#my brain is entirely filled with yoon jeonghan

[hannyoontify]

saw this ad on insta n immediately thought of how jeonghan would probably like the black one

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i kept it tame so i didn't lose my mind, head chef! jeonghan who terrorises his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! giselle from aespa who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, lots of geographical London referencess, lots of bickering, little bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, fluff obviously and overall just very winter-esque!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @ourkivee @syluslittlecrows @ye0ppl @markhyuckbest @uhdrienne

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this is not edited properly and for that i am sorry...so tired i fear but she is FINALLY done!! thank you @camandemstudios for inviting me to participate in this collab, i've enjoyed every moment of yapping and fighting over pixel cats <33 to alice and addy for listening to me complaing about this fic but seungkwan deserves sm love so i had to do my bit !! i hope you all enjoy and happy new year !! <3

back to masterlist

BEING BERATED BY A SUPERIOR WILL ALWAYS BE A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE.

Whether that be in school, when you are scolded for forgetting your homework, or gaining detention for arguing with your teacher. In the working world, it could be insufficient effort in a team project, perhaps your boss simply being a prick and wanting to make your life difficult. 

Never did you think you would be sitting in front of your Head Chef, remnants of food stuck in your hair and clothing, a sheepish look plastered upon your face as you faced his imminent wrath.

You knew it was over for you—the man at the head of the office sat, sleeveless arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in rage at your dishevelled appearance, his feet tapping viciously under the desk. You never really considered your superior to be a particularly scary figure of power, but, in this light, if he made any sudden moves, there was a slim possibility you would scream.

You wondered whether begging for forgiveness was still on the table.

��Remind me, _____,” he finally said, sighing the words out, “How old are you?” 

A part of you wished to remind him that he was not legally allowed to ask you that. You did not even know why he was asking such a question. Head Chef Yoon Jeonghan had known you for a long time now. He realised it too, but for another reason entirely. “No, scratch that. You’re an age where your brain has developed fully, right? I’m not wrong in assuming that you’re capable of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Of course, Chef,” you answered, trying to find some self-assuredness in your voice. Difficult, in all honesty, when you were covered with salted butter and vanilla extract. 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. “Then tell me why, _____,” he asked, agitation rising, “I caught you with your hands full of whipped cream, throwing it at a fellow chef.”

You attempted an explanation. “In my defence, Chef, you weren’t meant to see that.”

Jeonghan was not amused. “I’m surprised the entire restaurant didn’t catch your antics. If this incident happened during open hours I shudder to think what our customers would think.”

Reining in a sigh, you did not respond this time, positive that another dry quip from you would have your unemployment confirmed. 

It was a little unfair, though. You were not the only one who was caught. 

A drawl resounded from beside you. “I won’t be surprised if half our customers don’t already know what _____’s like.”

This particular chirp had your self-wallowing bubbling to a rage. 

No, you were not the sole culprit, because as you whipped your head to the man who decided to voice his opinion at the wrong time, you caught the shit-eating glint in his eyes and nearly screamed the office down.

You could not stop yourself from crowing out, “Let’s not forget your 2018 meltdown over multiple tiramisu failures, Seungkwan.”

That had him scoffing harshly. “Always digging up incidents from years ago because you have nothing else to bring up.” His eyes hiked up and down your ruined uniform. “I can name your screw-ups starting today.”

“Oh, so I was just pissing about with all this food by myself then,” you snapped, gesturing towards his own mess. His hazel locks had the remnants of whipped cream too, matting his hair, whilst different coloured stains adorned his professional uniform, much similar to yours. However, you noticed he was much dirtier in appearance, which made your lips quirk upward in satisfaction.

He caught on instantly, to your distaste. “You were the one who couldn’t argue properly with me,” he accused. “No wonder you had to resort to childish gimmicks to get back at me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” A turn of your nose. “You look horrendous.” 

“You’re no sight for sore eyes either.” He reached for the thick strands of his hair, matted together with whipped cream. “Do you even know how hard it is to wash off mascarpone?”

“I wouldn’t, actually, because you missed, remember?”

“Oh, you—” 

“Enough!” Jeonghan declared, interrupting you two before any escalations occurred. “Not only were these gimmicks childish and immature, but also a huge waste on our ingredients. Mingyu’s estimated our stock for this week was cut down by 17%.” 

Your surprise was exposed through the twist of your mouth. “That’s right.” Jeonghan sighed once again, many in his arsenal. “Both of your temper tantrums have cost the restaurant financially. Aside from the fact that I will be talking to my therapist about this incident.” 

“Of course _____ wouldn’t care about the restaurant finances,” Seungkwan jeered, dusting off flakes of self-raising flour from his lap. “Nor your mental health.”

“I do care about your mental health, Chef,” you rebuked your colleague’s claim. “If I didn’t, then the stock would have plummeted another 25% at least. That’s why I didn’t touch the vintage dessert wines.” 

“You do seem to have some sense then,” Jeonghan griped, no humour in his smile, “Because if you ruined the wines on Seungkwan I would have fired you instantly.”

Not a warning—a promise. Another one of his infamous sighs exhaled from his coral lips, which he brushed with his wandering fingers in thought. “You both…you both need to stop this. I mean it.” 

“I will stop when she stops,” the man beside you asserted, glaring at you. 

You matched his venom. “I will stop when he stops.” 

“No, you both will stop, because I have had enough.” He locked his hands together, losing all amusement—as if there was any present in the first place. “Christmas period is approaching, and that means changing up the menu for the new quarter. These next couple of months will be incredibly busy, especially given the tourist season and school holidays in central.” 

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he set aside a few files, sliding out a particular piece and studying the details. “As you know, the main menu has been under alteration, but the dessert menu is still the same as the summer. I have already selected the majority of the confectionery, but there is still one more dessert I wish to add to the seasonal collection.” 

He then set his sights on the two of you. “I need you to make this dessert. Hand me the plans for its creation, flavour variety, as well as its marketability in the restaurant.” 

That had you sitting up in your seat. A creation of a dessert—it was something you had concocted in larger groups, back when you were a mere apprentice under Jeonghan’s wing at Camden Market. You had done seasonal dessert preparations for the spring and summer menus, but the winter menu selection was the most prestigious amongst the luxury restaurants within your borough. With locals flocking to central London, tourists from all corners of the world flying across oceans to stay in this beloved city, they wanted nothing more than seasonal excellence. 

An exquisite dessert meant maintaining that expectation of perfection. A dessert was enjoyed at the end of the main meal, and—in your eyes—cemented the opinion of a customer on whether they would return to the establishment, or forget it ever existed. The treats you made left impressions on thousands, impressions you savoured everyday at work, and outside. 

This may just be all your hard work paying off. Finally.

Before Jeonghan could continue, you nodded, all confidence. “I will be happy to accept this task, Chef.”

A snort sounded next to you, and your smugness faltered, replaced with irritation. “You have something to say?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, folding his leg over the other, “I was wondering why you were piping up when Chef was asking me.” 

This time, you were the one that laughed. “Your arrogance makes you look like a dumbass many times, Seungkwan. This is one of those times.” 

He leaned in a little, nodding condescendingly along to your taunts. “Oh do I? I guess it’ll be your turn to look stupid today.” 

“Both of you are looking stupid in front of me,” the boss interjected once more. “Because I wasn’t asking a specific individual.” 

He raised his hands to the two of you. “I’m asking you both to work on this dessert inclusion. Together.” 

You halted. Stilled in the stark, yellow lights of the grand office, evidence of Jeonghan’s success. Success which you have yet to taste on your own.

Success which, unfortunately, might have died with the words that left your superior’s mouth.

For the first time in a while, there was complete silence in the office.

Even Jeonghan found the notion hard to believe. “My God,” he uttered, twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, stunned. “Maybe I should have dropped this news before the food fight.”

You could only stare at the man in pure horror. “I would rather snap raw spaghetti and serve it to you before doing such a thing!”

Seungkwan let out a groan. “Here come the dramatics,” he muttered, but you heard it clear enough. “Anything to make a fuss and delay the business.”

Jeonghan perked up. “Oh, so you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

A smile. “I’d kill myself before working with _____.”

Your huff of laughter had the boy scowling. “And he called me dramatic.”

“Enough!” was the final outcry from your boss, who seemed ready to overthrow the desk in pure frustration. “You two…” he shook his head, raking his slender hands through his long, black hair. “I don’t care.”

The younger attempted to fight his case to the end. “But Chef, this will be a disaster—”

You chimed in for the sake of interrupting, “This will cause the downfall of your restaurant—”

“I don’t care how you two feel,” his interruption was final, his head shaking still. “I don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parted, but then heard the fuck, and decided against saying a word. You should have followed suit, but it was against your very principle to follow his example. “Chef, please,” you tried, almost pleading to be heard out. “Seungkwan and I have completely different palettes too. It’s not even about personal differences.”

“Again, that is a setback I don’t care about.” He stood up from his seat, and almost on instinct the two of you shot up from your chairs, remnants of cooked fettuccine falling from your dampened uniform pockets. The Head Chef took note of this detail. “This…this petty rivalry between the two of you is affecting the people around you now. Both of you are so talented, yet I have seen caffeine-crazed kids behave better than you during rush hours.” 

He rested his hands on the table, his hard gaze razor-sharp. “You both have about eight weeks to hand me the final dessert plan on my table. If I receive two individual plans, or no plan at all, then I will fire you both.”

That was enough for balls to drop. You were fortunate to have none, so only assumed Seungkwan was the victim in this situation.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he exclaimed, and for the first time, you had to agree with him. A horrifying prospect. “We’re halfway through September now!”

“So?”

“You need me on desserts, Chef!” you declared, taking a more outraged stance on his statement. “What the hell will you do when there’s no one to make your amarettis?”

The man was still, face impassive. “I don’t care if you both are my best chefs. There are many big-eyed, desperate Masterchef rejects who will cut off their legs to be trained within this position.”

Whatever snide remark that almost escaped your mouth lodged itself in your throat. You wanted to feel special—like there was a place reserved only for you at the restaurant. 

Now, because of one person, that position is threatened.

“This isn’t fair, Jeonghan,” you mumbled. 

There was a pause. Then, “Don’t make me agree with _____.”

“Shut up.”

The boss took a turn from his desk, walking towards the door. “As I said,” he began, holding onto the handle, “You have eight weeks.” 

He took one last glance at the two of you, a judgement akin to the one the scriptures warned about. “Don’t fuck this up.” 

With that, he left his office with a final thud! of the door. 

And as the weight of the decision finally settled on your shoulders, its pressure making them sag, you looked to the man whose employment rested in your hands—whose hands your employment rested on too. 

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

If anyone was going to get fired, it would not be you.

THE RUSH HOUR OF THE UNDERGROUND TUBE SOURED YOUR ALREADY UNPLEASANT CONDITION.

The Northern line from Camden experienced a few closures, so that resulted in delays, consequently filling the already dingy underground area into a complete sardine-like squeeze. It was horrendous enough the place was like a cesspit of heat and sweat amongst all these commuters, but knowing you were going to be late was enough to worsen your mood. 

You would have complained to your flatmate, but there was no service underneath—the entire commute resulted in staring down the people who held a seat in the jam-packed tube, when you were slotted against the sliding doors of the train. Holding onto the railings for dear life, you could only hope that your colleague had experienced an inconvenience as severe as you had (perhaps tripping over his dirty laundry—maybe even a car crash on the ring road? He could take his pick). 

Once the tube finally reached Leicester Square, you could not struggle out of the train fast enough, tapping out your card and flying up the stairs in two-three steps. The Piazza of Covent Garden was not far away, but London was a city that never rested, and so the people were everywhere. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of moving out of the crowds with precision, so you arrived at your destination, only about five minutes late. 

The columns of Covent Garden’s grand building welcomed your vision. There, nestled to the side with luxury outdoor seating splayed onto the cobblestone, was the Vita di Diamante—Jeonghan’s product of blood, sweat and tears for the world to admire. The Georgian-style front was painted an emerald green, white borders of the doors and windows making the restaurant glow in the soft winter sun. Customers were already queuing, even though doors were not to open for the next two hours. You could not help a small smile forming, chest swelling with pride. 

Avoiding the front entrance, you hurried around to the side doors, this particular entrance already open thanks to Prep Cook Kim Mingyu, who offered a sheepish smile at your appearance. 

“Oh no,” you said in greeting, quickly stepping past him as he closed the door. “What’s that look for?” 

He chuckled, tightening his apron’s bow at the back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan—stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert apprentices to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, butyou did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed messing with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To need only a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I'm not dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

Oh, he was seething underneath that mask of irritation. If you had been any weaker, you would have crumbled under such a withering look. He did not have much to say anymore, thinking that knifing you with his glare would be enough to win this argument. Because he had you as an opponent, it was no easy feat—the two of you said nothing again, staring and staring with mouths parted, almost waiting for an insult to rise from their throats and strike any second. 

Something might have struck—would have occurred under the flickering lights of the dessert station. Perhaps Seungkwan would have said something to make you succumb to your aggravation. Maybe you would have finally killed him. 

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

There stood Jeonghan, tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed as he observed you two. “Standing this close, well…either you’re about to claw each other’s faces off or make out.”

The latter option had you and Seungkwan breaking out of your rageful bubble, repelling from each other like magnets of the same sides. The boy exhaled sharply through his nose, while you swiped up your notes, not even sparing your Head Chef with a glare. “You’re horrid.”

Seungkwan snorted. “I think I’d rather get punched.”

You directed that sour look back at the man who deserved it more. “You’ll have it coming if you keep at it.”

“If you both have wasted enough time fighting,” Jeonghan interjected, always the mediator, “Then let’s get on with it. I wanna hear your initial plans.”

“_____ will summarise,” The younger replied, before you could even begin. “I have to go in a minute.”

You made a face. “Where’re you running off to?”

He returned it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have to pick up my niece and nephew from school. They have a half-day today.”

You could have rolled your eyes at him. “Is this allowed, Chef?” you demanded. “Something as important as the Christmas menu is being discussed, and he’s doing school duty.”

But Jeonghan overlooked your valid concerns, countering, “It’s all good, _____. Seungkwan asked for the half-day a week earlier.”

The said-man handed his notes to the superior. He could not help remarking, “Perhaps if you had bothered to be on time, then we could have fought out another dessert.”

As he exited, bidding his adieus to him, you reined in the temptation to stick his middle finger out. After all, it would have only landed behind his back—the bastard deserved to see it. 

Your boss clicked his tongue at you as he walked over to where you stood. “Good to see you didn’t flip him off in front of me. At least you’re thirty percent professional.”

“Why did you give him the half-day?” This time, you could not restrain the eye-roll. “Sometimes I think he’s making those kids up.”

“_____!” He scolded, bringing Seungkwan’s notepad back on the surface. “I’ve met his niece and nephew, they’re very much real.”

“Or you could be in on the bit,” you jeered, leaning against the countertop. “Trying to piss me off on purpose.”

“Your self-importance astounds me. Not everyone is thinking about you.” A knowing look. “Even the man you happen to hate so much.”

“Well I hope he keeps my name out of his mouth. And his mind, for that matter,” you added for good measure, observing the very door the man departed from. 

Jeonghan followed your line of sight. “You seem to have a hard time keeping his name out of your mouth though.”

Your accused mouth tightened at its allegations. “Are you on my side or his?”

He raised his hands in surrender, a grin breaking free from his lips. “Don’t drag me into your petty rivalry.” Pointing towards your notes, he then changed the subject. “Now, tell me about your rough plans.”

You obliged your boss, running down your initial prospects. He seemed satisfied enough, informing you that he will ask Seungkwan as well, and reminded you to prepare for the early customers.

As you prepared yourself for the open doors, prepping your ingredients alongside the Prep Cook, your thoughts wandered to the man who escaped this menial work, and then the eventual rush.

You and Seungkwan would not be able to create this dessert. Meeting in the middle would be impossible with someone as stubborn as him. Of course you wished to be successful, because that meant Jeonghan would not throw you out into the cobblestones of Covent Garden. You wanted this to go well. 

A sharp breath exhaled from you. You could only hope that Seungkwan hoped the same, or else you would both are completely, utterly, inescapably fucked. 

“HO HO HO!” 

A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “One more ‘ho ho ho’ and I’m shooting myself in the head.”

“Hey!” The slender girl exclaimed, fixing her Santa hat upon her straight hair. “You know I need to perfect it for today.”

You looked beyond her figure to the shop, lit up with seasonal outfits on display. “You’re gonna get the role anyway, Aeri, because no one else will be auditioning.”

The girl tried to push you in punishment, you narrowly dodging her dainty hand. “Go back to slaving away at Jeonghan’s restaurant.”

A mocked gasp left you. “Are you telling me to get back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, so step on it!”

“I’m supporting you, though!” You reasoned. “There is no one in London who can pull off Santa Claus better than you.”

“And what about the world?”

You mocked a shrug. “There’s too many old white men to compete for that title, I fear.”

“See?” She clicked her tongue. “A real friend would lie to me and say I’m the best.”

Shaking your head at her antics, you could not help smiling at her. Uchinaga Aeri was a fiery girl you had befriended in school, bonding over your terrible teachers in one after-school detention. Your paths had never strayed, establishing each other as flatmates when the two of you decided to pursue careers in the big city. Where you pursued luxury food, she sought after theatre and cameras, deciding to be an actress when she landed herself the role of ‘Juliet’ in Romeo and Juliet in primary school, and considered it destiny (she, however, did not have chemistry with her Romeo, because he kissed her like a ‘fish’. In her words, men who cannot kiss should not be romancing other actresses).

“I don’t get the Santa Claus obsession, though,” you wondered out loud. “There are other ways to help kids out.”

“I know, but it’s Christmas!” She waved her arms to the air, gesturing at the winter-themed fairy lights on the mall ceilings, twinkling with every ray of light that caught them. “It’s also adorable when the kids ask you for presents.”

“I think it’ll be cuter with a female Claus, too,” you pointed out. “I wouldn’t put my kid on any old man’s lap.”

“Exactly!” There was a moment of brief pause before Aeri relented. “Also, the mall employees get a 50 percent discount on retail.”

“I knew your ass wasn’t feeling the Christmas charity spirit.”

The girl chuckled, looping her arm around yours. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” You returned her grin with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t gonna miss you screaming ‘Ho Ho Ho’ at every kid in M&S.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but could not contain her laughter. ���Hey, weren’t you supposed to work today?”

That made your cheerful expression falter a little. “I was, but Seungkwan took the full day off today, so Jeonghan used it as an excuse to trial out the apprentices.” 

“You know, I still need to meet this guy,” she said, glancing at the street food booths in the middle of the halls. “He’s the only man I know who genuinely makes you go batshit.”

“Don’t get me started again.” You rolled your eyes. “You know, he took his day off for his niece and nephew again. I’m telling you, he’s making these fucking kids up.”

Aeri’s face twisted into concern. “Making up fake kids for a holiday is a little far-fetched, _____.”

“Keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, then,” you crowed at her, “I'm just gonna pretend you're method acting for Santa."

But she was persistent, asking, “When will you let me spread the Christmas charity to your nemesis?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” You twisted your mouth. “I’m saving you the headache.”

“Why the headache?” Aeri then gasped. “Is he ugly?”

You scoffed, looking ahead to respond when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your friend, arm locked with yours, lurched backwards, whirling her head to you. Catching your expression had her demanding, “What the hell?”

But you were not listening to her, because your eyes landed on the very man you were bad-mouthing mere seconds ago. It was insanity how you recognised him, when his face was half-hidden from his signature oversized scarf—the three-metres of red fabric which always irritated you for some irrational reason (possibly because you were always cold, and the stupid, awful scarf always seemed so warm). His black trench-coat covered his slender figure, his hair ruffled, the after-effects of a beanie situated upon them.

Those details were still not important—completely useless when the most prominent addition was a woman beside him, laughing at his quip.

Shit. You did not waste any time.

“_____?” your friend called out, only to be met with your sudden turn on your heel, as, with her ungracious yelp, you hauled her inside the nearest shop, nearly crashing into the mannequins. “Jeez, if you wanted to go inside Zara so badly, then you should have just said!” 

As you hid behind the retail giant’s new winter collection, you observed, a little further away, the two people strolling without a care in the world. You noticed how the man was carrying all the shopping—stores from high-street to designer, which had your eyebrow raising—whilst the woman was pointing towards different stores, perhaps scour all of Westfield if she could help it. 

A frown marred your lips. 

Seungkwan said he was assisting his child-aged niece and nephew—you did not remember said-niece and nephew being one adult woman. 

“He’s on a fucking date,” you seethed.

Aeri, now hiding beside you, tried to find whoever it was that you were glaring at. “Who’s on a date?”

“Seungkwan!” you exclaimed, pointing at him through the mannequin’s arm. “The prick with the red scarf.” But he and his company had walked past Zara, nearly leaving your field of vision. “Wait, we gotta move.” 

The poor girl, who was once again hauled up, and now being led out of the store, tugged at your arm. “What are we doing?” she asked. “Why are you still talking about him?”

“Because he’s there!” You jerked your head towards him and his lady-friend. “Look!”

A sharp breath drew from your friend. “Oh my God! Speak of the dessert devil, huh?”

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

That had Aeri stopping the chase, thus stopping you. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

“To catch him out on his terrible excuse!” you explained, tutting at your friend’s inability to understand the drastic nature of this situation. “I need to see the look on his face when I catch him making the rounds on H&M’s winter collection.”

For some unimaginable reason, the girl did not seem so enthusiastic. “My interview’s in thirty minutes, _____.”

You scrambled for any lame excuse. “This will distract you from your interview nerves!” 

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

“Well, you should because your voice cannot go ‘Santa Claus’ deep.”

Aeri nudged you with her interlocked arm, shaking her head. “Now I’m scared, so fuck you.”

“You're very welcome.” You ticked your head towards your target. “Let’s go.”

As you two began your possibly illegal, certainly socially unacceptable activity, a certain rush thrummed within your veins, as if you had taken something for the exhilaration. Seeing your colleague declare one thing to you, yet do something entirely different—and then to witness it with your own eyes—felt like a scene out of a ridiculous rom-com. He was taking this girl everywhere, offering his opinions on certain collections on display in whatever shop they passed, loud enough for you to hear. Of course, it was expected from someone as opinionated as him—you were not surprised in the slightest. 

“All the time in the world for his kids, huh?” you muttered, sporting a grin which would have had criminals running for the hills.

Even Aeri was spooked. “You really are rooting for his downfall, huh?” 

“You have no idea.”

The two people you tailed went inside the White Tiger, and it was at this point as, when you made to enter the strange shop, you were stopped by your friend. “I’m gonna leave you here.” 

“What?” You tugged on her arm. “You still have fifteen minutes.”

She sighed. “If I tank in my audition, just know I’m going to your restaurant and telling this Seungkwan that you had a wet dream about him.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s diabolical.” 

Her growing smirk had you widening your eyes. “I’ll do you an even better one. If you don’t let me leave I’m calling Seungkwan here and telling him we were stalking him.”

That had your blood running cold. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You don’t think so?” She turned her face forwards, shit-eating expression furthering. 

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

“What the—” You instantly grabbed her arm, aiming to cover her mouth when she waved off your hands, her grin chilling you to your bones. “Oh my fucking God—!”

“Hey, Seungkwan!” Aeri shouted once more, louder this time. You knifed her with a vicious glare, but then she waved her hand, and you whirled your head to where she greeted.

Your face contorted in pure horror as you watched Seungkwan look over his shoulder, slowly turning himself. 

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

It was your legs that suddenly held the reins, dashing into the shop beside your friend, hiding behind the racks of clothing. Your heart beat as if you had run an Olympic sprint, pounding in your ears, and your mouth repeatedly cursed the girl who had instigated all this, praying she embarrassed herself in her audition—perhaps screaming Whore, whore, whore! instead of the classic jingle. You did not think of the logistics, too enraged and embarrassed to think up a solution.

Despite the chaos of customers shopping, the swishing of clothing amongst the racks, and the robotic beeping of cash registers, you peeked through the burgundy cardigans you hid behind, catching the very man you wished to avoid walking up to your friend. 

His voice could be heard from your makeshift sanctuary, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, did you call for me?”

Aeri kept glancing at the shop you hid in. She tried her hardest to restrain her smile as she said, “I did, actually! This is so weird, but my name’s Aeri. _____’s friend.”

You could not mistake it—the realisation striking in his eyes, as they widened, ever so slightly. His mouth parted, then the corners of his lips curled upwards, and suddenly you could have been made of dread and anguish and every fearful emotion a person was capable of feeling. 

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

“_____?” He repeated, and the amusement that dripped off your name had you wishing all men perished. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see a friend of _____’s.”

He raised his hand out, and Aeri reciprocated, shaking it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t have expected an answer like that from you, actually.”

“Is that so?” the man quirked his mouth in a side-smile, all mischief and whimsical. “Maybe I’m fixing my manners for a pretty girl, then.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her chest, her smiling losing all mischief, turning more genuine. “She didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.”

You had to bring a hand to your mouth, aghast. The bitch is being fooled! “I’m not surprised by that in the slightest.” He let out an uneasy chuckle. “I hope you don’t believe the impression she’s made of me.”

“I’ll try not to be swayed,” she promised, sneaking another glance at your hiding place. Although she had not caught your eye, you glared at her for being so obvious. “Though I will admit, I haven’t heard great things.” 

“I’d be shocked if I heard anything positive,” he remarked. “_____, she…” He tugged his lip between his teeth. “I won’t say it cause she’s your friend but…”

“Yeah, nothing too crazy, please,” she warned, “Because then I’d have to tell her, she’d go all ballistic on you, and then she’d complain to me. I can’t deal with this soap opera.” 

“Soap opera?” he said, scoffing. “God, I can’t even complain, it’s EastEnders everyday in that damned kitchen.”

Aeri laughed. “Now I know my friend loves a bit of drama, but surely she’s not the one in the wrong every time?” 

But Seungkwan tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if considering a completely different opinion. “And yet she’s the one throwing food in my face.” 

That had your friend glancing at you through the shop window, a second-long judgement. You glared at her to turn away, she obliging with a shake of her head. “Well…I suppose I can’t defend her against that.” 

His winning smile irked you to the bone. “Exactly.” 

You knew from Aeri’s sheepish scratch of her neck that there was no convincing him, and had unintentionally proved his point. A soft groan escaped you, about to hold your head in your hands. Must bully her about this later.

The need to torture her for the rest of her miserable, Santa-adoring life worsened when he looked beyond her frame, a questioning twist of his mouth forming. “Am I crazy, or was _____ here with you?”

The girl’s helpless, a million-emotions-a-second expression once again exposed the guilt Seungkwan waited patiently for, and latched onto. “Huh. So I’m not crazy.” 

“She just left,” Aeri explained, looking down at her boots. “She had the whole dessert thing to think up, prepare for…you know, the reason you guys are yelling at each other.”  

“Such dedication to her work!” he praised, but even she could recognise the patronising tone, directed at you from afar. If he had caught onto the fact that you were hiding from him, you might as well throw yourself off the highest floor in this mall. 

The condescension had the girl ticking her head. “She is, though. Why else would she be fighting for her preferences?” 

Seungkwan stared at your friend, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I guess you’re right,” he relented, which had you frowning behind the clothing. Given up so easily? 

You could not ponder over it further, because the man looked over his shoulder, no doubt realising he had left his mysterious companion behind. “You must excuse me, Aeri,” he said, “But it was really good to meet you, truly.” 

He held his hand out, which, surprised, your friend shook, lightening up. “You too, Seungkwan.”

As he let go, turning on his heel, you just managed to catch the smirk on his face, hidden from Aeri. “You tell your friend I said I missed her here.”

And off he went, catching her off-guard, and kickstarting your irritation as he strolled back to his date. 

Once you were sure he was out of your distance, you stood, avoiding the flurry of winter clothing, keeping your head down in slight shame at knowing quite a few shoppers had seen you hiding out behind the railings. Another unprecedented consequence of knowing Seungkwan.

Quickly you hurried to your friend, who turned to you, pointing her thumb in his direction. “Oh my God.” 

“‘She had this whole dessert thing to prepare for’?” you greeted, hands on your hips. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d realise you were here!” She kept a finger to her chin, thinking over possible escapes. “I mean, I don’t think he saw you in Zara? You hid better than I thought, honestly.” 

“Shit.” You brought your fingers to your temple, scraping against your skin. “And why did he agree with you on me being dedicated?! Fake-ass.” 

Aeri then raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. I am right. Him being passionate about his work doesn’t change the fact that you’re dedicated to it too.” 

You could only grunt in agreement, glancing back to see him a mere speck amongst the sea of Christmas shoppers. 

Although it was a fool’s hope, you wished that he would not bring up this incident tomorrow. 

THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENS, HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU. 

Not that you were afraid of him—at the end of the day, he was just a man with a small apron and a bad attitude, and you were not letting him get the better of you. 

Except your heart was pounding like an echoing gong, hair standing on the back of your neck. Even your palms were sweating, you flexing and unflexing your hands in distraction. Seungkwan was behind the large commercial hob, cooking something in a pot when he looked over his shoulder, beholding your unnerved presence. 

For the first time since he started working alongside you, he offered you a smile. 

You could have taken the pot and flung the contents on his head. 

“Good morning, _____!” he chirped, the smile widening when you instantly gritted your teeth. “Well rested?”

“Morning,” you replied curtly, tying your apron behind your back. “And yes.”

“Very good,” he asserted, mixing the contents of the pot. He wasted no time in the next question. “How was your weekend?” 

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

“What a coincidence!” he exclaimed, as if you had revealed the secrets of the universe to him.”I went shopping too.”

“So does everyone and their mothers on the weekend, Seungkwan,” you monotoned, hoping he would take the hint.

He took the hint, of course, but chose to disregard it completely. “My weekend was excellent,” he insisted, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim, draining out the residue. Making caramel, then. “I went to Westfield yesterday. Very fun, I’ll say.”

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

“It was so,” he parroted, like the bastard he was. “I actually happened to meet your friend there!” 

Your sigh could have had a laugh rasping out of him. “Which one?” you merely asked, feigning innocence still. 

A snort. “Don’t pretend you have more than one friend, _____.” 

Ouch. “Don’t pretend to know everything about me,” you huffed. 

“Fair enough. I happened to meet Aeri.” Satisfied with the slow melting of the sugar and butter, he finally focused on you, leaning against the hob. “Lovely girl, by the way.”

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

“She told me that you were with her this entire time!” 

It took every atom of your strength to not react to that statement. “I was.” 

“Then tell me…” He made to walk towards you, the only boundary between you two being the huge island tabletops. “How come I was so unlucky to miss you yesterday?”

You clenched your jaw. “I left before she saw you.” 

“Left?” he inquired, hand resting on the countertop. “You see, I remember it more as running away the moment she called after me.”

A Jesus Christ slipped out of you before you could help yourself. Instantly you repelled from his walking figure, hurrying to check the sizzling which had increased. The sauce was forming. “What’d you need this for?”

“Caramel Budino. Don’t dodge the question.” You could feel his gaze on you. “Why did you run away from me?”

You took the spoon set on the side, stirring. “I didn’t run away.”

“Yes you did,” he countered immediately. “I saw you bolt into Zara as if they had a closing down sale.”

“Maybe I was excited about their Black Friday deals,” you asserted, sparing him an irritated glance.

His accusatory stare had you looking back at the pot. “Don’t bullshit with me, _____,” He finally stepped past the countertop. “My God. You were stalking me, weren’t you? You and your friend?”

“What—no!” you denounced. “How can you think that?”

He was not four feet from you now. You tried not to look at him; somehow, in the most bothersome of ways, his eyes were unnerving you—as if you had committed some crime, and were now caught red-handed fleeing the scene. Well, you were caught fleeing the scene, but you thought you had escaped the consequences. 

But you had not escaped shit, and now you had to shrink under this bastard’s malicious, victorious scrutiny. 

“Then why did you run away?” he asked you, all quiet. 

The strange hush of his voice had you blurting out an unexpected response. “Because I think you’re a bloody liar.” 

Finally, you mustered the strength to face him—his confusion had you continuing. “You took the day off yesterday, right? For your niece and nephew? Well I didn’t see these so-called nieces and nephews, but a woman I had never met, or seen, even!” You then scoffed. “I was lucky to catch you red-handed, actually, because I was going to work the closing shift!” 

As Seungkwan took in your sudden accusation, craning his head back the further your words attempted to strike true to his pride, he found himself trying to contain a smile. His self-respect was completely intact from your attacks—the more you spoke, the more he was abashed, not quite believing what he heard from your mouth.

He caught onto what you considered the most irrelevant detail from your outburst. “You…you thought I was on a date?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “And you lied about it!”

But he began to chuckle, and you swore you could have seen red. “Why would I be lying?” he merely asked, hand on his white-cottoned chest. 

“To—” but then you stopped yourself. Not everyone is thinking about you. Even the man you happen to hate so much. You pursed your lips, Jeonghan’s words striking your mouth shut. 

Seungkwan, of course, would not let you keep him in such suspense. “To what?” he demanded, lips parted. “The one time I don’t want you to shut up, and you go mute on me!”

That was enough for you to explode. “To get out of working with me!” 

That had him jerking his head back. He squinted his eyes slightly, genuinely stunned, and you knew then and there that you had assumed completely wrong. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Jesus Christ, _____,” he began, and the beginnings of his god-awful, self-pleasing laugh was back, aching your ears and flustering your attitude. “You thought…you thought I was avoiding you? Like, some kind of bullied victim?”

You instantly rebuked him, stammering, “W-well, that’s not what I meant—”

“You really are self-centred, aren’t you?” he mocked. “You believe that all you want, sweetheart, but you don’t scare me like that.” 

“I didn’t mean scared, asshole,” you sneered. “I meant hate.”

He put a hand to his hip, leaning against the hob. “Hate?”

“Yes, hate!” you clarified sarcastically, but you did not know why you began to sound absurd. Suddenly, you were the child, and he was the adult playing along to your antics. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he dared another step towards you. The shuffling of his clothes against the countertop were the only sounds in the room—that, and the sizzling of the caramel. “Do you…do you really hate me?”

Your brain screamed at you to step away from him. Who was he to come this close to you? Who was he to ask you questions that were meant to stay unanswered?

He seemed hell-bent, however, to break unspoken rules. “I asked you a question, _____. Do you truly hate me?”

Although his mouth twisted in a hard smile, almost condescending, his eyes revealed a completely different sentiment. It was strange, so incredibly unsettling, that you knew the difference between what his words spoke, and what his face exposed. You were not meant to understand him like that.

But you did, and that scared you. 

“Do you?” you muttered, barely audible. If he was not so close, he would not have heard you. 

His gaze flickered all over your face. Your inquisitive eyes, your flared nostrils, your mouth, now parted, inhaling, exhaling. His own lips broke, you catching the grit in his teeth, as if mulling over the options—as if there were options to consider. 

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

He was not answering you, still staring. What was on your face that fascinated him to this extent? You were not so sure, but still, he did not say a word, merely choosing to relish in your agitated features. Your skin thrummed at his stare, the close proximity of his body. Why was it so hot? 

The air around you, that is—not his body. Not that you were thinking of it—the forearms that were exposed from rolling his sleeves, the sliver of his collarbone from two buttons undone at the top of his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Back on his face—his mouth. "I, uh…" you got out, trying to remember how to speak. "I asked you something.” What was the blasted question again?

A slight, minute dip of his head. “I know.” 

He had to stop. What you should have done was leave the room—cease this madness. 

You only prolonged it. “Do you hate me?”

Another silence, and you were going to die. Collapse in this goddamn kitchen, and this creature of a man would be your only witness. 

He then ghosted the slightest smile on his lips, and you hung onto its movement. “I would have loved to…” 

He dared a little closer—any more and he would brush your mouth. “But then I realised you don’t.” Your change in expression had his ghost-like smile sparking to life. “So I can’t either.”

You did not know why the answer pissed you off. “How can you be sure of that?” you seethed. “I can hate you as much as I want.”

“Hmm, no, you can’t.” His eyes were not boring into yours—only at your mouth, too damn close. “Because you don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

You tilted your head back, enough to gauge—or at least attempt to figure out the undecipherable expression on his face. This close, you understood why the customers stared at him, even double-taken at every peek they could manage through the kitchen windows.  

The man was a little beautiful this close, and this realisation haunted you. 

Your mouth tried to release something, a refusal to his claim, but any counter died on your tongue. How well did you really know him? Sure, you were certain that he was a pain in your arse, but what of the man behind the sordid comments, the constant judgement? How much did you know of the man outside of the boundaries of Vita di Diamante? Hell, your lack of information had you second-guessing whether he even was lying about the kids.

(Though you refused, even now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, the kids are either a long-running joke, or Seungkwan’s demons).

Despite all that, his truth was inescapable—solid and present and impossible to deny. You despised him for the entirety of your acquaintance, but did not even bother to know your supposed nemesis. 

Somehow, even after yesterday’s shitshow, this realisation was far more embarrassing than anything you had ever experienced. 

The supposed nemesis watched you discover these revelations, the corners of his lips curling upwards. It was so awful how he understood perfectly, and was now basking in this victory. 

The realisation stunned you so intently you did not grasp the screech-like crackling right next to you. Once the smell of the burnt caramel engulfed your nose, you blinked back, turning to the pot which now looked like brown, volcanic magma after it loses its colour. Instantly you turned the switch off, turning on the exhaust, the smell of the burnt sugar, after realising its presence, now making you ill. Seungkwan only watched you fumble at the stove, finally taking a step back. With that, you were able to breathe. 

Your ammunition was ready. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” 

He took it surprisingly well. “I’ll clean it,” he said, taking the pot and setting it to the side. “It is my fault, after all.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You’re taking responsibility for your actions?”

A glimpse towards you. “I told you, didn’t I? You don’t know me.”

That had you shutting up immediately. 

Seungkwan looked at the clock, realising that the restaurant was about to open. Then his eyes settled on you. “I still can’t believe you stalked me.”

You made a face. “That was not stalking. Well, not the scary kind,” you clarified, which did not make your case any stronger. “And anyway, you still haven’t denied the whole date thing, which means you were lying.” 

Dusting away at his apron, he made to walk to the backdoor, about to call for Mingyu to help with ingredient preparation. You thought he was going to outright ignore you, but then he faced you, a certain smile on his face that you could not unravel.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

And he was off, leaving you even more baffled than you were the first time you accused him. 

ANOTHER WEEK PASSED AT THE RESTAURANT, AND YOU WERE GOBSMACKED TO SEE A SEMBLANCE OF PROGRESS.

One would think that the strange incident in the kitchens would have been talked about further, but Seungkwan made no mention of it—and him making no mentions meant you would cut off your tongue and turn it into a French delicacy before talking about it either. 

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

Never before had you felt so…you did not know how to interpret it, but it was clearly something awful. The man had been an entity you had hated, but you wondered whether the emotion was rendered useless after such a heated conversation. It was so stupid, absolute insanity how you could not stop thinking about the proximity of his frame, his breaths fanning your lips, his questions that turned your entire opinion of him on its axis. 

You don’t know me well enough to hate me.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Though you were cursing yourself, Seungkwan—who was beside you, experimenting on a particular chocolate pudding—took some offence. “What’re you mad about this time?”

Whirling your head to him, you were ready to give him a piece of your delirious mind when you caught the scene before you.

You were already aware he was creating a variation of the Bonet—chocolate, coffee, and rum, mixed and whipped to perfection alongside the core ingredients. He opted to swap the coffee for cinnamon, much to your exasperation. He had already heated his mixture in a not-burnt-to-a-crisp caramel sauce, cooked in a bain-marie—a process of melting chocolate-like mixtures under another pot of boiling water. 

His almost-dessert done, he only had the sprinkle of cacao powder to add to the final product, standing in perfect confidence in front of him. You admired the chocolate excellence, mouth already watering at seeing the soft, textured edges of the pudding. The amaretti macarons at the top contrasted the glaze of the darker chocolate, reflected the lights of the kitchen, and you had to stop your work for the customers, simply admiring the dessert your partner had created. 

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

He was also a born pain in the ass. “If you can eye-fuck my Bonet, _____, then you can compliment it, too.”

Snapping out of the awe-filled haze, you twisted your mouth. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve made in this kitchen.”

“You’re right, actually, because the worst thing in this kitchen was made by your hands.”

Boo Seungkwan—the man who, despite your conflicting thoughts over last week, still managed to rile you into a frenzy. You could have cursed him outright, but this week’s apprentice, Wen Junhui, rushed into the room, bearing the role of Kitchen Porter. “There’s more orders for tiramisu!” He informed hurriedly, bringing a further three-dozen eggs upon the busied countertops. 

You looked up to the poor, clueless man. “You do realise you don’t have to take orders, right? That’s the waiter’s job.”

“Jun, here.” Seungkwan patted to the space next to him. “Help me whip some eggs.”

The apprentice obliging instantly, he began cracking eggs on the side of the bowl, setting himself to work. The man in charge with you focused once more on his creation, adorning a proud smirk as he brought out a long spoon next to him. “We should do a Bonet for the final dessert,” he suggested, cutting a small corner. 

“Of course you’ll say that now,” you said. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m never accepting it with cinnamon.”

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to come back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, a 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Aeri?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. “Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the threat stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeout scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Aeri dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Aeri with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Aeri, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Aeri threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Aeri was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[got-svt]

pairing: seventeen x reader genre: fluff, angst

updates: ???

warning; this is just me indulging in some of my favorite tropes and cliches because I can’t get enough of them

during the course of our lives, we meet thousands of people, creating either a seconds long moment or memories that last a lifetime. some of them you’ll have the opportunity to know beyond their names and faces, some you may even grow to love. unfortunately, not all of them have the luxury of staying in your life forever. 

seventeen as all the boys you’ve loved and lost.  

lee chan as the childhood best friend. he’s the one you grew up next to, who lived in the house directly in front of yours. the one you’ll forever associate with popsicles on the sidewalk, bike rides at dawn, seesaws and swings at sunset. and you wish you could trap yourself within the memories, to never escape the hold of childhood innocence. but, just like everyone else, both of you eventually had to grow up. 

yoon jeonghan as the academic rival. he’s the one that had you wondering how could you be so similar to someone, yet so different? he knew how to push your buttons and make a competition of everything, whether it was sports, academics, or extracurriculars. he was the one that made steam come out of your ears and blood rush to your cheeks. but even you had to admit there was a certain rush that came with it, too bad he transferred schools just before senior year. 

vernon chwe as the first love. he’s the one who woke up thirty minutes earlier in the morning just so he could walk with you to school. it was the kind of love that felt more like a friendship, but neither of you would have had it any other way. filled with inside jokes, skating in the park, sneaking out after curfew. all smiles, messy kisses, and badly belting out songs in the car. unfortunately, both of you also knew your relationship would never last past graduation day.  

xu minghao as the boy you met at summer art camp. he’s the one you were hesitant to approach at first. it wasn’t until you were tasked to critique each other’s works that you really got to know him. after that it was all marshmallows around a campfire, swimming in the lake, drawing in the fields, and paint that never seemed to leave either of your skin. as much as you wanted it to last forever, summer had to end and he never promised to keep in touch. 

joshua hong as the university campus crush. he’s the one who seemed too good to be true. whose smile could break a million hearts, but you knew better than to fall for it. you saw him studying in the library, walking the halls, relaxing in the quad, always surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans — all vying for his attention. what a shame you never found out that you were the one who managed to catch his eye.  

boo seungkwan as the classmate you tutor. he’s the one who pretended to struggle in chemistry just so he could get closer to you. soon enough quiet afternoons in the library ended with nights at a karaoke bar, singing your hearts out to hits from the 2000s. you always knew he liked you. he never knew you liked him back, and your newfound friendship became much too valuable to risk. as the semester drew to a close, so did chances of a relationship.   

wen junhui as the barista at your favorite cafe. he’s the one who spelled your name right on the first try and remembered your order by the third visit. the only one who greeted you with a smile as you entered the door — not a forced, practiced smile, but a genuine one. his voice was as soothing as the cups of tea he made on nights you couldn’t sleep. however, you could never recall a time you saw him outside the cafe. 

kwon soonyoung as the dance partner. he was the teaching assistant in your social dancing class. the butterflies in your stomach went wild each time he laughed off you stepping on his feet, when you felt how tightly he grasped your hand in his, whenever he looked into your eyes. for some reason, you thought he had fallen for you just as you had for him. that idea was crushed when you saw him dancing with somebody else, their bodies in sync the way yours and his could never be.  

jeon wonwoo as the college sweetheart. he’s the one you mistakenly thought would last. you remember all the early morning coffee runs and late night drives, cramming sessions in the library, holding hands underneath the table, dancing in the rain, his sweaters smelling like him, lazy sundays talking about the future. it was the kind of love you fought for, but fate had different plans.

kim mingyu as the next door neighbor. living on your own would’ve been dreadful had he not been there. did you need an extra cup of sugar for some cookies? he’ll bring one over and even bake with you. are you going away for a trip? don’t worry he’ll water your plants and feed your fish, making sure they’re the healthiest they can be. something broke? he’s more than willing to fix it himself or call someone who can if he’s unable to. which is why you wish he never moved away, leaving you with nothing but a letter and a quieter apartment. 

choi seungcheol as the coworker. your first job was a nightmare, but he was the one who made everything much more tolerable. he made sure you ate properly, never overworked yourself to the point of exhaustion, offered you a ride home when it was too late to take the bus, sent you a smile during early morning meetings. he became your rock during some of the toughest months of your life, what a shame he had to be transferred somewhere else.  

 lee seokmin as the one that got away. he should’ve been it. hadn’t it been for the timing, the distance, every other little circumstance that eventually built up to be too much. you could’ve had it all. you loved each other and for the longest time you swore it would be enough. but with his life in the spotlight and yours out of it, the end was almost inevitable. maybe in another life things could be different, but neither of you would ever get the chance to know. 

lee jihoon as the endgame. he’s the one you met much later on in life, but little did either of you know that your paths were always meant to cross. he’s always been there, waiting in the sidelines. he attended the class after yours, entered the cafe just as you were about to leave, lived in the apartment three floors above you, worked in the building located a couple of streets from your office. the reason why every single heartache eventually became worth it, because they all lead to him — the one who ended up staying.

[taglist is open for the entire series or specific member/s ! just send in an ask or a dm] 

note; this will be bulleted scenarios bec i feel like it would be the most feasible for me to do with the other wips i have for this blog. ren — i hear you ask — if you have a ton of wips, why start another series? listen, my brain decided to fart out this idea at three in the morning and what was i supposed to do? say no? ajhsskh and it’s february wc is the month of ~love~ so no better time than this one ig? again,, no update schedule for this one but chan’s will most likely be up on his bday  (not sure on vernon’s and seokmin’s that depends on how quickly i can crank these out shdjasn) ! <33

[sugaryyangs]

you're my 't-h-i-n-g'

taeyong × fem!reader

warnings: mature language and themes

genre: floof but i think theres a good amount of angst shoved in there im really sorry im bad at these things dhvehej

tags: pining, bestfriend!taeyong, badboi(?)!taeyong, jellybelly!taeyong

characters: you, taeyong, yuta and johnneh make a brief appearance, seventeen's yoon jeonghan is mentioned like twice

words: 3.6k

Do you remember back when you were a child? Do you remember meekly holding onto the object of your affection and feeling safe, desperate for it to stay by your side forever?

Whether it was a stuffed toy or your parents' big, warm arms, do you remember the sense of security only your 'thing' could make you feel? Knowing that no matter what, you were protected against all the evils your brain could muster back then?

Well, I guess it would be presumptuous of me to assume that every single person would remember their 'thing', mostly because some people just didn't get to experience having one at all.

Lee Taeyong was one of those people.

He'd grown up in a place he never spoke about once in the four years I've known him. Not willingly, anyway.

It was almost at the end of our sophomore year of college when I had finally managed to push him into opening up about his past, and boy was I taken aback. Not to exaggerate or anything, but anyone who knew Taeyong had the basic idea about his background, and what he told me still managed to shock me out of my wits.

I understood after that why he didn't talk about his past. If I were him, I wouldn't either. I was surrounded by absolute guilt for making Taeyong relive it through his words and vowed not to ever bring it up again.

Another thing that made sense to me after that conversation was why it was so hard for him to commit to relationships. Not just romantic ones, just relationships in general. As far as I know, apart from me, he didn't trust anyone.

Well, apart from me and them.

Taeyong never really let me get close to the guys at the tattoo shop, now that I think about it. He kept me completely separated from his other friends the first year and a half of knowing me. Not even a mention about what his day was like at work. I was honestly amazed by how efficiently he could swerve around the subject for so long.

After a while, he started mentioning their names but that was pretty much it. He rarely ever did that, though. But it wasn't like he was cutting off another personality of his from me or anything like that. I had a general idea of what they did. Even if Tae managed to keep me completely separated from all of that the best he could, he still was the same Lee Taeyong to me. He was still my best friend, so he obviously couldn't hide everything from me.

The first time I ever interacted with them (that too, only two of them) was a few weeks ago, during my fourth year of knowing Tae. It was a... questionable encounter. Now that I think about it, the highlight of that day wasn't even meeting Taeyong's friends.

Whoever fought with him that day had probably put up a good fight, because he was so hurt that day that he had no choice but to come to my apartment for help; and he hated having to be seen by me when he was hurt.

I was utterly terrified when I saw him, to be honest. The slash on his arm was long and it looked really deep. He had a lot of bruises on his leg, and those, too, only the ones I could see through his ripped jeans. There were scratches on his face as well. Tae told me that he'd only walked for around five minutes or so, but I was honestly surprised he'd managed to make it to my place in his state.

After my frantic attempts to clean up his injuries in a mixture of panicked questions, teary eyes and messy bandaging somehow made the bleeding stop (not completely, I could see the bloodstains on the bandage), I demanded that we head to the hospital immediately.

He refused to budge, claming that he "didn't need to", and I was near punching him square in the jaw.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'I don't need it'? Are you fucking insane, Tae? We're going. Now."

Now, I may not be the scariest person in the world, but I do know how to take my stance when I need to. No way in hell was I going to agree to let him bleed on my fucking couch for goodness knows how long before he passed out.

I stood in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest. He was watching me intensely, his piercing eyes looking straight into mine. I didn't know why, but for some reason, they always managed to make me weak.

This might not be the best time to bring this up, but yes, I possibly had feelings for Taeyong which weren't exactly platonic, per se. And yes, it was terrible, because he depended on me for love and support. It was wrong of me, and I was trying to stop.

But at that moment, I wasn't going to cave. Hell if I wouldn't try my best to battle his gaze, no matter the way it made me feel.

"Get up," I said, shoving every bit of authority I had inside me into my voice. "Now."

He parted his lips slightly and held the tip of his tongue between his teeth. His eyes flitted down from my face. Relief bloomed in my chest. The fear of the possibility of Taeyong's injuries getting worse flickered away slowly.

A doctor will look at him and he'll be fine, I told myself.

That was short-lived, though. Not more than two seconds later, he looked back up to meet my eyes, with a much darker gaze this time. The way he looked at me was so intense that I almost lost my breath. And then the realization hit me.

I was in a dress. Tae knew I only wore dresses on dates. Tae liked to know about who I was going out with. I hadn't told him about this one.

The anxiety was ten times harder this time than the one I had felt before. I looked away from his eyes to the couch behind him and, seeing his jaw tighten through my peripheral vision.

He shifted closer to me so that our knees were touching, taking me by surprise. I looked down at his arm, concern clawing at my chest as I saw more blood seep through the white bandage wrapped around his forearm, probably because he moved so suddenly.

"Tae, let's— let's not do this right now—"

"Who were you out with?"

My breath caught in my throat. I felt awful doing this. I felt awful knowing that he cared so much. I hated that I hoped that he didn't just care as a friend. I hated that I liked Lee Taeyong, a person who sought comfort in me.

And that's exactly why I wanted to move on. I couldn't just cut him out of my life, so I tried to busy myself with other people. He made it so much more difficult, though. It was hard enough for me to agree to go out with someone without having my heart shatter into pieces at the constant reminder that it was Taeyong that I truly liked by itself. The fact that Tae rarely ever approved of my dates made it even harder. That's why I chose to keep Jeonghan hidden from him.

But being dishonest to him was what hurt the most.

"Tae, please. You're not listening, we— we need to get you help—"

He cut me off, opening his legs and shifting to the edge of the couch so that I was standing between his thighs.

"I asked you a question."

I could feel tears prick at my eyes. Sucking in a shaky breath, I tried to compose myself.

"That isn't our priority right now, please, let's just go—"

"I said I'm Fucking Fine. Will you answer the God damned question now?" He raised his voice and I flinched slightly. Slowly, I could feel anger bubble at the back of my throat. Why did he have to yell? I never got this mad when he went out with someone I didn't like.

"That isn't any of your business," I mumbled, taking a step back. His hand immediately came to stop me, palm resting against the back of my knee and pulling me closer. It felt warm against my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"What did you say?" He spat. He sounded livid.

I felt myself get aggravated, too.

"I said that it isn't any of your business," I repeated, pushing his hand off. I looked into his rage-filled eyes, intimidating to the core.

But I wasn't going to back down. Tae had no right to be this mad at me for going on a date, even if he cared. It wasn't like I had ever stopped him from going out with someone. Besides, he hadn't been completely honest with me about his life either.

"It very much is my fucking business," He mocked my tone from vefire as he stood up, towering over me slightly. I looked up at him as he leaned down to level our faces. My heart went to beat fast again, but I didn't let that affect me. We were having this argument now, no matter the way he made me feel.

"Yeah?" I challenged. "How come I never get to hear about who you're hanging out with, then?"

He looked taken aback. I couldn't believe him. Did he honestly think I was never going to bring up his friends, or rather, the fact that he entirely hid them from me? I didn't know them personally, but I knew they weren't the best people. Not with Taeyong coming home hurt like this.

"That isn't the same thing."

I scoffed, looking away. "How is it not the same thing? You've known me for four fucking years, Tae! Four! You thought I wouldn't question you hiding what seems to be an entirely different world from me? For all I know, you could—"

"It isn't the same thing because they won't try to get into my fucking pants!" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Those guys, that ask you out, they're — they're dangerous. All they want to do is fuck you, and they'll pounce on you the first chance they get-"

What the hell was he talking about?

"Then why the fuck do you keep your friends hidden from me? Don't you want to keep me locked away from them because they're dangerous as well? Like all my dates supposedly are?" I was shouting now, and I was sure my neighbor could hear me.

Taeyong rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

"Fine. If you want to meet them that bad," he pulled his phone out and typed for a few seconds, before shoving it back into his pocket, "I called them over right now."

I stared at him in shock. If it was that easy, why didn't he just let me meet them before?

"W-What—" "Now will you tell me about this secret date of yours?"

He was still angry, it was obvious. But I calmed myself down, reminding myself that he was, in fact, hurt.

"Sit down first," I instructed. I'd managed to lose the ability to meet his eyes again. I took the glass he'd drank from when he arrived and filled it up with water, waiting as he settled on my small loveseat.

I tried figuring out a valid excuse for not telling him about Jeonghan. I knew it wasn't right for him to control who I dated, but I knew where he was coming from. He was Lee Taeyong, and this was his way to show that he cared.

I handed him the glass of water, motioning him to drink it, but he shook his head.

"You drink first. Your throat must be sore."

I complied, lifting the glass to my lips and taking a few sips. My throat felt a thousand times better. I filled it up again and went to sit next to Tae, watching the glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Here."

I turned my head slightly to look at him while handing him the tumbler and I instantly regretted it. He was watching me again. I froze.

He took the glass from my hand and drank, strongly holding my gaze. The glass made a quite thud when he placed it on the table, reminding me that we still had to talk about this.

I turned my attention to his fingers which rested on his thigh. Slowly, I inched my hand closer to his until they touched. Tae instantly interlocked our fingers and I immediately felt better. No matter how much he might have been making my heart race, holding his hand always made me feel comfortable.

"Your arm," I said, "it stopped bleeding."

He smiled, squeezing my hand. "Told you I would be okay."

I didn't know what to say. My heart felt as if it would combust at any given moment.

"Tell me," he pleaded, tugging at my arm slightly. I sighed, trying to come up with something which didn't sound completely stupid and was somewhat honest. "It's just that you— I— you rarely ever like the guys that ask me out and I really liked him, so I just thought that— that it would be better not to bring it up and so I—"

"Calm down." He leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Tell me slowly, it's okay."

I paused for a moment, trying to calm myself down. "You know Jeonghan from the— that ice cream place downtown?" I felt him stiffen. His lips ghosted over my ear and he let out a short "hm". It made me shiver and I prayed he didn't feel it.

"We just, um, went to get dinner. Nothing special."

Tae suddenly pulled back, completely serious. "Would you go out with him again?"

My eyes grew wide. I looked at our hands again. "Honestly? No."

That wasn't a lie. Jeonghan had offered to go back to his place and "spend the night" as soon as we finished our dinner which had immediately made me uncomfortable.

He tilted his head, asking me to tell him why. I looked up at him to find an unamused expression on his face.

"You have to promise me you won't do anything to him." At this, he cursed under his breath and looked away, already knowing that whatever was about to come next would make him want to punch the guy.

"Promise me," I repeated. He looked at me and nodded simply.

"I want verbal confirmation."

He let out an annoyed grunt, but he promised me, anyway. I told him what happened and his jaw clenched.

"Taeyong—"

"This is why I tell you to not date them." He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking at me again.

"Is there ever a problem when you go out with guys I like?"

Yes. Yes, there is.

"I— well, I mean I guess not."

I didn't even know if he could read me like an open book right now or not, I was in a daze. I prayed to everything holy that I wouldn't accidentally out my feelings for him.

He looked at me, and his eyes softened. Suddenly, he pulled my arm and lifted my leg, positioning it so that I sat on his thighs, straddling him. My thighs were on either side of him and my dress rode up.

What was he doing? I couldn't react, nor could I move. He was way too close to me. Lee Taeyong was mere inches from my face and I was sitting on him.

"T-Tae—"

"Then why do you go out with them?" He asked, looking at my cheeks. I couldn't think, my mind had gone blank.

He pulled me closer to him. I could see the scratches more clearly now.

"Because I— I," I attempted to speak but I couldn't. Not with him this close to me. He looked down to my lips, his tongue coming out to wet his own.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He whispered. My heart picked up it's pace. His voice sounded different when he was this close. I just nodded nonchalantly.

He wrapped his arms around my waist, trapping me in his hold. "I like you."

My breath hitched.

Who said that? Did I say that? No, I wasn't in a state to talk, I couldn't have. Was I hearing things, then?

I blinked in confusion.

"Don't leave me hanging," he chuckled nervously, making me realize what just happened.

Oh. Oh.

Taeyong said that?

I couldn't understand. He looked uneasy but he still wore a small smile on his face. Oh, that smile. Was this even real?

"I—" Again, I fumbled with my words, trying to speak. I couldn't. Oh my god, did Lee Taeyong just tell me that he likes me?

"Hm?"

I couldn't say anything. I couldn't. The feeling in my chest was unexplainable and it had completely wiped out all of the vocabulary in my brain. So I just nodded.

Tae let out a small giggle, and my heart melted. Oh my god, this was real.

"What do you mean by that, baby?"

I swooned at the name. He'd called me that name once before, and that was two years ago when I had caught a really bad bug; but God, I could never get enough of him calling me that. I lifted my arms and gripped his shoulders, bumping our noses.

He hummed again, encouraging me to go on.

"I like you too," I blurted. I still couldn't believe it. I was in Taeyong's lap, confessing to him.

He beamed, lifting his head to kiss both of my cheeks, sending butterflies down my stomach with each. He went up and kissed my forehead, hugging me close against him.

"Thank you," he smiled, breathless. He lifted his hand to hold my cheek, and honestly, I could've burst out into tears right then.

"Are you two done now?"

I jumped. Scrambling off of his lap, I heard someone clear their throat. Taeyong clicked his tongue in annoyance, getting up as I smoothed my dress down.

Two men stood at my doorstep — one had an eyebrow raised and was having a staring contest with Tae, and the other, much taller one was tapping away at his phone.

"H-Hi," I said bowing slightly. Good God, the first thing Tae's friends saw me do was probably the weirdest thing they'd ever witnessed.

" 'Sup. I'm Yuta, nice to finally meet you." The one that was having a staring contest with Tae said, breaking his eye contact with him and stepping closer to shake my hand.

"I got the whole thing on video! The others are gonna' be so jealous that I got to see this in person." The tall one said, finally looking up from his phone. "I'm Johnny."

I looked at Taeyong in panic, and I saw him sulking and scratching the back of his neck.

"You what—" "Introduce us!"

Taeyong cringed, "Well, you two already know who she is, so—"

"Yeah, yeah, we do. Do you still need a ride?" Yuta asked, not seeming interested at all.

"Actually," Tae said, his eyes finding mine for a split second before he looked back at Yuta, "I think I'm gonna stay the night."

"Well, okay. John, let's go." Johnny kept making a weird face at Tae, and to be very honest, I was unsettled.

"Would you guys like some water or anything? You're welcome to stay and rest for a bit if you'd like—" "No you're not, go away—"

"Shut up, Tae. Anyways, you need anything at all?" I asked, shushing Taeyong. Yuta looked at me, and let out a laugh.

"No, thanks. We've already seen enough, we wouldn't want to interrupt anything el—"

I was about to pass out then and there, but thankfully, Johnny dragged his friend away before he could finish.

"oKay bye bYe, it was nice meeting you!"

They shut the door behind them and I locked it close. I heard Tae sigh.

"Your friends are weird." I turned to face him, only to find him walking over to me.

"Yeah, I know." He engulfed me in a hug, burying his head in my neck. "They're such weebs, I don't want the rest of 'em to meet you. You might turn into one of them."

I let out a laugh at that, wondering what he meant.

"I'm sorry I yelled."

I sighed, hugging him back. "It's okay. I yelled, too."

I felt him smile against my skin. "I promise I'll work on the yelling. And on not getting hurt," I let out another laugh. "You'd better." This wasn't a dream, was it? "Or you can go to your tattoo buddies for help next time."

"You're so mean to me," he whined. "Can we sleep now, please?"

"You don't want to change?" I asked, pulling away and leaving him to grab some of his spare clothes I'd taken from his place some time ago. He hummed, following after me.

"I've waited for non-platonic cuddles for four years, so please, hurry up." He said, coming up to hug me from behind as I took out a sweatshirt and a pair of pajamas from the dresser.

"What are non-platonic cuddles?" I laughed, and he mumbled something random as a reply.

There in his arms, after four years of knowing him, I realized that even if Taeyong didn't get to have his 'thing', he had become mine. And there was a feeling of utter joy, happiness knowing that he would be here for a while.

I smiled, scared to wake up the next day, and have it all be a dream. But it wasn't. This was real.

Lee Taeyong was my 'thing' and I hoped that somewhere along the way, I would become his.

[silverypurple-rosedlions]

🥀//This content may contain sensitive topics that could upset you such as: mild language, violence, psychosis, blood, gun and knife use, arson, body carving, graphic description, and death. Please continue at your own will and be cautious . . .

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

And to their astonishment, he crawled out from the dark depths of death, escaping the gates of Hell that yearned for his twisted soul. With bloodied fingers, his chest heaving, clothes tattered as his body ached and trembled with broken bones, he sauntered to the abandoned building of the sick and ghastly. But a glint of venomous rage and determination glistened within his eyes that pooled their enchanted soft blue.

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

Breathing in sharply through his nose, he opened the door, existing the car with narrowed eyes. As he shut the door with the keys shoved inside his coat, ripples of shocked gasps and screams surrounded him. But he walked calmly past them, a path being made for him as he entered the large building belonging to The Silver Lions. And as he walked, the doors swung open, being greeted by the main members of the allied group.

"Holy fuck-" Soonyoung gasped. Beside him, Seungkwan dropped the briefcases he had been carrying, their contents spilling as he covered his mouth with his hands.

"Don't fuck with us! If this is some sick joke, I'll personally decapitate someone!" Seungkwan said.

"Goodness, and hear I thought you all would be crying tears of joy for the man who sacrificed their life to be a distraction," The other replied calmly, only to freeze as the two rushed forward and threw their arms around him.

"HOW THE HELL ARE YOU ALIVE, JEONGHAN?!"

"Because I used my brain, and did not remove the bulletproof vest," Jeonghan responded, wrapping his arms around the two tightly, feeling them tremble within his embrace. "Now . . . Where did you put my negotiator and consigliere?"

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

Joshua sighed, shifting his gaze towards Mingyu, who stood by the window his arm rested against the wall. Beside him was Seokmin, having the chance to hold Jane who was nestled in his arms, asleep.

"Mingyu, I think it's about time we sleep now. I'm tired..." Joshua said, catching the bodyguard's attention.

"Go to sleep with Seokmin and the others, hyung,"

"Mingyu, you haven't slept for two days. Don't make it three," Joshua rubbed his eyes, standing from the table. "Besides, there's nothing for you to wait for. And Jihoon will let us know when it is time to move,"

"I'll nap later, I promise..." Mingyu's hand formed into a fist as he shook his head, "And you don't even know what could happen. I mean, we clearly didn't see the invaders come trampling in," Mingyu responded sharply.

"Mingyu," Seokmin whispered with furrowed eyebrows. Joshua flinched at first automatically gesturing for Seokmin to leave the room with Jane.

"Mingyu, please. Just shut your eyes for a bit at the very least. I know you're just as anxious as we are, especially now that we're all miles away from each other, but you'll ruin yourself if you keep this up," Joshua said, crossing his arms as he walked towards the male. "And besides... Arin wouldn't want you to keep yourself awake like this, even if it's for our sake. Think about yourself too," Joshua frowned.

"I know... I honestly do, but I just can't sleep right after the incident," Mingyu rubbed his face, the distress finally surfacing after being pushed deep within in. "Everything was so perfect... And that was the only time we ever saw him express himself, the Jeonghan we knew back in Highschool... Then it all came crumbling down so fast, and, stupid or not of what he did, it worked... But not for him. You lost your husband, and the father to Jane... And we could've done better if we noticed the changes..."

Joshua hugged himself, nodding as he shifted his eyes to the floor, his heart clenching tightly at the mention of his deceased husband. "True... But there's nothing that can be done now. As much as we want, or hope we could've fixed it, or stopped it... We know it isn't possible.. But please attempt to rest or sit down. That's the least you can do for us, and, Jane needs her uncle's protection, yeah? But you can't do that if you're up so late," He stood beside Mingyu, staring down to the parking lot with few cars.

"I'll try at the very least... But what about you? Haven't you been struggling as well?" Mingyu questioned cautiously.

"Of course... Every second I am," Joshua responded, rubbing his arms. "I have been getting sleep, but... well, it's haunting..."

"And Seokmin's been drained entirely, hasn't he? Is that why he barely comes out from his room?.."

"He's just been so, so very tired..."

"...What will we actually do now?" Mingyu questioned, shifting his gaze towards the older. "Are you sure you can handle Jeonghan hyung's position?... To even appoint me as Underboss?"

"It's my responsibility now, isn't it?" Joshua whispered softly, looking towards the ring that glistened on his finger. He gently touched it, turning it slightly. "As much as I would rather let Jihoon take the position, it's now embedded into the family, and it directly goes to the Underboss... And it's the least I can do for everything he's ever done and wanted for us..." He paused. "And yes, I am positive that I want you to have your position again. But you must swear to me that you will not repeat your errors like you had done in the past. I entrust you with my life, and always have, but if you even dare to do it, especially with how things are now, I will not hesitate to have you suffer the consequences Jeonghan had refrained from."

Mingyu sealed the thick lump in his throat, shivers running down his spine as he exhaled, nodding. "Of course..."

Suddenly, they heard a knock on the door, causing them both to pause, turning their attention towards the locked door.

"No one left this building at any time, did they?" Joshua asked skeptically.

"No..."

"Mingyu, give me the backpack, and get the rest to the stairs," Joshua said, receiving the bag as he shuffled through it and pulled out his daggers. As Mingyu quietly made his way into the hallway, Joshua walked towards the door. He listened, waiting to hear if they'd continue or speak. But all that filled the air was silence.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Mr. Yoon, open up," Joshua froze.

"It's Jihoon, Joshua hyung. I've brought someone who needs our help desperately," Joshua didn't respond at first, unsure until he gained confirmation that it was the Consigliere. Breathing in, Joshua opened the door, unlocking the numerous locks before he found the younger standing at the door.

"What's with this new person?"

"Well... They want to gain their revenge, and, I'm sure all of us want to gain the opportunity at well," Jihoon said, causing the older to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't that right?"

"Oh," A male said darkly, sending shivers through Joshua as they came to the door, causing the other to drop his weapons, eyes big and round. "Most definitely. Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"N-No... No way." Joshua said, his heart racing as his knees began to buckle, stumbling backwards with his hands over his mouth. "You can't-... Y-You can't play sick jokes l-like-"

"Joshuji, you know I would never play any twisted jokes like these on you. Never in my life, and, I swore to you I would never, yeah?" Joshua let out a sob as his husband stepped forward, holding his arms firmly. "I swore to you that I would never leave you. Not now, not ever." Softly, Jeonghan caressed his cheek, his other arm wrapping around his waist. "I would never abandon my Angel on this God forsaken Earth,"

"H-Hannie," Joshua choked, falling into his embrace as he held him tightly, sobbing as Jeonghan held him close to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head.

"Everything's going to be alright. I'll make it alright again... And we'll make them pay for this. We'll get our revenge once we've gathered the rest, my love. And then we'll finally have our well deserved time of peace. I'll make sure of it."

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟸, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

As the building filled the sweet sounds of agonizing screaming, Joshua hummed happily as he held Jeonghan's hand, both walking towards the room where the head man was kept. Blood splattered the walls, bodies being ripped and torn, others being filled with holes. Joshua turned his gaze when a man was slammed against the wall, Jun being the one to push a sharp blade into their shoulder to hold them in place, blood sprinkled on his face as he cackled wickedly. But they left him to his "fun," entering the room where the man behind the reigns was tied to a chair, squirming and thrashing as he spat vulgar words.

"Settle down, settle down," Jeonghan chuckled as the newlywed separated, watching as horror formed on the man's aging face. "We haven't even gotten to the best part~"

"T-That's impossible! You JUMPED! You should be DEAD!" The male screamed.

"I defy death, haven't you heard?" Jeonghan chuckled as Joshua left the room, leaving Jeonghan to circle the male. "Besides, even if I died, I have some unfinished business... Thanks to you, our fucking wedding nearly became a funeral the very same day. We didn't even have our family and friends attend thanks to you and your belief that you," He started to laugh, running his fingers through his hair, "you could even achieve the impossible!" He then grabbed the chair, whipping him around as he pulled him, bringing him face-to-face as he tilted his head, a sick and deranged look within his eyes. "And as a gift for your fuckery, you'll get a test of your own medicine, my friend!"

Jeonghan then twisted him again, facing him towards the door. "But you're not getting it from me this time. No, no. You're going to suffer the consequences from my darling of a husband since you brought greater grief upon him than anyone else!"

"YOU'RE ALL MAD! YOU'RE ALL FUCKING DEMONS FROM HELL!" The man yelled.

"Oh. Ohohoho. You're absolutely right," Jeonghan grinned wickedly, lowering towards the man's ear. "We're the most demented shits here~" As Jeonghan finished, Joshua walked in with a bat resting against his shoulder, the most twisted smile on his face as his eye twitched slightly from the rage that was slowly surfacing.

"Hannie got the chance to do this to his parents, you know? Give them pretty bruises and dents before having their bodies scorched. I'm sure you'll love the honor of receiving the same treatment~"

As the man continued to protest, cursing them and degrading them, neither listened. Instead, Jeonghan stared at his husband with love and adoration, his smile sinister as he held the man still. "Let loose, baby~"

With a delighted giggle, Joshua swung the bat up, his eyes large with pure insanity as he yelled, "BATTER UP, BITCH!" With all his strength, he cracked the bat against the male, causing him to let out a cry as a bone snapped within his arm. And again, Joshua swung back and cracked it against his other arm, another cry emitting from the male. "THIS IS FOR RUINING OUR WEDDING!"

Bringing the bat above his head, Joshua slammed the bat against the male's knee, repeating it to the other. "THIS IS FOR ATTEMPTING TO TAKE DOWN OUR GROUP!" Slightly hopping with excitement and burning rage coursing through his veins, he slammed the bat against the male's head. "THIS IS FOR TRYING TO KILL MY HUSBAND, MY FUCKING FAMILY!"

And finally, swinging the bat, Joshua slammed the bat between the male's legs, a choked sob and scream filling the air. "AND FOR RUINING OUR FUCKING HONEYMOON BY CAUSING US TO SEPARATE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" And as Jeonghan backed away after slamming his hand against the male's head, sending him to the floor on his side, he watched as his heart raced in his chest at the most beautiful and alluring sight before him as Joshua continued to crack the bat against the male over and over again, savoring each and every scream before dropping the bat down with satisfaction.

Proud of his husband, loving the torment he was bringing and the insanity emitting from him, Jeonghan went around the sobbing and bloodied man, Jeonghan wrapped his arm around Joshua, pulling him close as the other let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow towards him with a smirk. "How did I-" Joshua didn't finish as Jeonghan kissed him, tightening his grip on the other's waist as Joshua wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing him passionately and roughly, biting the bottom of his lip before the other broke the kiss, humming in content. "You did beautiful~" But he whispered into Joshua's ear, causing the other to turn red before grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"Yah, Yoon Jeonghan! You can't say that when we haven't even finished this!"

"Just a heads up for later," Jeonghan winked, causing the other to roll his eyes, but the feelings were equally enhanced as they stood over the broken and crippled man. "Speaking of finishing the job, why not leave a little something as a wondrous final touch before the real grand finale?~" He smirked devilishly.

"And that is?~" Joshua watched curiously as his husband pulled out his butterfly knife, flicking it open and having it placed within his hands, letting out a delighted squeal.

"Let's leave our initials~ A permanent reminder of who gained their revenge,"

With a grin, Joshua nodded, pulling his husband with him as they squatted towards the slowly dying man in front of them. "Let's carve it together, Hannie!~"

"Sounds perfect~" Jeonghan purred, taking Joshua's hand in his, both digging the knife within the male's flesh and beginning to tear it, carving their initials as the man screamed and writhed in pain, blood spilling like a river.

"Y. J + Y. H. J. J"

"It's almost like cutting our wedding cake, except, we won't be eating this one~" Joshua chuckled darkly, being nuzzled by Jeonghan who nodded in agreement.

"And now, the grand finale, Joshuji~" Jeonghan grinned, his head twitching slightly, naturally hitting his own head in response. Joshua cooed softly, used to seeing his lover inflict pain to himself.

"It'll be a beautiful campfire!~" Grabbing the gasoline and twisting the cap off, Jeonghan poured it all over the room before spilling the rest of its contents on the male after Joshua brought him upright in the chair, sitting loosely. As Joshua opened the window, he pulled a flare gun, shooting it upward as it bursted in purple, watching as everyone began to evacuate the building.

"And now," Jeonghan began, taking out a match and lighting it, "This will be our way of letting the fire consume the damned here~" With Joshua wrapped in his arm, standing at his side, Jeonghan tilted his head towards the tormented male. "All of your death here will be a reminder of who we are and what we do. So, thank you for being the reminder that The Purple Rose will forever reign glorious!" And as Jeonghan threw the match, the room set ablaze, the fire rising as it consumed hungrily, beginning to burn into the male's skin as he screamed.

Jeonghan and Joshua only watched with amusement and twisted delight, both turning around and leaving the building as the fire followed, but never reached far enough to catch the two as they joined the rest outside, the large building beginning to glow. And as they stood far away, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around Joshua, the other nuzzling him.

"Bring the building down, boys!" Jeonghan roared, and at his command, an explosion erupted within, the building beginning to collapse inside as the fire continued to rage, finishing their beautiful work. The members roared in triumph, laughing and sneering as they cheered for their group and the newlywed, watching the scene.

"Time to go home!" Jeonghan announced. "Everyone here deserves a rest after such a wonderful accomplishment tonight!"

"But to where?" Joshua questioned.

"Somewhere safer, I promise you that,"

💕| @ghoulxbaekhyun [Seok's Love/Bacon] @seventeen-chatbot [Jun's Woowoo/Fiance] @arinschoi [Mingyu's pumpkin] @heartbrokenxinseong [Jihoon's Moonlight] @kjiwon [Minghao's Rainbow]

Closest friends| @jiaqi-xu [Kiki] @kpop-shelter [Lovely Shelter] @vitoria-oc @bloodrose-cb [Julia] @shin-haneul [Haneullie] @sweetandsleepyjamie [Jamie] @frenemies-hyunsung [Rascals] @mitsukojen [Lovely Jennie] @pup-hendery [Pup] @mafia-chae @college-baekhyun [Wonwoo's Tutoring An Intellectual]

💎| @boxer-joshua @yanderexmingyu @decadewonwoo [Wok] @god-vernon @leejihoon-cb @van-gogh-minghao @weeb-wonwoo @mafia-svt @tattooartistjoshua @mafia-shua @vampireprince-jeonghan @yan-svt @captain-jihoon [and more]

🥀| @vampiremomo @princess-yeji @dungeonhybrids @incubuswooyoung @initial-d-renjun @la-soleilmafia-cb @floristluda @fairy-dejun @model-lucy @ateez-treasure9au-chatbot [DM for +/-]

[sunlightwoo]

Wild Hearts (1/31)

plot: you’re already on your way halfway through the semester when you meet a newcomer that is already giving you fuckboy vibes. somehow, you just hope that you don’t encounter him once again on this campus, but we all know that fate is never on our side when it comes to cute guys, now.

wc: 1557 words 

a/n: i originally posted this on wattpad about a year ago and just finished it like weeks ago, but never had the time to revise it until now so if this is cringe, i swear i shall make it better over time!!!

taglist: @cupidhaos​ (if you’d like to be added just send an ask or DM!!)

MASTERLIST | NEXT

The aroma of newly bloomed flowers fill my nose as I walked into the familiar flower shop before my morning classes. A smile is crept onto my face once I had made it towards the clerk’s desk and I watched from the counter the hands a close friendwork his magic as he was helping other customers around the shop. I stood there until I felt a light tap on my shoulder to see my other best friend smiling towards my direction.

“Hey Y/N, what brings you here today? I thought you had class?” Soyeon asks me as I nodded before pulling out a small envelope from my back pocket.

“I do, but Seungkwan was impatient with the money that I owed him from that night of poker, which is why I’m here to pay him back before I leave.” I say handing it to her as she slowly takes it into her hands.

“Poker? Since when did you gamble with life?” She jokes lightly and smiles a bit as I playfully rolled my eyes at her statement.

“It was just for fun. Besides, the only one that went home crying was Joshua which reminds me,” I say with a little smirk on my face and right when I finished my sentence the bell had rung signaling the presence of said person, “there he is now. I’ll see myself out to my classes.”

I bid a small wave to her and went on my way to my classes as I sighed to myself, clinging onto my bag strap. The remainder of the walk didn’t bother me as much as it usually did on most did and neither did any of my classes throughout the day, which made me confused as to how my day was too peaceful.

It began to make me feel paranoid about my surroundings, but who was I to judge one good day?

My legs went on to carry me to the final class I had to attend when I heard the small whispers of my peers in the lecture hall. As soon as I had stepped in, all heads turned towards me as I was immediately confused about the sudden action until the small sound of someone clearing their throat broke away my thoughts. Immediately turning around to face a familiar face, I rolled my eyes at the person before scowling at him.

“Are you going to move, princess, or will I have to do it myself?” He smirks and I scoffed before turning around to get into my seat.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Yoon. You might get STDs that way.” I sarcastically smiled before heading towards the back of the hall and sitting down in a seat, mentally preparing myself for the already long class ahead of me.

Slumping into my seat from how easily bored I already felt, I began to play with a pencil in between my fingertips and thought about what to expect in the next few weeks. As I started to also hum to myself, my eyes were locked on the door while waiting for the professor to enter but instead was an unfamiliar face at the front of the room.

His distinct features immediately stood out since I never seen him around campus, meaning he must’ve been a new student despite it being halfway through the semester. I raised an eyebrow to myself before shaking out of the small trance before starting to play with my pencil once more as the class had finally begun until I hear the sound of someone placing their stuff down in the seat beside mine.

I tensed up a bit and laid my head down into my arms as I tried to discreetly take a small peek at who took the spot next to me. Said new student had a very attractive side view with prominent facial features that made his face look defined, as if he were a sculpture that an artist took their time making.

However, my cover was almost blown when the both of us slightly locked eyes momentarily for a second as I hid my face once more into my arms.

“I caught you staring at me, you know.”

The voice itself made me in redden in embarrassment as I lifted my headed up to look at the figure that was smiling towards me mischievously. It must’ve been obvious that I was confused at how I was caught, because he chuckles a little bit to himself before he leaned back in his chair with a small smirk while crossing his arms across his chest almost cockily.

“If you want a good look, you could’ve just told me your name and address.” He winks and every single thought I had earlier about him was already tossed out the window as I rolled my eyes in irritance at his words.

“Is that really your way of trying to get into other girls’ pants?” I scoffed while giving him a small glare, still twirling my pencil in my hand and almost forgetting hat we were still in a lecture hall.

“It’s worked plenty of times in the past, I don’t see why not.” He retorts smirking even wider and from there I decided to just ignore him by focusing back onto the professor that was discussing about who knows what.

For the first ten seconds, I pretended that I was interested in what he was talking about only to just avoid him, however, I knew that he was watching me curiously out of the corner of my eye. I shook it off as I continued to pretend and act like I was actively participating in whatever we were focusing on, until I heard him spoke up again once more .

“Do you even know what he’s talking about?”

I looked over towards him with a small glare and he chuckles a bit before leaning over his seat to see what I was writing about in my notebook in front of me, when the smirk that never seemed to leave his face was still evident.

“I hope you do realize that this entire time, we’ve been discussing about Greek Mythology,” He points out before continuing, “He’s actually talking about the creations of the Gods and how they are related to their Roman side, yet here you are just doodling about-”

“Are you really trying to critique my style of learning, Mr. Egotistic?” I asked while raising an eyebrow at him irritatedly as I watched as he amusedly examines my facial expressions before holding a hand out in front of me to shake.

“Seokmin, but there’s others that call me DK for various reasons.” He says while winking and I scoffed before pushing his hand away from me.

“Yeah, probably because your ego is too big to fit inside your tiny brain.” I retort before the lecture was finally over when the professor had suddenly announced it being finished.

“Feisty then, which means I’ll see you around campus more often then, won’t I?” He proposes winking as I turned to look at him before grabbing my bag  with me.

“Not with that type of attitude, I think the hell not.” I sarcastically smiled before leaving and letting out a small breath as I started to walk away from the hall.

With my head held high, I continued to walk down the corridors that had lead to the outdoors of the campus and sighed to myself as my eyes had caught glimpses of my surroundings. I was able to differentiate the different groups of people that were gathered around one area almost instantly, especially one area in particular that made my jaw clench in irritation.

Surrounding the area were a crowd of girls that are particularly fond of the booth that was created for the entertainment of the people running it. I rolled my eyes in disgust as flashbacks went through my mind from when I was easily influenced by them in my freshman year just three years ago, which is how my despise for a particular person began to grow.

The booth itself consisted of only two individuals that were well known on the campus, Yoon Jeonghan and Joshua. Previous rumors at some point in time once said that there was a third member that went by the name of Lee Jihoon, however he had already transferred to another university that was abroad, which is why it had only stuck to those two individuals themselves a year before I went in.

Just the very idea of toying around with another person’s emotions made me infuriated and disgusted once I had found out the truth behind it. It was just the small words that managed to slip out of Joshua’s mouth that was able to help me decipher the reality of the entire ‘game’, where people like Yoon Jeonghan, were players enjoyed seeing the hurt in other girls’ eyes because he wasn’t satisfied in anything but himself.

The entire existence of the booth t made me question why the campus had allowed it to continue on over the years, however in my perspective it was clear of two things. It was fucked up to these girls, mentally and physically, along with a promise to Joshua after the last time anything happened.

Not letting myself get involved with people like Jeonghan again.

[btsvt-adventures]

Shifter AU - (Cat)ch Me If You Can

A/n: New series!!! Cos... idk I wanted to start something new? Despite the 4384731049 things in my drafts before this? Ahahah whoops. Anyway this is part of a bigger series/universe I’m creating, but this will also work as a Standalone :3

Pairing: Jeonghan x Jisoo (Jihan)

Warning(s): Mild mentions of animal abuse, some swearing, general stupid decisions

Words: 3,300 (ish)

Want more of this AU? Or want your own AU? Ask me here!

Shifter AU: (Cat)ch Me If You Can | Feline Feelings |

The Royal family had an ancestral secret. One that was fiercely protected, closely guarded, and well hidden.

All with royal blood were born with the ability to shapeshift into domesticated animals. All but one.

A hidden prince, born out of an illicit affair between the King and a maid. He alone had the mysterious ability to shift into predators.

Him, and his descendants were offered two options:

Guard the Royal family.

Or die.

Seungcheol jerks awake in a cold sweat, eyes darting around his room, trying to shake the memory of the palace guards storming his family home after he’d first shifted.

He runs a hand through his hair, heart still racing from his dream. He remembers the fear in his parents eyes when he’d first shifted, turning from 18-year-old boy into a growling, terrified cheetah.

Seconds later he’d shifted back, but the damage had been done, and Seungcheol was all but shoved out the door, towards the Royal guards who were already waiting.

He heads out to the garden, hoping that some fresh air would clear his mind and erase the unpleasant memories. He doesn’t expecting to see his charge, crown prince Yoon Jeonghan, delicately cleaning his paws in the veranda.

“Your highness, you’re up early,” he comments, reaching down to scratch the prince’s ears. Jeonghan purrs loudly, meowing unhappily when he stops, hopping off the bench and elegantly shifting back into his human self.

“I have exciting news, and I couldn’t sleep,” he answers lazily, and Seungcheol spots a twinkle in his eye that makes his stomach turn uneasily. “Come, I’ll announce it at breakfast.”

He should’ve known that Prince Jeonghan had something up his stupid royal sleeve.

“YOU WANT TO WHAT?” Seungcheol all but shrieks at the young crown prince, staring at him in horror and disbelief.

Jeonghan laughs delightedly at his guard’s horror and shock. “Exactly what I said Cheollie. I’m going to offer my hand in marriage to whoever can take the key from around my cat’s neck.”

“Your highness, that’s... unwise,” Jihoon offers quietly, frowning severely at Jeonghan, who just waves away his concern, eyes glittering with excitement.

“It’s perfect! If they can treat cat me well, they’ll treat human me well,” he shrugs, not missing the unsure looks his guards shoot one another.

“Hyung, our families didn’t give our lives and sworn secrecy for you to expose all of us on a marriage whim,” Mingyu argues through a mouthful of eggs, and everyone at the table nods vigorously.

Jeonghan pays him no mind, telling Chan to have an official announcement drawn up and released later today.

“He’s gonna get found out, all that bleach has killed his brain,” Jihoon mutters under his breath, and Jeonghan snorts, tutting playfully at his newest (and grumpiest) guard.

“I can hear you, one, and two, you have too little faith Jihoonie. I’ll be just fine,” he grins. “Besides, I have you and Cheol to be my big bad saviours.”

Seungcheol groans internally, already dreading the coming weeks. Jeonghan has an infamously stubborn streak, and does pretty much whatever he wishes, consequences (and parental disapproval) be damned.

The announcement goes out barely an hour later, and Jeonghan smirks, telling his guards that he’s heading into town to visit his favourite bookstore cafe.

“His favourite bookstore my ass, he just thinks the owner is cute,” Minghao snorts, and Jeonghan shoots his little brother a dirty look.

“At least I’m not lusting after my guard,” he whispers, watching as Minghao turns bright red. “Cheol, Hoon, hurry up before I decide to go in my shifted form,” he calls, already walking away from the dining room.

(Jeonghan goes in his shifted form anyway, much to both Seungcheol and Jihoon’s chagrin.)

Jisoo hears about the announcement about two seconds before said prince walks in, followed by two very disgruntled guards.  

“Afternoon your highness, it’s nice to see you again,” Jisoo greets lightly, eyes filled with warmth as Jeonghan’s entire body relaxes.

“You know you don’t have to be this formal with me Shua, it’s not like everyone doesn’t know I have a penchant to visit your little cafe,” he laughs, and Jisoo can’t help the wide grin that grows on his face.

“You are still royalty Hannie, but I suppose a little familiarity would be okay,” he teases, turning away to prepare Jeonghan’s usual order, as well as Seungcheol’s caramel frappucino and Jihoon’s four-shot americano.

“Any interesting news lately?” Jeonghan asks, leaning on the counter to watch Jisoo, his inner cat purring happily. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the announcement,” he probes.

Jisoo suppresses a smile, handing the prince and his guards their coffee, wishing them good luck. Jeonghan watches the genuine laugh light up Jisoo’s pretty face, and considers for a moment to give up the game just so he can openly court Jisoo, but that would be far too obvious.

 He likes that Jisoo doesn’t treat him special; heavens knew he was already treated like that everywhere else he went, but he wanted Jisoo’s attention, specifically his attention. 

Maybe he doesn’t like you, he’s just being polite, a whisper of doubt drifts in his mind, and Jeonghan frowns, unsettled by the thought.

“Is something wrong?” Jisoo’s lilting voice breaks his reverie, and he shakes his head, shooting Jisoo a lazy smile, reassuring him that everything was fine, and that he had somewhere to go, so he can’t stay this time.

“Make sure your cat is still safe, I’ve heard whispers about plans to capture him, and I worry,” Jisoo tacks on just as Jeonghan turns to leave, and his heart warms at the thought, turning back to wink at his favourite barista.

Aw, he does care.

The second Jeonghan walks away, Jisoo’s head thunks the tabletop, and he lets out a pained groan at how stupidly embarrassing he had just been.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters to himself. “He’s just being polite, he’s royalty, why would he fancy you?”

Jisoo sighs, straightening and plastering on a smile when he hears the little bell at his door jingle. He half hopes it’s Jeonghan, back to distract him and look ethereally beautiful while he sat in a corner reading a book, but it’s just a group of girls, and Jisoo’s somehow disappointed still.

Don’t be stupid, he said he has something to do, he berates himself silently, greeting the girls as politely as he can.

“Hi, can I get a large vanilla chai latte, with three extra pumps of vanilla syrup please?” One of the girls orders, barely sparing him a glance, and Jisoo pushes down the tendril of irritation when he has to ask her for her name and payment over and over again.

“Oh my god, hurry up and get your coffee already, we gotta go try and capture the Prince’s stupid cat!” The girl’s friend pokes her, and she finally looks up, muttering her name and handing over her card.

“Your drink will be with you in a minute, Minhee,” Jisoo forces his grin and tone to stay polite, even though he would rather be anything but. He makes her drink halfheartedly, mind pre-occupied with what Minhee’s friend had said, worry making his stomach churn.

I hope his cat is okay.

The rest of the week goes by with Jisoo’s mood progressively getting worse. He overhears more “grab and run” plans than he can be bothered to count, and by the time he’s getting ready to close on Saturday night he’s this close to snapping at the two girls and boys at the cashier. They talk loudly, and obnoxiously, about their so-called “brilliant” plan to lure the royal cat into a cage and feed him treats laced with ground up sleeping pills.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Jisoo says primly, handing over their drinks. “And I’m not sure his Highness would want a significant other who resorts to trickery to capture his beloved pet,” he adds on, shooting them a meaningful look before walking away to continue closing up his little cafe.

Jeonghan knows his bodyguards are pissed at him (or at the very least annoyed), with this entire plan of getting the key around his cat’s neck, but it is pretty amusing to see Seungcheol all but have a heart attack when shitty, half-assed traps are being laid out for him.

It’s a little insulting though, watching desperate boys, girls, men and women try and bribe Jeonghan/Cheonsa into eating some sort of treat laced with sleeping pills, mild paralytics, or worse, poison. He scoffs at the last pathetic attempt, gracefully jumping away. He meows plainly at his two frazzled bodyguards before slipping into the cafe from the back entrance.

He settles in an empty space in one of Jisoo’s many bookshelves, purring quietly when he hears Jisoo reprimand the group that is planning to poison him.

He pads back out, meowing to his bodyguards about the plot he’d just overheard. Seungcheol and Jihoon groan quietly, but round the cafe to interrogate the four people who were planning on harming a member of the royal family.

Jeonghan slips back into the cafe just in time to hear them leave the store huffily, and pokes his head out to see Jisoo grumbling to himself about animal abuse and being unfit to be a Prince’s significant other, and his heart melts at how upset he is over a silly plan.

He watches from his little corner as the group argue with Seungcheol about being apprehended, and spots Jisoo’s small little smug smile at the group’s plan failing.

Fuck, he’s just so cute like that.

When he sees his last customers of the day get arrested by Jeonghan’s bodyguards, Jisoo can’t help but let the grin spread across his face.

“Serves them right,” he mutters to himself, humming as he drying off the last few cups, wondering briefly where Jeonghan could be if both his guards are right outside his store.

"Probably in the palace or something,” he scoffs, jumping in surprise when he hears a meow coming from one of his bookshelves. He peeks round the corner, jerking back when he sees a pair of bright yellow eyes staring back at him.

That’s Jeonghan’s cat, he thinks, watching the cat curiously as he meanders his way up to him, jumping and landing gracefully on the countertop.

“Meow,” the cat meows in Jisoo’s face, and he can’t help but giggle, reaching out to gently stroke his head.

“You sound like Hannie, Cheonsa,” he murmurs, cooing softly when Cheonsa nuzzles his head into Jisoo’s palm, purring loudly and contentedly. “Affectionate one, aren’t you?” he hums, scratching the black cat’s chin.

He knows it’s Jeonghan’s cat, and he knows how easy it would be to just grab the key, but he doesn’t want the black cat to be threatened in any way. Jisoo figures that if he has to resort to trickery to gain Jeonghan’s hand in marriage then it wouldn’t be a marriage of love anyway. Besides, if Jeonghan wanted to court him he would’ve done it ages ago, rather than endanger his pretty black kitty. 

Cheonsa bunts Jisoo’s hand, pulling him out of his daydream. He meows softly, staring Jisoo in the eyes before hopping off the counter, walking towards the front door and meowing until one of Jeonghan’s guards opens the door for him. Jisoo watches, laughing at how disgruntled his guards look, and how utterly unbothered the cat is. 

Seungcheol stares down at Cheonsa unamusedly , eyebrow cocked. He just meows, tail flicking lazily as he jumps up onto Seungcheol, draping himself over his shoulders and settling in.

Take me home now, he meows, and Seungcheol sighs, giving the royal feline a reluctant scratch behind his ears before making their way back to the palace. 

Jihoon follows the pair quietly, keeping an eye out for anything that could threaten the prince in his… other form. He watches Seungcheol and his Highness argue quietly and wonders how he ended up in this situation, wonders if anyone else is aware of who – what he is. He’s grateful that Seungcheol was the one who found him, but he also wonders what life would be like if he didn’t. 

Maybe it’d be normal, or as normal as a shapeshifter’s life can ge–

“Hurry up Jihoonie, or you’ll get left behind,” Seungcheol calls out, laughing when Jihoon promptly trips over his feet, shocked out of his thoughts. He jogs to catch up with the cheetah shifter, complaining that the older walks too fast. Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably, meowing at Jihoon until the smaller guard picks him up, grimacing slightly when Jeonghan nuzzles Jihoon’s neck. 

“Your Highness, please, it’s not proper,” Jihoon murmurs, and Jeonghan snorts, wrinkling his nose before cuddling into Jihoon.

I’m a cat! Who cares if I’m affectionate! Jeonghan meows indignantly, shifting unhappily and Jihoon flails for a second, fully not expecting Jeonghan’s sudden movement, or his yowling. 

“Yes Your Highness, but we know, and the other guards know, and the royal family know,” Jihoon murmurs, looking around and making sure no one realizes how weird it is that he’s talking to a cat. 

Stupid royal rules, Jeonghan – Cheonsa – complains, and Jihoon chuckles quietly, shaking his head at Cheonsa’s antics. 

“We’re back you can stop flirting now,” Seungcheol grumbles, and Cheonsa hops off Jihoon’s shoulder, mewling delicately before shifting back, shaking out his blonde hair, smirking knowingly at his cheetah guard. 

“If you’re jealous, Cheollie, just say so,” he purrs, winking at Jihoon before sauntering into the palace, leaving both his guards frozen, staring at one another awkwardly. Jihoon reacts first, breaking eye contact with Seungcheol and darting into the safety of the palace before Seungcheol can stop him. 

Jihoon sneaks into the Guards’ Quarters, desperately trying to avoid Seungcheol and any potentially awkward conversations, flopping face first onto his bed, purposefully ignoring his roommate’s probing stare. 

“I know you’re still awake Hoonie,” Junhui snorts, and Jihoon throws a pillow at him. Junhui catches it easily, snickering when Jihoon grumbles incoherently, resigning himself to flipping the snow leopard off. “If this is about Cheol hyung you know I can’t help you,” Junhui reminds him, lightly. “You know what I think about the situation.” 

“Like you’re any better with Gyu and Hao,” Jihoon snarks, turning away grumpily. “...Goodnight Junnie,” he mutters, feeling a tendril of guilt creep in for being so sharp with Junhui.

“Goodnight Hoonie,” his roommate laughs, and Jihoon sighs, burrowing deeper into his pillow, shutting his eyes and praying for sleep. 

The door being violently thrown open at fuck-o-clock in the morning (read: 9am), twenty full minutes before his alarm results in Jihoon nearly shooting Seungcheol in the face. When the shock wears off, he holds the gun there a little longer, narrowing his eyes before dropping back into bed, foot kicking out to tell Seungcheol to get the fuck out of his room. 

“Good morning Jihoonie! Gotta get up early today! The Crown Prince has made a decision!” Seungcheol yells, and Jihoon stays motionless for a second, processing the information. 

The Prince… 

Decision? 

Jihoon jerks out of bed, suddenly wide awake. Seungcheol barely gives Jihoon time to brush his hair before he’s tugging his partner into the Great Hall for Jeonghan’s supposed decision. Jeonghan, surprisingly, is actually dressed and awake, elegantly sipping his iced coffee and nibbling on some hotteok the chefs had prepared. 

“Good morning Jihoon, sorry for the sudden wake up,” Jeonghan offers him a friendly greeting, and Jihoon just bows, not trusting his voice this early in the morning. “Today,” he announces, waving his spoon at his two personal guards. “I’ve decided that I’m going to stop the contest to get the key around my neck.” 

The collective sigh of relief has Jeonghan laughing lightly, feeling the slightest bit of guilt at stressing out the Royal Guards so much over the last week or so. “But I don’t want to release this information yet.” 

Protests explode from all the guards, even from Chan, who’s nagging him like his own mother would. Jeonghan bites down on his laughter at their indignation. He raises his hand and everyone falls silent. It stops their verbal protests, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from shooting looks at the crown prince. 

“I don’t want to release it,” he pauses, and Seungcheol looks about ready to throttle him, royalty be damned. “Because I already have someone in mind.” 

Immediately Seungcheol and Jihoon know who Prince Jeonghan is referring to. There’s only one person who could possibly capture the prince’s heart (or attention for that matter). Seungcheol beams at Jeonghan, knowing that the two of them will make a great couple, and hopefully the little cafe owner can reel in their careless Crown Prince. Jeonghan stands, grinning mischievously at his two guards, who instantly know something is about to happen. 

“Your Highness, don–” 

“Great now I’ll go ahead, you can catch up!” Jeonghan interrupts Seungcheol, smirking at him before shifting and gracefully leaping out the window and into the gardens. 

“Fucking hell,” Seungcheol curses, grabbing Jihoon to chase after the brat of a prince they both have to guard.

Jisoo’s so ready for this week to be over, but Sunday’s are his best days, with the Churchgoers and brunch crowd coming in the early afternoon. Mornings, however, are for him to have a moment to himself in his little cafe. He does still get the occasional customer, but it’s his least hectic morning every week and Jisoo’s so grateful for the time to breathe. 

He looks up when the bell jingles, then looks down when he doesn’t see anything, beaming when he sees Cheonsa walking in. 

“Good morning Cheonsa, where’s your usual entourage?” he laughs, pulling out the bag of special treats he keeps specially for the black cat, settling on one of his plush chairs in his cafe and shaking the bag enticingly. 

Cheonsa meows loudly, jumping up into Jisoo’s lap and pawing at the bag, as if asking him to hurry up and hand the treats over already. Jisoo laughs, opening the bag and picking up a couple pieces before offering it to Cheonsa. 

Meow (I choose you)

“Go ahead, it’s all for you.”

Mrow (I hope you don’t reject me)   

“What’s wrong? What’s – oH. Oh my god.” 

Jisoo looks down at his lap in shock, staring at the intricately carved silver key in his lap. Cheonsa looks up at him expectantly, and Jisoo picks up the key gingerly, one hand automatically stroking Cheonsa’s soft head. He can’t believe the cat just willingly gave it to him. 

Does that mean Jeonghan returns his affections? 

That his crush feels the same way about him? 

Does it–

“Oh. My. God,” a shrill voice makes Jisoo flinch, and he looks up to see a girl glaring at the key in his hand. “That key is mine! Jeonghan would never want to date someone like you,” she snarls, lunging for Jisoo. 

No fucking way you crazy bitch, Jeonghan thinks viciously, hissing at the crazy girl. Jisoo jumps away just before her talons (nails) can reach him, slipping the strap around before nipping at Jisoo’s ankles and darting into the back room, yowling loudly for Jisoo to follow . 

“Come back here! Stupid cat, can’t it see he’s a guy? The prince would never pick a boy!” she yells, and Jisoo scoffs so hard he almost chokes on air. 

“Well, I have the key, so I guess he chose me,” Jisoo shrugs, shutting the door in her face and locking it firmly. He turns to Cheonsa, frowning when he sees the cat sitting on the chair and he’s… starting… to change??!

Jisoo stares in shock as the black cat he’s been spoiling literally turns into the prince he’s been lusting secretly loving crushing on since the prince started frequenting the cafe. Jeonghan waits, calm smile on his face, even though he’s anything but, and let’s Jisoo process what he’s just seen. 

“You-” 

“Yep.” 

“Cat-”

“Me.”

“Wh- H- What?” Jisoo sputters, and Jeonghan laughs lightly. 

“Don’t look so surprised Shua, you know you were always my favourite” Jeonghan purrs, and Jisoo turns scarlet, shakily holding out the key to Jeonghan. Jeonghan grins wickedly at him, taking the key from Jisoo’s slender fingers. 

“Besides, you sucked at hiding your little crush.”

Please like and reblog~~ Leave comments too!

If you’d like more of this AU, or your own lil thing, of if you just wanna yell at me, you can do so here~

[hannyoontify]

seventeen '95 line and their love languages

warnings | none :) js kie being an idiot

notes | based on pure speculation and my guesses by reading their “vibes”. i have a feeling it might be a little diff since the way that they treat their members is probably gonna be different from the way they would treat their s/o. listed from greatest to least (imo) and feel free to drop an ask abt ur opinions i would love to have a discourse abt sebong's diff love languages lol 95 line | 96 line | 97 line | maknae line

seungcheol : gifts, physical touch

no bc have you guys seen this man spoiling yoon jeonghan. he does not HESITATE to shower his loved ones with gifts and he also loves receiving gifts (bro can get so petty if he doesn’t receive gifts on his birthday) and it’s not in a conceited, materialistic way. he likes the whole process of considering what you might want/need, going out of his way to go out and shop for it, wrapping it and packaging it, and delivering it into your hands. he loves that entire process and he loves the way your face lights up when you pull out his gift ‘how did you know i wanted this?!’ oh he feels SO proud and he’s filled with that warm, fuzzy feeling whenever he gives gifts. and vice versa! he can get emotional when he receives gifts, imagining the other person going thru that same process of finding a gift for him. 

physical touch!! i’ve got eyes bro don’t even try to hide it. he’s the youngest son in his family so i’m sure he’s used to being doted on and being the maknae (my reasoning for why his third would be words of affirmation). and i’ve noticed that since he has an older brother, his physical touch can get.. aggressive at times. like he’s still a schoolboy at heart (at least some part of him) and has a sense of mischief that he doesn’t show often bc he’s the leader of 12, but roughhousing is js a part of him esp since he grew up with an older brother (victim: lee chan) but this man loves skinship like i think he’s always holding hands or leaning on a member in every gose ep or any other content. he simply finds comfort in his partner’s presence (platonic or romantic, doesn’t matter) and wants to be with them at all times

jeonghan : physical touch, words of affirmation

i personally think yoon jeonghan is our resident king of physical touch. he loves putting his head on members’ shoulders (smth that made me sob the first time i noticed where can i get a yoon jeonghan) and he’s also one of the members who i think is always initiating some sort of physical contact with the others in gose episodes and any other content (if deemed appropriate). and he also likes to have an emotional support object in his hand (his hammer is so fucking cute) so i think when you guys go out on dates and stuff he always has his pinky interlocked with yours or smth. like he js needs to feel you at all times to know that you’re there. BIGGEST CUDDLE BUG but doesn’t like to admit it. after he thinks you fall asleep, he would cuddle up against you and nuzzle his face into your neck. he would entwine his fingers with yours and wrap yours and his arms around your waist and js cuddle you i’m literally gonna cry

i’ve noticed that jeonghan’s constantly complimenting and reassuring members but knows when to do it jokingly and when to be serious and when it’s needed. we all know that he’s always checking up on the other members and making sure that they’re doing okay, and if they ever have a problem, he’s always willing to listen. i think he’s a really good listener and has super fast 눈치 which idk how to explain in english. like he picks up on things super quick and i think he’s one of the smartest members in terms of ’street smart’. like he notices small things super quick and picks up on them really fast. that + his fast brain + smart mouth = him knowing what to say at the spur of the moment to make the other person feel better. jeonghan who immediately applauds whenever junhui does anything. and when jeonghan receives compliments, i think he kinda deflects and downplays it (mostly as a joke) like that one time in ttt and hoshi was like “this is really good, jeonghan” to jeonghan after he cooked some beef and jeonghan said “beef tastes good no matter who cooks it” with a joking tone but i’m so sure my man was grinning like a child on the inside and feeling shy. OH LIKE THE CAMPING TTT when they started talking about how much jeonghan cares for the team and he got all shy and covered his face like, my sweet sweet baby (he’s 27)

joshua : gifts, words of affirmation

i think the members mentioned that joshua is a gift giver and is consistent with bday gifts (but considering the track record of the rest of the group, i’m gonna assume that the bar is on the floor..) like rich LA boy went shopping and spotted something that reminds him of you so he bought it and brings it home with a proud smile. ‘ta da! i saw it at the mall today and it reminded me of you’ oh i think this is pretty big in korean culture, but my boy would be so careful not to spend too much on luxurious gifts that cost thousands bc he knows that it can get burdensome even though you both know that he makes enough to buy you anything you want. oh and his recent love for making bead bracelets!! this is a lot less materialistic but he loves making bead bracelets for the people he loves. him taking the time to make a bracelet for you, picking out your favorite colors as he imagines what your initial reaction would be when you see it 💔 he js loves spoiling the people he loves because they mean the world to him and what better way is there to show them that than through gifts??? you’re his entire world so the least he can do is you give you some piece of the universe. (this was more romantic in my head)

immediately thought of that one clip of drunk shua and sober vernon from in the soop where shua was drunk (he’s so fucking cute) and they go to sleep and shua’s like “good night i love you” and vernon’s like “hmm i %@#%#$^ you too” and shua’s like “why aren’t you saying it back >:(“ and so vernon says i love you too and shua goes “really?” and you can literally hear the SMILE IN HIS VOICE GOD I’M CRYINGGGG like when he’s worried or anxious, hearing someone tell him that he’s doing great and there’s nothing to worry about puts his heart at ease (jeonghan comforting shua during the carnival gose ep) but besides that js hearing simple messages like “you’re so special to me” “you deserve every compliment” “thank you for being here” etc etc i think joshua is one of the members who tend to repress their emotions more, so i think hearing/reading these short messages mean a lot to him 

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

a/n : *in shua's voice* surprise! first and foremost i apologize for my sudden disappearance, i had a mini depressive episode and cut off contact with the entire world and stayed in bed for 4 days straight (whoops) but i’m doing all better now so don’t worry! as an apology, i present to you, sebong’s love languages!! i tried my best to include both receiving and giving although i don’t specify in the headings hehe oh and dw i will be adding 96, 97 and the maknae line! i was gonna do all of them at once but i wrote so much so i didn't think i would finish it in time