#codeinebelle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daechwitatamic · 8 days ago

Text

it's such a real and valid moment... im glad you all could feel for her :(

he is, in a way..... but i hope you can also understand the psychology of what's going on with him! it's very normal for the subconscious to try to protect us by choosing what's familiar... and that's only one layer of what's going on with him!

thank you for reading!!!!

You Think You Might - Chapter 3 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: drinking recreationally and drinking to cope with feelings but no one is Drunk, angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, Seungcheol is able to lift/hold up reader a few times, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, dry humping, shower sex, oral (f and m receiving at different points), breast play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f receiving), dirty talk, two scenes from seungcheol’s pov

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me and teaching me about the Levels of Noona. Additional thank you to @/eoieopda again because seungcheol doing the ‘whats after like’ choreo at the wedding came from their brain not mine :’)

You wake up before your alarm again, anxiety prompting you to check the clock over and over, sure you missed your alarm, missed your hair appointment, missed the wedding as a whole.

You reach across the bed for your phone, opening one eye to check the time. You still have an hour to sleep. You set it back down and realize that you had to stretch to reach it because you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed, not over on your side. Seungcheol’s body is warm behind you, one arm heavy over your middle, his hand limp against the mattress, fingers just barely brushing your belly.

You don’t think about it at all; you’re mostly asleep, driven by your id. You turn in place, grabbing onto the hoodie he slept in, pulling yourself closer and burying yourself in the warmth he’s giving off like a furnace. He grunts in his sleep, once, then you feel his arm - still over your middle - tighten against your back, pulling you in closer. He shifts, snuggling deeper against the mattress, then presses his face against the top of your head, breathing deeply. He goes still again, back into deeper sleep.

Your hands are still clutching the fabric of his hoodie when your alarm wakes you again, an hour later.

Oh jeez, you think.

You let go slowly, flexing your fingers, then scoot away as gingerly as you can, trying not to disturb his sleep.

It doesn’t work.

“You leaving?” he asks sleepily, not opening his eyes. You’re not entirely sure he knows it’s you, or that he’s here.

“Have to go,” you whisper. “Nayoung’s got us scheduled for hair and make-up starting at eight.”

He struggles to open one eye. “Are you gonna be gone all day?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, sitting cross-legged on your side of the bed. “I’ll have to stay with Nayoung and the moms and the other bridesmaid for the day. They take getting-ready pictures and stuff. You can probably spend the day with my brother and Chan? And head to the venue when they do?”

You think he might pout, but it’s possible you imagine it. Probably, he’s just giving in to feeling sleepy.

You start to shift from the bed, but he grabs for your wrist, catching your fingers instead. You still, one foot on the ground, waiting to see what he wants.

He lifts his face, which is marred with sleep lines from the pillow. He squints at you. “Try and have fun today,” he says, and it punches you in the gut how he’s barely awake but he knows you need to hear this, knows you’re already in a spiral of anxiety about the day to come. “Don’t think about everything so much - just be in it, enjoy it for what it is.”

“Okay,” you say, so that he’ll let go. It’s an empty promise, probably. “Okay, I will.”

You’re first for hair and make-up, so you get to spend the rest of the day sitting in the bridal suite trying not to mess it up. You don’t hear from any of the guys until almost noon, when Seungcheol sends you a photo - himself, Chan, and Soonyoung clearly on the beach, all making goofy faces.

hope you’re having as much fun as we are, he says.

You tap back some exclamation points and then send, “i assure you, i am not.”

Seungcheol: how come? You: just sitting in silence around the bridal suite You: having the time of my life :) You: at least we start pictures in an hour… Seungcheol: wanna play 20 questions?

The smile that creeps across your face surprises you as much as his answer.

You: god im dating a dork You: yes. you go first.

Seungcheol keeps you entertained for the next hour, until the photographer shows up, at which point you have to stash your phone and smile nice until it’s time to load into a rented van to head to the venue.

It’s grey out, but no rain falls as you follow the other ladies into the venue and upstairs to a small bridal suite. You help Nayoung get changed into her gown - which, fine, is really, really pretty - and then lose another hour to pictures, but at least the room has trays of food and glasses of champagne.

Finally, the pre-wedding events seem to die down. Outside, you can see cars of people arriving, can hear the chosen pre-ceremony music begin to play as guests make their way in to find their seats. Venue staff go over the order of events, who you should stand behind, all the little details. Before you know it, you’re following Nayoung down the steps to the venue’s main entrance, your purple bridesmaid’s bouquet in hand.

The rows are full, leading up the aisle to where Jeongwoo is standing, waiting for his bride. But as you hear the processional start playing and you take your first steps into the crowded room, it isn’t Jeongwoo your eyes seek out. You eyes scan the rows until they spot him - hair styled to leave his forehead exposed, heavy brows lifted - in what? anticipation? happiness? - and mouth quirked to climb one side of his face, dimples asymmetrical and so damn endearing.

You look straight ahead again, stomach fluttering. You focus on Jeongwoo, on your brother standing beside him, grinning at you.

You reach the front and take your place to the side, watching the doors eagerly. You may have complicated feelings about Nayoung, you may feel like there’s gravel in your mouth at the thought of verbalizing any well-wishes or lifetime of happiness crap, but the moment still gets to you. With the swell of string music, the crisp white flowers hanging from the alcoves, the anticipation simmering through the room like mist above pavement after a summer day’s rainstorm - it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

When Nayoung turns the corner, on your father’s arm, the room holds its breath for her - and you do, too.

But as Nayoung makes her way up the aisle and you let your eyes scan the crowd again, you notice there’s one face not watching her. Seungcheol, standing next to Chan, is facing front - not cheating sideways to view the bride. Instead, his gaze is steady on you, his brown eyes dancing.

The moment speaks to you. The music raises, your stomach swoops, and the grin on your face is unfettered. It takes a second, but then he smiles back, cheeks rising and dimples deepening.

It feels like you and him alone here, taking part in a moment that lets no one else in. It feels like the music, the moment, the breaths being held in tight anticipation are all for you - you and him. Just for a second.

You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so you could lean close and ask what he’s smiling about. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him, so that you could make yourself small, let him be the buffer. You wish you were standing in the crowd with him because it’s just what you want.

Don’t think about everything so much, he’d told you.

When Nayoung reaches the front and moves to stand opposite Jeongwoo, you have to work to school your face into something somber, to fight the smile off your face. You don’t want to stand here, listening to the officiant talk about your sister’s life. You want to leave the line-up and go live your own.

Be in it, enjoy it for what it is.

Fine, you think, as to your left Nayoung is slipping a silver band onto Jeongwoo’s finger. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

You’ll stop thinking about everything, stop trying to fix everyone and just do what you fucking want - for maybe the first time in your whole life.

When the ceremony ends and you follow the newlyweds back down the aisle, you catch Seungcheol’s eye and wink once on your way past.

You make your way straight to him when you’re freed from bridesmaid duties. You’re surrounded by people - mostly your extended family - and you know he’s overheard when he wraps an arm around you, presses his lips to your temple and says, “You look beautiful.”

You feel your face warm from the compliment, but you force yourself to giggle. “Thank you,” you preen, leaning into the joke. “I spent a lot of money this morning to look like this.”

“Worth every penny,” he says, releasing you from the hug.

You take a step back, getting a good look at him for the first time. “You look pretty sharp yourself,” you admit, meaning it. “The tux is working for you.”

He deflects with a joke, just like you did. “It’s all in the shoes,” he deadpans. “They bring the whole thing together.”

“Did you rent them, too?” you tease.

“Too?” he echoes, offended. “I own all of this, thank you very much. I am a grown ass man.”

“Soonyoung and Chan both rented theirs.”

“Children.”

You laugh, and for show - or maybe just because it feels nice - you rest your fingers on his arm, like you’re trying to keep him from shifting too far away.

He responds to the touch by stepping back, asking, “You want a drink?”

“You know what? I do,” you tell him. Because you’re doing what you want, now. He gives your waist a quick squeeze in goodbye and heads for the bar; it occurs to you that he didn’t ask what you want.

You hear your name being called, and you fight to smile as you turn and greet two of your aunts, one of your younger cousins with them.

“Wasn’t Nayoung just perfection?” one of them says in greeting, and you smile and agree that, yes, your sister looked beautiful.

“Jeongwoo seems wonderful,” you add, just to show how unjealous you are of your sister’s happiness.

“Isn’t he handsome?” your cousin simpers. You keep your smile even - your refusal to let your politeness flag is the absolute best you can offer.

“What about you?” the second aunt asks, leaning close like it’s a secret. “Are you here alone? Such a shame, you’re a pretty girl -”

“Isn’t she?”

You swear to god you get goosebumps. Seungcheol presses a fizzy beverage into your hand. It’s adorned by a lime.

“They didn’t have your brand, but it’s still a decent gin,” he says, and you bring it to your lips. He knows your drink, you marvel, but you’ve been to bars together enough times that you guess this isn’t magical.

Still. Nice that he pays attention.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you breathe, trying to smile and not look surprised.

Aware of the three sets of eyes on you, you lean into Seungcheol’s solid form and smile bigger as he slips an arm around your waist.

“Aunties, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say, as sweet as you can. Your cousin’s eyes are a little wide, and it makes you want to dance. Take that, you think, not even caring that it’s all a ruse.

“Pleased to meet you,” one of your aunts says, reaching for his hand.

“These are my aunts,” you say, introducing them to Seungcheol by name, “and my little cousin.”

“Have you been together long?”

“Almost a year,” Seungcheol answers for you, sending you his own little wink when you look up at him.

“Wow,” your cousin says, sounding a little stunned. “We thought she’d be alone for-”

“How did you two meet?” her mother interrupts quickly.

“We met in college, but we didn’t date or anything then,” you say, still looking at him. You don’t want to look at them, don’t want to examine if they look doubtful or mean or anything. “He’s friends with Soonyoung, actually - we spent a lot of time in the same social circle but never took the leap.”

You hope the mention of your brother will distract them, but no dice.

“Oh?” your aunt asks. “Why not?”

It truly doesn’t occur to her that this is invasive, you think, lips pursing in annoyance.

“Ah,” Seungcheol ducks his head guiltily. “That’s my fault, probably. I thought it would upset Soonyoung if I dated his sister, so I never went for it.”

You grin at him, playing along. “Luckily, I don’t care if I make Soonyoung mad,” you joke. “So here we are!”

When you extract yourselves from the conversation, you drain the top quarter of your drink.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seungcheol teases.

“Nope,” you agree easily. “And when we repeat it in three minutes, that won’t be painful either. Nor will the next time. Probably it won’t be painful until the sixth or seventh time.”

“Alright, alright,” he scolds, laughing. “I get the idea.”

“Just keep looking handsome and charming, and we’ll be fine,” you tell him, and you swear he flushes again.

“Don’t flatter me,” he mutters.

You send him an open grin and then turn to greet an uncle, the introduction poised on your tongue.

You end up being right. Your little routine stays cute and kind of funny through the next five run-ins with relatives - no stutters or slips, no mistakes or near-misses. You and Seungcheol riff off each other easily, in perfect step. And to be honest, after your first encounter, everyone else is pleasant and normal. Maybe, you consider, you had projected some insecurity onto your family. Maybe they aren’t as bad as you made them out to be - maybe they did, all along, just want to see you happy.

During a few moments of reprieve, Seungcheol turns to face you. He’s not crowding you, exactly, but the way he hovers over and around you makes you feel sort of sheltered.

“About last night,” he says, teeth worrying the inside of his bottom lip. He lets the sentence rest there.

You hadn’t been sure you were going to talk about it. You find yourself relieved that he brought it up.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I really hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable. We forgot to make the Blanket Wall, and I fell asleep during the movie -”

“It didn’t,” he interrupts, quiet, aware of the people milling around you. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t -”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. It had been your doing, after all. “I’m not.”

You both lapse into silence at this, both teetering on continuing to apologize, you bet.

“If you’re sure,” he says, a little uncertainly, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“No,” you say again. Your voice comes out soft, like it knows you shouldn’t admit this. But still, you murmur, “It was kind of nice, actually.”

Because you’re doing what you want, now.

There’s a little bit of warning in the look he gives you, so you laugh and make it a joke. “You’re very warm, you know.”

This makes him smile, the tension broken. “Believe it or not,” he says lightly, “I’ve heard that before. I can’t help it if I run like a personal space heater.”

“Useful in the winter,” you say, mock-seriously. Then, you’re both distracted by a passing plate of hors d’oeuvres.

You make it through cocktail hour and weave your way to the tables to find your seats. You have to admit that the rooms are beautiful - white flowers almost everywhere, even hanging from the rafters, candles’ flames dancing above mirrored centerpieces, the live string music soft and unobtrusive.

“I hope the speeches are quick,” you mutter, only for Seungcheol to hear. “I’m starving.”

He pats your shoulder sympathetically.

You find your seat easily by following the sound of your brother’s laughter.

“Noona!” he cries happily when you drop into the chair across from his. “I haven’t seen you since the ceremony! How’s it going?”

He makes it sound like it’s been years. Though, you consider, it has been at least an hour - and you hadn’t seen him once.

You eye him warily. Then you turn to Chan. “How drunk is he?”

“Worse than New Years, not as bad as his birthday,” Chan reports.

“Super,” you say sarcastically, as Seungcheol takes his seat next to you.

Down the table from you Nayoung and Jeongwoo lean in close, whispering to each other, as things get set up for the speeches and the rest of the guests find their dinner seats.

It feels a little strange, you admit to yourself, to watch Sheyla accept the microphone, flashing the staff member a thankful and nervous smile, her hand-written speech clutched in her hand. She greets everyone, thanks them for traveling, and makes a comment about how beautiful Nayoung looks that elicits happy claps, cheers, and whistles from the agreeing crowd.

There might be an alternate timeline, you think, in which your sister might have wanted you to speak. A timeline in which you might have anything to say that wasn’t about early childhood. A timeline in which at your own wedding (if it ever happens), you might want her, too.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers, leaning over, his mouth close enough to your ear that it tickles. “What do you think Soonyoung’s wedding will be like?”

You don’t know if he did it on purpose - you don’t know if he could tell you were in your head again, losing yourself to the thoughts - but just like that, you’re back, stifling a giggle behind your hand, turning towards him so you can whisper your answer.

“They’d have a tiger instead of a ring bearer,” you whisper, trying to keep your giggles silent, just shoulder shakes and hitches of breath.

“I can see the headlines now: Eight Mauled by Ring-Bearer at City Wedding Reception,” Seungcheol whispers out of the side of his mouth.

You nearly snort, ready to reply, but then Sheyla’s speech gets really underway and you lapse into silence, listening. About halfway through, maybe for show and maybe because you want to and maybe because you are trying to enjoy this for what it is, you reach out and lay your hand on top of Seungcheol’s where it rests on his leg. He immediately flips his over, taking your fingers in his, giving yours a squeeze.

Sheyla’s speech is good. It’s sweet, and to the point, and not too long. The best man - Jeongwoo’s brother, he says as he starts speaking - does a decent job as well, and you’re staring down at a plate of food before you know it.

“Happy now?” Seungcheol asks.

“Very,” you tell him, taking your first bite and moaning before even beginning to chew. “Oh my god, that’s good.”

“I want what she’s having,” Chan jokes.

“Chan, you are literally having what she’s having,” your brother points out, stabbing his utensils towards Chan’s plate.

After the plates are cleared away, the music increases in volume, changing from quiet background noise to upbeat dance tracks.

Soonyoung is gone in a flash, Chan heaving a sigh and pushing himself to stand like an old man. “Guess we’re dancing,” he says to you, long-suffering.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” you decide out loud. “Do you want to grab us fresh drinks? I’ll meet you at the bar in a minute?”

Seungcheol nods, and you slip through the room, smiling absently at familiar faces as you pass, until you exit the banquet room and enter the open foyer at the building’s front. Everything is instantly quieter as the glass doors close behind you, and you breathe the silence in, relaxing a little as you cast a glance around for the ladies’ room.

It’s tough to get in and out of your shapewear, but you make it happen. Then you wash your hands and check the mirror, leaning in to touch up your lipstick. Then you head back through the foyer, bracing yourself before entering the banquet room again.

When you enter, most people are up from the dinner tables, and the dance floor is packed. You see Nayoung and Jeongwoo at the center of it, and you stand and watch them for a second. Nayoung is glowing, her smile wide and genuine, her hands in the air as she dances next to her new husband.

Something in your stomach aches. You want this, want to love someone who feels like a best friend, want to smile beside them and have fun together, tackle every hard thing as a we. The wanting consumes you, twisting and painful, and you’re sure it’s all over your face - which makes you suddenly aware that you can feel eyes on you.

Seungcheol is at the bar to your left, and yes, he’s looking at you, his face unreadable, two glasses on the bar in front of him. Your mother is standing from her seat at a table to your right, and she makes her way towards you.

You brace yourself. She embraces you, which you weren’t expecting, going a little stiff.

“My dear,” she says, stepping back and looking at you searchingly. “I just want you to have this. This happiness.”

It was the same thing you’d been thinking, and you’re sure she saw it on you. But the words sting, make you prickle. Not everyone’s happiness looks the same, you want to retort, but then you remember the ruse. You twist in her embrace, looking over your shoulder. Seungcheol still waits for you, one elbow on the bar, still watching you. It drives you crazy that you can’t read his expression - there’s nothing there for you to grasp, not pity, not frustration, nothing.

“He’s waiting for me,” you answer. It’s your own twisty joke - answering we want you to have somebody with a bit of a he’s right over there. The fact that it isn’t true leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You pull free from your mother’s hands and hurry to chase the taste away with the burn of alcohol.

“Want to do some shots?” you ask, as soon as Seungcheol’s in earshot.

He seems to do some mental calculations, first looking at the untouched gin and tonic he has waiting for you, then up at your mother’s retreating form, then finally at your face.

“If you think you can handle it,” he says evenly.

You feel your eyes narrow. “Don’t worry about what I can handle. I can take care of myself.”

He doesn’t answer this, so you turn to get the bartender’s attention and order something you know you’ll both be okay with.

When they come, you take one little glass and hold it up, a challenge. Seungcheol’s face is still unreadable, and it’s still infuriating.

“To happily ever after,” you say flatly, a challenge.

“To happily ever after, and all the other things I don’t really believe in,” he counters, and clicks his glass against yours before knocking the clear liquid back.

You don’t salute anything with the second shot, just throw it back and reach for the cocktail that’s been sweating onto the bar, waiting for you.

“Come on,” you say.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He watches your face carefully. “You good?” he asks.

A million retorts jump to your tongue, defensive and acidic, because you’re kind of not and you hate that he can read it.

It isn’t your job to care, is the first one and you barely swallow it down.

“I will be,” you tell him, determined to make it true. “Can we go dance?”

You leave your drink at your seat and head to the dance floor, following the sounds of whoops and laughter that you know will lead to your brother. You lose a lot on the dancefloor - an hour, your sour mood, even Seungcheol for a few minutes, but he turns back up a few songs later, swaying his hips and lip-syncing a circle around you, giggles bubbling out of you unbidden.

You’re about to take a break, starting to make your way towards the table for a breather, when you hear opening notes that tickle your brain, familiar and loved - “what’s after like” by IVE. Somewhere nearby, you hear Soonyoung’s absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Ohhhh, I love this song,” you announce to no one, starting the choreo on-beat. It surprises you absolutely not at all to see your brother a few feet away, grinning madly as he steps in time with you. Nor does it surprise you to see Chan pick it up a few steps later, mouthing the words as he tries to remember the steps. But you are absolutely floored when you turn to your right and see Seungcheol swishing his hips and lifting his hand, perfectly in step with you.

Shock causes you to react without thinking, without the chance to be careful. Surprised laughter bursts from you, loud and happy, and Seungcheol beams back at you proudly, laughing in return.

“What?” he asks playfully, still hitting the choreography with precision. “You didn’t think I knew this one?”

“What goes on at that apartment when I’m not there?” you demand, still laughing so hard it hurts your belly. “I thought I knew you!”

“I contain multitudes!” he shoots back, dimples deepening, hips still swishing without even a hint of shame.

You’re still giggling on every exhale as the song winds to an end, one hand over your aching diaphragm.

“Let’s slow things down,” the DJ says as you try to reign in your remaining mirth. “This one’s for the couples.” A love-song starts, one of those oldies, crooner types.

You’re about to step out, as you’d been planning before the IVE song came on, but Seungcheol reaches for your hand, brows raised in a question.

“Aren’t we a couple?” he teases.

You give a quick head-tilt, as if to say, can’t argue with that, and then you take the offered hand.

He tugs you close, front to front, and holds you steady by your waist. You’re surprised - again - when he leads well, and after a few seconds you relax into it, swaying and turning as the music intends. His hand on your waist feels good, warm and comforting and maybe a little exciting. Your front brushing his seems somehow tantalizing, which you realize is logically ridiculous, but you can’t deny the thrill of it each time. You wonder if he’s affected, too, and you look up at him, determined to read him for once instead of the other way around.

He’s looking back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, and you swear his hands tighten on you when your eyes meet. He looks like he’s on the precipice of saying something - but what?

“What is it?” You mean to ask it quietly but normally, and instead you hear yourself murmur the question, loaded and suggestive.

His smile ticks up, just slightly, as if he’s amused that you caught him. “Just… you really do look great tonight,” he says. His face doesn’t give anything away, but the tips of his ears darken just slightly. “I mean, this dress.”

Careful, you almost say, warning bells sounding in your head. But then you remember him telling you, don’t think so much, so you push the admonishment away and give into the moment instead.

“Oh?” you say lightly, a gloating smile crawling across your face. “Tell me more.”

He laughs, giving you a petulant little shake as if to scold you for your teasing. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, his voice suddenly lower. His gaze skates up your form, and you feel something hot simmer behind your belly button, your face heat under the compliment.

“Well, thank you,” you say to your shoes.

“Hey,” he says, and you manage to look back up at him, burning up under his scrutiny. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you. I hope it’s… I hope it’s better, with me here. I mean, I hope what you wanted -”

The song ends, and you step away automatically. His hands fall from you along with the end of his sentence.

“It is,” you assure him. “You’re - I mean - this is exactly what I needed.”

The you’re exactly what I needed that you almost said stretches between you.

“I think I could use some air,” you say, and you don’t wait to see if he’s following before you head for the glass doors that lead outside.

This turns out to be true; the night air soothes you immediately, the noise and bustle of the banquet room falling away as Seungcheol - who, it seems, did follow you - closes the door behind himself. There are a few other people out here - some smokers, way down at the other end, and a few other couples standing and watching the night sky - but it’s not crowded by any means.

You lean against the stone wall and watch the party through the glass, muted and distant. Seungcheol settles beside you, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then, without looking at you, he says, “Have you ever tried being honest with them?”

You whip around to look at him, indignant. “What?”

He shrugs, unbothered by your potential impending fury. “Your mom, at least,” he tries to explain. “What would happen if you just… were your real self?”

“And what’s that?” you demand. “What’s my real self, Seungcheol?”

“Angry, I think,” he says, something careful in the way he says it, like he’s holding something delicate. And he is: the truth. “What if you didn’t hide from her how angry you are?”

“Let’s not do this,” you say flatly - a defense tactic. A sidestep, a way to never acknowledge that he’s right.

“What would happen?” he presses.

The words come, new and frightening. She could leave, too. She might not want me, either. You don’t say them.

“Let’s not,” you repeat. Then, petulantly, you mutter, “I’m not angry.”

You both know it’s a lie.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and you can tell by his voice that he’s turned to face you, is hovering just slightly closer. “I kind of liked thinking that you were. It made me feel like… we matched.”

You swallow, then turn to look at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his bottom lip again, something you’re starting to notice as a nervous habit.

“Are you angry?” you ask. It comes out as a whisper. What a silly question, you think. Of course he is. Now that he’s said it, it seems clear as day.

“Not right now,” he admits, and there’s a sudden familiarity to the way his body crowds yours, not unpleasantly, a familiarity to the intensity of his gaze and the thrum of excitement shooting from your sternum to your core like a live wire.

He’s going to kiss you, you realize. Should you step away? Swerve it? Do you want to kiss him?

It’s probably a mistake, a stupid decision, but… you think you might.

Enjoy today for what it is, he’d told you.

So when he leans in, you stretch onto your toes to meet him midway.

You kiss him back eagerly, slamming mental doors shut on every voice in your head telling you this is a bad idea. His hand comes to the back of your neck, his thumb resting along your jaw, caressing it lightly as he tips your head further back to adjust the angle.

You tug him even closer by his lapels, and he snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You lick into his mouth first, unashamed, wanting. He responds with a happy rumble, almost too quiet to hear. You release his suit jacket and loop your arms around his neck, holding on as you lose yourself to the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him solid and steady against you.

You kiss languidly, deeply - not hurried or frantic, not rushed the way so many kisses you’ve encountered have been. He holds you right where he wants you and takes his time; what this says about how he’d likely be in bed makes the blood rush from your head to your pussy. Your core throbs as you try to pull him tighter against you, press your hips against his. He leaves your mouth to nibble and soothe a line down your throat, goosebumps rising on your arms, and the hand on your waist travels lower and grabs a generous handful of your ass, pulling you more firmly against him.

You can feel him now, against your lower belly, and you let out a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine. You feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your neck, and then he’s kissing you again, drowning out any other noises you might let slip.

You’ve forgotten everything - the smattering of other people nearby, Nayoung’s wedding raging on inside, the anger Seungcheol had pointed out only minutes ago, how very aware you are that this is playing with fire - it all melts away to nothing as you press your mouth to his, strokes his tongue with yours, press your body against his as firmly as you can.

“Hey! Lovebirds!”

You leap apart, your hand flying to cover your mouth as if that will help.

Your brother hangs out the open glass door, eyes narrowed at you. “They’re cutting the cake,” he calls, and then disappears inside.

“Shit,” you manage. You know you’ll hear about this later.

Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, adjusting himself, and runs a sobering hand down his face.

“Guess we better go in,” you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I guess we should,” he says, sounding a little winded himself.

You wonder, as you make your way back inside, if you should talk about it. Then, Seungcheol’s long strides catch him up to you and he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you firmly through the room, and the rest of your logical thoughts melt away.

You watch Nayoung and her new husband cut their wedding cake, sweetly feed each other a bite. You hit the bathroom again, fix your lipstick, come back and do a shot with Chan just because he asks (shouts). You go back to the dance floor, take a break to drink some water at your table, find yourself having a conversation with one of your cousins about a drama you’d both hated.

But even as you go through these perfectly normal events, your body remains singed; the heat rises from you so strongly you can’t believe no one is pointing and staring. Something has shifted, cracked open, and the possibility of it hangs over you and Seungcheol so thickly you think you might choke. Every movement you make, you feel the weight of his gaze or the heat of his hands - always reaching to guide you, to ground you, even just the press of his fingers to your elbow igniting you all over again.

Time drags and you burn slowly. The first shuttle leaves. Your mother makes a snide remark about your father too loudly as he and his date depart. You can’t even care, not when Seungcheol is standing so close behind you, his smell pervading your senses, his warmth radiating around you.

You want to keep kissing him. You are praying he won’t back down in the quiet of your hotel room, won’t try to walk it back once you’re alone. From behind you, his fingers slip into yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. It’s nothing, but you tingle clear down to your toes from the touch.

You tell your mother goodbye, that you’ll see her in the morning. You say goodbye to the family members who came from out of town, that you probably won’t see again soon. You get your purse from the table. Seungcheol hovers behind you like smoke hovers above a flame.

You’re both going to burn.

You take the second shuttle back to the hotel. You don’t speak or look at each other. There’s a moment where you wonder if he will snuff this out, deprive it of oxygen. You wouldn’t blame him. You know it’s the logical thing.

But then he places his hand on your thigh in the dark. You hold your breath, don’t even dare to peek sideways. It’s an innocent placement, firmly in the middle, not too high. Then his sneaky fingers trace lower, find the place where the fabric splits just above your knee, the pads of his fingers rubbing patterns on the bare skin they find.

A whole-body shudder engulfs you. His fingers tighten around your leg for just a second, rough, then go back to drawing circles.

Ridiculous, you think, closing your eyes and trying to even your breathing, that such a simple touch could turn you on this much. It must be from all the build-up, all the drinking, all the potential of a thing not yet had. There’s no way that it’s just Seungcheol touching your leg - not even a sexy part - that has you wet to the point of discomfort, panties slick.

When the shuttle pulls up in front of your hotel, you lead him by the hand up the aisle and into the lobby. The second the elevator doors slide shut behind you, he has you pinned to the wall, his hot mouth attached to your throat, large hands cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.

“Have you been hard since the venue?” you tease, but the way you’re panting takes away any sting.

“Been hard since you showed up in this dress,” he growls back, pushing his hips into yours for emphasis. You’d expected him to lob a joke back at you, and the admission makes your stomach drop, your mouth open to gasp a breath.

The elevator dings and he steps back, one hand on your waist to help steady you back on your feet. Somehow, you make it to your room. Somehow, the door gets open, and then closed again behind you.

You’re against a wall again, eyes closed, head back, that hot mouth finding the spot it had left in the elevator. Seungcheol’s hands bunch the fabric of the dress and push it up to your hips, giving you room to wrap your legs around his waist, push his clothed cock directly against your sopping, useless panties. You both break at the contact, you letting out a pitiful whimper and Seungcheol huffing out a shuddering breath.

You wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up; his hands are both on your ass again, fingers slipping beneath the elastic to grip at the bare skin there. His teeth and tongue make their way up your neck and return to your mouth and you open for him with an eager moan, happy to welcome him back. Your fingers lazily find the hair at the base of his neck and curl between the strands, tugging lightly. He moans against your mouth, surprising you both.

His hips push against yours in a steady rhythm, but it’s not enough. You whine against his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulders to come between your bodies, seeking his jacket.

He has to set you down to tug at the sleeves, and you wobble on your heels, suddenly very aware of how badly you want to take them off. You lift one foot to tug at the straps and he reaches for your elbows to steady you. It’s soft; a stark contrast to the carefully-stoked flame you’ve both been tending for the last hour or so.

You take off both heels and stand, barefoot, the wall behind you still holding you up. Seungcheol looks at you, chest working hard as he tries visibly to calm his breathing, his suit jacket now limp in his hand.

“Should we stop?” he asks, and it’s the most uncertain you’ve ever heard him sound.

You don’t want to stop. You know he doesn’t either. But you both know what this was - a favor between friends. Sort of friends. There wasn’t supposed to be attraction; there wasn’t supposed to be anything that wasn’t for show.

You weren’t supposed to like him.

“Probably,” you make yourself whisper. The word feels like ash on your tongue.

“Okay,” he says, the syllables hollow, and he takes another step backwards, gives you more room.

Eyes averted, you take off your jewelry with shaking hands, place it in the small bag with your makeup kit. When you turn back, he hasn’t moved. He stands there, still holding his suit jacket, watching you with smoldering eyes.

“I think I’ll shower,” you say quietly. What you really want to do is push him backwards, let his knees hit the edge of the bed, crawl over top of him and keep him there for several hours. Instead, you reach around and feel for the hook-and-eye at the top of your back, fingers sloppy with adrenaline.

“Need help?” he asks, his voice like the snap of a candle flame that suddenly alights.

“I might,” you admit with a little laugh. But if you touch me, you think, it’s over.

You turn to present your back to him, and he handles the clasp deftly, even going so far as to drag the zipper down two inches so you can reach it better.

“There,” he says.

His fingers graze your bare back as he pulls away.

You step into the bathroom, turn the water on, and unzip the rest of the way, letting the expensive material flutter to the ground around you - the door still wide open. Seungcheol’s gaze on your body burns as it travels down, then up again. His expression is almost enough to make you laugh - wonder, a touch of confusion. You hold his gaze as you slip your panties down your legs, then you step into the water, letting the glass door swing shut behind you, effectively hiding him from view.

It’s impressive how quickly he gets the tux off, and you’re almost a little sad you don’t get to see it happen. But it feels like seconds later that the shower door swings open again and he steps inside, pressing against the tile, the hot water cascading over his wide shoulders.

“You sure?” he asks, hands already on you, one on your waist, the other on one of your shoulders. He asks like it’s pulled from him, like he’ll crumble if you say no but he has to make sure.

“That wasn’t enough of an invitation for you?” you breathe, reaching to run your fingertips down his chest, over the slight ripples that just barely hide abs, stopping just shy of the flat plane above his cock, which hangs heavy and dark between you.

You don’t get the opportunity to touch; he kisses you fiercely, both hands coming up to cover your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in tandem. When you sigh against him, he switches to pinching, first lightly, and then harder when he finds it makes you moan like liquid against his lips.

He moves his mouth slowly up your jaw, fingers still working the sensitive nubs until you’re fighting the urge to writhe under his touch, needing somehow both less and more at the same time.

“Yeah, babe?” he coos into your ear, barely a whisper. He gives one nipple a particularly cruel twist and your knees give. He holds you up without issue. “You like when it hurts a little?”

“Cheol,” you whine, embarrassed but aflame, pussy absolutely pulsing.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, releasing the bud and bending to soothe it with gentle laps of his tongue. The water hits his head and you run your hands through the now-wet black locks, pushing them away from his face and back from his eyes.

When he stands again, you reach for him immediately, fingers sliding along the silky skin you find. He’s warm here, too. He breathes out a sigh when your fingers encircle him, your touch featherlight and easing. Then he presses close to you again, sliding his palm down your stomach, lower and lower, until two of his rough fingers part your folds, slip over your clit, and sink into the mess they find.

“God,” you groan, pushing down on his digits, trying to will them deeper. He presses his temple against yours, mouth still close to your ear, his breaths ragged and sharp, as he scissors his fingers lightly before pumping in and out.

“So wet,” he grumbles, thumb swiping at your clit and making your hips jolt. “You fuckin’ want it?”

You try to answer, letting out a shuddery y-yes, but it dissolves into a moan deep in the back of your throat as he finds the spot on your front wall that makes everything inside you tighten.

“Oh, you do,” he goads, doubling his pace to piston into the spot. You clutch at his biceps, trying to hold yourself up, trying to keep yourself on this planet. You’re astounded at how quickly he works you up; you didn’t know you could cum this quickly, but you teeter on the precipice already, eyes rolling back and breaths coming in tight little gasps.

“Seungcheol,” you moan, trying to warn him, “I’m - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, still close to your ear. The hand that’s not buried inside you returns to your chest, tweaking a nipple and then brushing over it before tweaking again. “Let go, babe. Let me have it.”

One of your hands slaps against the tile walls, desperate for purchase. Your hips cant into his hand, driving him harder inside you. He slips a third finger inside you without warning and the sudden stretch is what does you in. Your eyes screw shut as you whole body tenses tenses tenses and then releases, a cry flying from your mouth as his fingers fuck you through the high. Your legs tremble as your pussy tries to pull his digits further inside, and then his mouth is on yours again, tongue coaxing out the last few syllables as you begin to come down.

For a minute you hear nothing but the roar in your ears and your own harsh pants. This gives way to the sound of water hitting tile.

“Shit,” you mutter, and Seungcheol kisses you again, close-lipped and firm, like he’s marking his place.

“You’re so hot,” he murmurs against your lips, and then they’re gone because you’re kneeling.

He swears above you, one hand reaching up to brace against the wall, as you try to settle. It’s not comfortable, of course, but you didn’t expect it to be, and you want to absolutely scramble his brain right now.

“You don’t have to -” he starts, but you ignore him and take his tip into your mouth, tonguing the underside before starting to work a rhythm up and down his length. His body mostly shelters you from the spray of water, and you use one hand to pump at the base of him as your mouth works the top.

He swears again, fiercely, the hand on the tile curling into a fist. “God,” he groans, eyes slipping shut for a second. His hips buck lightly once and then he gets it together, holding it back. “Fuck.”

You hum, delighted at being able to pull him apart, suctioning hard and laving the underside of him with your tongue. He’s a little thicker than you’re used to, heavy in your mouth in a way you find weirdly comforting. You work your way to the tip again, letting your tongue tease his slit before slipping your lips over his head in a way that makes his hips jump again.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, minutes later, reaching a desperate hand to keep you back. “I can’t - get up here.”

Smug, you let him pull you to standing; he wraps his arms around you and you can feel his heart hammering against yours. You brace one foot against the opposing wall and he slips his fingers between your legs again. You moan, still sensitive, as he lines himself up. The stretch is going to be a lot, you can already tell, and your whole body buzzes with the want of it.

He pushes into you slowly, a strangled sound working up your throat as you breathe through the initial stretch.

“That’s right,” he whispers, hands on your hips. “You can take it.”

He stills when he bottoms out and you both just breathe, holding each other, the water raining down around you.

“So fucking good,” he whispers, pressing his forehead into the top of your shoulder, trying to keep still until you give him the okay.

“God,” you groan, so full you could die from it, your walls already fluttering around him even as he holds still. “I can’t - it’s so much -”

He lifts his head and kisses you sweetly, one hand cupping your jaw. “You can,” he tells you when you break apart. “Just relax. I said I’ve got you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” you breathe, letting your eyes slip closed. He moves minutely at first, and when you let out a breath that borders on a moan he slides nearly all the way out. You nearly wail when he sheathes himself again, your body working to accommodate him, your walls clinging to every centimeter of his hot flesh as it works through you. “Cheol,” you gasp, keening loudly when he does it again.

He continues this unhurried pace, pumping out and in until you’re melting under his hands, creaming over him, the mess washed away by the shower water every time he pulls out.

“How is it, baby?” he murmurs, when he feels you relax.

“So good,” you mutter, half-delirious. Your hands come to grip at him, needy. “But -”

“What is it?” he asks, stopping immediately in place, leaning back to look at your face.

You flush, hating to ruin the moment. “The water’s cold,” you whisper, a sheepish smile coming to your face.

He laughs, then pulls out. You feel empty, you want him back before he’s even gone. He reaches over you and turns the water off; the silence is suddenly very loud.

“Guess I better warm you up, then,” he says, voice low, and you shiver - probably not from the chill of the air. He fishes around outside the shower door and then wraps you in a white hotel towel, then grabs one for himself. He towels his arms off roughly and then wraps it securely around his waist before turning his attention back to you. He dries you carefully, top to bottom, then wraps it around your frame again.

“Come on,” he says, and leads you back out to the main room, where he nods at the bed. “Lay down. At the end.”

You stare at him. “What?”

He smiles at you devilishly, dimples flashing. “Gotta warm you up,” he says simply.

“But - I already - you don’t need to -”

He gives you a light, playful push that sends you stumbling towards the bed. You lay your towel down and feel his hands on your bare ass before you can even situate yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just bend you over here,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself gush, embarrassingly.

You lay back on your towel and he kneels at the end of the bed. You feel so exposed, suddenly, spread open for him, that it makes you want to close up, wrap the towel back over yourself.

“Don’t get shy now,” he admonishes lightly, pressing his fingers to your inner thighs to push you open. “Let me see you, pretty girl.”

He presses a single kiss right over your entrance, then slips his tongue inside, working the muscle as far into you as it will go. You gasp, open-mouthed, the ceiling swimming above you.

“Please,” you beg, but you don’t know what for. He licks a stripe up your slit, stopping over your clit and flattening his tongue. You feel your hips react on their own, pushing against his mouth desperately. “Seungcheol, please!”

He laps at you and then slides a digit into your greedy hole, humming happily when you cry out. Your thighs start shaking wildly when he suctions his lips there, sucking lightly as he pushes a second finger into the slick heat beneath his mouth.

“Goddamn it,” he groans when he pulls away, watching his fingers disappear into your body and reappear shiny and sticky. Then he reattaches his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking firmly against your hardened bud until you’re letting out an endless, wordless whine and trembling in his hold.

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Cheol,” you chant, desperate, wild, but he pulls away, slips his fingers out of you. You whine furiously, eyes springing open to look at him in betrayal, and he grins, standing and pumping himself roughly. The head of his cock is angry and dark, a long string of precum connecting to his thigh where it must have been resting.

“Not yet,” he says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, reaching above to reach for a pillow to slide under your hips. He teases your hole with his tip and you whine again. “Want you to come around my cock this time,” he says, pushing in, and you nearly fucking do just at that.

When he starts moving - harder and quicker than he had in the shower - you shatter into pieces almost instantly, everything going black as you grip the sheets beneath you so hard you think you could rip them, your legs locking around his back so he can’t get too far from you, your core pulsing and pulsing in waves around him as you grit your teeth and groan through the rush of sensation.

He braces himself over you with both arms, and as soon as you unclench he lets loose - hips snapping into yours lewdly, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust, sweat sliding down his temples, and his exhales coming out as determined growls as he chases his high.

“Fuck,” he utters suddenly, scrambling backwards, his hand flying to pump himself frantically. His brows furrow and his chest heaves. “Fuck, fuck, babe, God,” he moans, eyes shut, and you watch in proud fascination as he shoots rope after rope of milky cum onto your stomach.

He collapses next to you, breathing heavily, then reaches up and caresses your shoulder as he comes down. There’s something sweet in the gesture, you think absently, like he wants to feel that you’re still here. You reach up a hand and clumsily find his, intertwining your fingers and holding on tightly as your heartbeat slows and your skin begins to cool.

After a few minutes, silent but for the sound of both of your breathing gradually returning to normal, you let go, rolling to face him.

“Should I apologize for baiting you?” you ask, a little sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles a tiny, tired smile. “No,” he promises.

You lay like that for a minute, quiet - Seungcheol on his back, watching the ceiling, and you on your side, watching him.

Finally he grunts and uses his arms to push himself to sitting, then standing. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. You waddle to the bathroom in tandem. You each clean up in silence.

You aren’t sure what to say. You’re surprised (but not upset) at yourself, honestly, for making the choice you did. You’re surprised at how fucking good it was, at how Seungcheol’s tenderness bled through in disjointed pieces.

There’s no use pretending otherwise. You like him. Not enough to wax poetic about it, not enough to make a fool of yourself, but enough. Enough that you feel that wild, hopeful possibility. Like maybe - maybe something is starting. Maybe when you go home, you’ll start talking more. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe he’ll ask you out. Maybe… maybe.

When you drop back into the bed, lights off, you aren’t sure what the move is. You lay on your side of the bed, stiff and trying not to breathe loudly, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Seungcheol makes the decision for you, reaching for you in the dark, his strong arms guiding you closer, wrapping around you and keeping you close. For the second time, you fall asleep between his arms, face buried against his t-shirt, feeling warm, and loose, and safe.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still mostly dark, the room around you that deep blue that comes along with pre-dawn.

Your back is to Seungcheol now, but he’s still draped around you, an arm resting over your stomach and one of his legs tangled between yours. You stretch a little, your toes reaching for the end of the bed, and he shifts behind you, his hand moving up and gripping your waist.

You breathe quietly for a minute, waiting to see if sleep will drag you back under. It doesn’t. Instead, you become aware of his breathing behind you (not deep and even anymore), his heartbeat (faster now, like yours), the way his hand twitches and relaxes against your side.

He’s awake, too.

He shifts, then retracts his hand and rolls away. You’re cold immediately, instincts telling you to follow the source of warmth, to roll over and follow him.

You give in halfway, rolling to face him but not scooting to close the new gap between you in the bed.

“You good?” you ask quietly, your voice a little hoarse.

You hear rather than see him shift to look over at you. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s something tense in his tone. “Just - sorry - it’s just a morning thing, I wasn’t trying to bother you…”

You realize, belatedly, the reason he’d put space between you. Heat floods you again, as if you hadn’t just had every need fulfilled about three and a half hours ago.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, and your tone must speak for you, because the words have barely fallen into the space between you and he’s filling it, rolling to reach for your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, body scooting forward to press against yours again.

It’s different this time, as the blue shifts from something shadowed and bruised closer to light. It’s different when he kisses you slowly, gently, your mouths working together as you wake up bit by bit. It’s different when he cups your breast firmly but doesn’t pinch, tugs your hips tight against his but only holds you there, different when he rolls you onto your back and holds himself over you, kissing every bit of skin he can get his mouth on above the collar of your pajama top.

It’s different because you take your time as you remove your sleep-clothes, his eyes drinking you in through the barest whisper of morning light. He takes his time pressing into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his fingers into your skin and holding tight like you could get ripped away.

Different from last time, because neither of you says a word, expressing pleasure only in sighs, breaths caught in throats, in fingers tightening, in low groans that the air-con nearly manages to drown out.

This time, when you tip over the edge, he does too - pulling out quickly and replacing his cock with three fingers to work you through it, even as he wraps his other hand around himself, his own high only heartbeats away.

This time, you don’t trip back into sleep. After cleaning up, you lay with an arm over his middle, his heart thumping reliably under your ear.

Instead of closing your eyes, you whisper, “Are you close with your family?”

He’s still for a minute - surprised, maybe - and then he whispers back, “Pretty close with my mom, yeah.”

You take a second, process this gift he’s given you - a nugget of truth, a piece of himself. Not something secret, but still something willingly given.

“Not your dad?” you ask, eventually. “Did he leave after the split?”

“We went back and forth,” Seungcheol says quietly. “My brother and I. But things with my dad… it was never the same, after. Mom’s place still felt like home. Dad’s felt like… visiting a relative you don’t know that well.”

“Us, too,” you say, then realize you should expand. “In the early days, Soonyoung and I saw my dad a bit more. It always felt… weird. And then, I don’t know, we stopped wanting to go - or he stopped wanting us to come. Something.”

You’re still talking, voices hushed, when your alarm goes off behind you, warning you that brunch with your family is imminent. You’d talked all night, somehow. You realize that the light streaming in from under the curtains is bright - no longer the deep-ocean blue of late night and early morning.

“Shit,” you say, startled, rolling away to silence the offending noise. “We’re going to be so tired later.”

Seungcheol groans lightly in agreement. “Do you think your brother is pissed?” he asks. “He saw us kissing at the venue. I’m sure he saw you drag me into the hotel from the shuttle.”

You whack lightly at his legs with a pillow. “I did not drag you!”

His giggles light your spirit from the inside. “You did,” he asserts. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You decide to humor him and answer the original question, as you climb out of bed and head for your suitcase to dig out your clothes for the day. “I don’t think he’ll be mad unless we’re weird, like suddenly we can’t hang out anymore. So, we’re fine, right?”

You shouldn’t phrase it like a question. You shouldn’t give him the option.

But of course he doesn’t let you down.

“We’re more than fine,” he assures, running a hand through his hair so that it flops back down messily over his brow.

You wonder if he feels it, too - the maybe of it all. The possibility. Is he, too, wondering what this could look like on the other side, if you decided to give it a try?

You shower his smell off you, scrub away sweat and cum. When you’re both ready, you head down to the dining hall to meet Nayoung and everyone else for brunch.

You’re waylaid in the lobby by Dumb and Dumber.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung says, and it is fully an accusation that lands at your feet as heavily as an anvil might.

“Good morning!” you chirp back, just to fuck with him a little.

“Anything you two want to tell me?” he demands, as subtle as a freight train. Behind him, Chan looks uncharacteristically serious.

You look at him appraisingly. “Your shirt is nice,” you offer innocently.

His eyes narrow, and he turns his gaze to Seungcheol, who simply shrugs, offering him nothing. Your brother turns back to you, exasperated. “Noona!”

You laugh. “Nothing you need to worry about!” you say, reaching to ruffle his hair - which you didn’t have to stand on tiptoes to do, years ago. He bats you away, scowling, but you sense some tension leave him, like he might have been actually worried about the ramifications of your decisions last night.

He’s a good kid.

When you enter the dining hall, it’s clear that the four of you are the last to arrive. Inside, the newlyweds chat animatedly with both your mom and your dad (who is here sans date, you notice), as well as Jeongwoo's family.

“Sorry!” you say brightly, taking one of the empty seats. “Are we late?”

It's Nayoung who answers you, equally bright. You wonder if it's equally fake.

“Right on time!” she says, all smiles.

You've barely settled into your seat when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance quickly, suppressing an eye roll when you see Soonyoung's name.

Brother of mine: well???

Across the table, you shoot him an annoyed look.

He does not seem admonished in the slightest. Tilting your phone so that (hopefully) Seungcheol can't see it, you type back “what??”

He sends, “Did you?!” followed immediately by, “nvm i know you did. so... now what?”.

“Nosy fuck,” you reply, and turn off your screen.

Conversation flows around you, led mostly by the two sets of parents, allowing you and Seungcheol to eat in peace. Your mom seems better today, more herself, and you wonder if she's less stressed just because the wedding is over now, or if it's the absence of your dad's date.

When the meal comes to a close, you tell everyone goodbye, giving your parents quick hugs. Nayoung surprises you, coming around the table to hug you tightly.

“I'm so glad you could be here,” she tells you, and you think it's just niceties until she pulls away to look at you, her hands still firmly on your shoulders as if to keep you in place. “Don't feel like you have to handle everything yourself,” she continues. “Lean on people when you need to. If not me, then your friends. Soonyoung. Seungcheol.”

You’re not sure if you’re more shocked at her advice or the fact that she remembered your “boyfriend’s” name.

“Okay,” you say hollowly, unsure how to respond, how to act, how to feel. You land somewhere near indignant, maybe, that she showed up out of nowhere and immediately saw right through you. She'd never spent time with you past the age of nine, and she still had your number right away.

You trail along with the group back to the hotel's lobby, towards the elevator bank. Seungcheol doesn't do any of the normal boyfriend stuff - touch your arm, hold your hand, any of it - but you're so caught up in the strange interaction with Nayoung that you barely notice.

You have less time than you expected to pack and get back to the airport, so once you’re in the room you don’t talk much as you move around each other like a choreographed waltz, squeezing by to grab at items and shove them in suitcases. When the shuttle pulls up to the airport, you’re bouncing with nerves, hating how close you’re cutting it.

You don’t relax again until you’re through security and speed-walking towards your gate, with about fifteen minutes to spare.

“No time for a beer,” you lament. “But I guess I better go to the bathroom.”

Seungcheol nods. “I’ll wait for you by the gate?”

When you return, wiping your hands on your jeans because of course the shitty hand-dryers barely work, he’s waiting as promised, and you join him in line.

In your seats, he closes his eyes and rubs at his face. “I think I’ll be asleep before we even take off,” he admits quietly.

You smile coyly, looking at him sideways. “I’d say sorry, but…”

He shoots you back an indulgent smile, letting you know he gets the joke.

He turns out to be right - he’s asleep before you take off, head lolling sideways and hands slack on his lap. He doesn’t even stay awake long enough to hear the safety speech - but he does stay awake long enough to pass you an earbud first.

As the squares of brown and green give way to only cloud cover as the plane ascends, you cave, cracking beneath sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion, soothing over insecurities about different interactions you had with your family, distracting you from obsessing over your now even more complicated relationship with your sister. You let yourself daydream, give in to the urge to wonder what it might look like - the something you’d felt bubbling between you. If you go home and let that magic little maybe turn into something real.

You picture it - sitting together in the big chair at your brother’s place that Seungcheol usually claims, his arm casually around you as you view the familiar scene from a new vantage point. Getting through the workday by texting cute shit and little questions, sneaking to the bathroom to send flirty selfies after never-ending meetings. Sitting across from him at candlelit restaurant tables, dressed up but eager to go home and dress down again. You can picture all of it. Everything, right now, is possible.

You brace yourself, summon some courage, and slip your hand into his.

Somewhere between asleep and awake, your ex-fake-boyfriend curls his fingers back around yours.

He wakes up holding your hand and catapults from alarm to affection to alarm again. Luckily, while he’s mentally scrambling, you’re busy retracting your hand and holding his borrowed earbud out to him to take back.

He pops it back into the case and rubs at his eyes. “We down yet?”

You glance over your shoulder at the little window, as if you’re not totally certain if you’re on land or in the sky, and you need to check, which Seungcheol secretly thinks is adorable.

“Not quite,” you answer, looking back at him. “Getting there, though.”

Seungcheol stretches his legs under the seat ahead of him, then pushes himself to sit more upright, starting to get his bearings. You’re quiet next to him, fiddling with your phone on your lap though the screen is off.

“You good?” he asks, voice a bit clogged from sleep.

“Oh.” You stop fiddling, like you’re suddenly aware that he can see you. “Yeah. Just, y’know, tired. From the trip, and my family and everything…”

“Got it,” he says, and he does - he gets it. He’s been with you the last few days - did the same amount of travel, got the same amount of sleep, witnessed firsthand the way you make yourself smaller under the eyes of your family members (aside from Soonyoung, of course). And even though his duties are officially over, he can’t help but continue to feel what he had all weekend long: the desire to ease you through it, to make it a little better, to make sure you aren’t alone in the face of your ghosts.

When it’s your turn to rise and make your way to the aisle, he scoots out to let you go first, one hand hovering near your back but not touching as you shuffle up the narrow aisle towards the exit.

At baggage claim, as you both wait for the flashing red light to indicate that your bags are moving, he watches you sway a little on your feet. Biting back a tiny smile, he steps closer, reaching around your shoulders to nudge you closer, to encourage you to - literally - lean on him. You look up gratefully, and he gives you a small smile back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, as the red light begins to blink, slowly on and off. The belts begin to move. He wasn’t supposed to like you, wasn’t supposed to be wading through the viscous need to make things easier for you - to shift obstacles out of your way before you got to them, to help lift every heavy thing before you can feel their weight in your hands. It’s a feeling he’s only ever had for one person before, and it makes him feel shifty and sort of guilty that he’s feeling it for you, too.

Which is bullshit, because he’s single, and Jieun only cares about him when she feels like she’s missing out on something, and you don’t treat him like that - don’t insult him when you’re frustrated, don’t sulk until he caves and asks what’s wrong, don’t vanish for days and then demand his attention on a whim.

So, when your bags come, he reaches for yours, too. He wants to help you with the heavy lift - even when it’s physical.

He settles back into home when he gets there - throws in a load of his most-important clothes, takes a hot shower during which he allows himself zero thoughts - static only. He orders delivery for dinner because he’s sure as hell not cooking for himself tonight, but makes a grocery list on his phone for tomorrow. When his food comes, he settles on his couch, putting on a show he’s seen before just for the noise, and then he spends the next hour fighting the urge to text you.

Did you get home okay? How’s unpacking going? Are you back to work tomorrow? The questions flow through him, none more pressing than the last, but he turns them all away for now.

Instead he opens social media, looking over his last post - the beach at the resort, followed by a selfie. Of course Jieun had commented, but he’d left it unanswered. Frowning to himself, he looks through his camera roll. He chooses one of the ceremony spot that he’d taken before the room had gotten crowded, the focus being the hanging white flowers filling the room. He pairs it with a picture he took with you and Soonyoung and Chan, your faces all squished together, happy and flushed from drinking and dancing. Chan isn’t even looking at the camera, his mouth open in a laugh as he looks at something off-screen. Soonyoung’s eyes are closed but his smile is huge. Seungcheol himself is grinning, one arm over your shoulders as you press in close to squeeze into the shot. You’re looking at him, not the camera, your genuine smile showing your teeth - different from what he saw in all the posed photos the family had to take.

He posts without a caption, as he usually does, but tags the three of you. He wonders - hopes, maybe - that you’ll text him first when you see the picture, even if it’s just to make fun of your brother’s inability to keep his eyes open for a picture.

But it’s not your name on his screen when his phone buzzes fifteen minutes later, as he’s starting to eat his delivery. He presses his lips together; he should have known this was coming.

Ji 💖: back from your trip? it looked amazing

Seungcheol stares at the message for a long time, as if reading it over and over will reveal her intent, determine if this is just one of her little games. He considers sending back what do you want, Jieun? but it’s never worked out for him to jump directly to the offensive before, so he resists.

Instead, he finds himself on her social media page, drawn there as if by a trance. It’s not the first time he’s likened her effect on him to magic - and not the nice kind.

He scrolls down until he finds what he’s looking for - the last time she posted them together, the last time she posted him. People could say what they wanted about Jieun, and Seungcheol had plenty to say depending on the day, but he liked this about her: when they broke up, she kept his pictures up. He didn’t disappear from her story, her history, the way he’d seen other couples do.

He’d asked her about it, once, maybe a year ago. They’d been in his bed, limbs tangled, watching the moonlight slowly creep up Seungcheol’s wall, marking the time with their slow, sleepy breaths - neither of them able to sleep, too excited by and wrapped up in the high of getting back together again, of agreeing to work it out, of the optimism that maybe this time would be different.

“Ji?” he’d murmured, looking down at where her head rested on his bare chest.

“Mmm?” she’s asked, and he’d wondered if he’d woken her up.

“You never deleted my pictures,” he’d said, but it was a question and they both knew it.

She’s stirred, rolling so she could look at him better through the dark. “Mmm,” she’d said again, an agreeing noise. “Didn’t want to.”

He’d looked at her, heart full but scared, too. “Right,” he’d said quietly. “I guess my question is why not.”

She was quiet a long time, and her fingertips gliding back and forth across his upper arm as she thought were the only indications that she hadn’t gone back to sleep.

“I think I felt like you’d be back,” she’d said finally. “Deleting them would mean I thought it was really over. And I never did.”

He’d always loved that, though he’d never said as much to his friends. As much as he sometimes wished she would let him go, there’s part of him that loves that she always keeps space for him. As if them working it out, working for once, was just a matter of timing.

Looking at their last picture together, he considers the you of the situation. If he pursues something with you, there’s no guarantee - no promise that it will work, no insurance that it won’t fuck things up with his friend group, no magic mirror to show him a future where you stay together and it doesn’t fall apart or go up in flames. And without that promise, without that peek, the uncertainty seems insurmountable; he’s never done this successfully. It’s always ended in flames, for him - for him and Jieun.

If he opens this door with her - for the hundredth time - there’s no promise of a happy ending there, either. But at least he knows the steps, knows the routine, has some expectations in place. There’s no learning curve, no uncertainty. It’s just stepping back into a dance he can do in his sleep, as easy as what’s after like? choreo.

He’d told you what happened on the trip had to stay there, hadn’t he? If he stepped away from you now, wouldn’t that just be doing what he’d promised? It wouldn’t be letting you down that badly, would it?

But Jieun - if her showing up means she’s ready to try again - he does owe her more. He owes her to try, to fix what he’d broken a dozen times before, to do it right after all the times he’d done it wrong, to follow through on promises he’d meant when he said them.

He sits for a long time, weighing this in his mind. Then, finally, he makes his decision.

Seungcheol: yeah, got back today. it was great Seungcheol: hbu… u good?

When he sees the dots appear that indicate Jieun typing, he can’t help the helium lift on his heart, rising like an inflating hot air balloon into uncertain skies.

<- Prev || Next ->

hehehehehhe hellooooooooooooo don't kill meeee :) :) :)

thank you for reading!!!

#re: YTYM #codeinebelle

312 notes · View notes