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nothoughtsjustficrecs · 22 days ago

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Review Written for The K-Fic Collection.

Minghao is the biggest sweetheart to have ever sweethearted. You truly wrote him in such a lovely way, he’s extra precious in this!

Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go, as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].

“ even that one elderly woman who always sent her steak back because it was never done well enough…she hadn't sent it back the night you served her. ” gal’s got skills

“ His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself ” what a thoughtful boyo

“ Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment. ” what a coinkydink

“ making you snort and hit your head on his window ” and that made me snort

“ perches on the hood ” idk why but the mental image of minghao sitting on the bonnet is weirdly very attractive

“ All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it. ” it is what it is 🤷‍♀️

“ "Two things, gorgeous."” lighten the blow with a petname, good idea (this is me distracting myself from wanting to scream from the petname ngl)

“ He opened the door and helped you climb in, even going as far as buckling your seatbelt for you despite your whining protests that you could do it yourself. ” aw, what a helpful babie

“ That's a crucial part of friendship, isn't it? Trust? ” it is indeed

“ while he stayed up an extra two hours – washing and ironing your work uniform. He even took your socks. ” oh, he is a sweetheart

“ He was a bit like a parent in that sense ” ngl, I read “parent” as “pervert” at first and it made me laugh. But parent definitely makes more sense 😂

“ "Graduation is coming up. I know we've only just started getting close, but I got you a ticket to mine in case you'd like to be there." ” 🥺

“ a pair of earrings and a lease. ” I HATE MY BRAIN I READ THIS AS LEASH AT FIRST, I AM JUST CRACKING UP OMG 😂😂😂

“ "You're not me, pretty. And you're my friend, I'd go as far as even saying you're one of my best friends. I love you and I care about what stresses you out, and I'd give my left arm to make life easier for you." ” screeching, he’s so precious 🥺

“ "Ooh, full name. Don't hurt me, I might like it." ” omg I snorted 😂😂

“ They then did the diabolical, classic meddling-manager thing: they scheduled ALL of your shifts together. ” lool tbh, same

“ "Sweetheart? I don't call my friends that." She teased, and you sighed. ” I do! I’m all for platonic petnames hehe

“ "Tell you what, pretty. I'll work my shift, and we can celebrate after. Just you and me." ” wink wonk

“ "I did not cuss you out! I merely asked what in the most significant fuck you thought you were doing." ” that made me laugh

“ "Can you hold me?" ” oh, why is that so 🥺

“ "I don't have a crush on her. I'm in love with her." ” screaming

“ "All I know is that if you're meant to break my heart – so be it." ” it is what it is

muddled hearts 🍹 x.mh [m]

↳ part of the 'lonely hearts cafe' collab!

synopsis: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don't expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process. genre: forced proximity au. coworkers/friends/roommates idiots to lovers. angst, fluff, suggestive themes. pairing: bartender!xu minghao x fem!waitress!reader | side pairings: restaurant owners!jeongcheol ; bartender!seungkwan x waiter!hansol ; chef!mingyu x hostess!tzuyu (twice) word count: 24k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol (obviously??) mentions of food/eating. reader has a strained relationship with her parents. jeongcheol/verkwan/tzugyu are all plot devices. unspoken pining, kissing. what to listen to: am pm - jay b, wheein ; you and me - lifehouse ; runnin' - the pharcyde ; no one noticed - the marías ; have u found what ur looking for? - ashton irwin ; on the line - blood orange author's note: the loml and the haologram namesake has officially debuted on this blog! while i am not entirely satisfied with this piece, that's okay and i still love the idea i put forth and the way i expressed what i could on the time crunch i gave myself. i will likely work on a spinoff for this, or just something to delve more into their backstory and developing them. special thank you to my lovely beta readers @diamonddaze01 @lovetaroandtaemin @tomodachiii <3 please enjoy!

A YEAR AGO…

"I need a Guinness." That was the first thing you ever said to Xu Minghao. You'd been hired by Seungcheol, one of the restaurant owners, three weeks prior but hadn't worked a shift with Minghao yet.

Therefore, he didn't know your name or when you even got there. There hadn't been any murmur of a new girl, much less a pretty one – which was odd for the establishment. Full of meddling college students and a married couple who ran the place, there was bound to be some gossip. Something about your looks, your demeanor, anything – but no. Nothing had flown down the grapevine.

You didn't bother to introduce yourself, either. Your eyes were pointed until he quirked a brow, scoffing out a laugh and pouring the drink for you. He'd said nothing as you took it, skirting around several clients and even a busboy and delivered it with a smile on your face to the awaiting patron…

…Who slipped a tip into your apron with a greasy smile, and you kept yours on your lips until you were out of the patron's line of sight. Then, tucked into the serving staff's corner, he saw the way your shoulders sagged, a look of disgust on your face as you shivered. He clicked his tongue to himself, but filed the vision away to the back of his mind.

He spent the rest of the night silently giving you the drinks you asked for, or speaking to his regulars as he made your cocktails. You always waited patiently, your fingers spinning your pen expertly as you watched over the patrons of the restaurant. He watched the way you sped past everyone, wormed your way through gathered crowds, and even ducked under trays being carried by your fellow servers.

You got your job done, and you got it done fast – your patrons visibly happy with your service and your apron slightly overflowing with tips when you slid behind the bar and tucked them into your lockbox without a word to him.

It wasn't until you bid your last patron a good night that he saw your shoulders relax, your fingers yanking the elastic out of your hair and shaking it out. The relief on your forehead was noticeable as you walked back to the bar, opening the fridge behind him and grabbing a can of the orange juice he used for some of the cocktails on the menu.

"D'you mind? I know they're counted." He shook his head as he skirted past you with his tray full of cups, the glasses clinking against each other while he made his way to the back. Your fellow servers were gathered around the heat of the kitchen, leaning against the wall or stretching their overworked limbs. He kept to himself, hearing them whisper about the new girl.

"She's so pretty." "Yeah, but she doesn't talk. I tried to talk to her back here a couple times, and she just keeps it short." "She's here to work."

"So am I, but at least I'm not rude." He set his dishes into the washer, cursing to himself when he realized he forgot his shakers at the bar. He was about to start the cycle when he heard the soft clanking of metal against metal, seeing your closed can of orange juice tucked into your shirt pocket as you held out his tray of shakers.

"Thought you might need these, wouldn't want you to make unnecessary trips."

He thanked you with a smile, taking the black tray as you cracked open your can, shrugging as you turned on your heel and walked away. The servers looked appalled as you grabbed the sanitizer spray before walking out of the kitchen, a rag already hanging from your belt loop. They looked at Minghao, who quietly loaded the shakers into the machine – wondering how he got you to speak to him.

The answer was plain and simple – he was a crucial part of the services you provided as a waitress. You clearly didn't need help with your tables: he watched how easily you maneuvered through picky eaters and entitled elderly women, all in one night. He saw how you smiled and greeted people warmly and enthusiastically, something the other servers weren't very good at but hey — a buck is a buck.

He wormed back out of the kitchen amongst the whispers, rolling his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head. You were wearing headphones, nodding your head along to something as you wiped down every table and chair.

He slid back behind the bar and started his own closing duties, but he took a moment to take you in fully – the soft slope of your nose, the way your brows furrowed as you ran your rag over particularly sticky spots. The purse of your lips as you mouthed along to whatever it was that you were listening to.

"Do you need any help?"

You were in front of the bar now, holding one of your earbuds in your hand as you raised a brow at him. He shook his head before extending his hand out to you.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Minghao."

You were wary as you shook his hand, but your grip was nice and firm as you did so.

"Y/N. Sorry if I was kind of emotionless during the shift, it helps me focus better if I'm not talking to people while I work." He shook his head again, as if to say no worries, before reaching under the bar and pulling your lockbox for you. You thanked him softly as you took it in your hands, walking away towards Seungcheol and Jeonghan's office to do your tip-out for the night. He finished his duties quickly, even managing to rearrange the cups and shakers for the morning bartender as the servers came to him one by one and gave him his share of their tips.

Until you came back out with a soft smile on your lips, your hair now loosely tied up and your apron slung over your shoulder as you held a wad of cash out to him, far thicker than any of the other servers. He'd been counting the leftover mixers, crossing out your orange juice as a markout as you slipped the money into his hand.

"For your help. Thanks."

"It's my job, no need to thank me." "Doesn't hurt. Have a good night, Minghao." "You too, Y/N." He smiled back as you finished what was left in your can of juice, tossing it as you made your way out of the building. He followed shortly after, walking out a few of the other servers to their cars in the parking lot for good measure. He never really spoke to them either, despite having worked with them for a little over a year – but he was a gentleman if nothing else.

The next few shifts he worked with you were like that, too. You'd smile at him a bit and ask for things with a nicer tone of voice. He still delivered and watched you from afar, slightly amazed at your abilities to satisfy all your patrons – couples, families, even that one elderly woman who always sent her steak back because it was never done well enough…she hadn't sent it back the night you served her.

You always walked out first, handing Minghao thick stacks of cash and stealing cans of orange juice. It got to the point where he would set yours aside from the counted lot, marking it out in the system before they shut down for the night. The other servers watched your interactions – short and sweet, but still far more than you'd ever attempted to interact with them.

He soon learned that you did like to talk, you just had no one that you deemed worthy of your time. So when you arrived early on some shifts, you'd sit at the bar and ask Minghao things about himself. He'd gladly answer, mixing up non-alcoholic versions of his favorite cocktails for you as he talked in a soft voice. You both noticed the wandering eyes of your coworkers, but neither of you mentioned it to the other.

He noticed that you never answered any questions about yourself, opting to spin the question back on him. He let it slide, but he knew you understood that eventually, you'd have to open up, too. When you did decide to do so was completely up to the universe.

It wasn't until the compliments started that the two of you really started talking – it started as something subtle and quiet. Minghao commented on your earrings or choice of lipgloss, and you said you liked his hair and the way he styled his jewelry. You would both laugh over light coworker gossip or comments about how easily Jeonghan got under Seungcheol's skin.

You started greeting him when you'd swing by the bar for any alcoholic beverage, and he'd pause his flirting with his regulars to give you his undivided attention. This is how you learned that he had a way with body language – his eyes were always grazing over someone's face, his shoulders set back in confidence, brushing his fingers lightly over whoever was grabbing their drink.

This included you, but neither of you said anything about it. You'd let his fingers swipe over yours occasionally, choosing to smile and thank him as you went about your shift. The regulars noticed the way his attention was no longer fully on them, and some complained, but some spoke directly to Minghao about it – saying how cute it was for him to be crushing on the new girl.

He wasn't, but he didn't care to clear it up if it meant it got you more tips.

One night, things were as normal – it was a busy Friday evening, and you slid behind the bar to stuff your cash into your lockbox for the third time before closing. His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself, and you thanked him with a pat to his ribcage before slipping back out onto the restaurant floor with your pen flipping through your fingers like always. He watched you zip around, smiling widely as you took orders, casually flirting with patrons around your age, taking group photos with cell phones and cameras.

You stole your can of orange juice, helped Minghao with his dishes and did your closing duties. You got tipped out by Jeonghan and gave Minghao his share, bidding him a good night before waltzing out of the restaurant. You skipped to your car, expecting a smooth drive home and ending your good night on your comfy couch with a Pilsner and a bag of chips…

When your car simply wouldn't start. No big deal, you'd told yourself. You tried turning your headlights on, but nothing happened. This could mean one of two things: your battery had crapped out and just needed a jump, or tonight was just the night you'd be walking the twenty blocks home. You clicked your tongue before sighing and resting your forehead on the fuzzy steering wheel cover.

Minghao had watched this entire ordeal from the door of the restaurant, finishing a conversation with Seungcheol before stepping out and calling out your name. Your ears perked up, your eyes tired as you looked up and saw him walking over. He smiled as you pouted, opening your car door and explaining the situation.

"Not a problem, I can give you a lift." "I couldn't ask you to do that, Minghao." "You're not. I'm offering."

It went back and forth like that for about ten minutes before Minghao reached out and plucked your keys out of the ignition. You huffed as he jingled them, throwing your apron over your shoulder and manually locking all your doors before slipping out.

“I live a bit out of the way.” “I do, too. Don’t worry about it.”

Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment.

It also turns out that the two of you had much more in common than just working at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s restaurant.

You both loved art, fashion…the idea of flirting and making people think something was going to happen. You were both studying but at two different universities, and worked at the restaurant to save money for graduate school. He finds out that you're almost too big of a Bloody Mary fan, and nothing stops you from yucking a Piña Colada enjoyer's yum. He doesn't drink, and the revelation makes you snort, until you realize he's serious and roll your eyes subtly.

And all of this is something you find out as you sit in his car outside of your apartment complex, the heat cranked up and his radio playing AM PM by Jay B and Wheein on the lowest volume. He speaks softly, just like he does at the restaurant – and you notice his eyes almost glued to your face as you reciprocate. A few shy laughs are shared until he says something about Mingyu and his habit of stealing cheese curds off the customer trays, making you snort and hit your head on his window. He apologizes profusely but the sentiment is waned by his own rickety giggle, making you flush embarrassedly and shove him lightly.

The night ends when he offers to walk you up to your apartment, but you decline, holding your purse tightly. He still gets out of his car, perches on the hood and watches you duck into the heavy greenery that ornaments the entryway, hearing your work shoes click against the cold cement steps. He waits at least ten minutes before leaning back on his car, taking a deep breath in the chilly November air and pushing off. He slides back into the driver's seat, not noticing the way you look down at him from your second floor apartment. You peeked at him through the wooden blinds of your bedroom, the soft thundering in your chest something you couldn't figure out.

All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it.

EIGHT MONTHS AGO…

"Need a ride?"

You scoffed to yourself, hearing Minghao's voice across the parking lot. Your shoulders were slumped, your head resting defeatedly against the steering wheel of your 2002 Nissan that once more, refused to start. Why? You have no idea.

"No. It'll start. It has to start." You muttered back, seeing him approach the side of your vehicle. He dons a sympathetic smile as he leans in the window, his fingers grazing the fuzzy leopard print wheel cover. You ignored the manicure you'd been admiring your entire shift, the blotted maroon a perfect tone against his skin – and cranked your ignition.

Chchchch.

"Try again." Chchchch.

He glanced up at you before unlocking your door from the inside and yanking it open. He reached under your dash, popping your hood gingerly and snaking out from under the steering wheel. You only eyed him tiredly as he slid in front of your car, setting your hood up on the prop rod and tinkering around. You couldn't help but let your eyes close slightly, the soreness in your muscles taking over just as he popped back into your window. You jolted out of the light slumber, the crease between your brows deepening in the stark spring moonlight.

"Two things, gorgeous. Either your alternator is fucked and not charging your battery, or your starter engine has crapped out." He shrugged, and you couldn't bring yourself to react further than a groan. Your hands ran through your hair, and Minghao cooed lightly.

"C'mon, I'll give you a lift home. We'll get Cheol to pay for a tow." He wiggled his brows, making you let out a noise of amusement. You sighed, nodding silently as he once more took your keys out of the ignition. You grabbed your items, swinging your apron over your shoulder and locking your doors manually before slinking out and letting Minghao shut your door.

You shook your head in disbelief, absently resting your forehead against his bicep with a sigh.

"I'm so tired."

Apparently, tired meant that you were almost about to fall asleep standing up. Neither of you worked tomorrow, so Minghao simply wrapped his arm around your shoulders (an act that neither of you would ever speak on, but made the both of you incredibly giddy) and led you to his car. He opened the door and helped you climb in, even going as far as buckling your seatbelt for you despite your whining protests that you could do it yourself.

"I know you can. Just let me help you, yeah?"

You gave in without a second thought, your eyes fluttering shut as he slid into the driver's side and started his car. You had turned your head towards him and muttered some words quietly.

Something that sounded like thank you, followed by a slightly more intelligible string of words.

"If I fall asleep, I give you full permission to leave me on my doorstep like a package."

He only snorted, knowing he would not ever do that to you. Rolling his eyes, he fiddled with the radio, hearing You and Me by Lifehouse playing on his favorite station. He kept it on as he pulled out of the parking lot, seeing Seungcheol staring in his direction with wide eyes as he walked Jeonghan to their shared car. Minghao only shrugged, waving quickly before turning out into the street and driving down the road.

It was peaceful, watching you sleep. The way your lashes kissed the fat of your cheeks, the way your lips were pouty and he resisted the urge to wipe your chin of a bit of drool that had begun to spill out. He bit down on his lip to hold in his laughter as you stirred, your thumb instinctively coming to your face to wipe at it. You peeled your eyes open, the whites slightly bloodshot and your face contorting in the soreness you felt. "Long day, huh?" He whistled as he flicked on his turn signal, and you only managed to hum in response. You blinked at him, his eyes catching yours as you stared into him. He raised his brows in confusion, and you shrugged your shoulders as much as your fatigue allowed.

"Why are you so nice to me, Hao?"

He only smiled, clicking his tongue as he took the turn down the creepy backroad neither of you liked and often discussed when you had some down time at work. "I thought we were friends, Y/N?"

He saw the way you leaned your head back on his headrest, nose scrunched as you began to settle deep in thought. Were you friends? He thinks so. He thinks setting aside your daily orange juice can means that he's your friend. He thinks giving you lifts home, means that you trust him. That's a crucial part of friendship, isn't it? Trust?

Maybe the subtle flirting he'd been dishing out wasn't so friendly, but he certainly desired to be your friend. He liked your eager conversation, a drastic change in comparison to how stoic you had been upon first meeting him – and how uninterested you were in everyone else you worked with. Aside from Mingyu in the kitchen and Tzuyu the hostess, you had absolutely no interest in talking to anyone but Minghao.

You also didn't allow anyone else but Minghao into your life so closely. Only he knew where you lived, what troubled you, how your mother made you feel about yourself. Only he knew about your bad habits – your affinity for gossip, your extensive situationship issues with your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and how you thought your apartment was entirely too expensive for a college student that was buying her dinner with coins.

"I guess you're right. We should hang out one day, instead of just you giving me pitiful looks when my car craps out on me."

Your tone had been light, but he knew you weren't joking. No matter how often this happened, you insisted what Minghao was dishing out was pity. It wasn't – it was a break. A chance to worry about things later, or tomorrow, because he also understood what it was like to be stressed. He also understood what it was like to have a car let him down time after time, but he had had no one to take that mercy upon him. He'd walked home in pouring rain, risked getting sick, slipped one too many times.

A favor, was what he was offering, if anything.

You just didn't know how to accept help. It was one of your flaws that made itself known without a single word from you.

"I'm free tomorrow. I don't work; I took the day off." "I'm free, too. I'll text you when I wake up. Maybe we can get brunch?"

You would not end up texting Minghao, because you were knocked out – too knocked out to be woken up – by the time that the two of you reached your apartment. He knew your keys were in your purse, but after three attempts at waking you up, he gave up. He drove the two blocks to his complex, snagging the perfect spot in front of his entrance.

He hadn't been too sure of what to do, so he left you in his car with the engine running to duck into his apartment – returning within a few minutes with a pair of blankets for you and him. He opened your door and leaned your seat back slowly, before throwing the blanket over you and moving your belongings to his backseat. He climbed back into the driver's side, scrolling on his phone for a bit before peering over at you. Still sound asleep, as the clock struck midnight.

He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment.

A moment turned into three hours, when he heard your phone start ringing in the cupholder. It jolted him awake, his eyes narrowed as he read the blurry name out – Jaehyun.

He declined the call. Once. Twice. Six times, he declined Jaehyun's call. He turned your phone off after that, but you had stirred enough from the sheer sound of him fumbling around. Your eyes were bloodshot as you blinked before realizing you were still in his car.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Have we been here long?" He only smiled, gesturing at the blanket on your body. Your eyes widened as much as they could in their sleep-swollen state, before he flashed his phone screen at you.

3:13am.

"Hao! Why didn't you wake me up!?"

"I certainly tried. I drove around your complex twice before deciding it was futile. We're outside my apartment, if you want to crash here. I'm in no position to drive now."

You had scoffed tiredly (read: with embarrassment), before the urge to stretch took over – the blanket slipping down your legs as you twisted your torso and popped your back. Minghao only giggled tiredly, letting you pout at him.

"I don't have a toothbrush here."

"I have spares for guests. And I have a guest room, so it's not like you'd be taking over my couch or anything. There is always going to be a special space for you, you're my friend."

And you wanted to be his friend so badly.

"Fine. But I'm buying breakfast." "Sure, whatever makes you feel better."

You did not end up buying breakfast. In fact, after you allowed Minghao to help you get situated in his guest room, you didn't even wake up until well in the afternoon. The soft sheets, the absolute dream of a mattress…

The gentle scent of his detergent on the clothes he made you wear to bed while he stayed up an extra two hours – washing and ironing your work uniform. He even took your socks.

Granted, he also did not wake up until late that day. The two of you jerked the doors of the respective rooms open within five minutes of each other, Minghao sluggishly standing in his kitchen with his forehead against the cool steel of his fridge. He held a carton of eggs in his hand, your mouth occupied by the toothbrush he'd given you the night before.

"Eggs?" "I don't even want to cook, I just want to order in." "My treat. Consider it a thank you for letting me crash here." He had looked up then, a quirk in his brow as his lips twitched into a small smirk.

"Don't thank me for being a good friend. That's what you're supposed to do, Y/N."

He didn't allow you to pay for delivery. He didn't even allow you to bicker with him when he shoved you into the bathroom, insisting you shower while waiting for the food to arrive. He was a bit like a parent in that sense – forcing you to take his help and hospitality – and even offering to blow-dry your hair when you exited the bathroom in yet another set of his loungewear, the sweatpants low on your hips as you sat down in front of him and allowed him to do as he pleased.

Something about the domesticity of Minghao brought you comfort. He was gentle and kind, and entirely way too nice for your own good. You had this idea that you had to earn niceties, and Minghao was actively challenging that perspective with the way he wormed himself into your heart. Unlike the parasite, though, you were sure that loving him in whatever matter presented itself would not kill you.

He attempted to drive you home around midnight, the two of you far too excited to let the night end – when your phone began ringing again, this time as he pulled into a gas station. He sighed, "Take care of that. I'll be back."

Your ex-boyfriend told you he was at your apartment and asked why you weren't answering the door. You admitted that you weren't home and insisted that he went home – that you weren't interested in seeing him. He took it pretty hard, trying to convince you that he wanted nothing more than to see you, but Minghao arrived just as you snapped on him and told him that this odd situation was not working in anyone's favor.

Jaehyun insisted that he still loved you – but you said you wouldn't be seeing him again and hung up. You blocked his number before the bombardment of texts could flood in, resting your head against the seat and sighing. You gave Minghao a worried look, earning a soft laugh from him as he reached over and ran his fingers through your hair.

"Everything is going to be okay in due time. We'd be nothing in life if we didn't struggle a bit." He didn't take you home. Instead, he drove around the city, his hand slotted in yours. It was nothing more than an attempt at a comforting gesture on his behalf, but you couldn't help the way your stomach fluttered slightly. You stared out the window as he spoke softly, telling you stories about his life and listening intently to yours. Eventually, the two of you wound up at a park you frequented as a child, one with a wishing well.

The two of you got down and headed straight for that well, Minghao holding a few coins he was willing to part ways with in his hand. He gave you half of them, telling you to make your wishes as he thought of his. He watched you intently, your eyes closed and thick lashes fluttering against your cheeks, lips pouty as you murmured to yourself. He was barely able to hear you, leaning a bit closer.

"I wish to be happy."

He closed his eyes after hearing that.

He knew in his heart that he couldn't be solely responsible for your happiness, but he could certainly aid in it. He was your friend, and he was determined to see that wish come true, even if it meant sacrificing his own time and energy to see it happen for you. Be it what may, he was hell-bent about it, within seconds of hearing you say it.

So much so, that when he dropped his 500 won coin, he too wished for you to be happy.

It was the least he could do at that moment.

He actually drove you home after that, and you invited him in. He stayed for all of two hours, just talking to you and keeping you company as you settled things around your apartment. Once more, the topic of rent being way too much came up – and he asked if you wanted a roommate. You had snorted, insisting that you could handle rent on your own.

Minghao went home that night with another plan in mind.

SIX MONTHS AGO…

"Graduation is coming up. I know we've only just started getting close, but I got you a ticket to mine in case you'd like to be there." The casual comment had made you choke on your strawberry lemonade. He offered a napkin, smiling mischievously at you as you scoffed, wiping your lips carefully. He'd invited you out to lunch on yet another day off, but this time, the two of you were nicely dressed up. So much so, that your waitress thought you were a couple on a date. Neither of you made the move to correct her.

"Minghao, you can't just say that so casually." You muttered, but there was a twitch in your lip that gave you away. He caught it almost instantly, reaching into his bag and pulling out your ticket – watching you reach into your purse and pull his ticket out. Both graduations were on the same day, yours in the morning and his in the afternoon – just barely two hours apart. Enough that you'd be able to have a luncheon with your family and still make it to his right on time. "You'll be celebrating with your family afterward, right?" "We're having a small party. A few of my friends will be there, and I'd like you to attend if it's possible. I know you probably have your own things to do."

You didn't, just the lunch. Something about your accomplishments was never enough for your family to celebrate, and they were of the breed that believed graduation was simply a part of life – nothing worth celebrating. Minghao didn't need to know that, though.

"Sure. I'll be there."

And it didn't take long for the day to spin around. You were dressed in your favorite white dress, covered slightly by your forest green graduation gown. Minghao met your family – your mother giving him a quick smile before tugging your father into the stadium. You offered an apology and said that one of your lifelong friends, Junhui, would be arriving soon, and Minghao could sit with him. You stuck around until he did, introducing the two and scurrying away to get set up with your classmates.

Funnily enough, Minghao and Junhui hit it off really well – so much so that when your name was called and you crossed the stage, they cheered so loudly that your parents looked away in embarrassment. You beamed up at your friends, waving excitedly and hopping down to your seat. The ceremony was over quickly, and your parents were nowhere to be found for photos.

It bummed you out, and your friends both noticed. You called their phones relentlessly, to no avail – making Minghao and Junhui take you to lunch on their own. You still enjoyed it, but they could tell that you were not happy. Neither of them made a statement, but Minghao managed to find a last minute ticket for Junhui to attend his graduation with you and invited him to the party as well.

You and Junhui sat in the stands an hour later, holding a huge bouquet you'd ordered a few days in advance – and sat with his parents, who eagerly admitted their glee in Minghao finding friends so easily. You enjoyed the pride his parents had in their son, feeling the same love that Minghao so eagerly poured over you with no remorse. You could tell how loved he had been growing up, how every single part of him was a part of them and then some.

How Minghao was truly someone made of love, by love, for love.

You cheered loudly with his family as he crossed the stage, finding his eyes as he looked up. The maroon of his gown did wonders for his skin, and you hated the way your cheeks warmed as he winked at you. Junhui elbowed you lightly, a knowing look in his eyes that made you scoff and shove him softly.

"We've been friends since we were kids, Y/N. You don't fool me."

However, it didn't stop you from trying. To you, Minghao was just your friend – you had no intent to ever take things further than that. Much like he slowly picked up on your flaws and bad habits, you did his – his subtle flirting with regulars, the way he had no shame in giving free drinks away if he thought someone was cute. It made you overthink everything about his way of acting with you – how easy it was to distinguish that he would never have a romantic feeling towards you if this was how he acted towards patrons.

So you figured your odd little crush was sorely misplaced – and added that you hadn't spoken to Jaehyun since the first time you slept over at Minghao's apartment was cause for the strange feeling of neediness in your stomach. Minghao was worth more than a rebound, and he was far more than you would ever deserve.

You spent the rest of the day enjoying delicious food prepared by his parents and spending hours dancing with Junhui and Minghao in turns. You blushed severely when Minghao's parents asked if you were interested in Minghao, quickly refusing the idea and insisting you were his friend and nothing more. You later saw Minghao blush all the same, his mother looking over his shoulder at you and making him do the same – before you saw his plush lips form around the negative response of No, she's just my friend.

You ignored the sinking feeling and focused on the party – with Mingyu swinging by for an hour before going back out to hang with his girlfriend, Tzuyu, and his best friend, Wonwoo (and they were all coworkers of yours that you allowed yourself to grow closer to after realizing they were no threat.) You took dozens of photos with everyone, had plenty to eat and reluctantly bid goodnight to a tired Junhui that drove back to his girlfriend's apartment after checking that Minghao would take you home.

The two of you stayed for a little longer, watching all the guests leave. You walked around his parents' home and helped them clean up silently, hearing his mother praise you quietly to her son. Your refusal to acknowledge it made everything easier, grabbing an apron from the kitchen and tasking yourself with washing dishes alongside Minghao's father. He made soft conversation, and you understood where Minghao got his doting personality. It made you think way too hard about the man you called your friend to everyone's face, including his.

At the end of the night, you cried when Minghao presented you with a graduation gift in the privacy of his car – a pair of earrings and a lease. A lease to a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment he found all on his own, after more complaints about your rent being too high came about. He admitted that he'd initially started looking for places solely for you, but later came to the idea that maybe you would like some company. He fully admitted that he would have no problem if you denied his request to be your roommate, but seeing as the two of you had also planned on going to graduate school…he thought that maybe splitting costs would be easier.

"You can say no. I know it's a bit presumptuous of me to jump the gun like this. I've already signed it, but the leasing office told me it was okay if I wound up taking the place alone. I just thought I'd run it by you."

You had only blinked up at him through teary eyes, your lips pouty as you whined.

"Why are you always so nice to me, Xu Minghao? I would've never thought to do this."

"You're not me, pretty. And you're my friend, I'd go as far as even saying you're one of my best friends. I love you and I care about what stresses you out, and I'd give my left arm to make life easier for you."

Anyone else would've seen this as an admittance of romantic feelings.

Anyone else.

"Minghao, I can't accept this." "Yes, you can. You don't have to be strong all the time. I'm here. I care. Just let me help you, okay?"

You don't know how, but just the soft lilt of his voice made you fold. You signed your name in blue ink that very same night and rode with him back to your apartment. You invited him in, the two of you tired from forced socialization and flopping on your couch. Neither of you said much as you scrolled through Hulu, your television lighting up your living room along with the few candles on your coffee table. "You never tried your earrings on." He muttered next to you, his eyes closed as you settled on Coyote Ugly. Your lips formed an O-shape, and you nodded as you dug them out of your purse. You popped the velvety box open, the diamond studs twinkling back at you. "Allow me." He leaned forward, plucking the box from your fingers and gingerly removing them from the backing. He watched silently as you took your signature gold hoops out, turning to face him with a tired smile on your lips. "Ready?" "Be gentle, I'm sensitive."

He scooted slightly closer, nimble fingers softly tilting your jaw toward him. You ignored the way the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at your earlobe gently before slipping the earring through.

You heard him mumble to himself but didn't get a chance to ask questions as he carefully slid the backing on and quickly put on the other one for you. He nodded in approval, both hands brushing your face as he pushed your hair back. "You look pretty in diamonds."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hands left your face. You dug a compact mirror out of your purse, using the low light of the room to see. Long lashes fluttered in the reflection as you shifted the mirror around, your manicured fingers lightly tracing the shell of your ear as you took in the subtle sparkle of the gemstones.

"You didn't have to, you know. I didn't get you anything."

You slumped on the couch, resting the side of your head on one of the thick cushions while looking up at him. He propped his arm up on the back of the couch, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned his head on the palm of his hand. "Having you is enough. Did I tell you that I like your dress? I don't think I told you."

Your eyes only widened before you felt your cheeks heat and cleared your throat. You glanced down at your dress, the scattered sequins across the white dress glinting in the low light. An odd feeling settled in your stomach as you ran your hands down the fabric before looking back up at him to see his eyes boring into you.

Like he could see what you were thinking.

"You're beautiful, but I don't have to tell you that. You already know." He said pointedly, and you scoffed. You look away, turning your head to face the ceiling. You follow the slow spin of the fan, before you glance back at him through the corner of your eye. He's still looking at you, but with a soft smile and a raise of his brows as if he's waiting for you to tell him what's on your mind.

"You don't, you're right. Sorry." You muttered, crossing your legs at the knee. You could feel the soreness in your calves from being on your feet all day, the straps from your shoes so tight that they'd imprinted on your skin. Minghao shifted next to you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze raking across your face.

"Y/N?"

You turned to face him, "Hm?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing."

You scowled, sitting up quickly and tucking your legs under you. "I hate when people do that, Hao. Tell me what you were going to say."

He only chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back on your couch, tucking his hands under his head. "I wasn't going to say anything, sweetheart. Just…yeah."

"Xu Minghao." "Ooh, full name. Don't hurt me, I might like it." You gaped, smacking his arm lightly. He grabbed your wrist loosely, making you fail at biting back your laughter when his other hand tickled your ribs. "M-Minghao! I don't need to know that!"

"Don't you, though? I know that you like your hair pulled, you told me like three days ago when we were tipsy during movie night. Call it an even exchange of information." He nodded, and you only attempted to swat his hands away from digging into your ribcage as a scream of laughter escaped your throat. He grinned, pinning you against the cushion as you squirmed under him.

"N-Not fair! You're s-stronger than m–AH!" You choked on your own laughter, thrashing as he stopped, squeezing your sides gently with a mischievous smile painted on his face. The glint in his eyes made your stomach swirl slightly as he looked down at you, and it took a few moments for you to realize just how close his face was to yours. You didn't dare look at his lips, forcing your eyes to be glued to his as you swallowed quietly. He shifted back to sit down, allowing you to sit up slightly and clear your throat – when your eyes flickered to his lips.

Soft and slightly glossy from his strawberry lip balm. Lush. So pink and pretty and perfect.

"Y/N?"

"Uh huh?"

Your eyes darted back up to his, noting the soft blush on his cheeks in the low light of the television. He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut – when your body took over your mind, your hand softly tilting his jaw back to look at you. Your thumb ran across his lower lip, pulling it down slightly to watch it spring back, your eyes meeting his once more as you pressed the pad of your thumb onto his lips.

Something about his gaze made you feel insane.

And feeling him kiss your thumb while looking into your eyes made you break.

You leaned forward, holding his jaw gently as you pressed your lips against his chastely. He melted in slightly, his hand ghosting over your hip for balance when realization sank into your skin and you pulled away.

"Shit. I'm…Minghao, I'm so–" He didn't let you finish, rolling his eyes as he pulled you towards him by your wrist, kissing you with purpose. You only let out a noise of surprise as he practically manhandled you onto his lap, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours and making you feel like your very being was about to combust into flames. You couldn't help but tighten your legs around his, feeling him smile against your lips with a soft laugh.

Your hands fisted his shirt as he pulled away from your lips, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and tilting your head back while the other splayed across your thigh. His lips trailed down your jaw, a soft mewl escaping your throat as he nipped at your earlobe.

"Sound so pretty for me, sweetheart."

The light scrape of his teeth against your neck doesn't allow for many words to slip from your lips, only a choked whimper as you carded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly as he littered gentle nips across the expanse of your neck and chest. His hand in your hand moved to your back, resting just above the zipper of your dress when he looked up at you through his lashes.

"Can I–" "Yes." His fingers carefully pulled the zipper down, the tight flutter sleeves of your dress loosening around your shoulders and falling slightly. Your hand tugged at the knot of his tie as he reconnected your lips, his hands sliding around your waist as you pulled it off and tossed it to the side. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands moving down slightly and palming your thighs before moving back from your face.

“We should stop, shouldn’t we?” He mumbled against your lips, making you shake your head as your hands fisted his shirt, your thumbs tracing the pearly buttons. Your fingers pulled at the rest of the buttons, tugging the hem of the shirt out from under his slacks as he grabbed your wrists gently.

“Want you to touch me, Hao. Please?” Your voice had a hint of something a little desperate, that same hint shown as a glint in Minghao's eyes as he breathed heavily against your lips. You kissed him chastely, feeling him groan beneath you and let go of your wrists to run his hands up your thighs, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your dress.

“Wanna feel you. Wanna taste you…fill you up…can I, pretty girl? Will you let me?”

You weren’t sure how you found your voice, but you squeaked out an excited yes anyway. The rest is a blur – him pulling your dress over your head and tossing it to the side, running his hands up and down your body as he meshed your lips with his with a hunger that you couldn't describe. His fingers were cool against your back as he undid the clasp of your bra, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as you whined against him.

"Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop right now." He mumbled, holding your bra together as he looked up at you. Uncertainty flashed in your eyes, and he gave you a soft smile. "Y/N, it's okay. Are you okay?"

He clasps your bra back, his hands moving to tug his shirt off his shoulders and drape it over you. You're silent as you shove your arms through it, and Minghao quietly buttons it for you, before tucking your hair behind your ear gently. "Hey. Talk to me, I'm here." He murmured, and you just tongued your cheek, running a hand through your hair.

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd be ready–"

"Don't. Do not apologize for not being ready, or changing your mind, or anything like that. Not now, not ever, and especially not to me. Okay?"

Your face burned in embarrassment, but it quickly slipped away as Minghao enveloped you in a warm embrace, your own arms wrapping around his neck as he held you close. "You deserve to be more than some rebound, Hao. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry when there is nothing to be sorry for. We can forget all about this, you know? Just a little kiss. I'm sure lots of friends have kissed and moved on." You weren’t sure you could move on, not when Minghao held you until early morning, his breathing soft against your neck. Not when the two of you inevitably moved into your bedroom and slid under your bed sheets together, Minghao's arms wrapped around your shoulders and suffocating you with his soft cologne that you can't get enough of.

You spent hours awake while he ran his fingers through your hair, just thinking about the way his lips felt against yours. You found yourself glancing up at him often, his face illuminated by the soft moonlight peeking through your blinds – only to see him staring at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder and you can feel the way his mind just empties as he glances down at you with the softest smile known to man.

"Sleepy?"

Your nod was false, but you didn't care – not when he sighed softly and pulled you into his chest with a mumbled good night.

"Goodnight, Hao."

As for moving on, Minghao wasn't sure he could, either. Not when he woke up in your bed the next morning, surrounded by your scent and your limbs and your skin stuck to his in a way that made him ache confusedly. Not when he was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas he never got back after that first time you stayed over at his apartment. Not when you were already awake, your eyes glued to the soft scar on his eyebrow before you noticed he was awake.

"Hey." "Hey, sweetheart."

Not when he watched you cook something light for lunch for the both of you, in his shirt that you have not returned since that night at his place. Not when you smiled at him with a glint of embarrassment in your eyes, but just barely hidden by comfort, trust, love.

Not when he felt his heart start racing in his chest as he said he'd see you later before he left, swinging his keys in his hand as you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"See you, Hao."

Yeah. Minghao doesn't think he can move on.

FOUR MONTHS AGO…

You and Minghao moved in as the summer grew hotter, the July air sticky as you bickered over whose couch was going to be shoved into the living room. Minghao lost the game of rock-paper-scissors, and his lip curled into a frown as Mingyu came with Tzuyu to haul his couch back to their apartment.

"And you haven't fucked on this, right?" Mingyu asked as he and Minghao took the cushions and tied them together, you and Tzuyu snorting over the jar of lemonade you were preparing.

You and Tzuyu had become quick friends after you graduated. She helped Mingyu and Wonwoo plan the grand idea of throwing both you and Minghao a small celebration at Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house, inviting the entire staff and other straggling friends. The couple hadn't been too happy about how trashed everyone got and how you accidentally broke one of their lamps, but they congratulated you and Minghao on your graduations and gifted you both an expensive bottle of wine. Wine that you both shared when you got the keys to your shared apartment, tucked away in a cooler full of ice while you both tackled the deep cleaning of the new space. He took the front, and you took the bedrooms and bathrooms. You both emerged sweaty and sticky, grimacing at each other as you settled into Minghao's car on the way to buy paint for the bedrooms and wallpaper.

Neither of you have spoken about that night on your couch. Not that you had to – nothing more came of it. The two of you continued to work together in harmony, you hung out regularly, you flirted with customers – and you ignored the churn of subtle jealousy in your stomach when a customer got any sort of extra attention from him.

You ignored the skip in your heartbeat when his fingers grazed yours in handing you a drink, you ignored the way your stomach flipped during the many times he offered to tie your hair up when it got in the way. You especially ignored the whispers of your coworkers, ones that had only heightened since the party at your Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house – where Minghao was constantly checking in on you, bringing you drinks and adjusting your dress or hair.

So much so that when the party was over and it was just Seungcheol, Jeonghan, you and Minghao – Jeonghan asked. He asked if the two of you were a thing, and Minghao promptly peered over his highball at you. You just shrugged, the words stuck in your throat as Seungcheol shared a glance with Jeonghan.

They then did the diabolical, classic meddling-manager thing: they scheduled ALL of your shifts together.

It then seemed like the entire universe was forcing the proximity – because your car finally kicked the bucket. It would not turn on, not even after you begged Chan at the mechanic shop to give it a good knock on the hood. Because of this, you were now rendered carless – not that it mattered, because your new roommate had a car. Your new roommate, that was also your friend, coworker, and suspected partner by the married couple that owned the restaurant the two of you worked at. Minghao drove the two of you to work every day, his car once parked in front of your old apartment now sitting pretty in front of your shared one. It was domestic, how he slid in front of your apartment and still got out and knocked on your door to let you know he'd arrived – instead of just the regular I'm here text or, your least favorite, the honk. He opened your door, he let you choose the music, he rolled the windows down because you loved the free feeling of the breeze in your hair before you were ultimately forced to go into work-mode in order to withstand the berating of customers and the soreness in your feet.

Upon moving into the apartment, the two of you furnished it by splitting your belongings. Your walnut bookcases, his mahogany dining table. His Persian rugs, his television, his plants, his plates and cups. Your wall decorations, your handmade vases, your choice of wallpaper in the bathroom, your silverware.

His pots. Your pans. His blankets on the couch. Your couch.

"No, Mingyu. I have not had sex on this couch." Minghao scoffed, before peering over his shoulder at you and Tzuyu with a look on his face that reads: Can you believe this guy? You only shrug, biting back a smile as you slip ice cubes into the pitcher, facing Tzuyu. She's already looking at you, and she waits until you tilt your head in curiosity before she whispers.

"How long have you two been a thing?"

You almost choked on your spit. Her eyes were wide as she patted your back, giving a thumbs up to the worried men looking over their shoulders, pausing their unscrewing of the legs off the couch.

"What? Minghao and I are not a thing, Tzu." "Could've fooled me. I've known Minghao for years, and he's never even introduced us to a girlfriend of his. He's so private that way." She murmured, adding a few sprigs of mint into the glass pitcher.

You glanced over at Minghao, who was listening to Mingyu talk about how Wonwoo got into a scuffle with Seungcheol over the missed truck order at work – when he shivered, his gaze flicking up to you. He gave you a quizzical look, before turning back to Mingyu and acting as if he was paying attention.

"I don't think Hao and I will ever be anything more than good friends. And, well, roommates now. This is genuinely one of the more refreshing friendships I've ever been in. There's zero expectations to be perfect or act like I care about the smalltalk that usually precedes friendships." You shrugged, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the lemonade. You weren't lying, per say. You definitely did not think things would advance between you and Minghao – he was far too…well he was…you know. Ugh!

Minghao was literally fucking perfect. That was the issue. He was perfect, from the careful styling of his hair to the way you'd walk into his bedroom to see him slathering lotion on his arms after a warm shower. And he wasn't just perfect physically, he would not have that mercy upon you – he was perfect on the INSIDE, too.

You'd only been living together for a few weeks at this point – but he'd kept the space clean, far cleaner than you had gotten yourself used to. Your bedroom was already a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, and you'd tripped over an unpacked box several times before kicking it to the side. But Minghao's? Pristine. Everything in its designated spot, his vanity clear of debris and a special spot for his skincare items. He kept a pitcher of water on his nightstand at most, the cup always half filled. His bed was always made neatly, his clothes tucked into his dresser and closet with the utmost care. At most, he'd have his closet door open or have a random jacket thrown over his desk chair – but he was your stark opposite.

"I don't know about that one, Y/N. I think this could be something good, but what do I know?" Tzuyu shrugged, grabbing the tray of glasses and tilting her head for you to grab the pitcher. You wanted to ask her what she meant, what she knew, but you didn't get a chance as Mingyu and Minghao carried the corpse of his stripped couch outside. You held the doorway open more, giving Minghao a quick nod as he wormed past you.

You tried not to look at the flexing of his shoulders beneath the black tank top he donned, squeezing your eyes shut and looking away when you heard Tzuyu snort. You peeled an eye open to see her smirking at you, shaking her head as she set the glasses down on your coffee table. You scowled, setting the pitcher down on the doily and laying on the floor next to the table, grabbing the remote for the television.

The coffee table was the only thing you and Minghao couldn't agree on, and decided to buy it at a thrift store. The one hint of togetherness thus far – as if the mixed aesthetics and belongings weren't enough. It made you laugh a bit, because you knew if and when you moved out, what would be taken with you.

It's like the coffee table is the dog that a couple gets before they split up. Who gets it?

"Y/N, can I see you in the kitchen?" Minghao's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you gave Tzuyu a pained look as you slipped the remote in her hand. Minghao had slipped into the kitchen already as you stood, quickly trekking the living room and sliding in on your socks. He grabbed his keys off the counter, having left them there earlier when he arrived with groceries, before Tzuyu and Mingyu came over for his couch.

"I'm going to help Mingyu get the couch set up at his place, we should be back before dinner. Do you want to order something in and we can pick it up on the way back? My treat." Minghao spoke with his back turned to you as he rummaged through the fruit bowl, before you heard the unmistakable crunch of an apple being bitten into. He looked over his shoulder, and you saw him holding said apple between his teeth, a jump of his brows prompting you to speak.

"You'll be a while though, won't you?"

"I'd never make you wait, Y/N. So? Think about what you want, and text me." He shrugged, ruffling your hair as you swatted his hand away, grabbing his wrist.

"Aren't they staying for dinner? Shouldn't this be a group decision?"

He only used your leverage on his wrist to pull you closer, leaning against the counter and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your eyes widened at the sudden proximity, and you felt your cheeks heat as he peered down at you through his lashes. He smiled at you, eyes searching your face before he clicked his tongue.

"Just tell me what you want, honey. I'll get it done."

He pressed a kiss to your hairline, smoothing your hair down before slipping out of the kitchen. You heard his gentle goodbye to Tzuyu, who hummed in response before the click of the door made his departure evident. Peeking out of the kitchen, you saw Tzuyu smirking to herself, shaking her head as she took a sip of her lemonade.

"C'mon, Y/N. You know you wanna tell me."

Her voice was sing-song, and you groaned inwardly as you walked out of the kitchen and flopped over the back of the couch. You flipped onto the cushions, landing on your back with a grunt from your lips as you draped your arm over your eyes.

"Tzu, nothing is happening between him and I. He is genuinely just my friend. Roommate. Coworker."

She didn't buy it. You could tell by the quirk in her brows and the pointed look in her eyes. She tapped the coffee table with the edge of her glass, swirling the ice before speaking.

"And soon he'll be your boyfriend, fiancé, husband. I have a hunch about these things, Y/N. I know love when I see it."

You only rolled your eyes, snatching the remote back off the coffee table. "Yeah, sure. What do you want to watch? And what do you want for dinner? Hao said they'd bring something back." Tzuyu didn’t push it as the two of you ended up settling on a random episode of Gilmore Girls. You mumbled at each other as you began to pass your phone between the two of you, looking at local restaurants when you heard a ding – a ding specifically applied to Minghao's contact.

"Nothing happening, huh?" Tzuyu wiggled your phone between her fingers, a notification from Minghao up top.

Msg From: Xu Minghao [5:43PM] sweetheart, did you figure out what you want for dinner? [5:43PM] we're almost done over here

You scowled, snatching your phone back as she giggled. "Sweetheart? I don't call my friends that." She teased, and you sighed. "Tzu, can we please drop it?" Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, ridden with an oddly placed insecurity and Tzuyu's eyes widen slightly before she clears her throat. She nods, tapping the edge of her glass against the table again and looking down at your phone.

Msg From: Xu Minghao [5:45PM] quickly, please. [5:45PM] y/n i can see you reading these!

"I'll drop it for now, but please think about my words. I know it may be hard to believe, but I do think there is more to this than meets the eye. And…I support you, on whatever route you end up taking, in whatever way you end or begin this relationship." You couldn't lie to yourself, her words stuck with you for the rest of the evening. They rang in your head when the pair of men arrived with stacked plates of takeout, and they rang in your head as Minghao served your plate and forbade you from getting up for anything. They rang in your head as you and Mingyu washed the dishes, noting how Mingyu only referred to you by your name in your hushed conversation about you inviting them to stay for a movie.

Not like Minghao, who had even greeted you with a pet name.

They rang in your head as Tzuyu and Mingyu cuddled in the corner seat of your couch during the movie, your chest slightly pained as you noticed the cushion-sized distance between your thigh and Minghao's. They rang in your head every time you noticed Mingyu's lips on his girlfriend's hairline, on her cheek, on her lips…

They rang in your head as you thought back to the night of your graduation, how Minghao's lips kissed you just as gently, but in a way that made you think about it every waking moment of every day. In a way that made you glance at him from across the restaurant when Jeonghan was trying to get your attention to finish your tip-out; in a way that made you remain silent during the rides to and from work by his side.

In a way that made you touch yourself at night, thinking about him, about his hands on your body. So warm, so confident, so caring.

So loving.

"Good night, you two. Drive safe." You stood with your hands in your pockets, your shorts allowing the cool evening breeze to graze your legs. Tzuyu gave you a warm hug as Mingyu opened the door of his old pickup, her lips barely touching the shell of your ear as she whispered.

"Think about it." They drove off within the next five minutes, with you and Minghao standing next to each other in front of your apartment door, waving them off. You glanced up at him, a faint heat coating your cheeks as his hand ghosted over the small of your back, hearing the jingle of his keys being hooked onto your belt loop. You jolted at the weight, swatting him away as he snickered.

"Want to take a walk? The weather feels great."

You hated the way you agreed so quickly, tugging slightly at the neck of your t-shirt, too tight around your throat as your arms brushed. He stood on the side closest to the street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants as he hummed.

"I got a letter back from the graduate program I applied to. I was waitlisted, so I think I'm going to withdraw and reapply next year. Gives me a chance to save some money, take out less loans." He grimaced, looking up at the darkened sky. You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.

"I didn't get into mine, if it makes you feel better. I think I'm going to be taking a gap year, so much for being a therapist and letting my parents down yet again. Did I tell you that they told me I wouldn't even be a real doctor? Unbelievable." You sneered, and he shook his head.

"No, that doesn't make me feel better. You deserved to get in. I read your application essay, remember? You're brilliant. I could never imagine being on a board of admissions and not allowing someone with such a passion into my program." He scoffed, and you only snorted.

"Passion, huh? Shit load of good it does me." You shook your head, kicking a bit of gravel as you made it to the corner of your block. You sucked your teeth as Minghao's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side slightly. "You'll have to admit that you're a good person with goals and dreams like everyone else at some point, you know? You've got a big heart, and you want to help the world. It takes a passionate person, a dedicated person, to work in therapy. Do you know how hard it is to sit and listen to people's problems all day and not bring them home with you?" "Bartenders are the therapists of the food and beverage industry, aren't they?" You teased, snickering as he lightly smacked his fingers against your shoulder. "Sorry, sorry." "But you're right, in a way. I do commend you, though, an incredible amount. And your parents…they don't realize what kind of person their daughter is. You're bright. You're kind. You're beautiful in ways I can't even begin to describe, and that doesn't even begin to cover your looks. So let's just…not think about their opinions. You're independent and strong, and I'm always rooting for you." His voice was soothing as he traced circles into your skin, the moonlight illuminating your path as you walked in lockstep with him. You sighed, "So what happens now? We just work our butts off at the restaurant and save our pennies?" "What better to do? We can even set up a little fund to take the odd weekend trip, if you'd like. Roommates do that, right?" He sounded quizzical, and you glanced up to see him already looking at you. Those eyes…

"Well, friends do that, don't they? We're friends before we're roommates." You tried, and he let out a scuff of a laugh, nodding. "Yeah, sweetheart. Friends."

You didn't understand why it pained you to hear him confirm what you already knew, but the stupid pet name sprinkled in definitely made the pang in your chest deeper than you'd expected. His hand was on your shoulder, ringed fingers now dangling over the edge and your eyes glued to the ground. You kicked gravel and dirt as the two of you walked, your tennis shoes scuffed from weeks of moving and roughhousing with furniture.

You were almost in front of your apartment when Minghao made a noise of eureka, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly as he spoke.

"Oh, I forgot to mention this earlier, but Jeonghan is asking me to take a few doubles these coming weeks because Seungkwan is going on vacation. They know that we carpool, so I should be able to swing by and bring you to work anyway, but I figured I'd let you know I'll be out of the house for most of the morning."

You groaned, running your hand through your hair as you nodded.

"Yeah, Cheol talked to me about taking a bunch of morning shifts because Hansol is also going on vacation. I'm not bothered but…" You gave Minghao a wiggle of your brows, making him snort.

"You think they're going together? Romantic getaway…" He swayed you gently, and you snickered to yourself.

"Kiss, kiss, fall in love…sharing appetizers…" You chided as the two of you reached your door. Minghao unhooked his keys from your belt loop, unlocking the door as he shook his head.

"They do that eye-flirting thing, you know? Lots of shared looks, soft whispers and stuff. It's cute, they're a cute pair." He nodded, pushing the door open and allowing you in before he stepped in behind you. You hummed in response, beelining for the empty bags of movie snacks on the coffee table, crumpling them in your hands as you moved around. Minghao joined you, folding the blankets that had been thrown over Mingyu and Tzuyu's laps as well as your shoulders.

Neither of you spoke as you cleaned up the living room, the ending credits of the movie still playing as you stretched your arms over your head, holding the trash in your fists as you walked to the kitchen. You could hear Minghao continue to rustle around, the television turning off and the soft creak of the floorboards grabbing your attention as he skirted into the kitchen. "I'm going to be up early tomorrow, so I'm going to shower first. Is that okay with you?" He moved you away from the trash can, letting you lean on the counter as he took the lid off and grabbed the drawstrings of the bag. You nodded before realizing he couldn't see you and cleared your throat.

"Yeah, sure. That's fine; I have to fix up my bed and stuff in my bedroom. Take your time." You shrugged, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled the trash bag out, tying the plastic drawstrings into a knot before fishing another one out of the box on top of the fridge.

"Are you settling in well? I haven't checked in about it. I know it's quite the drastic change to go from living alone to someone in your space all the time." He sounded sympathetic, but you only shrugged again.

"It's like freshman year of college again. Except this time, I actually like my roommate because you're not kicking me out at odd hours of the night to bang your boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. He nodded, biting back a smile when you elbowed him lightly, making him snort.

"I'd never do that. No need to worry about it, pretty." He placed the lid back on the trash can, lifting up the bag and skirting around you. "I'll be back in a second."

Said second turned into ten minutes. Ten full minutes where you rubbed your face in an attempt to bring back a touch of reality, something that would take the attention your mind loved to devote to pet names and affections from your roommate, your friend, your coworker, away.

They say your living space is a reflection of your state of mind. As you wormed your way through stacks of unpacked boxes, clothes strewn on the floor, old textbooks gathering dust in the corners of your room – you kind of agreed.. You grimaced, opting to kick everything out of the way and grabbing a box cutter off your desk and slicing through one of the boxes stacked by your closet. You reached to your desk, flicking the lamp on to see the contents of the heavily packed box.

It opened to photo albums and framed pictures, and you closed your eyes as your hands touched the familiar red leather of your family album. Photos gathered in the tens of you and your parents – at your favorite park in your hometown, at dozens of restaurants where you celebrated birthdays, your parents' anniversary…

A celebration of a perfect report card, time and time again before the 180 spin came, and your parents realized you were leaving your hometown for something bigger. A huge, fancy school in the middle of a metropolitan city, studying Psychology when your mother had pushed for Law or Accounting. Acting like you'd betrayed her trust – and as Mother says, Father does. He too, pushed you aside and acted like you'd scorned him.

Neither of your parents were lawyers or accountants. They were both high school mathematics teachers, your father in statistics and your mother in economics. Neither of them had a passion for law or accounting – and they both knew of your interest in the medical field, in psychology and the brain.

You found it odd that the success that follows the title of 'Doctor' was not enough for them. That, paired with the rejection letter from your Masters' program, you felt like there wasn't any lower you could get. "Penny for your thoughts?" Minghao's voice was soft, but it still made you jolt and drop the album. You held a hand to your chest, before shaking your head.

"Nah. I'm good. Sorry, uh, about the mess." You gestured to the room, and he only shook his head, his fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked around a bit. He leaned on your doorway, the hallway light only making your eyes trial his gentle frame.

"Your space, sweetheart. You do what you want with it. I'm going to shower now. Anything you need before I start turning in?"

You shook your head, tapping the leatherbound photo album before smiling pitifully.

"I'm good. Good night, Hao." You expected him to slink away, focusing your thoughts back on the album. You flipped through it, thumbing at photos of you in frilly dresses and Halloween costumes your mother would stitch by hand.

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?" Minghao's voice was right next to your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck. His hand was wrapped around the edge of your desk to keep himself steady, and your face was a bit too close to his as you turned to face him. He was illuminated slightly by the yellow light of your desk lamp, his eyes scanning your features.

"I know. I just…I know." You pursed your lips, casting your eyes back to the album in your hands. "I'll let you know if I ever need to…I don't know. Let off steam, I guess." Your laugh was soft and pathetic, and he hummed, before you felt his hand tuck a stray curl behind your ear. You glanced up at him, only to see him looking at you fondly. "Let off steam, huh?" "Shut up." "As you wish. Good night." He grinned, pushing off your desk and making his way out of your bedroom.

You spent the next few hours listening to Minghao tinker around in the bathroom before the sounds move to his bedroom, your focus on unpacking the albums onto the bookcase tucked into the corner of your room. You picked clothing up off the floor, tossing the articles into the hamper and you forced yourself to organize your every thought when you heard it. You heard the soft sigh through the wall, and the groan from his throat as his back hit the mattress.

You screwed your eyes shut and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand, plugging them into your phone as quickly as you could before you could hear anything else. You took a deep breath, out through your mouth as the beginning notes of Runnin' by The Pharcyde filled your ears.

So much for good night.

TWO MONTHS AGO…

"I'm so fucking tired, I could keel over right now." Your forehead rested on the back of your hand, which held the ratty broom you used to beat Seungcheol out of a chair only moments earlier. Said man was now sulking behind the bar with Minghao, being comforted by the bartender with a fruity cocktail.

"Don't sulk, she's just doing her job." Minghao patted him on the back as the older man frowned, wrapping his pouty lips around the swirly straw stuck in the mango daiquiri. You glanced over your shoulder at Jeonghan, who was only shaking his head as he clicked away on the calculator with your tips surrounding him in neat piles.

"Honey, unless you want to sweep for Y/N–" Jeonghan started, flipping a pen through his fingers as Seungcheol shook his head, taking his drink off the bar and making his way across the restaurant. "Nope! I'll be in the office."

You snickered to yourself as you saw Jeonghan watch him walk away, eyes low and full of nothing but love. He rolled his eyes, drawing his attention back to the money on the table as Tzuyu slid into a barstool with her cheek in her hand. Minghao leaned over, waving his fingers in her face.

"Why so glum, Tzu?"

He stopped wiping the counter down to listen to her as you skirted your way over to Jeonghan, pulling the chair beside him out and slumping down into it. Jeonghan doesn't look up from the calculator, his fingers gingerly thumbing through the dollar bills when you make a noise of curiosity.

"Yes, Y/N? How can I help you?"

"How long have you and Mr. Choi been together?" You asked gently, watching Jeonghan bite back a smirk. He shakes his head, tilting it to the side before meeting your eyes.

"You don't have to call him Mr. Choi, Y/N. You can just call him Cheol."

"Fine. How long have you been with Cheol, Mr. Yoon?" You smiled cheekily, earning a scoff as Jeonghan flicked your forehead softly. "Jeonghan, answer the question!"

"We dated for three years before we got engaged. Then we were engaged for two years before we got married, and we got married two years ago. Seven years together and counting, unless you also involve how long he made me court him." Jeonghan's blush doesn't go unnoticed as he runs a hand through his hair, and you cooed.

"How did you guys meet?" Jeonghan snorts, tonguing his cheek before sighing and thumbing through another stack of bills.

"Any particular reason as to why you've got so many queries tonight, Y/N? You've been working here for almost a year and you've never cared before." His brow is quirked as you hear the heavy office door open across the restaurant, a flushed Seungcheol ducking into the kitchen with his empty cup. Jeonghan sends him a wink, making the older man shake his head in disbelief.

"I just think you guys are cute. You don't see many couples around here, the dating pool has gotten so icky." You scoffed, twirling the broom handle in your hand as Jeonghan hums in agreement.

"I've known Seungcheol since we were kids. We drifted after middle school because I wound up moving across the city, and we lost contact. We met up again here, in this restaurant, right before we were set to graduate college. Funny, really." Jeonghan smiled inwardly, watching as you leaned in slightly.

"You guys worked here together?"

"Yup. He was a bartender, I was a waiter." Jeonghan gave you a pointed look, before his eyes flickered to Minghao. The man was talking to frowning Tzuyu, his brows furrowed as he whispered what you assume to be his opinion on her dilemmas. "Cheol was actually really shy, believe it or not. He's not the big Rottweiler type, despite his physique. More like…a feisty barn cat." "So…you chased him? For how long?" You watched as Mingyu and Seungcheol walked out of the kitchen with their arms crossed, seemingly discussing something serious. Seungcheol's jaw was tight, and Mingyu's shoulders were full of stress as he draped his apron over one of them. Seungcheol glanced over at Jeonghan, a sympathetic look in his eye as he tilted his head in the direction of the office.

"For all three years that we worked here. And I continue to do it, he likes it." Jeonghan nodded, gathering your tips for you and snapping them together in a blue rubber band. He held them out to you, gathering his belongings in his other hand as you took it. "Of course, not every couple that gets together here, stays together. These walls have seen many of my fights with Cheol, and vice versa. There's no limit. Exhibit A." Jeonghan gestured to Tzuyu, who was angrily typing on her phone while Mingyu held back tears as he muttered back and forth with Seungcheol. Sighing, Jeonghan ruffled your hair before skirting away and meeting Seungcheol and Mingyu in the office. You stood, leaning your weight on the broom before feeling eyes on you.

Minghao was staring right at you, before his eyes flickered to Tzuyu. You grimaced, stuffing your tips in your back pocket before sliding up to the bar.

"So…what's got you so upset?"

"Mingyu." As it turns out, maybe the restaurant owner knew far more than he let on. Mingyu and Tzuyu had gotten into an argument while she helped him with dishes – about work. The two of them were stressed, knowing that they usually made rent with their hefty amount of hours at the restaurant – however, it left little time in the week for each other. Mingyu being the best cook of the three that worked at the restaurant made things even harder, seeing as he was constantly being called in if Seungcheol or Jeonghan weren't able to fill in.

It left Tzuyu feeling pushed aside, but Mingyu could argue the same. The last three hostesses that had been hired had to be let go due to their attendance inconsistencies, leaving Tzuyu to rush to work at the last minute. It created a small rift in their relationship, and Tzuyu finally gave the ultimatum: work or her. Mingyu hadn't replied.

No choice is a choice, a silent one.

And usually, the wrong one.

"I'm sorry." You murmured, smoothing her long hair with your hand as she slumped against the bar.

"Why? If anything, I feel like we should be able to work through this. We should be able to find time for each other even with our busy schedules. You and Minghao can do it, why can't we?" She groaned, resting her forehead against the cold bar. You sighed, running your fingers through her hair when the office door opened again – Mingyu was sitting at the desk and frustratedly wiping his face as Jeonghan called for Tzuyu softly.

"Go. We'll wait here." Minghao assured her, crossing his arms on the bar as you nodded in agreement. She took a deep breath, trekking the restaurant quickly and ducking into the office as Jeonghan shut the door.

"What does she mean, you and I can do it?" You questioned, reaching into your back pocket and separating the bundle of bills that would go into Minghao's wallet. He shrugged and smiled softly, wiggling his fingers as you held the wad of cash out to him.

"It means we work well together. Don't you think we make a good pair?" Minghao raised his eyebrows at you, making you roll your eyes as you continued to sweep aimlessly around the bar.

"I guess so. Hey, your birthday is coming up soon, right?" You crouched to get the swept trash onto the handheld dustpan, watching as Minghao shrugged again and turned to the cooler. He opened it, taking out your can of orange juice before speaking again.

"Hardly. It's barely September, my birthday isn't for another two months." He shook his head, and you scoffed as you made your way to the trash can. You dump the contents of the dustpan before glancing up at him with a suspicious look in your eye.

"Don't tell me you're one of those people that works on their birthdays, are you?" The way he tongues his cheek is enough of an answer for you, making you shake your head as you replace the broom and dustpan behind the bar. You skirt around him to the sink, washing your hands as you click your tongue. "That's not happening this year. We have to celebrate." "Like hell it's not. I make the most tips on my birthday, Y/N." He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind him, shrugging it over his shoulders as you dried your hands. "Plus, Jeonghan knows I won't take no for an answer when it comes to working on my birthday. I'll be here from five to closing."

You rolled your eyes again, before feeling his arm snake around your waist. It'd been almost a year of this – soft, casual touching, hushed praises, kisses to the forehead…

It was all so intimate. Nothing he did felt like friendship anymore, but you weren't complaining.

"Why do you care so much, anyway? You want to celebrate with me?" "Obviously, jackass. You're my best friend." You swatted him away, only to be pulled closer into his chest. You groaned, your hands splayed across his chest as he smiled down at you.

"What an upgrade, should I be honored?" You scoffed, pushing him a bit but he didn't budge. For a second, you think he glances at your lips.

"Tell you what, pretty. I'll work my shift, and we can celebrate after. Just you and me." His hand squeezed your side gently, his eyes expectant of something – but you know you could say nothing and he'd still understand. He once told you that he thinks humans misunderstand almost everything…

And sometimes it is better to observe, and listen – than speak.

"Get away from me before I twist your nipple off." You spoke through gritted teeth, only making him get slightly closer to your face. His lips nearly brushed your nose, and you narrowed your eyes as you pushed his jacket out of the way. He jerked away, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning a shocked look as you grinned.

"I cannot believe you'd hurt me! Wow, some best friend you are!"

"Are you always this dramatic?" You teased, sticking your tongue out at him as you skirted back out from behind the bar. He turned his nose up at you, waving you off with his hand. Your eyes darted to the maroon gel manicure you'd given him earlier that day, and you bite back your grin before taking your can of orange juice off the bar.

"Let's go, yeah? I'm tired." You pouted, shaking the can gently before tilting your head towards the front door. He huffed, tightening his jacket around his body as he sauntered out from behind the bar – nearly tripping when the sound of the office door being slammed against the brick of the walls startled you.

Tzuyu stormed out, her red coat held in her hand as she ducked her head down. Presumably to hide a face full of tears, covered by the swing of her caramel hair.

You looked back at Minghao, his eyes worried as he watched her slip out the front door. Mingyu appeared as the door nearly shut, with Jeonghan and Seungcheol holding guilt in their eyes. "I'm sorry, Mingyu. If we had known–" "You couldn't have. It's fine. I'll figure it out." Mingyu looked defeated, and you elbowed Minghao lightly as he sidled up next to you. "Drive Tzuyu home." You muttered, tucking your orange juice in your shirt pocket as Minghao swung his keys.

"Divide and conquer, huh? I'll see you at home, pretty." Minghao ruffled your hair, before quickly pressing a light kiss to your hairline. "Be safe, okay?"

He was gone before you could say anything.

You sighed to yourself, seeing the three men in the office watching Minghao slink out without you. Jeonghan looked around Mingyu's frame, his brow raised as you winked, cracking open your orange juice and walking towards them.

"Gentlemen. It appears my chauffeur has taken his leave without letting me know." You shrugged, and Mingyu sighed as you held your hand out. The friendship between the two of you had grown exponentially during the last few months, and you found yourself gossiping with him in the kitchen if Minghao was busy or Tzuyu wasn't at her podium.

He handed his keys over without a word, Seungcheol's eyes full of guilt as he patted the younger man's shoulder. "We'll see you next week, Gyu." You didn't bother with goodbyes, the married couple giving you curt nods as they followed behind you. Minghao's car was no longer in the parking lot, and you beelined for Mingyu's without a second thought. Seungcheol locked the front door of the restaurant, and you felt Jeonghan's eyes on your back as you climbed into the lifted pickup truck.

Mingyu was silent as you fiddled with his radio, cranking the ignition before sucking in a breath. "You wanna–"

"How do you and Minghao do it?"

You blinked, absently turning out of the parking lot and pulling off into the main road. "How do we…do what?"

Mingyu was frustrated, tossing his baseball cap onto the dash with a huff. He slumped in the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest before peering up at you through teary eyes.

"Work together and go home together without bringing any of the work problems with you. It's like we're constantly being pushed and pulled. If I'm not being called in, she is. I'm not saying it's a bad business decision by Jeonghan or Seungcheol, but she gets tired, too. I know she's great at her job, but she won't be here forever. Her potential is far greater than just greeting people who don't even deserve to be graced with her presence."

You hummed, fiddling with the turn signal.

"I wish I could help, Mingyu! However, Minghao and I–"

"Oh, come on. You're going to tell me you're just friends? That you haven't, even for a moment in time, though what it would be like to be together? You're saying that neither of you have ever gotten just entirely too close and almost kissed?" You felt your face grow hot as Mingyu sat up in his seat, leaning slightly over the center console as you slowed to a halt at a red light. You made the mistake of glancing over, seeing an expectant gaze on your friend's face. He watched intently as you rubbed your face in frustration, running your hands through your hair as you scoffed.

"Okay, fine. Minghao and I…there is truly nothing there, I can promise you that." You began, clearing your throat as you stared out the windshield to the fiery red light. Mingyu tilted his head, sort of like a puppy, as you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily. "Sometimes, I think we could be more. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me…but he certainly goes above and beyond for our friendship. I can say that for all of his friendships, though, because Minghao is just that kind of guy, you know? Kind, observant, sweet." "It confuses you." "This is supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me." Mingyu snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. How do you and Minghao not fight?" "Because we're not together. We're friends, and we're roommates. We don't have that expectation of having to spend time together, because sometimes just brushing past one another when we're at work is enough. Sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to pee but having to wait because he's in the restroom is enough. Sometimes walking to the laundromat together is enough." You shrugged, before sighing.

"When Hansol and Seungkwan were on vacation and we were pulling all those double shifts, he showed me that I could depend on him. He'd make breakfast before he left for work, and then come to pick me up for my shift. We did that for two weeks, and by the end of it, we were both exhausted. He never made me feel like I owed him anything, much less my time." You turned to face him, "You and Tzuyu have been together for three years. If you keep having the same fight, over the same thing. If the issue is that you don't spend enough time together, I think you should tackle that. Take a vacation, the restaurant won't burn down without you. Save your relationship." Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair before slumping once more. "I miss spending time with her. You know the last time we actually spent time together as a couple was when we went to pick up Minghao's couch? I don't think we've been able to even have a date night since."

You gaped, reaching over to smack his arm lightly. "Mingyu!" "I know, I know. God, and we were supposed to have a date night tomorrow, too, but Wonwoo is sick and Jihoon already asked for the night off." He rubbed his face in frustration, and the words slipped from your lips as you pulled into your apartment complex. "Call out. Minghao and I have the day off tomorrow, we can fill in." You blurted, and Mingyu scoffed. "Y/N, I couldn't ask you to do that." "You're not, I'm offering." You didn't let him continue to speak, instead turning his engine off and sliding out of his truck. Minghao and Tzuyu were sitting on your front steps, his jacket draped over her shoulders as she wiped her eyes. You felt the heat of Mingyu's body behind you, and Tzuyu didn't look up as you cleared your throat. Minghao glanced at you, his eyes heavy with expectation as you twitched your head in the direction of the apartment. "I lost my key."

You snorted, digging yours out of your pocket and shoving them into his hand. "Come in, we'll have a nightcap. Then you guys can go home and have a good night together, yeah?" Minghao seemed to understand as he opened the door and let the couple in. Tzuyu sat on the far end of your couch, and Mingyu didn't even bother sitting down – he beelined straight for your kitchen. You grabbed Minghao's arm lightly, pulling at his sleeve carefully and tilting your head towards his room. He nods, following behind you as you skirt into the pristine bedroom.

"I may have…fucked up." You start, making Minghao shake his head with a gentle smile. "Nah. I'm sure you said the same things I did. Spend time together, stop working so much, you and I are not together." He rolled his eyes as he tugged his jacket off, draping it over the back of his desk chair. His eyes scan your face, before his smile drops and his brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I did…say all of that…" You grimaced, rubbing your neck sheepishly. "But I also…may have volunteered you and I to take their shifts tomorrow." "Y/N." He groaned, and you winced slightly, your hands coming to hold his. He allowed it, his eyes boring into yours as you tried to apologize.

"I know it was our only day off this week, Hao. I'm sorry, but I–" "You could've asked me first." He didn't sound mad, but disappointed. You felt like you were going to get scolded by your father. You shrank back a bit, and you could feel guilt spreading in your body as he sighed. You grimaced at the sting of tears filling your eyes, but bit them back.

"Are we doing rock-paper-scissors to see who takes what? Did you even call Jeonghan?" He moved his hands from yours, running one through his hair before crossing his arms. You shook your head in silence, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before nodding. He held his hand out, yet another despondent sigh slipping from his lips. "Loser takes Mingyu's shift. Best out of three." "Minghao, I can just find someone else to do it. I'm sorry."

"Best. Out. Of. Three." You tongued your cheek, losing quickly to the tall man in front of you. Scissors, scissors, paper to his rock, rock, scissors.

"You're driving tomorrow." He muttered, rubbing his face with his hands before you nodded, looking anywhere but him and moving to slip out of his bedroom. He shook his head, standing in front of the door. "I'm not upset." "Okay." "Y/N." "What?"

His hands reach for your shoulders, and you kept your eyes casted elsewhere. His fingers are warm as they tilt your chin to look up at him, forcing you to try and blink back the tears when he rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheek. "I'm sorry for snapping. It wasn't my intention but I can tell I've hurt your feelings, and I never want to hurt your feelings." His voice was soft, and you felt your throat tighten slightly. You weren't too sure why you were even crying, maybe it was reminiscent of being scolded for trying to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry, honey." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his chest. He smells like pink pepper and the essence of pomegranates, mixed with a hint of the maple butter rum one of the regulars likes to knock back. It's oddly comforting. "Forgive me." "It's fine. I should've asked." "Yes, you should have. However, that's not the point here."

Minghao pulled back slightly, pointing his finger in your face. You huffed, but he raised his brows at you – as if to say, listen. Be quiet.

"You need to call Jeonghan and let him know. If we're going to work tomorrow, I need to spend time with you tonight." You must've looked taken aback, because he only smiled. He pinched your cheek lightly, before humming and opening his door. "Go on, call him. We'll be in the living room." Either you'd been too out of it to fully process, or Jeonghan had truly had you on the phone explaining all your qualifications to run a kitchen as a head chef. You didn't have many, just the few nights you flipped burgers at a diner back in high school – but it seemed enough to settle Jeonghan. He let you know there was going to be a trainee chef with you named Joshua, as well as the kitchen manager named Seokmin.

Jeonghan also let you know that Tzuyu's shift started earlier than Mingyu's, so someone would have to go get you. He volunteered Seungcheol, and you could hear the man begin to protest in the background but he hung up before anything could be truly said.

You ducked out of Minghao's room to see him folding blankets in the living room, soft music playing on the television as he glanced up. He smiled, and you noticed the two cups on the coffee table. One tainted with lipstick from Tzuyu, and what seemed to be one filled with water? Soju? Rum? Something.

"Tzuyu is driving. She had some of your juice, I hope that's alright." He nodded, and you waved it off. You turned to the television, No One Noticed by The Marías playing softly as he hummed along. "Did Jeonghan say it was okay? I was trained to be a host and a waiter before I was a bartender, but you just jumped into waitressing, right?" "I had a part-time gig in high school at a diner. I have some, but not a lot." You shrugged, and he made an o-shape with his lips as he smoothed the folded blanket over the back of the couch. You nodded, before checking your watch. "It's only fifteen to eleven, do you wanna sit with me? Decompress a bit before we go to bed?" "Your version of decompressing is watching Bob's Burgers and sipping a beer." "We can sip something else, if that's the case." He rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he nodded. "I have to change."

You both ended up returning to your respective rooms, and you hastily wiped your makeup off. Pajama shorts, your favorite baggy t-shirt that boasted of Bigfoot's existence…not the first thing you would wear to hang out but it's Minghao. You stared at yourself in the vanity mirror on your dresser, but heard your roommate knock on your door before your mind could wander too far about where all he could kiss you, in said stupid Bigfoot shirt.

"Are you taking a shower first tonight? Or are we going to fight for it again?" Minghao asked gently, and you shrugged.

"Go for it. I go in later than you do tomorrow, Tzuyu's shift starts at four." You wiggled your brows, and he scoffed, turning on his heel and beelining for the living room. You snickered to yourself, scampering after him as he flopped onto the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes, letting out a groan as you leaned over the back of it. "Want a beer, Mr. I don't drink?" He lifted his arm slightly, his eyes peering out at you from beneath it. "You drink like a fish, you know that?" "Is that a no?" "...Fine, I'll have a beer. Just one!" You cheered sarcastically, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two from the fridge. You peered at the bottle of Soju, mocking you from the shelf.

"Did you get lost in the fridge?" You heard Minghao call from the living room, making you scoff as you grabbed the bottle of Soju and tucked it under your arm. The piercing cold of the glass bottle made you shiver as you walked back into the living room. He was now skipping through movie recommendations on Netflix, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen.

"I said we could sip something else, I never said we'd be changing our entertainment of the night." You scoffed, sliding the drinks onto the coffee table as he smirked lazily.

"You're right, honey." He flipped the remote in his hand, holding it out to you as you shook your head. You cracked open the beers, handing him one before perching on the edge of the couch in front of him. His stomach is warm against your lower back, and you try to ignore the way the blue light of the television makes his arms glow.

Your eyes trailed up to his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before bringing the beer bottle to them. He continued to flip through suggestions, before you snapped out of your daze to hear him reading the summary to Ali Wong's Always Be My Maybe.

"...Feel the old sparks of attraction but struggle to adapt to each other's worlds. Interesting." He set his beer back on the coffee table. You snorted, "This is two hours long, Hao."

"You have somewhere to be?" He scoffed, pressing Play. You shook your head, feeling his hand tug at the back of your shirt, signaling for you to lean back. You did, resting your elbow on the back of the couch before reaching for the bottle of soju. "Can I have a sip?" You nodded silently, watching the two children on the television grow up to the sound of Young Americans by David Bowie. You held the uncapped bottle over to him, feeling his hand take it as Marcus' father let the now-teenagers know that tragedy had struck the Kim family. You felt your heart sink as the scene changed to something more somber, hearing Minghao hum to himself and mumble slightly. "This is sad as hell, it just started." You couldn't help but snort, taking the bottle back from him and taking a sip. You glanced over to see his ears slightly perked at the sound of D'Angelo's How Does It Feel, before his eyes met yours. "I'll bet you ten bucks they're going to kiss." "It's not a bet when you already know what the outcome is going to be." You scoffed, making him laugh softly. "See? They're already struggling to get in the backseat, I would've been out ten bucks if I took you up on that." "Call it gas money." He lightly pinched your side, making you jerk away from him. You swatted his hand away, sliding the bottle onto the coffee table with a scowl.

"First of all, I tried to give you gas money a few weeks ago and you cussed me out."

"I did not cuss you out! I merely asked what in the most significant fuck you thought you were doing."

"Oh, what a colorful way–" "Shut up before I tickle you." You huffed, feeling his fingertips dig into your side. He smiled up at you, gently squeezing the softness of your skin before patting it. "The point is, I'd never ask you for gas money. Let's be realistic." You nodded, struggling not to roll your eyes as he fully stopped paying attention to the movie, his head rested on his palm as Sasha cried in the walk-in fridge. "What happened with Mingyu? Tzuyu was a mess." "It's just odd to me that everyone thinks we're a thing? Mingyu asked me how you and I didn't bring home our work problems–"

"And you told him that we don't have that expectation of having to spend time together because we're not together. We're just friends." Minghao interrupted, his eyes serious as he spoke. You cleared your throat, nodding. "I don't agree with that." "Oh? You don't?" You felt your brows high on your forehead as you looked down at him, feeling his hand pat your back before he used it to run his fingers through his hair. "And why not?" "Because I like spending time with you. Why do you think I was upset earlier when you told me you volunteered us for the shifts?" "You said you weren't upset." "Sometimes people lie." "Oh, so you're a liar?" You leaned slightly closer, and he smirks.

"While normally I'd apologize, I think I was right to do that. I was upset because now I don't get to spend the day with you tomorrow, and I lied because I didn't want you to cry. I don't like seeing you sad, it makes me sad." He shrugged, and you tongued your cheek.

"Romantic, aren't you?" You rolled your eyes, "My feelings are your feelings and your feelings are mine. All that jazz." "You don't have to brush off my affections as something romantic, you know. I can care about you openly and not have feelings for you in that way." "So you're saying you don't have romantic feelings for me?" "Never said that. I said I can." He lilted, reaching for his beer. You felt your cheeks grow hot as he sipped it, his eyes wide as he looked back over at you. "Woah, you would've thought I said I eat babies for a living. Are you okay?" "W-What did you and Tzuyu talk about?" You stuttered, making his brow quirk in confusion as he set his beer back down.

"She asked me if you and I ever fight about work. I said no, because the beginning of our…friendship has always been this way. Too close for other people's comfort, very…advanced, in a way. We don't have spats over things that don't really matter, because work…it doesn't affect our dynamic." "Why did you hesitate before 'friendship?'"

"What?" "Before you said friendship. You paused. Why?" Minghao's eyes narrowed slightly, before he shrugged. "I paused when I said it with Tzuyu, as well. I guess…I don't know. I think back to what happened in your apartment, I take into consideration the way we speak to each other and kind of dance around the flame that could be something. I'm not saying it ever has to become a fire, the flame. But, it's definitely there." You felt your stomach flip slightly as you cleared your throat, reaching for your beer. You brought it to your lips, but didn't manage to take a sip before you sighed, putting it back down and tilting to face him. "We never talk about that night. Did you tell Tzuyu about it?" "No. That's not her business." He answered quickly, his eyes glancing at the television. Sasha and Marcus were now laying in bed together, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't think you'd be very fond of me telling her, either. I figured that if you didn't mention it while I helped Mingyu take the couch, it wasn't something you'd want shared." You shifted slightly, tucking your foot under your leg as you looked at him. “Do you think that is something we should share?”

“It’s not about my reputation though, is it? I don’t care what people think of me.” He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair once more. “But I care about what people say when it comes to you. I don’t like hearing others speak ill of you.”

“Would people knowing we almost slept together cause them to speak about me in a negative light?” You questioned, your hands fumbling for the bottle of soju. You offered it to him, and he took a small sip as he hummed.

“Maybe. Considering the fact that we are now roommates, and you constantly deny that there is anything between us.”

“As if you don't do the same.” “I don’t.”

“What?” Your eyes went wide as he held the bottle back out to you. You took it, bringing it to your lips as he shrugged.

“The customers like you, they think you’re sweet. The customers like me, and a few of them have asked if we’re a thing. I usually deflect…but I don’t think it’d be the worst thing in the world.”

“What? Us?” “Is there an us?”

You glanced at the television, the actors staring fondly at each other. They inch in for a kiss...two…

“Y/N.” “Sorry.”

Minghao was looking at you intently, his eyes searching your face as he moved your hair off your shoulder. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. It’s getting late.”

“Did you like it? The…uh, in my apartment?” You blurted, but Minghao showed no sign of surprise. In fact, he seemed to welcome the question, his eyes soft as he nodded.

"The kiss? Of course I did. I'm just not…used to it, I guess. I'm not a casual kind of guy. I was nervous, actually." He nodded, his thumb toying with the ring on his forefinger. You nodded carefully, fiddling with the spout of the soju bottle as you cleared your throat. "Nervous?" "Obviously. At that point, we were just starting to solidify our friendship. You had just gotten done with Jaehyun only a few months prior, and you literally signed the lease for this place that day. I was scared if we kept going, things would change. I enjoy your company, I enjoy your friendship…" He trailed off, clearing his throat as he seemingly shook off a feeling of something. "I didn't want things to go further if nothing was going to come from it, but more importantly, if it made you uncomfortable." "I wasn't uncomfortable. I just wasn't ready. I didn't want you to be a rebound. You deserved more." "You don't think I know what I deserve?" "I would hope that you do, and that you know it's not me. At least, not at that point in time." You muttered, hearing him scoff as he took the bottle of soju from your hand. "Hey!" "Is for horses. Are you hearing yourself right now?" He straightened up, carefully sitting up and adjusting himself to sit next to you. He folded his legs, and you did the same to face him fully. Your knees brushed his sweatpants, and you leaned back on your hands, toying with the seam of your couch cushion. "Are you?" "Minghao–"

"You're amazing, Y/N. Stop trying to put yourself down, or act like you're not someone who deserves everything. You're soft and sweet and one of the kindest people I've ever come across. You offered to work someone's shift on your day off, not because you want the money, no; because you want them to spend time together and help their relationship continue to flourish. You think anyone just does that?" He scoffed, and you cleared your throat, shrugging.

"It's not that serious." "Stop that! It is that serious, Y/N! You're so gentle and loving, and you are such a warm person to have around. The room practically lights up when you walk in, haven't you seen how excited the regulars at work get when they find out you're serving them? Haven't you seen how easily you make Seungcheol and Jeonghan laugh? Don't you understand how appreciated you are, even just within our friends and our coworkers? Are you that blind?"

He leaned forward, his hands settled on either side of your thighs as he spoke. "You have got to start recognizing that you're more than what you see. Other people don't matter, for the love of God, I promise they don't. You are so, so beautiful. I don't know how else to make you understand that."

"You don't need to make me understand anything. You're my friend." "What if I want more?" He murmured, and you felt your cheeks grow hot as you cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his face. His own were full of sincerity, dark with determination to understand you.

You couldn't help the way you leaned closer, your heart thundering in your ears as he tilted his head. "Do you?" He inched closer, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "Are you drunk?"

"No." "Tipsy?" "No." He hummed, "We work tomorrow." "Minghao." "That's my name, pretty."

You scoffed, jutting your lip in a pout as he smiled. His hand was gentle as he brushed the hair away from your face, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. His thumb stopped at the lobe, tugging lightly at the diamond earrings he got you for graduation. "Nice earrings." "You would know, you got them for me." You mumbled, making him stifle a laugh as he nodded.

"I know. You always look so pretty when you wear them." He murmured back, and you scrunched your nose. "So you don't think I look pretty all the time?"

He smiled, his thumb lightly stroking your jaw as he moved away from you. "You said you'd shower first, I'll clean up here."

For whatever reason, you listened. You nodded in silence, your hand fumbling for the remote and turning the television off as he slid off the couch. He took the half-empty beer cans in his hands, offering holding the now-empty bottle of soju under his arm.

"Goodnight, Y/N. Rest well."

PRESENT – 3:15AM…

Minghao can't sleep.

His room is a mess, the door locked behind him as he shuffles through the piles of clothes on the floor. They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind, and it's true – he can't think, he can't sleep, hell…

He can't breathe without thinking of you.

The two of you worked that shift for Mingyu and Tzuyu two months ago, and it was the worst shift of his life. He spent the entire time thinking about you, about the conversation you'd had the night before. Hoping you'd give him that longing glance you'd nailed perfectly in the time he'd known you, hoping he'd get to kiss you breathless and hoping you'd yearn for him the way he did you.

Instead, he shook it off. He stood at the host stand, greeting customers softly and seating them. He did his closing duties without even seeing a glimpse of you, until you walked out of the kitchen with a grin on your lips as you bid the trainee chef, Joshua, a goodnight.

He remembers the way your smile became something softer as he opened the passenger side door, how you let him buckle your seatbelt in for you and thanked him gently. He remembers how you offered to let him shower first as he peeled out of the parking lot, and how he scoffed and said you should go first.

He remembers how you asked, again, what you would do for his birthday. He replied the same thing he had before – just you, and him. After his shift.

A shift he did not end up working, because you put in for him to have the day off and argued with Jeonghan until you were blue in the face. Minghao didn't know until the schedule was stapled onto the bulletin board the following week, his eyes almost instantly finding you across the kitchen. You had been eagerly talking to Seungcheol, making him laugh as you overanimated whatever story you'd told him.

He didn't say anything as the days went on, only quietly waited in his bedroom until you came in the morning of his birthday with breakfast on a TV tray. The two of you spent the entire day together and you initiated all contact – your arms wrapped around his waist from behind as he made lunch, resting your cheek on his bare back. You squeezed his sides, you cuddled him into the couch cushions as you watched Josee, the Tiger and the Fish. You made him dinner, you presented him with a few gifts and a new tea set he'd been eyeing for ages.

You kissed his hairline, wishing him a happy birthday over a bottle of soju that he took two sips of. Two sips too much, as his lips ghosted over yours as you spoke to each other about nothing – too close, but he saw the way you held yourself back. He saw the way you wanted to kiss him, the way your hands clenched at your sides as you forced yourself to move away.

He wishes you would've kissed him.

His birthday had passed, you were nearing the end of November. This time last year, you'd asked him for a Guinness, with the most solemn look on your face.

This time last year, he drove you home for the first time and understood you'd be in his life, hopefully forever. He hadn't worked today, but dropped you off and picked you up – and you had a rough day. You talked about it – one of your regulars had a bad day and took it out on you, sending her food back three times and your tips had been nothing like what you usually made. You'd been snippy, and he prepped your shower for you, tossing a lavender steamer into it. You thanked him, and holed yourself away in your bedroom ten minutes to midnight.

He laid awake, thinking about you.

You'd long gone to bed, your soft breathing the only sound when he slid past your slightly opened door. You looked serene – your cheek squished against your pillow, soft lips gently puckered as you snuggled deeper into your sage green blanket. Your hair splayed all around, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting lines across your face.

He misses you, and you're no more than a ten-foot walk away. He wants to talk about his feelings, he wants to hold you close and he wants to stop losing his mind over how badly he wants you.

How badly he needs you.

He sighed as he looked around his room, the mess only digging into his very bones. He should've just spoken to you about his feelings all those weeks ago. He should've said yes, he did want more. He thinks about you romantically. He thinks about that night on your couch more times than he could count, tugging at his hair in frustration as he tries to bury the memories deep in the past.

He can't. He can't think about anything but you in that pretty white dress at his graduation party, talking to his parents with such ease. The relaxed state of your shoulders as you spoke to everyone with a gentle smile on your lips, the warmth in your laughter never leaving as you danced with him and Junhui.

The way your eyes filled with something else as his parents asked you if there was something more between you and him, and his chest feeling tight when you insisted it wasn't the case. The way he could see the subtle disappointment in your face when he did the same…

He wants to understand you. He wants you to understand him, to observe him, to see him.

See him as more than just a friend, and he knows you do.

Whether it was a crush, or limerence…he doesn't care. He wants one chance at living life with you – coming home from work to sleep in the same bed and hold you close all night. To come home from a grueling shift and stand under the burning hot shower with you, feeling his muscles lose their tension with the heat and your gentle touch. To come home and make you a nice cocktail and a filling dinner. To come home and study with you, eventually. To come home and see you asleep on the couch, and getting to carry you to bed.

To come home, to you. Over and over again.

"Fuck." He groans, slumping against his headboard and jolting at the cold of the wood against his shoulders. A sigh left his lips as he slid down slightly, tugging the duvet higher over his hips as he reached for his phone. He unlocked it, opening his gallery with a pout on his lips.

You, in your white dress at his graduation party. His mother took this photo – your hand had been on his chest, his high on your waist as you both smiled into the camera. Your lips had been reglossed, so pretty and glittery…

And your smile had been so bright, like the events earlier that day hadn't transpired. Like you hadn't pursed your lips together when calling your parents and getting sent straight to voicemail. Like you hadn't blinked back tears three times during lunch with him and Junhui, like he hadn't seen Junhui angrily calling your parents while you ducked into the ladies room after Minghao offered to foot the bill.

You had been truly at ease during that photo, much different than you had felt that entire day.

And he wants every single day to be like that for you – easy. Easy, with your independence but still letting him gently aid when he could see you needed it. Needed him. He wants to take you home and introduce you as his life partner, he wants to see you succeed in your dreams and have you by his side as he did the same.

He wants you to be happy.

"Minghao? Are you awake?" Your voice was heard before the soft raps of your fist against the door. He jumped, knocking his head on the wooden bedframe. His hand covers his mouth as he rubs the crown of his head, a hiss falling from his lips as he hears you mumble from the other side of the door. He locks his phone, tossing it onto the dresser as he slid out from under his duvet. He grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor, grimacing to himself as he tugs them on before opening his door.

You look half awake, your hands clutching at the hem of your shirt. Your face is imprinted with the wrinkles from your pillowcase, often the way it looked when he would wake you up before work. The drawstring of your shorts was undone, but it had been tied when you went to bed. Maybe it got uncomfortable.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You asked softly, and he shook his head. "Can't sleep. You okay? It's a mess in here, I'm sorry." He says sheepishly, rubbing his neck as you closed your eyes, shaking your head as you slipped past him. You settled on the edge of his bed, your eyelids heavy with sleep as you hummed. "You didn't make me feel bad about my mess. Something about it being my space, I remember. You said something about that when I said mine was messy. Don't worry about it." You sigh, peeling your eyes open to peer up at him. "I can't sleep." Minghao looked at the clock on his wall. 3:29AM.

"Would you like something warm? Or would you–" "Can you hold me?" You whispered it, almost too low for him to hear you.

Over the course of your friendship, skinskip had been nothing new to either of you. He often pressed chaste kisses to your hairline, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his arms wrapped around your shoulders when you'd slump against him after the end of a shift in the parking lot.

You were looking at him patiently, and he cleared his throat, nodding as he motioned for you to move back. You did so, scooting under his duvet with a frown on your face. He closed his door, perching on the side of his bed as you rested your head on one of his pillows.

He glances over his shoulder, seeing you peering up at him quietly before you speak. "Hit your head when I knocked, didn't you? I heard the bump." "Yeah. Your fault if I get amnesia, you know." He snorts, lying down next to you. His heart is racing a mile a minute as you held the duvet up for him to slide under, but he did so anyway. He turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as you turned to face him.

"Don't forget me." You murmur, your lip jutted out in a pout as he feels his cheeks grow warm. As if he could ever.

"Hold me, Hao. I'm cold." "Should've worn pants, pretty." He teases, making you scoff. You are so close to him, he can feel your breath on his chest as he scoots slightly closer. His fingers rake through your hair, your cheek warm to the touch as he pinches it. You scowl, shooing his hand away as you press your face into his neck. Your lips are feathering over his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your arm settle around his waist.

You tilted your head back, his eyes peeling open to look down at you.

"Something wrong, honey?" He spoke under his breath, and you blink up at him. Your eyes flitted around his face, and he felt a bit of worry settle in his stomach. He cradles your jaw in his hand gently, "Talk to me." "If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?"

Minghao feels the world stop.

Your eyes are glued to his face with the softest glint of apprehension, your body still under the duvet as his thumb traced circles into your cheek. "You're tired. We can talk in the morning." He assures you, for whatever reason hoping that you'd let it go. Hoping that you were just speaking through your teeth, not truly enticing him to a conversation about his feelings.

Feelings that could ruin everything, even when he's sure you feel the same. You have to, right? Eyes don't lie.

Your eyes stayed on his face, unmoving as he peered down into them. Your lip is stuck in a pout, your own hand moving to push his hair out of his face. He fought the urge to sink into your touch, your voice giving him something to focus on.

"Not tired, Hao." You murmur, and he feels a bubble of laughter get caught in his throat as you hold back a yawn. He pressed his lips to your hairline, hearing you hum inwardly. Your brow furrows as you seemingly glare up at him, looking nothing short of an angry kitten.

"You confuse me, you know that?"

"Mmh, do I? I'm sorry, honey." He smiles, watching you tuck your arms into your chest and snuggling into his. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, letting your head rest on his bicep as you frown.

"You kiss me like it means nothing, and I want it to mean something." Your mumble was clear, and he glanced down at you to see you already staring up at him. "You call me pet names, and you get me earrings. You tell me I'm beautiful in ways you can't describe. You cared enough to find this place we call home. You say you want to make my life easier, you said you'd give your left arm for it." Your fingers pat the arm under your head, and he felt his lip twitch as he bit back a nervous smile. "I did say that." "So answer my question. Make things easier for me, Minghao." He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. "Ask me again." "If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?" Your voice is far softer, and he breathes in steadily as he nods. "I would be more than okay with that. I think you know that already, though, don't you?" He spoke gently, feeling you nod gently against his arm. "Everything I do for you means something to me. The earrings, the kisses, finding this place we call home. I appreciate that, the fact that it's we and not just me, not just you. When you think about it, there has always been an us." "I want to stop lying in my bed and thinking about how empty it is. I haven't been able to sleep through the night since we shared mine the night of our graduations." You utter, your breathing shaky as you look up at him. Your eyes are glazed with unshed tears as he coos, thumbing at your cheek. "I think about you every single night, Minghao. I think about you when I think about my parents, and how they don't speak to me unless I reach out first. I think about you when I get ready for work, I think about you while I'm waiting for you to give me those god awful Budweiser Select 55s that Mrs. Choi loves."

He felt a tear slide onto his skin, hearing you sniffle slightly before you kept talking.

"I think about you when I have a bad day. I think about you when I'm off work and you're not, and how I wish you were with me. I think about you when I feel alone, because you're the only person aside from Junhui that has ever made me feel seen and understood. I think about you when the essence of Jaehyun crosses my mind, because I know that you'd never make me overthink my place in your life, but now you've got me wondering where we stand. I think about you, Minghao, every single second of my day. It's all so vague, in my mind. Knowing that you're only a few feet away, but you feel so far. Like someone I could never deserve, but I know that you are also just a man. There's no way I couldn't."

He hums, his thumb wiping softly under your eye as you let them flutter shut.

"I think you're magnificent." He breathes, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. "I think you are the most thought-provoking person I've ever met. I know that…I know that you've only slowly allowed me into your life, quietly revealing parts of yourself and showing me that you trust me. From allowing me to meet Junhui, to letting me give you rides home, to living with me. You let me take care of you even though you are more stubborn than any mule in the countryside." He pulls back slightly, seeing your eyes closed and letting tears trickle out as you listen in silence. He feels his heart in his throat, "You've got the softest lips I've ever had the pleasure of kissing. You…the way you exist, knowing that there are certain odds against you and yet, you do it anyway. Your passion precedes any negativity anyone could ever cast upon you and I've never admired someone more to know that you are just a living, breathing, embodiment of passion and truth and hope."

Your eyes open slightly, bloodshot as his nose brushes yours lightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks.

"You are a tumultuous flame and if I get burned, so be it. If I let the heat of your fire singe me to death, it wouldn't be a death in pain. I'd let it happen, over and over."

You nod, your sniffles are the only sound in the room for a moment.

"I will always be okay with there being an us. Even if you muddle my heart into the bottom of a glass and drink it."

You snort at this, an airy laugh escaping your lips as you reach to wipe your eyes. "Quite the image." "Ah, nah. Just a fool, a court jester for the lady." He rolls his eyes, making you scoff as you brush your lips to his.

"I thought you were going to kiss me that night. When I told you I picked up Mingyu and Tzuyu's shifts." You whisper, and he hums in response, feeling his heart thundering in his ears as your lips touch his briefly. "Would you have? Kissed me, I mean?" "If I had moved any closer to you, I probably would have. You have no idea how often I think about it." He confesses, before feeling you nod, your leg draping over his hip as you pull him closer. His hand instinctively finds home high on your thigh, before sliding up to rest on the small of your back. "Did you want to kiss me the night of my birthday?" "God, so badly." You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his as you let out a sigh. "I felt like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice after he helped Elizabeth into that carriage." "Quite the image." He mocks you, feeling his cheeks warm as your eyes meet his. "Would you let me kiss you now?" You don't respond, opting to press your lips to his gently. Your fingers gingerly cradled his cheek as he kissed you back, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand on your back clutches the fabric of your shirt, his chest warm at the shyness of your lips moving against his. He pulls back slightly, his eyes trailing across your face. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "More than I've ever been of anything in my entire life." You nodded against his arm, and he silently pushed you onto your back, his fingers barely breaching the hem of your shirt. Your skin is hot against his fingertips as he settles between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as you blink up at him. "Are you?" "I don't want this to be the first time I say it, so can we sidebar this? Off the record?" He murmurs, and you raise a brow as you open your mouth to speak but he interrupts you "I love you, Y/N."

Your lips twitch slightly, your hands floating to cover your cheeks. You separate your fingers slightly, peeking up at him with a mumbled whisper.

"You promise?" "Oh, darling." He pulls your hands off your face, your eyes slightly glazed as he interlaces your fingers together and pins them to either side of your head. His lips pepper kisses across your face, paying special attention to the scrunch in your nose before he stops over your lips. Your eyes blink owlishly up at him as he speaks. "I promise."

Your smile spreads against his lips as he kisses you gently, before you kiss him back. You let him lead, one of his hands moving to hold your jaw as yours slides to his hip, squeezing gently.

"Sidebar?" "Yes?" "I love you, too."

TWO WEEKS LATER…

"Babe, I need a Guinness." You slid around the bar with a grin on your face, Minghao's cheek ruddy as he tongued his cheek. Kwon Soonyoung – a regular, one that often downed six or seven whiskey sours before calling his situationship for a late night hookup – eyed you as you crouched to slip a wad of bills into your lockbox. He watched the way Minghao's hand instinctively covered the edge of the bar as he poured with one hand, the way your hand lingered on Minghao's hip as Jeonghan made his way over with his clipboard in his hand.

"Minghao." "Mr. Yoon." You smirked, squeezing Minghao's hip gently before leaning over the bar as Jeonghan rolled his eyes. Minghao clicked his tongue, sliding the Guinness over to you before shooing you away. You stuck your tongue out at him, before zipping away.

"Do you think you could cover Seungkwan's prep shift tomorrow? I'll pay you for time and a half, and it's only three hours before closing." Jeonghan's eyes were pleading, and Minghao opened his mouth to speak before he caught you talking to a customer with a soft smile on your face.

He thinks about how you laid in his bedroom two weeks ago, snuggling with him and letting your lips take over your mind as you kissed him over and over. He thinks about how you admitted to reapplying to another graduate program across town, one that would severely impact your hours at work. He remembers saying he hopes you get in, to not worry about work. He remembers how he said he's got it, he can take care of everything, of you.

He remembers how you straddled him then, his hands sliding on your hips as you kissed him eagerly.

He remembers how you paced back and forth like a caged animal when you found out acceptance letters would be mailed soon. He remembers how you laid on the couch with your head hanging over the edge of the cushions, groaning in anticipation as he made lunch.

He remembers how you bolted for the mailbox after lunch, returning with a stack of mail but holding your letter between your teeth. He remembers how you anxiously ripped the envelope open, your hand fumbling for his when he pulled you into his chest and held the letter away. He remembers telling you to take a deep breath, kissing your forehead gently and sitting you down on the couch. He remembers how you threw your arms around him as you read your acceptance out loud.

"Minghao. Are you listening?" "Huh? Sorry." He winces, clearing his throat before shaking his head. "I can't, actually. I'm…" He trails off as you tap the tip of your pen to your notepad, before he makes out your lips telling the customers you'd be back for their food orders. Your eyes met his as you scampered back over, your hip nudging Jeonghan's as you slid in next to him.

"Minghao, I need you to focus." Jeonghan waved his hand in Minghao's face, "Can you work it or not? It's fine if you can't." "Work what?" You ask with a wiggle of your brows, reaching over the bar and stealing a maraschino cherry from the open jar. Minghao frowns, waving your hand away as you pull the fruit off the stem, winking his way.

"I'm asking him if he can work the prep shift tomorrow, but he's not answering." Jeonghan rolled his eyes, flipping the blue pen between his fingers as you hum, nodding your head. "He can't." You shrug, and Minghao opens his mouth but you beat him to it. "We have a date tomorrow night. Good luck finding a cover, though."

You tilt your head as you shrug again, this time, unapologetically. Facing Minghao again, you smile softly. "I need a cosmopolitan. Susie is back and she's getting divorced!" Minghao can't hear anything but you, and Jeonghan simply shakes his head and slips away. Soonyoung watches as you slide away again, hearing you tell Minghao you'll be back after getting the fountain drinks for Susie's table.

"I thought you didn't have a crush on the new girl, Xu." Soonyoung wiggles his brows, making Minghao scoff as he grabs a shaker off the drying rack. He flips it, scooping ice into it as he sighs.

"I don't have a crush on her. I'm in love with her."

He can't focus on anything but the way you zip around the restaurant, his eyes trained on the smiles you give out, the way you hand out crayons and kids menus. He watches the way you gleefully serve people, how you gladly grab phones and cameras for photos.

How you peer at him over your shoulder when you walk by.

How you smile shyly when his fingers brush yours when he hands you a drink.

How you sneakily kiss his shoulder when the restaurant is closed, your hands wrapped around his waist as he holds your can of orange juice in his hand. How you ignore Jeonghan's incessant teasing, how Tzuyu recites long-winded rants of how she told you so.

"Friend, roommate, coworker?" Minghao repeats as you tuck his portion of your tips into his back pocket, and Tzuyu grins as Minghao slides her to-go strawberry lemonade across the bar. "Boyfriend, fiancé, husband." She says cheekily, and Minghao looks over his shoulder to see you biting back a smile as you brush trash onto the dustpan. "I told her so. I told her you guys would be something more." "So did I." Jeonghan calls from across the restaurant, slotted behind the cashier's station as he thumbs through the register. Mingyu pokes his head out of the kitchen as he fumbles with the lights, a mumble of so did I from his lips as he finally turns them off.

"So much for muddling your heart at the bottom of a glass, huh?" You murmur, as the two of you leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. The two of you ignore the hooting and hollering of your coworkers as Minghao opens your door, leaning over your frame to buckle in your seatbelt. He glances at your lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to them with a smile. "All I know is that if you're meant to break my heart – so be it." "I love you." "I love you, too."

#the k fic collection review #chee chats about: muddled hearts by haologram #svt rec #svt fanfic #f: seventeen #p: xu minghao x reader #g: angst #g: fluff #g: suggestive #g: coworkers #g: friends to lovers #g: roommates #r: sfw #wc: 20k to 30k

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nnon0 · 10 months ago

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JJH fic recs #3

previous fic recs : 1. 2.

note: hey yall ik it’s been a while ive been busy with life and truth be told, it’s been getting pretty hard to find good fics to recommend cuz i feel like ive read them all 😭😭😭 anyway jaehyun’s SOLO REVIVED ME SO IM BACK 😜 but this post is going to be an active post meaning ill keep adding fics so there will be more everytime. happy reading!

(🫀) - personal faves

(🫀) TRY AGAIN @kaleidohscopic

WC:32.4k

exes to lovers, coworkers! au

if you could have it your way, you'd never have to see, hear, or even think about jeong jaehyun ever again. a fortuitous blind date, and that same dimpled smile after all those years, is somehow enough to make you reconsider. maybe he was always meant to be by your side.

summer of seven years @lebrookestore

WC:30k

summer!au writer!jaehyun

Coming back home was hard for both you and Jaehyun, but when you realize both of you are back in the same place again, feelings from three years ago rise to the surface, and you start to realize that the things you thought you knew when you were younger never quite played out.

(🫀)His love, Her force @anashins

WC:28k

Undercover detective!jaehyun x ballerina!reader , fake marriage au, slow burn

Fleeing from a ruthless stalker, you are forced to participate in a witness protection program at the other side of the world, pretending to be the wife of a taciturn undercover detective from now on. Despite all differences, you slowly start to settle with your new life as a married couple - until your newfound happiness is stripped away from you all over again.

TOO YOUNG TO MARRY @anashins

WC:24k

Lawyer!jaehyun x divorcee reader

Jaehyun has a ruthless, cruel and not so legal way of getting his clients everything they want out of their divorce. After all, to do the job right, a lawyer like him is not supposed to believe something like 'love' exists in the first place. That is until he meets his next client who also has a not so legal way of creeping right into his heart and make him question all his morals

(🫀) BAD HABITS @jaedore

WC:21k

Boxer!jaehyun

You were never really good at saying ‘no’ to people, always a people pleaser, listening to your teachers, parents, to authority. Jung Jaehyun is a professional boxer attempting to make it to the top with the help of your father, who used to be a well known boxer. Being in a friends with benefits relationship with Jaehyun would be the last thing you’d find yourself in-you’re always focused on finishing college, studying hard, and sticking to yourself. With you pushing your feelings down for him and him focused on other things, you’re already in too deep to pull out of this complication. When will it be too much? When is your breaking point?

(🫀) cynosure - a focal point of admiration @drquinzelharleen

WC:20.4k

surgeon!jaehyun , enemies-to-lovers

When the young hot shot doctor, Jung Jaehyun, has been solicited to your hospital. He is to become the new Chief of Surgery. Your excitement and curiosity are soon to be washed away by his cocky disposition.

no guidance @yutaholic

WC:20k

knocked up, smut, pregnancy au

You insist on keeping things casual with Jaehyun, even though he wants something more serious, but then you miss a period and in an instant, your lives are turned completely upside down.

happy now? @hwaflms

wc: 19.9k

ex!jaehyun, fake dating au

your family has been pressuring you for months to bring your boyfriend, jaehyun, over for dinner, and you think it’s really sweet that they like him so much. the only problem is that your “boyfriend” jaehyun, hates you.

The Cat Burgler’s Heist @vnti-vnxiety-recs

WC:19.6k

ceo!jaehyun x cat burgler!reader

When you attempt to rob a wealthy businessman, things don't go as planned. Instead of calling the police, he offers you a job. Now, you're left uncertain about whether you can truly start anew or if your past will come back to haunt you.

(🫀) ordinary people @ppangjae

WC: 18.3k

friends-to-lovers, fake dating!au, ceo!jaehyun

Jaehyun’s parents are coming home for Christmas and he may have made the biggest mistake of telling them he has a ‘girlfriend’. Insert you, his best friend, who so happens to be the only girl he knows and trusts. You, on the other hand, would have never expected Jaehyun to show up at your door at two in the morning with nothing but a proposition; to be his fake girlfriend. And man, are you in big trouble.

(🫀)ethereal @celestialmark

WC: 16.7k

fluff, life lessons

(note: shed a tear reading this it was so beautiful i highly highly recommend)

Jaehyun was indeed way more than his good looks. Jaehyun was gentle, honest and sincere, you felt it all in the way he smiled, the way he talked and in the way he kissed you. He was the living definition of ethereal, and his beauty shone the most on the inside

(🫀)SUN&MOON @ppangjae

WC:14.6k

enemies-to-lovers, fake dating

Asking Jeong Jaehyun to accompany you to your family’s 1-week Christmas vacation as your boyfriend has its consequences. One can surely get through 1 week of pretending to be in love with an enemy, right?

(🫀) chasing stars, losing you @prodbymaui

WC: 14k

exes to lovers, ceo!jaehyun x model!reader

When your relationship got announced, it made noises louder that anyone could've imagined. Of course it will, a pair containing a supermodel and a CEO of one of the most successful enterprise that made a name in both the fashion and business industry. But soon enough, everyone witnessed how the perfect relationship they had been envying crumbled down into tiny pieces until there's nothing left to pick up.

(🫀) if we were a movie @sehunniepotwrites

WC:14k

childhood friends to lovers!au , college au , theatre/drama au

For someone who was always the understudy and never the lead, scoring this role was huge for you. All you had to do was pretend to be in love with your best friend. No big deal, right? Wrong. It was the biggest deal because, for the past four years, you had been hiding your feelings for Jung Jaehyun.

If this were a movie, he would be your perfect match and the story would end happily with the credits rolling to a perfectly timed soundtrack. Too bad this wasn’t a movie— this was real life and life came with complications.

model cowboy @smileysuh

WC:13.2k

actor!jaehyun x singer!reader, enemies to lovers, fake dating

You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun's motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue.

oops, baby (i love you) @prodbymaui

WC:12.5k+

modern royalty au, arranged marriage

you had been living your life as a rebellious and controversial crown princess, now you must face the consequence of purifying your tainted image; marrying the gentle and infamous crown prince of South Korea.

deadly kiss @slightlymore

WC: 12k+

chief architect jaehyun x chief engineer fem reader

office au, enemies? to lovers, dom x dom and trying to force each other to sub, romance, smut, fluff

(🫀) FEELINGS @ppangjae

WC:11.6k

f2l!au, fake dating! au

After many failed first dates, Jaehyun decides to take matters into his own hands and teach you how they work and what you should do to guarantee yourself a second date. But of course, this is just a plan that’s set up for failure.

in your court @boymeetsweevil

WC:10.8k

basketball player!jaehyun , bff!haechan

Two idiots in love, oc is scary when mad, hyuck is crafty always, jae is a bit intense but he’s just trying his best, gratuitous descriptions of dimples, a kiss!!! sfw!

coparenting @eleganzadellarosa

wc: 10.3k

angst, fluff smut

babydaddy!Jaehyun x fem!reader

(🫀)SEVEN LETTERS @ppangjae

WC: 10.1k+

soulmate!au , childhood friends-to-lovers , slight fake dating

On a camping trip, you find a message in a bottle that’s been washed up the shore, only to find out that it’s a message from you in the future. Your message tells you three things:

1. You must make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

2. He’s your soulmate and

3. Because of your future self’s mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

the wedding @jae-canikeepyou

WC:9.5k

rivals!jaehyun fluff-crackish

jeong jaehyun’s your long-time friend, and as far as one could remember, every single and little thing you both do ends to a competition; it turned into a permanent kind of relationship you have for over a decade now. no one expects that it would ever change, not until a childhood friend of yours from high school decides to make you two as his singers for his upcoming wedding.

one more time @moondustis

WC:9.4k

smut, friends to lovers

Maybe this right here is a story about growing up and finding yourself, or about finding love and being vulnerable. But it definitely is a story about friendship, skating, pancakes and Jung Jaehyun learning how to deal with his feelings.

(🫀) rose bud @hazyhae

WC:9.2k

stoner!fuckboy!jaehyun , smut

friday nights are party nights, and it's here that your feet always seem to lead you to your favorite stoner. you know the sweet words that leave jaehyun's mouth don't belong just to you, but something about him leaves you wanting more.

baby @moonctzeny

wc:9.1k

college au, fake dating!au

When Yuta breaks your heart for the millionth time, you meet Jaehyun, freshly broken up and looking for revenge. You decide to start fake dating to get back on your exes, but your plan takes an unexpected turn. You fall in love.”

when fratboy falls @gyeomsweetgyeom

WC: 8.9k

fratboy!jaehyun x tutor!reader

Jaehyun is a fratboy with a notorious reputation for being a playboy, you have never heard of him. surely, he can use tutoring as an excuse to get close to you, right?

hello again, my sunshine @alluringjae

WC:8.5k

high school reunion!au, business lawyer!jaehyun, fashion designer!reader, high school best friends to strangers to lovers!au

there’s no more running away when you’re thriving in the fashion industry, yet it’s exactly what you want to do when you encounter your first love after a decade in your high school reunion.

(🫀) The lies of apollo @jaevie

WC:8k

Spy!jaehyun x spy!reader , forbidden love , smut , enemies to lovers

As powerful corporations seek to sun privatization, two spies find themselves falling in love and discovering the wonders of physical affection.

Head over Broomsticks @sehunniepotwrites

WC: 3.5k

Hogwarts!au Sports!au Quidditch!au Gryffindor!jaehyun

When your friends are tired of watching you and your crush go around in circles, they take matters into their own hands. Putting their Advanced Potions skills to the test, Donghyuck and Chenle conjure up a powerful truth serum and slip it in your drink right before a Quidditch game, which leads to a few inappropriate comments about No. 77, Jeong Jaehyun, of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. This would’ve been fine if you were just a regular spectator but you are much more than that--you’re the Announcer and everyone is subjected to hear your unfiltered thoughts. Just great.

SERIES

(🫀) when icarus falls @baobaojng

college athlete!au , crush!au

(note: this series genuinely brought me to tears btw I HIGHLY RECOMMEND )

some tragic story of you sharing one class with your long time college crush jaehyun who never notices you until he accidentally reads your work and he gets curious— oh, and he uses lame excuses to get to talk to you.

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mins-fins · 11 months ago

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꒦꒷꒷꒦ WORKS iN PROGR3SS !

i.e everything of user mins-fins drafts that is being actively written !! this should not be as huge as it is but oh well 😖 this bitch writes too much.. (these are long form) ⤷ currently, these are for nct, zb1, txt, and recently tbz (woah 😯) all male reader! last updated : 09.01.24

𓈀 🎞️ www.heaventome.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. njm ᎓ about somewhat psycho surgeons, work acquaintances to lovers, workplace relationships, vigilantism, and if one can be both judge and jury﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 24–28k.

𓈀 🌠 www.skylineto.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. zcl ᎓ about heirs to an enormous fortune, arranged relationships for company merging, they hate each other!! (but do they?), bickering as a segway to romance, mutual pining﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 23–24k.

𓈀 🦋 www.butterflydust.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. pjs ᎓ about a boring summer turned interesting, insanely pretty bartenders, a fwb arrangement that is just a little too romantic, free kisses for free drinks, park jisung having no idea how to talk to men﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 12k.

𓈀 🎸 www.gunsandroses.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. cbg ᎓ about the annoying guitarist across the street, enemies since childhood, "i hate you more" "no i hate you more", writing songs about you while your in the crowd, a big no no to the l word﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 16k.

𓈀 🌺 www.marigold.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. sqr, kgv, pgw ᎓ about knights in training that have no idea what they're doing, conflicting romantic feelings, murderous ghost kings, a fight over whose gonna get the guy, and han yujun's judgmental looks﹚ est wc. ៸៸ ??.

𓈀 ⚽️ www.itsallinthekicks.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. ksw ᎓ about a goalkeeper and defender who just can't stand each other, soccer rivalries 4life!, do you want to kiss him or kill him? (it's both), bickering that almost becomes kissing but it never does, eric our unintentional instigator﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 14k.

𓈀 🔆 www.semperfidelis.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. hrj ᎓ about the crown prince and his newly appointed knight, just barely tip toeing the line of platonic and romantic, art references, "i would kill anyone for you" "all i did was smile?", too many almost kissing moments﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 22k.

𓈀 🔮 www.nitimurinvetitum.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. ljn ᎓ about a magic skeptical prince and a not so well trained wizard!.. who accidentally knocks him out, fantasyland shenanigans like getting chased by evil spirits, forbidden relationship, "i keep seeing you in my dreams" "..is that your way of confessing your love to me?", magical-soulmate-type-connection-thing﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 24k.

𓈀 💌 www.happinesslies.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. mkl ᎓ about a suspiciously homo friendship, totally not romantic first kisses between friends with the excuse being "practice", miscommunication, mark lee being a terrible liar, love confessions through letters﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 20k.

𓈀 💌 www.slowjourney.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. jjh ᎓ about a second chance romance, a heavily awkward office environment, exes who can't become friends for some "unknown reasons", flowers as a love language, "it's always been you"﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 17k.

𓈀 👑 www.sapereaude.com ! 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ft. njm ᎓ about enemies fighting the same war, murderous crown princes who have bones to pick with each other, a burn so slow you wonder if there is any romance, trauma responses that are definitely unhealthy, marriage? absolutely not.﹚ est wc. ៸៸ 25–30k.

more wips tba . . .

#﹫ works iN progr3ss !#nct #nct dream #zerobaseone #zb1 #tomorrow x together #txt #the boyz #tbz #male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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poorlittlegreenie13 · 1 year ago

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Greenie's Masterlist — Come & join the party <3

About Me:

Call me Greenie-it’s a Bowie reference.

I'm a 20-something lesbian virgo, triple earth sign, eternal-student, Donna Tartt enthusiast, 90's alt rock enthusiast, record-collector, & fic writer.

This blog doesn't have a specific theme... I go wherever the muses take me. Below you'll find links to & descriptions of all of my fics sorted by fandom.

Link to my AO3

Stories:

The Bear:

Rules For (fake) Dating an Italian 🇮🇹 - Sydney/Carmy. Complete, WC: 100K.

WANTED: Female, aged 20-30, to be my date for Christmas eve dinner with my Italian family. Must be willing to eat my mom’s cooking. No physical intimacy required. No strings attached—I will drive you home after. 4pm-10pm, 12/24. Salary negotiable. Call Carmen: (773) 555-0901.

OR: The one in which Sydney just needs a job, and Carmy will die before he proves Richie right.

Yellowjackets:

As You Wish ⚔️ - Taissa/Van. In progress.

“You don’t have to call me princess every time you speak to me, you know,” Taissa says. “You can call me by my name.”

“As you wish, princess,” Van says.

Taissa & Van medieval princess x knight AU.

Carrot Flowers 🥕 - Taissa/Van. Complete, WC: 30K.

Taissa finds out Van is a lesbian and she is so, so normal about it!

(a no-crash high school Taivan origin story <3)

Wretched Things 🔥 - Jackie/Shauna, Taissa/Van, Lottie/Natalie. Complete, WC: 260K

It’s been five years since Shauna Sadecki volunteered for Jackie Taylor at the Reaping and won the 45th Hunger Games. Now, at the second annual Quarter Quell, everyone who has been previously Reaped is eligible to be thrown back into the arena. That includes former best friends Lottie and Natalie, and former lovers Van and Taissa.

(aka, me offering up another Yellowjackets Hunger Games AU)

The Killing of a Sacred Doe 🦌 - Lottie/Natalie, Jackie/Shauna, Tai/Van, (minor Natalie/Jackie). Complete. WC: 130K.

Natalie nods slowly.

“So this… this is a cult. You’re all… ritualistic murderers?”

Lottie scoffs.

“Well,” she says. “We really prefer to think of them as intentional sacrifices.”

Natalie enrolls in college to get away from home after her father dies, but she quickly becomes obsessed with a strange, cult-like group of English students on campus, led by Lottie Matthews.

Inspired by The Secret History by Donna Tartt.

let the light in 🖤 - Van/Taissa. Complete, WC: 5k.

“Take me home, please, Van.”

Taissa’s words are soft. Not a question, just a destination. They have always been heading here.

(Post finale getting-back-together fic)

Six of Crows / Shadow & Bone:

angelum mortis amo 🪽 - Jesper/Wylan. Complete, WC: 45k.

Jesper and Wylan are both hitmen from rival gangs. Wylan tries to kill Jesper. It goes about as well as you might expect.

(Featuring crazy-in-love Wylan Van Eck, flirting-at-gunpoint Jesper Fahey, and mob boss Kaz Brekker).

Show Me Yours 🐦‍⬛ - Jesper/Wylan. Complete, WC: 20k.

Wylan's past abuse hovers over him like a shadow. Jesper's gambling addiction binds him like a chain. But as they grow closer, it turns out secrets can melt like ice in the right kind of warmth.

(A character study of TV show-Wylan & Jesper & the way their backstories could factor into the progression of their relationship).

Stranger Things:

Star Star ✨ - Steve/Eddie (minor Chrissy/Robin). Complete, WC: 93K.

Rock band AU in which Robin, Eddie, Jonathan, Nancy, and Chrissy play in a band, and Steve has no choice but to hang out with the most annoying frontman in the world, Eddie Munson. Things escalate when they're forced to pretend they're in a relationship.

Modern AU, fake-dating (kind of).

I Buried a Hatchet (it's coming up lavender) 🪓 - Robin/Nancy (minor Steve/Eddie). Complete, WC: 60K.

Vecna nearly killed Robin before Nancy could take him out for good. Luckily, Robin's too stubborn to die, and Nancy's too stubborn to let her. Nursing her back to health, Nancy soon begins to question the feelings that almost losing Robin awoke in her.

In which Nancy has to do everything herself, compulsory heterosexuality is a bitch, and Robin Buckley is more charming than she thinks she is.

A League of Their Own:

It's Rotten Work 💐 - Jess/Lupe. Complete. WC: 10K.

Nobody's ever taken care of Jess McCready.

Not until she met Lupe García, anyway.

(In which Jess is oblivious, Lupe is romantic, and both of them are a little bit confused.)

Devour What's Truly Yours 🏴‍☠️ written in collaboration with the lovely @somebodytoundress - Jess/Lupe. Complete, WC: 37K.

Lupe Garcia had planned to go down with her pirate ship when it was raided by Spanish soldiers one dreadful night. Bleeding out on the deck, she accepted her fate—until an infamous ghostly captain with no name and a haunting face rescued her from the burning ship and nursed her back to health. With no ship, no crew, and no fortune, the solution is clear for Lupe. She‘s going to kill this captain and take over her crew so she may return to ruling the seas. And she’s definitely not going to fall in love with her.

Simply Elegant 🚬 - Jess/Lupe. Complete, WC: 7K.

Lupe is the most popular jock in school.

Jess is a burnout weed dealer.

Lupe goes to Jess to buy weed for a party, and things progress from there.

Bein' Good Isn't Always Easy ⛪️ - Jess/Lupe. Complete. WC: 32K.

The hottest part of summer, working in a guitar shop in the heart of Texas, Jess has the worst sunburn of her life. And she has the hots for the preacher’s daughter. She’s not sure which is worse.

Sing Me to Sleep 🌃 - Jess/Lupe. Complete. WC: 5K.

Lupe's past comes back to haunt her on the anniversary of an important date.

Jess tries to understand. They fall a bit deeper in love.

Slice of life.

Keep Your Electric Eye on Me, Babe ⚡️- Jess/Lupe. Complete. WC: 4K.

Five times Jess caught Lupe's eye when she shouldn't have + one time Lupe did something about it.

Fever With Thy Flaming Youth 🌡️ - Jess/Lupe. Complete. WC: 2.5K.

Estí gets the flu. Jess & Lupe take care of her.

FAQs

Can I translate your fic?

Please ask first! We can discuss details.

Can I bind/print your fic?

As long as it's legal and no one is profiting off of it, go wild, send pictures when you're done!

Why haven't you updated (insert fic)?

Either I lost interest in it for some reason, or I got really excited about something else & intend to return to it, or I have something personal going on & can't write as much. Sorry!

Can I make fan art of your fic?

PLEASE make fan art of my fic. Please send it to me when you're done so I can share it!!!!

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nothoughtsjustficrecs · 6 months ago

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This was, without a doubt, a phenomenal read. Seriously, the humour is impeccable; my cheeks hurt from laughing so much. I’ll have to re-read this story one day, perhaps multiple one days (yes I’m aware that makes no sense). And their relationship is amazing, I truly love it and every second of this story.

Thank you for writing this absolute masterpiece and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go because I knew I'd forget otherwise so below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such]

“ “Smog?” The customer parroted incorrectly, scratching his hair as if the action would jog his memory. “Now why does this hobbit’s home have health violations?” ” this literally made me snort

Okay this lil comments are making me laugh “ he persuaded the idiot to get a rom-com instead / planning to rob the CDs ” he has such high hopes and thoughts of others 😂

“ Now, he did not want to sound pathetic ” oh no please do sound pathetic, I kinda like it

“ But then, who was watching Disney movies at that age? ” me, damn Vernon, go back to being pathetic

“ He had, in his own words, called you a hag. ” cackling

“ You had to grip the counter, cackling at the response ” we are one. Hags who cackle together and all that

“ Maybe life can be unfucked ” okay I need to stop highlighting every phrase that makes me laugh or else I’ll highlight half the fic at this rate, stop making me laugh (im kidding pls never stop)

“ Mr. Filmbro. Miss Disney-Hag ” aw they have cute lil nicknames for each other already

Omg is he about to rob his lil sister???

Omg Vernon you absolute shit omg

“ Filmbrother ” I have literal tears in my eyes why is that so fucking funny

“ The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” ” okay, I officially love her

Those first texts just imagine receiving that, oh Vernon you silly boy. But tbf I probably would’ve forgotten to add my name too, so I get it

“ “I like my men a little pathetic.” ” you know, im starting to think you just wrote me in this story because she is so relatable

“ “That seems more like a you problem then!” ” okay im convinced you literally copy & pasted me now, I’m always saying that

But seriously im loving this so far! the shenanigans ehehehe

“ “Stop freaking out, my guy!” you called out, right on the top of the ladder. “I know my ass is crazy built but this is not the time.” ” I am wheezing

“ “And Batman is the same thing, except he dresses up as a fucking bat…stupid furry.” ” I have never heard someone call Batman a furry before but man now I’m never going to be able to forget it. Nananananana furryman!

Omg im laughing so hard at the disc swapping, and mingyu being dumb holy shit my chest hurts

“ “Let’s watch a fucking Disney Princess movie.” ” the man knows what to say to win a gal over

“ shuts down like a lagging desktop when it tries to run the Sims ” damn, that hits close to home

The whole lantern scene is so fucking cute and written so well I can so easily imagine it all, I love it

“ “If I am to be your exception, _____, then I suppose you can be mine.” ” SCREECHING THAT’S SO CUTE

If his favourite movie is anything other than Shrek I quit

“ “I think I could have fun with you anywhere…in secret or for anyone to see.” ” exhibitionist

YESSSSS SHREKKKK

“ VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND. ” no but this reads like a newspaper headline and im just wheezing at the thought of seeing an article titled that

“ You swore if you recited the IMDB plot out to him during sex, he would have spunked within minutes (a mental note to experiment on that later) ” I snorted. But now im very curious how that experiment would go

“ Within this myriad of fans, you tried to search for the most mentally ill one ” im back to highlighting every other line because fuck did that make me laugh

“ “Where are you, kitten?” you purposely growled, lowering your voice an octave. “Daddy’s waiting.” ” omg “ “Kitten actually killed himself after hearing that,” was his purposeful monotone. ” I love them

“ a boy engulfed in all the pinks of the colour wheel ” I am flailing and kicking my feet omg I love a man who is down bad for his partner

I kind of wish they just stood there staring dumbly at each other with their phones to their ears still, just because the mental image makes me laugh, but you’ve done enough of that already my cheeks hurt so probably good you didn’t write that. My cheeks might break.

They are seriously so cute omg, partners who break and enter together stay together 💗

𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨-𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

𝒈 𝒆 𝒏 𝒓 𝒆 : fluff, comedy, suggestive, college! au

𝒘 𝒐 𝒓 𝒅 𝒄 𝒐 𝒖 𝒏 𝒕 : 21.7k words

𝒔 𝒖 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒓 𝒚 : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slam his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

𝒄 𝒐 𝒏 𝒕 𝒆 𝒏 𝒕 : loosely inspired by watching the detectives, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, fem! reader is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, a few super dark jokes nothing serious though, kissing, mentions of sex and the act of cumming (all joking wise) but no actual sex because im fearing god today (super suggestive at best), barbenheimer reference <3

𝒕 𝒂 𝒈 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : @hyuckworld @junyangis @hiraethmae @lllucere @intoanothermind @kokoiinuts @shnnzsworld @lilifiedeans @talkyoongitome @vanishingboots @cookiearmy @person1fys

𝒂 𝒖 𝒕 𝒉 𝒐 𝒓 ' 𝒔 𝒏 𝒐 𝒕 𝒆 : she is finally here !! so so sorry for taking so long </3 i never thought it would be finished atp but thank you addy and alice for pushing me to complete this lil fic !! addy ur film major info birthed the filmbro slander, and alice...no smut LMAO LOSER anyway do enjoy homies <33

𝒑 𝒍 𝒂 𝒚 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley || talk talk by charli xcx || oh my! by seventeen

back to masterlist

“NO, THE HOBBIT IS SET BEFORE THE LORD OF THE RINGS.”

This particular customer, however, refused to grasp the concept. “But the Hobbit was released after,” he repeated, as if he had not heard twenty minutes ago, when he first entered the store. “Wouldn’t it make sense to watch the more recent movies?”

Vernon clamped his lips together, stopping himself from saying something that would lose him a potential buyer. Well, not that it would matter much, considering the man before him could not comprehend what a prequel was, but still—he had to make this idiot understand.

“I understand that, sir, but the Hobbit is a prequel to the Lord of the Rings.” Holding onto the DVD set, he pointed to the grand picture of the movie’s protagonist. “It’s based on Bilbo Baggins’ adventures.”

“But was that not the little fellow from the Rings?”

“No, sir, that was Frodo. Bilbo is Frodo’s uncle.” The boy then clarified, tone heightening, “You know, where he reclaims his home from Smaug?”

“Smog?” The customer parroted incorrectly, scratching his hair as if the action would jog his memory. “Now why does this hobbit’s home have health violations?”

The twist of his lips was inevitable. “Smaug,” he corrected. “The dragon…the villain…the whole reason the movie was created?”

“See, I only know that one slimy creature with the ring. What was he always saying…” The man snapped his fingers, a lightbulb switching in his otherwise empty brain. “Ah, yes!” He then completely distorted his voice, rasping, “My presh-shious!”

For a split second, Vernon was a little gob-smacked at the impression. Then, he remembered he needed sales, and made sure to laugh as if that customer was the funniest man that ever stepped foot in the store.

This particular joker, who was clearly not understanding Vernon’s analogies, instead asked, “Well, which one do you recommend?”

Ah, the fated question.

Besides from the Lord of the Rings collection, he had been asked this very question a few too many times, when customers would browse the films on offer and ask for his opinion. Not that he considered himself an all-knowing master of movies—

He smiled. Now that was something he could chuckle about.

“Well, sir, the Lord of the Rings is a timeless classic. I would recommend it to anyone interested in a well-written, well-produced fantasy.”

The man twisted his lips. “But I don’t really like fantasy, though.”

Vernon could not help his smile dropping. I don’t get paid enough for this.

With as much strength he could muster, he persuaded the idiot to get a rom-com instead, and ushered him out.

He sighed, going back to the desk. The store was never busy—unsurprising, since nobody buys DVDs anymore—but that was how he liked it. The less customers that bothered him, the better. He did not want to be that type of guy, but he would rather have his own company than those who thought that the Marvel movies were God’s gift to man. (The Spiderman movies, however, he had to leave out of his apparently controversial statement).

Vernon was about to close the shop out of pure boredom when someone stepped in.

His eyes darted to the newcomer.

They stayed as he beheld you.

Perhaps this was a gross generalisation, but he did not expect someone so cute walking in a store this run-down. Maybe you had mistaken it for a vintage shop, planning to rob the CDs, or thought there might be decades old clothing in here. He was certain you had walked in by mistake, but then you began to browse the movie sections.

His first thought was that you seemed to have excellent taste.

You slowed your steps in the classics section, eyes roaming at the Fan Favourites shelf which was simply movies Vernon had seen this week. Still, they were amazing fucking movies, hence their place on the shelf, now being admired by the likes of you. He wondered what you thought of the one DVD you picked up, assessing the blurb at the back. Roman Holiday. The boy could have smiled—you truly had a knack for picking out special films.

Your fingers lingered on the movies for only a couple of minutes before you saw the desk—first the counter, and then the person behind it.

The fact that your first instinct was to smile at the boy behind the counter had a profound effect on him.

Now, he did not want to sound pathetic; he did not know you, had never seen you before, but someone this aesthetically pleasing did not come to stores like his. Someone who picks up Roman fucking Holiday and be this cute did not acknowledge boys like him.

But Vernon Chwe will be cool about it. He will not look like a loser in front of you.

He pretended to look over some DVDs on the counter desk as you approached him. “Hey, there,” you greeted, and only then he allowed himself to look up, glancing you over. Already you had propped your arms on the top, eyes darting around the store as if finding something which deserved your attention. “I wanted to ask about a specific film. Well, films.”

Films? Vernon really thought all the intelligent minds had rotted in this lifetime, but clearly you were an exception. “Of course,” he said, setting the movie on the side. “What genres are you interested in?” he ticked his head towards the Fan Favourites. “You were looking in the right place, to be fair.”

“Hmm?” you only spared that shelf a momentary—dismissive—glance. “Oh, sorry! I was looking for a specific box-set, but I can’t seem to find it on the shelves. I was hoping you could have it out back.”

Specific box-set? Vernon tried to contain his smile. Of course you were looking for a collection of timeless classics. “What’re you looking for?” he asked you, hoping you were going to request Hitchcock’s best. If you asked for Wong Kar-Wai’s trilogy, he might have fallen to his knees.

You smiled at him.

Then dropped the bomb.

“I don’t know if you’d have the Disney Princess box set? You know, the complete edition?”

Vernon’s eye twitched a little. What the fuck?

Your gaze on him did not shift. “Are you okay?”

It took a moment for him to realise that you had asked him a question. “Huh? Right, sorry,” he said hurriedly, mind rushing for the many possibilities as to why you had requested a set like that. Perhaps you were braindead? No, that was too harsh. But then, who was watching Disney movies at that age?

Then an idea came into his head, and it made him feel much better.

“So sorry about that,” he reiterated, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway…Disney Princess set, huh?” He sighed out a laugh. “A sweet treat for your younger siblings, then.”

“Younger siblings?” A swift shake of your head, still smiling. “Haven’t got any of those.”

The twitching was back. “...anyone under the age of 12 you know?”

“Now you’re making me sound like a freak,” you mused, locking your hands together. “Is it that shocking that I’m getting the set for myself?”

Vernon’s any attempt to diffuse the conversation died the moment you said those words.

Disney. Princess. Movies. The box-set you wanted was a Disney. Fucking. Princess box-set.

At this rate, his eye-twitching was very much visible to you. “Don’t tell me no one’s ever bought a Disney movie from you,” you said, surprised by his change of attitude.

“Well,” he jeered, “I usually have first-time parents with their toddler kids asking me about sets like that.”

You then titled your head back a little, taken aback with the comment. “Are you saying I’m too old to watch Disney movies?”

“No!” he instinctively defended himself, though he had virtually no defence to offer. He had, in his own words, called you a hag.

This was it—he was usually stellar at keeping his opinions to himself. Now, the one time he could have kept his mouth shut, it spluttered open and not only embarrassed him, but one of the only cute potential customers. He was his own saboteur. His own destruction.

After catching the flurry of emotions on his face, you had a realisation.

Did his stupid comments get to you? Perhaps they would have, had you not seen his like before. Not only that, you had a sneaky feeling he himself had no clue on what category he was slotted into.

So you let the corners of your mouth curve upwards—up to the point where you were smirking, completely catching the boy off guard.

“My god, you’re a filmbro!”

Those emotions that you had witnessed now all conjoined into confusion. “Huh?” was his intelligent answer to the accusation. Filmbro?

And then you began to chuckle—little bursts of soft giggles, which escaped your mouth the more the revelation settled over you. “Wait, wait,” you began, “I need to ask this first!” You wiggled your finger at him. “What is your favourite film?”

Again, the fated question. This time, though, he felt as if his answer would not be the right one. Still—if there was one thing he was confident about, it was his expertise in films.

He tried, as confidently as he could, to voice out his supposed opinion. “Nolan’s Inception is one of the greatest films ever made.”

There was one, solitary, quiet moment.

It was ruined by the subsequent laughter, courtesy of your mouth, which could not shut after his answer. You had to grip the counter, cackling at the response, and Vernon could only gawk at you, face reddening with every second spent watching you keel over.

After what seemed like a lifetime (but was only about thirty seconds), Vernon finally cleared his throat. “Alright now, that’s enough comedy,” he muttered.

Another thirty seconds later, you finally seemed to calm down. The mischievous mirth on your face, although would have had any man swooning at your feet, seemed to irritate him all the more. “I’m sorry,” you gasped out, wiping a slight tear from your eye, “You just…you reminded me of my boyfriend.”

Of course. Vernon nearly clicked his tongue in disappointment. Of course the pretty, borderline-mean, borderline-terrible-taste-in-movies girl was taken. Fuck my life, son.

Your smile flickered—almost as if it turned cruel. “My mistake…ex-boyfriend.”

His eyebrow then raised a little. Maybe life can be unfucked; maybe the pretty, not-that-mean-as-he-thought, changeable-taste-in-movies girl was still attainable.

Your eyes wandered once more, but this time to your hands. “I was actually going to get the Disney Princess set for him.”

The eyebrow decided to raise further up. He was dying to know why you were 1) getting your ex-boyfriend a present and 2) getting your ex-boyfriend the worst fucking present. But of course, due to the lack of balls in his pants, he did not ask you.

The crazier notion was, maybe you knew the lack of balls that should be present in his pants, because you iterated for him. “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I’m giving my ex a Disney Princess movie set, Mr. Filmbro.”

That term had him immediately frowning. “I don’t particularly care,” he lied as best as he could. He then crossed his arms. “Plus, I’m afraid the store doesn’t have the sets. I’m gonna have to order them in.”

A tilt of your head. “Are you lying?”

The cross of his arms was gone—now his hands were raised in surrender. “No, no!” At least not the set order bit…

Although it was quite clear that you did not believe him, you spared him this once. “Alright…” you receded your arms from the desk, taking a step back. Instead, you pointed at him. “But don’t think I’m gonna leave you alone on this!”

Vernon’s insanely suave, cool, mystique response was giving you a thumb’s up. “Of course.”

As you walked back to the entrance, hand on the door, you looked back at him. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Filmbro.”

The eye-twitch was about to come back. He did not bother waving as you left the shop.

VERNON COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU FOR THE SEVEN DAYS BETWEEN YOU AND TODAY.

It was slightly embarrassing—he supposed he should have expected some extraordinary meet-cute, where someone who looked and acted like you would waltz into his dusty-ass film store and ask for possibly the worst movie collection to grace the western cinema.

But then you called him a fucking Filmbro, and now the self-hatred might bubble to the surface of his usual calm demeanour.

The boy scoffed as he fixed the alphabetical order of the CD covers, located in the Classics section. Filmbro…what the fuck do I look like a Filmbro for…

He firstly supposed that he should consider it a compliment—so what if he had superior knowledge of movies over the average morons that wandered into the store? He was paid minimum wage for this knowledge! Fuck, he was doing a degree within this field! (Not that he was quite sure he would end up as a blockbuster director at the fine age of 21, but the arts majors were always told to dream beyond the realistic limits.)

The more he contemplated over the vicious term, the more it began to bother him. Filmbro…Film. Bro. God, it sounded like a classist clique—a club where the members considered themselves above the laws of society, but were horrendously ridiculed by the outsiders. At the end of the day, he had always been an outsider in these clubs—he did not enjoy being the laughing stock, even if it meant being a member of an elitist group.

Whatever. So what if you called him a Filmbro? He had only spoken to you once; the opinion of one girl—regardless of how pretty she was—was not of any relevance to him.

But then you sauntered into his store, and suddenly he forgot that he was seething over you for an entire week.

There you were, footsteps harmonising along the bells of the entrance, and he swerved back to see you. You, in all your frill-skirted, layered-shirted, gum-chewing glory, catching his eye and bringing back the smile which you had offered him the moment you bestowed him that term of little-endearment.

“Hello again, Mr. Filmbro.”

Don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick—

It was fine—it was okay. Vernon was a man now—no longer in his teens. He could have a normal, pleasant conversation. He was mature and able enough to interact with a girl who just happened to disagree with him on certain interests.

He would be cordial—kind.

“How can I help you, Miss Disney-Hag?”

His skin nearly crawled. I need to kill myself immediately.

A bit of a low blow from his nickname, but you were laughing, a silly little melody. You must have been crazy, because any other sane, rational human being would have been offended—should have been offended. Vernon fought to keep his face straight.

“I see you’ve been thinking about me then,” you said.

That had him looking away, walking behind the counter. “It’s not everyday I get a grown-ass woman asking me about children’s films.”

You mocked a gasp, slapping a hand over your chest. “Ouch. Do you hurt every girl that walks into your filmstore, or is this special treatment reserved for me?

Vernon focused on the cash in the register. “When another girl asks for the special edition for the Cinderella trilogy, then I’ll hurt her just the same.”

You clicked your tongue. “I should have known all men suck in their own ways.” You then approached the counter, propping your elbows atop the surface. “At least show me you’re good at your job and bring me the movie set I ordered.”

At this precise moment, all the thoughts about your stubborn addiction, playful smirk and how terrible the Little Mermaid was had completely vanished.

Shit.

Maybe his irrational dislike ran further than he thought.

“Yeah…” but then he realised he sounded incredibly suspicious, and cleared his throat, forcing a little assurance in his usual monotone. “Yes! Yeah, of course! The movie set.” He took a step back, nodding his head ever so slowly, as if his head was not churning out a million different plans. “Give me one second…”

“Sure,” you could barely get out before Vernon whirled on his heel, bursting through the backstage door, and into the Chwe flat.

He did not know whether this was going to work out.

Like lightning he ascended the stairs, hands brushing against the bannister as he went past his bedroom, door slightly ajar. Not the destination he was seeking, he stopped before the neighbouring door—this one firmly closed.

The boy made sure to knock first. No answer. Perfect. Slowly turning the knob, he opened the door, peeking around just in case there was someone in the room, and then he would have to resort to more planning. Since the coast was crystal clear, though, he put his mind at ease, only focusing on the main plan.

The room he had entered was a myriad of pop culture references and childhood memories, plastered on the butterfly-covered walls, sitting atop bedside tables or hanging off the hooks. Vernon never realised how invested his sister was with certain TV shows or films till he saw Lindsay Lohan’s mugshot plastered next to her bed. He had asked about it once, but she only waved him off. You wouldn’t understand her impact, she had said to him, and went back to shitting about him to her friends.

Prying away from the poster, his eyes settled on what he came for, settled in the middle of the huge book shelf.

Sofia prided herself with her book and movie collection, a hereditary trait which Vernon shared: the top and bottom shelves were filled with her all-time favourites, even resorting to furthering her obsessions with the merch related to her treasured characters. He remembered laughing at her ideas until he saw a Barbie FunkoPop figure staring back at him one day. That notion was already horrendous, but the black, soulless eyes had guaranteed its spot in his sleep paralysis the next day.

Thankfully, the little horror was not on show on her bookshelf—this time, right in the middle, was the very prize that he sought.

The Disney Princess Movie Set—Complete Edition.

Packaged in pink casing, Sofia’s most treasured piece sat, almost with its head held high as the other movies orbited around its pull. As far as Vernon remembered, it held all the Princess movies, and was worth at least 6 hours of his wages.

The boy looked around the room, as if his sister would appear any second.

Then, like a thief in the night (even though it was broad daylight, and would definitely be caught), he swiped the set off the bookshelf, and hurried out of her room.

“Sorry, Sofe,” he could only murmur under his breath as he dashed down the stairs, hoping you had not been bored by his absence, and left him with stolen goods at the scene of the crime.

He opened the door adjacent to the shop, and he almost sighed in relief when you perked up, eyes darting straight to your apparent order. When he saw your face light up like fireworks in the night sky, he titled his head back a bit, stunned by your boisterous reaction.

“You actually bought it!” you exclaimed, drumming your hands against the counter as he set the movies down. “I had a feeling you would blow me off.”

“Business is business,” Vernon said, crossing his arms, “Shit taste in movies will not stop me from making my money.”

You clicked your tongue. “Spoken like a business major.”

“Film major, thank you. I would rather kill myself than submit to the horrors of finance.”

“Don’t die on me just yet.” Bringing out your purse, you fished through its contents, first setting your card on the counter. Then, you brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “I actually have a few more films I want to ask about.”

The boy was expecting another long list of early 2000s rom-coms—perhaps an opinion for every Disney movie ever made in its existence. He swore if he had to hear about Rachel McAdams’ versatility one more time, he might blow his brains out in front of a customer.

Then you dropped the names, and he had to surge his head forward.

“What are your thoughts on Wolf of Wall Street, American Psycho, Pulp Fiction…Fight Club, Saving Private Ryan, Scarface…” You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?”

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.”

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has…an interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.”

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?”

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right.

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by.

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis.

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.”

A half-truth—that should suffice.

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!”

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.”

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. Fucking Stupendous. Vernon could not think of other pretentious synonyms. “I will tell you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, once again settling your locked hands on the counter, “If you help me out with it.”

That had his eyebrow shooting upwards. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I intended.” A pause. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy…being asked by someone to help in some mysterious plan. But hey!” you added, “You know who the target is, and you know I can be trusted.”

“Calling your ex-boyfriend a target makes this sound like a contract killing. Also, I actually don’t know that,” he corrected, crossing his arms. “The only thing I know about you is your weird obsession with children’s movies.”

“Well, buddy, that’s basically my entire personality, so you don’t need to know any more!”

Vernon sucked in a breath. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your eyes darted to his features, the sharp brows, the speculative eyes, the flared nostrils. His lips, which were twisted in a curious, bemused line. “That’s an easy problem to solve.” You decided to battle his frown with a smile. “_____.”

_____. At least he knew one important thing about you. He swore Mingyu had mentioned your name before, but then he should not also hold certainty—that boy’s favourite subject had always been himself.

You snapped him out of his thoughts. “This is when you tell me your name now…or do you enjoy being called a filmbro?”

Man…he could not look you in the eye afterwards. “I don’t…” he got out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And it’s Vernon. Chwe Vernon.”

“Vernon,” you repeated, lips curling upwards. “Alright, Vernon, since both of us know each other’s names, you can definitely help me now!”

The said-boy tried to smile, which was more a grimace. “Well…”

“Tell you what,” you said, trying to find something in your bag. “Wait, give me a second…shit, where is that piece of paper…?” You finally managed to fish a crumpled piece out. “Right!” After catching sight of a pen lying around the counter, you took it and scribbled something quickly, sending it his way.

Taking it, he looked at the messy scribbles—your number. “You’re looking at it as if I passed you a death threat,” you snickered. Vernon gave an uneasy smile. “Just think it over. I need movie expertise, and there’s no one else I know who can help me more than a guy who runs a film store.”

The boy behind the counter listened to you, paper still in hand. Maybe Mingyu made some points breaking up with you—you did not know who Vernon was, save for the name that was tied to him, and the job he was forced to do by his parents. Realistically, he had to decline, because if he has ever learned something in his life—or from watching a myriad of golden age romantic tragedies—is that you never trust the beautiful, crazy girls.

“Hey,” he heard you say, and he swore your chirp had softened. “I’ll go ahead with my plan in a week’s time. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll know your answer. You don’t have to tell me now.” When he looked at you, he saw your expression shift. “That’s why I only gave the paper.”

He supposed he could appreciate this sentiment. “Thanks,” he could only say, pocketing your number. “Is there…anything else you want? Aside from the—” a snide glance at the DVD set—”the movie?”

“I saw that,” you scoffed, taking hold of the movie set. “And no, I’m alright. I’ll bother you about children’s movies another time.”

“I’ll make sure these children’s movies are all conveniently sold out when you come,” he countered without thinking.

You could only shake your head, trying to contain your laugh. “Careful, or I just might bother you after the plan.”

Vernon did not know what he felt at that notion—would he want that? However, he did not have time to ponder, since you were already heading for the door. As you nearly left the store, bell ringing, he did not hear the door close. He glanced up, catching you looking at him with an indecipherable expression. “Yes?”

You waited a moment before parting your mouth. “I hope to hear from you, Mr. Filmbro.”

With that, you swiftly exited the store, leaving this Mr. Filmbro even more helpless than he was between the seven days between your first encounter, and now this very second.

“JO MADE SENSE WITH FRIEDRICH AT THE END. SHE SIMPLY…NEEDED A MAN AFTER PINING FOR LAURIE.”

The professor listened in the small circle, the rest of the students typing or writing down the answer. “Like, realistically,” Mingyu went on, twisting his mechanical pencil between his fingers, “The whole point of the movie is her relationship with Laurie, and that was shattered the moment he married Amy. Friedrich was like…” he pouted in thought, furrowing his brows. “The light at the end of the tunnel…does that make sense, Minghao?”

The said-man nodded. “Interesting take,” he noted, walking closer to the circle he was teaching. “So you agree that Jo needed Friedrich at the end of the film?”

“Absolutely.”

There were a few murmurs around the room, majority of them agreeing with the golden boy who was sitting at the head of the circular, white table. Vernon, who was sat one girl away from him, typed furiously in his laptop, adding to his notes. MINGYU IS A FUCKING IDIOT…CINEMATICALLY ILLITERATE…BORDERLINE MISOGYNIST…Okay, perhaps he was exaggerating on the last one, but his analysis of the question pissed him off.

Did Jo need Friedrich at the end of the movie? Was what Professor Minghao had asked them about an hour ago. Vernon knew the answer immediately, and, although did not share it with the seminar, was surprised to be disagreed by the majority of the class. Not surprising, however, when his class was filled with men who could not imagine a woman in a film wanting anything else but a man beside her.

Whatever, he thought, straying from the web page and instead checking the release date for Oppenheimer when he heard your name crop up amongst the discourse in the table.

“Did _____ actually?”

“Oh, yeah, said she thought Jo should have been on her own.” A click of tongue. “Not surprising, coming from her.”

Vernon instantly perked up, fingers pausing on the keyboard. Not surprising? The boy was actually floored at that opinion—and how valid you were for expressing it.

“I mean,” another girl, right next to him, chimed in, “Didn’t you say she was really stupid, Gyu?”

“God, I don’t know where to begin,” Mingyu said, aghast, and the boy who eavesdropped felt a little dread at every word that escaped his mouth. “Everytime I watched a movie with her she always got bored, or argued with me when I tried to explain shit to her.”

“I remember we sat with her while we were tryna do our film project last semester,” the boy beside Mingyu recalled. “She had no fucking clue who Martin Scorcese was, man!”

The group audibly gasped, save for Vernon, who could not help himself, refusing to mind his business. Nasty habit this—he made a note to call you out for this later on, should you walk into his store again.

Fuck. He did not want that. Of course he did not. He should stop thinking about it too.

You, that is.

“She’s gotta be the dumbest one yet, Gyu,” the boy snickered, snapping his laptop shut.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” the dumper groaned, raking through his locks. “You know she was always watching those fucking Disney princess movies?” Vernon’s eyes widened a little. “Man, I remember she wouldn’t get enough of them. Like, what are you, six? Why the fuck am I watching a movie about a midget dragon?”

Then, Mingyu said the words that made the eavesdropper’s spirits shot down.

“_____ may have been hot, but she was one stupid bitch. Thank god I got rid of her.”

The others agreed. He may have spoken more on the matter of your lack of media literacy, but the professor was back, and the seminar had quietened, all in focus.

All except for the boy who had not given his two cents on the matter, frozen solid at the conversation that occurred. What the fuck was that? He had first thought, over and over to the point that he nearly typed it in the seminar document. He had always known Mingyu was an asshole, but what he said about you gave him a very uneasy feeling.

What sent him over the edge was that a lot of his grievances sounded identical to Vernon’s own words.

Miss Disney Hag he had called you—to your face he had insulted your taste in films, and you had only laughed. He wondered how you felt when it was Mingyu amplifying those very opinions on a daily basis.

A frown marred his features. Damn it. He knew he was a loser, but he did not know he was an asshole. Like Mingyu…

Vernon visibly shivered.

As Minghao voiced out the objectives for the second half of the seminar, the boy brought his hand into his trouser pocket, slipping out the paper. He looked over your number, the messy scribbles dancing in his eyes. Darting to his phone on the table, he held it in his free hand, looking over the contacts.

“Damn it,” he said under his breath.

Was he going to regret this? Most probably. Will you probably make him do something that would result in a fatal injury, and land a permanent stain on his social record? One hundred percent.

If he knew these things already, then what he should have done was toss the paper in the nearest bin. What he did instead, as he typed in some vital information in his phone, was something that changed his life (or at least the life he will live for the next few weeks).

vernon: u dont have to wait till next week

vernon: ill help u with the plan

There. And now, he shall wait.

Which, he pondered as he saw the immediate response, was not very long.

normal disney enjoyer: wait who tf is this??

Oops.

vernon: oh mb this is vernon lmao

vernon: from the filmstore

normal disney enjoyer: oh damn why didn’t u say so !! freaky ass text

vernon: ??? ive said it now tf

normal disney enjoyer: and im happy u have ;)

Well. Vernon sighed a little, trying to focus back on his work, but to no avail.

Let’s see what you have in store for the next week.

VERNON WAS WONDERING WHETHER HE STILL HAD TIME TO KILL HIMSELF.

It could be quick—maybe if he jumped in front of the next incoming car, full speed, he might suffer a haemorrhage in his brain, and die bleeding out as his parents took him to the hospital. Of course, that does mean that it would be slow and excruciating, but he thought that nothing would be as painful as whatever you had planned for him.

Come on…maybe it won’t be that bad. Perhaps his thoughts were spiralling too quickly. Perhaps his assumptions of you were a stretch, and that all this anxiousness, pent up in him, would wash away the moment he saw your car pulling up to the store’s driveway.

He felt himself prepare mentally as, eventually, your small, red car slowed in front of him. Right before him, he saw the passenger window roll down, and he caught sight of your smiling face, teeth showing.

Perhaps it truly would not be as bad as he imagined.

“Get in loser, we’re going trespassing.”

Nevermind.

“Oh my God,” was the unsatisfying answer to your perfect reference. Seriously, you should not bother saving your precious material on such a lame boy, but there was something so exciting about his eyes sharply rolling, colour staining the tops of his cheeks. “I’m not doing this if you’re going to quote terrible movies the entire night.”

“First of all, fuck you. Mean Girls birthed half of your customers.” You flicked the lock on the passenger door, pushing it open. “Second, you don’t have a choice. You’ve agreed to ruin Mingyu’s life.”

“First of all yourself, I did not agree to that.” Begrudgingly, he settled shotgun, snapping the car door shut. “Second, Mean Girls was a waste of Rachel McAdams’ talent.”

You scoffed, starting the car. “I don’t take opinions from men who can’t drive.”

This shut the boy up nicely, clamping his lips together in quiet shame. He wished he could argue with that—you, he feared, had a good point. Despite that, it was not his fault that his parents insisted on the reliance of public transport; the bus was his greatest villain—aside from the middle school kids in his store that always ask for the next FIFA game.

You could not help taking a second glance at him, chuckling at his defeat. “Don’t be sad, Mr. FIlmbro,” you reassured him, changing gears. “I like my men a little pathetic.”

That did not help at all—his eyes widened, gawking at you, but you were already looking ahead, pressing your foot on the accelerator.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed as he held onto his seat, taken aback by your sudden rush of speed. “I thought you wanted to kill Mingyu, not yourself!”

“My bad,” you only said, turning right. “I’m just so excited! You know, getting there.”

“I can see that,” he mumbled, looking away from you into the back. Strapped in with the seatbelt, bizarrely, was Sofia’s Disney Princess Set, as if the dozen-movie box was a toddler in need of extra assistance. What the fuck…?

“I’m having these films in pristine condition, Vernon,” you explained, though it still made no sense in his head. “You understand, don’t you?”

Of course not. “Sure.”

He waited for further explanation, which, as the silence continued, you decided to throw him the conversational bone. “I don’t just carry the set around with me, you know.”

Sure. “Of course not.”

“It’s relevant to today’s plan,” was all you would offer, speeding more to reach the destination quicker. Vernon held onto the belt a little tighter, still eyeing the movie set rather suspiciously before focusing back on the road.

The drive was not long—perhaps thirty minutes at most—but he knew he was leaving the rougher parts of the city when nicer neighbourhoods welcomed his vision, the litter on the roads disappearing, instead trees in an orderly line painting the sides of the pavement. The further you drove into these suburbs, the more he was surprised at the sheer luxury of the exterior of these houses; granted, he did not originate from poverty, but his idea of a holiday was three days in the comforts of his bed, bingeing the Miyazaki collection with a lifetime supply of mint chocolate chip ice cream on his lap.

Vernon had to save his mouth dropping to the seat of the car floor when they rolled into the Kim household’s drive.

He was aware that Mingyu derived from wealth—the former could not help noticing his pricey, flashy brands every time the taller boy sauntered into the Film Sound classes, but he did not expect this Bridgerton-ass looking house, nestled in between the other million-dollar homes in the neighbourhood. He was greeted with a clearer picture the closer you parked in their drive, surprisingly empty; it was around that moment that you noticed that all the lights were turned off in the house, almost a haunting image.

The boy was on his way to make a comment about your terrible spying skills when you rebuffed him immediately, saying, “I know what you’re thinking. I have it covered.”

“Please tell me, Miss Bond, how are you planning to carry this out?”

You offered him an incredulous look. “I don’t know what that reference means, I’m too pretty.”

His answer to that was a thin, long line of his mouth. You chose to ignore it completely. “Mingyu’s parents are out of town right now, and his sister’s on a ski-trip in Austria.”

A glance of confusion. “In the middle of March?”

A shrug. “You know what rich people are like.” Weirdly enough, he knew exactly what you were talking about. “But it worked out great for us.” With a hard exhale you got out of the car, the boy beside you reflecting your actions. “All the easier for what we have to do.” You opened the car door behind the driver’s one, unstrapping the seatbelt and carefully bringing out the movie set.

“How’re we getting into the evil lair, then?” he asked dryly, crossing both his arms. “I assume the millionaires don’t happen to put a spare key under the carpet?”

“Imagine,” you said, sighing melodramatically. “I tried making them do it so I could sneak into his house, but for some reason, Mingyu never agreed to it.”

“I wonder why,” he muttered.

“Worry not, young grasshopper!” You strolled to the very right of the house, where a thin wooden door was almost hidden from view. “Where there is a door closed, another is mysteriously open.”

With a hard push, the door trudged back, swinging heavily away. He stared at it, not quite believing how someone can be so careless to keep their gates unlocked. “Another weakness of Mingyu’s—” You pointed at the cleared path into the house—”whenever he leaves from the garden, he never locks the gate.”

Vernon could not quite believe it. “Either the wealthy are incredibly secured in their safety, or stupid as fuck.”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you joked, going further into the journey, ushering him over. Like a siren calling his name, he followed you, unaware of the shit you might be getting him into.

Into the fancy garden they arrived, clean-cut hedges bordering in dozens of flower bushes, peppered also with a few fruit trees—berries of every kind ripening on the green. While Vernon admired the natural luxury, you hurried to the nearby shed, where a ladder was situated right beside it. “Quick, help me out here!” you shouted in a whisper, ushering him over. Dropping the DVD set for a moment, you grunted as you held the large ladder up with his assistance, slowly making its way to the brick wall of the house. “Wait, line it up against that window over there,” you instructed, jerking your head towards the far right window, no doubt on the second floor. Once the ladder was lined up properly, you moved the boy out of the way, shaking the rails to make sure it stayed put.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Vernon muttered, watching you take the Disney Princess set in one hand, the other making the first step on the calendar. “We can still…you know, not commit breaking and entering.”

“You can happily leave, Mr. Filmbro,” you offered, looking up at your destination.

That had him scoffing. “My ass is not walking two hours back to my house.”

“That seems more like a you problem then!” you chirped. “Now are you following me up, or pussying out?”

Once again, pussying out seemed like the obvious choice for the boy. He was not made for missions such as these—he was merely meant to watch other people act out said missions in front of his television. Unfortunately, because he was too far away from the film store, it was either sitting it out, waiting for you to come out and do something diabolical, or at least watch over you should you cross a line (if the latter were the case, then Vernon had already failed).

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept uttering like a mantra, waiting for you to climb up enough to hold onto the ladder as he began to follow after you. He made the mistake of looking up as you climbed up, and he got a full, HD view of your ass. He tried his very best to look away out of some semblance of respect, but you also made the mindful decision of wearing the shortest skirt known to man. His fuck, fuck fucks! rang louder, causing you to shush him.

“Stop freaking out, my guy!” you called out, right on the top of the ladder. “I know my ass is crazy built but this is not the time.”

“That’s not why I’m freaking out, _____!” he countered, but knowing you, you did not care for his explanations. He only waited as you pushed open the slight-open window, all the way to the top before climbing inside.

As he reached the top of the ladder, he watched you dust yourself before glancing back at him, ushering him inside. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself, hands on the top of the window ledge as he put his foot on the sill, pushing himself inside.

Vernon dropped into the unknown room, an oof! leaving his mouth as he landed rather ungraciously on his feet. Quickly, he looked up, surroundings rather dimmed due to the lack of lighting. Still, with the help of the moonlight, he could slowly make out the huge smart TV in the middle of the bedroom, beneath it a wide shelf filled with DVDs, some opened and scattered on the carpeted floor. The bed was on the opposite side, right next to the window the two of you had entered in, black and gold sheets tousled and unmade.

As you turned the light on, the boy then made out that Mingyu, in fact, did not have a bed frame, but just a mattress, with the sheets barely done properly. The wall on his left was a full black-shutter closet, where he could see the collection of his designer clothing behind the gaps. Posters were plastered on the rest of the walls, most of them being the Tarantino classics —a reclined, raven-bobbed Uma Thurman watching him with bedroom eyes being the most prominent—with certain papers of autographs also stuck next to the posters. There was another poster—American Beauty and the girl surrounded with rose petals—which had him quickly looking away.

“Jesus,” was all he could say, but he supposed he should not have judged. He himself had only his posters in his room—except he did not have the same taste as a middle-aged incel.

“I know.” You looked around at the familiar space, and the memories you had made here. “Imagine having sex in this hellsite.”

Then the image of you having sex with Mingyu on that messy bed came into his mind, and Vernon could have combusted then and there. “I can’t imagine,” he mumbled out, walking to the door, opening to make sure no one was inside. “_____, are you sure no one’s here?”

“Swear on my life, Mr. Filmbro.”

He had to trust you now—or you had very little respect for your life.

He kept eyeing the DVD set you had in your hand. “Are you still not gonna tell me what we’re doing with that?”

You marched over to the shelf beneath the TV, settling yourself down. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You patted the empty carpet space next to you for added emphasis.

Hesitantly, he obliged, sitting cross-legged next to you. Finger pointing as it scoured the shelf, you carefully brought out one of the films from Mingyu’s selection, all the while sliding out a Disney film from your own set. “Now, tell me,” you began, as you showed him the two movies. “Do you think The Dark Knight and Mulan are a good match?”

First pulling a face at the choice, he then resorted to keeping his twist of features as he turned to you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“So like, you know Mulan is a woman disguising herself as a soldier in order to defeat the Huns and save her father’s honour, right,” you explained, though you had a small feeling he was not particularly listening. “And Batman is the same thing, except he dresses up as a fucking bat…stupid furry.”

Vernon could not understand how you compared one of the most beautiful, nuanced depictions of a broken, three-dimensional superhero into a furry, but he needed to get to the bottom of your plan, once and for all. “No, I mean, what are you doing? Why the hell are we here?”

You tutted extra loud. “I’m gonna swap the CDs, dumbass!” You held up the princess movie. “Thought Mingyu could say to me that Disney princess movies sucked, huh?” Then, the classic DVD’s turn to rise. “Let’s see how he’ll like watching a talking dragon in China instead of a talking bat in Fantasyland!”

The boy could only watch, shock growing with the successful swap of the movies, the secret Mulan CD safely tucked into the The Dark Knight’s DVD case. “It’s Gotham, actually,” he murmured, but he knew you were not listening. “Wait, _____, we really just snuck into your ex’s house to swap a few movies?”

You looked up briefly as you began opening another DVD case. “I mean, if you want to trash the place, that’s fine, but you can’t do anymore than what Mingyu’s dirty ass hasn’t done already.”

Fair point. “I think you’re going insane. Like, clinically.” He kept looking at the door, which was closed shut. “He’ll kill us if he catches us.”

“Forget about us, you’re barely doing anything!” you exclaimed, tossing some of Mingyu’s movies to him. “Can you actually help me instead of complaining?”

What he should have done was argue with you properly, perhaps even make his escape and leave you to dig your own grave. Sure, he could not drive, but was it not just three pedals, a wheel and a dream? He could have left, never to see you again.

But then his eyes wandered to the Inception DVD scattered beside you, no doubt collateral damage as you took out the other Nolan films, and saw a Disney Princess movie sitting beside it. Sleeping Beauty, it read out, with the picture of some skinny blonde chick slumbering with a man overlooking her. He thought it a bit strange, almost creepy how this brunette was watching her.

And then an idea came into his head.

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, clamping his lips together. Please forgive me, Mr. Nolan, for what I’m about to do.

Hand reaching out to grasp both DVDs, he opened one of his favourites, unclipping the CD. You glanced at him, swapping the movies around. You could not help your stare lingering a little, watching his lips pout, brows furrowed as he fixed the new CD in the Nolan set, as if the task was a serious one. Well, it was a serious task for you, but you expected more complaining.

When he looked up, he managed to catch a small smile on your lips before he quickly looked away. “And now you’re slacking,” he accused, closing the DVD and setting it atop the newly improved.

“What’s the plot for Inception?” you asked him, cracking open The Princess and The Frog.

“I thought you knew, since you laughed at me for saying it was my favourite.”

“I don’t know the full thing,” you admitted. “The only reason I knew about it was because Mingyu never shut up about it…sorry about that, by the way.”

Vernon sighed. “It’s fine…if I made fun of your Disney favourites, then bullying me for Nolan isn’t the worst…I think.” He looked at your new suggestion before picking out Alien from Mingyu’s selection. “A thief has to implant an idea into this powerful guy’s mind, and he does this through infiltrating other people’s dreams. However, he has to be asleep while he does it.”

As you began to laugh, he threw you an irritated look. You shook your head, unable to erase your smile. “That’s a really good match.”

His eyes widened for a moment, mouth parting. For a moment (and he did not know whether he was going to regret making this assertion), he did not care for Christopher Nolan’s disrespect, after seeing your reaction.

With that, the two of you sat in near silence, the crisp opening and closing of the DVDs, the sliding of the discs being the only sound between the two of you. The Princess of the Frog was successfully matched with the Alien—you, unsurprisingly, had not watched the movie, but Vernon had watched both (one against his will, which you could guess), and thought it the best match. Brave was slotted into The Revenant's case, while Beauty and the Beast went straight into Pan’s Labyrinth’s.

“Okay so…” the boy held up the Pocahontas CD. “Native American princess falls for the coloniser? How the fuck are you defending this?”

You could only offer a sheepish smile. “The soundtrack is really good?”

“Knowing Disney,” he crowed, cracking open the DVD, “They probably have a song on how terrible the poor Natives are.”

You eyed him, surprised. “How the hell did you guess that?”

First, Vernon made a face, as if he himself could not believe his excellent intuition. Then, he only laughed a little, taking out the Dances with Wolves DVD from the shelf. “I’ve watched enough Disney movies with my sister to know how they work.”

“Oh, so you have watched them?” you mused, watching him exchange the discs. “All that time I thought you only watched what Mingyu watched.”

“No, I watch foreign indie films like an asshole,” he clarified, shutting the cases, and putting Dances with Wolves back on the shelf. “The thing is, I still have my grievances against the super popular films. You know the list you mentioned to me the other day?” You nodded. “Most of these film junkies get off on those movies. I’ll admit I like them, but I’ve seen so much better.”

You snorted. “Like Inception?” Vernon watched you for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “What? You asked him, tilting your head.

He followed your movement—he too, craned his head, his brown curls cascading along his forehead. “Like Inception…and better.”

“Better?” you gasped out, fingers rising to your bottom lip in shock. “Does Mr. Filmbro prefer a movie over Nolan’s grand—no, best release ever?!”

“Ha, ha,” he monotoned, only adding to your amusement. “It’s still his best film! But,” he added, shrugging a little, “I may or may not have lied to you the first time we met. Inception’s not my favourite movie.”

“What?!” you could barely contain your grin. “Oh my God, if I find out it’s a fucking Disney movie, I’m never letting you live it down!”

“Let’s not go that far,” he jeered, earning a harsh nudge of your elbow. “Hey! You should be thanking me for my honesty.”

“How about you extend that honesty and tell me which movie is your favourite?”

Vernon mocked a ponder. “It’s a hard pass.”

“Come on!” you pressed, scooting a little closer, almost reaching out as if to nudge him some more. “You’ve already committed a felony with me. Telling me your favourite movie is naturally the next step.”

“Because that’s obviously how normal human interaction goes,” he countered, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me!”

“Hmm…no!” he repeated, assembling the last of the DVDs. “Maybe if we raid Mingyu’s house next time.”

“Oh?” Leaning closer, you paused his hands on the movie sets. “Do you want there to be a next time?”

It was then Vernon realised the implications of your question, a consequence of his own suggestion. It was almost comical, how his eyes widened like full moons, and he immediately shook his head. “Now you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you asked him, and the way he exposed a slight stutter at your question had you laughing. “Would you want to see me again?”

What Vernon wanted to tell you was no, no, no, because another second with you would end with all the blood in his system rushing to his head, and other places. Damn everything and everyone, he would want to see you again—no. No. He wouldn’t. He would not.

“You haven’t answered the question,” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

The boy was about to stutter out an answer when the two of you heard a door slam downstairs.

You whirled back, eyes instantly darting to the door. They then focused back on you, widened very much like his not long ago. “_____,” Vernon muttered.

“Mr. Filmbro…”

The furrow of his brow appeared for a split-second before it disappeared at the shuffling underneath. “What the fuck do we do?” he gulped out, looking around to find anywhere to escape from. This was it—he thought he was getting away with trespassing just because you had convinced him to, but that fuckass ex-boyfriend was going to catch them in his bedroom, two inches away from kissing you, and—

“Wait,” you then said, catching his wrist in your hand. He barely had time to react to it before you shot up from your seated position, hauling the boy along with you. He stumbled, but then you nearly made him fall flat on his face as you ran to the shutter closets, sliding them straight open. The inside was a mess of branded clothing and boxes of sports equipment, but there was one opening with just enough for two people in trouble to hide.

You first went in, and, with a harsh tug, pulled him in with you. He crashed into you, but you had enough control to slide the shutter door shut. There was so much commotion that when you both finally stilled, breathing harshly as you heard Mingyu enter the room, Vernon blinked back to see your face about two inches away from him.

He was going to yelp—strong on going to, because you sensed his incoming shock, and smacked your hand against his mouth. His eyebrows could have touched the top of his forehead, but what you noticed the most was the warmth of his skin, burning the longer your touch lingered on his lips.

The smile you offered him as you put a finger to your lips had him almost passing out.

“Yeah, man, come round whenever,” was all Vernon could hear, still not comprehending Mingyu’s speech due to your hand. “No, Minseo’s not here, what the fuck? Why do you wanna know where my sister is?”

Slowly, ever so carefully as not to alert him, you pulled down on one of the blinds of the shutter, spying the movie which he was about to see. Vernon should have been following your movements, but he could only sense you, inching closer and closer to him till you were pressed against him. Of course, you were only trying to better your vision of your ex-boyfriend, but the boy beside you could not focus. The hand on his mouth—God—he needed, so badly, to be put down. Your fingers were soft, and although his lips could not help brushing against your palm, everything in him resisted the urge to react.

Quickly glancing at your accomplice in glee, you dropped your hand from his mouth, silently urging him to watch. He could have rebelled against your pulling away, but he instead obliged. Bringing his face next to yours, he glanced at you one last time before peering at the vision that welcomed.

There he was, the golden boy, raking his hair as he strolled into the middle of the room, observing the TV before him, and the DVD player sitting at the bottom. He kept humming, as if agreeing with whoever was on the phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go to that party later…no, I’m not bringing _____! You know about that already!”

The boy in hiding quickly snuck a peek at you, who soured a little at the mention. “Hmm? Yeah, whatever. What? Nah, I’m just gonna watch a chill movie before leaving.” Mingyu scanned the films on his shelf. Walking over, he leaned down, sliding out The Shape of Water from his collection, cradling his phone between his shoulder blade and his craned head as he opened the DVD.

Vernon could not help pulling a face at Mingyu’s choice of a ‘chill movie’ being a film about a mute woman wanting to fuck a water creature. You probably did not understand the reference, but by the growing anticipation on your face, you only cared about the scene you two had created, and was about to unfold just then.

Mingyu slid the CD into the player, pressing play as he made his way to his frameless bed, settling down in the sheets. “Yeah…no, no, it’s just starting.”

The two of you could hear clearly the opening credits, which began with the most obnoxious opening music of Disney’s intro. Vernon was taken aback by how Mingyu did not realise it from that very moment, but considering he was too busy chatting pure shit on the phone, laughing to himself, the boy assumed he was simply waiting for the action to occur.

“Any minute now, Mr. Filmbro,” you whispered, oh-so-fucking close to him. He did not respond, merely a nod.

Craning his head to see through the shutters, he noticed the animation come to life, the ship within dangerous waters sailing with uncertainty. He snuck a quick glance at Mingyu’s face, which started garnering a little confusion.

“Are these extra credit scenes? I don’t remember any of this,” he heard the OG filmbro complain.

You could not help the snort that escaped you. Vernon glared at you, but with little effect. “What?” you whispered. “I don’t remember him being this thick.”

“What the fuck is this cartoon…” the two of you heard Mingyu pipe up. Finally, the buffoon is realising this is not the two-time Oscar winning animation, but the four-time Oscar winning CGI. “This wasn’t in the director’s cut.”

You still could not believe how your ex-boyfriend was taking this long for the realisation to hit. Even when Eric jumped up on the screen, holding onto the ship’s ropes, the watcher only regarded the character intently, as if he was somehow part of the stranger film.

Only when, fifteen minutes in, Atlantis is finally introduced that something clicked in his brain. Mingyu tilted his head, thinking out loud. “What the fuck…?”

Getting up from where he sat, he ended the call, informing whoever was on the other side that he would meet later. He took out the CD from the player, examining its exterior. “Can’t see shit on this CD…” He was not wrong—you were smart, choosing the discs which did not have any images, confusing the boy all the more. “Maybe I put in the wrong one…”

He shrugged it off, taking out The Dark Knight instead, another easy, breezy movie to watch when The Shape of Water did not pull through. Now Nolan was a hard one to criticise—Vernon himself was a huge fan, but seeing Mingyu try to watch it irked him. A good thing, then, was it not, that he was bound for a second surprise?

Repeating the routine, he slid the secret CD, settling back into his frameless bed. “Great minds, huh?” you whispered to him, and Vernon only rolled his eyes, not enjoying the dig against him in the slightest.

“You dated him,” he griped, watching the movie start up.

“Waste of good looks,” you whispered, your partner-in-crime nodding in agreement. The movie beginning had you both falling silent as a bird of prey hits on one of the soldier’s heads. The scene is set in the cold mountains of China, but the sole audience does not catch it immediately.

“So fucking weird…” Mingyu trailed off again, leaning forwards. “This isn’t the robbery scene…”

Of course it was not—the idiot would not witness one of the best film openings in Vernon’s humble opinion. He would not feast his eyes to the workings of Joker’s bank robbery, nor the cold one-liners from the incapacitated bank manager.

No, what he was served was the Huns crossing the Northern border, which, as the boy finally began to clock after a good ten minutes, was not what he was expecting.

“What the…” once again, he heaved himself up, walking over to the player. “Now I know something’s wrong…”

Both you and Vernon stretched further close, as much as the closet would allow, to peek at Mingyu’s frustration as he brought the CD out once more, examining the back and front. He then took out some more of his favourites, opening their cases and taking out the CDs, observing them closely. He was suspicious now. How could he not be, when he was expecting incel excellence, but was greeted with the same shit his younger sister—his crazy ex-girlfriend, even—would usually watch.

He blinked back.

His deathly stillness had the two trespassers pausing. You two looked at each other, faces losing any humour, perhaps recognising that he had clocked on. You watched the scene as Mingyu rapidly added one CD after another, expecting one movie only to have a Disney-fied replacement, completely botching his plans. Every movie that received such Disneyfication further enraged him, the grit in his teeth heard, the tick in his jaw visible.

The final straw was when the Godfather was slotted in, his all-time, unmatched favourite. There was darkness for the first few minutes, and he sighed too quickly in relief, about to lay back on his mattress.

Then, a curly-haired girl, a toddler at best, in huge green glasses becomes visible, being told to open her eyes.

“Is this where magic comes from?”

“What the fuck?!”

And as a conversation between the little girl and her elderly grandmother blossomed, there was a specific dialogue which sent the young boy over the edge.

“This candle became a magical flame that would never grow out…and it blessed us with a refuge in which to live…a place of wonder…An Encanto.”

You nearly burst out laughing.

Mingyu, on the other hand, could have seen red.

“Who fucked with my CDs?!” he demanded to no one in particular, though in his mind he knew there was a culprit. “My fucking CDs, man!”

“Did you do the Godfather swap?” you whispered, barely able to contain yourself.

“Two special families with one heir that doesn’t feel connected to their lifestyle.” Vernon grinned at you, impressed with himself. “It was too easy.”

“Where did you even find the Encanto DVD? It wasn’t in our set.”

“I found it in his little filmbro shelf.” He ticked his head towards the boy in physical agony. “My guess is that his sister is a Disney fan and left it in his mancave.”

“Oh my God,” you got out, watching the melodramatic scene of your dear ex show rage akin to a teenage boy losing Call of Duty online.

“That fucking bitch,” he guttered, over and over again as he threw the Encanto CD across the room. Those words came out, and the boy behind the shutters stiffened. Okay—there is rage, and then there is straight up promise of violence. Vernon may not be much of a knight, but if they were caught, he knew he would have to protect you.

He hoped to everything that existed that it would not have to come to that—Vernon would rather fake having a heart attack and have you drag his body out of the Kim Manor.

It seemed as that might have been a real possibility, until the boy called out a threat to a name they were not expecting.

“Minseo, I’m gonna kill you!” Mingyu roared as he stormed out of the room, undoubtedly on his way to destroy her room, even take his anger out on her Jellycat collection.

As you heard his frenzy disappear down the halls, the trespassers took this as the opportunity to escape the closet, Vernon already creating a little distance in case you come too close and cause his passing out.

“We need to get out now,” he declared as you crept out of the wardrobe, his head whipping to the door which Mingyu left from.

You nodded, not quite looking at him as you dashed straight for the final DVD. “Oh, Jesus,” He groaned, watching you scramble for the movie, trying horrifically to hide it within your clothes. “You do realise he can come in any second!”

“Okay, okay,” you said, hurrying over to the window. “Wait, you can go first.”

Vernon raised a brow, following after you. “How come you don’t want to go first?”

You only ushered him further, grinning. “You can peek at my ass again.”

“My eyes will be closed,” he sniped, already carrying it out, trying his absolute best not to imagine your ass in his mind—maybe stakeouts for goofy purposes were not for the weak-willed. “You know, just for that alone, you’re going down first.”

“Whatever suits you, Mr. Filmbro,” you almost chanted, aggravating him all the more as you stepped out of the window, beginning the trek down.

He looked down as you descended with one film in hand, still stealing glances at the only door in the room, terrified that the boy would burst through the door, see you both and bring about his downfall. Subconsciously, his fingers hovered just before his mouth, biting the skin around his nails. He knew he should have run himself over with an oncoming vehicle. A messy plan, but still fool-proof.

“Stop panicking and come down here!” your voice snapped him out of his anxious frenzy. “I know you’re biting your nails off right now!”

The boy instantly repelled his hand, instead furrowing his brow. A little irritating—scary, as well, really—how predictable he was in your eyes. How quickly you had figured him out.

“Alright,” he said, absent-mindedly as he reached for the windowsill. He peaked down again, not realising how far down the descent truly was. Rationally, he knew it was not the worst drop he’d seen on the first floor, but the nerves had started affecting his mind. Now, this entire time he was watching you take one step, two steps down, but he did not have the strength to follow you.

Still, he knew it was now or never.

Vernon was going to be at your heels (or, more anatomically correct, at your head) when he heard a shuffle from behind him.

He whipped his head around, anticipating the worst.

The worst arrived in all his golden-skinned, empty-headed glory. Holding one of his DVDs, Kim Mingyu stood at the doorway, his eyes widening with every second they beheld the intruder, one leg out of the house, the other a moment away from heaving him up.

Oh. Jesus. Christ.

“The nerd from film theory?”

Vernon’s face dropped.

The Nerd from Film Theory? The Nerd from fucking Film Theory?

It was then and there, in that exact moment of time, that the filmbro in question did not give a single care for what the popular boy thought of him. Vernon knew everything about this boy (whether he wanted to or not); his every class, his every terrible friend, even his film preferences, thanks to yours truly. Yet Mingyu did not even know his name—did not even bother to remember.

It was because of that that he managed to garner some essence of his bravado, finally settling both feet on the ladder steps.

He also decided to add in some corrections to Mingyu’s knowledge.

“Jo March did not need any man after Laurie…in fact, she did not need any male support, asshole.”

For added effect, he raised his middle finger, as if the burn was sick enough to hurt.

Mingyu’s devastating response was a confused tilt of his head, clearly not understanding his reference.

It was enough time for Vernon to hurry his descent down, catching the former more off guard.

“What the fuck—” was all the boy heard before he quickly tried to travel downwards, feet nearly slipping on the steps by his sheer carelessness. Mingyu’s head popped out from the window, and saw the great ladder leaning against the sill, shocked gaze lowering to where Vernon was descending to.

When his eyes found yours, he could have choked on his gulp. Even more so when you smirked at him.

“_____?”

As Vernon finally dropped off the ladder, dusting himself off, he watched the two of you, staring each other down. When he gauged Mingyu’s fear of you, there was a small part of him that was filled with admiration.

Mingyu’s demand sounded more like a whimper. “What are you doing here?”

You only curled your lips further upwards, grinning like a wild animal. It chilled your ex-boyfriend to the bone when you held the Tangled CD up for him to see, with your other hand raising your middle finger.

“This is for calling me a stupid bitch.”

His mouth dropped open. That gave you just enough time to grab onto Vernon’s hand, enveloping your fingers around his wrist.

And run for your life.

Vernon let out a yelp as he was yanked forward by your hold, barely hearing Mingyu’s loud curses and retreating back into the house, no doubt to follow after you two—the trespasser could only guess, much too occupied by your hand, a guiding beacon of mischief, never absent in his life as you ran and ran and ran out of the garden, out of the sleek maze which you two first entered, catching sight of the open garden gate.

The boy heard distant footsteps coming from the house, and as you both saw your car parked beyond the greater gates, you fished out your keys, finally letting go of his hand to dash over to the driver’s side, jamming the key in the lock. Vernon let out a startled noise as the car unlocked, wasting no time to jump inside, heart beating loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear. Mingyu appeared at the main doorstep at the exact same time, even more shocked to realise he had not noticed his ex-girlfriend’s car casually parked before him.

Just as you climbed inside, swivelling the keys into ignition, Mingyu began to run after the car, a mere ten seconds between him and catching you two.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _____, just start it already!” the nervous boy in shotgun begged, his head swivelling back at every chance, heart lurching at every metre closer the filmnemesis crept.

The car revved to life at your signal.

It was time to get the fuck out of here.

“GO, GO, GO!” Vernon screamed at the top of his voice, fisting the handle at the roof of the car as you slammed on the accelerator, racing out of the driveway with Mingyu’s bellowing following after you. Of course, since he was a mere, enraged college student, and you both were in a (slight) state-of-the-art vehicle, you zoomed out of the neighbourhood, his curses fading with every turn further out, you managing to escape.

Vernon, because he had never done such a thing before, was still screaming to leave for the next ten minutes until you had had enough, swerving to the side of the road, not far from his DVD store. You almost crashed into the nearby park, frightening a few birds that expected peace within the sidewalk trees, only to be disturbed by a troublesome ex and a film-obsessed loser.

You gushed out an exhale, fingers gripping tightly to the wheel, almost as stunned as the boy beside you, who seemed to take in the town’s worth of air in his little body. But then, you realised the gravity of the situation, the sole movie at the back which could not be swapped, and the valiant escape from something you never thought you would come out of alive.

Just then, you burst into laughter.

The boy whirled his head to you, who could not stop the tumbles of laughter that escaped your mouth, hanging on to the car wheel as you cackled and cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West. Well, that was what you thought you sounded at that time, but you, as always, did not care.

Only that you were wrong—at least in Vernon’s eyes. You were wrong, because if you were laughing like some Disney villain, then he would have been more pissed off—enraged even. He was instead in awe, shocked at the raw guffawing that spluttered out of you without shame. Had the two of you not evaded a great danger? Nearly been arrested for your legally ambiguous behaviour?

For the first time in his life, he was not embroiled with dread.

There was no anxiety in his body, no essence of panic at the consequences of your actions. No, he could only stare at you and your mirth, and find himself raising his brows, the beginnings of a scoffed laugh creeping from his lips.

The more he looked at you, the more his own laughter joined yours.

And then you were both laughing, giggling beyond control at the narrow escape, and the near crash against some tree. Vernon knew how stupid this whole situation was, but strangely, he did not seem to care—not when you did not see it like that. A very odd prospect.

After a few minutes, when it finally seemed as if you would settle down, you sighed, leaning back into the driver’s seat. “We should do that again.”

Despite the amusement lingering, he immediately shut the idea down. “Not a chance.”

You admired the ancient lining of the tree’s bark in front of the car. “The way you were laughing with me just now, you’d think you want to commit crimes from now on.”

A dramatic roll of eyes. “I’m not going to jail. They don’t even have a TV there.”

“You and your fuck ass movie collection…”

That brought out another chuckle from the boy—you smiled at the notion. He then looked at the rearview mirror, where the last movie was splayed, all alone and away from the others. “Kind of a shame we missed out on one last movie.”

“Right?” You followed his line of sight. “Fuck, Tangled of all movies?”

“Wait, isn’t that the one with Rapunzel?”

You let out an impressed hum. “A week of seeing my face, and you’re already catching on!” A mischievous raise of brows. “Another month with me and you can sing all the tracks from the film.”

“You really shouldn’t have this much faith in me, _____,” he said, shaking his head. “Plus, this might be the one movie I didn’t watch with Sofe.” He saw you perk up at the new name. “My sister. She’s the one who forced me to watch all those Disney films years ago.”

“I like her already,” you mused, a finger on your chin. You paused for a bit, looking down at your shoes, settled lightly upon the pedals. Then, you started the engine once more. “So…Tangled is the only one you haven’t watched, huh.”

A glance at you. “Yep.”

You looked back, hoping to reverse away from the tree. “Right…” You checked your watch, the car slowly moving out of the pavement. “Interesting…super duper interesting.”

It was something insane, fantastical the way Vernon’s nerves seemed to hum at the implications. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“What? I just said that it’s interesting you’ve never watched Tangled…”

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “This is where you’re gonna force me to watch the stupid movie.”

But then he caught the look of surprise on your face, as if you had been caught. “Oh, Jesus, you’re not gonna let me out the car, are you?”

“No, no!” you countered at once, raising your hands. “Well, yes as in I was hoping you would watch the movie with me, and no, I won’t force you.” You sighed a little, fingers back on the wheel. “You’ve already done so much today. If you want to go home, I’ll drive you straight there.”

He watched your expression, the prepared acceptance, the anticipation—the sliver of hope, hiding itself amongst the flurry of other emotions. In all honesty, he was tired; the entirety of this evening had exhausted his social battery (which he doubted he had to begin with) and he still had some sound image work left back at the college studio. If it was any other person asking, he would have happily bunked them off—pretended that he had suddenly developed a terminal illness in the span of minutes, and begged them to drive him back home to ‘live out the rest of his days’.

You, on the other hand, were a problem. He could not let you down—not anymore. Not after today.

When he let out a soft sigh, you were anticipating the worst. Then, he revealed the answer.

“Let’s watch a fucking Disney Princess movie.”

VERNON DID NOT WANT TO WATCH A FUCKING DISNEY PRINCESS MOVIE.

The moment you opened the door to your house—a shabby, student house about twenty minutes from campus—stepping inside, he realised there was no way back, and that he had to humour your wish, or else lose respect in your eyes.

As you brought him down the small hallway, leading into the little living room, you quickly grabbed the takeout boxes of your flatmates, murmuring hurried apologies as you left the room. The boy looked around, the slight cracks of the blue walls, the 32” TV sitting at the opposite end of the fraying couches. Posters of Bridget Jones, Notting Hill, and other Hugh Grant movies were plastered on one end of the wall, while Vernon nearly had a jumpscare when he caught a life-size cardboard cutout of some Disney hero—this one unrecognisable.

“That’s the love of my life you’re staring at,” came the voice behind him, and he whirled to see you, a huge bowl of popcorn cradled in your hands. “Why’re you standing in the middle like an idiot? Sit, sit!” Vernon obliged, making to settle on the sofas when you tutted. “Are you mental? No, sit on the bean bags near the TV!”

How stupid of me to assume I could sit on furniture designed for sitting, he meant to crow, but the moment he settled on the bean bags, he instantly preferred their malleable comfort. When he let out a relaxed sigh, you huffed out a laugh, propping the bowl before him. “See?”

“I was gonna say…” Vernon trailed off, watching you press a few buttons on the DVD player. “Where’s the CD?”

“Already in,” you said, picking up the remote as you settled in the beanbag next to him, scooting closer. Catching a look at his face, you bellowed, “Yes, Mr. Filmbro, I watched it recently!”

“How recently are we saying?”

“...yesterday evening.”

“And this is the masterpiece you wanna show me,” Vernon murmured, sneaking a look back at the cardboard cutout. “Don’t tell me he’s the floozy that’s leading the film.”

You turned the TV on. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

He then looked at you. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Trust me!” you then reasoned, putting a hand on the boy’s knee—the mere touch had his brain rewiring, nerves all ceasing to work on the one point where your touch remained. You really had to stop—first your hand was on his mouth in that damned (blessed) closet, and now this soft reminder. He tried his best not to fix his eyes on your lingering fingers as you carried on, “This film is a modern classic. I promise.”

Well shit, he thought. When you looked at him like that, you could have convinced him that Quentin Tarantino was a better foot fetishiser than a filmmaker.

“Okay,” he said, almost believing in your words.

With that, the landing page for the movie turned on, and there were the main characters; he assumed the chick with the long, blonde hair was Rapunzel, and the man behind her—which, Vernon thought, did not deserve to be celebrated as a life-sized cardboard cutout—was the love interest. Whatever.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he mumbled as you pressed the fated Play, anticipating the worst.

And as the two of you fell silent, Vernon still holding out on the popcorn, watching suspiciously at the screen, the voice of a man flooded the TV speaker.

“This…this is the story of how I died.”

The boy immediately reacted, face dropping. “The fuck?” he got out, catching the WANTED! Poster of the very man he bad-mouthed not two minutes ago.

“But don’t worry, this is actually a fun story…and the truth is…it isn’t even mine.”

“Wait, this dude is already dead?” he asked.

“Just watch the movie!” you answered impatiently, making the boy sigh and lean back into the bean bag.

“This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel. And it starts…with the sun.”

You wanted to keep your eyes rooted to the screen, watch the unfurling of Mother Gothel’s backstory, but that was precisely when the incessant complaining began.

“Now why are we already getting context of some random witch’s actions? Less telling, more showing, man!” Vernon kept his arms crossed, shaking his head at the TV. “Oh, great, poor little king and queen in their big ass castle!”

“Having basic sympathy will take you great places, my guy,” you merely said, scoffing down the popcorn in the bowl. “Their kid just got stolen by some crazy bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, piping down once more when the flashbacks ceased, and the present day was introduced into the story. On the screen, a small, green chameleon entered, camouflaging himself behind a pot of flowers. He guessed that the chick with the long hair—Rapunzel—would be finding him, and, lo and behold, he was right. In all fairness, though, it did not take a film degree to work that out.

He also did not need a film degree to guess that a musical number was about to be introduced, not even ten minutes into the movie. That he worked out all by himself, when the guitar riffs sounded. Beside him, you instantly brightened, smile widening as TANGLED morphed on the screen, the song about to begin.

It was around that point when, as he spared you a glance, he realised you were about to sing along.

“Oh, Jesus—”

If his life was a romantic film, this would have been the perfect setup; the girl that made his heart flutter was seated dangerously close to him, bean bags already touching with shoulders barely following, watching the cheesiest animated movie. He could have seen the shot now, with his gaze turning rose-y as you would open your mouth and sing along to the song. Of course, you would sing beautifully, better than the original singer, and he would sit there, absolutely mesmerised.

Oh, he was stunned alright.

“SEVEN AM THE USUAL MORNING, LINE UP—!”

The boy flinched at the sheer volume of your chant—screech would be the better word for it, for he guessed singing was not one of your natural talents.

You could not see his judgement at all, eyes closed and clutching your fists to your chest, continuing the song. “START ON THE FLOOR AND SWEEP TILL THE FLOOR’S ALL CLEEEEEANNNN—!”

A scoff escaped him, not quite believing the scene before him. He was shocked to silence, the movie’s music now in his background, the forefront being your attempt to outsing the princess. Either no one had told you how horrendous your singing was, or you simply did not care for the opinions of others. A part of him hoped that it was the latter—for you to be so comfortable in singing away, despite what others thought, made his judgement disappear.

Shamelessly you sang the entire number, up to the point where the scene cuts and the supposedly hot love interest—whose name was Flynn Rider, apparently, which he should have known if he just read the poster at the start of the movie like a normal viewer—was now trying to steal the crown jewels.

Vernon was too busy thinking about how stupid ‘Flynn Rider’ was as a name to realise that another song had just started. Immediately you changed your tune, your tone lowering, almost sultry.

This time, you looked at him when you started singing.

“Look at you, as fragile as a flower…”

“Ayo?” A glance at the TV screen, where Mother Gothel was now singing. “Another song?”

But you did not answer his question, only singing further as you reached your hand out to him. “Still a little sapling, just a sprout!” You continued, and, at that, your hand patted his mess of curls atop his head, mirroring Mother Gothel’s actions.

Blinking back repeatedly, he could not even shrug it off, stunned once again by how you were casually able to touch him and not feel anything—while his entire system shuts down like a lagging desktop when it tries to run the Sims.

The overdramatic flair was present in your singing, changed from the sweetness of the previous song. It was crazy how you remembered each word, not slipping at any chorus—you were a true fan, a committed admirer of the film. Even he could not comprehend knowing every single line of his favourites.

It was admirable indeed—to love a film as you did this one.

It was what made Vernon smile a little, turning away from your melodrama and focusing on the screen, where Mother Gothel now threatened to never be asked to leave the tower. Again.

This time, he would give the movie a chance. Thank God he decided to wake up.

The movie picked up the pace instantly—he had not expected Flynn to meet—and be whacked out by Rapunzel’s frying pan—so quickly, and had reflected her dejection when the mother screamed at her. He could tell where this was going, especially with the thief now in the closet, but he found himself grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl without turning away from the screen.

By the time the third song of the movie came around, he was taken aback that it arrived further in, surrounded by the thugs of the Snuggly Duckling. Without realising, he turned to you, anticipating you breaking out into a song, but you were merely watching the movie, bobbing your head along to the beat.

Noticing his stare, you glanced at him. “Expecting a show?”

“Since you were giving them out without request, I figured this time would be like any other.”

You snorted, grabbing the popcorn. “I’m saving my heavenly voice for the best song, actually.”

Vernon mocked a gasp. “So you’re telling me Mother Knows Best isn’t the best feature?”

“Don’t chat shit, Mr. Filmbro, because Mother Knows Best is one of the top five.”

“I look forward to seeing which song you’re holding out for,” he only said, turning back to the movie again. The popcorn ran out about this time, and you shot up from your bean bag, promising more as you exited the room, leaving him to continue.

By the time you returned, the protagonists were escaping, chaos ensuing all around them with the guards, his partners and that eccentric white horse chasing them. Ending up in the cave, they recognise a lack of way out, and although Vernon was aware that the movie ends on the happiest note, a small part of him filled with dread.

That dread disappeared instantly when Flynn confessed his little secret.

“Eugene Fitzherbert?!” The boy demanded.

You chuckled at his disdain. “Yeah, Flynn Rider was hotter. Eugene Fitzherbert ages him about forty years.”

“Flynn Rider was silly, but Eugene is straight up diabolical.”

“He is still fuckable regardless!” you shushed him, raising your pointer at him. “You wish you had his sex appeal.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let me just change my name to Bartholomew Whiteman real quick.”

“Hey!” you whacked him on the arm, this time laughing heartily at his quip. “Let my man live!”

He decided to spare your fictional man any more bullying, taking in the town atmosphere where the two adventurers and Maximus had now ended up. “Ooooo, the castle dances are my favourite scenes!” you gushed, scooping popcorn in one hand and eating with the other. “Wait, look, look at the braid!”

“Jeez, I’m looking!” he insisted, watching the girls braid Rapunzel’s hair. Flynn—which Vernon is continuing to identify him as, because Eugene was too much for him—stared at her longingly at the results. Vernon used the popcorn as an excuse to gaze at you matching Flynn’s longing at the screen. Your head rested on your knees, locking your hands in front of them, forming a lazy smile. This smile remained throughout Rapunzel and Eugene’s activities, even to the point when the couple were settled in a boat, waiting for the lights.

“It’s happening,” you declared, the smile widening as you released your legs from your hands. “Oh my God, it’s fucking happening!”

Raising the volume, the boy watched the screen, where thousands of lanterns were sparking alight at the king and queen’s signal. The lanterns’ lights broke across the borders of the town, melting into the sea, the docked ships. Rapunzel had not noticed though, too busy dropping flower heads upon the water’s surface, Flynn helpfully holding out the bunch.

As the princess dropped another upon the waterbed, she finally noticed the beginning.

It was then Vernon heard your favourite Disney song.

“All those days, watching from the window…All those years, outside looking in…”

You followed this time, not as loud as the other songs, quiet and soft, as if letting the blonde shine in her song. “All that time, never even knowing, just how blind I’ve been…””

You exhibited the same excitement as Rapunzel, who, noticing the lanterns, threw off Flynn’s balance, hanging onto the curling bow of the boat.

The boy, however, was not really focused on the screen.

Because the music that surrounded the two crept into his ears, playing the strings of his senses; because the lights were off save for the TV, shining its dimmed lighting upon your face, making you glow with the dark purples, blues, golds of the Tangled scenery. He lost all interest in everything because you were looking something out of a daydream, watching the events of the movie as if they were scenes of salvation. The two of you were definitely not on any kind of boat, merely sitting on bean bags. Despite all of that, he began to float—swaying from where he sat, as if he was truly settled on water.

“Now I’m here—” You put your hand to your chest— “Blinking in the starlight…now I’m here, suddenly I see…”

You kept singing the lyrics, voice more subdued than your last outbursts, and Vernon could only watch you, the pure love of this song radiating off your very pores. Vernon’s anticipation rose with every octave of the singer’s voice rising, eyes never leaving your face, the parted mouth.

“Standing here, it’s oh! so clear…!”

As the viewers themselves were about to observe the thousands of lanterns Rapunzel witnessed, Vernon himself waiting, he made the mistake of averting his gaze from you, if only to see the grand reveal.

It was what made you unconsciously envelop your fingers with his, clasping his hand with yours.

He whipped his head to yours, eyes widening to the point of spilling.

You were already looking at him.

When you sang the next lyrics, Vernon could have melted molten.

“I’m where I’m meant to be!”

And as the lanterns surrounded the protagonists, lighting up the entirety of the night, you sang the chorus to the boy in your little college flat, no one to witness it but two of you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the fog has lifted!”

Your voice was hoarse now, all the screech-singing catching up to you. Vernon, in another lifetime, would have instantly resisted, ran for the hills if it was literally anyone else in the room but you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the sky…is new…”

But it was you—you holding his hand tightly, you looking at him with the light of the lanterns in your eyes, you opening up to him in your little haven, away from anyone else. Granted, you could have offered this performance to anyone, but he liked to think—shit, he was truly hoping—that you would not have done this for anyone else.

You would have only sang your favourite song to him.

“And it’s warm, and real, and bright! And the world has somehow…shifted…”

Vernon watched you halt a moment, waiting for the next verse, your hand tightening in his.

“All at once…everything looks different…”

You were right—the world had shifted underneath him, stilled under the dimmed lighting of this dingy living room. The two of you now faced each other, music still tuning from the TV, but the characters long forgotten, as if they never existed. Yes, you were right in that everything looked different, seemed different, as if he was seeing you for the very first time.

“Now that I…see you.”

Shit. You were rather beautiful before him.

You paused then, watching his reaction. You tilted your head, thoroughly amused by the sheer awe that radiated from his face, but then you noticed his chest rise and fall, more unevenly the longer you observed him.

The next detail you caught was how his eyes darted down—down to your lips.

It was the lips, which were watched so intently, that parted.

You attempted at a little humour. “Out of all my talents, I guess singing isn’t one of them.”

But Vernon did not respond with words. Sure, he would have agreed with you, but singing was irrelevant now. Out of all these infinite talents you possessed—your natural charm, your ease in making him laugh, your trespassing and eventual escaping of such crimes—Vernon could not have given less of a shit about singing. Not when you were before him, bathed in an unnatural, extraordinary light, soft music playing in the background. Almost as if he had adorned the rose-tinted glasses, courtesy of the universe.

In any romantic comedy, he would have kissed her.

The boy was not known to be courageous—anything but brave. Real Life, Not Clickbait Vernon would have left by now. The Real Vernon should have pussied out.

You, however, looked a little too beautiful to be treated with cowardice.

“Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Filmbro, or are you gonna make me wait till the end of the movie?”

He parted his mouth for a split second, gob-smacked at your question. The twinkle in your gaze, though, had him spluttering out a harsh chuckle, craning his head down at the sheer absurdity of it all. But then he looked up, smiling, not quite believing what he was about to do.

“I should make you wait.”

That was what he said. What Vernon instead did was finally grow the two balls that were supposed to be hidden in his pants, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours.

Now the boy always wondered whether the movies were right—when mouths would touch, move against each other, whether a fire would ignite between souls, whether one really felt as if they were not of this world.

It seemed like Hallmark-level bullshit to him, but the moment his lips touched yours, he began to float out of this room. A soft hum reverated from you, approval at his actions, and he could have burst as he felt you smile against him.

Maybe Disney was right. God, he really did not want to be in such accord with that stupid corporation, but they were onto something with the fireworks, the orchestral singing when couples kiss. He himself felt a choir-like chant all around him as he brought his hand to your face, angling it slightly so he could gain better access, boost your pleasure as he delved slightly deeper.

He was unstoppable. He was alive and ecstatic and delirious, opening his mouth wider, his other hand now finding your waist, snuffing out any distance between you two. It was not like he was a pro in these situations—he had only ever had one serious girlfriend, and that was at an age where a boy could get away with merely ‘french-kissing’ (as the kids back then would have gloated) your significant other. Again, he may have fooled around a little in college, too, but never had he experienced this haze of lust, this newfound desire.

This desire enhanced further when you slipped your tongue from the seams, sliding it along his as an invitation for more, and he could have honestly thanked that heinous hag Walt Disney for making movies you adored so much, to the point of showing him and landing him in this situation. Of course he indulged you, opening his mouth enough to let you inside. The sensation of your tongue slipping past his lips had a soft noise releasing from his throat.

Tangled was all but forgotten, the two of you too occupied being entangled with each other. You pulled him even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair. The soft touches had every strand of his locks standing on edge, a wave of delight washing over him.

You were sagged into the bean bag, Vernon’s weight upon you sinking you further, but you did not mind it—relished it, his scent engulfing you, the sighs and soft murmurs of his every exhale haunting your eardrums. Who would have thought that a boy who could recite every Joker quote from The Dark Knight—Virgin Supremism you termed the talent—had this kind of game hidden underneath? How was he able to ignite such powerful emotions from you?

How was Vernon ‘Filmbro’ Chwe able to make you feel so good you did not realise Tangled finishing right before you?

The two of you could have spent all night intertwined in each other, perhaps would have gone past the boundaries of mere making out. However, between the haze of his soft whispers to you, your own mist swimming in your head, you heard the starting music of the DVD reverting to the home page, and like instinct you opened your eyes, finding that the movie had ended.

You must have paused, because Vernon immediately stopped, concern staining his pretty features. His knitted brow, eyes laced with nervousness, shamed you for ever stopping. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“Oh, no, no!” You felt like a fool for the answer you attempted to give him. “It’s just, um…”

He followed your line of sight, turning around. Once he realised, he looked back at you, you surprised to find a little shock replacing his concern. “We were going for that long?”

Your smirk had his stomach knotting. “This is what happens when you make out with someone you like, Mr. Filmbro.”

He could not respond, looking away as his flushed face managed to redden some more. You only laughed at him, playing with the hem of his shirt, his arms still steady as they caged you. “You are so lucky, you know.”

He quirked a brow. “And why is that?”

“I would never miss the second half of Tangled for a man.”

It was so incredibly stupid, how he felt a semblance of pride at the notion.“Happy to know I’m an exception.”

“You do know I’m gonna make you watch it again so you can say you’ve watched it.”

Vernon tilted his head to the side, lost in thought. You watched him, anticipating. “This is the part where you say you’d rather Mingyu jump you than rewatch Tangled.”

“Well yes, but…” He glanced over his shoulder, where your shelf of DVDs were stacked, a particular movie which had caught his eye previously now standing out all the more. “I, uh…”

He looked back at you, and the self-conscious glint in his gaze had you watching his every movement. “I was hoping to show you my favourite movie instead.”

You were ready to make a comment on how you prided on avoiding Nolan films like the plague, but then you remembered the conversation at Mingyu’s house. Your eyebrows could have touched your hairline. “You said I could never know.”

“Well…” a small smile escaped him, slowly pulling himself away. “If I am to be your exception, _____, then I suppose you can be mine.”

Gaping at him, you could only keep silent as he, with great effort on his part, heaved off you, making his way to the shelf. He was lucky, you thought—had he been a moment slower, that comment alone would have had you kissing him again.

What quickly caught your attention was him sliding his pointer finger through your collection, a series of your favourites. The anticipation was rising, you not quite believing that Mr. Filmbro’s favourite film was within your arsenal. Weeks ago, you would have bullied him relentlessly for the ironic hypocrisy.

When he pulled out the fated DVD, you let out the greatest laugh.

The boy instantly frowned, but you did not realise, cackling and cackling away at the selection, the final boss of Vernon’s favourite film, nestled between his fingers. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but again, you did not hear him, lost in the shrill sound of your laughter, erupting the room to life.

“Oh, Jesus—” Your chortling did not seem to stop, almost to the point of hiccups. “Your ass…this entire time—!”

“And suddenly I’m leaving!” Vernon announced, getting up and about to drop the DVD.

He did not last long in his determination when you grabbed onto the end of his shirt, grinning still. “Thank God you’re not a Nolan kiss-ass…that’s all I’m saying.”

All he could do was stand like an idiot, the tips of your fingers caressing the skin just above his trousers. “But I am a Nolan kiss-ass,” he murmured, crossing his arms.

“That’s what I thought, too, but this film—” you jerked your head towards the prize in his hand. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Stop it,” he only said, crouching down to pull out the Tangled CD, replacing it with the new, and, in his opinion, improved movie. “This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“And nobody will know,” you assured him, watching the movie’s main menu pop up, the PLAY option highlighted. “This’ll be our secret.”

“First the trespassing,” Vernon began, sitting down beside you, “Then the tampering of movies, and now this.” He grabbed the remote, about to play the movie. “How much more are we gonna sneak around?”

You looked at him, and the smile you offered him had him glancing away—only for a second. “Have you not had fun, though? Sneaking around with me?”

Normally, in a situation where he had zero balls, he would have evaded such a question, not fanned the flames of your fire. But tonight he had watched a Disney movie with you, felt your fingers caressing his skin, had even kissed you in the purple hues of Tangled’s light. Tonight, he could conquer the world.

What would answering a heated question do any harm?

Vernon locked eyes with you then, trying to fight his smile. “I think I could have fun with you anywhere…in secret or for anyone to see.”

As something in your gaze shifted, he turned the film on (an entendre which was completely intentional).

Once again, the two of you were in the same position, watching yet another film, this time another’s all time favourite. The narrator began in a strange, European accent, explaining the tale of an unfortunate princess, much like Rapunzel, and her dire situation.

Although it was undoubtedly his most treasured film, the boy had a very hard time paying attention when all he could feel was that penetrating stare of yours, capable of revealing his very soul from beneath his measly shirt. Even when the stranger main character was introduced, following his main routine in his strangest abode, Vernon was not particularly concentrating anymore.

Not when he heard your voice, a soft question amongst the gaudy music of the 2000s. “Do you mean that, Vernon?”

And perhaps it was because you said his actual name, especially when your voice sounded like…like that. Like something from a perfect movie soundtrack, akin to the end-credits of an unforgettable TV show.

Because he was too occupied with simply admiring you, he merely nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.

And because you were too busy admiring him, his words, the entire night where you had felt pure, euphoric joy, you did Mr. Filmbro a little dirty by making a decision that negated his film.

You shifted closer once more, hands reaching out to hold his face.

This time, Vernon was prepared when you kissed him.

There was a certain eagerness in your lips this time which was newer—more enjoyable to his senses. It made sense now, why all these couples in movies made out for hours and hours on end. He felt as if he could kiss you forever, move against your mouth, delve inside until his tongue memorised your very imprint.

You moaned a little louder this time, and the very sound had his heartbeat racing, moreso when, as he pressed you against him, shifting upon his beanbag, he knew then and there that something in the air shifted.

Last time, you had stopped. This time, there was no such indication—the very thought had him skirting his hands around you, holding you tight enough to never let go.

Still—even with such possibilities, there was no way you and him would escalate to the point of losing his virginity.

Whatever happens though, he will still watch the end of his favourite film.

Whatever happens, Vernon would not be having sex with you if Shrek was playing in the background.

VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

Certainly not his greatest achievements, considering he could not focus on his favourite movie, but it was certainly not his fault. You were—to put it quite plainly—hot as fuck.

He did not leave until the very next day because—as he had stated that night—he still wanted you to watch Shrek, and did, somehow, end up watching it properly. You did not stop teasing him, and he did not stop shutting you up by kissing you senseless.

Unfortunately, the boy did have college the next day, so he had to leave at some point, but not without promises of meeting you again. This time, however, you two did not continue the crimes he committed with you. You and Vernon were not modern-day Joker and Harley Quinn.

When the two of you were not terrorising Mingyu’s livelihood, you decided to hang out at the filmstore, where it all began. Vernon would host weekly movie nights, and both of you would eat popcorn and watch each other’s recommendations, scoring them differently in accordance to what was most important for each other.

For the film majoring student, the rating was influenced not only by the actors’ performances, but also from the intricate storyline, the character developments, their relationships. A story, for him at least, was about relationships. Good cinema was about the chemistry between two actors, the emotional connection they had not just with each other, but also their effect on the audience. The actual editing of the film, too, was another bullet point in his criteria.

Your rating, on the other hand, differed slightly.

“Michelle Yeoh is such a MILF,” was your only comment upon finishing Everything Everywhere All at Once.

This comment nearly made Vernon lose his mind. “One of the greatest movies of this decade, and this is your only input?”

“But am I wrong, though?”

Vernon sighed a little at that—at the end of the day, you were absolutely in the right. There was a reason Crazy Rich Asians went platinum in his dingy little room.

Of course, it was not just his personal recommendations that played. You had compiled a list of your all-time favourites, going beyond Disney’s borders, and Vernon was introduced to the dashing timeless genre of the rom-com. Now having a younger sister who (he thought) was a basic bitch meant he did possess some knowledge of the genre, but he had never really sat down and watched a rom-com without falling asleep in Sofia’s bed.

For you, though, he braved the most famous romances, which he found himself enjoying more than he would have liked—more so when he found one of his favoured actors in 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Heath Ledger singing was something I never thought I needed,” Vernon commented as the ferocious couple finally kissed.

“And this is the same fella who was the Joker in your little Nolan film,” you reminded him, as if he was not aware already. “Oh, and he was the gay cowboy in that movie.”

“Gay cowboy?” His confusion lasted for approximately thirty seconds before he groaned, pushing you over on your beanbag. “My god, are you talking about Brokeback Mountain?”

“Yes, that one!” you exclaimed, picking up the TV remote. “My guy has range, but him as a high schooler is still my favourite role.”

“You do realise how bad that sounds, right?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, waving him off as you began searching for the next movie. “Now, Two Weeks’ Notice or The Proposal?”

Vernon endeavoured to weigh in on the options. “Which one do you think I’d like?”

“Well, both have Sandra Bullock in them…”

He looked over both DVDs. “Now that’s a white woman I can get behind.”

You scooched a little over to him, locking your hands together. “We can watch something you like…” When he knitted his brows together, not quite answering you, you went on, almost unable to look him in the eye. “You’ve been super nice, you know…sitting through all my favourites.”

The boy could not help it, unable to let a smirk slip. “Is this _____ appreciating me for once?” The beginnings of his shit-eating attitude did not develop, since your smack on his arm completely snuffed it out. “Ow, damn!”

“You deserved that,” you muttered, beginning to scoot away until Vernon’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

When you focused your gaze at him, he already beat you to it. “Let’s watch both today.”

It was silly, how that made your heart beat faster. “Really? You would watch two rom-coms in a row?”

As his hand pulled you closer, his stare had you almost—almost—nervous. “I’ve done worse for you.”

“Very true,” you said, absent-minded, more lost in the twinkle of his eyes. “Very, uh…good point.”

Vernon thanked all the higher bodies that may have existed for the pure, unadulterated rizz he was attempting to spew. “I’m full of good points,” he crowed. “Now, are you going to stare at me all night, or are we going to watch Sandra Bullock?”

Although your cheeks burned, you pushed him off, earning a chuckle from him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Filmbro. The only man I’ll be staring at will be Ryan Reynolds in The Proposal.”

All of the boy’s suave attitude dissipated at his shock. “The Deadpool guy?!”

“Ryan Reynolds did have range before,” you explained, shaking your head. “Then the superhero bug bit him.”

“What a shame,” he only said, as if Vernon did not follow the Deadpool universe to the point of possessing special editioned comics in his room. Still, he happily slotted the CD inside the player, and excused himself to make more popcorn for the two of you.

As the boy prepared snacks, glancing back every time at the opening scene, he managed to sneak a look at you, eagerly watching the screen.

He could only smile, putting all the popcorn in the huge bowl before hurrying back to you.

THIS WAS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT TO A CINEMA. PERHAPS THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT AT ALL.

Admittedly, it was not as if you had intended to go into the cinema in formal attire—or, at least the only formal clothing you had. Your first plan was to steal something from your father’s wardrobe, but when you tried it on, it did not fit properly, and you refused to look like an idiot in public.

Not that you cared much about looking like an idiot in public before, but there was another person to look out for. And that person, although had already done embarrassing enough actions for you, did not want to push it further. One more ceremonious act of humiliation, and Vernon would have run a thousand miles from you—or that was what you thought.

You observed your cinema fit one last time before your bathroom mirror, fixing the lapels for the nth time. Your rented three-piece suit was almost a second skin, waistcoat snug underneath the tweed jacket, matching coloured trousers adorned alongside. You borrowed some Oxford brogues from a friend, which made you realise that you had more posh friends than you knew. You tried to find a hat similar to the one Cillian Murphy wore in the promotions, but because you did not have the wardrobe of a middle aged man, you resorted to let your head rest.

All of this elaborate planning to see Nolan’s (apparently) greatest release yet—Oppenheimer.

Because the cinema was not far away from you, you decided to walk, messaging your date to let him know that you were on your way. You were certain he was already there in the cinema; Vernon, since you had started hanging out more with him, had only ever talked about Nolan’s upcoming epic. You swore if you recited the IMDB plot out to him during sex, he would have spunked within minutes (a mental note to experiment on that later). His excitement had you booking midnight release tickets, which consequently made him so happy you thought you had invited Nolan to the town cinema.

The night, furthering along, had beautified the black sky, stars twinkling on your journey. The consistent vibrations from your phone indicated the boy’s imminent excitement, and you smiled, double-checking your formal attire once more. You would have romanticised the nighttime further but living in student area brought you right back to fearing slightly for your life, so you quickened your step, cinema already a close speck in the distance.

You knew you were nearer to the destination when the flocks of pink and black grew, the cowboy hats and fake pipes all piling up in your vision. Seeing the pink reminded you of Barbie’s influence, also being released tonight alongside the more serious counterpart.

A small part of you really wanted to see the midnight release for the new movie. The original plan most people were following was either to watch Oppenheimer and then Barbie, or the other way around. You were so close to procuring tickets for the latter, but decided that it was important to accompany Vernon to the seemingly bigger release. After all, you were never as excited about films as the dear film major you had rather grown to like.

Another vibration of your phone, and you finally decided to stop ignoring said-film major and text him, possibly informing you of his arrival.

mr. filmbro: yo where u at

mr. filmbro: they’re too many pink mfs out here im getting suffocated

You rolled your eyes.

_____: im coming to save u kitten.

mr. filmbro: :0

Once you were inside, it was a complete sea of pink and black and grey. Two sides, which one would assume would be opposing, were all celebrating, sharing their drinks, anticipating when the theatre doors would open to let everyone in. Within this myriad of fans, you tried to search for the most mentally ill one—the one who you were certain had a finer three-piece set than you, who would have happily stolen Cillian Murphy’s set clothes to truly honour the movie.

Strangely enough, after a few minutes, you could not find him, even after confirming your seats. You searched for anyone wearing anything devoid of colour, but did not find the boy. This time, you decided to bother him, calling him and pressing the phone to your ear.

“Where are you, kitten?” you purposely growled, lowering your voice an octave. “Daddy’s waiting.”

“Kitten actually killed himself after hearing that,” was his purposeful monotone.

“Can you resurrect yourself for me real quick? I’m tryna find where you are.”

“I’m next to the Oppenheimer popup.” Immediately you tried to find it, scouring through the crowds. “I figured you’d find me easier.”

Scoffing, you ignored the Barbie stalls, walking further ahead. “How very smart of you to wear Oppenheimer clothing while standing next to it. So much easier to find you, isn’t it?”

He did not retort back, instead inciting your excitement. “Wait, I think I can see you…?”

Your eyes darted over to the fresh faces of the Nolan fans, all taking pictures of the cast pop-ups. What you were observing were the men and women, all lack of colour.

What your gaze ended up on was someone completely different.

What you were expecting was a mini-Oppenheimer, the too-large blazer, the sashed hat upon pretty brown curls. What you received instead was a boy engulfed in all the pinks of the colour wheel.

Pink was the colour of his top, bubblegum pink the colour of the stringy fur coat sporting over said shirt. Magenta was the colour of his flared trousers, whilst rose was the colour of his converse. What topped off the entire look was the hot pink cowboy hat, sitting perfectly upon his wavy locks, completing his fit—a fit which was perfect for the Barbie movie.

It was around that point that he caught on to your stare—through the oceans of opposing fans, he, too, finally found you.

Vernon heard your curse murmur through the phone. “Oh my fucking God.”

That was when his own gaze roamed over you, shocked and shameless amongst the crowds. Not that the crowds mattered, not anymore. He was a little nervous, he had to admit it to himself, only because there were so many people, and they were only watching for the fad, for the trend. A part of him wanted just you and him in this midnight cinema, the biggest official date yet.

But then seeing you here, in all your black-clad, Oppenheimered glory, had stunned him to his core. Although he had specifically brought you here to watch the movie, he had completely expected you to arrive in the pinkmania fit. Because you had kindly booked tickets for his anticipated film, he thought at least to participate in the Barbie craze fit.

It was like instinct, how his steps gravitated towards you, his phone still pressed against his ear, very much like you. You followed him slowly, hearing his ragged breaths through the speaker, watching him walk closer and closer until you both were a mere couple of feet away.

Only then did you drop the call, your hands at your sides as you admired him. It was a while before any of you spoke.

Like always, you spoke first. “Tell me the fur coat is yours.”

A ghost of a smirk. “Sofia’s.”

“Stealing’s like second nature to you now, isn’t it?” you taunted.

Like always, he dodged your taunts. “I thought you were gonna wear all pink.”

“I thought you were gonna wear all black.”

He tilted his head. “Well, I thought since we were watching both movies…”

Your confusion was clear, the corner of his lips curling further up. “Wasn’t Oppenheimer first?”

He then went inside his flared trouser pockets, fishing out two tickets—its colours matching his outfit. “I know how much you wanted to see Margot Robbie be silly.”

“I did!” you exclaimed, taking the tickets from him, admiring how pretty they were designed, especially when compared to the Oppenheimer marketing tickets. In your admiration, though, you noticed a detail which had your excitement faltering. “Wait, are you sure? It says the movie’s at the same time.”

Vernon then checked the timings, mouth parting. “Oh shit. Didn’t think about that.” He shook his head, mouth straightening in a line, dejected. “This is what happens when I try to do something romantic.”

“I have to give points for effort,” you offered, bringing your hands to his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s watch Oppenheimer, honestly. Cillian Murphy is still hot when he’s old.”

“No, no,” he countered, clasping your hands on his wrist. “It’s chill.” He glanced down. “Let’s do Barbie first.”

You attempted to argue him on this, but he simply let go of your hands, with his one hand wrapping around your waist, and the other hand’s wrist being checked for the time. You bit back a smile at his mere actions, relishing his fingers skirting under the suit, the waistcoat. “Vernon,” you attempted.

“_____,” he said back, staring at you with an awe that you would have deserved had you worn a couture gown, not some rented hand-me-downs.

You knew he would not take no for an answer now. “But what about Oppenheimer?” you asked anyway as the two of you made your way to the cinema.

Vernon only pretended to think extremely deeply of the situation, making you elbow him playfully. “Now tell me, Dear Disney Hag, how did we enter Mingyu’s house?”

“Why, we walked straight in!” you answered like an over-enthusiastic student, in which he sarcastically clapped for you.

“Right on.” As you both walked towards the Barbie theatre, the opposing movie was being screened right beside you, where people were bursting in. “See how everyone is walking in right now?” He gave you a knowing glance.

That knowing glance had you scoffing in excited disbelief. “My God! Look at you, all ready to commit crimes!” you looped a hand around his arm. “I have taught you well, young man.”

He patted your arm. “Mr. Filmbro has come a long way from chatting shit about your movie taste.”

“So you admit it?” you leaned in. “Disney makes better movies than your flop directors?”

“That’s a completely different claim,” he clarified. “My taste in films is objectively better.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact you're watching the Barbie movie before Oppenheimer.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging you closer. “That’s ‘cause I like you a lot, Disney Hag…”

You did not stop your smile from lighting up your entire face. “You’re not the most insufferable filmbro I’ve dated I guess…”

”I better be the last filmbro you date,” he muttered, watching over the last of the crowds, where they now stood, waiting to enter the theatre.

The longer you waited to answer him, the more incredulous his face became, brows knotted in disbelief. You only chuckled, leaning in and pressing your lips upon his. Of course, he was taken aback, but surprises like these were pleasant, welcomed with open arms as Vernon closed his eyes, pulling you in.

The moment the line started quickening you broke away, only to make sure no one skipped in front of you and him, and thus deal with yours and his passive aggression. You could not help the giggle that escaped you at breaking away from his lips, relishing in his dazed state.

Honestly—you truly would not have minded being anywhere with him.

When it was finally your turn to go inside the Barbie screening, you held tightly to his hand. “Let’s go, Mr. Filmbro.”

Vernon only smiled. “Right behind you, _____.”

And as the two of you entered the theatre, hand-in-hand, the boy learned that perhaps he, too, would have gone anywhere with you.

#k-fic collection review #chee chats about: filmbro-zoned by amourcheol #svt rec #svt fanfic #f: seventeen #p: chwe hansol x reader #g: fluff #g: comedy #g: suggestive #g: college au #r: sfw #wc: 20k to 30k

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rebelwithoutabroom · 2 months ago

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three more scenes to finish fairytale fic, lets make a poll!!

mind u, my original estimate was 10k and we are at 18k now :'))

#taizi writes #census

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sorryimananti-romantic · 11 months ago

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who knows, maybe i'm a glutton for lengthy written pieces of fiction but i can't imagine anything better than reading a thought-out, detailed and intriguing story.

20k-30k wc usually takes me around 2 hours to read (when i am not annotating on the side or running laps in my room to calm down from a scene) and even though i do love me some drabbles, imagines or scenarios - sometimes they're so great but oh so short that i end up feeling hungry for more lol.

idk. maybe there is some over-consumption or fast-media issue that's infiltrated even the fanfic community and readers feel less overwhelmed reading fics under 10k? apprehension giving bad/wrong feedback? author burn-out? somebody go ahead and open the field for research already.

there is an overwhelming amount of short fics daily on my dash and not so often bigger oneshots or even series but i've always assumed it's because they take so much more time and effort into creating - which then motivates me more to leave nice feedback when you authors work so hard on them :) vice versa it's a nice feeling when authors take time to acknowledge feedback

like you saying you look forward to my reblogs and i'm over here like.. i have been noticed 👁️👄👁️ and i am being relied on to lose my own mind over your amazing mind. i can't disappoint this co-dependant author-reader-ship 💪 /j

also, miss "yumi in her break era" only five days ago, once again offering to write a fic to my tastes?! you will be the death of me. hand in marriage right now 🤝 /j but also, new series.. ? ✍️👀

○ chron 🃏

lucky for you, i'm physically incapable of writing short fics and loren is an actual witness. whenever i start a fic and go 'yo this actually be short like under 20k) it usually ends up being 26k+ 🤡 and tbh for me personally nothing can top a well-planned detailed fic no matter the length of it!

you're right! there's only so much you can do in a short scenario/imagine/drabble they're like fun little treats, kind of like appetisers/snacks as opposed to lengthy oneshots which i feel like are a full multiple-course meal (and then we have series which are like a whole buffet banquet feast you name it)

yeah there are a lot of factors. even as a writer i know that i prefer reading sth short when i don't have much time to spare but want a little break. reading lengthier works require a lot of time (like you said, about 2 hrs) and you gotta be in the mood all cosy and relaxed to fully enjoy them!

there's def so many shorter works being produced in huge quantities and consumed very rapidly too. writing them takes less time, you don't gotta work out so many details and lose your mind in the process (from my experience writing the few hcs and drabbles i have) and it's... fun? gets a greater audience, more notes? definitely. there are literally so many factors as to why people prefer writing/reading scenarios/drabbles over the lengthier works and i could honestly list them all but i feel like not everyone wants to hear that 💀

personally, i've been pretty consistent with writing the lengthier works, inspired by ppl here who've written so much such excellent monster works AHAHA and since the lengthier fics culture is pretty much dying (let's face it on tumblr it is dying slowly but steadily) i'm devoted to continue contributing to that specific part of the atinyfic community. i could always cook up some short scenarios (i plan to when it's time to retire but i still have ideas that i wanted to write) but for now, we write and write. we write endlessly without a care for the word count :')

there's honestly nothing wrong with wanting to read or write shorter works. i just wish the people who work so hard to create such beautiful and lengthy masterpieces got the attention they deserve. and i wish they do not compare their works to drabbles/scenarios (which you might have observed get a lot of notes in a very short amount of time) and continue writing for themselves and for the readers who appreciate them :')) we're always so incredibly grateful for the feedback we get bc we get some great quality feedback which is our pride :D

you have been very much noticed! me and loren were actually talking not too long ago about how you are one of the few ppl whose reblog we anticipate eagerly ahaha you've spoilt us honestly :') and when i saw your reblog last night (i was feeling incredibly low) i just smiled with tears in my eyes LOL ngl (co-dependency atp fr fr)

miss yumi has always been a clown who goes back on her words esp when it's about taking a break (i actually will be taking a two week break soon like actual break bc i'll be travelling so i'll be back mid aug) but miss yumi also loves writing bc it's the only interesting thing going on in her life and she would love to write for you too (proposal accepted let's pick dresses now :D)

as for the new series... 👀 the current word count is about 70k and i'm not even halfway- this might be the most intricate worldbuilding i've ever done like with the characters and how they're connected to each other (on par with take me home series, might even surpass) and it's... mafia! but the different kind, uniquely yumi LOL and the pairing hmm will remain a secret (take your guess come on)

i look forward to posting it so much it's become my comfort fic. i'll try to start posting it before 2024 but no promises yet bc i wanna finish writing it (or at least nearly finish) before i post the masterlist or teasers.

#i hope my legacy will be that i wrote monster oneshots/series that were uniquely yumi #with their plot twists and whatever i do in there #i honestly love writing lengthy works #and i must have a pretty high morale to keep writing without getting discouraged if i dont get the feedback i expected #(or maybe i'm just a T)#i write for the 5 ppl who read and give feedback LOL it used to be a meme but it's the truth #and most importantly #i write for myself <3 #so i can live #anyways yeah i appreciate yall so much #i appreciate lengthy fic writers so much #i appreciate all writers sm #everyone keep doing your thing #and readers pls give oneshot/series writers a try too!#chron <3 #yumi.asks #🃏 anon

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koqabear · 2 years ago

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okay i wanted to ask, because i see you writing such long fics but i can barely pull myself together to write this bomb-ass 20k word fic, how do approach a fic you know is going to be a long one in a way that you don't feel intimidated by it, or do you still get intimidated by it and just try and push through it?

okay so first off, thank you so much for sending me this ask 😭 you literally forced me to go through my writing process and caused me to make a huge breakthrough with one of my stories alfkgh

anyways, i'll try to be as thorough and clear as i can be with my process, i hope this helps! (but also im so sorry once i started i couldn't stop)

i think my process can be best described with three fics; Only You, Darling (40k), Killer Instinct (37K), and Memories We Made (unfinished but estimated to be over 30k.). With each story, I knew that they were going to be long, but mostly because I went in with the approach that it has to be long in order for the story to be executed right; characters have to be written thoroughly, and there are certain scenes that need to be written for the plot/character to progress-- like, if it's not written in, the story could lose those small details that make the fic feel more... alive, if that makes sense?

The most important part is making an outline! I know that's probably obvious, but outlines can seriously vary; like with OYD and MWM, I have a whole doc dedicated to the fic. I'm gonna show you what a bit of my OYD planning looks like, please don't point out how genuinely unhinged it is 😭😭😭 (so.. spoilers for OYD + fun fact it was gonna be Sunghoon instead of Jaemin in the story originally hehe)

This is an example of what my outlines can look like; but, it only gets like this as i write-- the first pic is my outline filled with things i added as i wrote OYD such as characteristics/important notes/things i wanna edit, and the second pic is what i started out with.

the first thing i do is brainstorm the bare basics of the plot; what kind of story is it, and what do i want to happen in it? you can see that i separated the story into the key plot points/arcs; and within each one, i also put how i wanted them to begin and end. (the numbers are the wc for each arc alskhg)

the hard part comes in when you're filling these arcs/key points in. because now the big question is, how do you get there? for example, during the first act of OYD, i wanted to establish beomjun's relationship with the mc, and end it off by having the two work together. but in order to do that, i decided to include scenes that showed yeonjun's relationship with the mc, and then beomgyu's relationship with her. now that i had the foundation, i allowed the two to interact; that let me establish beomjun's relationship with each other, and let them realize they had a common goal.

last, you add a catalyst (a character, a situation, etc.) that can get you to your end goal; the catalyst being jaemin, which brought the two to work together out of jealousy-- and that's how i was able to fill in that key point.

then i just repeated that process for all arcs! add scenes that elaborate on key points, then add a catalyst that can take you to the end!

another thing i do when plotting for my stories is record myself brainstorming! i let myself ramble and talk about the plot out loud, and that's usually how i run into plot holes/issues. i kinda let myself figure it out in real time, and once i've figured the plot out, i listen back to it and write it down. (i have voice recordings for OYD and MWM. MWM is 48 mins, if that gives you a gist of what i mean by like... brainstorming. and half of it is straight up fucking nonsense. just let out ideas, details about the characters, scenes you'd like to write, anything. it lets you become more familiar and comfortable with your story, if that even makes sense.)

also! whenever i'm writing but get tired and decide to take a break, i add a quick want to add note at the bottom; that's what the weird little spiel up there in the second pic is. it's where i wrote down the ending scene because i had a super specific idea of what i wanted and how i wanted it to happen. if you get any scene ideas like that for your fic, write them down!! there's a chance that you might forget about it/write it differently if you don't; plus, it could even help you add things in that could make the transition into the scene super smooth.

OYD was honestly a bit intimidating for me when i wrote it, because i knew that it had to be extremely detailed and long. that's why i made sure to properly plan things out, that way so i didn't forget anything that could skew the execution. but one of the biggest tips is that you should brainstorm scenes you want to add in each key point, that way you don't feel as intimidated when writing-- because now you have a guide, yk? I'd love to show how my MWM outline looks like, but the fic isn't even out yet 😭 but it's literally a scene-by-scene outline of how i want the story to go! now all i have to do is flesh out the said scenes :)

then there's fics like killer instinct. i went into that with pure vibes, no outline, no planning; more of a mental outline, if anything. so if you find the idea of the whole written outline + scene & key points boring/not for you, i'd still suggest to get the bare basics down; but what i did with killer instinct was that i brainstormed as i went, and added small notes to keep track of important things so i wouldn't screw with continuity-- age and time is pretty important in that story, and i kid you not this is the only thing i had for killer instinct outline wise (bc im not counting my doc of mma notes.)

but for killer instinct, i kinda winged it; i knew what the general plot was, but allowed myself to have fun on how to get there. the only thing i will say though, is that with every scene, you should try to plan out the next one-- like, intro to killer instinct is introducing taegyu, then i'll introduce the mc. then i'll introduce the world and background. and now that i have a foundation, i'll add extra scenes, then a catalyst! this leads into the main conflict, then y'know the rest. but instead of planning it out bit by bit, i kinda let myself go with the flow...? it also let me be a lot less intimidated by the fact that I knew the story would have to be long.

as for the story i had a big breakthrough with, i'm definitely a bit intimidated by it! i know it has to be intricate and emotional and intense, so in order to help with that, i've made playlists to get me in the correct mood, watch shows, read other fics, anything to help me get comfortable with the genre and spark inspiration. I'm currently winging it as well.... but have three key points im sticking to-- it's gonna sound a bit confusing and vague but it's like... add foundation + the male lead is introduced -> background is given to let ppl know motivations and stuff -> final scene. and whenever i run into an issue, i brainstorm and try to get to the root of why im stuck. like, is it plot, the character, or the scene? in this case it was all three so. pray for me.

anyways. i hope this helped and im so sorry if it didn't 😭😭😭 because then that just means u read this painfully messy explanation for nothing. but when writing long fics, pleeeaseee make sure to take your time with it-- if nothing's working, give it time and don't force yourself to write whatever! (mwm has been in my wip for a solid like. year..? but this is a rare case plus im insane)

and if your word count ends up surpassing/being under than what you originally expected, don't panic! (killer instinct was estimated at 20-25k. so.) sometimes certain scenes just aren't necessary, and other times, you find that you may need to elaborate more in order to make things work.

im seriously wishing you luck on your project!! and if you found this somehow did help and have more questions, don't hesitate to ask! oh and if you found something i said confusing (bc i do have the tendency to not make sense) pls lmk and i'll try to clear it up asdglsh 😭

#fair warning i got carried away with this #sorry hehe #if the outlines look/sound silly. it's bc i never take things seriously my apologies.#“ahs ur all i have moment”...#im not even gonna try to defend myself on that one #the sound was stuck on my fyp ok 😔#rambles #koqabear asks #[𓆩⟡𓆪] — sol's writing tips !

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nothoughtsjustficrecs · 2 months ago

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Review Written for The K-Fic Collection.

I truly, utterly adored every moment of this story. I’m terrible at putting my thoughts and feelings into words, but I genuinely don’t think there was a single syllable of this entire story that I’d want to change. It truly is a work of art.

Thank you so much for writing this masterpiece and blessing us all by sharing it with us!

“ “Miss Witch! Miss Witch!” ” I don’t know why, but this is really cute to me

“ “There’s a man in the frozen river, Miss Witch!” ” well, that certainly is significant

“ “It’s a demon.” ” dun dun dunnn

“ “Oh.” You blink. The two of you had marched past the woods a decent while ago. ” this made me giggle

“ the stereotype that humans are all too eager to place on them ” dammed humans, always harshly judging and generalising those different to them

“ but the lacey edges of morning mist are still blurring the edges of your sight ” ooh, I really like this phrase

“ “And no, Joongseok, we don’t know if it’s truly vile yet.” ” you tell ‘em!

Poor, frozen baby :((

“ This fox demon is devastatingly pretty ” yeah he is

“ The children are screaming, ear-piercingly loud, and Seungcheol is screaming too ” this made me laugh, I’m just imagining big, buff seungcheol screaming like a child 😂

“ simply lifting a hand and giving Seungcheol the finger. ” the way this made me giggle though

“ the only magic user-slash-competent doctor” ooh drag ‘em!

“ “Seungcheol. Kindly, please, fuck off.” ” ha!

“ Hansol squeaks, a small, high-pitched sound that instantly floods him with mortification when it accidentally slips past his lips, and he screws his eyes shut and curls into himself, knocking your hand away hurriedly in his rush to hide his face. ” oh, precious babie

“ “Wow,” you breathe out. And then you smile. “You’re adorable.” ” he is! I wholeheartedly agree

“ If you aren’t careful, you could accidentally fall in love right then and there. ” understandable

“ Like the magic can talk, and when it noticed the magic that lives inside you, it seems to yip with recognition, spinning itself around in excitement in the yokai’s hands. ” oh, I really love this, it’s so cute

“ “But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?” ” did he just indirectly call himself pretty too? It’s an understatement if so

“ “I want to take care of you.” ” I just 🥺

“ “I don’t mind staying with just you.” ” oh, I’m gonna screech

“ A book fort. ” that’s so cool, I want one. I’d definitely accidentally knock it down on my own head though, so probably best I don’t have one

“ “Okay, Y/N, stop whispering with the… him,” ” ah, yeah, ‘the him’, a strange and elusive species

“ “So when I’m scared, it starts acting up even more, which is why the ice was so thick, too. Like it was trying to protect me, ‘cause it knew I was scared of someone hurting me.” ” poor babie :((

“ Hansol is just so… ” he really is

“ Too distracted with Hansol’s face ” so fucking understandable. The man is unfairly pretty

Oh, I love how easily Soonyoung accepted hansol without hesitation 🥺

“ “This village is your village, and I want to be with you.” ” AHHHHHHHHHHH HE’S SO PRECIOUS

Oh, him playing with all the kiddos is so cute, he fits right in!

“ seriously, where do these kids come from? ” well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much… ehehehe

“ “She said to me that she liked him, and she wanted me to open my eyes and finally realise how much of a good person he is.” ” go, Mrs Choi! Talk some sense into your son!

“ “Especially considering the fact you’re in love with him, too.” ” oh dang, he doesn’t beat around the bush, does he lol

“ And throughout it all, Hansol manages to find your gaze no matter where he is, gold eyes seeking your gold magic, and the beautiful sound of his laughter leaves you breathless every time. ” SCREAMING OVER HERE this is so fucking precious omg

“ Soonyoung, inexplicably, looked like he’d been dunked five times in a swimming pool, rather than emerging victorious from a snowball fight. ” that really checks out

“ He tastes like magic, like love, like soft snow that numbs your senses but leaves your heart alive and alight and oh, this is everything you never knew you needed and more. ” 🥺

yeoubi. // chwe hansol

여우비 (yeo-u-bi) : noun. literally “fox rain” — when sunlight filters through rainfall, creating a golden shower.

PAIRING : vernon x f!reader

INFO : east asian historical fantasy(ish. i kinda made up my own mythology), fox demon!vernon, silver!vernon, immortal!witch!yn, fluff, magic, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT : 22.3k+

WARNINGS : blood mention, injuries, slight discrimination against yokai, cursing

NOTES : for the @camandemstudios winter with you collab! i had so so so much fun writing yeoubi and it's genuinely one of the best things ive done this year. writing a fantasy au soft vernon fic was never something that i thought i needed to write, but now i have, and i love him and i love this and i hope everyone loves yeoubi just as much as i do too <3

SYNOPSIS : living as a magic, immortal healer in a rural, human mountain village means most of your existence has been rather peaceful. that is, until one cold winter when an injured yokai stumbles into your life; and though everyone else is terrified of him, you take him in, nurse him back to health, and show the others that some demons aren’t that scary after all. (...and maybe, just maybe, you end up falling for the pretty fox yokai too.)

For the first time in years, the river freezes over.

During winter, it’s often a lot harder for you to notice things like this, as the cold dulls your senses and numbs your fingers, so you’re only informed of this fact when the village children come to your cottage in the morning, their high-pitched voices blending with the mismatched beats of their fists knocking against your door.

“Miss Witch! Miss Witch! There’s something wrong with the river!”

“The river is all solid, Miss Witch!”

“Miss Witch, we can’t play in the river! Can you fix it for us, Miss Witch?”

Blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you open the door with a groggy smile, squinting down at the children on your doorstep.

“Hello, little kids. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Witch!” one of the children chirps. “Good morning!”

Despite being half-asleep, you can’t help but laugh a little at their chipperness. The children are, undeniably, your favourite people in this entire village.

“Good morning,” you say, bemused. “How may I help you?”

Their voices rise in volume again, all of them clamouring to be heard over each other. It can’t be any later than five in the morning, and your fingertips prickle with the cold grey of the mist as you blink down at them, surprised at their energy.

A girl tugs at the end of your blanket, wide-eyed. “Miss Witch, the river is all hard. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Ah,” you say gently. “I see.” Crouching down so you’re at eye level with the kids, you ask, “If the river is hard, solid, and cold, what do you think that means?”

The children blink at you.

“What else is hard, solid, and cold?”

One of them brightens. “Ice!”

“Exactly,” you say, smiling. “The river has turned into ice. It’s nothing to worry about, but it does mean it’s very, very cold right now, so why aren’t any of you wearing any hats or scarves, hm?”

You ruffle the hair of the nearest child, and she shakes her head, giggling. “We were helping the grown-ups, of course! Something happened at the river, an’ they told us to go away.”

“So we came to you,” another boy pipes up. “They said something’s wrong!”

You tilt your head. Whilst it’s certainly been several decades since the river last froze over, it’s no reason for the villagers to worry that much about it. It’s also not something that your magic can fix, or something that needs to be fixed, so—

“Y/N!”

You look up at the call, and see a man in the distance, jogging down the pathway towards your cottage. It’s still far too dark to see clearly, but you smile at the familiar voice.

“Soonyoung,” you call back. “Good morning! Are you here to tell me about the frozen river, too? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal and not dangerous at all.”

His reply, if he has any at all, goes unheard as one of the children suddenly cries out, as if he’s had an epiphany.

You look down at him, amused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered, something else happened at the river,” he says brightly. His remark makes some of the other children perk up too, as if they also remembered this other thing that had happened.

The kids are all at the age where something like a leaf falling onto their heads would be remarkably significant, so as you wait for Soonyoung to come closer and deliver the actual news, you decide to humour them, smiling and tilting your head interestedly. “Oh, really? What was it?”

“There’s a man in the frozen river, Miss Witch!”

“A—” The smile turns to stone on your face. “A what?”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung says. He’s finally reached your doorstep now, and you notice that his usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen. He frowns down at the children, displeased. “What are you all doing here? We told you to go home, not to Y/N.”

“They thought I could help,” you say placatingly. “It’s okay. And if there’s a man stuck in the river, you might need my help after all.”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung repeats, his face darkening. “It’s not a man.”

You raise an eyebrow at the graveness in his tone. “Well, then you certainly do need my help, it seems. What is it?”

Soonyoung sighs. His exhale clouds the air, and your fingers prickle even more at his next words, like invisible icicles piercing through your skin.

“It’s a demon.”

───────────── ‘✽,

You are not exactly a human.

Certainly, you look and dress like one—and you have to eat and sleep like one too, otherwise terrible things happen to your energy levels—but that doesn’t mean you are human. There are some things which make you slightly different.

One of those things being that you live forever.

“What do you mean you don’t know if it’s hostile?” Soonyoung demands, struggling to match your strides as you hurry towards the river. “Of course it’s hostile. It’s a fucking demon!”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you come to realise that some yokai aren’t hostile,” you respond, frosted-over leaves crunching under your feet. Soonyoung squawks back something unintelligible, too out of breath to make an argument.

After encouraging the children to return back to their homes and sleep—since it really is five in the morning, and none of them should be awake—you and Soonyoung began making your way to where the rest of the villagers were.

The river flows down from the mountain that the village is located near. The further up you go, the more dangerous the terrain becomes, and you pause on a jagged rock to frown down at Soonyoung, who’s gasping as he tries to keep up.

“Did you really find the yokai over here? Why were any of you up here in the first place?”

“We didn’t,” Soonyoung said hoarsely. “I’ve been trying to tell you for ages. The demon was found near the edge of the woods.”

“Oh.” You blink. The two of you had marched past the woods a decent while ago. “Okay.” And then you float down from the rock, lightly hopping over frozen patches of land, past Soonyoung again. “Come on, let’s turn back, then.”

Soonyoung sighs, turns around, and begins his clumsy, human descent. “You could at least use your magic to help me down too, you know.”

And that’s the other different thing about you. Magic. It’s such a flimsy, weak word for what you can do, but it’s also the best way to describe it. There are certain things about you, certain things you’re capable of in the way that no human can ever truly be.

Without even looking back, you wave a hand, and a glowing stream of wind nudges Soonyoung’s feet towards the easiest path down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hurry up before those villagers aggravate the yokai even more.”

Demons, or more traditionally, yokai, aren’t something you’ve encountered in countless decades. As technology and weapons developed, and the human population expanded, many yokai simply faded out of existence, unable to sustain themselves in the less wild, less natural environment that humans created. Others were smart enough to recognise they now had less of an advantage over humans, and tended to stay away from densely populated areas, preferring to target any lone travellers who ventured too far into their territory.

Yokai values and morals are vastly different to humans, and they are so incomprehensible to mortals that yokai gained a reputation for being vindictive, vicious, vile, and all other negative ‘v’ words. That doesn’t necessarily make them so, however, and over your lifetime, you’ve encountered some who don't quite fit the stereotype that humans are all too eager to place on them.

It takes you and Soonyoung long enough to get to the river that the sky has lightened ever so slightly, but the lacey edges of morning mist are still blurring the edges of your sight, and you can only barely see what the villagers are looking at, especially with them all crowding around and pushing against each other to get closer to the river.

You crane your neck, standing on tiptoe, before huffing. Scratch that, you can’t see anything.

“Move out of my way, please,” you say sharply, adding a little volume magic to your voice so that it carries over the whole crowd.

Most of them instantly look back at that and clock your presence, eyes widening. Some of them begin rushing towards you, looking almost like their children as they begin talking over each other all at once.

“Y/N, there’s a demon—”

“Absolutely vile creature, is there any way—”

“—river’s all frozen, how did it even get here—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” you interrupt, adding even more volume to your voice to be heard. “Minah, yes, I know there’s a demon. Soonyoung told me. And no, Joongseok, we don’t know if it’s truly vile yet. And Woongri, yokai often work with magic, so it could’ve gotten here in a variety of ways. But if you want me to do something, you have to let me through. Yes?”

You’re tired, and cold, and dealing with stressed adults is not the best way to start the day, so you're more blunt than is perhaps necessary, but it gets your point across. The villagers look sufficiently contrite and finally shuffle to the side, making way for you to get through. Seungcheol, the village leader, nudges his way through the crowd until he’s by your side, face solemn.

“Good morning,” he says. “Sorry about the chaos.”

“Good morning,” you say back, voice now normal volume once again. “It’s okay. Everyone’s scared. You don’t call me at ungodly hours unless it’s serious, so I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol nods, looking both grave and apologetic. “We only ever want you to use your magic for good.”

It’s a terribly human thing to say, and you smile dryly. “Of course. What can I help you with this time?”

“Well… You can help with that.” Seungcheol points to a mound of warped ice a little ways down the river. “How can we get rid of it?”

You squint in the direction Seungcheol’s pointing at, peering through the tendrils of mist, and then gasp. Half-buried into the ice of the river, you can make out a blurry, pale-coloured figure clothed in pale silk. Dark liquid pools in all directions surrounding the motionless body, and anyone can tell the yokai is very badly hurt.

“It’s already bleeding half to death, so it shouldn’t be too hard to finish— wait, Y/N!”

Ignoring Seungcheol’s shouts, you step onto the frozen surface of the river and rush towards the yokai, and your blood runs cold as you take in the sight before you.

The yokai is a fox demon, you notice, with white ears and soft silver hair and a gorgeous white tail, which is partially being crushed by a river’s worth of ice. He’s waist-deep in the frozen water, and a thick layer of more ice has begun to form around the yokai’s torso from where he’s slumped against the surface of the river at an almost unnatural angle, causing his poor tail to be twisted and buried both in the river and the new ice.

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kneeling down beside him, tracing a finger across the yokai’s cheek. Your finger comes away stained dark with blood, and you swallow thickly, heart constricting.

The crushing ice isn’t the end of the damage: there’s blood pouring from seemingly unknown sources, matted into the fox demon’s hair and streaking down his neck. He must have been in some sort of fight before getting stuck in the river.

Gently, you thumb over the yokai’s cheek, taking in the pale skin and delicate eyelashes. This fox demon is devastatingly pretty, and seeing him so badly injured makes your heart hurt even more.

Something rustles near the riverbank, and you look back to see some of the children hiding amongst the leaves, peering curiously at you as you kneel next to the yokai. Further up the river, Seungcheol is approaching you, wanting to know your thoughts on the demon, and his eyes widen as he also notices the children in the bushes.

“What are you doing here?” he says in their direction, the disapproval clear in his tone. “It’s dangerous! You shouldn’t be looking at this. Where are your parents? Didn’t Soonyoung tell you to go home?”

“But we wanna see Miss Witch,” one boy says, eyes wide. “Please, can’t we stay?”

You frown and open your mouth, preparing to reprimand them, but then the yokai makes a soft, pained sound beside you, and you instantly return your attention to him, bending down even closer to his face.

Seungcheol cries out, this time in your direction as you lean towards the yokai. “Y/N, what are you doing? Stay back!”

You ignore him, reaching out a hand to brush matted hair out of the yokai’s eyes. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

The yokai scrunches his eyes up, whimpering in pain. The moment he’d returned to consciousness, he’d started shivering intensely, struck by the cold of the river.

“Hello?” you repeat, gentle. You move your hand away from the yokai’s face, directing it towards the ice surrounding his back instead. Silently reciting an incantation, the ice begins to glow orange under your palm, slowly beginning to melt away. “Can you tell me your name?”

The yokai shivers, mumbles something unintelligible. Then he looks up at you, golden irises shuddering in fear, every movement of his face telling you it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

One of the children lets out a shriek, and you whip your head up in alarm. They don’t look hurt, but the yokai notices the sound too, raising his head to look at them with wide, unsettling eyes, and the children shriek again, all of them frozen in fear. You can kind of understand why: the fox demon is covered in blood, and anyone unacquainted with the supernatural would find his slitted golden eyes petrifying.

But before you can say anything, do anything to reassure them, the ice around his back makes a cracking sound as it melts under your hand, and the yokai’s mouth drops open in pain. He coughs, splattering blood over the ice, more of the black liquid dripping from the corners of his lips as he starts writhing and scratching against the river, hauling himself up onto his elbows, eyes fixed on the children in the distance, and all hell breaks loose.

The children are screaming, ear-piercingly loud, and Seungcheol is screaming too, and the yokai starts writhing even harder, yipping and gasping like a distressed fox, his hands sticky with his own blood as he tries to push against the ice.

“No, it’s okay— don’t do that—Cheol, let me think!”

It’s obvious Seungcheol wants you to kill the demon, especially with the way he’s screeching at you right now, but the yokai looks so pitiful, ears shaking, eyes wide, still bleeding from gashes all over his body.

“Think about what?” Seungcheol yells, children cowering behind his legs, and he shields their eyes from the river. “Y/N, please, you have to get rid of it!”

You look at him, and then down at the helpless yokai beside you, and really, it takes you less than a second to decide what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, getting to your feet. Seungcheol tenses, sensing something wrong in your tone as you look down at the yokai again, leaning down with your hand outstretched. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your fingers come into contact with the yokai’s forehead, and there’s a golden glow before his eyes flutter shut and he freezes up, before collapsing against the ice.

Hidden safely behind the village leader, the children stop screaming. Seungcheol also doesn’t make a sound, still staring wide-eyed at you, and now the yokai is no longer moving, the early morning air is frozen still once more. You look back at Seungcheol, and he blinks, his face unreadable.

“Please tell me you killed that thing.”

You smile weakly, dried-up demon blood on your fingertips. At your feet, the yokai’s shoulders move up and down ever so slightly with every shallow breath he takes, unconscious.

───────────── ‘✽,

“Bad idea,” Seungcheol admonishes loudly from outside your window, and even though there’s a whole wall and a thick pane of glass separating him from you, his disapproval is crystal clear. “This is a bad idea. Y/N, let me in. We have to talk about this.”

You don’t look up from the boiling pot on the stove, simply lifting a hand and giving Seungcheol the finger.

“How dare— Y/N, you cannot let that thing live. It’s a danger to us. Especially the children! Y/N, think of the children, please, it could hurt the children.”

Seungcheol raps against the glass insistently, but you ignore him, humming to yourself as you ladle some of the boiling concoction into a wooden bowl. Gently, you blow on the steam, inspecting the lilac colour of the liquid before nodding, pleased, and heading over to the yokai asleep on your couch.

It’s been some hours since that moment on the frozen river, where you’d decided to save the yokai trapped in the ice rather than kill him. None of the humans agreed with your decision, however, so you’d had to make the tiring trek down the mountain yourself, a heavy, unconscious yokai in tow. That’s partly the reason you’re so tired right now, arms aching as you set the bowl down on the coffee table, where you’ve laid out bandages and various dried bags of poultices and face towels to help clean up the yokai.

Said yokai is still unconscious and bleeding all over the fabric of your sofa, the golden threads of magic you’d used to briefly staunch his wounds already beginning to fray open once more. You sigh, settling down beside him, and begin inspecting the more serious injuries on his forehead and down his arms.

“What happened to you, hm?” you say softly, ignoring Seungcheol still rapping against your window. “Why are you so hurt?”

Living as the only magic user-slash-competent doctor in a rural village means that you have plenty of experience in patching up the particularly nasty injuries that the villagers sustain, and your hands are careful and practised as you dip a towel into the warm, disinfectant potion you’d made, swiping it over the yokai’s skin. He’s injured practically everywhere: deep gashes are scored along his arms, his hands, and there’s one slashed across his chest. Not to mention his definitely-broken tail, the still-bleeding head wound and, judging by the way blood had been pouring from his mouth out on the lake, some internal injuries you can’t see.

You wince, taking a towel into your hands. “Sorry,” you say, heart twinging in sympathy for the yokai. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Ideally, you’d run a bath first and scrub the yokai clean of all the grime and blood before getting to tending his wounds. But he’s a fox demon—ridiculously tall and with a fluffy tail and delicate ears, so he won’t fit in your tiny tub and it’ll end up being more troublesome than anything else.

So, you’ve resorted to magic, dipping a cloth in the potion you've made to melt and dissolve all the dirt into thin air.

The wounds are all worryingly deep, most notably the still-bleeding one on his forehead, and if he were human, you’d be concerned that he’ll suffer a serious concussion afterwards, along with an inability to use his hands for a long while. But as it is, the ancient demon-magic that he’s made of will mean that he’ll heal pretty quickly, and there should be no grave threat to his life.

Hopefully. As long as he doesn’t develop an infection from the open wounds.

You finish cleaning up the blood and then wipe down his face with a cool cloth, frowning slightly at how his skin still feels unusually hot. Infections will make his healing process much longer and much more arduous. The poor yokai looks like he’s already been through more than enough, so you really hope the fever dies down soon.

Seungcheol is still yelling at you from your window when you finish your preliminary clean-up, and you sigh heavily, beginning to develop a headache from how annoying he's being. So you walk over to the window, wrench it open, and jab a bloodstained finger in his direction.

“Seungcheol. Kindly, please, fuck off.”

Seungcheol blinks, both startled by your abrupt confrontation and a little affronted, but before he can say anything, you carry on.

“Currently, this yokai is injured, and it’s my job to take care of injured people, regardless of who they are, so you can take any thoughts of me killing him and shove them up your ass. It’s not happening, and it’s never happening, and you’re also disturbing my patient with the racket you’re creating, so please go away.”

If it were anyone else talking to him like this, Seungcheol would have blown up with anger a solid thirty seconds ago—as it is, he simply stares at you, still looking affronted, before he sighs, and all of the energy drains out of him. He knows how headstrong you are, and when you get like this, he knows there’s no way he can sway you. He’ll have to wait until you’re no longer brimming with obstinacy to get his thoughts across.

His gaze drops from yours to your bloody finger, and then he sighs again, folding his hands behind his back.

“Give the demon my wishes for his speedy recovery,” he says at last. “But we still have to talk about this later, Y/N. Okay?”

You huff, and lower your hands. “Fine. Later.” With a resolute swish of magic, you shut the window once again and turn your back on Seungcheol to return to your patient.

As village leader, you can understand why Seungcheol may have concerns regarding a yokai entering a human village, but that doesn’t mean you like how he has no qualms with telling you to just kill it in an instant. Discrimination against magical creatures is half the reason they’re so hostile to humans, anyway, and you’d know firsthand how painful it is to be targeted and attacked purely for being who you are.

It’s not like you ever asked to be magic. And yet, people end up hating you for it.

You look down at the unconscious yokai, with his silver-white fur and gentle eyelashes and those heart-wrenching injuries. Then, wordlessly, you pick up one of the poultices and get to work.

───────────── ‘✽,

Hansol wakes up to the strong, warm smell of chrysanthemum.

It’s an unusual scent to wake up to, and his ears prick up, alarmed—only for him to cry out a few seconds later, upon realising the action sends a sharp bolt of pain throughout his entire body.

“Oh!”

A voice sounds from somewhere above his head, and he startles even more, trying to open his eyes and locate the sound, before realising he can’t see.

He cries out again, panicking at the pitch black that surrounds him, flailing around before realising that that action also causes him debilitating pain, and he begins panicking even more. How did he end up here? What happened? All he remembers is being chased through the forest and then tripping and crashing into a river, and then hard ice and the cold water and the throbbing in his head and then— and then—

Something damp and heavy gets lifted from his eyes and he gasps, freezing up as bright white light almost blinds him.

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice from before says, sounding terribly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before doing that.”

Hansol scrunches his eyes, and then squints, vision all blurry from having been unconscious and now being blinded by bright light. He can’t see who’s speaking, but whoever they are, they carry on, the words steadily flowing out faster and faster as the person rambles. He can barely keep up with the onslaught of noise, twitching confusedly and trying to see what’s going on. The world feels like it’s spinning. He’s pretty sure the world isn’t meant to spin this fast.

“That was probably really scary when you woke up, huh? I’m so sorry. The towel slipped from your forehead and covered your eyes, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I didn’t expect you to wake up now, but I guess that’s a good thing, ‘cause you’ve been out for a whole day, and any longer and we’re veering into coma territory, which would mean that you were really, really hurt. Which is, like, definitely not good, you know? But you did wake up, thank goodness, so that means there’s a chance you’ll get better very soon. Plus, your fever isn’t that bad anymore, so it seems you really are on the road to recovery, which is all very—oh, wait. Sorry. It’s still too bright, isn’t it?”

Another wave of chrysanthemum hits Hansol’s senses and a hand comes up to his face, creating a shadow over his eyes so he’s no longer squinting furiously up at the disembodied voice.

“Sorry,” the voice says, apologising yet again. “Is that better?”

Hansol blinks, slowly opening his eyes fully to look up, and then, the whole world abruptly stops spinning as he finds himself looking at the most beautiful being in the entire history of the universe. He doesn’t say a word, mouth falling open in shock.

You smile down at him, made anxious by his silence. “Hello,” you say, hand still shielding his eyes from the brunt of the winter light. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

Hansol squeaks, a small, high-pitched sound that instantly floods him with mortification when it accidentally slips past his lips, and he screws his eyes shut and curls into himself, knocking your hand away hurriedly in his rush to hide his face. He tries to bury himself into the couch, shaking.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, gently, worried you've scared him. “I promise. I want to help.” Perched on the edge of the couch, you lean over and slowly lower the yokai’s hands from his face, coaxing him to look at you again. “Can you please tell me your name?”

You smile, again, and Hansol feels a little faint as he looks up at you. His vision is still slightly blurry from his eyes being shut for so long, and the way you’re backlit by the light makes you look like you’re glowing, a gentle halo of silver light surrounding your form. That, coupled with the way you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, is making him feel all dizzy. And a bit warm. The air feels like it’s suffocating him, actually, but all of that is made irrelevant by how pretty he thinks your smile is.

There’s a possibility he’s still in the process of getting rid of his fever, because he blinks slowly, focused, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the next words spill unbidden from his lips.

“My name is Hansol,” he says, “and I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a flush rapidly creeping up your cheeks. Hansol looks at you, worried that you’ll suddenly hate him for what he’s just said, but you just laugh, flattered, and bring your hand up to his forehead. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm.

“Thank you, Hansol,” you say. “Your fever seems to still be pretty high, if you’re saying stuff like this, huh? I’m currently brewing some chrysanthemum tea, and I think it’ll be a good idea for you to have some too.”

Hansol blinks slowly again. “Chrysanthemum tea,” he muses. He looks up at you. “That must be why you smell so warm and pretty.”

You laugh again, flustered, subconsciously brushing his hair back from his forehead and cupping his cheek, your fingers feather-light. “Perhaps. So would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hansol says. “I’ll have anything… you… give m…” His eyelids and ears slowly droop, and before he can even finish his sentence, he drifts back off to unconsciousness once again, head leaning into your hand.

Open-mouthed, pink-cheeked, you look down at the one-more unconscious yokai in your hands.

“Wow,” you breathe out. And then you smile. “You’re adorable.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Over the next few days, the yokai—Hansol—constantly drifts in and out of consciousness, his fever fluctuating in intensity the entire time.

It’s difficult to pull coherent sentences out of him, and anything he says is a mixture of your name, his name, and also how pretty he thinks you are.

You chalk it up to his fever.

His demon-magic must have taken a serious blow from the extent of his injuries, as it takes him a lot longer than you’d like for him to finally shake off the infection. A whole excruciating week goes by, and you almost cry with relief when, as you get up to check his temperature in the middle of the night, you find that his fever has finally broken, and he’s able to breathe easily once more.

When the weak sun finally peeks out from over the horizon, you enter your spare room to check on Hansol. Sometime after his first bout of consciousness, you’d gathered enough energy to move him from your couch to the spare bedroom in your cottage. It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of magic—weakened by the stress of taking care of a dying fox demon and trying to fend off any curious and judgy villagers, it takes a lot of energy for you to do anything strenuous lately—but you managed. And it certainly seemed to help, as he slept a lot better in an actual bed.

Humming absentmindedly to yourself, you make your way over to the guest room, fingers dancing and causing golden threads of magic to tidy up the state of your house as you go along.

To your surprise, the yokai is wide awake when you enter the room, and he startles when you noisily open the door and step inside. The moment you make eye contact with Hansol, you freeze, the song dying off your lips at the same time as your magic drops a partially-fluffed up cushion in the living room.

“Um.” You blink, hanging off the door handle, staring at the yokai picking his bandages in bed in the middle of your guest room. “Good morning?”

Hansol doesn’t respond, continuing to stare at you, wide-eyed.

You cough, feeling terribly awkward, attempting to adjust your stance and take your hand off the doorknob in the most natural way possible. “Hello. I’m, uh, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

There’s another beat. Then Hansol finally opens his mouth, only to completely ignore your question to say, “You’re the one who smells like chrysanthemums.”

“I— Sorry, what?” You blink, taken aback by the abrupt and unrelated question, before nodding. “Oh, yeah. I guess you remember the chrysanthemum tea I made you?” You smile slightly. “I can’t believe you remember that. That was when you were the most unwell.”

“Oh.” Hansol’s ears twitch, and he continues to look at you with his golden eyes, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. (Amazed by what, you aren’t entirely sure.) “I do remember, though. I remember you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to push down the blush that threatens to rise up your face. Having a handsome yokai stare at you with such focus, saying that he remembers you even when he was deep in the throes of a fever is such a heart-fluttering thing to experience early in the morning. You aren’t nearly awake enough for this conversation. If you aren’t careful, you could accidentally fall in love right then and there.

“That’s nice,” you croak, and then shake yourself. You have a job to do. Hansol’s a patient under your care, and you need to check his condition. “Um. Sorry. But, uh, I do have to check if you can remember anything else,” you say, slipping into healer mode as you step further into the room, walking towards the bed. “Do you remember your name?”

Hansol nods, intently following your movements as you draw closer. “My name is Hansol,” he says.

You smile, relieved by the coherency of his answer. The fact that the yokai remembers his own name is a very good sign. “Yes, you are. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Yes,” Hansol says obediently. “I was in a river. Trapped in the ice. And you… saved me.”

That makes you smile a little wider. “I took care of your wounds, yes! It’s really good you’re finally awake and able to answer questions, ‘cause it’s a sure sign there’s no lasting internal damage. I do have to check your bandages, though, so… may I?”

You make a gesture towards Hansol’s bandaged arms, and the yokai obliges, raising his arms to let you see.

You take Hansol’s hand in your own, preparing to lift his arm up higher—but the moment your palms brush, you gasp, fingers tightening around the yokai’s at the sudden sensation. Hansol, too, lets out a small noise of surprise, looking up at you.

The yokai’s hands are firm, strong, and perfectly healthy, but they also thrum with magic. You can feel every spark and fizzle of the magic as it dances under his skin, spinning and zipping back and forth like a cloud of hyperactive fireflies. Like the magic can talk, and when it noticed the magic that lives inside you, it seems to yip with recognition, spinning itself around in excitement in the yokai’s hands.

“It’s so strong,” you say, amazed. “I didn’t realise magic could be this powerful.”

Hansol’s also staring up at you, similarly in awe. “You’re magic too?” he asks, looking like he’s never fathomed such a thing is possible. “You’re like me?”

You laugh slightly, made a little giddy by the feeling of how alive the magic is under Hansol’s skin. “Not exactly,” you say, releasing Hansol’s hand to finally reach for the bandages, feeling around to see whether his skin is still tender underneath. “I don’t have the ears or the tail, do I?”

Hansol’s ears flick. You’re decidedly focused solely on the yokai’s bandages, but you can feel Hansol looking at you intently as you work.

“But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?”

Fuck. Hansol has to stop saying things like that, because they’re very bad for your poor heart. Very bad.

“I’m sure,” you say with a smile, straightening up once again. “I think all your wounds are healing nicely. Now your magic’s come back to its full strength, it’ll help you heal the rest of the way in no time.”

You can’t help but reach for Hansol’s hand again, once more feeling pleasantly surprised by the light zap of magic when your hands touch. Now you can feel the thrum of it under Hansol’s skin, it’s easy to realise how unwell the yokai was before, when his hands had been deathly cold with no fizz of magic in them at all. You’re just endlessly relieved that you can feel that fizz once again.

Hansol looks down at your intertwined hands, and then up at you, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “Thank you,” he says, so very sincere that it melts your heart. “Thank you for looking after me.”

You can’t help but smile back, squeezing Hansol’s hand once. “Of course. It’s my pleasure. Really.”

Hansol smiles even wider, ears twitching pleasedly, and you once again have to try and valiantly fight away your blush. Fuck. This yokai really needs to stop making you blush so easily, and fast, else you’re going to start having problems.

───────────── ‘✽,

It turns out, the blushing thing ends up being the least of your problems, because later that day, Hansol tries to leave.

Sometime after bringing Hansol a breakfast of soup and chrysanthemum tea (since he really seemed to like the tea), you’re drying away the breakfast dishes when a blast of cold air slices through the cottage, and you look over to see Hansol holding open the front door, looking like he’s about to step out.

“H—wait! Hansol, what are you doing?”

The yokai looks over at you, still holding the front door, confused. The bottom half of his tail is still bandaged, making it difficult for him to move it around, but it still sways from side to side unsurely as he blinks at you.

“I’m leaving,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “You took care of me. And I’m now better. So I’m going to go.”

You gape, jaw almost dropping to the floor at the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Like hell you are,” you say, marching over to the front door and firmly shutting it with your still-soapy hands, and then ushering Hansol back to the guest room and into bed. “You are very far from being better, Hansol. Your tail is still all bandaged up! I’m not letting you leave until you’re back to full health, so don’t you dare think for a second that you get to go before then.”

Hansol makes a noise of confusion as you fussily tuck him back into bed, fluffing up the pillows behind his head and arranging the covers around him. “What? Why would you let me stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I let you stay?” you counter, patting down the duvet and absentmindedly brushing away the strands of hair that fall in his eyes. “I want to take care of you. I want you to get better. I can’t exactly do that if you go off into the woods all by yourself and get up to heaven knows what, can I?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, you smile and pat his head.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long while yet, mister,” you say, the faux-scolding adding a light playfulness to your tone. “You’re going to stay with me and get better until I say so.”

Hansol looks up at you, tilts his head, and scrunches his nose just slightly as he smiles, shy. “So you’ll let me stay as long as I like?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling back. “However long it takes you to heal, and then some, if you want. Of course, unless you have somewhere else to go.”

The yokai hesitates, ears flicking unsurely. “Not really,” he admits, lowering his gaze. “I’ve never actually had anywhere real to stay.” He looks back up at you again, golden eyes glinting hopefully. “So if it’s okay…”

“Oh, of course you can stay here,” you rush to reassure him. And then you pause, deflating a little. “Although…This is a human village, so they don’t really like… your kind. It might make life a bit difficult, but since you’re with me, they shouldn’t bother you too much. Though I understand if that makes you hesitant to stay.”

Hansol shakes his head, smiling slightly. “That’s okay. I like it here, so I don’t mind staying with just you.”

“I’m glad,” you say sincerely. “Seriously, you can stay here for however long you want.”

Hansol ducks his head shyly. “Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.”

You awkwardly pat his hand where it lays on the covers, a little embarrassed in the face of his obvious gratitude, and instruct him to rest up before exiting the room. You’re glad that the brief misunderstanding had been cleared up, because you don’t want Hansol to feel anything less than welcomed. Being a yokai, he won’t have received similar acts of kindness in the wild, and as a magical being yourself, you know how that can feel. No one deserves to feel unwanted, least of all an injured yokai who’d obviously been hurt intentionally before you found him.

Unfortunately, though, the trials of Hansol’s first weeks of consciousness do not end there. Some days later, at some point during the afternoon, Seungcheol comes knocking on your door.

You hadn’t intended on inviting Seungcheol in. But afternoons are always a miserable time during winter, when the sky darkens far too early for anyone’s liking, and it’s difficult to find one’s way through the cold, barely-lit paths. That’s why you often get people coming to your door during the late afternoon, lost or confused or panicked because they’ve lost their way, and your cottage, shimmering with gold magic and warm lights is the only beacon they recognise.

So that’s the only reason why, when Seungcheol turns up, you accidentally open the door for him. Not that you have anything against the village leader, but—Hansol’s only been awake for a week at this point, and you don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a talk about getting rid of him.

Unfortunately, when Seungcheol already has one foot in a door, he will not go. Literally.

“Get your foot out of my door,” you say exasperatedly, struggling to push the door shut as Seungcheol pushes back. His foot is still wedged in the doorway.

“Let me in,” Seungcheol says.

“No. You’re gonna tell me to hurt the yokai again.”

“I’m going to tell you to get him out of here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol says, finally giving up on the little game and pushing his way through the door like it’s no difficulty at all, making you let out an indignant hey!. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. You cannot harbour a demon in our village without discussing this with anyone. He needs to go.”

“He’s hurt,” you say. “He can’t go anywhere! And he won’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

“You can’t know that.” Seungcheol furrows his brow, his tone grave. “He’s a demon, Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You can’t keep him here.”

“Yes I can,” you insist, “because he’s a fucking real-life being with feelings, not this scary, evil harbinger of doom that you’re making him out to be, and I know this, because he’s been here with me, in my own home, and he’s quite possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

Over the last several days, Hansol has been healing rapidly, so much so that most of his bandages have been removed and he practically glows with magic every time you see him. It’s incredibly relieving to see, and it’s also allowed you to get to know him better: sometimes unintentionally, as a natural side effect of living with him now, but also, sometimes quite on purpose. Because he’s pretty, and he’s interesting, and you want to know who he is.

Turns out, one of the key things about Hansol is he’s the most adorable being you’ve ever met.

He’s adorable, in an awkward sort of way, from the way he hovers hesitantly in doorways to the way his tail always fluffs up with contentment when he feels the tendrils of your magic brush across the room.

Unlike yokai, who simply have ancient magic embedded in them from birth, you are born of magic and made entirely of magic, so the stuff practically spills out of you wherever you go. The magic can’t only be felt from under your skin, but extends out and away from your being. You’re not used to having guests in the cottage, so you weren’t aware of the extent of how much you let your magic run free when in the safety of your home, until you noticed how Hansol reacted. He always blinks in surprise, lifting his hand palm-up, fingers curling inwards, as if your magic is some elusive silk strand that constantly evades his grasp. It’s as if he can truly feel it, and he always seems to like it.

“Can you actually feel my magic?” you ask one day, and he looks up from his hand, surprised. His tail is all fluffy and big, lazily waving from side to side and creating static against the decorative pillows on your couch. You’re sitting on an armchair next to him, smiling at him amusedly from over the book of hexes you’re reading. He doesn’t even seem to notice what his tail is doing, too occupied with the invisible tendrils between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Hansol says after a moment, closing his hand and resting them both back in his lap, a little awkward. “It feels warm. Nice.”

“Really?”

You can’t help but smile at that, oddly flattered. To you, your magic is just… yours. It doesn’t feel like anything in particular, nothing more than a familiar tingle in your hands and a weight against your skin. Though you like describing it as gold, in reality, your magic doesn’t have any colour or any real tangibility to it apart from a fleeting pressure. The idea of it being “gold” is just how you feel about it. It never occurred to you that others could feel it, let alone feel differently about it—living amongst humans, your magic has always subconsciously curled tighter around your arms when you interact with the villagers, not wanting to weird them out with your abnormality or make them feel intimidated by you.

Hansol nods, tail swishing once more. The static has caused all his white fur to stand on end, making him look even more fluffy and adorable. “Yeah,” he says again. “It’s so much calmer than the way my magic feels. It’s really cool.”

He’s looking at you earnestly, as if expecting you to totally agree that your magic is “calmer” than his. And even though you’ve only felt his magic twice before, you nod along in agreement anyway, and Hansol nods back, satisfied with your assent. Then he lowers his gaze back to his lap, opens his hand again, and goes back to playing with your magic.

An endeared laugh bubbles up into your throat, and you smile at the top of Hansol’s head before turning back to your book. Goodness, Hansol is so ridiculously cute.

That interaction only happened some days ago, and whenever Hansol smiles at you or stiltedly asks if he can help you around the house, the surge of affection comes back even harder. So you cannot stand Seungcheol standing here, right now, frowning at you like you’re being unreasonable in your decision to treat Hansol like a normal being.

Seungcheol continues to frown, and you simply stare defiantly back, arms crossed. You don’t let him walk further into the cottage, and a stare-off commences there in the front hallway, neither of you willing to back down.

That is, until there’s a loud crash from further inside the house, and both of you flinch in alarm.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, and you look back to where the sound had come from. Connected to the living room, behind a door disguised as an unassuming bookshelf is your own personal library, filled with all the tomes and books on magic and alchemy you’ve collected over the centuries. That’s where the sound’s originated from, which is definitely a cause for concern, but you don’t say so, lest Seungcheol uses this to fuel his argument against Hansol.

“Probably nothing,” you say, though you still glance over in the direction of the library. “You know my cottage. Everything’s old and falling apart.”

Seungcheol looks at you suspiciously. “That’s a lie. You always keep everything in perfect condition.” He begins to move past you. “I bet it’s that demon, isn’t it?”

“No, I—” You try to stop Seungcheol from investigating, but it’s a futile effort. “Cheol, come on, you shouldn’t go see him, he’s still unwell and you could end up distressing him—”

Hurriedly, you trot after Seungcheol through the bookshelf door and into the library, only to end up slamming face-first into his back when he stops abruptly, stunned at the sight before him.

You’re quite proud of your library. It’s an open secret that the bookshelf in your living room leads to it, which is cool all by itself, but your library is also made of magic. What appears as a normal, small study behind the bookshelf turns into a large and sprawling library with high ceilings and mahogany shelves and rows upon rows of books when you step inside.

You’d allowed Hansol access to the library when he’d asked what was behind the bookshelf, and as far as you know, he’s been peacefully situated there the entire day. But, as you peer over Seungcheol’s shoulder to see why he’s suddenly stopped, you realise you can’t see the yokai at all.

In the middle of the floor, there’s a large… fort of books. A book fort. With four walls built of books piled on top of each other, complete with battlements made of upright books and towers with open books as turrets, it’s actually quite amazing to see. The only drawback is how some of the walls are falling down, books tumbling from where they’re piled up.

Also the large spread of ice coming from under the fort, that’s very slowly continuing to pool further and further outwards.

Seungcheol blinks. “Uh… Y/N… you wouldn’t happen to be doing this, would you?”

You shake your head. “Weather magic is my weak point.”

Suddenly, two white ears and a head pop up from behind one of the crumbling walls, and Hansol’s eyes widen when he realises you’re here with a guest.

“Oh!” He ducks his head down, and then straightens once more so he can fully see over the walls of the fort. “Hello. I was just building a castle. One of the walls fell down, ‘cause I sneezed, but I can fix it.”

The tip of his nose is slightly dusted with glittering frost, but he doesn’t even seem to notice that or the ice that’s creeping across the wooden floor. His eyes are shining as he looks at you, infinitely more relaxed than when you’d first seen him, and he inclines his head respectfully in Seungcheol’s direction, looking as humble and polite as possible even when half his face is covered by his book fort.

“Hello to you too. It’s nice to meet you.”

You’re not sure what Seungcheol is most flabbergasted by: Hansol’s gentle manners, or the book fort he’s quite amiably making in your very respectable-looking, very grandiose library, or the circle of ice that’s very clearly coming from the yokai. Hansol is very close to giving the village leader a heart attack any time soon, it seems.

“I— This is— You’re using Y/N’s books to do this?” Seungcheol eventually manages to ask, looking both confused and horrified. “She let you?”

Hansol’s ears droop just slightly, but there’s no obvious change to his expression. “Well… no. But none of the books are damaged, and I’m going to put them back once I’m done with them.”

“It’s fine,” you interject. “I could probably fix a few ripped pages. You can do what you like.”

You couldn’t, probably, fix a few ripped pages, because each book is nearly as old as you. But you’re not going to say that, because you don’t want the confusion on Seungcheol’s face to turn into grim disapproval, and you also don’t want Hansol to feel guilty for what he’s doing.

“Although,” you say, looking down pointedly at the floor, “do you think you could stop the ice?”

Hansol peers over the wall, eyes widening when he realises what you’re talking about. “Oh, sorry. It just happened when I sneezed, I think. Everything is still going haywire… I think I’m still sick.”

The movement of the ice slows to a halt, until only a spattering of frost manages to creep over to where you and Seungcheol are standing. It covers the whole expanse of the floor, now, and there’s not a single patch of the warm brown that’s not frosted over, but it’s okay. That is definitely something you can fix.

Ignoring Seungcheol, who’s still standing there like he can’t believe he’s looking at a walking, talking yokai, you move forward and make your slippery way over to the fort. Hansol moves away a column of books, allowing him to step out of the fort and meet you.

“Is this one of the humans?” Hansol asks in a low voice before you even say anything. The sweetness in his face has disappeared, replaced with an icy look of anxiety. “He’s one of the mortals who don’t like me, isn’t he?”

You try not to wince. “Yes. He’s Seungcheol, the village leader here. He… wants me to get you out of here.”

Hansol regards you for a moment. “You make it sound a lot nicer than what he actually means,” he says. “He wants me killed, doesn’t he? At the very least, badly injured and banished from here.”

“Well… no,” you try to say, but yes, that’s actually exactly what Seungcheol wants. “He doesn’t want you badly injured. He’s just… scared. Of your kind.”

“Hm.” Hansol nods, expressionless. “Same thing, really. He wants me out.”

“Okay, Y/N, stop whispering with the… him,” Seungcheol says, and you look up to see the village leader making his slow way across the ice towards you. “We need to talk. Discuss what you’re going to do, because you are going to do it, for the safety of our village.”

You frown, frustrated. “Hansol’s not a threat to our safety,” you argue. Seungcheol continues to slide gingerly across the ice, and he sighs and shakes his head as you carry on. “He doesn’t have anything against humans. And if he did, he’d have been dead long before we found him at the river, because—Hansol. Tell him why you ended up there.”

Hansol hesitates, looking at you unsurely. The other day, you finally managed to ask him why he’d been so injured and how he’d gotten trapped in the river. It was nothing unexpected, but it still had broken your heart, and hopefully, hopefully, it’s enough for Seungcheol to feel a little bit of empathy towards the yokai. Seungcheol’s a good man, a kind man, and all he needs to do is realise Hansol’s not evil, and he’ll warm up to him faster than anyone could think possible.

“Some other yokai attacked me in the forest,” Hansol says slowly. “Really old yokai. Older than me. And… I got hurt.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, looking at you like he doesn’t get the point of this. You simply glare at him, silently telling him to continue listening.

“It wasn’t bad. Just a broken tail and some scratches,” Hansol says, and Seungcheol blinks, surprised at Hansol’s nonchalance. “But then some demon hunters found me, and tried to get me to… attack them? I dunno. They were picking a fight, and when I didn’t give it to them, they also hurt me.”

Almost imperceptibly, Seungcheol’s face softens a fraction, and you feel a flicker of hope. You know he’s weak in the face of innocently victimised stories like this.

“And so I was trying to run away from them, but everything is kind of in pain at that point. So I end up tripping down the mountain and into your river. My magic goes haywire when I’m sick,” he adds, “so that’s how I end up accidentally freezing ice all over me, too. It kind of responds to my feelings I guess? So when I’m scared, it starts acting up even more, which is why the ice was so thick, too. Like it was trying to protect me, ‘cause it knew I was scared of someone hurting me.”

It’s the most that Hansol’s said in one go, uninterrupted, before. Seungcheol’s face softens even further, and he straightens slowly. He’s been standing still, a few metres away the entire time Hansol’s been talking, like he’s been frozen by his tale.

“And yeah,” Hansol finishes awkwardly, ears twitching. He’s sensed the change in atmosphere, Seungcheol’s empathy tangible in the air. “Then I ended up here.”

“After several, painful weeks of healing,” you add, and Hansol nods jerkily.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol says gently. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were so scared. But…” And then he sighs, straightening up further, the softness melting away from his face. “That doesn’t mean you’re not a harm to the others, now you’re all better. Who knows how you might feel when you’re hungry, or angry. You said your magic acts up according to your feelings, and I can’t have it acting up and hurting people here.”

Hansol’s face scrunches up in confusion. “When I’m hungry?”

It’s a bit absurd that’s the thing he’s focusing on, so you feel indignation over Seungcheol’s whole speech on his behalf, crying out at the injustice.

“What do you mean?” you argue. “You’re saying that like he’s some mindless beast.”

“He may as well be, for all I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “He’s not human, Y/N. We don’t know how he’ll act. And I need to think about the villagers. They’re… they’re like family to me, you know that.”

“I’m not human either,” you point out angrily. “And yet I’m also a part of this village. What are you saying, Cheol? Do you not consider me family?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head instantly. “No, you are. But still, you’re more human than he is. And… there are days where I’m a bit wary of you too, Y/N.” At your outraged look, he rushes to continue, “Because you’re so powerful! But you’ve been with us for so many years, during the time of my father and his father, and his father before that, so I know you’re good. You’ve saved their lives. Saved everyone’s lives. Hansol, on the other hand…”

You scoff, beyond furious. “That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as being ‘good’, just as there’s no such thing as being ‘evil’. We don’t live in a fucking fairytale, Seungcheol.”

“I know. Maybe if you’d made different choices, I’d think of you as less good, too, but…” Seungcheol trails off, shrugging helplessly.

You stare at him, eyes so impossibly wide that it’s actually hurting your eye sockets, astounded by what he’s just said. Seungcheol? Thinking of you as evil? Just because of your power?

Beside you, Hansol stiffens just slightly, and during the course of the conversation, he’s somehow ended up so close to you that you can feel his magic simmering frantically under his skin. You don’t know why he’s so worked up, and distantly, you wonder whether it’s on your behalf.

Seungcheol, noticing how irate you’re getting, takes a step forward to try and placate you. But he misjudges his balance on the ice surrounding the fort, leg twisting and his eyes widen and he yelps as he falls forward, on course to crashing face-first onto the hard, frozen ground. Your eyes widen, and you reach out to him, before then—

There’s a blur of white fur and Hansol catches him before he falls over and breaks all the bones in his knees, gripping him loosely around the torso, getting to Seungcheol before you can even blink. He gingerly helps him back into an upright position, and you wave a hand to whisk away the rest of the ice with streams of gold before another accident like that happens again. Hansol’s still holding Seungcheol when you’re finished, but by the shoulders now, looking the village leader right in the eye, golden irises soft and determined at the same time.

“I get you have a responsibility,” Hansol says. “I used to have one too, in the wild. To keep myself alive. But my rule, and this should be yours too, is to not hurt anything that doesn’t hurt you first. I haven’t hurt you. You shouldn’t hurt me. And Y/N—” He looks over at you, eyes flashing, before looking back at Seungcheol. “Y/N has never hurt you. So don’t act like you’re preparing for the day she one day will.”

Seungcheol’s face doesn’t change, but you’ve known him long enough to detect the minute shifts in the air around him as he digests Hansol’s words and, grudgingly, accepts it.

“I apologise,” he finally says, reluctant but sincere in the way only Seungcheol can be. “That was cruel of me. To you and Y/N.”

He looks at you, and Hansol’s hands fall away, allowing him to walk towards you.

“Sorry. But you have to understand where I’m coming from,” Seungcheol says, almost pleading, and you realise that, whilst his stance on Hansol’s existence has wavered, his overall reluctance over him being here hasn’t changed. “At least don’t let others see him, if he’s going to stay. They’ll be terrified.”

“That doesn’t sound like Hansol’s problem,” you retort. “I know these villagers, Cheol, and they’ll warm up to him, they really will.”

You look over at Hansol as you say your next words.

“Hansol is sweet and kind and really rather funny, and it breaks my heart to hide him from others because he might be seen as scary. That’s just people’s prejudice talking.” You smile. Hansol’s eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and a fluttering warmth unfurls up inside you as you continue to smile at him. “Because I’ve seen Hansol, and he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Hansol’s entire face goes pink, and he looks away.

“Maybe so,” Seungcheol says heavily, and you look back at him. The warmth in your chest fades at his tone, dropping to the depths of your stomach. “But I can’t risk them being near him. Don’t let him out.”

You sigh, disappointed. “No. He can leave the house if he wants to, Seungcheol. He’s not some kind of housepet you can impose rules on just like that and expect me to follow through with them.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my home,” you say, evenly. “Go. You can take your rules and go piss off out of my sight.”

───────────── ‘✽,

You stew in your anger towards Seungcheol for several days.

He comes to your door every so often, either with a letter or a plea to talk through this, but you refuse to let him in and instead tell him to, not so kindly, fuck off.

Hansol looks at you with a mixture of affection and disappointment each time you do so. You don’t really understand why he looks at you like that—neither the affection nor disappointment—but he doesn’t say anything and goes back to what he was doing soon after, either playing with your magic, or his own, or reading your books.

Having him around the house is quite like having a very adorable, very shy, fox. You might’ve gotten furious at Seungcheol for treating Hansol like a pet, but you don’t mean it like having a pet fox: it’s just like having an inquisitive, cute being around the house who quite likes following you around as you go about your day.

It’s cute. He’s cute, with his swishing tail and his sudden bursts of frost when he’s fiddling with his fingers, and the way he stays perfectly still whenever you gain the courage to slowly inch closer to him on the sofa until you’re laying on his shoulder, at the perfect angle to peer down at the book in his hands so you can read it with him. They’re all your books, of course, so you know what they’re all about, but it’s quite nice leaning against Hansol, feeling his warmth through the silk of his clothing, and the pleasant hum of his magic under your ear.

He never initiates physical contact, but he seems to like having you near. He’s never protested when you’ve held his hand or laid on his shoulder or (very, very gently) touched his ears, so.

He’s quite like a fox, in that way. But he’s like a fox in other ways, too: namely, how it appears that he’s a bit nocturnal.

Sometimes, you’ll awaken at three, four, five o’clock in the morning to someone clattering around in your house. It always turns out to be Hansol, trying to occupy himself without waking you up, but always failing to do so.

“Hansol?” you murmur blearily, shuffling into the kitchen where the flurry of clatters had emitted from earlier. It’s dark, and all the curtains are drawn; nevertheless, his dim silhouette looks distinctly guilty as he whirls around to face you, pots and pans in his hands. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I read some potion in your book, and I wanted to try it out.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Five,” Hansol corrects. You fix him with a look, and he winces, demon magic-enhanced night vision meaning he can see you perfectly clearly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It’s cold in the kitchen, and being exposed to the chilly night temperature is gradually waking you up. “It’s okay. I guess you don’t sleep a lot, huh? You’re wide awake, even though it’s so early in the morning.”

Hansol shrugs. “Dunno. But I always just feel like I have so much energy. Like it doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I can’t sleep for too long before it tells me to do something.”

“I see.” You purse your lips thoughtfully, pondering why Hansol’s feeling like this and what could cause it. And then, a realisation strikes you and your eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I get it. I understand why you’re feeling that way.”

The yokai tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s totally okay,” you reassure, nodding your head. “Totally understandable, too. But don’t worry, it’s easily fixed.”

You wave a hand and turn all the light fixtures on so you can see Hansol properly. The yokai literally does look like he’s vibrating with extra energy, holding your cooking utensils in his hands, ears perked upright and tail fluffed up to the max. Yeah, he’s definitely understimulated and frustrated with it right now, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what it is.

You smile. This is a good way to help him and piss off Seungcheol at the same time.

“Come on, Hansol. Let’s go outside.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Not even an hour later, you’re making a trek up the mountains in your warmest clothes, lagging behind Hansol even with your magic-aided agility helping you up the hardest of the steps. The yokai is bounding on ahead, nimble and quick-footed even in the darkness of the early winter morning, and you can hear the light crunch of snow under his footsteps as he moves.

This is what Hansol needed. Some time outside, where he can finally breathe.

Some minutes later, as you’re sitting on a log on the path to catch your breath, Hansol comes back down the mountain to meet you, settling down by your side.

“It’s so quiet,” he whispers. The air around you is lit with a faint glow, courtesy of a visibility spell you conjured so you wouldn’t fall flat on your face as you walked. It makes Hansol’s face look golden as he smiles at you, eyes shining. “Everything is so quiet out here. I can hear the animals.”

You smile back, finding joy in how relaxed he looks. “Doesn’t that make it noisy?”

Hansol shakes his head, and then looks away from you, ears cocked to the side, listening. “No. This is like a familiar buzz of noise, so familiar that it becomes silent.” He looks back at you again, smiling. “Down in the village, it’s so noisy because of all the people, but up here, it’s all gone.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a smile, and Hansol nods so quickly that you laugh, endeared. “I’m glad. You can go off for a bit, if you want, and I’ll wait for you here.”

Hansol beams. “Okay.”

And like that, he’s off, nothing more than a faint swish of a silver tail before he disappears once more.

He doesn’t come back to you for some time, which gives you a chance to sit there and breathe in the cool air. It’s so cold that it feels like inhaling clouds of peppermint, but it’s… relaxing.

You haven’t had a chance to properly rest this winter. Winter’s a tricky time for you: the cold numbs your senses and makes your magic more sluggish. This year feels much colder than usual, and now the prolonged adrenaline that came with bringing Hansol back from the brink of death is fading, you’re beginning to anticipate feeling more worn out more often, the warm fizz in the tips of your fingers not as present as it ought to be.

Strangely, though. It hasn’t happened yet. Maybe being around Hansol and his frost-related magic has built up your resistance to the cold.

Or, he’s just so lovely and comforting that you don’t feel the effects of the winter.

That’s always a possibility. You look down at your hands, still glowing slightly with the visibility light you’ve put on yourself. It hasn’t faltered even once, a brilliant gold, and when you think of the colour of Hansol’s eyes, the light seems to glow even more.

You breathe in, and then exhale, kicking your feet out in front of you, looking down the dim mountain. You’ve been up here, thinking, for so long that the weak sunrise is beginning to peek its head above the horizon. Hansol still hasn’t come back. Though, you find you’re not too worried about that: somehow, you know that he will come back to you, though you can’t find ears nor tail of him while he’s gone.

It’s incredible how much you’ve come to trust and believe in Hansol, though he’s only been with you for several weeks. He’s been so reserved, anxious and afraid at times, especially during the early days, when he’d been bandaged up and newly healing in an unfamiliar environment, but now it’s clear how earnest and gentle he is. Something in your chest tightens and then relaxes with happiness whenever you see him smile. He’s just so—genuine, and you really like that about him.

You like him. A lot. He’s certainly an unexpected new part of your life, but now he’s here, and you can’t imagine living without the silver-furred fox yokai by your side.

There’s a rustle in the evergreen bushes to your left, and, as if he’s here answering your summons, a familiar silver head of hair pops out, golden eyes shining when he sees you.

He blinks at you, ears flicking curiously, twigs in his hair like he’s been rolling around on the forest floor. His tail is out of sight, but you can imagine how it’s waving from side to side in contentment, the morning dew slowly turning into frozen crystals in his fur. You smile.

“Hey,” you greet, the moment you see Hansol’s face. “Are you gonna come over?”

Instantly, he stands up, hops over the bush and makes his way to you. His footfalls are light, looking like he’s dancing over the rocks before he settles next to you once more, looking like he never left your side.

“Hey,” he says. “There are so many rabbits in these mountains, you know? Like I’ve never seen so many rabbits gathered in one place before, because normally they get killed by hunters or there’s just not enough food in that area to sustain so many. It’s actually insane how many rabbits you have up here.” When you just smile, his eyes widen, ears pricking upright. “Oh, is it you? Do you do something to help them stay alive? With your magic and all that?”

Hansol then launches into a flurry of questions for you, so eager and animated that it surprises you a little, before melting your heart.

At the sight of sunrise, you’d taken down your visibility spell, but Hansol is still glowing, looking so alive with his cold-dusted cheeks, shining eyes, wind-fluffed hair and the frost dusting the tip of his nose, which must have accidentally happened when he’d gotten too excited and lost control of his magic.

Hansol’s positively lit up, now he’s surrounded by all this nature. He must’ve been so cooped up and nervous before, when he was just in your house, barely anything to do. Now he’s healed, and outside, and you can tell that being out of the house is where he’s meant to be.

“It’s not me,” you admit after Hansol’s finished conjuring up crazy theories. “Well, kind of. I messed around with the mountains about eighty years ago and did something by accident so we get a lot more winter flowers than normal. The rabbits love eating them, so we get a lot of them too.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, amazed. “That makes so much sense. I saw so many flowers. I thought that was a little bit weird, but I just chalked it up to Mother Nature having fun, or something.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I guess Mother Nature was having fun,” you say, gesturing to yourself, and Hansol grins too. His eyes crinkle as he does so, the corners of his lips spread wide so his pearly whites are fully visible, the tips of his yokai fangs slightly on display. Even his big, bright smile is as cute as he is. You’ve never seen him smile this widely before. It’s… pretty.

Even though he’s all warmed up to you now, even though it’s clear he trusts you, it’s obvious he’ll always be most at peace out here in the big, wide world.

His gaze slides away from yours, looking at something behind you, and he gasps.

“What is it?” You turn to look back, trying to find what had caught his eye, but Hansol doesn’t respond. He jumps up, diving into the bushes without a word.

A moment later he emerges, and in his hands is…

“A daffodil?” you say, amazed. “What’s this doing here? Spring is very, very far off.”

“I guess it’s because of you,” Hansol says, handing you the flower.

You accept it gratefully, tracing the edges of its buttery yellow petals, such a warm, golden colour in your hands, in stark contrast to the cold white of the snow around you. It’s so pretty, so pristine, and it’s amazing it managed to survive in the freezing winter temperatures. Must be due to your magic, like Hansol said.

“It looks like you,” Hansol says suddenly, and you look at him in surprise.

“Really? How?”

“You look like spring, to me,” he says. The frosted tip of his nose looks pink, as do his cheeks. A decidedly warmer, blushier pink than they’d looked before. “All warm and gold and pretty. Like the daffodil. And I…” He pauses, and then seems to change his mind, shutting his mouth and blinking at you like he wasn’t about to say anything else.

You smile, so endeared that you’re practically glowing with it. “Thank you,” you say, touched, and look back down at the daffodil in your hands before raising your eyes to the definitely-blushing yokai once more. “That’s so sweet.”

Hansol shrugs, a little bashful, before standing up abruptly.

“I’m gonna go find the rabbits again,” he says, and before you can even reply, he’s disappeared.

You laugh, breathing in the crisp air and then releasing it in a sigh, feeling warm all over despite the cold. You shake your head, fond. Hansol is just so…

That’s it, you decide. You’re not going to let Seungcheol dictate where Hansol can and can’t be. You’ll let Hansol do whatever he wants, and encourage him to do whatever he wants.

Whatever makes him smile.

───────────── ‘✽,

From that day on, you make it a point to take Hansol to the mountains as often as you can.

He loves it—he’ll never say it in so many words, extremely shy when it comes to voicing his preferences for reasons you cannot discern, but it’s so obvious that those few hours he gets to spend with you, in the fresh air, away from all the people, are his favourite hours in the day.

It’s another one of those mornings when you’re up in the mountains with him. You can’t come here every day: you’d collapse from exhaustion if you had to wake up at four in the morning every day, but today, it’s a particularly clear-skied day, and you wanted to watch the sunrise with Hansol.

He’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, looking silently down at the village below. It’s still not sunrise yet, but the sky’s beginning to lighten gradually, and you can see some of the windows beginning to light up with orange lights, everyone slowly waking. Hansol hasn’t said a word for a while, so you haven’t either, content to just look down at everything in silence.

The entire experience is rather humbling. From the mountain, the village looks so small, like it’s merely a miniscule dot in existence, something that could be missed in a single blink. Like each mortal is worth next to nothing. Like each could be destroyed in a second.

That’s what a lesser immortal would think, anyway. For you, however, rather than how fragile life is, being this high up makes you marvel at the intricacy of it. Every person, every soul, despite being so small, is filled to the brim with so many unique experiences that no one else can ever live through as that person did. They live, and they die, but almost magnificently so. Like a one-of-a-kind snowflake that melts as soon as it lies in your hands.

You look at Hansol next to you. His eyelashes flutter thoughtfully as he looks down at the village, delicate against his pale skin.

Every life should be cherished, you think. Because if even the fleetings lives of humans are that complex, then what of the immortal creatures, who live forever? No one should tell them to hide themselves away.

“I can hear you cursing Seungcheol in your head,” Hansol says abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s staring at you, now, no longer focused on the village, and he tilts his head bemusedly when you meet his gaze. “You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?”

You blink, and then smile. You were kind of cursing out Cheol in your head, you admit, and it’s kind of funny that Hansol picked up on it.

“I am,” you sigh, looking down. “Well, now I’m more annoyed, really. I know I should be glad that he’s not going to extremes, like some other people in the world, but…”

Hansol nods slowly. “I get where he’s coming from, though,” he admits, and you look up. “What? Seungcheol cares for his village. These people… they all mean a lot to him, and he doesn’t know me, so I guess it’s natural for him to be cautious.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s no excuse. These people all mean a lot to me, too. I watched them all grow up! And Cheol should know I wouldn’t suggest anything that puts them in danger.” You frown. “It’s frustrating. It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgement, even though he’s literally known me his entire life.”

The yokai hums, and reaches over to pat your hand placatingly where it rests in your lap.

“Also, it pisses me off that he’s saying all this without ever making an effort to get to know you, and see if his judgement is right,” you say, looking at Hansol, catching his hand in your own when he begins to move away. “You’re just��you’re just so lovely, and how dare Seungcheol try to hide you away, like you’re something taboo, or something to be ashamed of?”

Hansol’s eyes widen, and he blinks rapidly, before averting his gaze to your intertwined hands. “Oh,” he says, after a moment, clearly embarrassed by your sincere compliments. “That’s… nice.”

You laugh, fond, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’m always nice,” you tease. “I’m the nicest person in the entire world, actually.”

To your surprise, Hansol doesn’t smile back at your joke, and simply ducks his head shyly. “You are.”

And then he keeps lowering himself down until he’s laying in your lap, the tips of his flickering slightly at the contact as he adjusts himself until he's practically lying down in the log, head in your lap. You stiffen in surprise, and Hansol slowly shifts so he can blink up at you with innocent, gold eyes.

“Can I lie here?” he asks, even though he's clearly very much lying there already, and you smile, relaxing.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, and Hansol smiles, closing his eyes as your hand goes to his hair and begins to gently run through the strands with the tips of your fingers.

You stay like that for some time, running your fingers through Hansol’s hair and over the soft fur of his ears. Abruptly, he playfully flicks his ears as you trace a finger through the fur at the base of them, making you yelp in surprise, and he smiles, pleased at having made you jump. You lightly tug at a few strands of hair, teasing, and he smiles wider, eyes still shut, the slight points of his canines visible.

Too distracted with Hansol’s face, you end up completely missing the full sunrise, and eventually it becomes late enough in the morning that the village fully awakens, bustling with noise as people go about their day. But curiously, you can’t hear a single thing. It’s like your world has narrowed down to you, your hands, and the yokai laid comfortably in your lap.

He really is very pretty. You notice the small spattering of snowflake-like freckles on his cheeks, and smile. He’s so pretty that it isn’t even fair.

You trace a thumb over his cheekbones, opening your mouth to comment on them before Hansol’s eyes snap open, and his ears suddenly tilt towards something down the mountain, listening. Your hand freezes, and you let him turn his head, alert.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, you hear it: the crunching of twigs underfoot, and the telltale huffing and puffing of a human making their way up the mountain. Your hand falls, and you get ready to stand up before—

“Y/N?”

Soonyoung, clad in winter furs and holding a woven basket in his hands, blinks at you in confusion, and then he glances to the yokai in your lap, and shakes his head, his expression becoming even more mystified than before.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” you ask back, equally confused as Soonyoung. “You literally hate climbing the mountains. What are you doing?”

Soonyoung looks at you oddly, lifting up the empty basket. “I’m here to collect wildflowers for you,” he says. “I asked you the other day if you could make some of that non-dangerous magic fire you did last year. You said you needed wildflowers harvested at sunrise to make that potion, so I’m here to get those.”

“Oh. Did you really ask me that?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “You said you’d make them for me. And also complained for like five minutes because I tried to pay you, and you wanted to refuse ‘cause you said I was paying you too much. As if there’s such a thing as being paid too much money.” He rolls his eyes for emphasis, and you laugh.

The conversation comes back to you now, and you shrug sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that.”

Soonyoung makes a disgruntled sound, feigning annoyance before his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it, boo. Just as long as you remember to make the potion, it’s all fine. The children’ll love it for the bonfire tonight.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to make it for tonight? There’s a bonfire tonight?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “I specifically told you when I asked, as well. Goodness, you’re forgetting everything today, huh?” Then he gestures casually to Hansol, who’s still lying in your lap, looking unsurely at the villager. “Don’t tell me, you also forgot you have the injured demon in your lap, too?”

He points to Hansol so naturally, so calmly that you look down in surprise, as if you really had forgotten the yokai was there. Soonyoung laughs, shaking his head as he bends down near a bush, poking through the dirt to see if there are any flowers. He turns his back on you and Hansol, craning down towards the ground to see better as he continues to talk.

“Cheol told me all about the demon and how he disapproves of you keeping him alive,” Soonyoung says. He manages to find a few wildflowers, and lets out an aha! of pride, putting them away in his basket. “Not gonna lie, I agreed with him a bit. But then I come up here and find him in your lap as you pet him like a cat, and now I’m thinking, maybe not so much.”

Soonyoung turns back to face you once again, and somehow, during those thirty seconds, he’s managed to get dirt all over his nose.

“Plus, you seem to like him,” he carries on. “So he can’t be bad, can you? Because you’d kick his ass if he was.”

You quirk a grin at that, proud. Then you nod down at Hansol. “He has a name, though, you know. And he can hear you.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen in realisation, and he stands up quickly, brushing down his clothes. “Oh, sorry, you’re right. Sorry. Hi, I’m Soonyoung, one of the villagers who live here. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extends a gloved hand towards Hansol, and Hansol looks at the hand for a long moment. Then he slowly sits upright again, and grasps Soonyoung’s hand in a firm handshake, the corners of his mouth relaxing slightly.

“Hansol,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And then he must do something, because Soonyoung lets out a small yip in surprise, withdrawing his hand quickly as Hansol observes him amusedly, eyes glinting.

“Did you…” Soonyoung starts, wide-eyed. “Did you just. Give me an electric shock? On purpose?”

Hansol cracks the slightest smile, evidently pleased with Soonyoung’s reaction. He’s in a playful mood today, you muse, smiling as Soonyoung stutters, clearly not sure what to do when a yokai plays a prank on him like this. It makes you smile too, amused.

“You have to show me how to do that,” Soonyoung eventually says, going from surprised to confused to full of amazement. “Can you show me? Is that something which can be taught?”

That makes Hansol smile properly, lips curving upwards. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!” Soonyoung says, but something about Hansol’s smile must make him smile too, because eventually he laughs, shaking his head. “Goodness, you magic people need to stop messing with me. One day, I’ll accidentally set myself on fire, and it’ll be your fault.”

“You’d do that anyway,” you tease, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I have to get going, I think. Jeonghan’s coming over for a poultice for his back pain, and I need to get to my cottage before he does.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says. “This is a hell of a way up the mountain, by the way. I might go down with you as well, and see if I’ve missed any flowers.”

“Cool.” This is definitely not that far up the mountain, and even though Soonyoung hates climbing, it shouldn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes to reach where you are. It’s clear he wants to walk with you for a moment to tell you something, so you look at Hansol, and offer him the chance to stay up in the mountains by himself for a bit.

He agrees, so you and Soonyoung begin your slow descent.

“What do you want?” you ask, when you’re out of Hansol’s hearing range.

Soonyoung just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I meant it when I said Hansol seems like a cool guy. I just…” He pauses, thinks over his words, and then leans in closer. “Bring him to the bonfire tonight.”

You reel back. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Hey, if you’re worried about him getting hurt, you shouldn’t be,” Soonyoung says placatingly. “Hansol’s a demon. He can hold his own. Plus, the people aren’t as against yokai as you might think. Cheol’s just overly cautious, and the elderly might have traditional views about it, but it won’t be hard to make them like him. He’s cute.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“He is!” Soonyoung argues. “I saw him in your lap, Y/N. He’s adorable. And very… docile? Like, he’s so quiet. But also very silly. The kids would love him, you know. So would everyone else.”

“Even Seungcheol?”

Soonyoung thinks about it for a second. The cold air has made his cheeks all ruddy red, and he looks like a very earnest, very red-cheeked schoolboy as he nods firmly. “Yes. Even Seungcheol.”

You hum, still incredibly sceptical. “Well. I’ll think about it. We’ll have to see.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Unfortunately, even though you were slightly swayed by Soonyoung’s words and his instant kindness and all-round chillness in Hansol’s presence, you ultimately end up not bringing Hansol to the bonfire night. It’s not your decision, though: it’s Hansol’s.

“Are you worried about the humans?” you ask, when Hansol tells you that, respectfully, he doesn’t want to go. “You don’t have to worry about that. I could blast them all to pieces for insulting you, if that makes you feel better.”

Hansol smiles a little, before shaking his head. “No. It’s actually just… I’m not really a big fan of all the noise and stuff. And how hot bonfires are.”

“Oh.” You soften, concerned. “Have you been… hurt by fire before?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Hansol says. He shrugs. “I just don’t like being too warm. Makes me uncomfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. Because even as he says this, he’s cuddling up into your side, head on your shoulder, his tail curled comfortably around him. “Really?” you say. “You don’t like being too warm?”

Hansol’s ears flick. “Yeah. My magic originates from winter, as you might have noticed, so…”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised,” you say teasingly, tapping the tip of his nose lightly. “I thought the white fur and random bursts of frost on your skin meant you were a summery fox.”

Hansol scrunches his nose, and you laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it does mean I don’t like being all warm, so fires are a no-go for me. Especially bonfires, where there are many people. That’s way too much warmth for me, for sure.”

“I see,” you say, reaching a hand up to tuck some of his silver hair out of his face as he nestles closer into your side. “That’s cool. But I am going to have to go, even if you aren’t. Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself in the evening?”

“Yeah. Can you make me dinner before you go, though? Last time I tried, I almost destroyed your kitchen.”

“What? When was that?”

“Oops. Did I not tell you?”

Anyway, the bonfire night ends up being a bit of a disappointment. Several of the villagers have cottoned on to the fact you’re housing the yokai, and express their concerns to you over the matter several times over the course of the night. You love these people, you really do, but hearing so many of them advise you to send him back off into the woods for your own safety really wears you down after a while.

“I think Y/N understands what you’re saying now, imo,” a gentle voice butts in, right when you’re in the middle of having a particularly exhausting conversation. This tricky older woman’s insisting you let the yokai go… only, she’s using much more unkind words.

You were very, very close to losing your cool with her—respect the elders be damned because hell, you’re way older than she is—before she’s interrupted mid-sentence by a villager appearing over his shoulder, and you smile in relief as you recognise him.

At the call of “auntie”, she looks up and comes face-to-face with your saviour, Joshua, and all it takes is another gentle smile and some sweet words before he successfully convinces her to leave your side and rejoin her friends on the other side of the bonfire.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joshua says when you thank him for his help. “You know how they are. Once they latch on to you, it’s impossible to get them to leave without using some sort of witchcraft to pry them away.”

You laugh at that. “And yet, it seemed to be you who helped get them off me. Maybe you’re the real witchcraft user out of the two of us.”

Joshua laughs, light and melodious, magical fire reflecting in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything to your joke, however, and nods into the distance behind you, down the darkened paths that lead to your cottage. “You need to bring him out, though,” he says. “Whilst he’s still unknown, they’ll continue conjuring theories that become wilder by the day. They need to see the yokai so their suspicions can be wiped away once and for all.”

“Wh—Hansol?” You blink. “It’s dangerous, Shua. They might hurt him.”

“They’re hurting him now,” Joshua says. “They’re hurting you and hurting him by making stuff up. Just introduce him to them, okay? He can’t become part of our village if he never meets our villagers.”

At your stunned look, Joshua smiles.

“What? I know you, Y/N. You’re attached. You want him to stay. And honestly…” His smile turns a little more secretive, a little more knowing. “I think he wants to, too. The yokai will stay for you, but to truly bring him in, you have to bring him out to us.”

Joshua smiles again, the colours of his irises swirling together, before he pats you on the shoulder and gets up, leaving you there speechless.

He isn’t… wrong. But hearing it like that sounds insane.

You shake your head. Hansol will have to meet everyone sooner or later, you suppose. You very much do not want to go ahead with Seungcheol’s idea to let him be hidden, like a secret, so of course, you need to bring him out into the open.

You shake your head again, mystified. Joshua’s correct, but how does he know so much?

Honestly, you really do think he’s more of a witchcraft user out of the two of you. His incredible timing, his knowledge of all your thoughts, the fact he’d called Hansol a yokai rather than demon…

Also. How old even is he, anyway?

Too confused and befuddled by all the thoughts in your head, you end up playing with the children and run through the fire all night instead. It’s a lot safer than having to deal with all the grown-up stuff of thinking about things.

───────────── ‘✽,

Both Soonyoung’s and Joshua’s words linger in the back of your mind for days after that, and you contemplate how to get Hansol out of the house. Hansol had never really shown signs of wanting to be part of the village, which had made you reconsider this whole thing, wanting to brush away the villager’s words, before you actually asked the yokai, and—

Hansol shrugs. “Yeah. I’d like to get to know everyone. I want to be part of the village.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he says again, smiling at you. “This village is your village, and I want to be with you.”

Oh. You smile back, touched. Hansol smiles wider, brightening at the eye contact, all sweet and lovely and really quite cute, before ducking his head and disappearing back through the shelves of your library once again.

So Hansol turns out to be not as against the idea as you thought, which makes you feel a lot better about thinking of how to get the villagers to trust him and how to get Seungcheol off your back for taking care of Hansol in the first place.

However, it ends up not being you who makes the first steps into getting him known. Oh, no.

Instead, Hansol does that all by himself.

It happens during the first snowfall of the year. You’d woken up to the beautiful sight of the white crystals floating down and covering the entire village with a soft, muffled coat, and the equally beautiful sight of Hansol, who had already woken up, practically pressing his nose against the window to look at the snow in awe.

He’d clearly wanted to go out and be in the snow—as a winter yokai, that made sense—but you’d had some errands to run that day, so you’d told him he could stay only in the front yard of the cottage and go no further.

Hansol had smiled at you, an amused quirk of his lips that acted as all the reassurance you needed.

So he’s sitting in the snow in front of your cottage, legs out in front of him, the silk of his clothes getting damper the longer he sits on the cold ground, but he hardly notices, more focused with tracing a finger through the soft white that is steadily building up.

Snowfall is Hansol’s most favourite wintry thing. It’s a perfect, wondrous phenomenon: the intersection of the perfect time and the perfect weather and the perfect temperature that makes the sky release soft handfuls of the white stuff down on Earth. Even nature falls silent when the snow falls. In Hansol’s opinion, that’s proof enough that it’s something to be appreciated beyond belief.

His robes, his old robes, used to have silver snowflakes embroidered into them, intricate and sprawling patterns that he could run his fingers over and almost feel the cold gust of wind that accompanied the snow. They’re not on the robes he’s wearing now—he’s wearing ones you’ve given him, after his old ones were ruined by his own blood—but he traces his fingers gently over the sleeves, letting frost spread out from his fingers like the feathery patterns that used to adorn the cloth he wore.

He quickly grows bored of that, though, and turns to the real snow in front of him, ears flicking absentmindedly to get rid of the small pile-up gathering on his head. He absentmindedly gathers the stuff in his hands, patting it into shapes and then leaving them out on the lawn.

This carries on for some time, and eventually there is an army of misshapen snow clumps in your front yard, all frosted over with a touch of his magic, and he grins, satisfied. And then his ears twitch again, and he feels… eyes. Watching him.

Hansol turns around, and some houses away, peeking from over a well-trimmed, leafless hedge, he sees three children clad in fluffy winter clothes staring at him, curious.

He doesn’t have much experience with human children. Or any children, for that matter. But he’s pretty sure that, when a yokai makes eye contact with them, they’re not meant to light up with glee and come running over with absolutely no regard for the icy paths or the danger that said yokai could present.

Surprised, Hansol jumps up to his feet, reaching out hands to steady the little kids as they skid over the snow and come to a stop right in front of him, eyes shining, expectant. He doesn’t know what they’re expecting, and being so close to these mini humans is a very awkward experience for him. He’s not sure what to do.

So he lifts a hand, and waves. “Hello?”

The three children beam, and one of them, the girl, practically vibrates with happiness when he speaks.

“Hello!” she chirps, and waves back. “I’m Yeowon! What’s your name?”

Hansol blinks, taken aback by her enthusiasm. “I’m Hansol.”

“Hansol!” Yeowon keeps speaking in exclamation marks, and it’s honestly kind of amusing. “It’s nice to meet you! This is Junghoon, and this is Minjun!” she says, gesturing to the boys on either side of him, who also give Hansol equally enthusiastic waves.

“Hello,” he says unsurely. How old are these kids? He doesn’t know much about human years, but they look… very young. Where are their parents?

He doesn’t get to voice his concerns before Yeowon starts speaking again, going a mile a minute and he can hardly get a word in edgeways.

“We were watching you from Minjun’s house,” she says, and picks up one of the snow balls that Hansol was making, lifting it up so he can look at his own handiwork. “These are so pretty! We wanted to come over and play with you, ‘cause we’ve never seen you before, but you live with Miss Witch, right?”

Hansol opens his mouth, but it’s apparent that wasn’t an actual question when Yeowon barrels on.

“So you must be a good guy! So we wanted to come say hello and play.”

She blinks big, innocent eyes up at him, as do the two boys, evidently begging him to play with them, or something. He doesn’t know what play entails, but… there’s no harm in entertaining these fun-sized humans, right?

So Hansol nods, says they can play with him, and sits down in the snow again. And then, before he knows it, they’re all shrieking and climbing over him and asking him to make figurines out of ice and snow and patting his hair in amazement and asking if his ears are actually real.

Children are very overwhelming, Hansol quickly learns. But he also kind of likes them: likes the way their eyes light up when he makes them the little ice characters they want, likes their fascinated smiles and the way they very gently touch his ears and accidentally get damp suede of their gloves in his mouth in their excitement. They’re bubbly, full of life, and so friendly with him that it honestly makes him so delighted that it surprises him.

“Make me one too! Make me one too!”

“Your ears look super fluffy! Can I touch your tail?”

“Why are your eyes yellow?”

“Can you make me something out of magic too, Mister Fox?”

“Mister Fox! Mister Fox!”

Hansol doesn’t know how it happens, but he blinks and suddenly he’s surrounded by what seems to be every child in the village, clamouring around him and asking if he could play, Please, Mister Fox, won’t you?

Your front lawn is quickly becoming a gathering place for the little humans who had swarmed towards him so quickly that Hansol’s starting to think they were waiting in the background for his very opportunity, and he makes more ice figures and listens interestedly to their babbling as they conjure stories for the figurines on the spot. They’re all so very noisy, but Hansol smiles, brimming with a similar sort of energy as his magic fizzes and pops with glitters of snow and makes the children laugh.

There’s no other way to describe it. He’s feeling happiness, pure and simple.

Unbeknownst to Hansol, there’s one human who’d been watching the entire scene right from the beginning. Coming down the path, on his way to visit the village’s magic-user, Soonyoung had noticed Hansol sitting by himself and had prepared to go over, extend a hand and a friendly word before Yeowon, Junghoon and Minjun had run over.

As a result, Soonyoung retreated a little ways round the bend to watch from a distance, which is where he is now, smiling at the innocent joy of both the children and Hansol.

From the opposite end of the path, he spots you walking back to your cottage, and clocks the exact moment you realise what’s happening in your front yard. Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks, before your eyes slowly lift further and you notice Soonyoung standing there too, smiling.

See? he seems to say with your eyes, meeting your gaze. They love him.

One of the children shrieks with laughter as she grabs Hansol’s tail and he playfully gasps in shock, scooping her up and lifting her into the air until she’s giggling and burbling for him to put her down. At his feet, one child is patting snow into the hem of his robes, and another is playing with a fox-eared figurine that Hansol had made him.

It looks so natural, and you watch them for a moment before looking at Soonyoung again. Soonyoung smiles even wider. You have nothing to worry about.

You laugh, a little bit in disbelief, warmth spreading across your face as you smile back, looking fondly at the sight in your front yard. Finally, you really do believe that that’s the truth.

───────────── ‘✽,

“Let’s go out,” you say, and Hansol looks up from his book, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Hm,” he says in reply. “Are you sure?”

It’s been a few days since the first snowfall, but the wintry precipitation has not let up, and it continues to softly drift down from the sky even as you speak. The blanket of snow covering the earth has also blanketed your senses, and your magic is nothing more than a gentle hum beneath your skin. A month ago, this would have stressed you greatly, but with Hansol and his winter-attuned magic singing happily around the entire room, you feel nothing but peace.

Nodding in reassurance, you smile at Hansol. “Very sure. Let’s go out today.”

Hansol blinks, once, and then smiles back, closing the book and getting up from the couch. “Okay. Where are we going?”

You smile wider. “To make you some friends.”

That was the plan, anyway. Ever since the first snow, when Hansol had been accosted by the children and ended up playing with them for a good part of the day, you’ve had several villagers come to your door, either complaining about the yokai or wanting to know more about him. So, you figure, today you should get him out to the village square so he can finally meet everyone. Regardless of their opinion of him.

Because you have trust in Hansol. Now, you have confidence he can turn their opinion around.

Hansol, despite having all the appearances and mannerisms of an introvert, doesn't seem to mind leaving the house for so many days in a row, and eagerly agrees as you urge him to get dressed and head out to the village square. There's the daily market taking place, and most people will be there, so it'll be a good opportunity to introduce him.

But, like you said, that was the plan.

Unfortunately, you're whisked away by some of the villagers who need help with their sick relative, leaving Hansol stranded in the village square.

“You don't have to stay,” you insist to him, as you're rushed off to deal with the medical emergency. “Seriously, Hansol, you can go home. Especially if anyone starts throwing insults, then just go, okay? I'll be with you as soon as I finish.”

Hansol watches you go, head tilted, slightly amused. It's kind of cute that you think he needs protecting. You know, since he's an ancient demon, and all. But before he can say as such, there's a small voice near his knee, and he looks down to see a small child, piping up in favour of him.

“Don't worry about Mister Fox!” the small boy chirps brightly. “We will look after him!”

And as if out of nowhere (seriously, where do these kids come from?) several children come up to him and cling to his robes, waving at you as you leave the market square. Hansol waves too, mystified by the miniature support latching onto him, but also a bit touched by their loyalty. They're really sweet.

“So what do you wanna do, Mister Fox?” the first little boy says, and Hansol recognises him as one of the first children to come up to him a few days ago. Minjun. “Are you hungry?”

Without even waiting for Hansol's answer, Minjun and the rest of the children start ushering him to the food stalls, fiercely advocating for their choice of what Mister Fox should eat first.

“Wait,” Hansol says, interrupting the particularly fierce fight over having hotteok or bungeoppang first. “Kids. Do you have any money?”

There's a short silence, and all the children look down, which is how he learns that they don't, and so they don't end up buying anything at all. Except, Yeowon, who joined the discussion partway through, manages to wheedle some of the stall-owners to give her free food with her big puppy eyes and innocent pout.

It’s like a magic trick, Hansol has to give her that. And when she happily tells the vendors that she’s sharing the food with Hansol, the villagers do nothing other than blink in surprise and then smile, polite and awkward, well. That’s also an incredible magic trick too.

They sit on the outskirts of the village market, pillowed by the mounds of snow all around them as they eat their steaming hot snacks. They’re delicious, and sticky, and very sweet, so it’s not too long before Hansol has several super-hyper, sticky-fingered children on his hands, who are all practically launching themselves into the snow with the bounding amounts of energy they have.

It becomes very noisy very fast, and Hansol starts panicking slightly, before he loudly suggests they ought to go and make some snowmen, and all the children whip their heads around to look at him, wide-eyed, and then—

“That’s such a good idea!”

“Yes! Let’s do that!”

“I’m gonna make the best snowman!”

“No, me!”

“No! Me!”

And then they go tumbling off into the snow, and Hansol slumps back down, relieved. He can still see them, and he can still sense them, too, so there’s no worry in any of them getting lost. At least he can now have some peace and quiet.

Twisting his lips thoughtfully, he gathers handfuls of the white snow, turning it over. He turns it over again, and then begins patting and shaping it in his hands until he has something that resembles a little snow duck.

It’s terribly misshapen, and the beak is a bit too long to be a duck, but it’s cute, and Hansol’s pleased. He swirls his fingers in the air, and uses some magic to add finishing touches, trying to rectify the wonkiness. It doesn’t work, but he still thinks it’s cute. You’d probably find it cute, too. Right?

Probably. Hansol hums to himself contemplatively. You like everything he does. It’s very sweet, he thinks, that you’re always so receptive to him, and it’s even sweeter that you genuinely enjoy his company. You brighten like a blooming chrysanthemum, spring-like in your warmth whenever he says something to you, and it makes him feel all warm too. Ever since the first time he woke up on your couch, out of his mind with a fever, and he’d noticed your floral chrysanthemum tea scent and accidentally called you the prettiest person ever, you’ve always been so gentle and kind and oh, Hansol likes you so much.

You’re just—lovely. You’re the loveliest being he’s ever met in his entire life, and that’s saying something, because Hansol’s been alive for a really fucking long time.

“Hello.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a light, melodic voice coming from over his shoulder, and Hansol looks up in surprise to see a villager bent over him, warm brown eyes glinting and the corners of his lips curving upwards in a seemingly permanent smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just saw you, and thought I’d say hi,” the villager says, smiling properly, extending a hand. “I’m Joshua. You’re the yokai, right?”

Hansol manoeuvres his body around awkwardly and shakes Joshua’s gloved hand. “I’m Hansol, and yeah, I am the yokai. How could you tell?” His ears flick pointedly as he talks, and Joshua’s eyes immediately go to them before he smiles wider.

“Yeah, I guess it was a silly question,” Joshua says, and his fur boots crunch in the snow as he climbs over a mound and crouches down next to Hansol. “But I don’t wanna seem impolite, you know?”

Hansol shrugs, but he understands. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joshua smiles.

They say nothing for a moment, and Hansol lifts his head up briefly to check on the children. He can still see all of them, actually, dotted about the edges of the market as they build their snowmen. He watches them thoughtfully, and then down at the snow at his feet.

It only takes a moment for a snowman of his own to begin to form, aided by his magic as the snowballs roll themselves to become bigger and more round.

“That’s really cool,” Joshua comments, and Hansol had almost forgotten he was there. He’s so quiet, feather-silent, but when he catches Hansol’s eye and smiles, there’s a twinkle to his presence that makes him wonder how he could have ever forgotten him. “I’ve never seen anyone other than Y/N be able to do that.”

“Hm?” Hansol looks at the snowman that’s slowly being built. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really.”

Even as he says so, his tail fluffs up in pride at Joshua’s words, and he begins adding more and more intricate frost details to the snowman. The feathery patterns wind through the body of his creation, like embroidery, and Joshua whistles, amazed.

“It’s very cool. Your magic is very cool.”

Hansol shrugs, bashful. “Thank you. But really, it’s nothing.” As the snowman continues to construct itself, he leans over to Joshua as if confiding a secret. “In the wild, there are yokai who can create literal monsters out of ice. In about five seconds flat. But I mostly just deal with frost and snow, so it’s a lot more difficult for me.”

Joshua tilts his head, genuine interest written all over his face. “Oh. I didn’t know there were differences in yokai magic.”

“Of course there are,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “Like there are differences in humans’ skills, there are differences for yokai, too. We are not unlike you, you know.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Joshua says thoughtfully. And then he looks Hansol in the eye again, smiling. Joshua is honestly so friendly, and even though they only met two minutes ago, he feels like he’s known him for years. “So you won’t object to being friends with a human, right?”

Hansol blinks, surprised, and Joshua’s smile just widens. It’s obvious what he’s asking, and Hansol feels… touched, that he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Yeah,” Hansol says, and his magic finishes off the snowman with an intricate flourish of frost. “I’d love to be your friend.”

“Joshua!”

The calling of the human’s name makes both Joshua and Hansol turn around, and they see one of the elder villagers coming over to them, the skirts of her robes swishing as she walks. She’s terribly intimidating, greying hair pulled back into a bun with a pointy hair stick, marching over with incredible grace even through the ankle-deep snow that has gathered. She squints at the yokai and how close Joshua is sitting to him.

“Mrs Choi,” Joshua greets, apparently oblivious to the sharpness of the woman’s gaze. “Hello. It’s very cold today, isn’t it?”

She eyeballs Hansol for a moment before nodding at Joshua. “Very. Frightful weather, but at least the children are enjoying the snow.” Mrs Choi lifts her gaze and squints into the distance, where the children are playing. “I hope someone is supervising them.”

“Oh, well, Hansol is, so don’t worry about it,” Joshua says with a smile.

Mrs Choi snaps her gaze back to them. “Is he really?” Hansol nods, doing his best to look as earnest and trustworthy as possible, and she hums. “I see.”

“He has them doing a snowman competition, actually,” Joshua says. “He’s very good at making them himself, too. Look. Don’t you think his creation looks amazing?”

He points to the snowman in front of them, glistening with frost and embroidered with thin ice, clearly a work of his magic. Hansol swallows, expecting Mrs Choi to fly into a tizzy over the presence of such witchcraft, but she just scrutinises the snowman, and then—

She smiles.

“It’s very pretty,” she says, and in the blink of an eye, her expression has turned warm. She’s smiling so nicely at Hansol, and then she leans down and brushes a hand over the top of his head, gently dusting away the snow that had landed in his hair. “Just like you, my dear.”

Hansol blinks up at her, open-mouthed. “I— thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckles, straightens, adjusts the skirt of her robes. “No need to thank me. I’m simply telling the truth.” Mrs Choi nods in the direction of the children, before turning away. “Thank you for taking care of the children, also. Keep up the good work.”

Hansol watches her go, feeling a little dazed. She had looked so sharp and stern at first, but something about him sitting there harmlessly and making a harmless snowman with harmless snow gathered in his hair must have done something to convince her that he’s, well, harmless. Which is good. Very good. Hopefully she’ll let everyone else know, too.

“Yeah, she looks scary, but Mrs Choi is anything but,” Joshua says with a laugh, when Hansol directs his wide-eyed gaze to him.

“She’s terrifying.”

“Her son takes after her,” Joshua chuckles. “Choi Seungcheol. He looks scary, but he’s a right softie on the inside, trust me.”

Hansol’s eyes widen further. “She’s Seungcheol’s mother? The village leader?”

“The one and only,” Joshua affirms. He laughs. “Don’t worry about him. His own mother found you cute. I’m sure he’ll be won over by you in no time. Especially if you keep making snowmen that rival Y/N’s in their intricacy. Seriously, I think yours are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Shua, I hope I didn't just hear you dissing my amazing snowman building skills.”

Hansol looks up at your voice, and sees you slowly treading over to them, a drawstring bag dangling over your shoulder as you pick your way through the snow. The tip of your nose is red from the cold, cheeks a pretty pink with an amused smile on your face, and the moment he sees you, it’s like you’ve stolen his breath away.

Whilst Hansol’s too busy being starstruck, Joshua laughs, leaning back on his hands.

“So what if I was?” he teases, and nods to Hansol’s snowman. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”

You look away, directing your gaze to the snowman. Humming thoughtfully, you eye Hansol’s creation, and he begins to grow a little nervous under your critical silence, fiddling with his fingers and digging them into the snow, wisps of cold air seeping from his skin.

And then you smile, a lopsided smirk that makes Hansol feel a little dizzy.

“I can certainly do better.”

Before he can say anything, you set down your bag, and with a flick of your wrist the snow begins to swirl and gather itself before you. Under your command, golden streaks of magic begin to press the snow together, creating larger shapes that you obviously plan to sculpt into a showstopping piece.

You look almost relaxed in your movements, the entire process taking nothing more than a slight twitch of your fingers as magic sparks zip around the sculpture that’s gradually beginning to form. Hansol can only watch in awe, amazed at the fluidity and effortlessness of your power. By his side, he thinks he hears Joshua chuckle softly.

After a few short moments, the three of you are staring at a large, smoothly finished sculpture of a winter fox, and you smile and cross your arms, satisfied.

“What do you think?” you say, smug, confident in your belief that you’ve proved yourself.

Hansol’s jaw is on the floor. Delicate pointy ears, a fluffy-looking tail all made out of snow, and wow, are those whiskers? Did you really make whiskers?

“Wow,” is all he can say, staring at this lifelike fox that’s made entirely out of snow. “Wow.”

Just then, there are high-pitched exclamations from somewhere in the distance, and the children that Hansol’s been supervising come bounding over, shouting in amazement at the fox that you’ve made.

“Hi, kids,” you say when they’re close enough, laughing when Yeowon barrels into your legs to give you a hug. “Quick question, which snow sculpture do you think is better? The fox, or the Frosty the Snowman?”

They all look very thoughtfully at the two snow pieces in front of them, before unanimously pointing to your creation, and you grin triumphantly at Joshua and Hansol. Hansol just smiles back, totally expecting such an outcome. You’d beat him any day when it comes to stuff like this, and he’s totally fine with that.

“That’s not even a snowman,” Joshua protests, but it’s clear he’s arguing just for the fun of it. “Y/N, that’s not a fair competition.”

You shrug flippantly. “I’d win anyway.” And then you wink, pleased, and Hansol feels like burying himself in the snow just to try and get rid of his red cheeks.

“Mister Fox, we wanna play with you now,” Minjun says, and he looks up to see the children standing around him, red-cheeked and damp-haired but still eager to play more. “Can we play a game with you?”

“It’s getting late,” Hansol tries to say, but apparently, that had been a rhetorical question, because they’re hauling him up to his feet so they can play with him. “The market’s already closing. Shouldn’t you all go back to your parents now? Joshua? Y/N?” He looks back pleadingly as he gets dragged away, and you and Joshua just laugh, waving him goodbye.

“Have a nice time!” Joshua calls, standing up from the snow and brushing down his clothes. He stands closer to you, smiling as you both watch him begin to play. “He’s good with them, isn’t he?”

You smile too. “He really is.”

“The best,” another voice adds, and you look over your shoulder to see some of the villagers also watching Hansol. They’re all the parents, and yet they seem perfectly content to let their children play around with the yokai, any trace of hostility gone from their faces.

That makes you smile wider. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs Lee,” you say, and the woman smiles back. “Don’t worry. He’ll keep your children safe.”

Mrs Lee bows her head in acknowledgement, eyes turning soft as you all watch Hansol let the children punt tiny clumps of snow at him. “We know.”

They stay with you for a little longer, chatting about Hansol’s gentle nature and how wonderfully he gets along with the children, before eventually they disperse and begin packing up the market for the day. Next to you, Joshua is also smiling, looking fond, which is really weird because he barely knows Hansol but there’s definitely a clear look of admiration and affection in his face. Before you can comment on it, though, he pats you on the shoulder, and begins to step away.

“I better go,” he says. “Cheol’s coming your way. I think he wants a talk.”

He bids you goodbye then trudges back through the snow, and you look over your shoulder to see that Seungcheol really is coming your way. Instead of greeting him, however, you look back out at Hansol, and wait until the village leader is by your side.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello, Seungcheol.”

You don’t offer him anything else, and so the two of you stand there in silence, continuing to watch Hansol play with the children. It is an adorable sight, though, and makes the corners of your lips twitch upwards the longer the silence goes on. He’s totally lenient with them, letting them pull his tail and ambush him with damp gloves and shrieking laughter. His head whips back and forth constantly between the two sides of kids that have inexplicably formed, somehow finding himself in the crossfire as snowballs get flung around him.

It’s cute, and it makes you laugh, heart warming with fondness. You can feel Seungcheol watching you out of the corner of your eye, and when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything until you do, you sigh and turn your back on Hansol at last, raising an eyebrow.

“Well?” you prompt. “What’s up? You didn’t come find me just to say hello.”

Seungcheol pauses, and looks down. “No. I didn’t.” A beat. “My mother actually told me you were here.”

“Okay. And?”

“She talked to Hansol,” he says, and both your eyebrows raise this time, in surprise. “She said to me that she liked him, and she wanted me to open my eyes and finally realise how much of a good person he is.”

Seungcheol clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He looks over your shoulder, at where Hansol is undoubtedly doing something silly to entertain the children, and his eyes go gentle. They don’t soften, and they certainly don’t melt, but his gaze becomes a little more mellow, like a layer of hardness has finally given way.

“And he is a good person,” Seungcheol says, looking at you again. “I’ve been watching him all day. All week, in fact, and even if my mother hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sought you out to tell you this, because I think I owe you an apology.”

You breathe a laugh. “You certainly do,” you say, but there’s no real bite. Seungcheol’s actions were understandable. You’ve already forgiven him.

Seungcheol seems to know that too, because his lips quirk up into a half-smile. Nevertheless, his words are genuine when he says, “I’m sorry. I was too rash, and too harsh. Any worries I had over yokai did not excuse the way I talked about Hansol. Do you think you can also tell him how sorry I am?”

You draw in a long breath, cross your arms and lean back, staring down your nose at Seungcheol. His smile wavers, a little, but then you relax, breaking out into a grin.

“You can tell him yourself. He’d love to talk to you,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles too. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You’re just looking out for the village, like you always do. But…” You shrug. “I was looking out for my kind, also. I was frustrated that you were treating Hansol like that just because he was a yokai.”

Seungcheol breathes out, wisps of white spilling from his lips. “I get that. It makes sense that you felt that way.” His eyes lighten with mischief suddenly, his smile taking on a teasing edge. “Especially considering the fact you’re in love with him, too.”

The world grinds to a halt. You stumble, taken aback by Seungcheol’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nothing else gets to be said about the matter, though, because a small child goes zooming past you right at that moment, brushing against your side. And then, half a millisecond later, a fat clump of snow hits you square in the back.

The child continues running off, bubbling laughter fading into the market square. Slowly, very slowly, you spin on your heel and come face-to-face with the culprit.

Hansol’s still frozen in his throw position, one hand incriminatingly covered with snow. The moment he sees your face, his face breaks into a wide grin, that beautiful, big grin that shows the slight point of his yokai fangs. His eyes are glowing, alight with amusement and another, warmer emotion you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing the snow gently tumbling down your back. “Whoops?”

“Whoops?” you echo, breathing a laugh. You look at Seungcheol, as if saying Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hansol, a handful of snow magically making its way into your hands. “Oh, you’re going to be saying a lot more than ‘Whoops’ in a minute.”

Hansol laughs, holding his hands up placatingly. “Now hold on a minute—”

Abruptly, his head jerks back, and he gets knocked off his center of balance by the force of the snowball you’d just lobbed at him.

You burst into laughter as Hansol, sitting on the ground and with snow in his hair and up his nose, wipes his eyes with a grin. “Now you’re just asking for it, I think.”

Still laughing, you snap your fingers, and several more balls of snow float up around you. “Oh, it’s on.”

Cut to several minutes later, and somehow, the snowball fight between the two of you has devolved into a village-wide thing, children slipping and sliding in the snow alongside their parents as Seungcheol yells at his team to close ranks and you yell at yours to focus their sights on Hansol. The icy air stings your cheeks, and at some point it begins to snow again, hard, blurring your sight, but the whole thing still continues, the square filled with the laughter of the villagers.

And throughout it all, Hansol manages to find your gaze no matter where he is, gold eyes seeking your gold magic, and the beautiful sound of his laughter leaves you breathless every time.

───────────── ‘✽,

All things considered, perhaps it’s totally expected that you end up falling for Hansol.

You don’t get to truly mull over Seungcheol’s last words until much later, when you and Hansol have both changed out of your sopping wet clothes and are sitting curled up together on the sofa, both of you blinking sleepily at the fire you’ve lit in the fireplace.

The snowball fight ended incredibly amiably, with everyone agreeing that Seungcheol’s team had obliterated everyone else’s, despite the lack of magic users in his group. You’d helped some of the villagers dust themselves off, and used magic to dry off the people who had gotten the most wet. Soonyoung, inexplicably, looked like he’d been dunked five times in a swimming pool, rather than emerging victorious from a snowball fight.

Finishing with Soonyoung, you’d looked back, and of course—Hansol was playing with the children, again, as if he had endless reserves of energy to spare. But in between letting the kids climb his legs and play with his swishing tail, he was chatting with the rest of the villagers, helping them tidy away their things.

It made you smile.

And then Hansol had looked back at you, as if sensing your gaze, and his entire face had lit up, brighter than the brightest summer’s day, and he’d quickly said goodbye to the villagers before coming bounding over to you, face so open and comfortable and warm and—

Yeah. You like him a lot. And you’re sure that he likes you a lot too.

Hansol yawns, big and wide and content, his tail flicking lazily as he rests on your shoulder. Outside, the snowfall has increased to a snowstorm, complete with howling winds and dark, looming clouds, but inside, your cottage is warm, and you have a sleepy yokai pressed against your side, and life is, admittedly, kind of perfect.

There’s just one thing, though.

You need to tell him.

Lost in thought, you shift around absentmindedly, and Hansol looks up questioningly at the movement. The warmth of your magic prickles softly in the air around you, and when he takes your hand, you can feel his own magic murmuring softly in tandem with your own.

He continues to look at you, and then smiles, eyes glowing. Goodness, he really is so pretty.

“I like you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if he’s enchanted you, bewitched you into saying how you truly feel for all to see. “I like you, Hansol.”

Hansol blinks, slow, cat-like. He lifts his head up, pulls away slightly from your shoulder so he can sit up and look at you properly. His eyes are shining, slitted pupils widening and rounding in adoration.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

It’s almost a direct copy of the first words he’d said to you, almost a lifetime ago, when he had been out of his mind with a fever, red-cheeked and hazy-eyed and fixated on the way you smelled like chrysanthemums. The memory makes you laugh, heart squeezing with fondness, and you reach forward to cup Hansol’s cheeks, smiling wider when his eyes flutter shut briefly and he leans trustingly into your touch.

“That’s funny,” you say. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, showing those yokai fangs that you adore so much. His ears twitch with happiness, light speckles of frost covering his cheeks as he blushes. He’s so pretty, and you love him so much.

Slowly, you inch closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. So close that you can count the snowflake-shaped freckles on his cheeks.

“You forgot to say it back, though,” you murmur. “Hansol, you didn’t say you like me back.”

Hansol breathes a soft laugh. “I thought it was obvious.” His smile widens, so enamoured that it warms your heart. “Y/N, I like you too. In fact, I think I’m in love with you.”

You beam. “You know what? I think I’m in love with you too.”

And then you lean forward, and Hansol leans in too, and your lips meet in the softest, sweetest kiss. He tastes like magic, like love, like soft snow that numbs your senses but leaves your heart alive and alight and oh, this is everything you never knew you needed and more.

Hansol’s silver-white hair is falling into his eyes when you pull away, his golden irises shining brightly through them like dazzling, gorgeous sunlight peeking through the translucent colours of snowfall. The sight makes you instantly lean in to kiss him again, dizzy with adoration because goodness, this happiness is for you. He looks like this because he loves you.

And you love him too.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

#the k fic collection review #chee chats about: yeoubi by fairyhaos #svt rec #svt fanfic #f: seventeen #p: chwe hansol x reader #g: fantasy #g: fluff #g: historical au #g: magic au #g: strangers to lovers #r: sfw #wc: 20k to 30k

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