#doah house | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwendix · 17 days

Text

SUGAR COATED

request: "hi! i'd like to see some kind of possessive and jealous harin x reader when harin saw reader got close to someone or when reader just want to make harin jealous by flirting with someone (like suji) to make harin gets jealous on purpose so theres a smut scene after that .g!p harin if its okay! pls consider my request if u have time. have a gday!!" | me: thank you, I hope you have a good day too!!🩷 btw, I wrote g!p for the first time and it was fun|

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: not proofreaded(probably misspellings, etc), smut with a little bit of a plot. g!p harin, jealous!harin, kisses, hickeys(marking), breasts play, possessive!harin, fingering, blowjob, dom!harin x sub!user, unprotected sex(don't do this in real life), rough sex, harin being harsh and rough but adoring, degrading/praising(harin teasing reader with vulgar and dirty words, but then speaks to her gently and lovingly).

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: you always understood why harin was so obsessed with the game and you knew that the game was very important for her, so you were never against it, and always supported her when she had any difficulties. you were infinitely understanding, but not infinitely patient, so your patience began to wear out when harin began to devote much more time to the game than to you. what's the best way to get attention from your jealous girlfriend? exactly, make her jealous.

game, game, game... everything always about game. It’s not that you’re incredibly needy or ask for too much attention, not at all, but you haven’t been getting even that lately. you snuggle to her, your hands carefully pushing under her shirt, you gently outline her ribs with your fingers and press your lips to her neck, whispering.

"harin... i missed you today..." you softly whisper in her ear, trying to get her attention at least s little. but she just hummed in response and nodded. she doesn't even try to pretend to listen to you, huh?

"yeah, yeah... i missed you too." harin said without taking her eyes off the screen of her phone on which the pyramid game app was open. you frowned a little and decided to go for more reaction from her.

"I'm going to go out with my friend tonigh." you said and fell silent, expecting a million questions about with whom, where and for how long.

"go out?... mhm, delightful we can go out tomorrow if you want..." the audacity!... she's not listening at all? she just listens to some few words from all the sentences and tries to answer so that you won't sulk at her.

"I'm saying I'm going out with friend" you say a bit louder, making accent on "with friends".

"oh. uh, okay? with doah, right?" now she sounds a little more interested but still not enough to your liking. you sighed in annoyance and pulled away, saying something like "forget it" and laying on the bed facing the wall. you like being in harin's house because you can spend more time together but harin just acting like this... with the growing feeling of disappointment you fall asleep, thinking about how tomorrow in school you'll take more serious and provocative measures.

the next day at lunch you sat down at suji's table, starting a casual conversation. you take a bite of the rice cake and a brilliant idea came to your mind. you reach into your lunchbox with your chopsticks, pick up a piece of kimbap and with as innocent as possible smile, hold it out to suji’s lips. for a moment you see how confused she got but her lips parted, letting you place the kimbap into her mouth.

"what do you think?"

"oh. It’s delicious, thank you.” suji says with a little surprised tone of voice, though, the kimbap is really tasty.

"really? I'm glad you like it. you know, I cooked it myself." you say proudly. It wasn't entirely true, of course, but who cared now? clearly not suji who only thought that it tasted really good. you were just taking another piece of the delicious treat with chopsticks and again handing it to suji, when harin noticed with a sideways glance that she had entered the school canteen. you had a hard time not letting your lips curve into a sly grin when you realize that everything is going exactly as you planned, because you noticed how harin is frozed at the entrance and her gaze is directed in your side. you smile again in the cutest way possible, continuing to act as if you didn’t notice harin’s presence.

"would you like a treat? i have some marmalade candies... they are not as sweet as you and not as soft as your sweet cheeks, of course, but still pretty good." you see how suji’s eyes widen in surprise or at how dumbfounded she is by your "incredible” flirting skills, but what matters — harin comes to your table and sits next to you, trying to act casually, unbotheredly, but you see how her hand clenching in fists.

"you never fed me like that." harin says, looking at your chopsticks with her empty gaze. though, you know this look to well, this empty gaze saying more than any words. but you just shrugs and keep going.

"suji-ah, do you want more?" you ask her sweetly and place some of kimbap onto suji's plate. after that you take a napkin in your hands, rise from the table a little and lean closer to suji. you gently touch the corner of her lips with a napkin. "you've got crumbs here. aw, such a cutie, i can help you."

you don’t have time to say another word when suddenly you feel harin’s iron grip on your wrist, and a second later she’s already dragging you through the corridor to the locker room, where she locks the door and pushes you against the wall, making your eyes widen and knocking a gasp out of you when your back lightly hits the wall. you see how the corner of her lips twitches and she bites the inside of her cheek, she literally eating you alive with her eyes.

"what the hell was that?"

"was there something?" you raise an eyebrow, playing dumb. you know how harin hates when you do this, because you’re not stupid at all and she knows it. but you just can't stop yourself, you're too pissed off by how she treated you yesterday.

"you know what i mean!... why did you do that, huh? why the hell did you get along with suji and be so nice to her? you've never even fed me like that!..." oh how jealous harin is... you even notice how she starts to sulk a little. she will probably remember this situation to you for a long time and will force you to feed her for a long time because you did it for suji today, so you should do this for her as well.

"maybe I was just being friendly? or maybe I was just trying to make friends? or maybe I'm just tired of being ignored?" you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning your back against the wall. your eyes are stubbornly directed at harin’s face, not ready to give in and look to the side. It's not your fault, why should you be embarrassed or worried?

"tired of being ignored, you say? ignored by whom? I constantly see how someone looks at you. do you have any idea how annoying this is to me? here is my girl, and everyone is looking at her... why? you're mine, i don't want others to stare at you." she starts out annoyedly, slmost angry, but by the end of the sentence she becomes a little thoughtful. harin is silent for a couple of seconds, and then you notice the playful twinkle in her eyes and the way her lips curl into a sly grin. now you're so close that you can literally feel her breath on you, and now you're literally pinned between the harin and the wall and you definitely won't be able to do anything about it. her gaze roaming over you from top to bottom and from bottom to top and you feel the tension subsiding a little, she adds teasingly.

"though, i shouldn't be surprised, should i? you're such eye candy, no wonder everyone is staring at you. hmm, my bad, baby, it's not your fault you're so beautiful for me that everyone wants to be with you."

you feel your body heating up, blush covering your cheeks and your thoughts slowly dissapearing. you wanted to tell her everything, to tell her how tired you are that she doesn’t give you enough time... oh, it seems that harin has tricked you again. what a devil, she knows how much you love such a sweet talking, and always uses it to get away with everything, always when she says something like that to you, you lose focus and completely forget that she, in fact, was at fault. or you forgot about it at least for some time, good for her too. you’re not sure how everything happened so quickly, but you catch yourself as harin sits down on a chair and pulls you along with her, sitting you on her lap. you gasp, her fingers already working on the buttons of your shirt, while you do the same, trying to take of harin's shirt. your girlfriend succeeds and within a moment there is no shirt or bra left on you, the cool air tickles your skin, making your nipples harden. you can almost feel her grinning as her lips wrapped around one your nipples, as she hears you're cute little gasps an moans. she feels your hands gripping her shirt, which you still didn't managed to take off. her tongue circles around your nipple, you feel harin sucking on it, as her hands roaming all over you body.she occasionally moves away from your chest, only to whisper about how beautiful you look now and how perfectly your body feels under her fingers.

"I feel how you trembling... isn't it funny? just a moment ago you were ready to scream and curse me, and now you’re trembling and moaning on my lap... I think you said you wanted attention, so I'll give you all the attention you deserve, baby"

harin's hands are on your hips, she starts to rock them against herself, making you feel her cock twitching in anticipation through the thin fabric of her pants, amd you feel like you're falling apart in her hands. every touch, every brush of the skin and every grind she did... it's just too much.

"such a pretty little thing you are...you only want me right? mm, you begged for attention from suji so much today that you made me worried. you're mine and mine only, remember? my girl is too good to want anyone else, isn't she?"

her hips make a few light thrusts, again letting you feel how hard she is for you, just the thought about it makes you wet. you want more: more friction, more touching, more attention. you move your hips with upset hmpf, clearly displaying how needy you are for her. you grinding against harin’s thigh, leaving a little wet spot on it through your already soaked with need panties. a satisfied smirk appears on harin's face.

"such a needy girl, all wet just because I let you sit on my lap. it's almost embarrassing. although..." she paused as if thinking about something and then added. "although I love you for how needy you are . I feel powerful because of this, you know? and what could be better than to have power over such a lovely girl like you?"

your cheeks getting warmer, blush spreading across them and you want to say that you feel shy when talking to you like that, but she interrupts you with a kiss. her lips cover yours, and her hand lets go lower, lifting the elastic band of your skirt and panties with her fingers, you feel her fingers pushing apart your wet folds, toying with you and you gasp into her lips. she uses this moment to shamelessly push her tongue into your mouth. you can’t hold back your moan and, and without think you pull away a little, which makes harin have to hold you by the waist, not letting you slip off her lap. your hips already twitching from time to time begging harin for something more significant and she pushes one finger inside you, now unable to hold back a moan either. she breaks the kiss, her lips immediately falls to your neck, she leads a trail of wet kisses along it and occasionally you feel nibbles on your skin and hear harin whispering “mine” into your neck. the movements of her finger are so slow that you feel as if she is deliberately torturing you, just waiting for you to beg... and you will.

"harin, please... more... faster..." you mutter and tilt your head to the said, giving her better access to your neck.

she hummed in agreement but didn't speed up even a bit.

"what exactly you want, hm? tell me and i might consider granting your wish..."

"I want more than your fingers..." you mutter in embarrassment, which only makes the grin on harin’s face grow larger and you feel her dick twitching under her pants, but she is far more patient than you are.

"aww, baby wants me inside? why wouldn't you just say that?" she teased and pushed one more finger inside, moving just enough to make you burn with desire. "if you can't say what tou want, ride my fingers. i think you should earn your treat, after all, you upset me today. or is this too much for you as well? or do you just want someone else? imagining how suji could fuck you, Is that why you were so nice to her? you're such a slut, what a pity... didn't I teach you manners?"

It seems that now you are overtaken by the consequences of your decision to “tease” harin and make her jealous. of course you didn’t want suji, you didn’t even like her, but there was no point in making excuses, the best thing you can do — listen to her. you start rocking your hips up and down against her fingers, moan left your lips, and you speed up, at least, to the pin when you still can maintain balance on her lap. she watches you fuck yourself with her fingers and the previous frown gradually disappears from her face.

"you try so hard to improve, it's almost funny. my sweet girl, doing so well for me, aren't you? just a little more... i want you nice and stretched for me, just how i like you."

she bited her lower lip, this picture where you on her lap, fucking yourself with her fingers, all so needy, guilty, and out of breath, but still so wet, making a mess on her palm. and your eyes covered with a veil of desire and lust. just too much for her to bear, her pants feel painfully tight. harin cursed, her fingers pulling out of your drenched pussy, she lifted you up, making you just stand on the floor and told you to pull her pants and boxers down, and that's exactly what you do. her cock standing proudly right before you, hard from arousal and already covered in precum. you can't help but almost whimper at this view.

"on your knees, baby. being on you knees and sucking me — perfect place for such an attention-slut."

such dirty words, but somehow they make you wet even more, to the point where your slickness slowly flowing down your thigh. maybe because you know that she doesn't mean it seriously, or maybe because you just into this. anyway, you kneel before her. your lips open slightly, you outline the head of her cock with your tongue, licking ans tasting her pre-cum and then you slowly wrap your lips around the shaft. your head moving up-and-down in deliberate motion, and you hear harin's gasp. you trying to take more of her into your mouth, and her hand finds it's way to your head, digging her fingers into your hair, squeezing and pulling it when your lips wrapped around a particularly sensitive part.

"aww, what is it, baby? can't take more?" she teased, her fingers dig into your hair, not painfully, but so that you feel her control over the situation. it's even comforting...

"wanna help? my adorable girl, can’t cope at all without my help, can you?" for a moment her hand lets go of your hair, moving down to your cheek to stroke it. you just look so adorable kneeling in front of her, and how your cheeks suck in when you suck her off and your eyes are full of desire and devotion for her.she gently strokes your cheek, at the same moment your tongue circles around her, you manage to take half of her length, making her moan. you’re really making this difficult for harin, she really wants to “help” you. and she will, she can't hold herself back anymore. her hand finds its way into your hair again, squeezing it, controlling your movements and speed. she forces you to take her entire length, you can feel the head of her cock pressing against your throat. it becomes difficult to breathe but you hold on, trying to please her.

"what is it, dear? too fast for you, huh? hold on a little more... just... fuck!... a little longer..." harin moans and bites her lower lip, it’s just feels too good when you take her all, she loves to feeling when you almost choking on her dick, but still so eager to please her. she loves the look on your face, your teary eyes. your tearful eyes and your hands resting on her hips is all that is needed for her to reach her peak and pour right into your mouth, pulling away at the last second, letting her cum fall on your chest. you feel her release in your mouth and the way it sliding down your throat. you try to swallow, but you only manage to swallow part of it, the rest rolls down your chin and neck in droplets.

"you're such a dummy, baby... didn't I say that you should swallow everything?" harin said in scolding tone, her voice sounds sincerely sad. like she was really upset that you didn't swallow everything.

"I tried to swallow everything, okay? it's just... you know, it was a lot..." you mutter, pouting a little.

she sighed but nodded, you see that she is not upset with you, really, just a little sad but she won't hold it against you. harin tells you to get up and gently pulls you by the waist. she sits, so when you stand up to your full height she has to bend down just a little bit to see your needy cunt. she can't help but hum in delight when she sees you dripping, even the inside of your thighs is already all wet.

"you're so much wetter just because i put you on your knees and you sucked me off? so pretty... you love my cock so much you would beg me for it, wouldn't you?"

all you can do — nod frantically. she wanted her attention abd you getting it. she pulls you even closer, tempting you to sit on her lap. you lower yourself onto her, your hand goes down to your pussy, and you grope harin’s cock and bite your lip, fighting the urge to jerk her off. you point her shaft straight to your pussy and it smoothly slides into you. you moan, you feel so full and stretched, this feels so right, as if being here with harin and shamelessly taking her in school locker room is what you actually exist for. she lets out a satisfied moan, her grip tightening on your hips as she enjoys the sensation of her cock reaching your cervix. she leans forward, nipping at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she thrusts harder and faster.

"that's right, feel me deep inside you. fell the attention you craved so much." she growls, her voice filled with lust and pleasure as she feels how tight your pussy is. "feel every inch of me, baby..."

her hips drive into you with furious intensity, the angle allowing her to hit your most sensitive spots with precision. the pleasure builds within you, the intensity growing with every thrust. notuch timepassed before you feel orgasm crashing on you, making your legs tremble. harin climaxed right after you, her warm and stiky load feeling you up.

you are both trying to catch your breath, finding something very comforting and soft in being like this: messy, but so close and happy. you feel harin's hands gently wrapping around your shoulders and her head dropping onto your shoulder.

"i love you" pause "though, don't even think of getting close to someone else."

#character x reader #wlw #pyramid game #baek harin #pyramid game x reader #baek harin x reader

316 notes · View notes

dropsofletters · 5 years

Text

thinking of your gaze

title: thinking of your gaze pairing: park chanyeol/reader genre: long distance relationship!au/makeup artist!au/runway model!au summary: to see him and not to have him was her biggest sin. to love him and never tell him was her biggest regret. to feel him by her side was a dream to have late at night and to think of him was as normal as the wind passing by on its early rendezvous. she should have known that life goes along with love and love is obsessed with pain, and somehow park chanyeol is all three of those. type: angst/fluff word count: 20,602 words a/n: this is part of a two-part series that includes chanyeol and yixing as the main characters. both of these stories include snippets of what the other story is about. the yixing version shall be posted next week. none of these worlds or oc’s have anything to do with one another, much less do the main characters share a common love interest.

The world teaches its population that there are time-limits for everything. It starts with due dates for homework, then it moves over to friendships that just need to blossom at certain times, first loves that people just need to happen at certain age before it becomes too late to even try. One day, marriage becomes of importance, like a golden necklace hanging from your neck, and the other kids are necessary to fill the void of silence in someone’s house. There is rarely the time to enjoy life as it is, to give the clock time to turn into its numbers. It is always about moving forward, pushing your own type of love story to be written and catch whoever is in your sight to be the main lead beside you.

Some stories are just written with hard work; to some hard work is tears and sweat, paired with working over-hours and hanging out with the right people. To her, it was served in the form of makeup palettes, from eyeshadows combinations to practicing cut-creases in as many friends as she could get ready, to looking out for the newest trends and doing something out there, that remained classy enough to capture the attention of people. What she adored the most is that art, in whatever form it was even when hers was in makeup, never had a time-limit. The worst part, however, was the huge competition and the easiness of doing makeup. Some people simply thought it was useless to have someone else doing their makeup and with the amount of self-proclaimed artists, there were less spots to fill in important charges, like the makeup artist of a performer or someone with a makeup line.

Some dreams do come true, with all the hope in the world put into it, and now she could say she finally had a chance to shine for her talent.

When she was told Paris Fashion Week as the setting that she had been hired to work in, she had practically left a squeal in the depth of her throat with the excitement that bundled up inside her. What she did not notice, however, was that there were going to be other twenty makeup artists stuck in one room with a corresponding model for each of them, and that there were a lot of preparations that came with presenting the outfits in the runway, always ready for last minute changes, as well as paying attention to the most miniscule details so none of the colors from the makeup fell on the fabric of clothing or the accessories.

If she was honest, after spending a day in Paris preparing for the first night of the big event, she had only gotten to see studio lights and a lot of models, as well as getting hissed at by designers that were not too keen of her technique. Her confidence faltered the slightest at times, when she would pull away to look at the final product and thought to herself that there was nothing memorable about it, that she would be a disgrace for those who called themselves makeup artists, but a few thanking sentences from the less well-known models had her feeling better about herself.

After all, she was there for a job opportunity and she was getting the best out of it. Perhaps, at the end of this week she would finally get a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Not now, because there was one more model that she needed to prepare for the runway.

The world of rich people was incredibly hard to keep up with. There were celebrities that were at the top of every list with each passing year, that would never fall from their number one spot, just like there were names that people knew for a few months before they were forgotten. It was the rush that surrounded her that made her so anxious, knowing that for makeup artists it was the same, even for stylists. One word that passed as disliked to a celebrity and their careers were over and done with.

She heard the sound of the door of the makeup room opening, the chatting around her barely making the sound stand out as she organized her palettes. Concealers in one place, organized by shade; bronzers and highlighters organized by tone and her brushes were displayed in front of her, cleaned after she had finished the previous model’s makeup. A good look at herself showed that she was a mess, her black turtleneck showing a few foundation stamps at the edge of it, all thanks to rubbing her fingers against the fabric when the designer that accompanied the model cursed at her for using too much product. She moved her ponytail to the side slightly, bunching the fabric of her shirt inside her high-waisted jeans before someone snickered beside her.

“That’s what we call fashion.” Her very pregnant, and still very sarcastic, friend said from the side. Doah was also a makeup artist, her roommate for a few months at her very start four years ago. She remembered the times clearly, when she had left her nine-to-five job simply to approach something bigger that she loved even more. People around her were clearly not happy, but Doah was in the same situation as her and served as support as they launched their careers. Now, after living apart for two years and having crafted their careers to reach the point of doing makeup at PFW was a big deal.

She huffed. “Hey, I am not here to get a brand deal, you know? It doesn’t matter.” She convinced herself, watching the bloated woman rub her hand over her belly before chuckling.

“You’re annoyed.”

“Well, duh.” She stated, taking one look at Doah and smiling to herself. The woman had a healing aura around her, perhaps it was the floral scent that always radiated from her or her extra rounded cheeks with a perfectly gummy smile, but even when the nights were their darkest and she felt like she was going nowhere, Doah had done her best to make her feel like there were more chapters to her story. “I don’t know what I hate more. Doing a bride’s makeup or having a designer behind me screaming at me to put less foundation on.” Doah leaned over the vanity, letting her fingers touch her fake eyelashes to see if they were still glued on properly before sighing.

“It’s what we have to go through. Come on, we can do this.” With her excitement stocked somewhere within her that never seemed to dull, Doah shined like a star in a world that was full of sorrow for her. The doubt she felt, as well as the fear, was just a tiny monster eating at the back of her head. It kept her grounded, showing her that it was definitely never going to be easy.

The person that took a seat in front of the vanity consisted of the entire model set. Long legs and particularly outstanding features, good bone structure and a well-styled hair, but what differentiated the person whose makeup she was going to do at the moment was the smile on his face. It was soft, barely even there after he put his phone down on the vanity table, the lights on the mirror casting shadows under his eyes in the shape of his eyelashes and on the curve of his lips. The man had been in the cover of Vogue around the world a thousand times, more often than not with his right-hand model co-worker—and best friend—Oh Sehun. The pair had started out as simple models in a runway with much payment at all, even working for free when needed, until they were discovered by the right manager and they blew up instantly. Everyone wanted a picture of the two, wanted to be like how they were, simply desired to wear what they had over their bodies. Men all over the world took them as inspiration; people crowded around them with paparazzi not being left behind as they wondered what those two men could be doing with their lives. Pushing dating rumors aside, both in between them and with other people, they lived their lives giving a new aspect of fashion to the world.

To them, it was about the fun part of it—individuality, art, mixing and matching old and future trends to create something special. Experts said they had brought back the early 2000’s waves of models, the ‘good, old times’ some called it, while their faces were freshly new and definitely pleasing to look at. Two years down the road of their success and Park Chanyeol and Oh Sehun were one of the highest paid duos of the entire world. Furthermore, they worked together most of the time when in runways, more often than not having solo photoshoots whenever the time came around.

As someone that had to read about the fashion world, she was awestruck the moment she looked at Chanyeol, holding her beauty blender in between her fingers and bowing at him soon after as a greeting. His hair was blond, styled up to show his perfectly put-together undercut, makeup-less and shining in an all-white outfit, one that got a little bit lost with the color of his hair. Nonetheless, she could not even utter a word about it when she heard a designer approaching her quickly.

Much younger and less scary than the last designer she had talked to, the stylish woman—whose name she thought went along the lines of Seulgi— talked to her quickly about the basics of what she wanted in Chanyeol’s makeup. “Okay,” Seulgi caught her breath, putting a hand against her chest as if that would stop her heart from racing so fast. “I want white eyeliner and a good set of brows. Please, contour his face but leave his lips fairly natural.” Before she could even question Seulgi about anything, she was met with the woman’s back before she moved to another side of the makeup room.

In between her fingers, she played with the edges of her washed beauty blender before she decided to be the bigger person and talk to Chanyeol. “I, uh, I’ll start, then?” But it was not as easy as she thought it would be. Her fingers hovered over his face after placing Chanyeol’s perfect foundation match on the back of her hand as she breathed through her nose to keep herself calm. Hesitation was defined in dictionaries by the sight of her face as that moment and with blinking, oddly calming eyes, Chanyeol smiled before nodding his head.

“Go ahead. You can touch my face. It’s nothing.”

“Alright, thank you.” Thank you?! If that was the best she could do to look casual and totally professional, then she would get an award for the worst actress that had ever stepped a foot in this graceful earth. However, she concentrated on patting the product on his skin, the nicely prepped pores absorbing the density of the foundation before she turned around once again, looking between her tubes of concealer to pick one that matched. From the reflection in the vanity, she could catch a glimpse of the outfit itself—tall white pants with a belt that looked extremely expensive, paired with a see-through flowery shirt underneath an equally as white blazer. He kept looking ahead in his reflection, or perhaps at her, and when the applier to the concealer touched his under-eye area, he spoke up.

“I don’t think I have seen you in any past fashion week…are you new to the makeup team working with m company?” The man asked, surprising her with his observational skills. His eyes still look at her while she applies his foundation, putting a little bit to hide the faint bags under his eyes. What she knows is that he has not been getting enough hours of sleep. She nods her head as an answer, however, because it is easier to show than to tell, and she can’t find it in herself to talk to him. In that place, she has met a variety of nice looking models—but never quite so much of her preferred type of man. “I knew it. I know everyone around here, but I didn’t know you.”

Maybe, it is the fact that she has had enough regrets in her life that pushes her to say her name, introduce herself as if celebrities even care in most cases, but if he is asking, she supposes he wants to know. The introduction does not last long, only ending after she patted the last bit of concealer under his eyes were reaching over for an eyebrow brush. “And yeah. I had never actually worked with your company before, but I am on trial for now. If I do great, they might hire me full time or something—they said that, but I am not lifting my hopes up or anything.”

Chanyeol blinks softly, looking at her motions as if he is relaxed by getting his makeup done. She would understand that point of view, if that was the case, having gotten her makeup done by her friends a few times. “If they hired you, you must be really good. Besides, they are short on staff.” The man adds, a smirk appearing over his face as he teases her and for a moment, she finds herself smiling, too.

“This room does not specifically scream short on staff.”

“You think this is too packed?” He points with his index finger around the room before shaking his head. The soft brushing of her eyebrow pencil against his eyebrows lets her create the shape, sharp and straight, probably going to be perfected by more concealer. “It is even worse when you’re waiting to go up stage. Everyone is screaming at you and stylists start putting hairspray on you and it smells a bit like too much perfume, but also sweat and you can only hear—” The way his lips make out the sound that is supposed to be the spraying had her laughing, her nerves becoming less and less prominent the more he talks to her. By her side, she can see that her ex-roommate is working on Sehun’s makeup, much more quiet and concentrated on taking mirror selfies, rather than anything else.

She laughs, taking a flat brush and coating it slightly in concealer to perfect his eyebrow shape. “Did you get used to it?”

“Oh no. The smell is terrible.” Chanyeol announces and she bites down on her bottom lip to fight back a smile, but it is almost impossible. There are people that truly remain humble, even when she knows his bank account is probably surrounded by zeroes and zeroes one after another, and Chanyeol seems to be one of them. “But I do love runways, it feels so good to walk up there and just…just, like, I don’t know how to explain it? It’s like wearing someone’s art?” That is the part where it seemed like she could connect to him, to the models around her and the designers that do their best to share their absolute love for art. Some do it for the money, of course, but she thought fashion was the most hated and yet the most used piece of art. While problematic in its own way, sometimes filled with unnecessary remarks and drama, it truly was a form of art.

“I get it.” She adds, picking up the white eyeliner she had bought with the most recent trends in makeup. Neon and white were passed from clothes to liquid eyeliners, and it was something she had not tried on herself, yet, but by the looks of it, it would have worked excellently on someone like Chanyeol. Perhaps, that is why the thought of being a model even crossed his head, because he knew that he was that good-looking. The type of beautiful that left anyone in awe, that deserved to be dressed only in the most precisely made clothing, with the shiniest jewelry hanging from his neck. Still concentrated on the task at hand, Chanyeol seems relaxed under the weight of her hand, resting upon his cheek to hold his face and help her get a better grip of the eyeliner.

“You’re really good at makeup, too.”

“Ah, really? You haven’t seen that much…I only have one eye finished.” She comments, moving around his chair before taking his face in between her hand and the brush once again. The concentration on her eyes has Chanyeol staring back, trying his hardest not to blink even though his eyes are starting to water a bit. “No, no, no, no. Don’t cry.” The repetition brings a smile to his face, much more when she uses her extended palm as a fan to stop his tears from falling. “You’re going to ruin your eyeliner and I still have to put some in your waterline.”

Chanyeol looks up, to the harsh lights on the ceiling as if he is encountering his first visit to heaven, a smile appearing over his face when he dumbly says. “The least I expected was to end up crying when I sat down on this chair.”

With a white pencil eyeliner, she moves forward and makes sure to fan some more with her hands over Chanyeol’s eyes to stop him from crying. “Not my fault…” Her tongue peaks out to rest at the corner of her lips before she nears the pencil to his eye. “I am going to try to do this quickly, okay?”

“Quickly?” Chanyeol asks when he feels the first swipe of the pencil against his waterline, his eyelashes fluttering with the need to blinking, but he pushes the desire away. “Take as long as you want. I’m totally comfortable over here.”

“So, you like getting your makeup done.” She confirms, but Chanyeol merely clears his throat.

“Yeah, usually. Depends on the person, though, some I enjoy more than others…”

The flirty tone should be expected; it’s the city of love—he is a celebrity, and the amount of confidence that must have bundled up inside that big body of his is probably a compilation of all the love scores that he has had in his life. Chanyeol definitely does not look like the type that got rejected once or twice in his life; she thinks that the only chance of him being rejected would be if, perhaps, he had tried to innocently ask a girl to his girlfriend when they were in kindergarten and the girl was going through the phase of ‘boys have cooties!’, leading to a heartbroken child that felt better four days after.

The heat that radiates from her, like the sun in the middle of summer, has her smiling briefly before she shakes her head. It is obviously not about her, she tries to reason with herself, that Chanyeol was probably talking about something else, but soon after he speaks again:

“Like I said, you’re very good—”

A man with his phone pressed to his ear walks closer to Sehun and Chanyeol, standing in between the two seats. He had black hair that remained sleeked back, a dark suit to match the color and a professional look on his face. She had noticed that Chanyeol had a dimple, but this man’s were even deeper. His attire did not particularly scream runway model, but he could be if he wanted to. “Hello.” He greets the two makeup artists, making her look up from her set of bronzers to bow at him as a way of replying to his greeting. She still had to contour Chanyeol’s face, put some highlighter on and add lipstick to the mix before finishing everything up. “I would like for you to hurry up a bit, please.” He speaks way more politely than anyone else has done in that team, thankfully. “Sehun and Chanyeol have an interview with Cosmopolitan in seven minutes and I need them ready for pictures.”

Chanyeol lifts his gaze while keeping his face still, his makeup artist’s brush contouring his face professionally to make his cheekbones stand out with the sharpness of his face. “Wasn’t it with Vogue?”

“We also have a Vogue interview.” Yixing announces and Chanyeol chuckles at that, apologizing once he realizes that laughing is not exactly what he should be doing when he gets his face contoured. She doesn’t mind, however, for his smile is completely natural and away from the eccentric world that is modelling.

“These new members of the PR Team are going strong.”

“Much more the girl that is scared shitless of Yixing.” Sehun argues from his spot and a smack on his shoulder from his manager has him chuckling the slightest.

What follows next is the end of their conversation. Yixing is reading over what they have to say, what they have to do, how they should act—but also, telling them to keep it casual to the most of their abilities. She tries her best to deliver a good face of makeup but also, take her time to remember his nice looking features. She feels like this is the last time that she will see Chanyeol; the man that stands up and looks at her with a smile before bowing, the same one that repeats her name when he says his goodbyes paired up with a small ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ and the same one that leaves her with the hope that, indeed, they will meet the day after that.

✈��

This job proves to be annoying only four days into the fashion week, and it is even worse when Doah decides to take a flight back home because she is having contractions. She had tried to make her best friend stay, only to keep her company even if she had to have her child in Paris, but Doah was hard-headed and definitely had made a decision already. It leaves her alone and with twice the models to prepare, meaning that she has half the time that she used to have to prepare everything, and if designers had screamed at her in the past few days, they were even worse when Doah had left.

Most of the time, she spends sighing, looking at her watch or trying to apply makeup as quickly as possible. No longer does she embarks in conversation with the models to see how they were doing, she simply does her job and prays that it looks well on cameras.

There are two models that she leaves for last, always, and those are the ones that everyone talked about after every performance. Whenever she got to her hotel room, shared with now one makeup artist instead of two—Jenn, who snores louder than she should and she has to try to get used to it before she goes crazy from the lack of sleep, she would spend the little free time she has reading the reviews about the models that she had done their makeup for, sometimes seeing her name credited at the very bottom with the words ‘MUA’ before it. Oh Sehun is way easier to work with; he talks less, he looks at his phone most of the time and his eyebrows are already to die for, as if he had been blessed with the best genes in the world—and he probably was, really—.

But Park Chanyeol is the one that makes her feel at ease; the only one that kept her sane for the last few days, the reason why she feels like her job is as pleasing as it is. It is always a pleasure looking at him; the first day was white themed, but the second day he was modelling nothing less than Tommy Hilfiger, a brand that he has been sponsored by for a little over a year—he claims, and she listens—. The third day, another brand calls for his name to wear an advancement of their newest winter collection, and Chanyeol looks the coziest with a sweater on. On the fourth day, Chanyeol talks to her as she is doing Sehun’s makeup, going as far as asking her about the steps. He wants to know what primer works for, why Sehun uses mascara and he doesn’t, why she contours Sehun’s face differently from his.

Chanyeol is either a nice onlooker, or he has had his eye on her for the entirety of the four days that they have been here.

All moments are cut short by the man whose name she now knows. Zhang Yixing is the duo’s manager, well-educated and polite, an all-rounded person that excels in everything. If she is being honest, his honesty and niceness shines through him when Sehun teases him about some PR Member that apparently hates him, only to have Yixing whining about how he doesn’t understand why this person dislikes him. Quite the sight, if she is honest, a pretty funny one at that, too.

But on the fourth day, with only three more days left until she is back home and away from Paris, she does get to see the Eiffel Tower. It shines brightly at night, equally as beautiful as she had thought it would be, but she only sees it for a moment—just like how it happens whenever she sees Chanyeol. They barely see each other for fifteen minutes until he is off to another interview, or maybe some last minute preparations, or a photoshoot of sorts. He disappears the moment she blinks; smiling to the street, in hopes that another handful of people feel what she feels for him: endless attraction.

This time, she is inside a taxi on the way to some Spanish restaurant in the downtown part of Paris—because bringing Spain’s culture to Paris seemed like a good idea with the upcoming Madrid Fashion Week a few months from now—, with Jenn holding onto the palm of her hand as she talks and talks about this one new technique that she uses on false eyelashes, one that she doesn’t really pay much attention to. Not as much as she should, really, Jenn already has a spot on the company she is trying to work with, and that could only mean she knows better. But her mind is filled with a lot of things:

One, she is extremely tired, for Fashion Weeks are not as easy as she deemed them to be.

Two, Park Chanyeol is constantly running through her head in his tall, model-like glory as he speaks in that deep voice of his. When in reality, if she is counting, if she spends fifteen minutes on a daily with him and it has only been four days of knowing him, she has barely gotten to see him for an hour.

An hour is quite not enough.

Jenn tugs at her hand, the wavy and dark strands of the woman’s hair flowing with the wind softly as they get out of the taxi. The older makeup artist insists on paying, tossing some money to the French taxi-driver before she turned to look at the entrance of the restaurant. “You know, I have a younger sister and she would get so fucking embarrassed when I held her hand in public. But you don’t. So you’re now my new younger sister.” Jenn jokes around, random and energetic as always, as they go up to the security guard at the entrance, showing the cards that are given to them when going backstage in the fashion shows and sooner than later, they are let inside.

“…I am not sure how I feel about that.” She chuckles, shaking her head as she stares around the place. Open and with the stars twinkling above it; it was nothing less or nothing more than a dream come true. The sound of a Spanish guitar filled the air, and the crowd gathered in different spots, some eating by the tables, others by the bar’s counter and some danced to the sound of a very romantic song. Flamenco seemed to be the subject of the night, along with reds and golds that shined through with elegance. But, there she is, wearing a pair of black pants and some white crop-top that she brought with her, off the shoulder and with wide long sleeves. Now she is worried, because her heels are starting to make her feet ache and she has to eat with precision in order to keep her clothes clean.

“You’re so uptight.” Jenn says. “Let go for a moment. Just, look at this place, okay?” And she does, engulfed by the beauty and the sound of Spanish words sang in such an enticing way that it almost touched the subject of romance. “You just have to have fun in a party like this. Besides, I asked the other makeup artists to save us some seats and food, so we better get there before they start eating what they saved for us.”

“Right…I think I’ll just go grab food for myself.”

“Come on, I know we are all scary when we are in the makeup room, but they are nice people. The stress just gets to them sometimes—” Jenn cuts herself off before clicking her tongue. “And it’s kind of part of the business. Some of them are just up their asses, but you need to talk to some of them to get more well-known. You see?”

She rolls her eyes, opting to think that she just has to get this spot in that company. Madrid Fashion Week is waiting for her. She has to do it. “Okay. I will. It’s alright. I can do it.”

Or so she thought.

When she was a kid, she had played musical chairs once or twice, but the group in front of her take musical chairs to a whole different level. Whoever stands up from their seat to go look for something, they talk about. Perhaps, it would be better to talk about their experiences in the industry, talking about their hardships with makeup in the recurring fashion week, but it goes past from that. Clothing, style, makeup and overall appearance is something that everyone around the table talks about, leaving her to lean back on her seat while plopping snacks past her lips and looking around the room to see if she finds someone that takes her out of that situation.

No one does, until she sees a hand waving at her.

The blonde hair probably gave it away, or the tallness, or the fact that the lights in the room cast upon the only man that had her attention going towards him. Chanyeol waves at her to come closer, moving his arm with him as he holds onto the reason why he is being so bold and frantic—a glass of wine rests on left hand, almost finished, the red liquid tinting his lips exquisitely. She stands up from her seat, whispering to Jenn that she would be back any minute, before the woman nodded her head, too lost in gossip to even spare her a second glance. With wobbling steps in those fucking heels, she goes over to where Chanyeol is standing, obviously near the bar, and obviously smelling like wine mixed with his favorite Calvin Klein cologne.

Dressed in an all-black suit, with polka dots in the tie he wears, Chanyeol’s most outstanding feature is his smile the moment he greets her with a small exclamation of her name. “What are you doing over there, huh? Looking all bored? I was hoping you would come and—” He swallows thickly, probably salivating a bit more now that he is slightly tipsy. “Sehun told me you were over there with the MUA’s.”

She scrunches up her nose in distaste. Some were clearly enjoyable to be around, like Jenn—a good example of a person that is truly enchanting in every way, and maybe one or two that actually asked if she was doing okay, but the fashion industry was, is and will always be messy. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was doing. I’m thankful you called me over.”

Chanyeol looks at her face, up and down, inspecting her features before a quirked smile appears over his face. “Want some wine?”

“No, thank you.” She comments, shaking her hand in distaste. “I don’t like that type of wine and Jenn has already taken a few drinks, so I have to make sure we get to the hotel safe.”

“Responsible.” Chanyeol comments and then, he takes a seat in front of the bar’s counter, patting the seat beside him that she takes gleefully. Chanyeol pushes the strands of his blonde hair behind with his hand, probably used to having it sleeked back thanks to the stylist’s doings, but this was him—casual yet elegant, probably did not take that long to do something to his hair. “Have you ever gone to Madrid?”

She thinks for a moment before she answers, nodding her head as she is reminded of the very hectic, extremely stressful, definitely not pleasant memory she had of that one university trip she had to take for her thesis. Madrid was one of the destinations people were sent to and she thought she would get to see the boisterous side of the city, but she spent most of her nights typing the results of the thesis while her classmates spent their nights drinking and partying. “I did. I don’t think I truly got to see the beauty of it because I didn’t have a lot of time to do so.”

“You’re always on the run, huh?”

“Quite like yourself.” She replies, watching as Chanyeol nods as he takes another glass of wine from the bartender. She tries to stop him, placing her hand over his very expensive Rolex watch as she mumbles: “Hey, take it slow, the wine is not going anywhere.”

The tall man giggles at that, patting his cheeks to stop himself before he continues the conversation. “I haven’t even had the time to go to Seoul in a long while. So you’re right, I’m very busy.”

“But I don’t think you regret being a model at all.”

Chanyeol takes a sip of his wine before shaking his head. “Not at all.” Thankfully. She knew the feeling of wanting to get out of a place as soon as possible, but you can’t—because it is your job, and it pays the bills, and it potentially will be your future. The moment she abandoned her previous job, she spent months wondering if she had done the correct thing and only now, she got to see the flowers of the garden she had watered for years. “I did it as a joke at first,” He indicates, the dimple on his cheek prominent as he smiles. “But then it actually grew on me. My mom has all the magazines that I have been featured in saved in a drawer or something.”

Her heart beats softly at the idea of his mother being proud of the man he has become. An icon, quite clearly, much more for fashion. “So you’re a momma’s boy, then.”

“Very much so. I can only sleep well if I call my mom beforehand.”

“…You’re lying.”

“Why would I?” Chanyeol asks, his cheeks turning pink because of the drinks he has had. “But, we have talked enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”

That question can end up with two answers. The awkward answer that comes with bland connotations and a wall that separates two people from getting to know each other. And then, there is the type of answer that she gives him. She basks on conversation with him; talking about what shows she watches, the scar on her knee that is a memory of her days playing outside of the house, how she learned how to do proper eyeliner—because Chanyeol says his hands are too shaky whenever he has tried to do so—and the man replies with drunken memories of his own. His tongue is slurring by the time he finishes his glass of wine, saying how he once put glue on his sister’s hair, and how he really wishes his dog would see him as his actual owner instead of just some random dude that pets him. Briefly, he talks about how he used to listen to rock music a lot, but nowadays he listens to hip hop a lot more.

Park Chanyeol is not a paradox; he is not exactly complicated, either. People that are like open books are not ones that could be found in a world like this nowadays. Everyone is trying to put on the façade of stone cold hearts, going through life with the mindset that no one is worthy enough of trust. She is guilty of that, as well, but there are people—just like him—that just can’t be disliked. Some people are just like that.

Some people have set roles, too. Her role for the night is of the woman that smiles at the sight of Chanyeol getting closer, tapping his ear so she could talk closer to him and he would listen well. His role is of a man trying to enamor someone, not that is difficult for him at all, and of a new friend, as well…

Yixing’s role is of interruption.

All.

The.

Time.

“Ch—Are you drunk?!” The man asks the moment he comments face to face with Chanyeol, the surprise on the manager’s expression quite a funny sight. She raises an eyebrow, trying to blend into the crowd in hopes that Yixing does not blame her for his client’s drowsiness.

“Nope.” Chanyeol pops the word before he lifts his index finger and thumb in the air, indicating the smallest bit he could with a tiny gap in between his fingers. “Only this bit.”

“I—Hi.” Yixing greets the woman before him, bowing slightly before waving his hand with a smile on his face. Soon after, he turns towards Chanyeol with a pouty look and worry written all over his face. “Chanyeol, we have a meeting with a Puma sponsor and I really, really, really need you to talk well. Okay?”

The man in question is taken off by the rapidness of everything that happens around him, tumbling on his step when he stands up before straightening his back. “Okay. I can do it.” He confirms, breath lingering with the smell of wine. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He tells her, a little too loudly before nodding his head at Yixing, almost as if indicating that he is ready. She answers with a goodbye, much softer in tone.

Tomorrow sounds like a better promise than tonight would ever be.

✈️

The last day of Paris Fashion Week, in the golden makeup room, starts with two models practically ripping their heads off as they fight for hairspray. Now, her mind was divided in three parts at that point: one, that was stressed; the other part was practically mortified about the situation those models got themselves in, and, of course, the last one could only remember one of the very first few things that Chanyeol told her the first time they met. Backstage smells strangely like hairspray, and perhaps models are kind of crazy.

“Coffee?” Jenn offers almost immediately, appearing beside her in perfect attire. The concept of the night was colorful, back to the eighties, some said would be a perfect name, but she thought it was basically a night for art—or to show her art, really. She takes it, because there is no way in hell she looks as awake as Jenn does, with her hair perfectly put in a high ponytail and with the most gorgeous, designer blazer she has seen. “You look well rested.” Well, that part was indeed very true. The bags under her eyes today are because she wants more sleep, not because she needs it. Jenn had decided to have a little escapade with one of the models later on the night—and that model, although gorgeous and tall and definitely one of the most beautiful women in the top ten lists around the world, was the one that had to deal with Jenn’s snoring.

“I didn’t have to listen to your snoring.”

Jenn almost, almost seems offended. “I don’t snore!” The woman says, taking a sip from her own cup of coffee before staring at her vanity. “Speaking of…I am going to do her makeup now. Is your model here?”

“No. Ah, I think I am starting with Versace today…so that would be Kim—”

“Not Kim, you know who your model is.”

“…I don’t.”

“It’s definitely not a Kim.” Jenn prompts before winking with her two eyes. Quite clearly, the woman does not even have the exact precision to do so, but it is good that she tried, at least. “It’s a Park, and he’s friends with an Oh.”

She opens her mouth to say something, perhaps retort her comment only to be met with Jenn’s giggle and her back, going over to where her vanity was to start working. The coffee burns the roof of her mouth slightly when she tries to down something to simplify the ticklish feeling she has inside her stomach, but it does nothing more that make her hiss and remind her that she really does need to work.

Some days, people don’t feel fine—it is something everyone learns early on in their lives, but the person that she least expected to be silent throughout her makeup routine was Chanyeol himself. His arms are folded over his chest, looking ahead after saying his greetings to her. Even when she takes a little bit longer to do his makeup, all thanks to the amount of colors the designer wants on his eyelids—cut crease included—, he does not utter many words although she tries to initiate a conversation various times. As it seems like, the frown on Chanyeol’s face is permanent and she should be worried that the action is creasing the foundation that she had applied so effortlessly, but she is far more worried that Chanyeol is feeling wronged. Or maybe, she did something wrong.

But she doesn’t recall doing anything remotely close to a bad thing. All she has done is be wrapped in conversations with him endlessly, and he seemed to enjoy it each time.

Normally, after she ends up Sehun and Chanyeol’s makeup, she waits and sees if anyone wants some adjustments and does them, if necessary. This time around, however, she is in the lounging room behind the big wall that separated them from the runway and she could only think about Chanyeol. It’s because he is there, standing in all his tall glory with that frown over his face that only showed his distress. The outfit he is wearing is big, with some weird architectural thing that is supposedly a sleeve, in the colors of the sunset ready to step out on his own type of stage. The only thing is that, in most occasions if not all, Chanyeol is clearly more excited about things. And most importantly, he never really ignores Sehun—who now stands by his side repeating the same question over and over again until he actually gets tired of it, cussing at Chanyeol under his breath when he asks his third ‘huh?’.

Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong and it should not even be her problem if Chanyeol is going through a hard time, or if something has happened to him to make him feel that way. She should be concentrating on the book under her gaze—a romance novel that Doah left behind in their room, definitely all the clichés written in the form of bad boys and naïve girls. Anything would be more interesting than that book, if she is honest.

So she pushes herself up her feet, sighing at the action before moving forward. She stands behind Chanyeol for three seconds and soon after, she regrets even getting close to him. Who does she think she is to ask Chanyeol how he is? Maybe, he was just being nice all along, for that would not be a sin. There are people that are bookmarks in life, and maybe she was just a stopper in the chapter of his life that was this year’s Paris Fashion Week, but that did not mean he would not move forward. Chapters end. Stories are re-written. Bookmarks are lost. That is just how the world works.

“Hi.” But still, she is a person that is afraid of regret. When she left her job, her best friend at the time—also a very close coworker—almost had her head for leaving such a great spot. But she tried it, and part of her thinks that it is staring to work. In the back of her head, she ponders if she will think about this moment in a few years and wonder: What would have happened if I asked Chanyeol what was wrong?—of course, the least she wants is to have a question mark as an answer. “Is everything okay?”

Chanyeol breathes softly, through his mouth, then his nose, then back again before he replies: “No.” For a moment, she feels like his voice broke, and maybe he wants to tear up a bit but he fights back the urge to be sensible when he has makeup on and he will also go on stage as soon as possible. “I, uh, I’m about to shit my pants and these are not…very cheap pants, so that is not a good idea.” He randomly adds before muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m finally going nuts.”

She shakes her head, watching as he turns to look at her. “What are you scared of? I-Is…Is there anything bother you? Anyone, really? I would beat up anyone that is harassing you.” She says it half-seriously and half-jokingly, but it brings a soft smile that doesn’t show his teeth to Chanyeol’s lips.

“I got into a scandal yesterday.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about it.” It is not uncommon for big models to get into scandals. After all, they are celebrities and once you reach that title, everyone is looking to see what you do wrong.

He shrugs his shoulders, as if it is nothing, as if whatever is eating at the back of his head that is making him so anxious is even remotely valid. “It’s because it’s not true. Someone tried to say I had basically started this Tommy Hilfiger campaign so I would back out from my duo with Sehun…and then people were commenting stupid shit,” He almost grits his teeth out of anger, but his expression only shows disappointment. “About how I was always expected to be a rat, and then I had to speak up about it but, here I am, wearing the clothes of the brand everyone says I am using to stop working with Sehun.”

“…I am sure Sehun doesn’t believe the rumors.”

“But it makes me feel so bad.” Chanyeol whines, long and big fingers interlocking with one another as a way of keeping himself sane. “Do people really believe I am a rat?”

Her eyes soften at that, placing one hand over his shoulder to reassure him that everything would be okay. “Those who do, don’t know you.” She says, and it is quite stupid—because she has only known him for a week, but if there is an antonym to what greatness really is, Chanyeol would not be the concept of it. “Besides, you can’t give them the benefit of seeing you give up because of them. You have to go up that runway and kill it with that pet-cone sleeve of yours.”

She tries to be funny, and it seems to work because Chanyeol’s expression changes from sadness to confusion and suddenly, surprise, a smile beaming on his face as he claps his hands together, something she has learned he does when he laughs—if he can do it, he potentially slaps someone’s shoulder. “Call it fashion.” Chanyeol says in between laughter before pressing his lips together in the sweetest smile he has mustered that afternoon. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“Anytime.”

The complexity of talking with Chanyeol is not caused by the man himself, it is part of the situation that they are in. She’s a makeup artist, he is a model, and while they share some time together, there are far more important things that he has to concentrate on. She watches from the screens backstage as he walks, powerful and with a straight face, his legs toned with every movement and the thought of Chanyeol making up his mind thanks to her warms her heart. It brings her a sense of purpose, to know that the fashion industry was difficult for everyone was simple knowledge—but if she could do so much as making someone feel better with her words and makeup skills, then it is more than enough.

By the time Chanyeol comes backstage, she is ready to congratulate him for a great show, but whenever she gets close to him, he is interrupted by someone else. An interviewer, for example; a stylist fixing his hair, or wrapping golden chains around his neck. Then come the pictures, models approaching him to show their friends that they were in the same fashion week as Park Chanyeol, the famous model, and that is her cue to know that she should probably give up on trying to establish conversation with him.

A feeling that twists and turns on her stomach, rising up to her heart and clinging to it for dear life, is what she calls jealousy. What she is jealous of, she doesn’t know.

✈️

“Whoa, Doah’s boyfriend must have been very pretty if their son looks like that. He’s adorable!”

In the order of women in Doah’s blood, she got cheated on time and time again, ending up as a single mother just like everyone else in her family had done. Doah believed she was going to be the exception, she remembers, much more when she is packing up to go stay with her for the first few months of her son’s childhood. Paris begs her to stay, with its beautiful sceneries and the delicious pastries she had for breakfast this morning, but there are duties that need to be fulfilled—and she also doesn’t think she would ever be able to pay a room in that hotel, if it wasn’t for the company she is trying to get a spot on booking and paying for her stay.

She is not packing anything last minute, only the essentials that would go inside her backpack, and the last pair of pajamas she wore the previous night. Jenn has taken the time to look through her phone, laughing at certain pictures that she had stupidly taken of herself when she is bored, commenting on beautiful pictures that she has of sceneries and, of course, apart from downloading one—or two—pictures of Park Chanyeol in all his model glory, she takes the time to look at the high quality photograph of Doah’s baby. In awe, she is, not that she would have ever expected Jenn, out of all people, to be touched by the sight of a baby.

“Yeah, a beautiful cheating bastard.” She says, putting on her shoes and making sure that her red lipstick was still intact after having one too many croissants. “She told him she was pregnant when she was two months in and the only thing this asshole could say was,” She clears her throat to imitate his idiotic deep voice. “Not my woman to take care of, not my problem.”

Jenn gasps, locking her phone and putting it down on the woman’s lap as she rested on the big, queen sized bed of her bedroom. The hotel room consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom, in this case. “That’s fucking it. That’s why I don’t even consider dating men. Fuck him.” Those words make her smile, standing up to place her phone inside her backpack securely before yawning deeply. There is something about staying in a hotel room with the softest mattress in the world, and that is that she has had her best night of sleep in a while. Snoring Jenn on the other room or not. A minute of silence passes by—and that is like a year in Jenn’s calendar—so she speaks up. “And you’re staying with Doah for a few months, correct?”

“She has managed to buy a pretty house by the countryside, so yes. While I am jobless, I will stay with her—you know, drive to the city if I get some gig to complete and then, go back.”

“You’re not going to be jobless for long. Madrid is coming, baby, and not only that…but there is always some lazy celebrity that doesn’t know how to contour and needs us. Needs talented people like you.” Jenn always looks at the brighter side of things, and she demonstrates it with the way she lives her life. The perfectly put-together woman stands up from her spot on the bed to stretch before pointing towards the bathroom. “I am going to pee. Don’t leave without me.”

She hums, smiling a bit to the older woman. Although, if anyone ever were to ask who is older, anyone would say that it was her, not Jenn. “As if I would leave you.”

Jenn clicks her tongue, opening the door to the bathroom before looking over her shoulder. “I was left in Bali by a few friends because ‘they couldn’t see me’ and if that doesn’t speak about my choices in friends, then I don’t know what does.”

With a chuckle, she takes the little time she has left to warm up her hands and look for her coat, the coldness in Paris making it all so much more inviting to stay in bed and simply rest all the tiredness away. However, the sound of someone knocking on her door has her frowning, thinking that maybe one of the other MUA’s had left something in their makeup bags. She trots over to the door, opening it without thinking twice but the moment she looks up, she is not met by the sight of one of the other makeup artists that worked with her in Paris Fashion Week. Chanyeol is there, in all his glory, but instead of wearing those exotic piece of clothing that they clad him in whenever he is on the runway, he is adorned in an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, a cap covering his blonde hair with his big ears poking out from the sides.

“Chanyeol?” She speaks his name softly, a smile appearing over her features because she can, and she did. The man shares a grin of his own as well, biting down on his bottom lip as he stares at her. It is brief, nothing too long to make things awkward, but she does notice how his eyes go from her eyes to her lips, then over her eyes again after lingering on the red lipstick.

“That’s my name.” He indicates before he points to the backpack that hangs from her shoulders. “I was right about you leaving at this time, then.”

“You’re not leaving right now, too?”

“I have an interview this afternoon and I leave at night.” Chanyeol says and she hums. The man is always busy, alike Sehun, and she wonders how his skin is still as intact as it is with the amount of stress he probably goes through. The man pushes something towards her hands and she looks down to see what seems to be a bag filled with clothing, but a white paper rested upon the folded pieces of clothing. “I talked to my favorite brands and I got some clothing that I feel would fit you really well, and that I really like, and as a goodbye…gift. Well, a ‘see you later’ gift.”

“You shouldn’t have. Oh my God, Chanyeol!” The way he looks at her is enchanted, like he is in a trance as she gets out the folded piece of paper that was inside the bag. “And this is—”

Before she could continue her sentence, Chanyeol’s phone cuts through the atmosphere terribly, making him sigh before he reaches for his jeans’ back-pocket, taking his phone out and picking up the call immediately. “Yes, Yixing, I am on my way. I told you I had to make a stop first.” The sound of Yixing talking on the other end has Chanyeol nodding and she wants to feel honored, much more when Chanyeol stopped by when he has a day filled with activities to complete. By the time Chanyeol speaks to her once again, their time together has shortened for a few minutes—and she hears the sound of Jenn walking around the hotel room, probably trying to listen to what they were saying. “Uh, so yeah. Read the thing on the piece of paper and—” Chanyeol stops himself from speaking so quickly, opening his arms slightly as if to welcome her with a hug. “And could I have a hug? To say goodbye.”

“Y-Yeah.” She whispers, pushing her body forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Chanyeol’s hugs are sweet, with his cheek pressed to the top of her head and his arms wrapping around her tightly, but they do not last for long—of course, he is busy, and Yixing has probably already given him an earful of what he has to do throughout the day. “Thank you for the gifts.”

“It’s nothing.” Chanyeol says before nodding his head, waving his hand to say his goodbyes. He does say the word verbally, but she is far too concentrated on the smell of his cologne that now falls upon her.

God, she is starting to believe that Chanyeol has the effect of making her giggle like a fourteen years old girl that has just gotten her crush to hug her.

By the time the door is closed, she rushes to look at what the paper says—and Jenn is obviously by her side, making too many questions that she answers in a half-assed manner as she reads what the paper says:

Text me! And then, his number.

✈️

The benefits of being an adult is that texting first is not a problem anymore. The turmoil that comes with knowing what to write to someone you like is not as tedious anymore, it is bearable and it comes with a big batch of ‘I just need to try to see how it goes’, leading to her finally texting Chanyeol. She does it two days after he gave her his number, when she is finally well rested and when Doah’s baby is not crying loudly from the other room.

Doah’s sense of style was impeccable, and it shows through his new house—although small, the tones of dark green, beige and white create such an earth-filled atmosphere. The trees around them and the sound of the lake nearby would have been very relaxing if only there wasn’t a newborn in the household. She reminds herself that she is there for Doah, a woman that is new to the entire industry of being a mother, and instead of helping out with the baby—she keeps the house clean, cooks a few meals before leaving for the city. Two weeks after the fashion week, she has found some jobs to fulfill and an empty inbox in her e-mail account that indicated that neither Doah nor her had been picked, yet, for the new MUA position in the company.

And Chanyeol still has to respond.

The week has been busy, to the point she doesn’t even want to wash the dishes that come with the big amount of dinner she just had with Doah, but seeing the woman breastfeeding by the counter let her know that there was little to no time in the mother’s agenda for her to do any important chore. She looks out the window, seeing the night sky and the lights of the houses nearby. Thankfully for Doah, her hard work for the past few years in another company—one that she had never wanted to join for their strict rules—had led her to buy a house where her son could grow up comfortably. Humble and candid, the place was, although she missed her apartment in the city life a lot more. Nowadays, she could only stop by there to do so much before she had to return to the road to have an hour long ride back to Doah’s house, just in time to be met by dinner.

Her phone rings but her hands are full with dish soap, playing around with the sponge in between her hands while getting those bits of fried egg away from the pan. Doah still did not learn the importance of oil, as it seems. “Someone’s texting you.” Doah says, widening her eyes when her phone rings again. And again. Three times until it comes to a stop. “Geez. Is that your crazy aunt that always comments on your pictures on Instagram? I have never seen your phone blow up like that.”

“Probably.” She chuckles before pointing towards her phone with her drenched hands. “It must be Jenn. She texts like a mad man. You know my password, right?”

“What kind of best friend do you take me for?”

She scrubs on the pan once again, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess my type of best friend, because I, for sure, don’t know your password.”

Doah seems to ignore her remark, instead gasping and smiling at the person that had texted her. She thinks that maybe Jenn attached some pictures of the beautiful Tokyo—apparently, she had a gig there for a new fashion line’s photoshoot—but she is met with nothing less than the name of someone she should have expected. “Chanyeol has texted you.”

She stops washing the dishes almost immediately, wiping her hands in the back of her sweatpants to take her phone in between them. Quite like Jenn, and maybe it was an ‘energetic people’ stereotype or something that she didn’t quite get the memo of, but he had written with a bunch of exclamation marks at first. “Sorry, I couldn’t respond any earlier! I have been so busy. I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He adds in the primordial part of the text, but then another bubble appears to indicate that he wants to say more. “Hello, beautiful. How are you?!” And that, she realizes, that he uses a lot of exclamation points and emoticons. As if it is necessary to include that he is very happy to be talking to her. “Have you gotten the job? I keep asking Yixing but he doesn’t know…”

She sits down on one of the chairs, opening her legs comfortably at the position. “No worries, Chanyeol. Haha.” She starts with that, then deciding to comply more to her message. “And I haven’t heard anything back, yet. I am starting to believe that I won’t get the job.”

Maybe, he is in a country with a similar time-zone, or he is free at that moment, but he sees it immediately and replies equally as fast. “Don’t think that! You’re a super, super, super talented makeup artist, and models loved you!” She smiles down at her phone, hearing Doah chuckle to herself as if the sight of her friend being excited about a man texting her was a sight that she enjoyed. It probably was, for the last time she talked to someone with such a smile on her face, she ended up getting friend-zoned. “Sehun says you’re dumb if you say you aren’t getting the job.”

“Sehun is with you? Where are you, to start with?”

“Dubai!” Chanyeol exclaims through text excitedly and she can’t help but imagine the man taking pictures of everything. The more she hopes is that he is enjoying his visit there. “He is actually watching TV beside me. We share rooms when he is feeling sappy, and whatnot.”

She fights the urge to say ‘cute’ about the remark, because she could imagine them watching some movie that they could not quite understand, both with their faces stuck to their phone-screen as a way of distracting themselves. “Okay, I’ll take his word. What have you done the past few weeks?”

Talking to Chanyeol that night becomes easy, because he simply spills his heart out like a poet does in their poems. The beauty of his words is not particularly difficult, he speaks casually and she does as well, saying her good nights to Doah that decides to put her son to sleep while she lays on the couch, smiling at whatever Chanyeol is talking about. He sends her pictures of the meals he wants to have when he goes back home, as well as taking a picture of Sehun sleeping by his side, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted funnily, a little bit of drool falling to the side of his face. She loses track of time, even going as far as sending him a picture of one of the shirts he had given her.

He’s happy about that.

But he talks about his dreams, too, and they are as simple as saying that he just wants to be happy. He says that he wanted to launch his career in music, but that models aren’t well-welcomed in such a place. He talks about how Sehun is actually taking a nap and that they have an appearance in some ‘icon’ party that apparently includes the most iconic celebrities of the year. She tells him not to drink. He says that he is not a lightweight and then, he comments:

“I can imagine you nagging at me in the back of my head with that pretty voice of yours.”

Maybe, it is too quick to think of what his words mean—they have no meaning, really, just harmless flirting, but she can only hope that the smile he gave her that night in the Spanish themed party will only be for her. It’s selfish, and perhaps the distance between the two makes her feel that way, but it is a growing feeling that burns at the back of her chest, from her sternum to her spine.

✈️

At the end, she does get that e-mail. Four weeks and six days after Paris Fashion Week happened, and the moment she tells Chanyeol, she receives a congratulatory message…hours after she sent it. It’s fine, she tries to reason with herself, that he is busy and he texts her as much as he can, but she can’t help but feel like she has started to crush in the example of what impossibility would be like.

That was two months ago.

She tries to distract herself with her work; thankfully for her air-sickness, she hasn’t gotten to travel much, instead going to closer places to work with smaller boutiques and brands that need to get their models’ makeup done, but what she didn’t expect was for a big brand to go to her city, simply to take a photoshoot in front of bustling streets, gray buildings and in between the mess of traffic that happens in her part of town. Her fingers tuck strands of hair behind her ears as she organizes her makeup, making sure that everything is organized by color as she hears the doors opening. The makeup room is small, so she supposes she will be the only makeup artist working—and apparently, she only has to do makeup for four models, nothing too crazy.

She swipes her powder brush against the back of her hand, already starting with her greeting before turning around. “Good morning, I am—Sehun?” When she turns around, she catches a glimpse of the man that she has already seen various times. His hair is a bit longer than the last time she saw him, over two months ago, styled with gel and tied in a ponytail to show his undercut. He is carrying a coffee cup, probably filled with as much caffeine as possible, wearing beige pants and a pink turtleneck, paired with a denim jacket. Something that she envies, the makeup room isn’t exactly warm.

The man greets her, sitting down on the seat in front of the vanity, definitely a repetition of previous events, before crossing one leg over the other. “You’re definitely not Sehun. I am Sehun.”

“I know.” She chuckles, already knowing what kind of shade she has to use with him and what kind of skin he has. Taking her beauty blender in between her hands, moistening it up a bit, she continues. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, and without Chanyeol. Really. You two are like the Olsen’s but Korean.”

Sehun smiles, putting his Styrofoam cup down on the vanity before leaning back on his seat, taking his phone in between his hands and responding to whatever texts he has. “He is not part of this campaign, but he’s in town. I thought you knew that.” Sehun says and perhaps, he really thought that she had a single clue that Chanyeol was in her town at that moment, but she didn’t. She tries to cover her surprised expression, settling for a muffed ‘oh’ that is followed by silence. The stoic faced man looks up from his phone before widening his eyes. “Y-You didn’t?”

“I obviously wasn’t informed about the situation…” And she wonders if maybe, and only maybe, Chanyeol is actually not as into her as he makes himself to be. That the flirting and the constant nights where Chanyeol tries to get her to speak to him through voice messages or calls mean nothing. Chanyeol is constantly throwing flowers at her, whenever he can, of course, but lately…it is as if he has forgotten about her existence.

“Fuck.” Sehun cusses, deciding to ignore the situation at hand by scrolling through his Instagram. From the corner of her eye, she can see that he has over a million likes in his latest post. “But he’s very busy, too, so maybe that’s that. He’s shooting a commercial for a skincare brand, but it is taking him longer because he grew a few pimples the day of the shoot.”

“I see…” She comments, torn in between believing the man or not, after all…Chanyeol could have just told her so. “But tell me about your campaign.” Not wanting to talk about the subject anymore, she changes the topic towards Sehun.

She really tries to be strong, to not text him and ask him why exactly he hadn’t talked about the miniscule—rather big, really—fact that was his stay at the exact same city that she is at. She talks about it with Doah, hearing the woman already coming up with some kind of deep storyline that indicates that Chanyeol is actually in “a relationship” and “using her to boost his ego”, but she thinks it is almost impossible. Instead, she concentrates on her work, on being better and doing better, on watching those tutorials that she kept on a playlist for new looks to try on the models.

Two days after her encounter with Sehun, when she is getting ready to drive back to the countryside to meet up with her friend, she feels her phone buzzing inside her purse. She sighs, placing her purse on top of the hood of her car before picking up the call, the name of Chanyeol shining bright on the screen—for a moment, she completely forgets that she is supposed to be mad at him, or that she wanted him to reach out for her first.

“What?” She asks, not meaning to sound as rude as she did as she looked for the keys to her car inside her purse. Chanyeol seems to notice her change of demeanor, speaking soon after.

“I know Sehun told you about me being here, but I was too busy to text you.” Like always, but should she be mad? She is obviously travelling less than him, but it feels like she is the one in the chase whenever she responds to him as quickly as possible and he leaves her on read for days. Maybe, she is just a hobby for him, something that he wants to do for a night or two, but doesn’t want to deal with for a long period of time. “But hey! If you’re in the city, I want to invite you to dinner—and I have already sent you the address through text, so we could catch up and I can finally give you a big hug.”

The hug sounds inviting, but she is still slightly mad at Chanyeol. “Why should I accept?” She plays around, pressing her stomach against the side of her car and looking at the flickering lights of one of the buildings in the street that she was in.

“…Because they have the best pizza I have ever tried in my life?”

“I could have it by my own.”

“Listen, I am so sorry.” Chanyeol whines on the phone, bringing a smile to her face as she finally opens the door to her car, grabbing her purse and putting it inside as she pulls her phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker to look through her texts. A fancy restaurant, he had picked. “I am such an idiot and I would hit myself if I were you, but I am not you and I am willing to buy you the entire menu if you just come here right now.”

She sighs, putting her phone down on the passenger seat as she starts the car. “Only because you owe me an apology…and because that pizza sounds inviting tonight.”

Luckily for her, Chanyeol is not dressed as fancily as she would have imagined, simply wearing an oversized tank top tucked inside his black jeans, topped over with a coat that reaches his knees. His hair is still blonde, pushed to the side as he waits for her outside. He doesn’t seem to mind that some people look at him, or that they see her with him at all, because he pushes his body off the wall to smile at her mere presence.

With a breathy tone, he places his hands on top of her shoulders and pushes her forward to go past the security at the entrance. “I’ll give you that hug once we get inside. People are looking.” The promise Chanyeol gives her sounds inviting, much more when she enters the heavily decorated place. Still, it seems inviting, the smell of cheese and sauce, as well as lasagna and pizza, immediately reaching her nostrils and making her hum. Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, smiling gleefully as he walks themselves to the table at the very end, near the biggest window in the place. “I really missed, you know?”

She wants to bite back, to show how troubled she felt when Sehun confessed that Chanyeol was in town, but instead she caved in: “I missed you, too.”

“Two months without seeing you. You need to tell me how this new contract is going on.”

“Well, I do makeup. That’s the whole ordeal.” She comments, sitting down in front of him at the table, only to have him smiling as he pushes a menu towards her way. Chanyeol studies her face, like he always does, even going as far as looking at the small amount of cleavage her shirt shows. “Have you gotten to go to Seoul?”

Chanyeol chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks down at the menu to search for something to eat. “I haven’t. I’ve been living in hotels for the past three months.” Even before he met her, that’s for sure. “That’s why I wanted to have dinner with you. You’re the closest I feel to home.” Those words shouldn’t have warmed her up like they did, to the point she had to play with the collar of her shirt to stop the heat that radiated from her skin. Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, filled with emotion when he smiles once again. A charmer, as always. “There is something about you. You calm me down…and that is what I need in a world like the one I live in. For one moment, I just want to say fuck it to the world. That’s why I like you so much.”

Like, a word that he uses so easily, as if it doesn’t bring a heavy weight to her chest. She looks down at the menu, hiding her face behind it to stop herself from saying anything stupid. “Stop…”

“Hey, I mean it.” Chanyeol says, pushing the menu down to lean over the table and look at her. His fingers reach to pinch her cheek, making her smile softly at the man. “I know it doesn’t seem like it…but I really like you. I think you’re amazing. Beautiful smile, incredible talent. Intelligent, caring, kind, humble—”

“Keep going and I may just forgive you.” She jokes around, placing her hand on top of the one that rests upon her face before caressing the skin softly, bringing it down to rest upon the tablecloth. “But I am glad we are on the same page.”

The night is eventful, in between bites of food and sips of soda. The world seems to waltz around them, much more when he says his goodbyes with a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. It feels right, slow but perfectly paced. Just how she likes it.

But wait.

Chanyeol said he liked her, right?!

Liked her as a person, or as something else, she doesn’t know. What she knows is that being liked is better than nothing.

✈️

“This feels like my husband is leaving me and our son behind after our divorce. It’s sad.”

The fake sniffling comes from Doah, now with a four-month old baby seated on her lap—with the cutest few strands of brown hair and the most rounded dark eyes. There is not much to pack after Doah agreed to let her go back to the city, for the payment of the fuel was falling heavy on her pocket and also, because Doah already knew how to take care of a baby on her own. Either way, it had been a nice experience; a reminder of what it used to feel like when they were roommates, but with bigger dreams and less giggly moments.

That is part of growing up, and while Doah remains as youthful as ever personality-wise, she has grown up with the birth of her child. Much more poised, definitely as loving as ever but more protective than she ever was to anyone in this world. “We are not getting a divorce, first off. I’ll still come visit anytime I can, mostly on weekends.” She replies, pushing her backpack over her shoulder after finishing up packing up the few things she had in Doah’s house. A second toothbrush, some of her shirts and a few shoes. Everything could enter in her wide and useful backpack. “And why am I the husband?”

“You’re the one that leaves.” The comment is part of Doah’s dark humor, standing up and securing her son around her arms as they walk towards the entrance. When she opens the door, the air is cold against the fabric of her fluffy white sweater, making her pull her boyfriend jeans up her hips a little bit more to cover extra skin. “Say bye to your daddy, David. Come on.”

She scoffs, letting David’s tiny hand grab her finger and waving it with a smile on her face. “Don’t say I’m his daddy. You know he’s at that point of his life where he is learning everything, and the least I want is to hear him call me ‘dada’ anytime soon. Or ever.” She kisses the baby’s hand before putting it down, hearing Doah retort with a fake sniffle.

“You just were an angel. I’d marry you if you were a man…but the lack of a pee-pee changes it all.”

“Doah, for the love of God—” She mumbles to herself, giving a few steps forward before walking backwards. “Thank god you didn’t say the D word in front of your son. I’d personally take him away from you to the city to raise him myself.”

Doah smiles at the sound of her friend’s voice, leaning on the railing of her door with David playing with the necklace that hangs from her neck. “You know why I didn’t use the D word?”

“Why?” She asks innocently, but she should have expected Doah to say something remotely inappropriate.

“Because Chanyeol is already giving it to you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving. That’s it.”

The weight of her keys feels foreign on her hand, much more when she opens the door to her apartment to realize that she won’t have to listen to the cries of a baby anymore. The old couple next door that still hit it up as if they were on their twenties would probably be more like it, but she has already grown accustomed to that noise, rolling over her bed to cover her ears with her pillow. The first thing she thinks about after an hour long trip is that she feels dizzy, with an empty stomach and a weighted mind. She walks over to her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to be met with something to make, but there is nothing. In the drawers, there is also nothing and then, she is reminded of the very important—still, ignored—fact that she had taken all the food she had in her apartment to Doah’s house.

Out the apartment as quickly as she had arrived, she was. The snow is finally starting to make place around the streets and she greets the old day—half of the old couple that she was thinking about earlier—with a wave as she rushes down the stairs to get to the closest convenience store. One block away, she remembers, and she thinks she can do it without actually passing out from hunger.

What she regrets first is not putting on a coat as the small speckles of snow fall upon her equally as white sweater. She walks through the streets as she tries not to pump into people, ignoring the vibration of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans because the least she wants is to get her phone stolen from taking it out in one of the busiest days of the year. Delinquency was growing in this side of town, the news had said a few weeks ago, and she had kept that thought in mind, even talking about it with Chanyeol, who had told her time and time again to be careful.

She pushes the doors of the convenience store open, rubbing her hands together and placing them inside her pockets for a brief second while her eyes look for a cart. Once found, she takes it in between her fingers and basks in the niceness of the heater in the store. It’s fairly quiet, too, apart from some pop song that plays in the background as she starts to go over her mental grocery list. However, as she starts to pick up what is important for her to have in her apartment, she feels her phone vibrating once again.

She takes the device out, thinking that it was probably Doah not knowing what to do now that she was alone, but she was warmed up by the sight of Chanyeol’s name. She pushes the green button, resting her phone in between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes the cart. Is ramen necessary in her apartment? Quite possibly. “Sorry I didn’t answer before, I had to drive from Doah’s and I realized I was out of groceries so I had to walk to the nearest convenience store.”

Chanyeol sighs, almost a sigh of relief. It reminds her of the plenty of video-calls that they have shared; specially, one where she decided to hide from the screen until Chanyeol started to call out of her name confusedly. When she popped up on the screen, the man screamed so loudly that the only reaction he had when she started laughing was a sigh. “You had me worried for a second.” He replies before he continues. “Was Doah okay with you moving?”

“She used some kind of metaph0r about it. Me being her husband leaving her behind or something.” Chanyeol chuckles softly, but she can tell that he is not totally into it. His voice is tired, as if he has been straining himself, and he has yet to go back to Seoul to meet up with his family. He told him this a week prior to that moment, when he was speaking about how he had mentioned her name to his mother and she had immediately thought he was dating someone. They were…flirting buddies, she would like to call it, rather than anything special in a long distance manner. “What about you? Weren’t you in Bangkok?”

“I am, still. I’m leaving in…in three days…” His voice is interrupted by his yawn and she immediately frowns at the sound of his voice, continuing with her multitasking.

“You should really sleep.”

“It’s not that late here. Four in the morning.”

“That’s extremely late. Go to sleep.”

“I slept, but I think it was the afternoon and I just woke up and I am lost.”

She smiles at that, imagining Chanyeol’s hair bundled into a mess of straight strands, falling over his eyes slightly, puffy and reddened from tiredness. “Good. Are you going to Seoul after Bangkok?”

Chanyeol groans at that and she hears the sound of ruffling against covers on the other hand. “Nope. Mr. Workaholic decided to tell me that I have a snack commercial in Italy. Venice, I think.” A snack commercial. Quite ironic, because she has had a handful of conversations with Doah where they call him a “snack”. But, what can she say? Maybe the saying of ‘you are what you eat’ as finally gotten to him.

“Is Mr. Workaholic Yixing?”

“Indeed. He’s such a workaholic that his crush is someone from the PR office, and if that isn’t…a workaholic, I don’t know what is.” Chanyeol comments and soon after, she takes a moment to stop on her tracks and see what else she needs. Perhaps, a few sanitary products in case she needs them. “By the way, what are you doing next week?”

“Nothing planned. I am doing a gig outside the company on Sunday, to earn some more money. But they haven’t called me to do anything yet.”

“What if I hire you and you go to Venice with me, and apart from doing my makeup we also get to hang out for a bit?” Chanyeol comments, quite quickly, as if it is the simplest thing in the world—and for him, it is. Sometimes, she realizes that they live completely different lives. Chanyeol lives off being on stages, he talks to big groups of people, he has to take pictures on a daily with photographers in order to post something on his social media and keep his fans updated. He has people following after his every trend. Meanwhile, she talks to him through a phone and travels thanks to a company, not because she actually has to. How could he understand her so perfectly, when in reality they are nothing alike?

“I would tell you you’re crazy.” She comments, accommodating her neck when she feels a sudden pang of ache hitting her muscles. “But…are you serious?”

“Of course I am! I would like for you to do my makeup, and I’d pay your ticket for you to be here.”

“I…No. It doesn’t feel right to have you pay for my ticket.” She comments, shaking her head profusely at the thought. “Tell the company and I will do it, but I won’t do anything sneakily.”

“Okay, I’ll have Yixing on it.” Chanyeol replies and soon after, his comment paralyzes her in her spot, making her drop a package of baby wipes she had in between her hands. “Maybe, next time we see each other I won’t only give you a hug, but also a kiss.”

Venice sounds promising to her, now, as she tries to look for words that can only be replaced with a chuckle.

✈️

But just like always, the promise of a romantic Venice dies as she only gets to see Chanyeol for an hour at a time. His commercial takes longer than usual, or perhaps he has other things to attend to, and he ends up leaving her with the hanging promise of a kiss that never happens.

She should be happy that she gets to talk and joke around with Chanyeol when she does his makeup, that sometimes she feels the warmth of his palm sneaking up her waist when she gets close too close to his face and he looks at her as if he is going to kiss her, but an ode to separated lovers keeps them apart when they realize they are surrounded by other people of his team. Chanyeol’s eyes glimmer when he says his goodbyes, promising that he will try to finish everything early to go and pick her up in her hotel room and take her out for dinner, to study Venice, to be tourists for once and enjoy the world, but she is always met by the sight of her phone displaying Chanyeol’s name, only to hear apology after apology after apology.

The man she likes starts to become a broken record. A client that always asks for something else. A lawyer that never meets up with you. All analogies to how Chanyeol made her feel, how disappointed she was that he did not even have the slightest time for her.

The crunching sound of cookies matches her chewing as she stares off at the television show in front of her. Some romance movie plays in the background, and she is sulking because most movies include a couple that go through hardships, but at the end they are the happiest when together—they find a way to make it work. But there she is—she is not even dating Chanyeol to start with, and whenever they are together in the same place, they can’t find the time to be with one another. She almost wants to pick up the remote and change it, but she is being a bit of a masochist that night. Be it by watching a couple laugh whilst in a date in a movie, or thinking about Chanyeol; she just feels like thinking about what she shouldn’t be.

She covers herself up with her blanket, pulling it over her head like a hood and wrapping it around her chin to cover her from the coldness, but she has other things to think about—like how she should just take a plane back home and pretend that she is not being an idiot while being there for Chanyeol. Nonetheless, the sound of someone knocking on her door makes her straighten her back, standing up from the hotel bed to walk towards the door.

Of course, life is a déjà-vu and the person by her door is Chanyeol. He’s a nighttime visitor, standing there with a smile on his face and what seems to be boxes of takeout.

“Chanyeol.” She enunciates. Her arms are crossed over her chest, leaning against the door as she realizes that the man has a faint smile on his face, the type he gives when he knows he is in trouble. “I wonder what you tell the receptionist of each hotel I go to just to appear right in front of me.”

Chanyeol’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, trying to look for an excuse but he simply sighs deeply. “I am sorry. I’ve been so busy and I’ve ignored you so bad, so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“As always.”

“But this time, this time it’s better!” The man points out and she nods her head, biting her bottom lip when she pushes her weight off the door and points for him to get inside. Chanyeol smiles brightly, like the sun has taken place on his face, and the next thing he does is enter the hotel room. He sits down by the edge of the bed, on the floor, and she thinks it’s just his way of being respectful, threatening to grin at the thought. “You know how in our first date we had pizza—and it was good, but we’re in Italy out of all places, so I brought us the real deal.”

She chuckles, taking a seat beside him on the floor to help him get the boxes out of bag he had brought with himself. “What is this real deal you’re talking about?”

“Lasagna and pizza, but real.”

“I am sure the pizza we had at the restaurant was very real.”

Chanyeol groans, opening one of the lids of the boxes to fill the room in the smell of sauce, cheese and deliciously baked goodness. “Stop being a dick to me.” The man comments and she smiles, watching as he takes one of the plastic forks the boxes brought with themselves in between his fingers to slice a bit of the lasagna before feeding it to her. “Come on, open up. Use that mouth for something that is not questioning everything I do.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress the chuckle that left her lips soon after. Chanyeol’s cheeks glimmer in pink when he says those words, feeding the bit of lasagna to her and the next thing he hears is a hum. She covers her mouth to speak. “Oh my God—”

“Is it the best thing you’ve tasted in your life?”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah, made it myself.” Chanyeol lies, taking a bite of it with the same fork before placing the box over her legs, reaching for a squarer shaped box that included the pizza. He opens it by the time she takes another bite of the lasagna.

“You’re such a liar.” But then again, she always goes back to him. Chanyeol is a magnet, and she’s always pulled by him. He takes a slice of pizza, the cheese parting away deliciously as he folds it over the pizza for the strand to end. It is nice to see him eat something that he enjoys, away from the thought of having to keep his figure—only enjoying a night with her.

“Then this liar won’t let you play with my PS1.”

She decides to take a slice of pizza as well, settling the lasagna in between their bodies as she speaks. “You brought a PS1?” She asks, excitement lingering on her voice when she watches the backpack Chanyeol had worn by his side, making her wonder if he had actually thought about this date beforehand. “Depends on what game we’re playing.” Chanyeol slices a bit of the lasagna, resting it on top of his pizza and making her groan in disgust as he takes a bite. “Yeol, don’t mix foods like that—”

With his mouth half open, he speaks. “Crash Team Racing, babe.” The nickname has her stomach fluttering, thinking that maybe she should be more understanding of the situation. Chanyeol is trying, she could tell, and her impatience was getting the best of her. “And let me get creative. Both the lasagna and the pizza go to the same place, they’ll end up being digested food at the same time…it’s not that big of a deal.”

Chanyeol brings comfort with him, she notices, and it comes in the shape of their legs intertwined as they lay on the floor, playing match after match of an old videogame as they laughed about everything and anything.

Not to be mistaken, the man is quite clearly and palpably competitive, to the point he had to tickle her in a race just to win—but he learns how to lose with her, quite thankfully. The night is not heavy, it doesn’t linger with tension and much less does it feel like it is forced; they have been seated there for hours, not saying empty promises but getting to know each other simply through spending time together. In one of those moments, in between one of the many racing matches they had, he hears his phone ringing. Pausing the videogame for a second, he puts it down on the floor and puts it on speaker.

“Yes, Publicist Nam?” Chanyeol speaks, his fingers still moving against the controller as he finds himself in fourth place—she’s in seventh after one of his attacks, but she thinks she can surpass him easily. However, her ears are making out the figure of what this publicist of his is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Chanyeol…Where are you?” The man asks, sounding older in tone and in ways of speaking.

“I’m with my friend in her hotel room. The makeup artist. Why?” He asks, moving his legs when he gets to the first place. It is quite the sight to see him happy, being youthful and filled with life instead of having this perfect façade put up for everyone to see.

The publicist seems displeased by his answer, however. “Get over here now. We have told you that you can’t hang out with people like that. What would you do if you ended up having a scandal, huh?” He starts to nag and Chanyeol immediately widens his eyes, letting go of the controller to grab his phone and talk to his publicists in anything that isn’t on speaker.

Now she realizes that Chanyeol is trying, for her or for them, that he is going against his own team to be with her. It scares her, to never see him again as he speaks through the phone—he seems to be apologizing, coming up with any excuse before he actually turns to her. His apologies are usual, she thinks she is starting to become immune to them as she helps him clean up and opens the door for him. What he does last, of course, is give her a hug as tight as the ones he has given her before and the promise of a kiss is out the door, to the point she doesn’t even care about it. It just scares her that every time they say their goodbyes, it will be the last time she will be able to talk to him.

The concept of love is evolution, growth—but people cover it as neediness, affection. You can feel so much for someone, but if you don’t grow with them, it feels pointless. It is not love, not anything remotely close to it, and maybe she should have thought of them as a book and a movie. Chanyeol lives quickly; he resumes everything that can be composed in three hours of a film. She is a book; she likes to rant and think about the smallest details. How Chanyeol covers his mouth when he thinks he has said something wrong, how he is given to anything that he does, he has a routine and lives by it. The man loves travelling, but he loves his family so much more and his best friend is another model, as well.

It makes her saddened that she studies the twinkles in his eyes, that the weight of his hand on hers when he says his goodbyes after every makeup session is just what she needs, especially if it’s paired with one of those soft kisses he gives to her cheek. No longer does she study Chanyeol as a person for the rest of the five days she has left in Venice, but she sees the most tedious of things around him. She notices that she wishes she had a space in Chanyeol’s life; like the ring he wears every day, carved with the initials of his mother; like the guitar that he says he keeps in his childhood room and that whenever he goes back to Seoul, he can’t seem to let go of. She is jealous of time, for not giving him to her, of the world for having him and not her.

It’s the thought of lacking him in her life that makes her really wonder what she feels for him. Is it just a crush or is it love? Does it have a name, does it not?

On her last day in Venice, and like a tradition in Chanyeol’s blood, he takes the time to be around her. He looks like an absolute tourist, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, wearing a bucket hat and sunglasses as he takes pictures of everything and anything. He is good with being in front of the camera, but she absolutely hates that she is the subject of his every picture—even more so, the man doesn’t take the best pictures for an up-and-rising model—. The sunset welcomes them as they try street food, they check out stores and spend time together. Chanyeol talks about whatever crosses his mind and he’s free, for just a second, because he has a contract and plenty of things to take care of. If he was so proud of her, then why would he basically cover half of his face?

The one at fault is not Chanyeol, but by the time they are standing in front of the sunset, looking ahead at the beauty of the colors, she decides to fix the cap over her head and speak her mind out.

“I think that what we’re doing is wrong.”

Chanyeol perks up at that, turning to look at her while resting his elbow on the railing of the balcony of his hotel room. It could basically be a house, with how fancy and big it is. Expensive, quite clearly, just like him. “…What does that mean?” He doesn’t sound threatening, meanwhile curiousness is more of a description for that moment. His eyebrows furrow and the bucket hat is finally gone, the shadows of the sunset falling upon his skin. A little bit after golden hour, so the hues are softer.

She wants to simplify, but then again, that is not like herself. “—This—This I never thought I would have to go through. Sometimes, I just think you’re in my imagination, like you are not there. And I am not blaming you, but we both know that…that being around one another is almost impossible. You’re there, I’m here. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Now that she has spoken her mind, she realizes just how much of a dream everything has been. Not because of its sense, for she feels like what they are is nonsensical at this point, but because it rushed. There are gaps in between them, plots that have yet to be written and they do not have the time to do anything about it. Their romance is a writer’s hatred plotline, where they sit down and write certain scenes before abandoning them once again.

The man straightens his back, taking off her cap and putting it to the side before sighing. “I think I can do something about it.”

“No, Chanyeol, you can’t!” She adds with a smile, although her heart and head were hurting at that exact moment. “We both know that we only see each other for a period of time before we spend months away. It’s—And your publicists don’t even like me, so I am supposing you’re even going against your team.”

“Not all of them.”

“Huh?”

“Yixing thinks you’re pretty dope.” She scoffs at the sound of his words. “Quoting him. He just thinks you’re great.”

“Your team, minus one person, hates me.”

Chanyeol moves forward, his big hands reaching for her face to cup it in between his fingers. His thumb comes to caress her bottom lip, his eyes studying her every expression like he always does. She wants to continue talking, ramble about how she thinks they should quit it—the least she wants is to fall harder for him, only to end up heartbroken, but Chanyeol doesn’t listen. The man moves forward, wetting his lips before pressing them against hers. Maybe, his kisses show everything that he has managed to understand about her in the little time they have spent together, or perhaps he is just made for her body. He kisses her like how an artist would do to their muse, with one of his hands trailing down to the small of her back to push her forward towards his strong chest. His cupid’s bow grazes her lips before diving in once again, with certainty and all the fervor that is needed in a kiss. An expert, he is.

“Don’t shut me up when I’m talking to you.” She tells him in between kisses, feeling him walk her backwards, past the glassed doors that lead to the balcony (making sure to close them behind him), before letting her rest against the mattress. She lifts herself up on her elbows, and maybe she thinks this position was actually led by herself. Damn her for even putting her hands under Chanyeol’s shirt.

Chanyeol, however, takes her by her calves and drags her towards the edge of the bed, placing himself in between her legs to grab her by the neck and kiss her again. He doesn’t last long before he replies: “I didn’t intend to shut you up. I just really wanted to kiss you and I am not letting you regret anything that we have gone through.” Those words make her smile, because Chanyeol has tried his best to keep them together and although uncertainty is what she would call what they have, it feels like the best love affair that she has ever had. “Sorry if I came off as rude.”

“You know what was rude?” Her voice is hoarse, now that she realizes. “Making me wait almost five months just to kiss me.”

Chanyeol laughs at her words, pressing his forehead against hers and watching as her hands trail up from his abdomen to his biceps, grabbing onto them softly. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t want to make you wait that long…but I also didn’t wanna rush it.”

“Well, you got that right. I don’t like rushing through things.”

“I am not as dumb as you think I am.” The man adds before pressing his lips softly against hers. She continues to touch him, as if she is scared that she will ever forget the curve of his shoulders or the way his waist feels when she wraps his arms around it. The weight of his body leans her back against the bed, making her pull away to look into his eyes. “Too fast?”

“Too fast.” She continues, letting her fingers go through his hair before chuckling. “I don’t want to go all the way to town tonight, boy.” She jokes around, only to hear the sweet sound of his laughter.

“That’s good with me.” Ever so sweetly he adds before she takes her hand in between hers, touching his fingers and kissing his knuckles, only to show him affection. “We go at your pace. I don’t mind.”

“But we can do other things.” She answers, watching as he tilts his head to the side before Chanyeol chuckles at her words, shaking his head as he reaches for her face, pushing her cheeks together sweetly.

“You’re the boss.” The sound of his voice is comfortable, just how she feels around him, and he leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips that soon after turns heated. This is what she always wanted, in the shape of a forbidden love, from a person that the next day will be miles away from her. But what are a few numbers when he treats her like so?

✈️

“Last time I knew, Cupid was long dead, honey.”

The feisty old lady that lives next door speaks to her as she carries a bag of groceries in one hand, looking down at her phone with the other as she looks at one of the many pictures that Chanyeol sends her when he can. After all, it has been a bit over a month since their Venice getaway and he has spent over a week without talking to her, so seeing a recording of him running his fingers through his newly dyed black hair makes her smile gleefully. He thought of her, even when she feels like she is forgotten at times. She jumps at the sound of the old woman’s voice, watching as she smokes a cigar in the hallway—like the uncaring woman that she is—.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson…Ah, nice to see you.” A long time ago, she has learned how to look at Mrs. Jackson in the eye after the many times that she has heard her through the walls. Absentmindedly, very accidentally, and regretfully. She greets her with the hand that holds her phone, receiving a quirked smile from the woman. “W-Why…? Why are you mentioning Cupid’s death?”

With another hit of the cigar, Mrs. Jackson gives a piece of her mind. “You’re smiling, but not the fake smile you give to the landlord.” Afraid of being caught, she feels heat radiating from her ears at the mere mention of her hypocrisy whenever she sees the landlord. Some people are just not of her liking, quite clearly, but she is not bad enough to say it straight to their faces. “What’s with the smile at your phone?”

She wants to talk about it as much as how she doesn’t want to. Chanyeol has been very secretive with this possible relationship that they have, and while they don’t necessarily give it a name, they have been very clear with what they feel. Chanyeol says he feels like he is falling for her, in one of the many calls they shared, and she talks about how she has never felt the way she feels for him with anyone else. Sehun, obviously, has made some comments while they are video-calling each other that they are basically a couple by now, but they don’t comment anything on it. “Just talking to…a guy, that’s all.”

“You? A guy?” Mrs. Jackson seems genuinely surprised. “I thought you weren’t into dating.”

“I…I am very picky, indeed.” She replies, putting her phone inside her pocket to look for her keys in her bag with only one hand. What a fucking curse.

“And does this guy live in the neighborhood?” Always asking the good questions, the nosy woman continues with her prying.

“No.”

“So he’s a foreigner.”

“Yes.” She chuckles awkwardly, finally catching her keys in between her hands before pushing them inside the doorknob, twisting them lightly to watch her door open.

Mrs. Jackson has finished her cigarette by that point, throwing it on the floor and stepping on it before opening her apartment’s door, as well. “I’m happy for you, honey.” The woman says, probably because she doesn’t remember her name. “That is the type of love a person wants. Sweet enough to induce diabetes. I hope he continues to make you smile.”

Although intentionally there to pry on her neighbor’s business, Mrs. Jackson ends it in a good note, making her smile in thankfulness. She thinks that, if given the chance, her relationship with Chanyeol would blossom beautifully, but she tries not to think of the inevitable ending in between the two. Is love really strong enough to keep two people together, even when they barely see each other? “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

She also hopes he continues to make herself smile, because if he ever so dares to break her heart, she doesn’t think she will be able to get out of it.

✈️

Madrid Fashion Week comes by, and she is not invited. Quite disappointing, really, but she has other works to attend to.

The world seems to fall into rhythm, finally, but the only part of her life that is either too fast or too slow comes from the man she has fallen for, Park Chanyeol. As expected, the man has his moment of bursting love and affection, practically telling her how much he wishes he could kiss her through a quick text or simply rambling to her about how much he misses her through video-call. Slowly but surely, she makes him a part of her daily routine; waking up to see where he is, making sure that she texts him at a proper time where she doesn’t interrupt his night of sleep—soon after, however, she is met with the reality that Chanyeol will never fall into the rhythm of her life. He won’t be in one place only, he definitely won’t be around for her to cuddle and kiss to her entire will. Chanyeol is a romance from far away, kissing her and coaxing her in love for a few days before they part once again, and she doesn’t know if that is the concept of love she had grown to dream of.

On the first day of Madrid’s fashion week, he says that he will send her a picture, but she is met with three days of complete silence. He updates his social media, he appears in interviews and the bitter taste in her mouth tells her that, for him, she will always be third or fourth place—not even second, because she would settle for someone that put their work first, and that is enough to make her feel hurt.

What happens to loving when the other person falls quiet?

A poem of Neruda is the first thing Jenn replies with. I like for you to be still or something else, that’s what she captures from what her friend tells her when she asks for advice, and it irks her terribly. Love shouldn’t be about silence; it should be about communicating even if it’s through a stare. It should feel like they were always in the same wave of feelings, not like she is constantly drowning while swimming towards the expensive ship where Chanyeol stands. She has gone weeks without hearing about him, but it hurts more whenever she gets closer to Chanyeol.

She taps her nails against her counter, watching the movement as she hears her phone ringing. Perhaps, she needs to hear her voice, or she finally needs to speak on the subject. Of course, she doesn’t want him to pick between his job and her, but she wants a little bit of commitment. For him to care, for him to try, for him to give her a space that isn’t worth a few hours every few months. She doesn’t deserve it, or at least she feels like she doesn’t. At first, he doesn’t pick up and five calls later, does she really get to hear his voice.

“Sorry. I am at a party, what’s up?” Chanyeol asks and she hears the sound of music in the background, somewhat muffled because he must have moved to somewhere quiet. Her anger boils; perhaps because she drank a glass of soda that was too sweet, or because she hates hiding the only person that she would dare to call a boyfriend. She despises that Chanyeol doesn’t give her a spot in his life, or that it is miniscule in comparison to everyone else.

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Ah…I don’t think so.”

That’s it. If she could, she would throw the nearest slice of food to his face, if only she was in that party and not as far away as she is. “Well, you didn’t answer my text…that I sent you four days ago, don’t you remember?” The tone of her voice is the pettiest she can get, almost to the point she spits venom to the man. Chanyeol sighs deeply, and she imagines him in the bathroom crossing his arms over his chest while leaning against a wall.

“I am really trying.” And she knows, but sometimes she wishes that he would have his priorities straight. She doesn’t ask for much, perhaps a small message that tells her that ‘he is busy, and will answer her later’, but that never comes. For all she knows, he could have gotten his phone stolen, or he could be dead. There are a hundred possibilities, and none sound better than the last one. “But be a little bit more patient.”

She scoffs at that. “More patient? Chanyeol, I literally respond the second you send me a text and you take days to even consider telling me that you were busy. Don’t you think that’s unfair for me?” Now she is angered, trying to cover it up as much as she can, but her hands start to shake at the fire that she feels radiating from within.

“You need t0 understand. I am at a party right now and it’s really important for a makeup campaign I will be working in the next year—”

“I get it. I really do.” She interrupts him, wanting to be heard once in her life from the time that they have known each other. “All I am asking is just a heads up. That’s all. I have been worrying shitless about you—”

“Okay, yes, sorry. There you go.” He responds quickly, like he doesn’t mean it, and lately she feels like that is the way she would describe what they had. The more she spent thinking to herself what Chanyeol must think of her, she always convinces herself that he doesn’t mean anything that he has told her. The kisses are there to scratch an itch, he tells her that he likes her and that he loves all those things about her because he wants to sugarcoat her and the moment their relationship became serious was wonderful, but still…they hadn’t even seen each other since.

“Don’t give me that half-assed apology.”

“God! What kind of apology do you want, then?! I am being genuine!”

“I want you to feel what I feel. You don’t know how it’s like—”

“Yes, of course I know! I am also part of this relationship, if you don’t remember!” The man seems to have lost his poise, raising his voice in tone before he groans softly, lowering the sound of his voice. She’s baffled, thinking of what had made them break—but she can’t live with that uncertainty, the insecurity that comes with not knowing if he is fully in this relationship or not. “I have my dream to take care of! I haven’t even seen my family in months. Do you think I have the time to text you every time?! I try, I really do!”

Of course he does, she knows it, but all she wants is for him to take her more seriously. She doesn’t think it’s too much that she is asking for right there. “It shouldn’t be me always looking for you like a puppy! You’re not better than me because you’re rich and important and famous—” Deep within her, those facts had bothered her for long enough. Maybe, that was the reason behind their first fight. Chanyeol is famous, she is not. Chanyeol travels the world, while she mostly stays in her hometown. Chanyeol is surrounded by people who could take him away from her at any given minute, and she feels like they could.

“Who’s even talking about that? Of course I don’t think of you as some puppy!”

“I’m talking about you, because it’s never about us when it comes to our conversations.” She spits out, standing up from her seat to walk around the room to stop her freakishly racing heart. “How do you think it makes me feel that I am always the one that goes to you, and it’s never the other way around—”

“Listen, let’s talk about this—”

“And I understand your situation with your family. I am not even mentioning your family here.” Now, she is tired, like she has been drained of all the energy and instead, she has been hit by a big set of news. She feels like she can’t do it anymore, like Chanyeol will always be a thousand miles away and she will always be waiting for him. “…You know what, Chanyeol? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can live with this fear that you’ll leave me at any given second. I don’t want to feel like I am the last option on your list.”

Chanyeol sighs deeply. “You’re never the last option, but this year has been so difficult for me. I only ask for more time.” The man complains, only to have her rubbing her face out of distress. She feels a headache coming up already, if it wasn’t there to stay. “And the least I want is for you to feel like I will leave you. I promise that all I think about is you. And us. It’s not always about me.”

“It damn right feels like it.”

“I’ll take a flight to your hometown if that’s what it takes then. After this fashion week—”

“I just don’t want you to come up with those ideas because you have to, because I am mad. I want you to think of it seriously.” She replies, voice softer now that she has calmed down, although she feels like she might have a heart attack right there. “And let’s be honest…your life can only get busier from now on, and as much as it hurts me, I think something needs to change.”

Once again, he seems to be stuck in whatever is his limbo. “I am trying.”

“Well, you don’t need to try anymore.” The sound of her voice breaks her heart, aching to be loved and respected, aching for the affection that she feels like is neglected from her. Is it being too damn needy to want him by her side? Is it a problem? Is she the problem in this relationship? “I feel like we should break up.”

“What?! No.” Chanyeol replies quickly. “You’re just angry-thinking. I am sure we can get through—”

“Through what? Long distance that will always be there because you live in hotels and I don’t?” Her voice is hoarse, closing her eyes tightly as she remembers that night they shared together in Venice. “It hurts me as much as it hurts you.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” For a moment, she thinks she hears his voice becoming unclear, much more nasal than it has ever been. Was he crying, perhaps? Why does she feel like there is a dagger going through her heart? “It’s sad, really. I am actually trying for you—”

“I know.”

“Then what is the problem? I’ll get better.”

“That I don’t want to try anymore.”

The worst part was that even months after their break up, she thinks of his gaze, like a dagger that has cut right through her chest.

#chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #kpop scenarios #writing #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol au #exo fluff #exo angst #exo au #runway model!chanyeol #also this idea obviously came from the what a life promo and everything according to that era #yes love blonde chanyeol please #also gimme some feedback if you read!!! i'd appreacite it so bad!!!#also very long but i am Not Surprised

194 notes · View notes