaps of the service industry, but they felt so right.

“Tell me you don’t think of me,” he demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What does it mean for you to leave? You will leave my home, and then what? Will you try to be better for her? You’ll stay in my life and we can be friends? Or will you leave permanently and change the dynamic of our friend group forever for the second time?” By now, the tears were falling and words choked as they came out, but your grip on him betrayed you and you held on like he was hanging off a cliff.

“I… The… The former…”

“Then, no. No, I don’t think of you. I’m not tormented by you, I’m not in ruins when I see you, I don’t smell you on my clothes, I don’t see you when I close my eyes, or in stranger’s faces when they pass, I don’t dream of you, and I definitely don’t think of you every second of everyday!”

“You can’t even convince yourself anymore. Why won’t you be vulnerable with me?”

“Vulnerability is weakness, Minho! I have been strong for so long; without you, at that!” your voice was shrill and loud and you couldn't be bothered to sit. You were up from your chair, leaning over the table, and he winced as you kept going. “You come here, turn my life upside down, and ask me to be vulnerable? To lower my guard around you? After you abandoned me all because the circumstances weren’t right at that moment? Fuck you.”

He got up from the table to get to you and towered over you, torso much wider than you remembered. He was too close, and you could feel him feel you. Your body hadn’t turned to face him, too scared to face your biggest fear, so he forced it upon you by holding your shoulders. His eyes, so big and brown that it was easy to drown in them, dug deep into yours and pleaded with everything he had in his heart.

“Fine, don’t be vulnerable, but show yourself some mercy, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mercy? I want someone I can’t have. How does that merit mercy?”

He faltered a bit and you regretted the moment you invited him in. His eyebrows furrowed in what you thought was pity. Your head dropped in shame; that was the last thing you needed. His hands moved to hold your face as if he never wanted you to drop something so precious to him ever again.

“Don’t,” you repeated.

His forehead connected with yours and suddenly, you felt young again. It’s what you needed, what you wanted, but…

“I want to kiss you.”

The rush from five years ago hit you like a truck. “I want to kiss you, too.”

Every emotion, every desire, collided into the kiss. His hands swiftly moved to your waist and pulled you in until every millimeter of you touched some part of him and soon your hands were lost in his hair. His lips were soft, and you always imagined them to feel like petals of a tulip, but he was earnest and there was some pain in the amount of pressure he pressed into you. The pain felt good, the feeling of being wanted made your heart soar, and you two exchanged gasps and moans as your lips moved fervently, hungry for indulgence after being teased with temptation. But his tongue tasted sour, and bitter, and nothing like the coffee and chocolate you once dreamed of, because this circumstance was yet again not right. He tasted like rotting fruit because stolen fruit was never sweet.

You broke away, gasping and sniffling and it was so hard to breathe. “You’re not mine,” you cried.

“But you have always been mine,” he whispered, with his breath ghosting your lips.

You shook your head, over and over until you freed yourself from his grip, wishing you’d be free of him forever. You turned your back to him, unable to show your face as you said, “I think you should leave.”

Back then, you wished he fought for you as much as he wished you to do the same. You wished he’d followed you, or waited for you until the time was right, but of course time didn’t wait for anyone. Deep down, as you broke into pieces in your dining room, you hoped he’d fight for you then, too, and proclaim that his heart belonged to only you. You were fooled twice, and as the saying goes, shame on you.

The failure of reciprocity would weigh you down just as much. You never fought for him the way you wished he would for you for the simple fact that you weren’t allowed to. He was a taken man, a man who said not too long ago how he told her he loved her every single night, and it would destroy you how he’d go home later and still say those words.

You believed everyone was worthy of love, including you. The love you wanted wasn’t supposed to feel tainted or spoiled. No matter how much you wanted him, how much he claimed he wanted you from the very start, you wouldn’t be that kind of woman who stole someone’s man, and therefore you would not confess to anything else that lay hidden away in your heart.

Minho left quietly. The battle was over, and you broke down on the floor.

Heavy and loud sobs escaped your quivering lips in a poor attempt to dissipate the pain that expanded in your chest. Your cries echoed into the open loft until you couldn’t stand the sound of your voice and wasting tissues, but your body wouldn’t let up. So, you transferred yourself to the bathroom, running a hot shower and curling up on the tile until the water ran cold. Here, your cries were muffled by the artificial rain, just as you had cried into the storm that ugly night long ago.

You called in sick the following day.

–

For the next quarter, you were happy you were swamped with work, for once. That meant waking up early, taking the train when the sun had barely risen, and leaving when it had long gone to sleep. It was the same for most people in the office and you were blessed with not having to conjure up a lie to get away from San’s advances to get you to happy hour.

In sum, you hoped it meant you’d be too busy to think of him, but when you had only a single moment, a single second of freedom, he invaded every bit of you. He was a virus, a parasite, sucking the life out of you like he was reminding you what you desired that once was within arms reach was now lost forever. Like Icarus, you fell from the ether into despair, surrounded by darkness from the absence of the sun in your only moments outside of the office. On days when you were off, you had begged your boss to let you come in, to distract you with some enrichment of any stupid task even if it meant gluing together inadvertently shredded proprietary documents for sixteen hours, but HR would catch on too quickly, was what he said.

You hoped to fall hopelessly in this troposphere of purgatory forever, operating through the days on autopilot, but your heart had sunk to your gut and it ached to land on the earth to end the pain. Just as you were getting the hang of flowing with the wind, Minho called once. Then, he called twice. On the third, you almost answered, but when your eyes welled and you struggled to breathe, you figured it was your body’s reaction to falling faster and further beneath the clouds. You spent those nights he called curled up in some corner of your home under a multitude of blankets waiting for the headache and heartache to subside, but by then the night turned to dawn and time was limited.

Chaeryoung would call, too; she’d text; she’d send you food, coffee, and chocolates, and much of it went cold because any sight of food made you nauseous. Lately, you moved so slow that sustenance wasn’t a necessity anymore, nor was it a pleasure. She was always quite the worrywart, so you tried to answer as much and as vaguely as you could, but at one point it was too exhausting to keep up the lie and you gave up, leaving her with one-worded answers that didn’t satisfy either party.

And so you continued to fall; continued to cry, rot, and falter when all you had done was taste forbidden fruit.

His birthday approached faster than you could get over him.

For a while, no one seemed to mind your absence besides Chaeryoung and Minho, who had called to see if you were attending any of the last-minute get-togethers or planned reservations in the recent month. The one big one you regretted missing was Chan’s birthday, who was rightfully miffed, but you hoped the gift you shipped would make up for it. You kept up with social media, though, and liked all the pictures that came from those nights.

Each post, you’d look for him. You’d admire what he was wearing; you’d wonder what cologne he was wearing; you’d imagine the way his eyes lit up when Karina walked in the room. But she wasn’t in any of the photos.

You didn’t tell anyone what transpired the second time with Minho. It was too embarrassing to have fallen for him twice, which sent feminism back at least a decade. You were going to conjure up some work-related lie to get out of his birthday celebration, but Chaeryoung wouldn’t allow it and even went as far as messaging San for confirmation about your work schedule.

In a huff, she busted through to your home before you could reject her kindness. Normally, your girl was all smiles and full of expressions, but tonight she was strict and stern, which meant she was mad. Very mad.

“I need you to not message my coworkers, please,” you said as she filtered through your closet. “I don’t want a meeting with HR on Monday.”

She didn’t turn to face you when she snapped, “It felt like you were lying, so I had to double check.”

“I wasn’t lying. It was busy, but we just lightened up after the deadline yesterday.”

“So, why couldn’t you tell me that?”

“I needed an excuse to not go tonight.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated with how insufferable you were being. She turned to you with glossy eyes and you regretted avoiding her lately. “Aren’t I your friend?”

Her having to ask really stung. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then can’t you tell me why you disappeared for three months?”

“I… it’s hard, Chaer…”

“For God’s sake, _____, you’re thirty. Act like it, and use your words!”

“I can’t,” your voice cracked, “I can’t see Minho.”

Her face softened, realizing maybe that night when she left you with someone you saw as a stranger was not what a best friend did. You watched her scan through your slumped posture and sunken eyes before she lunged and hugged you tightly. Tears burned, the feeling of gentle humanity fulfilling your highest hierarchy of needs overflowing all your emotions.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We kissed,” you whispered back.

“And?”

“I kissed back.”

“But?”

“He’s not mine.”

She pushed you to arms length, eyes knitting sternly. “I think you should go tonight.”

“Chaer -”

“Trust me. You might regret it. It’s his thirtieth, after all.” She pushed away the hairs that cling to your forehead before running to grab some make up. “Let me do your make-up! It’ll be like your twenty-first all over again.”

She sat you down on your bed and began to dab away at the color-correcting pallet. A box of tissues lay next to her so she could catch the tears before they fell. She created a large pile in the end.

“Do you want him to be yours?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

You wanted to smell him on your clothes, adore him in your dreams, and wake up next to him. You want him to be yours, only yours, and to not have to share him with someone who he also chose. Under this sanguine circumstance, still, you smiled at this very thought, because of course the answer was, “Yes.”

And she, too smiled, her own tears forming while she dabbed yours with another fist full of tissues. “Then, go to him.”

“But -”

“_____,” she breathed sternly, sniffling a bit. “You stupid, stupid people-pleaser. Fight for yourself, for once.”

When you thought the battle was long over, little did you know you were still fighting all this time.

Despite trying not to think of him, as his birthday approached, the calendar terrorized you to get him a gift. Just in case, you know? It was a fancy Nakiri knife whose steel was decorated in waves. The Internet told you that a chef’s knife was similar to that of a samurai’s sword, so only the highest quality of Damascus steel was preferred. As you held the box in your hand at his front steps, your mind and heart kept battling with each other and debated whether or not getting a personal gift was too intimate versus a gift card to some generic restaurant to establish a boundary.

But wasn’t the boundary already too blurry, anyways?

Chaeryoung pushed you inside the already-unlocked door. All the boys and their partners and Chaeryoung’s now-official real man were already there surrounding the island. Minho, who just had a grin on, dropped it quickly upon seeing you come in and straightened his back. It’s like deja vu from your birthday.

Karina wasn't present.

Your body’s instinct was to turn and run out the door, but Chaeryoung anticipated your every move and was quick to block you. She squeezed your hand and tugged you further inside. You greeted the boys and their partners first, who all said a variation of, ‘long time, no see,’ before reaching Minho. His expression was still starstruck and confused. He didn’t appear angry. Perhaps it was a feeling worse than that, which could not be translated through his face.

With sweaty hands, you handed him the small rectangular box. “Happy birthday.”

He was hesitant to take it, as if to question the possibility of diffusion of poison through the skin. His hesitancy allowed you to get a whiff of his bourbon vanilla cologne. “Thank you.”

“Oh, so you’ll come for Minho’s birthday, but not mine?” Chan pouted.

“Some things are worth coming out for,” you retorted.

The night went on and you played your role as an onlooker in the background, hoping to blend in with the walls and remain unnoticed so as to not ruin the night. You watched him and the boys shove each other playfully and inhale any and all food Minho made. Who’s to say that thirty was old when the epitome of youth was in the souls of a group of hungry boys? Conversations and debates picked up from when they last saw each other. Some of them filled you in and others forced you to answer without knowing the majority opinion. Laughs and giggles filled the kitchen and even when it seemed that Minho didn’t want to whenever you answered, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at your ridiculous answers, though he stopped when he’d catch you watching him.

As the clock ticked forward, your anticipation for Karina to pop in at any moment dwindled. Maybe she was also having a rough quarter three and taking a late night at the office, but to miss her boyfriend’s thirtieth was… a choice, even if they were fighting or some other strange reason. But then four hours turned to six hours and then it was, ‘damn, it’s already 2:00 AM?’ and she never came.

“Are you ready to go?” Chaeryoung asked at the front door.

Minho was now alone in the kitchen and there were a lot of dishes left to wash. You should help him.

“No,” you said. “I’ll call you later.”

She had a hard time hiding her grin as she left.

You approached him slowly like how you’d approach an angry cat because he was scrubbing the dishes a little too furiously. He didn’t look up despite knowing what you were up to.

“Can I help?” you asked.

Still, he refused to look at you, but he handed you the sponge. Well, that was progress, right?

Dishes and clean up were completed in silence. No chit-chat, no music, just the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the cupboards. The task was finished in good time, and just before you decided that your stay was long overdue, he pulled another deja vu card.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled to the floor.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. Chaeryoung told me to come.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve.”

A salty laugh - or perhaps a scoff - was uttered. He was tired, you were tired, and the air was cold and stale. The topics orbited like a satellite, coming ‘round for another turn for a different thirtieth celebration, if either of you would even call it that.

Minho let out a big sigh. “Only you can disappear for three months and come back into open arms.”

The words arranged sounded like a compliment, but it was clearly the opposite. “I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“Texting. E-mailing. Fuck, even snail mailing!”

“I know…”

He threw his hands in the air, as he did whenever he was frustrated, and turned to take a breather from your nonchalance. You were supposed to be fighting for him, not letting him slip away like this, but why was this so hard when loving him came easily?

“I shouldn’t have come over that night,” he said after returning. “I was trying too hard to be friends again and I crossed a point where I couldn’t return from.”

“Isn’t that the story of our friendship?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“We were never really just friends, were we?” you teased.

“No,” he admitted softly, “we never were.”

Your eyes met for the first time that night. His were red and puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in three months.

You swallowed the rock in your throat. “Where’s Karina?”

“I don’t know. I broke up with her a while ago.”

Your chest felt tight and your voice bubbled out a garbled, “Why?”

And his mirrored, to the point where he had to clear his throat. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“So, is it true? Is it better to have loved and lost?”

“I wouldn’t exchange my days with her for anything.”

It didn’t make sense; it just didn’t. When someone loved that deeply, how could they throw that person away so easily?

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I loved her and she loved me. It was fulfilling, and now it’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“If it means I get to feel like I’m flying, I think I can handle it.”

The concept, the idea of that, was just too hard to grasp. It took your wax wings melting to realize that the journey upwards was worth the descent.

“Enough about my failures,” he said hoarsely, “What about you? How… how are you doing?”

How were you supposed to admit that tonight was the first night you had a proper meal? That sleep only came under the influence of some generic-brand silver liquor? That you plucked a fist full of grey hairs the day before? Would admitting to vulnerability prove that you were fighting for this? For him? Or would it make you look pathetic?

“I’ve been doing fine.”

The centers of his brows scrunched together and his lips pursed. He inhaled heavily, his sniffles echoing through his quiet home.

“Are you?” he stuttered, voice distorted and desperate. “Really?”

No, of course not, and that much was clear when you started to cry.

“Because,” he continued, “if you can’t tell, I’m… dying on the inside.”

“Because of me?” you whispered, feeling the weight of your actions collapsing.

“Because of you. It’s always because of you. Everyday for the past ten years. It’s always been you.”

“Why couldn’t you forget me? Why? When you were the one to throw me away?”

“How!” he cried out. “How could I forget about you, when all I wanted was you?”

“You wanted to change me! You wanted me to abandon my career.” “I wanted you to try!”

“And you were right!” Sobs choked in your chest. “You were right. If I loved you, I should have fought for you. I should have tried harder. And I really shouldn’t have admitted those feelings to you when you were not mine. For everything that I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You should be. You are so mean,” he hissed, pointing harshly. “You torture me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I named my fucking bar after your favorite flower! And now you stand here in my home asking me to forget about you? How am I supposed to even begin doing that, hm? How, when everything around me reminds me of you?”

Your sobs were visceral and messy, and you buried your face in your hands. Maybe tears held the youth Ponce de Leon searched his whole life for the way yours could fill the fountain in minutes and how wiping them took away two decades of your life.

“I’m going to ask you once more,” he whispered. “One last time, and I’ll leave it be forever because I’m fucking tired. Do you think of me as often as I think of you?”

You caved in when all else went wrong and there was nothing else to hide. “Everyday.”

“Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“No,” you replied, “Because I need you. Now, let me ask you: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His lips quivered before he laughed and you do, too, because that was the cringiest thing you’ve ever said. He held your face, that precious face of yours that he adored so much, dabbing away your tears. His eyes fluttered to your lips, a habit he couldn’t shake off after all these years.

“I need you to kiss me,” he demanded.

He tasted like honey and his lips fit yours like the second half of a two-piece puzzle. This was slow and deliberate, no longer going at the crushing speed of fervent passion because you had all the time in the world together now, and Minho was always the type of man to take his time. You couldn’t stand to leave his lips even for air and they ghosted his only for a few seconds before you tip-toed and pressed yourself deeper against him. Your hands were occupied with gripping his shirt at his waist to keep him in place. When you felt his smile on your lips, you grinned back and held him by his beautiful face.

“I need you to stay,” he formed on your lips.

“All I need is you,” you answered.

Even while traveling to his bedroom, both of you refused to separate as you bumped into furniture.

“We should take this slow,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Get acquainted with each other, or whatever,” you concurred after removing his belt.

“Maybe get coffee some time?” he asked into the crook of your neck.

“Or a drink? I know this really cute bar called ‘DAHLIA’.”

He threw you onto his bed. After removing his shirt, he crawled on top. “I think I’ve heard it.”

“Oh yeah?” You undid his pants zipper. “I know the bartender. A little narcissistic, though; he thinks he’s so hot.”

He trailed kisses down your lips, to your neck, to your sternum, to your stomach, until the top of your panties where his fingers hooked. “I know he is.”

You called Chaeryoung the next afternoon. At first, she scolded you for not texting her when you got home, but when she checked your location during the call, she screamed so loud that Minho dropped the spatula while making your breakfast.

The sanguine satellite would continue to orbit her world and revolve her life around his happiness; and he would continue to do the same.

#lee minho #lee minho imagines #skz #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #lee know fic #lee know x reader #romance #friends-to-strangers-to-lovers #angst #emotional hurt with comfort #a doozy................. my longest one yet me thinks #nawt to bring in one piece but the way i screamed TAKT looking at that minho pic yeah

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