whatwasthatpipsqueak

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

😭😭😭AHHHHHHHHHHHHAHDJFJD sooo i cried SOO BEAUTIFULLJEJDJJD

WHAT REMAINS THE SAME

pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers to call for.

warnings: childhood friends, longing, romance, angst, second chance, pregnancy, set somewhere in 90s, mistakes, parenting, flashbacks, timeskips, guilt, alcohol-induced!manipulation, descriptions of giving birth, subtle signs of postpartum!d, plot heavy, pov switching, drunk in-love beomgyu (lol), abandonment, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything. this is a work of fiction.

smut!warnings: multiple-smut scenes, missionary, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving, virginity-loss.

wc: 31k — playlist

notes: hiii! took long but she's here. i've dreamt about this once, and i couldn't stop writing. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be a mother, there may still be inaccuracies, i did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. xxx

How does it feel to grow up with someone, know their laughter, their fears, the way their voice sounds in the dark and then never see them again?

A part of you is missing and you’re the only one who knows.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

Closure when your parents shattered whatever was left of a home, walking away like love was something that could be unlearned. Closure when you realized your dreams of college were slipping, no matter how tightly you held on. Closure when your anger turned inward—when your foot slammed into a doorframe and the only person you could blame was the one looking back in the mirror.

Would it hurt less if you had said goodbye to him? Or would it have made losing him even worse?

"Mom, I'm gonna be late!"

You hurriedly dab lipstick onto your lips, your other hand frantically smoothing down your hair, hoping it doesn’t look like a complete disaster.

"Mommy?"

"Just a second, sweetheart," you mumble, shoving the lipstick back onto the cluttered vanity before standing up to steal one last glance in the mirror. It’s not perfect. But then again, when have you ever been?

You step out of the room, each movement slower than it should be, the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix clinging to your bones. The stairs creak beneath your feet, groaning like they know how heavy it all is.

At the bottom, she’s already waiting. Your daughter, backpack snug and shoes on the wrong feet again, bouncing like the world is brand new. Her smile hits you like sunlight through a window you forgot was there... so full of life it steals the breath from your lungs.

You force a smile back. You’re getting good at that.

It’s almost cruel, how radiant she looks. Hair brushed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a kind of hope you haven’t felt in years. And then there’s you, barely held together, eyes raw from the night you didn’t sleep, wearing yesterday’s grief under today’s clothes.

People say kids reflect their parents. But she glows, and you… you’re flickering. And still, you kneel to tie her shoelaces. Still, you kiss her forehead and tell her she’s going to have the best day. Because even when you’re unraveling, you stitch yourself back together for her.

"You ready?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" she giggles.

You should be laughing with her, but your steps slow as your eyes catch the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. The soft plink, plink, plink echoes, a reminder of another thing left unfixed, another problem waiting for your attention.

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “Guess I’ll have to call someone to fix that… again.”

When you turn back, she’s already watching you—wide-eyed, her face painted with innocent curiosity. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t understand the weight of things like broken faucets, overdue bills, and work that keeps you up at night.

And you don’t want her to. Not while she can still giggle over silly things and believe the world is simple.

You double-check the locks before leaving. It’s muscle memory by now. Stove off, windows closed, doors latched tight. You scan the room one last time. You carry her to the car, buckle her in, and start the engine. The morning air is cold, the silence even colder but she fills it like she always does. Why are there more clouds today? Why are wheels round? Why is it called a car?

And you answer every question, every single one, because as long as she’s asking, you get to speak. You get to be known. You get to be real to someone. She knows your voice. She trusts it. And in her tiny, curious world, you are enough.

You remember the beginning. Those nights when she was barely one and you were… barely human. When her cries echoed through the walls and your body was too heavy with fatigue to even cry back. When no position, no lullaby, no amount of rocking made her stop and you were left wondering what you were doing wrong.

There were nights you stood in the hallway, holding her like a lifeline, tears sliding silently down your face while hers screamed out loud, both of you breaking in different languages.

But you’re here now, driving her to school, answering questions about clouds and wheels and words. You think… maybe you made it through the worst of it. You're still here, hands on the wheel, heart somewhere in the rearview mirror.

"Nari!" The booming voice cut through the air the moment you stepped out of the car, your daughter still nestled in your arms. You barely had time to turn before a familiar figure came sprinting toward you, like a man starved for something he’d only been missing a week. It made you chuckle, he always acted like it had been years since he last saw her.

"Uncle Binnie!"

Nari wriggled free, launching herself into his waiting arms. He caught her effortlessly, lifting her high before spinning her around, her laughter ringing out. Heads turned. Strangers watched. And you saw it too, the way he held her so easily, the way she clung to him, like father and daughter rather than what they really were.

You walked closer, and Soobin stretched out an arm, wordlessly inviting you in. You let him hold you, because you owed him your life.

"So," he said, his voice lighter now, as if this—this reunion, this familiarity—was as much his comfort as it was yours. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders, Nari tucked against his side. "How have my two favorite girls been?"

Nari giggled at the word favourite, her tiny hands clinging to him. "Mommy's been busy all days, uncle!"

The two of you laughed at the words your daughter. "Really? She's not playing with you?"

"Well, she plays with me still." She pouts and Soobin pinches her nose lightly. "But she's always busy."

You rest a hand on your daughter's head, gently smoothing her hair as her words settle deep inside you. After everything, you raised a child this kind, this thoughtful. A proof that you did something right. It burns in your chest.

She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

The three of you walked toward the restaurant where Soobin had booked a reservation, his voice light as he chatted with Nari about her new teacher and the friends she’d made. You let them talk, let their voices blur into background noise as you glanced inside through the frosted windows.

Families.

Because it was Christmas.

A lump swells in your throat the moment you step inside. Parents leaning close to their children, wiping crumbs from tiny mouths, passing plates with gentle hands. Grandparents pulling little ones into their arms like gravity itself is made of love. Siblings bickering over who got more dessert, only to split the last bite anyway.

Every table holds something whole. Something complete. You hold your daughter's hand a little tighter.

You see it everywhere now, in the drop-off lines where both parents wave from the car window. In the grocery store, where dads lift kids onto their shoulders and moms scold them lovingly for grabbing too many snacks. In the tiny moments that most people take for granted, you see the shape of something you couldn’t give her.

Fate had a cruel way of making sure you never forget.

Nari was a big eater, one of the few traits she hadn’t inherited from you. She sat beside Soobin, happily digging into her food, her small hands clutching her utensils with eagerness. Meanwhile, you barely touched your plate, absently pushing the food around, taking a few bites here and there but never really eating.

Soobin noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

His gaze softened, "Are you okay?" For some reason, his words made you smile. After all these years, he was still the most observant person you knew. Well… almost.

Because there had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips, but you haven’t seen him in years. Haven’t said his name out loud in even longer. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I am," you say, forcing the words out before glancing at Nari, watching as she happily munched on her pasta. "I guess I just don’t really like the holidays that much."

Soobin blinked, studying you for a moment before offering, "We can go watch a movie after dinner? Nari’s been wanting to see that one."

You nod, giving him another small, grateful smile. You reach for your water, ready to wash down the tightness in your throat, when he speaks again. "I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

"Choi Beomgyu!" you squealed as the boy snatched the paper from your hands. "Yah! Give it back!"

"Don't cry over this," he said firmly, already folding the paper before you could grab it. Effortlessly, he slung your backpack over one arm while reaching for his own, slipping the paper inside.

A paper you were sure you’d never see again.

"What would my parents think, idiot?"

"I’d just tell them you got passing marks. No way they’d believe a high score anyway—ouch, ouch! I’m sorry! Fuck!" Beomgyu yelped as you tugged at his ear, swatting weakly at your hands in protest. His ears turned red, whether from the pull or the fact that you touched him, you weren’t sure.

"You think I haven’t already tried that?" you huffed.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But your parents love me more than you—ow! I mean, I mean, they see me as their own kid!" He laughed at your pout, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"You wanna be siblings then?"

"Hell no."

You turned away at his answer, crossing your arms as you walked. The buttons of your high school uniform pressed uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignored it. Beomgyu, your best friend, immediately followed. Like he always did.

The Beomgyu magnet to Y/N.

That’s what everyone called it.

Students stared as the two of you walked, their gazes lingering a little too long. A few even called out to Beomgyu, tossing him belated "Happy 19th birthday!" greetings, nevermind that his birthday had been last week.

Maybe that was just the price of being him. The kind of popular where people scrambled for any excuse to talk to you, even if it meant getting the date wrong. He’s smart, been in the school band since forever, and unfortunately, he’s not exactly hard to look at.

Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

"You mad?" he asked beside you. You shook your head, not even looking at him. From the corner of your eye, you caught the smirk tugging at his lips. "Hungry?"

You swatted his hand away when he poked at your sides, barely listening to his words. Beomgyu didn’t get the hint or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Either way, you kept walking, your chest tight, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

That damn test paper, crumpled inside his bag like it wasn’t another reminder of your failure. Like it wasn’t proof that no matter how hard you tried, it still wasn’t enough. You stayed up late. You gave up sleep, let the words blur and the numbers dance until they made sense. And for what? A score so low it made your stomach churn. The people that said they barely studied flashed scores that were twice as high as yours. Effortless. Like success was something they were born with, something they carried in their blood while you were left clawing for scraps.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That the only thing you have is passion and even that can’t save you.

"Hey."

You hadn’t even noticed your best friend catching up, too lost in your own head to hear his footsteps, but now he was in front of you, walking backward to see your face, deliberately blocking your path. "Don't think about it," he said,"I told you not to."

"I wasn’t thinking about anything.",The lie barely made it past your lips. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady, but it was useless. Especially when he was looking at with the soft eyes of his.

There are moments you catch yourself wanting to pull away from him. Not because he did anything wrong—the opposite, really. He’s everything you’re not. He barely studies but still gets by with decent grades, he’s effortlessly good at almost everything, like life just hands him a script and he nails it every time. And you hate that it gets to you. You wanted to pull away from him.

How do you resent someone who’s never done anything but shine?

"Y/N," His eyes searched yours. "You look like you're about to cry."

You blinked at his words, but they don’t surprise you anymore. Beomgyu has always been seeing you. You clear your throat, a flimsy attempt to steady yourself, but he’s still looking at you. Still seeing too much. And then it happens—the slightest sniff, barely there, but he catches it.

"Can we go now?" Your voice trembles, and the second it does, his eyes widen just a little, something unreadable flashing across them. When he sees the gloss in yours, he reaches for you, fingers wrapping safely around your wrist.

"Come on," he murmurs, tugging you forward. You let him, swallowing back the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to fall apart here.

Not in front of everyone.

Being the daughter of a family of eleven, no one expected much from you. You were just another name in a crowded house, another body squeezed into too little space. School was a luxury, not a necessity. No one thought you’d make it past middle school.

Except your mother.

She saw the way your fingers traced the edges of worn-out textbooks, the way your eyes lingered on words you barely understood but desperately wanted to. And she let you chase that dream, even when it meant stretching what little you had even thinner.

"Hard work never betrays you," they say. But they never tell you how much it can hurt, because what do you do when you give everything; your nights, your energy, your hope, only to fall short? How are you supposed to believe in effort when all it leaves you with is failure?

"Stop sniffing, Y/N!" Choi Soobin snaps, his half-eaten lunch sitting in front of him on the makeshift mat spread across the school rooftop. "Seriously, it's driving me crazy."

You press your handkerchief to your nose again, trying to stay quiet. It’s lunchtime, but your food stays untouched. Just the thought of eating turns your stomach.

"Maybe stop talking with your mouth full," Beomgyu cuts in, not even bothering to look up. Then he glances at Soobin and adds, flatly, "And don’t yell at her."

"I'm just so pissed about that teacher giving her such a low score. Did you see her essay? It was her best one yet, she did so good!" the taller boy grumbles, pouting as he reaches over to pinch your cheek gently.

Your eyes—still a little red—meet his. “I know, right? I did my best.” you say, voice cracking just before the tears start all over again.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, giving Soobin’s leg a light kick. “You made her cry again,” he muttered, shaking his head as he reached for your unopened lunchbox and popped it open like it was routine. He was already unscrewing your water bottle when Soobin, without a word, placed a tempura on top of your rice, his quiet way of saying sorry.

You wiped at your eyes, the ache in your chest softening just a little at the sight. When Beomgyu handed you your utensils, you took them without hesitation.

The universe didn’t give you everything you wanted but it tried to make up for it by giving you two people.

Everyone had gone back to eating. You reached for your food, slowly scooping the rice balls your mother had packed. Then, you glanced to your right. Your tear-streaked eyes—now lighter—and your mouth still full of rice met Choi Beomgyu’s gaze.

His eyes now filled with relief.

You forget little things all the time; where you left your pen, what day it is, one thing your mom asked you to grab from the market, but somehow, no matter how much time passes, you'll never forget the day you met your best friend.

You met Choi Beomgyu in kindergarten, when you were barely six years old. It wasn’t one of those storybook friendships that happened overnight. You just knew that the other kids were always too loud, too messy, too much and Beomgyu, was the only one who wasn’t. He was quiet. He didn’t try too hard. And then one day, your teacher asked the boys to choose a girl for the class dance. Without a word, Beomgyu walked straight to you. When you asked him why, he shrugged and said, “You don’t annoy me as much.”

It wasn’t exactly poetic but, it felt like the start of something that would last.

The only reason the friendship ever started was because neither of you found the other annoying. That was it. A comfort in each other’s presence. And somehow, that small reason stretched into something that lasted over a decade.

You grew up like that, orbiting each other through school days, lazy summer nights and wordless understandings. Eventually, people stopped calling you just friends. You were best friends. Branded, known. His name was a permanent fixture in your mouth; yours was stitched into every part of his life. His house felt like a second home. His mother always smiled a little softer when you came over, brushing your hair back like you were hers. Beomgyu’s older brother loved teasing him but was always strangely gentle with you.

It was rare to see one of you without the other.

Middle school was when you really noticed it—how Beomgyu started to change. He got louder. Braver. Started laughing with people you'd never seen him talk to before. His circle widened almost overnight. More guy friends, more inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, more people calling his name in the hallway. He picked up a guitar one day and never really put it down after that. It made you scared that he'll change with you too.

But he didn’t. Not once.

He still waited for you after class. Still leaned in to place his head on your shoulders when he was bored, still flicked your forehead lightly just to see you scowl. Still remembered the exact way you liked your ramen, and still offered the last bite even though he pretended not to care. And when someone tried to mess with you once—a cruel joke whispered too loud—Beomgyu didn’t even hesitate. He was there before you could even speak, standing in front of you like a wall you didn’t ask for.

Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

By the time middle school ended, the whispers had started. Are they dating? They’re always together. They have to be something.

You heard it all—in the hallways, behind half-closed locker doors, in the sharp glances thrown your way from girls when you and Beomgyu laughed like the world only existed for the two of you. It made something twist in your chest you got scared, unsure. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, or what he felt, or if either of you were even allowed to change the shape of what you’d always been.

So, just for a day, you pulled away.

You ignored him, let your eyes pass over him like he wasn’t there, didn’t wait at the gate like you always did, didn’t answer his questions. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. It was supposed to be space.

And that day, was the first time you ever saw Choi Beomgyu cry.

You never dared again.

In a house full of noise, with siblings, all louder and needier than you, it was easy to feel invisible. Your voice always got lost, your victories overlooked, and your sadness mistaken for silence.

Beomgyu saw you.

Where your family’s attention scattered, he gave you his wholly. He noticed when you were quiet, asked when no one else did. Remembered things no one bothered to learn. The way you preferred your socks mismatched. The way your hands trembled when you were overwhelmed. The way you lit up, just a little, when someone said your name.

With that kind of attention, it made you feel like you and him, alone, were enough.

High school brought a lot of changes. New uniforms, new hallways, new people. And Choi Soobin. The quietest boy you’d ever met. Kind in a way that didn’t demand attention. Always alone, always lingering just outside the crowd, like he hadn’t figured out how to step inside yet. It wasn’t you who invited him. It was Beomgyu.

“He looks lonely,” he’d said one afternoon, watching Soobin trail behind the rest of the class. “Let’s have lunch with him.”

And slowly, Soobin bloomed. Around the two of you, he laughed louder, smiled wider, filled space with stories and inside jokes and that rich, echoing laugh with his dimples that made everything feel a little warmer.

It was beautiful, watching him come alive, because you knew that feeling. You knew what it was to bloom like that.

You, too, bloomed because of Choi Beomgyu.

"You don’t like it?" Beomgyu asks, noticing the frown tugging at your face. His brows pull together in concern. "Why’d you go for that weird flavour?"

The two of you are walking side by side, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. You’d said goodbye to Soobin five minutes ago, he lived on the other side of town, and his path had already veered off.

"It looked interesting," you mumble, pouting as you glance at Beomgyu taking a bite of his strawberry ice cream, one you’ve never seen him pick before. "It tastes awful, Gyu."

He laughs at the frustration in your voice, reaching out with his right hand for the lavender ice cream you picked on a whim. You hand it over without protest, eyes hopeful.

"You give in way too easily, with sales talk." When he offers his strawberry cone in exchange, you grin, already tasting victory. "That one's way too sweet anyway."

"Then why’d you get it?"

Beomgyu shrugs, eyes on the sidewalk. "Because it’s your favourite," he says simply. "And just in case you hated yours."

His words warmed your cheeks even as you keep your eyes forward. You keep walking, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest, footsteps in sync with his like they’ve always been. You stay close to the edge of the sidewalk, careful not to drift too near. Beomgyu walks beside you, his hand swinging lazily at his side, fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of his uniform pants. So casual. So unaware of how close he is.

And all you can think about is that space between you.

What would he do if you reached out and held his hand?

"No, Mom!"

Your attention shifts to a wailing child as you near the familiar playground you both pass every time you walk home. The kid is mid-meltdown, clearly not ready to leave, while his mother looks like she’s holding on by a thread. You scoff, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever be a mom. I can’t stand kids." A laugh bubbles out from beside you. You roll your eyes, already knowing who it’s from.

"Stop laughing," you mutter. He does but the grin stays, soft and a little amused. You catch him looking at you.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. "Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

"As if."

“Do you want to swing for a bit?” he sways the conversation, nodding toward the playground.

You blink. “Huh?”

“The swings,” he says again, a bit more softly this time. “I can push you.” You glance over, surprised, but his expression is sincere, almost serious in that way Beomgyu gets when something small matters more than it should. And you remember…how you both used to love this.

“Okay,” you murmur, “Sure.”

The playground is mostly empty now. The crying child from earlier is gone, carried away by a tired mother. A few scattered voices float in the breeze, but it’s peaceful, quiet enough to hear the rustling of trees, the soft creak of the swing chains. From here, you can see the lower half of the town, rooftops glowing under the setting sun, like something out of a memory.

You finish the last bite of your ice cream, sit down on the swing, and feel his hands gently press against your back. "You ready?"

For a while, he says nothing after that. Just pushes you with that soft kind of attention he’s always had—like you’re something delicate he’s afraid to damage. Every time you glance back at him, he’s already looking at you, smiling.

You think it's because your smile is too wide to hide.

The breeze dances through your hair, and the sun dips lower, casting everything in gold, and when you look back at him again, his hair tousled by the wind, his eyes soft, his face glowing in that dying light; your breath catches.

He’s beautiful. He's always been beautiful. In the way he’s always looked at you.

“Y/N.” The sun has dipped. It’s been about thirty minutes since you first sat down. Beomgyu now sits on the swing next to yours, feet dragging lightly against the gravel, head bowed like he’s studying the way his fingers twist together.

You glance at him. “Hm?”

“I… I have to tell you something.” His eyes stay fixed on his hands.

You try to lighten the mood, like you always do when he gets like this, “You need anything?” you tease, nudging his foot with yours. “Is that why you pushed me off the swings earlier?” He lets out a short, breathless laugh, but his eyes never meet yours.

“I— I’m going out of the country.”

“Oh, wow,” you say, perking up. “That sounds amazing! It’s your first time, right? Who would’ve thought you’d be getting on a plane before me? Where are you going? How long’s the vacation? Are you gonna—"

You stop mid-sentence. He’s finally looking at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes your heart sink. “What’s wrong?” you ask, quieter now.

“I’m not going on vacation,” he says. “I’m moving. For college. My parents got this opportunity… it was all kind of sudden. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You stare at him.

Leaving. He’s leaving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is small. It barely carries over the creak of the swings, but it’s enough, enough to make Beomgyu go still.

You don’t know why that’s the first thing you said. Maybe because it’s easier than saying please don’t go. Your hands are freezing, even though it’s not that cold out. It’s the way your whole body feels hollow now, like something vital’s been yanked out of you. You remember the stories—the ones your classmates whisper like warnings.

People who leave this town don’t come back.

The thought of him leaving terrified you.

Beomgyu shifts in the swing beside you, the chains rattling. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know how. Everything happened so fast and I—” When he finally looks at you, you wish he hadn’t. There’s guilt written all over his face. It makes you feel worse.

“You still should’ve told me.” You grab your bag, his hands flinch as you pull it from them, and you’re already on your feet. You take it without meeting his eyes. “I’m going home.”

He says your name, again and again, but you’re already walking. Fast. Like if you stop, it’ll all hit you at once and you’ll break apart right there in front of him.

You don’t look back.

Because you know if you do, you’ll beg him to stay.

You slipped through the front door of your home without a sound. It was too easy, when no one really looked at you long enough to see the redness in your eyes.

Your family wasn’t rich but they managed to rent a house with just enough space to pretend everyone had their own corner. Yours was the storage room. Barely wide enough for a mattress, with walls that breathed dust and silence. But it was yours. Four claustrophobic walls and a door you could close on everything else. You dropped your bag and sat on the floor. The mattress creaked behind you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, blinking hard against the tears that threatened again.

This was the one place where it was safe to fall apart other than in front of him.

It’s been hours since you got home. Hours since you last your best friend. Since he told you he was leaving.

At first, you were angry. Furious, even. You buried your face in your pillow and cried like it would undo the words he’d said. It felt like betrayal. You kept thinking: Why didn’t he tell you sooner? He’d told you everything before. Every stupid little secret. Every bad decision. Every dream. And this—this—he kept quiet.

But anger doesn’t last. Not when it’s him.

Why did you react like that? Why couldn’t you have just smiled and said, I’m happy for you? What kind of best friend gets upset when someone they love is finally getting out?

Because of all people—he deserves to leave this town.

He’s always dreamed bigger than these cracked sidewalks and dead-end streets. Always reached for something more while you stayed tethered to what’s familiar. He’s leaving you. You wipe your eyes again, though it’s useless. The tears keep coming, your body hasn’t figured out how to stop grieving yet. You’ll apologize tomorrow. The moment the sun rises. You’ll tell him you were wrong. That you’re proud of him. That you’ll miss him more than he’ll ever know.

Because he deserves that.

You’ll apologize tomorrow... tomorrow?

The thought tastes wrong in your mouth. What if tomorrow is too late?

You sit up suddenly, heart pounding. The clock reads 9:04 PM. You listened outside, the house is still. Silent. You know the rhythm of your family’s sleep—light snorers, tired bones, people who won’t notice you’re gone as long as you're quiet. You grab your jacket, moving carefully across the creaking floorboards. Your door opens with a whisper. One cautious step, then another, and you're at the front door, fingers trembling slightly as they find the lock.

The outside air is cool against your skin as you crack the door open. But just as you take a step out, you freeze.

Across the street, lit faintly by the orange glow of the nearest streetlamp, someone sits on the pavement. Legs stretched out, hands buried deep in the pockets of a hoodie you know too well.

Choi Beomgyu.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi, pretty.”

“You—” A curse almost slips out, but you bite it back, glancing toward the hallway behind you. You lower your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? What if I didn’t come out, idiot?”

The furrow in his brow from earlier is gone now, replaced by that familiar boyish grin, the one that always makes it harder to stay mad.

“But you did come out,” he says simply. He rises from the pavement with that lazy ease he always carries, brushing his hands on his jeans before holding them out—open, waiting—but he doesn’t move toward you. Just stands there. Looking at you like he knew you’d come. Like he hoped you would. You hear it in the quiet expectant look on his face. Come here.

And you do.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, closing the distance between you and him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around his waist, his arms are already around you before your face finds the safety of his chest. He pulls you in tighter, like he's afraid that if he doesn't hold you close enough, you’ll disappear too.

Beomgyu leans down, buries his face in your hair, and breathes in—one deep, shaking inhale that sounds like worry, like guilt, like relief all tangled into one. Because he was.

“I knew you’d come out,” he whispers. His voice is soft, cracking at the edges, and it breaks something in you. Your eyes sting immediately. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

You pull back reluctantly, almost having to pry yourself from his arms because he doesn’t loosen his grip right away. When you finally look up at him, your voice is barely above a whisper. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry.”

He’s staring at you now, like you’re something fragile in his hands. His gaze scans your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of emotion before it fades. His left arm stays wrapped around you, grounding you, while his right hand comes up, gently cupping your face. His palm is warm. Familiar. It fits too perfectly against your skin. You’ve always been close to him. But this—this feels like a different kind of closeness, and you can’t look away.

Not when he’s looking at you like this.

Not when the soft, slow stroke of his thumb across your cheek sends shivers through your chest, makes your breath hitch and your heart stutter.

Is it because he's leaving?

“Have you been crying?” he whispers, voice is barely there, like he’s afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer. His hand stays warm on your face, thumb trailing just beneath your eye. He’s not wiping tears—there are none left—but it’s like he can feel where they were, tracing. “Have you?” he asks again, softer this time.

You try to look away, but his hand gently guides you back, eyes locked onto yours. Your voice comes out in a breath, cracked and small. “It was my fault.”

“No,” he interrupts, voice thick, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to leave you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, the burn behind them almost unbearable now. He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Another lands gently on the bridge of your nose. You’re still, barely breathing, as his lips hover close to yours. “I’ve been in love with you for years,”

Your eyes flew open. “What?”

“Did you really not see it?” His voice cracked. “That I’m completely, stupidly in love with you?”

You shook your head, stunned, your cheeks burning despite the ache swelling in your chest.

“God,” he breathed, pulling you into him, “it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”

His arms tightened around you, desperate. “Since you didn't hear me out earlier, I'll say it now. I swear I’ll come back. As soon as I can. I’ll come for you. I'll make it up to you. You better be ready—I want your bags packed the second I show up. I made Soobin promise to walk you home every day, because I know how easily your mind wanders and it drives me insane.”

You clutched his shirt, the tears finally breaking free. “I’ll wait for you,” you whispered, voice wrecked as you cried. “I promise.”

He pressed his lips to your hair. “Good.”

“And Gyu?” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest. He hummed in response, arms still wrapped tightly around you, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, breathing him. “I’ve been in love with you too,”

You didn’t have to see his face—you’ve known him for thirteen years. You felt the way his whole body stilled for a second, then melted, like the words filled something he hadn’t dared to hope for. You knew he was grinning, that crooked, boyish grin that always made your heart trip. He pulled you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse you into him.

And under the soft, flickering lamplight, it’s the kind of scene that belongs in a movie. Two teenagers, holding on like the world might tear them apart the second they let go. Two hearts beating too loud, too fast.

Hopelessly, breathlessly in love.

When Beomgyu pulled away from the hug, his eyes flicked to the door of your house. You were meant to go inside but his expression asked you to stay. You slipped your fingers into his.

“Can I come with you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. He never could, not with you. Maybe it was the quiet defiance of it, or maybe it was the way things had shifted—how it suddenly felt like you were his, and he was yours. The truth that the two of you belonged to each other now. He reaches out, his hands waiting for yours.

It only took a second when you did.

That night, you didn’t walk into the comfort of him home, or the usual warmth of his family’s greetings. You followed him up to his room, quietly.

He made sure you were comfortable, tucking you in gently before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll just turn off the lights,” he murmured, his voice low.

You shifted onto the left side of the bed, heart thudding as you waited. Every creak of the mattress as he moved made your breath catch. The bed dipped with his weight, and you held your breath, listening to the quiet rustle of sheets and the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. "Beomgyu?" you whispered.

His response was immediate. “You need something?”

You hesitated, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “Can you… hold me?”

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Beomgyu's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "I thought you'd never ask."

You giggle, breathless, and he laughs too, warm against your skin. He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “This okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “This okay too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark—but he's close, so close—you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You giggle softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part in a smile, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep—hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I need you, Gyu,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You need me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan. It takes time—because he makes it take time. Like he wants to savour the reveal, like he’s waited too long to see you like this and now he refuses to rush. He holds and touches you, like your mother made you just for him.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Beomgyu…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Beomgyu grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Beomgyu thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. Your lachrymose eyes met his. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Beomgyu slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"You'll come back for me, right?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn't help myself.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head. "I will. I can't live without you."

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

It’s crazy how you went from crying to rubbing against each other, but both have been craving for this. And now, the situation of him leaving only made his hunger for you increase. Beomgyu thought of everything he could do to show you how sincere he was and how much he loves you. He wanted you to know that you were the only woman he’ll ever touch like this. That he'll come back, that this decision wasn't something he ever wanted. And the growing tent in his boxers is also aching to prove that.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. Once satisfied, he laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected member out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Beomgyu stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Beomgyu, please…” You cried when Beomgyu started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits her bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Beomgyu took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Beomgyu took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Just a little more, love.” Beomgyu shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

Beomgyu kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room. You're all his, and he would never let himself fuck up. He would never let himself do something stupid. He'll come back to you as soon as he can, the thought of you waiting burns him.

Beomgyu started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“You’re the only one I’d fuck like this, baby. You’re the only one I’d touch like this.” Beomgyu growled, kissing your ear lobes.

“Yes, yes, Beomgyu, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck. You’re the only one I’d make love to, Y/N.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“I love you and only you. So fucking much.” He stared deeply into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Beomgyu thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

After, Beomgyu became the shyiest guy in the world. He silently blushed, cleaned you up before getting under the covers with you.

“I love you,” He started, as he ran his fingers down your back before resting on the lower part of it, pulling you to his chest.

“I love you, Beomgyu.”

“Do you have any plans?” your mother asks softly, her voice barely cutting through the clatter of her hands preparing a lunchbox. You’re in front of the mirror, running your fingers through your hair.

“Plans for what?” you finally say, eyes fixed on your own reflection—not really seeing it.

“It’s your… twentieth birthday.” Your hand pauses mid-motion.

You clear your throat and force a shrug, “Oh. Right.”

She watches as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, your fingers too stiff, too fast. She sees the shadows beneath your eyes and sighs. “You should take it easy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you lie, “I just have work. And… I don’t know.” You reach for the lunchbox she’s packed. Transparent. Eggs again. You swallow hard, the sight alone making your stomach twist.

“I’ll get going,” you murmur, already turning away. You don’t meet her eyes. You can’t. Not when you know she’s still watching you—worried, helpless. And not when you’ve gotten so good at pretending it doesn’t matter.

After high school, it wasn’t a shock, you knew college was never in the cards for you. No dramatic moment of realization. Just reality. So here you are, a year later, on your way to work… and you didn’t even remember today was your birthday.

He would’ve remembered. He never missed it.

You shake the thought off like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t stick to the inside of your ribs. You offer stiff smiles to your coworkers as you clock in, grabbing the stack of flyers assigned to you for the day. Real estate. That’s what they call it. What you do is stand outside in the sun, in the cold, in the wind—shoving these papers into passing hands, hoping someone actually cares enough to look.

Most don’t.

But then again… who would take someone like you seriously? Who would even want someone like you?

“Here. It’s on promo today,” you say, holding out the flyer with rehearsed cheer. “You can get ten percent off the down payment if you sign today, and there's a—”

“I’ll do it,” the man cuts in, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. On you, not the paper.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, great,” you say, managing a small smile. Finally. Something good. Maybe you can actually afford to eat something real tonight. Maybe even bring some back for your mom.

“If you sleep with me. One night.” You freeze. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the flyer. You don’t look at him right away—you’re afraid if you do, you’ll either throw up or scream.

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds, as if this is just another business transaction. As if your dignity has a price tag. Your jaw clenches. Slowly, you snatch the flyer back from his hand, crumpling it in your grip.

“Go to hell,” you mutter. You don’t even look back as you turn around, heart pounding—not from fear, not entirely. From exhaustion. From disgust. From the unbearable weight of this being your life. You exhale shakily, trying to bury the sting in your throat.

You thought today couldn’t get worse. But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Every day’s been worse since.

After that encounter, you had to pull yourself together, force a smile like nothing happened, like the words didn’t stick to your skin and crawl under it. You kept handing out flyers with trembling hands and a voice that cracked more than once. But no one noticed. No one ever does.

You whispered it like a prayer. Please—just one sale. Just one. If there’s anything left out there for you—anyone listening—let today be enough. It’s your birthday, for god’s sake. Let that mean something.

Not a single sale.

Now you’re on the subway, back hunched against the hard plastic seat, eyes locked on the floor like if you move, you’ll shatter. The carriage rocks, people come and go, and still, you sit there, numb.

Your eyes sting, but the tears won’t fall. They never do. Not anymore. Because nothing hurts more than the ache that’s lived inside you for the past year. It's a wound that learned how to stop bleeding and just started swallowing you whole instead.

You pulled out your wallet and started counting what little was left. Bills folded too many times, coins barely enough to matter. You stared at the total for a second, then let out a quiet sigh. Fuck it. A drink won’t fix anything but it’ll help you tonight. You took a different bus route tonight.

The pub is dim, you step inside quietly, hoping not to draw attention. You don’t belong here, but you don’t belong anywhere these days. You could be anyone: a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just lost her job, a woman trying not to fall apart in public. All of them could be true. None of them are far off. You’re still in your work clothes. The blouse is wrinkled, two buttons undone. Your hair’s half-up, half-forgotten, and the look on your face probably says enough to keep people away. You don’t care. You head straight to the bar and order something strong, sitting alone at a stool like it’s the only place left in the world that doesn’t expect anything from you.

"I will. I can’t live without you."

Your breath stutters. The glass trembles slightly in your hand. You almost choke on the drink as the tears sting again—too cruel. You press your lips together and wipe your face quickly, like that’ll stop the pain. You need to leave. Now. Before you break down in front of strangers.

You slide off the stool, heart pounding, eyes glassy ut then the stool beside yours shifts.

“Hi, pretty.”

You freeze. You turn your head slowly, hope rising in your chest before you can stop it—hope that maybe, somehow—

It’s not him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, forcing your features to settle. He noticed the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, the way it sparked and died all in the same breath. You remember him. A batchmate. Schoolmate. Someone who never really talked to you back then.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he asks, already gesturing to the bartender for two drinks.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m good.”

He grins, “Come on, just one. I’ve missed you.”

You almost laugh. Bitterness curling behind your teeth like smoke. Missed you? He didn’t even know you. You were never close. You never even talked outside of borrowed notes and hallway nods. And now, here he is, like proximity to your sadness gives him permission to touch it.

Does he miss you too?

You look down at your drink, the ice already melting. “That’s funny,” you mutter, just loud enough.

“What is?”

“You missed me?” you echo, eyebrows raised, voice flat. “We barely spoke in school. Is that a new pick-up line or something?” Your eyes meet his, tired and unamused. You expect him to get defensive, maybe roll his eyes and leave. Part of you even hopes he does. But instead, he laughs.

“Well, sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but you should know, I had this terrible, massive crush on you back then.”

You blink in surprise. He goes on. “Except… Choi Beomgyu basically told me to back off in second year. Guy was obsessed with you.”

Your stomach twists. Choi Beomgyu. You look away, suddenly too aware of your own breathing. The room feels louder, smaller.

Choi Beomgyu that you haven't heard back anything since the day he left.

“He told you that?” you manage to say, voice thinner now, almost brittle.

Jaehyun hums like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just drop a grenade into your chest. “Yeah. Said you weren’t really available. Emotionally or otherwise.” He chuckles. “Dude looked ready to murder me, so I backed off.”

You stare into your glass, watching the light catch on the melted ice. The burn in your throat isn’t just from the alcohol anymore, it’s from everything you’ve buried just to stay standing.

Beomgyu wrote you, at first. The first month after he left, letters came; messy handwriting, little jokes scribbled in the margins, lines that made you cry in secret because he still sounded like yours. His I love yous. And you clung to that. But then… nothing.

You kept writing anyway. Hundreds of letters. You told him everything—about your new job, about how hard things had gotten, about the nights you couldn’t sleep, about how it felt like something inside you was cracking open just from missing him. You even wrote when you were sick, when you thought, maybe this will scare him enough to write back. Still nothing.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told yourself maybe he lost your address. Maybe life got too loud. Maybe something happened. Maybe. But denial only holds you together for so long. One month passed. Then one year. And the silence became an answer you never asked for. You remember checking the mailbox every day like clockwork. Standing there in your pajamas with bare feet on cold tile, praying for something—anything—with his name on it. There was even a day you went to the post office, hands trembling, convinced the letters must’ve gotten stuck somewhere, misplaced, waiting.

But there was nothing.

And now you're outside the pub, crying. You're a mess, knees drawn to your chest on the dim pavement, makeup smudged, throat raw from holding back too long. Drunk, heartbroken. And Jaehyun, this man you barely know, is looking at you like you're shattering.

“Fuck him,” he mutters, his fists clenching at his sides like that might help. “Forget about him, Y/N.” He crouches beside you, his hand awkwardly pressing to your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You barely feel it. Everything inside you is too loud.

Choi Beomgyu.

His name beats in your chest.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Jaehyun says, his voice tightening. “I backed off because of that asshole. And now look. He left. He hurt you. He’s probably living some perfect fucking life while you’re here… like this.”

Choi Beomgyu.

You miss him. You need him.

You can’t say anything. You just keep crying—ugly, silent sobs that make your shoulders shake. There’s nothing left to hold together. Nothing left to explain. No one to explain it to. Your other half isn't here.

Jaehyun’s voice softens, “Stop crying,” he whispers, too close. “You don't deserve this. He forgot you, Y/N. He lied, he's an asshole."

"Come with me. I’ll make you forget him.”

Choi Beomgyu. He'll never come back to you.

Jaehyun reaches out his hand. And just like that, you’re back to that night, back to the night your best friend confessed. You lifted your eyes, only to see his face instead. The man in front of you waves his hand again.

It took long for you to give your hands.

It only takes one decision.

One misstep. One reckless breath you don’t take back in time. People don’t believe that—not really. They think life builds slow, that it gives you warnings, but sometimes, it just tips. One turn down the wrong street. One answer you shouldn’t have given. One goodbye you didn’t mean and suddenly, the shape of your life is different. You think you’re being careful. You think you’re being brave. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the future isn’t some distant, untouchable thing. It's sitting in your hands, waiting for you to move. To decide. Pressed into your palms, like wet clay. You could mold it into anything. Or crush it without meaning to.

You don’t always know which one you’ve done until it’s here.

"You'll take care of yourself, right?" Beomgyu's voice cracks, his lips tremble like they’re holding back everything he doesn’t want to say. His hands cup your face so gently it hurts.

You nod. It’s all you can manage. Your throat is tight, your eyes sting, "I will. I promise."

Behind him, his family waits, luggage in hand, eyes heavy with knowing. The gate is just a few feet away, and it draws a line. A line you can’t follow. A future you’re not invited to.

Beomgyu leans in, kissing you like he's trying to leave pieces of himself behind. A kiss to your forehead. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. "I love you," he says. And somehow, despite the chaos of the airport, the overhead announcements, the rushing footsteps—you hear it. You hear it.

He grips his passport tighter, knuckles white, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He looks at you one last time—eyes burning, jaw clenched—and then he lets go. His hands leave your skin, and something inside you goes with them.

He turns to Soobin, standing behind you, silent and teary-eyed. His voice is low, almost pleading. "Take care of her."

Then he walks away.

You bite your lip hard, tasting salt and copper, as the tears spill freely now. Soobin’s hand rests on your shoulder, but it does nothing to soothe the storm inside you.

Because he's walking away. His figure grows smaller and smaller, swallowed by distance and the sharp fluorescent lights of the terminal.

Then—he stops. He turns around.

And you see it, fresh tears carving down his cheeks. He looks at you. He looks like he wants to run back to you. You shouldn’t be surprised. Not with Beomgyu. Not with the way he loves; loud, reckless, and all at once. He throws his head back, chest heaving, and yells so loud the entire terminal stills:

"I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!"

You wake with a jolt, gasping like you’ve just surfaced from drowning. Sweat clings to your skin, your forehead slick, and his voice—those last shouted words—still echo like sirens in your ears. You press your palms into your face, trying to ground yourself, but your stomach twists violently. Before you can even think, you’re out of bed, legs shaky, breath uneven. You half-stumble down the hall, grateful that the bathroom’s empty. You barely make it to the sink before the nausea hits.

You vomit. Again. Again. Each heave sends a fresh wave of pain crashing through your skull, like your body’s punishing you for remembering. All you can hear is the frantic thud of your heartbeat, pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

It’s been over a month since you slept with Jaehyun. A month since you last saw his face. You tried with him—god, you tried, but you can't.

Every moment with him feels rehearsed.

You wipe your face with trembling hands, heart thudding against your ribs like it wants out. The bathroom light flickers faintly above you, and when you finally dare to look up at your reflection, you barely recognize the girl staring back. You’re usually regular. Always have been. But this time… nothing.

The realization hits you like ice down your spine. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard.

You need to buy a pregnancy test.

"I'm pregnant." The words fall from your lips, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The floor. The wall. "I don’t know what to do."

The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t have to look to know he’s staring at the test in your hand—at the two pink lines that changed everything. Then, quietly but without hesitation: “Let’s keep it.”

“I know you don’t love me,” he adds, voice soft even as it cracks at the edges. “I know you’re still…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. The silence stretches, his throat bobbing as he swallows down. “But we can keep it. Together. For the baby.”

And finally, you look at him. Really look. His eyes aren’t pleading. They’re not trying to convince. They’re just… open. Raw. Honest.

“We’ll build something,” he says, stepping a little closer, as if that might make it real. “A home. A family. Just give it time. Move in with me. We’ll make it work.”

Days passed. Somehow, you said yes. You told him you'd try — and he held on to that like it was a promise.

Jaehyun talked more now. About his family in the U.S., how they already knew, how they were surprisingly… supportive. He started picking up little things for the baby, socks, bottles, a stuffed bear with a stitched-on smile. He showed you receipts, color palettes for the nursery. He told you that before the baby comes, he’d have a small apartment ready. For both of you. For your new life together.

You believed him.

Your mother's reaction, on the other hand, was quieter than you expected. No yelling. No disappointment. Just a soft, dull acceptance. Maybe it was because she never expected much from you in the first place. Or maybe she saw how pale you looked, how your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching, and figured silence was the kindest thing she could give. Your father... just ignored it.

You're sitting on a bench in the park, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. You pop a strawberry into your mouth, sweet and cool against the heat. Six months. You're six months pregnant now. Just a little over three left.

Jaehyun sits beside you, a paper bag in hand, his eyes bright with effort. "Here," he says, pulling out a small container of salad. “I made it. Looked up what’s good for the baby. Thought you might like it.”

You smile, soft and small, and take the container from him. You open it — and pause. The smile fades. “Oh.”

He stiffens beside you. “Why?”

You glance up at him, careful with your voice. “I’m allergic to peanuts.” You’ve told him before. Twice. Maybe three times.

His face falls. He takes the container back immediately, as if it’s burned him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. You see it in his face, that flicker of guilt, of failure. He’s trying so hard to be someone good for you, for the baby. But the truth is, you barely know each other. You’re still learning each other’s favorite colours, let alone what makes each other hurt.

He reaches for your hand.

You let him hold it.

That day had been going well. Too well. The sun was warm but not suffocating, the breeze gentle against your skin. Jaehyun was laughing, not just smiling, but actually laughing, the kind that made you glance at him sideways because it still felt strange to hear joy from him, to feel it near you.

And you let yourself imagine it. A future. A home.

A baby wrapped in soft cotton blankets.

“Jake?” It was sharp, high-pitched, almost disbelieving. You turn instinctively. A woman stands a few feet away, dressed in crisp neutrals, her expression caught between shock and something you can’t quite name. She looks to be in her forties, and she's staring straight at you. “Are you joking?”

The sun is gone now, replaced by the fading lavender of twilight. A breeze lifts the hem of your shirt slightly, brushing cool against your skin.

“Mom,” Jaehyun says quickly, already letting go of your hand like he has been caught. He stands, tense, defensive. The word Mom hits you like a shove. You try to stand too, slow and awkward, one hand supporting your back, the other braced against the bench. You can feel the weight of her stare, heavy on your belly.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Jaehyun's told me about you." You smiled or tried to, under her pining stare. Jaehyun just stands there, caught between you and her, mouth slightly open.

Why does he looks so shock?

And in that awful silence, you feel a rush of embarassment crawl up your neck, because you’re standing here, and she’s looking at you like a mistake he should’ve never made.

“Well,” she says, her tone clipped, “He’s never told me about… you.” Her eyes rake over you. From your shoes to the curve of your belly. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it stings.

He lied.

“Mom, not here. Please. Let’s talk—”

“Is this why you’ve been asking for more money?” Her voice rises, looks around at the food, the soft blanket, the picnic he prepared so proudly. Then her eyes land on your clothes—the ones Jaehyun bought you—and her lip curls. “You thought we knew? That we’d let this happen? That I’d let my son throw his life away for a girl like you?”

“Mom! Stop!” Jaehyun shouts.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns. You cover your stomach without thinking, hands trembling as they settle over the place your baby lives like you can protect them from her words. The tears sting, but you blink them back.

You look at the father of your child. He should be saying something, anything. He should be standing in front of you, shielding you from the way his mother's eyes tore into you.

He steps toward her. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, leans in, and whispers something you can’t hear. And just like that, she exhales. Composed again. Her mouth presses into a smug, satisfied line as she straightens her purse strap and turns away. “I’ll wait in the car, son.”

Your chest is burning now, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. You stare at the ground. You can’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to my mom first, ugh, you can go home by yourself, right? I’ll see you soon after. Be safe." He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He jogs off, his figure growing smaller with every step. And all you can do is watch his back.

It’s not unfamiliar to you now, that view.

You stand there a moment longer than you should, frozen in place, lips pressed tight as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, rough and fast, like you’re angry at yourself for letting them fall in the first place. Then, gently, you rest your hand on your stomach, “I’m sorry about that,” you whispered.

You walked home alone.

You weren’t surprised when Jaehyun didn’t show up the next morning. Hope had already begun dying in you the moment he left you in the middle of that park without looking back.

It wasn’t him who came. It was a man in a tailored suit with dead eyes and a briefcase that looked more expensive than anything you owned. The family lawyer. He didn’t ask how you were. Didn’t even sit down. We’ll need a paternity test. He’s willing to pay child support. Don’t get any ideas about taking advantage of him.

You stood there, your mother nodding beside you. Your father crossing his arms with dissapointment in his face. Your fingers numb, barely hearing anything over the sound of your own heartbeat screaming in your ears.

Maybe this was some twisted drama, and you were the girl everyone pities at the end, the one who gets left behind while the world keeps spinning. Not the lead. Not even a real character. Just… a consequence.

The future you had barely started cracked before it even had the chance to grow roots.

“Hold on, okay? She’s almost here,” your mother says, voice shaking as she grips your hand.

But it’s slipping, everything is slipping. The pain is unbearable, a tearing, twisting storm from your waist down, and it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even give you a moment to breathe. Your body feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out, like it's punishing you for something you don’t remember doing wrong. You can smell the blood. It clings to the air, to your skin, to the sheets already damp beneath you. The weight of what's about to happen, of bringing life into the world while feeling like you’re dying.

“It hurts,” you gasp, voice cracking, tears slipping past clenched eyes. “Mom, it fucking hurts. Help me, please. Get her out of me.”

Your mother squeezes your hand again, then suddenly lets go. “She’s outside. I think she’s here. Just—just wait for me. Hold on.”

The silence that fills the room is unbearable. You stare up at the ceiling, as if by looking high enough, far enough, you can escape this. The pain. The fear.

They say in books, in birth books, in all those neat little guides—you’re supposed to think of something calming during labor. Focus your mind. Ground yourself in something that brings you peace.

You try. Your baby.

You’re going to meet your baby.

That thought should’ve been enough. It should’ve filled your chest with warmth, should’ve steadied the pain tearing through your mind and body. But the next contraction crashes in like a wave with no mercy, stealing the air from your lungs, and all that escapes is a broken scream. “F-Fuck— Somebody, please—”

Think. You have to think of something.

Anything.

Your head thuds back against the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut. Nails digging into the sheets. You're drowning. You're breaking. You're alone—but through the haze, something small slips through.

“Beomgyu…” you whimpered, voice trembling, pleading. “Choi Beomgyu…”

Where are you? Are you okay? Do you know? You imagine his face; the one you’ve tried so hard to forget. The one you buried behind months of silence and sleepless nights. His voice, the sound of home. His laugh that you know like the back of your hand. You still love him. You always have. It never stopped.

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers how to say.

“It’s uncommon, but still normal,” the town doctor says gently, “Some women don’t lactate. Hormones play a big role. But… please, don’t blame yourself.”

You nod without really hearing her, eyes fixed on the floor, your nails digging into the soft, raw skin of your nailbeds. You shift slightly, rocking your sleeping baby in your arms, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that won’t lift.

“Remind me—what’s the baby’s name again?” You blink. Your lips part, but the words don’t come.

“Uh…” you murmur. “I haven’t… thought of one yet.”

The doctor exhales, not unkindly, but tired. “Alright. But it’s been three weeks. She really should have a name by now. Please try to decide soon so we can get her registered.”

You nod again. But the truth is, you’ve thought about it. A thousand names, whispered into the quiet in the middle of the night. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like hers. Or maybe… none of them felt like yours to give.

And so you just sit there, holding this tiny, perfect girl, feeling the weight of everything you should be and everything you’re not.

You gather your things in silence, careful not to wake the baby cradled in your arms. As you step out of the small clinic room, your eyes instinctively scan the hallway, pausing on the sight of couples dotting the waiting area, soft coos and shared smiles hovering between them. Each one holding their newborn close. Each one together.

You start walking, slow and unsteady, the dull throb of healing stitches pulling at your every step. Your body still remembers the pain, even if the world already expects you to move on from it. You wince, adjusting your hold on her, and try not to think about how you haven’t even given your daughter a name.

You should’ve given her at least that.

You glance down. She’s fast asleep, her tiny features softened in slumber, the faintest blush dusting the bridge of her nose. A little replica of you. It almost makes you want to cry. “Look at you,” you whisper, “sleeping like you didn’t have me up all night.”

The wind hits softly as you step outside, cool and crisp. And that’s when you see them; a small cluster of flowers, blooming stubbornly from the cracked soil lining the pavement. Soft petals reaching toward the gray sky.

Rain lilies. Your eyes linger.

Lily… Nari. Nari that means lily.

You look down again, heart twisting. “Nari?” you murmur, brushing a finger against her soft cheek. “Nari.”

You finally have a name now.

“Nari…” you whisper, voice cracked and shaking as you rock her back and forth, again and again. “Please… what’s wrong?”

She won’t stop crying. She’s been crying for hours. Her tiny fists clench in the air, her face red and scrunched as the wails echo through the small, suffocating space. You’ve fed her. Changed her. Held her. Walked in circles until your legs gave out beneath you. Nothing works.

You feel your eyes burn, the tears pooling too fast to blink away. “Mama fed you, changed your diaper… I don’t know what else to do.”

You bounce her gently, almost frantically now, trying to stay calm, trying not to let your own tears fall onto her cheeks. Your arms ache. Your head pounds. You’re too tired to think. Too tired to feel anything but the raw failure in your chest. Your gaze flickers across the room , the mess of bottles, clothes, diapers. The couch you now sleep on, because your room is too small for the crib. Her rocker sits unused in the corner, surrounded by unfolded laundry. Everything feels too much.

You hear the door creak open behind you. “I have class tomorrow,” your sister says, peeking out with a tired frown. “Can you make her sleep?”

“I’m trying,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the sob in your throat. She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quickly. “…give me a few more minutes.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just closes the door. You swallow the scream lodged in your chest and hold Nari tighter. Waking your mother isn’t an option. She’s been sick. She’s done enough. And this… this was supposed to be yours. Your responsibility. Your choice.

"Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

You remembered Beomgyu's words, and you laughed. “Yeah, idiot,” you murmured through your tears, voice shaking but light for the first time in hours. “It’s a mini me throwing a tantrum.”

Nari blinked up at you, her cries halting mid-breath, her wide, wet eyes now focused on your face like she’d just seen something new.

“Nari?” you whispered, tilting your head toward her. “Are you curious about what Mama just said? You want a story, is that it?”

A hiccup. A blink. Silence. And just like that… she stopped crying. You breathed out, stunned. The smallest, most fragile peace settling in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you said, cradling her close, your voice soft as cotton, barely louder than a breath. “I’ll tell you about Mama’s best friend.”

Your voice filled the space. Low, warm, laced with something tender and bruised all at once. You told her about him. About how the world used to feel safer with him around. You giggled at the memories, surprised at how easily they came flooding back. The way he used to clicked his tounge but always carry your bag anyway. The way he’d say your name when he was trying not to laugh. The way he looked at you like you were something soft in a world that never was.

You didn’t say his name out loud. You weren’t ready.

But for twenty whole minutes, the past lived again in that tiny room, and by the end of it, Nari was asleep in your arms.

It worked like a miracle.

From that night on, whenever Nari cried, you spoke of him, and she listened. Is it because of how soft your voice is? You found yourself remembering him more often, not just in the obvious ways, but in the smallest corners of your day. The way he used to hum while doing homework when the silence got too loud. The way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous.

It was survival.

Because somehow, in your mind, he was here. In the warmth of a blanket tucked around Nari. In the gentle sway of your arms as you rocked her. In the soft words you murmured when she couldn’t sleep. And sometimes, when the night got too heavy and you couldn’t stop crying, it almost felt like he was holding both of you.

As if he’s... here.

His face, and memories that would carry you through the hardest nights.

“Nari, here, baby. Come on, girl.”

You crouch down, clapping your hands softly, eyes wide with wonder, a grin tugging at your lips even as your heart races. She’s moving—wobbling just a little, her tiny feet unsteady but determined.

She takes one hesitant step. Then another. And then a few more, slow and careful, her chubby arms outstretched for balance as she toddles from your mother’s arms toward you.

“That’s it,” you breathe, laughing through the lump in your throat. “Come on, love. You’re doing so well.”

When she finally makes it into your waiting arms, you scoop her up, spinning her gently with a joyful squeal. Her giggles fill the space like music, bright and unstoppable.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you whisper, pressing kisses to her cheeks. “You walked. You really walked.” From across, your mother watches, eyes soft with pride.

"Y/N." The voice is deep, familiar, and it stops you cold. You turn around slowly, your breath catching in your throat. He looks older but his eyes are still soft. Still searching. He glances at the little girl in your mother’s arms, then back at you. And it’s like something clicks.

"You’ve been here all along?" he asks, disbelief painting every inch of his face.

You force a small smile, bending down to kiss Nari’s forehead. “Wait for Mama, okay?” you whisper. Your mother gently takes her inside, casting you a look before the door closes behind them.

You stand, tugging awkwardly at the oversized T-shirt clinging to your frame, your shorts wrinkled, your hair tied up in a messy attempt to feel somewhat put together. You know you don’t look anything like the version of yourself he used to know.

"Hi, Soobin," you say quietly, and he just stares. “Yeah. I’ve been… here.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to make sense of something that refuses to be clean. “Every time I came by, they told me you weren’t around. That you’d moved. And now—” he exhales hard, eyes flickering back toward the house. He doesn’t finish the sentence. You know what he wants to ask. You can feel the question burning in his chest.

You look down at your hands. “I was ashamed,” you admit. “I didn’t go to college. I didn’t do everything the way I said I would. Life happened. Fast.”

You swallow. “I have a daughter now, Soobin. And… you don’t have to keep looking for me. I’m not who I used to be.”

You try to fix your hair, but his eyes drop to your shoulder—and you know he’s seen it. The faint stain from Nari’s spit-up you missed. You cover it too late, embarrassed. You offer another shaky smile, but it barely holds.

Then he moves. He steps forward, without hesitation this time, and pulls you into him. You don’t even have time to brace for it. His arms wrap around you like they remember. Like they never forgot.

“I want to meet her,” he says into your hair.

It was beautiful, the way Nari took to Soobin, like she’d known him all along. Like something in her little heart just recognized him. The moment you placed her in his arms, she blinked up at him, curious and calm. And Soobin, he melted. Immediately. A soft grin tugged at his lips, and the cooing started, gentle and awkward and perfect.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like he was afraid to breathe too hard. But within minutes, he was bouncing her softly, nose brushing against her cheeks, whispering silly things just to make her giggle. He didn’t want to let go. You could see it in the way his arms curled tighter, like maybe holding her could undo all the time lost between you.

When he saw the place you’d been staying in, he didn’t judge. He didn’t say a word about the peeling paint or the single fan in the corner. He just looked at you, eyes determined. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a spare apartment. It’s clean. It’s yours if you want it.”

And before you could even shake your head, he added, “I’ll help with Nari. I’ll help you get back on your feet.”

You said no at first. Of course you did. You couldn’t be that girl; the one who takes advantage of someone’s kindness. Soobin didn’t push. He just came back the next day. And the day after that. And again. Somehow, after long talks with your mother, after long nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were doing the right thing—you said yes.

Trusting became hard for you. But you found with Soobin, maybe because, he trusted him too.

Moving in felt less terrifying than you thought it would. Soobin didn’t make it feel like charity. He made it feel like home. You found a job a month later. And Soobin… Soobin became the softest constant in Nari’s world. The man she ran to with tiny feet and open arms. The one who could make her laugh when you were too tired to try.

He didn’t replace anything. He just… showed up.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls. There’s only one person neither of you have dared to mention in years.

"Who?" You shouldn’t have asked. You shouldn’t want to know.

"Choi Beomgyu."

The moment his name hit the air, you dropped your gaze. Like it burned. You couldn’t meet Soobin’s eyes. You knew what was there; the same quiet questions he used to ask in softer moments, the ones you always left unanswered.

He had tried to make sense of how someone could disappear so completely. How someone like Beomgyu could vanish without so much as a goodbye. You remember those early months—Soobin asking carefully, kindly, trying not to press too hard. What happened between you two? Did something go wrong?

You never said a word. Not really. You built walls around your silence and stayed inside them. Pretending was easier than admitting you’d been left behind without a reason. A year without word turned into six. And in all that time, Beomgyu never did. Never came back. No letters. No apologies. Not even a rumor to hold onto.

It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t sting so much.

When you told Soobin about Jaehyun—the shame, the mess, the lawyer at your doorstep—he understood. No futher questions. No judgment. Just that steady kind of empathy only Soobin ever managed to offer. But when it came to Beomgyu? He never understood. He couldn’t. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. "Beomgyu's so in love with you that I can’t believe it."

Maybe it was because you were both too young. Or maybe he met someone oversea, a girl who laughed like you but didn’t cry like you, someone who studied at the same college, shared the same dreams. Maybe she didn’t come with too much baggage, or sleepless nights.

Maybe by now, he has a new life. A wife. A child.

And if someone had told your nineteen-year-old self that this would be the ending, you would’ve laughed. Laughed like it was the cruelest punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were part of. You didn’t know what love really was back then. Not until it stayed behind when he didn’t.

Not until six years passed and he still lived in your head.

“Groceries?” you ask as you open Soobin’s car, your voice low. He moves slowly, cradling the sleeping Nari in his arms like she’s made of glass, then settling her gently into the passenger seat, tucking the blanket around her like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I can go pick them up, if you want,” you offer, watching the way he lingers with her.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours as he reaches over, gently fixing the collar of your coat, you hadn’t even noticed it had slipped. “It’s cold today. You okay to drive?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, tugging your sleeves over your knuckles. “Besides, Nari said she wanted to sleep over at your place tonight. Something about your sister’s pancakes and playing with Han.”

He smiles,“She’s been talking about that all week.”

You nod again, more to yourself than to him. “And I can’t leave my car parked out here overnight. So… it makes sense.”

“Alright.” He exhales softly, “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Still trying to figure that out… this phone.”

He laughs, “I’ll go, then. I’ve got her.”

You step back as he closes the door. “Bye,” you murmur, watching the car pull away. And when the taillights disappear into the evening, you let out a long, tired breath. The cold bites at your fingers as you turn to your own car.

The drive was short.

You rub your hands together as soon as you step out into the cold, breath fogging in front of you. The night has settled deep. The parking lot is nearly empty. A few cars. A flickering streetlamp. Just like Soobin said, it’s just groceries. A quick stop. Preparations for tomorrow’s feast. His sister always makes a big deal out of celebrations, dragging him into the chaos. You’ve learned to let them. It gives Nari something bright to look forward to.

Inside, the box is heavier than you expected. You thank the employee handing it over and hug it to your chest, shifting your weight so you don’t drop it. You can carry it. You’ve carried heavier things.

You start walking, slow and careful, the edges of the cardboard digging into your arms. You were just about to ask someone for help with the door when—

It opens. From the outside.

The bell rings overhead; a soft chime, but for some reason it sounds like music tonight. It catches you off guard, how comforting it feels. Maybe it’s the simple fact that someone held the door for you. Maybe it’s the smallness of kindness that makes your chest loosen. You don’t even care if he only opened it because he was heading inside himself. He stepped aside, held the door open, and waited.

And lately, that’s more than enough. You smile for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Thank you—” The word barely made it past your lips before it died because standing in front of you, just as stunned, just as still—

Choi Beomgyu?

You blinked. Once. Twice.

It was like the world forgot how to move. Or maybe just you. The cold didn’t bite anymore. The weight of the box in your arms vanished. Even your own breathing, gone, like your lungs decided they couldn’t function with him so close.

He looked older. Not completely different, but grown. His hair was longer now, brushed just past his shoulders, half tied back in a way that made him look effortlessly composed. He looks at you. Behind him, someone cleared their throat—an older man, another customer —the sound snapping the thread of stillness that had wrapped around the two of you like a noose.

You flinched first.

You took a step back, sudden and clumsy, the box in your arms tilting dangerously as your feet fumbled over themselves. He didn’t move — not a word, not a sound, just his eyes following the box, then trailing downward. To your hands. And when his gaze stopped on your ring finger—bare, unadorned, still slightly red from cold—something flickered across his face.

As soon as the old man walks past, you run.

You don’t think anymore, your body moves before your brain can catch up. The cold slaps your face as you push through the door, feet pounding against the pavement. Behind you, you hear it; that soft slam of the door closing too fast, like someone let go in a rush.

“Y/N—” His voice. God, his voice. It hits you like a bullet. Real. Near. Here. You gasp, eyes locking on your car. Just a few steps. Just get there. Just get in, you can’t let him catch up.

You can’t see his face again. Can’t hear what he might say. Because after all this time... You still don’t know who left who.

You still don’t know if he betrayed you or if it was you who betrayed him.

“Y/N, please—”

Three more steps to your car.

Just three.

“Y/N.” You reach for your keys, but something so painful happens to your right foot. “O—ouch.” The box slips, crashes to the pavement.

“Fuck,” you curse, loud and sharp, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. You see Beomgyu flinch. You lean against the side of the car, pain blooming like heat across your ankle, shame rushing in right after. All you want to do is disappear. Fold into the metal. Crawl into the seat and drive away like none of this ever happened.

It's one of your leg fucking cramps.

One of the cruelest things no one tells you about giving birth… is how your body doesn’t come back the same. You keep your head down, chest heaving, trying not to cry and behind you, you hear him step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks. You’re trying to reach for your leg, but the muscle spasms again—tight and brutal, like it’s being wrung out from the inside—and your breath catches, a broken sob lodged in your throat. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He’s closer now, panicked.

You don’t answer. You can’t, the pain twists deeper, radiating up your thigh, stealing the air from your lungs. You collapse back against the car, gasping, then you whimpered; tears burn hot, streaking down your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying.

“It hurts—” you sob, choked and ugly. “It hurts, it hurts, I—”

Beomgyu’s down in front of you before the words finish. He’s on his knees, hands trembling as he reaches for your ankle, for your shoes, for anything he can fix.

“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you,” he mutters like a prayer, but his hands hover, unsure. Like he’s scared to touch you. Like he doesn’t know where it hurts more. You keep crying; loud, unfiltered sobs that rip through you like the pain itself. Beomgyu’s hands are at your ankle now, carefully slipping off your shoe.

“Don’t move,” he says, and you shake your head, clutching at the car door, your body trembling. “Don’t—don’t move, baby—”

“Don’t— ah—” You managed to say, but the pain flares again, and your voice collapses with it.

Beomgyu’s left hand moves up to your thigh, firm but gentle, pressing your leg down to straighten it. His right finds your foot, still covered in your sock, and starts to stretch it carefully—and you felt your body relax as the pain blurs.

“Breathe,” he says. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Breathe, Y/N.”

You do. And slowly, the pain starts to ease. Your breathing staggers, catches, steadies even if your tears are still falling. And for the first time since after accidentally meeting him at the store, you look back at him. Your eyes meet his, and you can see how glassy they are. His eyes—locked on you like you're something fragile and holy and breaking all at once.

Do you know what it’s like to be angry at someone?

Like really, deeply angry; the kind that simmers low for years, slow and bitter. The kind you carry in your chest like armor. You build it up, rehearse it alone in the shower, in the car, while folding laundry like you’re folding the bones of your rage. You prepare your words like weapons. Every line sharp, factual, unforgiving. You’re not going to yell. No. You’re going to ruin them. Intelligently. With every truth they chose to ignore.

And he looks at you like this. With the softest look that he can give, like he never meant to hurt you. Like he miss you.

You don’t feel powerful. You feel exposed. How do you stay mad at someone who still looks at you like you’re everything they lost?

You let him hold your ankle. You don’t even fight it. His other hand moves up your leg again, massaging. You can feel the warmth of him even through the fabric. Fresh tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Beomgyu freezes at the sight of it. “Does it still hurt?”

Yes. How can you miss him for years, and seeing him now makes you miss him more?

“Where?” he asks again, softer this time. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Everywhere, you think. You.

You pull away. No words, just the slow removal of his hands from your skin. You crouch to gather the fallen box, desperate for anything to do with your hands but before you can even reach it—he’s already there. Already picking it up. Already moving toward your car like it’s still his place to help. He opens the back door, gently places the groceries inside then turns to look at you.

"I should go," It was your voice this time, cracking the silence between you for the first time all night. Beomgyu flinches, almost imperceptibly, as if your voice surprised him. "My family's waiting."

You don’t wait to see if he reaches for you. You open the car door, slide inside, and shut it before the moment can stretch any further. The engine rumbles to life beneath your hands, a poor distraction from the weight in your chest. As you pull away, you glance in the rearview mirror; see him get smaller and smaller, watching you.

The car felt like a cage. You could barely breathe, not with the way your chest was caving in, not with the way your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. You kept seeing him; standing there, just standing there, like he didn’t know whether to run after you or let you go. That image clung to you like a bruise. What were you supposed to say? Hey. I guess you’re back. Did it hurt as much for you as it did for me?

When you finally pulled up, your face was dry, but only because you'd cried yourself empty. You didn’t say anything to Soobin—couldn’t. Nari was already asleep, curled up beside his nephew like nothing in the world had gone wrong. His sister welcomed you with a soft smile and showed you to the guest room, no questions asked. You were grateful for that. You didn’t have the strength to lie. Soobin looked at you like he wanted to ask, but you refused to meet his eyes. You knew if you did, something inside you might shatter beyond repair. He must’ve sensed it because he didn’t say a word either.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, not when the only thing behind your eyelids was the face you’d missed more than the life you once had.

It's cruel how memory chooses the softest parts of someone to haunt.

A soft knock at the door startled you awake.

The room was too bright, it's morning. You flinched, disoriented. Had you even slept? It felt like you’d just blinked. “Yeah… I’m up,” you mumbled, voice rough with a night that gave you no rest. Whoever it was didn’t respond; the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.

You needed to check on Nari. That much you could focus on. You pulled your hair into a loose ponytail with tired fingers, the strands falling uneven around your face. Your pajamas were wrinkled, your face was swollen from all the crying, but you made yourself somewhat presentable.

The living room greeted you with soft light spilling through the curtains, shadows curling against the floor. “Where’s Na—” You froze.

Sitting casually on the couch, a fresh bouquet of roses rested on the table in front, he turned at the sound of your voice.

Choi Beomgyu.

Right. You kept forgetting he was Soobin’s friend too. Of course.

He stood slowly, looking at you. His hand reached for the flowers. “Good morning,” he said softly.

It pulled you out of your stupor, your instincts kicking in like a switch. You turned on your heel, not giving him the satisfaction of a second glance. You needed to find the criminal.

"Good morning, my Y/N!" Soobin greeted with that stupid smile of his, the one that usually made things feel a little lighter. But not today. Not when you walked straight up to him and grabbed him by the collar, your fists trembling with something dangerously close to panic. His grin vanished.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" you snapped, your voice low, "Where is my daughter?" He winced, not from your grip, but from your stare.

“He kept calling me about you—ouch—okay,” he muttered, raising a hand as if to calm you down. “He was desperate. He somehow managed to reach people I haven’t even spoken to in years. Just calling and calling, he was trying to find me. All because of you." Your grip faltered for a second.

“I think…” he hesitated, then met your eyes. “I think it’s best if you hear him out. He got here fifteen minutes after Nari went out with my sister and Han. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

You slowly let go of his collar, hand falling back to your side like it suddenly weighed too much. Your chest was tight, heart heavier than it had been in weeks. Did he talk? Did he tell him? About you? About how deeply, thoroughly, and irreversibly you’ve screwed everything up?

Your eyes searched his face, ask but then, almost gently, as if he could read your thoughts, Soobin spoke. “I didn’t tell him anything, It wasn’t my place.” he said quietly. “It’s best if you hear him out..”

Beomgyu’s walking away.

Each step feels like it’s slicing him open from the inside, like the ground’s dragging knives across his chest. The doors ahead glint under the airport lights; the ones that’ll swallow him whole and spit him out somewhere far from here. Far from you. He tells himself not to look back. If he does, he’ll break. If he sees your face, he’ll run back and beg to stay. Worse—if you so much as whispered his name, told him not to go—he would drop everything. The flight. The future. All of it.

So he keeps going. Until something in him caves. He always caves when it comes to you. He stops. Turns.

And there you are; clinging to Soobin, crying like the world’s ending. Maybe it is. He wants to run to you, hold you until you stop shaking. But instead, he just stands there, chest heavy with every breath. He makes a promise right then, like a prayer carved into bone: He'll give you the life you deserve. He'll give you everything.

He tries to smile, but his lips are trembling too much. He can’t fall apart here, not when you’re already crying. You’re always the crybaby, not him. He has to be the strong one.

And when he finally finds the words—words that feel like ripping out his own heart and handing it to you—he shouts them so loud they shake through the air between you.

What do you even say to someone you're leaving behind?

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!”

Even if the world changes. Even if you forget.

He will.

It’s hard, being in a new country. Harder than he ever admitted out loud. His family’s here, but it doesn’t feel like it. They’re always working, always somewhere else. And when he comes home to an empty apartment and four white walls, it hits him all over again.

You’re miles and oceans away.

He walks through streets that don’t sound like home. Every sign is a puzzle, every conversation feels like it’s moving too fast, slipping through his fingers. He nods and smiles, pretends he understands. But most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he’s just tired.

The only thing that feels real is when your letter arrives.

On those days, everything stops. His heart settles. His hands too excited as he tears the envelope open, like it’s something that gives him ar reason to live for. Your handwriting, your words; they’re a piece of home he can hold. It becomes his favorite part of the week. His only part of the week, really. Writing to you, reading your letters, rereading them until the ink practically imprints itself into his skin.

It was going well. For a while, anyway. Two months of surviving. Of pretending he was getting the hang of it.

Until it all went up in smoke.

He came home one evening and the sky was choked in black. Smoke pouring like a stormcloud, thick and angry, swallowing everything whole. Their apartment—the only place that ever felt remotely stable—was on fire. Gone. His parents’ last coin flip, their last gamble at a better life, reduced to ash. The furniture. The photographs. The little trinkets that made it feel like home.

Your letters. God, your letters.

He’d kept every single one. Folded neatly, worn soft from rereading. He used to clutch them on the bad days, the lonely nights. And now they were gone, burned before he could even say goodbye to them.

Suddenly, they were homeless in a country that still didn’t feel like theirs. The language still felt foreign, the people distant. They stayed where they could; shelters, temporary housing, places that didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t write for a week. Then another. A month slipped by before he realized just how long it had been. But how could he write, when he couldn’t even buy himself a meal? When a sheet of paper, an envelope, a stamp—things he used to take for granted—now felt like luxuries too far out of reach?

He thought of you every single day. He trusted you’d still be there, still waiting, still believing in him. He had to, because he didn’t have anything else left.

They moved. Again. And again. From shelter to shelter, wherever there was space, wherever someone would take them in. No place ever felt permanent with borrowed beds. While his father scraped together bits and pieces for a future that still felt out of reach—secondhand furniture, donated appliances, hope held together with tape, Beomgyu worked for their family too. Late shifts, early mornings, anything that paid. He kept his head down, hands tired, eyes always scanning for something he couldn’t name.

It took six months. Six months of skipped meals and pocketed coins, of walking past stationery aisles with a lump in his throat, before he could finally afford to write to you again. And when he did, he poured everything into that first letter. Every apology he never got to say. Every cracked piece of his heart. Every I’m sorry it took so long, wrapped in trembling handwriting and the ghost of smoke that never really left his clothes.

He waited for your reply. Days passed. Then weeks. Nothing. So he wrote again. Maybe the first got lost. Maybe you didn’t see it, but then the second went unanswered. And the third

Still, he didn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he wrote. Even when his fingers ached. Even when the silence on the other end felt like a punishment he deserved. He wrote like it was the only way to stay alive. Like if he just kept going, somehow, you'd hear him. Apologies bled through ink. Cries tucked between the lines. Please. Please say something. Please don’t leave me behind.

It had been over a year.

One year and seven months since he last saw your face, he missed your birthday. He missed everything. Coming back was a miracle in itself. His boss had finally said yes to time off, just a few days, barely enough, but he didn’t care. He had scraped together every cent. Skipped meals. He stopped buying things that tasted like comfort just to save a little more. He told himself he’d apologize the moment he saw you. Fall to his knees if he had to. He didn’t care what it took—he just wanted to explain, to make you understand, but then, on the bus to your neighborhood, holding the small bag of gifts he could afford, it hit him like a punch to the chest.

He’d been writing your address wrong.

All those letters—pages of love and pain, of apologies and hope—had never reached you because he wrote them from memory after everything got burned. He didn’t even realize he was crying until a stranger asked if he was alright.

And then he saw you. From across the street, standing beside Jake Sim. You're pregnant? Jake is laughing at something, one hand resting on your belly. You look beautiful.

Right there, across the street, the boy who swore he’d come back for you was breaking.

The ones left behind mourn with open hands, reaching for echoes, clinging to the warmth of a room that’s already gone cold. They cry in the spaces where laughter used to live, and the grief comes loud, sharp, like a scream in an empty house. But the ones who leave? They bleed quietly. They turn their backs knowing they’re carving wounds into people they love, knowing their absence will echo longer than their presence ever did. And they leave not because they want to—but because the world asks them to; because duty, or fate, or something crueler demands it.

Between the two, who suffers more? The ones who wait for a door that won’t open, or the ones who shut it with shaking hands and walk away?

Beomgyu had kept himself hidden for years—not out of pride, but shame. A quiet, gnawing embarrassment that maybe he had broken too much to ever come back whole. He never wanted to burden you, never wanted his face to remind you of the past. He knew you had your own life now. A family. A world that kept turning even after he stepped out of it.

He couldn’t explain what shifted in him this year. Maybe it was the ache of too many birthdays passed, or the way the past never seemed to loosen its grip. But he found himself wanting. Just a glimpse. Just to know you were okay. He went to your house—stood in front of the door he once called home—and was met with a stranger’s cold dismissal. Your father, grayer now, eyes harder. There was no trace of your mother; divorce, he guessed.

Then he felt oddly drawn to buy himself water and saw you at a grocery store. A mundane miracle.

And now here he is, sitting across from you, heart in his throat, watching your brows knit in confusion as he says the words he’s kept caged for years. The girl he once wanted to give everything to. The girl he still does. He worked through the ache, graduated, got a job, built something steady from the mess he once was. It’s not enough to retire on, but it’s enough to build a life. He tried dating, tried pretending but every time someone got too close, he found himself pulling away, haunted by a laugh that wasn’t yours. He looks at you, you’re here. And your adorable, bewildered expression guts him more than anything else ever could, because it confirms the one thing he’s tried hardest to bury: he’s still so fucking in love with you.

Beomgyu clenches his fist, thumb digging into his palm as he forces himself to meet your eyes. He stopped talking minutes ago—about the fire, the years, except the time he went back and saw you with Jake—and still, you haven’t said a word. Not to him. Not yet. “I know it’s—”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, your voice flat, unfamiliar. And it terrifies him more than if you had shouted. “I’m sorry. About the fire, and everything, but what do you want me to do with that, Beomgyu?”

The way you say his name, it burns. Beomgyu stares. You still look the same, achingly so, but something in your voice tells him the years have changed you into someone else. Someone harder. He nods slowly, eyes flickering down, again to your hands. Bare. Still bare. The absence of a ring doesn’t make sense. You should be married by now. Any man would’ve been a fool not to. So why is your finger still empty? Soobin never told him anything. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t really want anything,” he says quietly, even though his heart is screaming otherwise. He wants everything. He wants you. “I just… hoped we could talk again.”

Beomgyu sees your face soften with his words, and you're about to speak when the door of Soobin's apartment beeps open.

“Mommy!”

A small voice cuts, bright and sweet, and he turns just in time to see a little girl bounding toward you—hair in low pigtails, uneven but endearing, the kind he used to tie for you in middle school with small fingers and too much care. The lollipop in her hand is sticky, half-melted, clinging to her palm as she throws herself into your arms. And you catch her like you were made for it. Beomgyu’s heart stutters.

“Did you miss me, Mommy?” she beams, eyes wide and waiting. And then he sees it—the softest, most real thing he’s seen on your lips since he sat down.

It tears him apart.

“I did, hun,” you murmur, brushing hair gently from her cheek. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yes! Sorry I didn’t wake you up to eat. Uncle Binnie said to let you sleep.” Beomgyu can’t breathe. His chest feels too tight, too full.

He can’t look away. He knows he should; knows it’s not his place to linger in the picture-perfect moment unfolding in front of him but he’s frozen. The little girl settles in your lap, arms still curled around your neck, and then, her curious eyes flick to him.

“Hi,” she says brightly, the lollipop now forgotten, her smile wide and fearless. Beomgyu blinks, then somehow finds the strength to match her energy.

“Hi,” he says softly. “I’m Beomgyu.” He sees it immediately—the shift in your gaze.

“She’s my daughter,” you say. “Her name is Nari.”

His breath catches.

Of course she is.

She looks like you. Same curious eyes. Same soft, heart-shaped face. A perfect mirror of the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. It stings—how beautiful she is. How familiar. She looks like you. He lets out a small, stunned laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, figured she is.”

“Bye, Beomgyu,” Nari chirps from the living room, her tiny hands waving enthusiastically at the man standing by the door. Beomgyu grins, lifting his hand in a playful wave back. Then his eyes find yours.

You shift where you’re standing, arms crossed tight over your chest. Soobin’s already stepped outside, giving the two of you space as he walks ahead from Beomgyu toward the lot. You hadn’t expected Nari to warm up to him so quickly. Nari, usually shy around anyone new, had taken to Beomgyu almost instantly. She’d asked him question after question, tugged on his sleeve, even laughed in that unfiltered way she rarely does; maybe because he kept talking to her like he’d known her forever. Gentle. Patient. Funny in that effortless way.

“I’ll head out,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “See you tomorrow?” He looks like he's about to take you in his arms.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice barely holding steady. “Drive safe.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not when your chest already feels too tight. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then he shifts, and when his hand lifts, you flinch—so subtly he might not even notice; all he does is rest his palm gently on your head. The touch is soft. Careful. With that small, simple gesture, he’s holding the whole mess of your heart right there in his hand.

You look up, just in time to see him step back. He gives you a quiet smile, a small nod, then he turns and walks out the door. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, at the door that feels like it’s separating more than just a room. And suddenly, it hits you—this aching, desperate urge to run after him. To pull him back. To say all the things you swallowed down.

You felt it the moment he started talking, explaining—something inside you beginning to quietly break. His story unfolded slowly, like a wound being reopened in real time. It was too vivid, too cinematic, the kind of tragedy that scripts are written around. The kind that ruins the heroine, just before the credits roll but this wasn’t fiction, and Beomgyu doesn’t lie.

That’s what made it unbearable.

You sat there, silent, trying not to fall apart, trying to keep your expression flat even as the weight of his words dragged you under. Because somewhere between his grief and yours, a realization slipped through the cracks.

You were the one who gave up first.

Now, you couldn’t pull him into this; this version of your life where everything is held together with fraying thread because of you decisions. Where your daughter’s laugh is the only light in a world that feels dim more often than not. Where you don't even know who you are without the exhaustion.

You love Nari. Of course you do. You love her with a kind of fierce, bone-deep love that no one else will ever understand. But loving her doesn’t mean you don’t ache. You can’t let him back in. You can’t let him try to fit into this life, not when you know it would never be enough.He belongs to a different world, a world of bright lights and movement and choices. He could leave tomorrow.

You told yourself you were protecting him. That someone like Beomgyu—so full of life and possibility—shouldn’t be dragged into the mess of your world. A single mother, anchored to a small town and a quiet kind of loneliness. He deserved someone lighter. Someone with no baggage. You love Nari. God, you love her more than anything. Being her mother is the one thing you’ve never regretted. But that love also demands a kind of sacrifice.

If you let Beomgyu in—really in—you’d hope. You’d start to believe he might stay. And that hope is dangerous.

Worse still, a darker thought lingers: what if Nari starts to see him as more than just your friend? What if she lets herself believe he could be something permanent, someone who doesn't leave? Beomgyu comes from a world that moves faster than this place ever will. A city boy, full of dreams and fire. This town would shrink around him.

There’s an urge—violent, desperate—to throw the door open and run after him, but you don’t move. Your hands… they’re not the same hands that once held him with all the certainty in the world. The naive teenager you once were would’ve said yes without thinking, would’ve smiled and nodded like words was enough to fix anything. Whatever fragile, fleeting thing bloomed between you, it was your hands that crushed it first. Wanting him now would be selfish. Cruel.

You're not heartless enough to ruin him twice. You will be damned if you ever stood in front of his path.

It's still bright out.

The sun hasn't set yet, but when Soobin glances to his right, it feels like someone told the man beside him that it never would rise again. All that light seems to have drained from him, a ghost of the boy Soobin first saw; eyes full of hope, clutching a bouquet of roses like he believed in happy endings.

"Choi Beomgyu," Soobin sighs as the elevator doors slide shut. "What did she say?"

There’s no answer. Just a low, half-hearted grumble from Beomgyu, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, like even admitting it out loud would hurt too much. Soobin turns, already knowing what he’ll see. Beomgyu’s head bowed, eyes glued to the floor, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Some things really don’t change. Soobin shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. It's the same Beomgyu from high school—the one who used to trail behind you, heart always half a step ahead of his courage. The one who scribbled love in silence and let it rot there. Back then, Soobin had to push him every damn day just to get him to tell his heart out. Watching him want you but never move was its own kind of torture. And now, years later, here they are again. Did he seriously need to play the matchmaker again?

"Are you…" Soobin clears his throat, the question catching awkwardly on his tongue. "…giving up?"

"No. God, no." Beomgyu finally lifts his head, eyes flashing like Soobin just accused him of something unforgivable. "It's just—she caught me off guard that—"

"That she changed?" Soobin cuts in, sharp. "What, were you expecting her to do aegyo? Say some of that cute shit she used to pull in high school? Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Oh, Choi Beomgyu, I love you too—Ouch!” Soobin curses under his breath, reaching for his shin where Beomgyu’s foot just connected, hard. It wasn't playful. It was frustration. Beomgyu doesn’t say a word, but Soobin doesn’t need him to. He can feel it radiating off him—the heat, his rage.

Good. He’s still so stupidly, violently affected by you. There’s still something left to fight for.

"Are you still in love with her?" — "Yes."

The answer slips out of Beomgyu’s mouth so fast, so effortlessly, it startles the breath out of Soobin for a second. He smirks, "How can you tell?"

Beomgyu exhales, eyes distant. "Because it took everything in me not to kiss her."

"Heol. You pervert," Soobin snorts, shaking his head, but his tone softens, "About your question earlier. About… Nari’s father." He sees it instantly—the way Beomgyu’s smile falters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for something. Soobin swallows hard, the lump in his throat thick with everything he isn’t saying. There’s so much he wants to spit out. He feels like he’s being ripped in half. One part of him wants to grab Beomgyu by the collar, shake him, scream at him to grow the hell up and the other part just wants to pull him into a hug and not let go—because Beomgyu looks like he’s seconds away from breaking.

"It’s not my story to tell," Soobin finally says, "but for what it’s worth, he’s not in the picture. If that wasn’t obvious already." He pauses, glancing at the still silent Beomgyu, "She changed. I won’t lie about that. She’s sharper now, doesn’t smile unless Nari’s in the room. Harder to reach, but she’s still… our Y/N."

The elevator dings.

A week has passed, and you see Choi Beomgyu every single day.

He hasn’t brought up your last conversation. He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd the space you’ve drawn around yourself. He just… shows up. Whenever Soobin takes Nari out, even when you’re not there, you’ll find Beomgyu waiting by the car for your daughter, always looking back to give you a small smile.

There was a time when you told Soobin you were thinking about going home. He only shrugged and said, “You’ve already planned your holiday breaks. Leaving now would break Nari’s heart.” So you stayed. And every day, Beomgyu keeps coming back.

He brings flowers—always the same kind as the first time. He never hands them to you directly; places them somewhere nearby, close enough to notice, far enough to ignore if you wanted to. He doesn’t say a word about them. Your fingers always find the stems. You gather them quietly, arrange them in the same vase.

“Do you want some of this too?” you ask, motioning toward the chicken. Nari nods immediately, her mouth open, ready for the next bite. It’s lunchtime. The dining table is full—Nari beside you, Soobin across, his sister and nephew chatting quietly at the end. And then there’s Beomgyu, sitting diagonally from you, close enough to hear every small thing you say. You spoon the food onto Nari’s plate, smoothing it out beside the rice. Beomgyu doesn’t say much, but you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then.

Beomgyu glances at you, then at Nari’s plate—already full, her little fork digging in eagerly. The rest of the table begins to eat, soft clinks of utensils and the hum of conversation filling the space. Then he looks down at your plate.

It’s still empty.

Without a word, Beomgyu reaches across the table and starts serving food onto it. You turn, startled by the movement. “I’ll do it—” you begin, reaching for the serving spoon.

“Eat,” he says gently, scooping the biggest piece of fish fillet onto your plate. “You don’t like it when your food turns cold.”

You go still. The words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting; pulling you back to high school lunches, sitting on worn benches, complaining about lukewarm meals. Back to the way Beomgyu used to sprint across campus just to find a microwave, breathless but grinning as he handed your food back, warm again.

You blink, watch as he quietly adds a little more to your plate. He reaches for your utensils, places them gently in your hand and you take them.

Just like you always used to.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Soobin asks, placing the last plate into the sink.

Your hands are already in the soapy water, working through the pile of forks and spoons. “Yeah,” you reply easily, “this is nothing.”

Soobin gives your head a gentle pat, and you hear his footsteps fade as he leaves the kitchen.

You keep going, the familiar rhythm of washing grounding you—soap, rinse, repeat. It’s peaceful in the way small, ordinary things can be. Then, without looking, you feel someone beside you. A hand reaches for the dishes you’ve already washed, careful and quiet, followed by the soft drag of a towel across porcelain.

“Hey,” you start, half-turning, “I said I’m fine, I’ll do that—” Your words trail off when you glance over and see him. Beomgyu. He’s focused on the dishes, drying each one.

He's helping you.

Beomgyu glances at you, his thoughts loud. You hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay beside you, in this small, shared space; rinsing, drying, moving in sync. Something so simple, yet to him, it feels intimate. He’d dreamed of this. Not grand reunions. Not tearful apologies or big moments. Just… this quiet kitchen, and you beside him.

“You’re a guest,” you murmur, eyes on the sink. “You shouldn’t be here, doing this.”

He hears it—the softness in your voice, the way it falters just slightly at the end. You talked to him. Directly. A loopsided smile pulls at his lips, unable to hide it, because you talked to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, just focuses on the dish in his hands like it means more than it does.

“I want to,” he says simply, glances your way. "I want to help you." He watches how quickly your hands move through the motions but all he can think about is how much he wants to stop you. How badly he wants to take your hands out of the water, dry them gently, press them to his chest so you’ll feel how fast he’s still beating for you.

He keeps drying the plates you pass to him.

Beomgyu has been watching you and Nari all week. It hadn’t even taken a full day for him to see it: how good of a mother you are. How instinctively, beautifully you move around your daughter, knowing her moods, her hunger before she even says a word. But it’s the other things he can’t stop noticing.

The way you serve everyone first before thinking of your own plate. The way you rush through bites, always half-standing to get something for someone else. The way your eyes stay on others, never on yourself. He remembers lunch—everyone halfway through their meal, and your plate still empty. You were too busy making sure Nari had enough, that Soobin’s nephew got seconds, that nothing spilled. And something about it made his chest twist in a way he wasn’t ready for.

Who’s been taking care of you?

You, years ago, pouting over your favorite ice cream being sold out. You, holding out your foot for him to tie your shoelace, smiling like you knew he’d do it without asking. You, crying over the smallest things, because back then, you were allowed to. Now you're here, taking care of a child like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He sees you—this version of you, all grown up—and it knocks the breath from his lungs.

Beomgyu reaches out before he can stop himself, the sight of a single strand of hair falling across your face pulling him in. His fingers move gently as he tucks it behind your ear. He looks at you, afraid he must have done something wrong, something personal, but in this moment, with you looking up at him, lashes soft and eyes wide, he’s too dazed.

“Thank you, Beomgyu.”

He knows you haven’t said a word since the first day he showed up, but if anything, somehow, impossibly; he’s fallen even deeper.

You were chopping vegetables at the table, Soobin’s sister beside you, lending a hand—at least until the two of you realized a few ingredients were missing, so she went out for a run. Soobin and Beomgyu had volunteered to keep an eye on the kids, leaving the kitchen unusually quiet.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see Beomgyu standing at the doorway, something wrapped in red cradled in his hands. His smile was small, unsure. You returned it without thinking.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said. You set the knife down and nodded. Ever since he’d spoken to you again that day, little conversations had started to creep back in. It felt easy. Light.

“What’s this?” — “Merry Christmas.”

“You do know it’s only 12 p.m. today, right?”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, scratching the back of his head. “But… do you remember that little tradition we had? Back then?”

You pause, looking at him. “Our families always went out of town on Christmas Day,” he continues, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So we used to pretend Christmas was the day before. At noon. Just the two of us.”

You do remember. How could you not? Your hands move to unwrap the gift slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Inside, your eyes land on a pack of relief patches. Your breath catches. A note, scribbled in familiar messy handwriting.

Can we be friends, again?

"Uh, I didn’t really know what to get you," Beomgyu says, rubbing the back of his neck, voice a little rushed. "I mean… there’s a lot of things I wanted to give you, but," he lets out a nervous laugh, "I heard you talking about these patches. And I know you get those cramps whenever it’s too cold, so I just," He cuts himself off when he sees you smiling, arms open wide.

"If you don’t hug me right now, I’m taking it back and—"

You don’t even get to finish the teasing before he’s already moving, fast enough to startle you. His hands find the back of your head, cradling you gently as he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His other arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer. You instinctively hugged him around the waist—just like you used to. You hold him, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

Beomgyu feels your arms tighten, and he presses himself closer. Being in your arms feels like forgiveness. It’s warm.

In the middle of the kitchen, two souls stood still. Remembering, what it felt like to be whole.

You wash your hands, eyes drifting to the nearly rebuilt faucet.

It’s been a month since Christmas. Three weeks since you came back home with Nari. And Beomgyu—just as everyone expected—has been everywhere. He visits for Nari, plays with her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes he comes with Soobin, sometimes alone. He stays. He helps. He shows up with flowers one day, groceries the next because he noticed you were running low. And the faucet, the one you swore would never stop leaking, is finally fixed.

You became... somewhat friends.

“Nari?” you called, a small laugh slipping out when she came running in with her backpack already on—hair tie and comb in her hands. You took them from her, settling onto the living room couch as she plopped down on the floor between your knees. Gently, you began brushing her hair, pulling it up the way she liked for practice days. It was her big day. And you—fresh off nearly ten hours at work—had barely caught your breath. Beomgyu had insisted on taking her this time. Said you needed to rest. Said he’d be proud to cheer her on.

Your hands moved on autopilot through her hair, “Do you remember…” you swallowed, fingers pausing for a second, “Do you remember the person I used to talk about a lot?”

You never said his name aloud but something in you needed to know.

“Hm?” Nari hums, eyes fluttering shut a little, comforted by the way you gently brush through her hair. “Oh. Yes, Mommy.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says, “Mama’s best friend, right? And I think it’s Beomgyu.”

Your hands still. “What? Why?”

“I saw his dimples, Mama,” she replies, her voice sure. “It's ike the ones you always told me about and he’s big like a bear, like you said. And…” she turns her head slightly, looking up at you with soft certainty, “Beomgyu says you’re his favorite person in the world.”

You blink. Words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. You never realized how much she was listening. How much she noticed. You were still trying to find something to say when the doorbell rang.

It was the fastest you’d ever seen your daughter run.

You caught the look on her face; pure joy, her smile so wide you thought her cheeks might burst. It was a look she gives to someone she trusts. She knew exactly who was at the door. You followed, slower now, your steps unconsciously softening when you heard him laughing. Then you saw them; Beomgyu practically crouched on the floor, Nari already clinging to him. He looked up, his eyes met yours, and he smiled.

It made you want to dream again.

Beomgyu buckles Nari into the back seat, double-checks the latch, then closes the door with a soft click. When he turns around, you're still watching; leaning against the front door, arms crossed, casual in a plain shirt and shorts, face bare in the morning light.

So fucking beautiful.

He lifts a hand in a small wave. You smile, and wave back. It’s such a small thing, but enough to make his heart race. He gets back in the car, forcing himself to look away. He doesn’t start the engine until he sees you step inside and gently close the door behind you. He’s driving, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror once, then again. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah!” Nari chirps. “Thank you for letting Mama rest. I wanted her to rest too, ‘cause she’s been working a lot. I wanna take care of Mama today.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens. She’s so small, her voice so light, and she probably doesn't know her words nearly undoes him. That kind of love, intentional, coming from someone who hasn’t even lived a fraction of life yet, it knocks the breath from his lungs.

How did she learn to love like that?

He glances at her in the rearview mirror, and she’s just there. Swinging her legs, looking out the window like she didn’t just crack his heart wide open. He swallows hard. He’s proud. God, he’s so proud. Of her, and of you; especially you. Because this kind of softness doesn’t come from nowhere. You built that in her and now it’s spilling out of her in the backseat of his car, and he doesn’t know what to do with the way it’s making him feel. It hasn’t even been that long. A few weeks. A handful of moments.

But he already wants forever.

He wants school plays and scraped knees. Wants to be the one who teaches her how to ride a bike, how to parallel park, how to survive the kind of heartbreaks he won’t be able to protect her from, chase off the boys who don’t deserve her. He wants to watch her grow into the world. And he wants you there for every second of it. Your laugh in the kitchen, your hand on his arm, your face before he sleeps. He wants you both. And it scares him, how much.

He’s never wanted anything this badly. His eyes sting. He blinks it away. Another glance in the mirror. Another heartbeat held tight in his chest.

“That’s cool, kid,”

The sun was high, painting the day in golden warmth that makes everything feel a little softer.

Up ahead, Nari bounced with excitement, her small hands clasped tightly in Soobin’s and Beomgyu’s. She was all smiles, practically skipping between them, laughter in her face. You watched her, heart full. Watched them. Soobin was talking to her, probably asking which games she was going to beat him at today. Beomgyu, though, kept glancing back, eyes always searching for you. Making sure you were, still close.

Soobin had wanted to take Nari out to the mall today—spoil her a little, burn some energy. And of course, that meant one inevitable stop: the arcade. Beomgyu had tagged along without hesitation. The way Beomgyu’s eyes lit up when you said yes to Nari, was evident.

“You have to press this one,” you say through a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you point to the button. “You used to be good at this, Beomgyu.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offense in his voice. “It’s been a while, okay?”

He steps closer, closer than he needs to. His shoulder brushes against yours, and the warmth of him slips under your skin before you can stop it. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers wrap around yours, guiding the controller, and his other hand settles at your waist.

Steadying himself. Or maybe just finding a reason to touch you. You don’t pull away.

He presses the button like you showed him. The claw sinks down and lifts the small teddy bear. When the prize drops, he turns to you, pride written all over his face. “Told you I could do it,” he says, flashing that grin, dimple and all.

You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, even as your heart stumbles a little. “Fine. It’s acceptable.” You take the toy from him, trying not to let your fingers brush again.

“I’ll give this to Nari," You start walking, feel Beomgyu fall into step beside you. You halt at the sight.

It’s instinctual, the way your body freezes, breath caught halfway through your chest. The space is loud, chaotic in the way weekends always are, but suddenly it all sounds muffled. Distant. Like the world just dipped underwater. It’s easy to spot Soobin; he stands tall even in a crowd, his frame always familiar but your eyes don’t land on him for long. They find the man standing across from him. The man in front of Soobin. In front of Nari.

The father of your child.

Jaehyun.

Soobin’s standing protective, squared just slightly forward, one arm half out like he’s ready to shield. He’s trying to keep things calm, you can tell. You’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders. You see him lightly push Jaehyun back. A warning. And then you see her. Nari stands beside Soobin, pressed in his legs, small and stiff, eyes wide but lips pressed in a firm, silent no. She shakes her head—once, twice, over and over. You know that look. You know that body language. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, the way she leans subtly toward Soobin, away from the man she doesn’t know.

Nari doesn’t like strangers.

You’re frozen. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache. You don’t know what part of it hit you first; seeing him again, or the way he’s looking at your child like he has some kind of right.

Jaehyun.

The man who left knowing you were carrying his child. You feel your stomach twist, something sour crawling up your throat. Is it fear? Or is it the anger, the shame? He left you. And it wasn’t just about leaving, it was how easily he did it. How quickly he made it clear that not even a child could make him stay. That you weren’t enough. That he meant none of what he promised. You were humiliated. Why does he know Nari? Why now? Did he know? Did he follow you? Did he have someone watching? Has he been here all along, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face without ever earning the right? Your hands are shaking. Being a father? What does that even mean?Because he’s the one who gave her half her blood? Is that all it takes? A name on a birth certificate, a twisted smile, a return after years of silence?

“Y/N. Hey.” Beomgyu’s voice is careful but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are locked on Nari. On the way her small frame stiffens, how her lips tremble like she’s holding in a sob too big for her chest. You don’t even know what to say; what do you say to a child meeting the man who walked out before she could even open her eyes? Beomgyu’s hand comes to your shoulder, but it drops the second he hears Nari.

“No—!” It's tiny, a plea, crying out through her tears. And everything goes still.

“Dude, back the fuck off.” Soobin immediately says, aware that Beomgyu who is now nearing them. “You're scaring her.”

Jaehyun steps forward anyway, insisting, and Nari stumbles back. She doesn’t say anything this time, just clutches Soobin’s hand tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tries to disappear into the space behind him.

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink. The second Soobin lifts Nari, turning her away from the scene, hiding her trembling frame against his shoulder; Beomgyu snaps. He grabs Jaehyun by the collar and slams him against the nearest wall, hard enough to rattle the arcade glass. The lights flash mockingly behind them, all blinking reds and greens and blues like it’s some sick joke.

Jaehyun stares him down, cocky despite the blood already blooming at the edge of his lip.

“What?” Jaehyun stares him down, “You gonna scare me off too? Like you did with Y/N before?” Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. He’s shaking with how hard he’s holding back. Jaehyun laughs—laughs, like it’s all a game. “You’re not her father,” he spits.

That does it.

Beomgyu’s fist flies, collides straight into Jaehyun’s face. The impact is loud, brutal. Jaehyun stumbles sideways, nearly collapsing, but Beomgyu’s there again, dragging him back up by the collar like he refuses to let this end with one hit. “Don't even say her name. You left her. You left them.”

Jaehyun punches him back, hard, and Beomgyu hits the edge of a skee-ball ramp, stumbling. “You think you can come back and pretend you care?” Beomgyu growls, eyes wild, blood rushing hot in his ears. “You think one fucking look at her erases years?”

“You don’t know what I went through,” Jaehyun snaps, lunging forward. “You don’t know what it was like—”

“Don’t you talk to me about pain!” Beomgyu yells, slamming into him again. This time they both fall—Jaehyun’s back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud as Beomgyu’s fists come down, one—two—three times.

Soobin rushes forward, grabbing Beomgyu’s arm. “Stop!”

But Beomgyu shakes him off, panting hard. His knuckles are red, maybe bleeding, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. Everything is fire. Jaehyun coughs, blood at the corner of his mouth now, face turned away. “You don’t get to waltz back into her life,” Beomgyu says, voice rough. “You don’t get to show up and make her cry and act like you’re owed something. You were gone. Stay gone-” He raises his fist again. Blinded—by fury, by the ache of every story you ever told him in a whisper. He wants to destroy him for you. He wants to make Jaehyun feel what you felt.

“Choi Beomgyu!” He freezes. Your voice, cracked, frantic, and trembling—catches him in the ribs harder than any hit could. “Let’s go,” you beg, voice softer now, breaking. “Please?”

He turns. He sees you; your arms wrapped tight around yourself, like you’re barely holding it together. Tear-streaked cheeks, eyes wide and desperate. Soobin still has Nari tucked into his chest, shielding her from it all, from him. And Nari’s shaking, tiny hands fisted in Soobin’s shirt, too afraid to even look. Beomgyu’s heart drops.

He meets your eyes and it’s over. The rage leaks out of him in slow, gutting waves. Guilt rushes in to take its place, heavy and drowning. He looks down at his fists, knuckles split, blood seeping between his fingers. Jaehyun groans on the floor, but Beomgyu doesn’t care anymore.

He only sees you.

“…Let’s go.”

Beomgyu doesn’t really know what happened after. Everything moved in a blur. Security guards rushing over. Soobin’s voice, gathering Nari in his arms and carrying her out quickly. The sting of cold air as they pulled him aside. Your hand slipping into his, trembling.

And now this. A small, sterile room in the back of the arcade. Fluorescent lights buzzing above like they’re judging him. His knuckles throb with every pulse of his heart. That little box of first aid in your hands.

Beomgyu watches you. You’re so close he can feel the soft brush of your breath on his skin. Your hand cradles his jaw with the gentlest pressure, a cotton pad in your other, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with delicate focus.

He’s sitting, back against the cold wall, while you stand over him—eyes still glassy from the tears you swore you were done shedding. He doesn’t believe you. Not with how you keep blinking too fast, how your lips press together like you’re holding more in. "Does that hurt?" you ask softly, barely above a whisper.

“No, baby.”

You nod, thumb brushes his cheek as you tilt his face just slightly toward the light, inspecting the damage with far more care than he deserves. He can’t look away from you. Not with the way your brows are drawn in concern, not with the way your skin keeps brushing his, unintentionally intimate. Not with how close your mouth is. Not when he’s this full of anger, of adrenaline, of fear and guilt and the overwhelming ache of you being this soft with him after everything.

He should say something. Apologize again. Ask if you’re okay. But all the words are caught in his throat, dried out from the fire still simmering in his chest. You dab more alcohol gently and he winces, less from pain and more from the way your eyes flick to his for a split second. And linger.

He swallows.

You’re standing between his legs, hands on his face, touching him like he’s fragile. And it’s killing him—how much he wants to grab you and say something stupid like don’t leave me, don’t hate me, don’t talk to him—

“Why did you have to do that?” you whisper, voice cracking, your hands trembling where they grip the fabric of his shirt.

Beomgyu's heart swell, he reaches for you, palm steady on your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he waits even a second longer. You straddle his lap without resistance, your thighs pressing against his hips, breath shallow as you shift closer. Your face is barely inches from his when he leans in, and the moment your lips touch, it’s messy. Breathless. Too much and not enough all at once.

The kiss deepens quickly—months of longing, fear, and pent-up desire pouring into it. You tilt your head, hands sliding up to cradle his jaw, and he groans softly against your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips. His fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming the skin of your lower back, tracing slow circles. Your hips move without thought, just enough to feel the way his breath stutters against your lips. His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing firmly before gliding up, under the fabric of your shorts, rough fingertips against soft skin.

“You were bleeding,” you murmur between kisses, breath hitching as his mouth trails along your jaw, down your throat. “I was terrified.”

His lips pause against your skin, and he exhales shakily. “I didn’t care,” he says, voice low. “I'll do anything for you.” Your fingers tangle in his hair as his hands explore. Needing. His mouth finds yours again, deeper now, hungrier. You rock your hips against him, just once, testing, and the sound he lets out makes your spine arch.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “Don’t do that unless you mean it.”

Beomgyu gets on his knees before you, hands gripping your thighs, “I hate that he ever got to touch you,” he mutters, lips brushing against your inner thigh, hands pressing on where you need him the most. “That he got to taste you.”

"Beomgyu," Your breath catches, your fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses higher. "Please,"

His mouth is ravenous. As soon as he lets down your underwears, his tongue moved in slow, devastating small licks that make your knees weak and your head fall back. You’re gasping, so sensitive, his grip on your thighs keeping you wide open as he buries himself in you like he’s starving.

Every lick, every kiss feels like a promise. Like he’s trying to erase every memory that isn’t him.

You cry out his name, hips stuttering under his hold, and he only groans in response, like the sound of your pleasure is the only thing he wants to hear. His hands are everywhere—thighs, hips, stomach—like he needs to hold every piece of you down while he builds you up to the edge. He rubs your clit, tounge sucking your entrance and making sure he gets, taste everything.

You’re trembling when it hits you, but he doesn’t stop and it’s too much, too good, your body curling more towards his mouth, hands gripping his hair. He looks up at you like you’re holy. Wrecked. Worshipped.

“You feel that?” he says, breathless. “No one else gets to have this. Just me.”

Soobin sighs from the driver’s seat, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. The car is still parked outside the arcade, engine off, the signs of early night settling around them. They’ve been waiting nearly twenty minutes now. He glances toward the entrance again. You and Beomgyu are still inside. No sign of either of you. Must be a serious conversation, he figures. After everything that just happened, how could it not be?

Beside him, Nari is unusually quiet. She sits in the passenger seat, small hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the window as if she’s trying to stare through time. It’s not like her. Not at all.

Soobin clears his throat gently. “Nari?” he says, keeping his voice soft. “Are you okay? Do you want anything? We can grab a snack or,” She shakes her head right away, not even turning to look at him.

He watches her for a moment, the tight press of her lips, the little furrow between her brows, her shoulders stiff with something she’s trying not to feel. A minute passes.

Then, finally, her voice; small and uncertain, breaks the silence. “Uncle... is Beomgyu going to be...”

Soobin glances over. “Hm?”

Nari bites her lip, eyes finally meeting his. “Is he upset?” The words are soft. Too soft for a kid who just cried her heart out.

Soobin’s heart twists in his chest. “No, sweetheart. He’s just... worried. About you. About your mom.” She nods once, but her pout only deepens.

“Then can you tell Beomgyu to stay with us? He really makes mommy happy.”

That day had been a moment of weakness.

Seeing Nari like that and hearing Beomgyu, breaking in your defense. You hadn’t been the same since. “Why are you ignoring him, seriously?” Soobin sighs through the phone, “Did something happen?”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, lips parting, but nothing comes out. Ever since that day, crammed in the backroom of the arcade, Beomgyu bruised and breathless—you’d barely spoken. Not to him. Not even to yourself. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you walked out. You’ve been silent ever since. “I’m just thinking,” you murmur, voice low.

“It’s been a week,” Soobin snaps, concerned. “For once, can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

You barely managed a rushed goodbye before the doorbell pulled you out of your daze. Nari was at school. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your legs felt heavy as you made your way to the door, heart climbing into your throat like it already knew.

Beomgyu. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight like he’d rehearsed a thousand things to say and forgotten every single one the second he saw you. He quickly goes inside as soon as you step back and closes the door behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” he breathed, “What did I do?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He laughed but it was hollow. “Did I cross a line? Say something I shouldn’t have? Did I hold you too long? Look at you too much?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that. I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying so hard not to push. Not to ask for more than you’re ready to give. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so patient with you, Y/N. Waiting. Holding back. Being whatever you needed me to be. And now you’re just… gone?” He choked, looking down. “You just left me there.” Tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard.

He looked at you again, and it almost broke you. “Did that mean nothing to you?” he whispered. “Did I mean nothing to you?” You stepped back, instinctively, like your own guilt was too heavy to hold this close. He saw it.

Your eyes sting. You see him, the exhaustion in his face, the bags under his eyes. You look at him and God, it’s the worst thing, because he looks like he’s already bracing for the worst.

“I fucking miss you,” he says quietly, desperately. “I miss Nari. And if you really don’t want me in your life, say it to my face. If I don’t have a chance, if there’s no space for me in your world… I’ll back off.” He swallows, eyes glassy. “If you don’t want me anymore—”

“It’s not that.” Your voice comes out cracked, a whisper barely stitched together. His eyes snap to yours, and it nearly undoes you. “I’m in doubt, okay?” you whisper. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve heard promises. I’ve believed in forever before and ended up alone with a baby in my arms.” He flinches. “I can’t do it again. Not for me and especially not for Nari. She’s not like other kids. She feels everything. If she loves you and you leave…” You take a shaky breath. “It will destroy her. I know what that kind of pain looks like. I lived through it and I won’t risk her having to.”

“And on top of that,” you breathe out bitterly, “let’s be real. There are a thousand girls who’d love to be yours. Girls with no baggage. Girls who are whole. Girls who don’t carry years of hurt and a child that isn’t yours. Girls who haven’t already given everything they had away.” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “I’m a single mom, Beomgyu. I have nothing left to offer. I’ve been holding myself together with spit and string for years. And one day… one day you’ll see that, I’m not shiny or easy or new. That I’m just work. And when that happens, I won’t be surprised.” You’re shaking now, because the words are pouring out like you’ve been choking on them for years.

Your voice trembles as you say it, eyes flickering to the floor. “I just want to protect her from that moment. What if one day you wake up and realize we’re too much?”

Beomgyu stares at you, chest heaving, and for a moment, all you can hear is the silence between you. His hands are trembling. You see it even as he clenches them into fists at his sides. Then his voice breaks, barely holding back the quake in his chest. “Do you even know how hard it’s been for me?”

“Do you know what it’s like to wake up every damn day thinking about you and wondering if I ever even cross your mind?” His eyes are glassy now, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to fall apart. “Do you know what it does to a person?”

You know, you know that feeling.

He laughs, bitter and quiet. “I came back because I couldn’t stay away and yeah, maybe I was terrified because every time I see you, I wonder if just being here is ruining something you’ve already tried to heal from.” He looks at you, “But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t pretend that moving on was possible. Not when my heart—” his voice cracks, “—not when my heart’s been beating for you all this time.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes red, pacing slightly as if staying still is too much. “I’m fucking in love with you, Y/N. I have been. And that feeling,” he pauses, chest rising and falling, “that feeling, it hasn’t faded. It won’t. Not in a week, not in a year, not in a lifetime or my next. I can’t look at anyone else and even try to imagine what it could be. It’s you. Always been you.”

He swallows thickly, “And Nari? She’s a gift. She’s part of you. She’s this bright, beautiful piece of you and I love her.” He chokes on the words. “If I walk away now, it’s only me. Just me. I’ll take that. But if you walk away… if you shut that door between us for good, it won’t just be you. I’ll lose both of you. You and Nari.”

Beomgyu breathes, then he sees it. Your tears. They fall quietly, like you didn’t even realize you were crying, and something in him fractures. His expression caves, soft and broken, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. His hands are gentle when they reach for you, thumbs brushing the wetness from your cheeks like he’s memorizing the shape of your grief. His touch is trembling, unsure.

“You’re crying,” he whispers, “God, you’re crying…” His voice breaks on the last word. You can feel his hands shaking as he holds your face. “You think I’d ever leave you?” he breathes, eyes locked to yours, full of disbelief and pain and love. “You think I’d walk away from this? From you? After all we've been through? I’ve known you since we were kids. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

You hiccup, the sound small and sharp, like something inside you just split. A soft, strangled whimper slips out at the warmth of his hands; so gentle, so undeserved and your face crumples as fresh tears fall. “It’s all my fault,” you whisper, and makes his breath hitch. “If I had trusted you…” Your voice shakes, breaks, and you force the words out. “If I had waited. Maybe then…” Your chest caves inward, like you’re caving around the memory. “Maybe then she wouldn’t look up at me with those huge, tear-soaked eyes and ask if he ever loved her. If she wasn’t enough.” The words fall like stones. “If that’s why he left.” Beomgyu’s face twists but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. He takes it.

“And I, I have to look at her, and I have to lie. I have to lie, Beomgyu.” You’re gasping now, fists clenched. “I have to smile while swallowing every goddamn piece of my grief, and tell her, ‘You are enough. You are so loved,’ while the space beside her is a fucking ghost.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “And she believes me. That’s the worst part. She believes me.”

Your voice goes hoarse, barely audible. “Maybe if I’d made better choices,” you whisper, voice barely there, “I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I wouldn’t be the only one standing on the sidelines during family days, clapping for one when the world cheers in twos.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. “I wouldn’t be the only arms she runs into.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here. Just… just tell me what you need—”

“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but it stops the world. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, twisting desperately, “I love you,” you say again, voice cracking. “I never stopped.”

His breath catches in his throat.

“Even when I was pregnant and terrified and waking up alone. Even when the world felt too big and I was too small and everything hurt, I still loved you.” You’re trembling now, eyes locked to his like the truth has finally clawed its way out of you. “When I gave birth, when I held her for the first time and felt everything and nothing all at once—I wished you were there. I needed you there.” Your voice breaks entirely, your forehead pressed harder against his like you’re trying to crawl into him, into that space where it doesn’t hurt so much.

“There were nights I didn’t think I’d make it. Days where I’d stare at the ceiling and wonder if she’d grow up resenting me. Days where I’d hold her and whisper your name… it was you. Always you.” Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, glassy, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. His lips part, but nothing comes out. Nothing can.

Because you just shattered him.

“We survived because of you,” you whisper. “Because I remembered what it felt like to be loved by you, because even when you weren’t there, you were still the reason I kept going.”

His hands slide to your jaw, his chest is rising and falling fast now, like your words punched through every wall he built.

He’s completely undone.

You barely get to speak again before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked, whispered the words that you loved him after all this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never let me in."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

"You loved me." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "You loved me after all this time?"

“Yes,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"You're stuck with me now." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "I can't stay away anymore. I can't live without you."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world. Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, he intertwines your fingers.

“It's going to be okay… I'll be here now.” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix everything for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows, salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—he buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you've always tasted this good," He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— I'm sorry—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, I know baby,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

All the horrors inside you; every thoughts of abandonment, every sleepless night, every silent scream, begin to dissolve beneath his touch. With every kiss he lays against your skin, something softens. He’s chasing the ghosts from your bones, like he’s replacing every bruise life left behind with something holy. He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears. He kisses you like a man who has memorized the ruins. Who has studied the wreckage of you and decided that this is still his favorite place to be. That you, broken or whole, scarred or shining, were always meant to be his.

You’re starting to breathe.

"I'm not missing anything anymore," Beomgyu murmurs, lips tugging into a soft pout. You laugh quietly against his bare chest, your cheek rising and falling with each of his breaths. His arms tighten around you, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine. The two of you lie tangled in the warmth of the sheets, skin to skin. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Nari. Her first words. Her first steps. All those nights you probably sat up alone…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s rougher. “I wasn’t there. And I hate that. I hate that you had to do it all without me.” He looks at you and for a second the world seems to still. "I'm not missing any more of it."

How can someone like him be real?

“Okay.” You smile, and so does he—quiet and shy, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show the faintest hint of dimples. You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing the soft curve of his cheek, then trailing across the tiny freckles scattered like whispers on his skin. “And how are you supposed to do that, hmm?” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Live with me? Or—”

“Marry me,” he says, and your hand stills, but he catches it gently, holding it between his own. He brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm, “Will you marry me?”

You can’t breathe. Your heart stumbles in your chest as you search his face for any trace of a smile, any flicker that he might be joking—that he doesn’t really mean it. Beomgyu takes your silence for doubt, so he keeps going. “Of course, I’d have to ask Nari first, and probably beg. I need her approval before anything,” he says with a nervous laugh, eyes flicking to yours.

“You get to choose where we live,” he adds quickly. “Do you want a house near the coast? Somewhere quiet? We could move. We could adopt a dog. Or do you want a flower shop?” He’s painting visions in the air now, “We could also—”

Beomgyu keeps talking. His words are soft, a little rushed. He talks about futures like they’re right there in the middle of his hands, painted in soft colors and quiet mornings. You, him, and Nari. A little house somewhere warm. A dog with floppy ears. A flower shop if you want it. A life that feels full.

You hear him, but your heart is louder.

They say you’re lucky if you find the man of your dreams. But that never felt like something made for you. Not for the boy rambling in front of you, not for your best friend. You look at him; at his eyes, honest and open, at his lips, red and kiss-bitten from how often they’ve met yours. At the way he watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And suddenly, it makes sense. It all dawns to you, why you've always find it hard to imagine, to hope, and to wish.

It's all because Beomgyu, is the maker of your dreams.

"Where's my ring?"

You sit at the coffee shop, the cup of coffee in front of you untouched, growing cold. Your fingers keep circling your new ring, turning it absentmindedly, like maybe if you spin it enough, it’ll stop the nerves.

Then the door chimes. Jaehyun walks in, scanning the room, searching, until they land on you; they soften. “Hi,” he says as he slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small pink paper bag in his hands, creased slightly from how tightly he’s holding it. “Thank you for meeting me, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quietly. “I guess it was inevitable… that we’d have to sit down like this.” He nods, gaze drifting to your hand; your ring. A flicker of something passes over his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“I want to be there for Nari,” he says finally. “Time with her. Some kind of custody arrangement. I know it’s late. I know how much time I’ve missed. But I… I regret everything.” His voice trembles, “I’ve spoken to my mom. I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t expect forgiveness, but let me support her—financially, emotionally. Whatever you’ll allow me to do.”

"Yes." You interrupt gently, before his words spiral too far. "Thank you, Jaehyun. But…" You pause, trying to steady the shake in your voice. “This is going to take time.”

You glance down at on your right, on the windows to the parked car where you know your best friend is waiting, then back at him. “I’ll explain it to her. Slowly. When it feels right. And when she’s ready, we’ll set a day where you can be with her—freely, as her father. Just… not yet. We can’t rush something like this. Not when it’s her heart on the line.”

His shoulders sink just a little as he nods. “I lost my chance,” he says softly, looking at the window, at the same parked car you've been looking at,“With you. With Nari.” It isn’t a question.

He offers a faint smile, and for a second, it looks like he might say more but the words catch somewhere in his throat and never make it out. Instead, he slides the pink bag across the table. “I baked you cookies,” he says. "It doesn't have peanuts on it."

“Nari, be careful!” you call out as your daughter bolts through the front door, laughter echoing off the bare walls of your new home.

Beside you, Beomgyu chuckles, juggling two boxes in his arms. “Careful, sweetheart,” he calls after her, his voice filled with nothing but adoration as he follows you inside.

Your eyes sweep over the space—unfamiliar, but full of promise. It had taken months of gentle convincing, of late-night talks and quiet reassurances from Beomgyu. And now… here you are. Standing in a place that doesn’t feel like home just yet, but might—because he’s here. Because she’s here.

You set your box down on the counter and breathe in slowly, letting the moment settle around you.

A warm hand slides over your back, fingers curling gently at your waist. “You okay, baby?” Beomgyu murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of your face. “Soobin said he stopped to get food.”

You nod, turning slightly to face him. “I want to paint our house,” you say quietly.

Our house.

Beomgyu smiles, eyes crinkling like he’s just heard something sacred. “Then let’s paint it,” he whispers, eyes still on you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

He takes your hand gently, absentmindedly lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushes over your fingers, then lingers on your ring. He kisses it, soft and slow, like it’s second nature now, like loving you in small, wordless ways has become part of who he is.

“We can also have…” he starts, voice trailing off as he imagines out loud, eyes flicking to the blank walls around you. “A wall for Nari’s drawings. Right here, maybe in the hallway. And a shelf for your books. One of those that curves, remember? You showed me a picture of it.” He smiles, that soft boyish grin he only gives when he’s picturing a life with you. “And maybe a corner just for us. A record player. Or a couch we can fall asleep on, when we're tired of chasing Nari around.” He laughs a little, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “We can fill this place up with us.”

“Daddy!” The word rings out like a bell, and you both freeze. Beomgyu goes completely still beside you, breath caught in his throat. You turn just in time to see Nari bounding down the hallway, a soft, excited smile lighting up her face.

“Do I get my own room now?” she asks, as if she didn’t just change the world with one word. You and Beomgyu look at each other, stunned; eyes wide, not in disbelief, but in something far softer.

It’s the first time. The very first time she’s called him that.

Beomgyu blinks quickly, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming, like if he moves too fast it might vanish. Then, he drops to his knees and opens his arms. Nari runs into them without hesitation.

He wraps her up tightly, heart thundering, eyes glassy with everything he’s feeling all at once; shock, love, awe. He buries his face into her tiny shoulder and laughs through it, voice thick.

“Of course you get your own room, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You can have anything. Daddy will give it to you. Anything you want.”

Shit happens. Life happens.

It breaks you in places you didn’t know could crack. It tests you, takes from you, forces you to let go of things before you're ready. Time passes. Plans fall apart, but no matter how far you go, no matter how the story twists, no matter what you've been through, you always end up where you belong to. Always end up with them.

The ties between may fray. Fate may take unexpected turns. You might walk through fire, lose your way, forget who you were before the world touched you, come back with more scars than dreams. But nothing, nothing, not even all the wreckage life leaves behind… can stop two souls that are meant for each other.

The things that the world can’t touch.

It remains the same.

taglist: @heesmiles @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @immelissaaa @readinmidnight @pagelets @wonderstrucktae @boba-beom @nightblythe @hyuckxtagram @hoefororeo @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @soobinbunnie5 @soohashits @lostgirlysstuff @demidelulu @love-be0m @razsberrie @strawberryshoujosundae @y2kgyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @xi0riae @giegiemon @okkotsuevie @beomkyum @i-am-not-dal @cherr4es @brrytears @yystarz @moonlightgrleric @lumpynoofles @raspberrii @baekberrie

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

holy shit this is insanely good😭🙂‍↕️

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

• minors do not interact

• pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

• wc: 28k

• content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

• a/n: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

• nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

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You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

══════════════════════════

•taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

i love this😭🫶

the checklist

summary: beomgyu swore he'd never get into a relationship. it’s cringe, it’s stupid. but when he starts getting nervous and flustered around you, his best friend huening kai creates a checklist to figure out if he’s into you.

genre: fluff

characters: beomgyu x f!reader

words: 5.1k

warnings:

a/n: im glad txt's hvg rest but oh i do miss them <3<33

Beomgyu was baffled. Relationships? Love? Please. He’d never been in one, much less fallen for anyone before. The whole concept of being in love sounded like a scam to him—a nightmare wrapped in pink ribbons. The idea of dating someone was even worse. What, he’s supposed to shower them with constant attention? What is this? A puppy adoption program? A full-time babysitting gig? No, thanks.

Every time his friends gushed about their latest romantic escapades—"Oh, we’re going to this cute little café together!" or "We stayed up all night just talking!"—Beomgyu would roll his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. He didn’t get it. Why would anyone willingly sign up for this chaos?

But then, you happened. And suddenly, Beomgyu found himself staring at his reflection, wondering when the hell he became one of those people.

“Kai.” Beomgyu tapped his friend's shoulder insistently, desperate for some sort of wisdom. “Kai!” He repeated, louder this time, when his friend blatantly ignored him.

Kai sighed dramatically, pulling off his headphones with the kind of irritation reserved for someone whose game was going so well. “Beomgyu, I’m literally in the middle of a match. Can this wait?”

“Sure,” Beomgyu replied with an unusually calm nod, flopping onto Kai’s bed and staring at the ceiling like he’d just been hit by an existential crisis.

That’s when Kai froze. Something wasn’t right. Beomgyu wasn’t whining, nagging, or hovering over his screen like a bratty sibling waiting for their turn to play. This was weird. Alarm bells went off in Kai’s head.

“Wait…” Kai spun around, yanking his headphones off completely. “You’re not being annoying? You’re not rushing me? What the hell happened?” He plopped down next to Beomgyu, who looked suspiciously… deflated. “Okay, who hurt you?”

“No one.” Beomgyu sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. “I was just… thinking.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “You think?”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes and flicked Kai’s forehead without hesitation. “Occasionally. Yes. Shocking, I know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kai said, rubbing his forehead with a smirk. “Continue.”

Beomgyu hesitated, then sat up slightly, his voice quieter now. “It’s just… you see… there’s this girl.”

Kai’s eyes lit up, his tone immediately shifting from curious to obnoxiously teasing. “Ooooh, a girl, huh?”

“Shut up.” Beomgyu groaned, shoving him lightly. “It’s not even like that. I don’t like her like that. Or vice versa. Or—whatever. It’s complicated.” He sighed again, the weight of his confusion palpable.

Kai leaned back, crossing his arms with an amused grin. “You sound real upset for someone who doesn’t care.”

“Can you just listen to me for once? Please!” Beomgyu groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, fine! I’m sorry!” Kai held his hands up defensively. “I’m listening now. Go ahead, Romeo.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… there’s this girl.”

Kai smirked. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Beomgyu shot him a warning glare before continuing. “She’s new at the café. Yeonjun told me to, y’know, mentor her on the drinks. So, I’ve been doing that. It’s been a couple of weeks, and, well… she’s just this normal girl. She’s studying at the same school as us, but I think she’s in a different building.”

Kai tilted his head, squinting. “Right. A totally normal girl who you’ve been thinking about so much, she’s made you think.”

Beomgyu let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “And lately… I don’t know. Yeonjun’s been putting our schedules together, and I… I don’t know how to feel about it. Like, all I know is I like working with her. I enjoy being around her. But I hate what this feeling is doing to me. It’s like—what’s the word—annoying.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, leaning back smugly. “Not gonna lie, Beomgyu, it sounds a lot like you kinda… like her.”

“That’s impossible.” Beomgyu threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t like anyone. I don’t want to be in a relationship. You know me! I couldn't care less about dating, romance, or whatever nonsense everyone seems obsessed with.”

——

One Month Ago

“And of course, this is Beomgyu,” Yeonjun said with a teasing smirk as he gestured to the tall, ridiculously attractive guy standing in front of you. “Do not be charmed by his good looks—he’s not interested in anyone. Except himself, of course.”

You blinked, gulping down the sudden lump in your throat. Okay, Yeonjun wasn’t lying—this guy was good-looking. Too good-looking. Like, unfairly good-looking. But "off-limits"? Perfect. You weren’t exactly in the market for romance anyway, not with your recent breakup looming over your head like a bad rom-com cliché.

This job was supposed to be your escape—a way to distract yourself from your ex and maybe stop scraping together couch change for instant ramen. A few shifts, some good times, and some side cash—easy, right? Except now, you were standing face-to-face with someone who looked like he belonged on a billboard instead of behind a café counter.

It would be fine. Totally fine. You weren’t interested in him. And according to Yeonjun, he wasn’t interested in anyone. Which meant you had nothing to worry about. Right?

“Hey!” you said with a small smile, offering it to the brooding guy standing before you. But instead of the moody half-nod you were expecting, he returned your smile—a sweet, disarming one that completely threw you off.

Well. Scratch “emo” off your presumptuous first impressions.

“Y’know,” you said, tilting your head curiously, “you look super familiar. Are you from the university across the street?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your question. He nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah! Have you seen me around?”

“No,” you said, grinning as you delivered the punchline, “but I’ve seen the posters…”

Ah, the posters. A wave of embarrassment immediately washed over Beomgyu. Back in his first year, he’d been strong-armed recruited by the university’s marketing team to pose for promotional posters plastered around campus. At the time, the promise of a couple hundred bucks had been too tempting for a broke freshman to pass up. But now? Those same posters felt like his own personal humiliation tour.

“Oh. Those posters,” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he scratched the back of his neck. “Right. Darn things…”

You laughed—a sweet, melodic sound that tugged at something unfamiliar in his chest. “It’s okay! They turned out great.”

And just like that, you walked away, following Yeonjun into the staff pantry, completely unaware of the tiny earthquake you’d just triggered in Beomgyu’s world.

He stood frozen in place, replaying the interaction in his head. The way your eyes lit up when you spoke to him, like you’d known each other forever. The way your laugh lingered in his ears, soft and warm. The way your hair bounced as you walked, catching the light in a way that felt almost cinematic.

Beautiful. That was the only word his brain could come up with. You were beautiful—too much for him to process, let alone admit. And it wasn’t just how you looked. It was the ease, the effortless charm you carried, like you’d just walked into his life to flip it upside down.

It hit him like a punch to the gut: if he did have a type, you would be it. Except…

He didn’t have a type. He didn’t want a type. He didn’t want to date anyone. Absolutely not.

So why was his heart doing cartwheels in his chest?

——

Present

“You literally like her,” Huening Kai groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked like they might stay that way. “Dude, you’re just in denial at this point.”

“I don’t like her!” Beomgyu shot back, glaring daggers at his best friend, hands clenched, this close to shoving Kai off the bed.

“Okay,” Kai said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Then let’s do a quick little checklist, shall we?”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“How do you feel when she’s this—” Kai leaned in obnoxiously close, practically nose-to-nose with Beomgyu, “—close to you?”

“Uh…” Beomgyu faltered, his face heating up faster than he could come up with a retort.

——

2 Weeks Ago

“Beom, can you pass me the sugar, please?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Standing almost two heads taller than you, Beomgyu had become your unofficial ladder. Need something on a high shelf? Just call Beomgyu. And honestly? He didn’t seem to mind.

Working with him was surprisingly easy. Too easy, actually. Everyone said earning money was tough, but when Beomgyu was around, the shifts flew by, lighthearted banter here and there, and the occasional spilled drink, it was just like kindergarten. 

“Beom?” Beomgyu blinked at the nickname, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You’d only started calling him that a few days ago, but hearing it felt… weirdly nice.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the sugar. “Just don’t drop it like last time.”

“Hey!” You protested, pouting. “That’s unfair. If I recall correctly, you made me laugh, and that’s why I dropped it. So technically, it was your fault.”

“Oh, so now being charming and funny is my fault?” Beomgyu quipped, a teasing smirk dancing on his face.

“Yes,” you said with a playful nod. “But also, thank you for taking the blame for me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, handing the sugar container to you. “It's not like Yeonjun can fire me. He needs me more than he thinks.”

Just as you reached for the sugar, your hand brushed against his. It was brief—barely a second—but it sent a jolt through Beomgyu like he’d grabbed a live wire. His grip faltered, and the container slipped from his hands.

“Beomgyu!” you laughed, not realizing that the simple touch had completely short-circuited him.

He mumbled an apology, crouching to pick up the container, but his mind was still reeling. Why was his heart suddenly pounding? Why couldn’t he stop staring at the way your smile lit up the entire room?

You. Your hands brushing against his. Your laugh ringing in his ears. Your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze just a second longer than necessary.

Perfection.

And he hated it. Absolutely hated it. Because it made him feel things he swore he’d never feel. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth was painfully obvious.

He was in trouble.

——

Present

“It feels… funny,” Beomgyu muttered, struggling to find the right word. But even as he said it, he knew "funny" didn’t even come close to describing what you did to him.

“Funny?” Huening Kai snorted with laughter. “That’s the best you can do? Alright, let’s get into the details. Do you ever... get nervous around her?”

“Does the feeling of needing to take a shit every time she’s near me count?” Beomgyu asked, his brain still scrambling for the right words.

Kai slapped his forehead, groaning. “You’re hopeless.”

——

1.5 Weeks Ago

For the past week, Beomgyu had been stuck opening the café. Normally, Yeonjun handled mornings, but some emergency had left Beomgyu in charge. He hated the added responsibility. But if he was being honest—though he’d never admit it—it also gave him an excuse to tweak the schedule so that your shifts overlapped with his. Taehyun would be okay with working late shifts for 2 weeks, right?

This morning, he found himself nervously fidgeting in front of the shiny coffee machine, using its reflection as a makeshift mirror. Was his hair okay? Maybe the little bit of gel he’d added was too much. Should he spritz on more cologne? No, too obvious.

The café was quiet, only a handful of early-morning customers scattered across tables. The clock ticked toward 9 a.m., and Beomgyu felt his heart rate pick up. Any second now.

And then the door chimed.

“Morning, Beomie!” you called cheerfully, your voice like sunshine cutting through the morning haze.

Beomgyu froze, his breath hitching as he turned to see you. You were radiant. Effortlessly glowing, even in your simple two-piece outfit that hugged you just right. Your smile was enough to knock the wind out of him.

“M-Morning!” he stammered, barely able to string two words together.

You cocked your head at him, a giggle escaping your lips. “You alright there?”

Walking over to the counter, you placed your bag down and grabbed the apron you’d left the night before. Without hesitation, you slipped it on and turned toward him, pulling the strings into your hands.

“Can you help me tie this?”

Beomgyu nodded stiffly, stepping closer. His fingers fumbled with the strings, brushing against the soft skin of your lower back. His heart skipped a beat. Why did she have to wear a crop top today? he thought miserably, trying not to combust on the spot. The warmth of your skin sent shivers racing up his spine.

“Thanks!” you chirped, spinning around to face him. But your brows furrowed as you studied him more closely.

“Gosh, Beomie, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, leaning in and placing your hands gently on his forehead as if checking for a fever.

The sudden closeness made Beomgyu’s brain short-circuit. His knees felt weak, and his entire body betrayed him, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I—uh—I gotta use the washroom,” he blurted, stepping back awkwardly. “Be right back.”

And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you to shake your head with an amused smile. Meanwhile, in the restroom, Beomgyu leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. But deep down, he already knew the answer.

——

Present

“I hate to break it to you,” Huening Kai said, deadpan, “but that literally sounds like you’re in love with her.”

“No! It can’t be that. I’m probably just… sick,” Beomgyu stammered, shaking his head as if that would banish the thought.

Kai raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you’re only ‘sick’ when she’s around? Sure, Beomgyu. Totally normal. You’re absolutely fine.” He rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” Beomgyu muttered. “Should’ve gone to Soobin. He’s less… devilish.”

Kai smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Oh yeah, Soobin. Because he’d totally never make fun of you. Not at all.”

“You’re right. I need to make new friends.” Beomgyu stood up abruptly, pretending to walk away.

Kai grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Aww, come on! Don’t be like that. I’m serious. I’m here to help. I can do this, I swear.”

“Kai,” Beomgyu groaned, “I think we should just call it a day.”

“No!” Kai exclaimed, holding up a finger like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code. “We’re this close. Once you admit whatever it is you’re avoiding, life will be so much easier. Trust me. I can see the future.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Just answer me one last final question.”

“What?”

“Does your heart… race? When you’re with her?”

——

2 Days Ago

“Choi Yeonjun, you stupid little shit,” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, blowing into his hands to keep warm. Sending him and you to run errands in the middle of winter felt like some kind of cruel prank.

Next to him, you were bundled up in a cozy puffer jacket, scarf, and beanie, your nose red from the cold. Beomgyu had to bite back a grin. You looked like the cutest Pop Mart figurine he’d ever seen.

You pouted, your breath visible in the freezing air. “Why couldn’t Yeonjun be more accurate with the timing? I’m freezing my ass off.”

Beomgyu crossed his arms, scowling. “I’m killing him later.”

You shook your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Or… we could always take revenge.”

Beomgyu’s brows lifted. “Oh, my sweet genius. How?”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “We can replace all the coffee beans in the grinder with decaf tomorrow morning. Let’s see how Yeonjun functions without caffeine.”

Beomgyu blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re dangerous. I didn’t realize you were as devious as you are adorable.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but you didn’t seem to notice. You just smiled, giggling. “I got it from my mom.”

He laughed along with you, his heart feeling lighter despite the cold.

“Gosh, is it coming yet?” you sighed, your voice trembling. The icy air seemed to suck all the energy from your words.

“Yeonjun said it’ll be here around 3:15,” Beomgyu replied, glancing at his watch. “So… about ten more minutes.”

You groaned, shivering as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “O-okay.”

“Hold on.”

You blinked, watching as Beomgyu walked away without explanation. Confused but not wanting to leave in case the truck arrived, you stayed put, hopping in place to keep warm.

A few minutes later, Beomgyu returned, holding two steaming, foil-wrapped sweet potatoes.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you.

Your face lit up, your smile bright despite the cold. You pressed the warm sweet potato to your face, sighing in relief. “I can’t feel my face.”

Beomgyu chuckled, stepping closer. “Here.” He pressed his own sweet potatoes against your cheeks, squishing them gently. “Better?”

You blinked up at him, your cheeks squished in his hands, making you look even more adorable.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as the warmth of your skin and the softness of your smile hit him like a freight train.

Then you reached up, stopping him from pulling his hands away. “Aw, no, come on. Keep them there. I’m freezing.”

Beomgyu’s cheeks burned, and for once, he was grateful for the cold air, it gave him an excuse. But even as he tried to steady his breathing, he could feel it. His heart was racing faster than ever.

——

Present

“I have feelings for her, don’t I?”

Huening popped a chip into his mouth, “I hate to say it but I told you so.”

“Well, what do I do now?”

“You’ve gotta tell her. And after you do, let Soobin know that I’ve officially won the title of Beomgyu’s top best friend this month.”

“And how am I supposed to ask her?”

“Well, just a suggestion, but you could text her?”

“That’s not romantic!” Beomgyu deadpanned.

“Oh, sorry for trying to help. You’re the same guy who once swore he’d never, in a million years, tell a girl she looks pretty because apparently, that’s basically signing up to be chained to a cage like a love-struck animal.”

“That was the old me.”

Huening smirked, popping another chip into his mouth. “Sure, that’s the ‘old you,’ but the new you is in love with her.”

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. “I don’t even know how to start.”

Huening leaned back, watching his best friend spiral. “Well, look at it this way: if you’re already thinking of telling her, you're in the right direction.”

“I want something memorable, you know?” Beomgyu muttered. “Something more… romantic. Something she won’t forget.”

Huening raised an eyebrow. “And you think a dramatic speech in the middle of the cafe is the answer?”

Beomgyu froze. “That... actually might work.”

“Wow, you really are whipped,” Huening said, sarcastically.

“I’m serious! I’ll walk in, tell her how I feel, and let her know how much she means to me. I’m going all in, no holding back,” Beomgyu said, determination lighting up his face.

Huening sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “Alright, but just so you know, you asked me for help. And when she swoons, don’t forget to tell Soobin I won the ‘Best Friend of the Month’ award.”

Beomgyu shot him a deadpan look. “I’ll make it happen. Thanks, Best Friend.”

“Could I get that in writing? You know, so Soobin doesn’t think I’m just making stuff up.”

Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as he thought about it. Texting was out of the question. He’d have to make his feelings known the right way—face-to-face, just like in the movies. He was ready for this.

——

"Okay. You’ve got this, Beomgyu," he muttered to himself, giving himself a thumbs-up. "Just say something smooth... something charming. You’re Beomgyu, the irresistible coffee god. You can do this."

He looked around, making sure no one was watching, then smiled at his reflection in the window.

“Hey, I think you’re really cool, and I like you. Wait—no, that’s too casual. Let me try again.”

He put a hand to his chin dramatically, thinking for a moment.

"How about… ‘I think you're the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and I can’t stop thinking about you.’" He immediately cringed. "Nope, nope. That sounds fucking disgusting."

Just as he was about to try again, a voice from behind him interrupted.

“Dude, just go in,” Yeonjun said, raising an eyebrow as he walked up. He'd been watching from across the street for the past ten minutes, taking in Beomgyu's solo performance with mild amusement (and taking a couple of short videos to fill his stories with).

“Yeonjun! What the hell? You scared me!” Beomgyu jumped, heart leaping into his throat.

“Stop talking to yourself like a loser and just go in already. You’re getting weird looks from the store across us," Yeonjun scoffed. “Also, I’m pretty sure the entire neighborhood has seen your failed rehearsals by now.”

Beomgyu grimaced. “I just don’t want to mess it up, okay? I need to make it perfect.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “You’ve been here for 20 minutes and the only thing you’ve perfected is looking like a robber who's about to rob MY café. Get it together. It’s just a confession. You’re fine, she’s into you. Go!”

Beomgyu shot him a glare. “I’m not a robber, Yeonjun. I’m a man with feelings... and a very fragile ego.”

“Oh, please,” Yeonjun chuckled, pushing him toward the door. “If I had a dollar for every time someone said they were ‘fragile’ before a confession, I could buy this entire block. Just go in there and stop making it a bigger deal than it is.

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, then turned to face the door of Junnie’s, which was now just a few steps away. He took a deep breath and shot Yeonjun a look that screamed ‘I’m regretting this already.’

“You’re really doing this,” Yeonjun said, an exaggerated smirk on his face. “Alright, Beomie, go make history.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beomgyu sighed, taking a step toward the door. “I’m going... but if I faint in there, you’re taking the blame.”

With a last nervous glance at Yeonjun, Beomgyu shoved the door open. The bell above it jingled as he walked in, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and that's when he found you behind the counter, waiting.

“Welcome to Junnie’s! How may I help you—Beomgyu? What are you doing here today?” you laughed, wiping your hands on your apron as you looked up from behind the counter.

Beomgyu leaned against the counter with a grin that could melt the coldest of hearts. “I came here to see you.”

You blinked, trying to process his words. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. His hands were twitching like he was about to do a dance routine.

“Should I be on my break for this?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

Beomgyu shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake off his nerves. “No, no. It’ll be quick. I think. Probably.”

You chuckled, unable to hide your confusion. “Okay, you’re acting like you’re about to tell me you robbed a bank or something. Is everything alright?”

Beomgyu froze for a second, his eyes wide. “I'm getting rid of this stupid black beanie tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, sighing.

Getting called a robber for the second time today wasn’t exactly on his to-do list.

“Then why are you sweating?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sweating!” he replied, wiping his hands on his pants—clearly in denial. “Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” You genuinely didn’t understand, your head tilting to the side in bewilderment. “You’ve literally seen me like... a hundred times.”

“I just—” Beomgyu paused, and the silence between you two felt like forever. “Okay, maybe more than a hundred... but—”

“So, you’ve been nervous about seeing me a hundred times?” you asked, trying to piece it together.

“Definitely not,” Beomgyu said quickly, then muttered, “Well, kind of...”

“Okay, I’m lost,” you said, eyes wide, still trying to figure out why he was so flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, “Well…this is gonna be awkward, and I’m not really sure how to do this or what I’m supposed to say because I don’t want to ruin things between us—but, well, here it is.”

You immediately put your hands up, practically begging for mercy. “Oh, no, please don’t say it. Don’t say you’re not interested in me or anything like that, please.”

Beomgyu froze, looking absolutely panicked. “Huh?”

“Listen,” you said, starting to pace behind the counter like you were preparing for some dramatic monologue. “If you’re going to let me down easy, you don’t have to say anything. I know you’re not really into relationships, and I totally get it, okay? You’re the independent type. I respect that. Honestly, I wasn’t planning on doing anything crazy with my feelings. It’s all good, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Beomgyu’s face went from confused to deeply distressed. His eyes were wide, and his shoulders slumped as if someone had just stolen his favorite hoodie. “Wait, what? No! No, that’s not what I came here to say! I—”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “I mean, it’s okay. Yeonjun told me you weren’t interested in relationships. And hey, it’s fine. I’ll just stay in my lane and respect that you want to focus on… I don’t know… life, or being a free spirit or whatever. Like, I get it. I’m totally cool.”

Beomgyu blinked, frozen in place for a second, like you’d just dropped a bombshell on him. He quickly stepped forward, eyes wide with determination. “Hold on! That’s not— I’m not saying what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Really? Because I’m getting the vibe you’re not, you know, in the relationship market. Like, at all.”

He inhaled deeply, as if trying to muster all his courage to say the right thing. “I swear, I came all the way down here to tell you something completely different. Look, if I’m being honest, I… I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

Your jaw dropped. You were completely taken aback. “You… You like me?” you stammered, suddenly feeling all kinds of flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, looking at you like you were the most beautiful person in the entire world. “Yeah. I do. A lot. Like, so much that it’s kinda scary sometimes, but also really exciting. I’m not great with words and I’ve never been good at this, but… I want to try. I know I said that I’m not interested in relationships but I don’t know…with you it just seems easy. I like you. And I want to figure out whatever this is with you, if you’ll let me.”

There was a moment of silence, your heart racing from the sheer intensity of his words. And then, like a switch flipped, you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wow, so all this time I was thinking I had to keep my feelings to myself..”

Beomgyu flushed red, looking both nervous and utterly adorable. “Well…you’re different.”

You leaned across the counter, smiling, as you finally met his eyes. “So, wait… does this mean you’re actually asking me out? Like, for real?”

Beomgyu’s face lit up, nodding expectantly, “ Yes. I want to take you out. If you’ll let me.”

You grinned, your heart doing little flips. “Well, that’s a relief, because you’ve been driving me crazy. And I was starting to think I was gonna have to ask you out first. But of course, I wouldn’t, y’know, the whole off-the-market thing did catch me off guard at first.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well, a cute guy like you—who’s charming and funny—charms my ass off and apparently is off the market. Huge bummer, no?” You leaned forward slightly, making your playful tone even more obvious, but a hint of real affection crept through.

Beomgyu chuckled, his smile wide and warm. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m officially back on the market.”

Your smile widened even more. “Hopefully not for long,” you teased, winking at him. “I’m a go-getter.”

“Oh really?” Beomgyu’s grin was teasing as he leaned just a little bit closer, eyes locked with yours. “Weren’t you the one who just said you’d respect it if I wanted to be independent?”

Your chest tightened, the playful back-and-forth somehow turning into something more serious. “Do you?”

He took another step forward, practically in your personal space now. His voice softened, but the warmth in his eyes was undeniable. “Not if it means I can’t go out with you.” 

You felt the space between you both shrink with every second. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath just barely brushing your skin. The intensity of the moment wrapped around you both as your eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, unsure whether it was the right moment to do what he wanted to.

Then, just as Beomgyu’s hand was hovering almost instinctively near your arm, his head slightly tilting to get a better angle, the door to the café swung open with a sharp "ding!" and Yeonjun walked in, looking around casually until his eyes landed on the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Oh no, no, no,” Yeonjun groaned loudly, immediately striding over. “Beomgyu, you’re not even supposed to be here. It’s not your shift. You’re killing the vibe. Like, really killing it.” He grabbed Beomgyu by the shoulder and pulled him away, literally lifting him off the ground as if he were a rag doll. “C’mon, man. Move it. You’re ruining the whole romantic café ambiance with all this sexual tension. Get outta here.”

Beomgyu sputtered, his face going bright red. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were—”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you were doing,” Yeonjun interrupted, giving him a smirk. “And I’m putting an end to it before things get too heated in here. Don’t think I didn’t see those looks. You two are about two seconds away from having an impromptu makeout session right in front of all the customers.” He turned to you with a grin. “No offense, but you’re about to turn this café into something disgusting, and I can’t handle that right now.”

“There’s only one customer!” 

“And he has two eyes!” 

You tried to hide your grin but failed miserably as you watched Beomgyu attempt to protest while being dragged out. “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” Beomgyu grumbled. “But you’re not getting rid of me for good.” He shot you one last flirty smile before Yeonjun practically shoved him out the door.

You stood there, stunned and flustered, trying to regain your composure as the moment you thought might just happen slipped away. As Beomgyu’s laughter faded down the street, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Yeonjun shot you an apologetic look. “I know, I know, I’m a buzzkill. But don’t worry. Knowing how annoying he is, he’ll probably be back in a couple of minutes.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “He’s lucky you stopped him, or I’d have kissed him right there.”

Yeonjun’s grin was full of mischief. “Why do you think I stopped the both of you?”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

OHMYGOSH THIS IS BEAUTIFUL🩷😭 it made my heart ache for a second there..

“pilates bitch.”😭

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥?

➜ summary: what happens when your ex-best friend lawyers you into marrying him? exhibit a: the marriage contract you both wrote and signed when you were twelve.

pairing: lhs x f!reader, wc: 18k words , genre: work romance, fluff, slight angst (not really) w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing, implied sex

12 YEARS AGO

Twelve was a ridiculous age.

At twelve, you knew just enough to survive. Water was good. Hunger sucked. Sleep was non-negotiable. You understood that cereal could be dinner if no one stopped you, and that bruises from falling off your bike hurt less than the sting when Park Jongseong, your first middle school crush, told you your pigtails were uneven. For some reason, that hurt.

But love? Love was still the kind of thing you learnt from watching episodes of Phineas and Ferb when you were bored or whatever drama your mum had playing on the TV in the background. You didn’t really understand what it was.

All you knew was that it probably had the same colour and scent as Lee Heeseung.

It was the summer of 2014, and you were lying flat on your stomach across Heeseung’s bedroom carpet, the pattern of the rug imprinting little diamonds into your knees. The fan overhead creaked in slow, lazy circles. Outside, someone’s dog wouldn’t stop barking. Inside, Heeseung was twisting around with a new fidget toy he got from the dollar store. 

“Do you think I’ll have a boyfriend twelve years from now?” you asked, chewing the end of your pencil.

He didn’t even look up. “Beats me.”

“Hee, I’m serious,” you pressed.

With a groan as dramatic as his limbs were long, Heeseung finally glanced up. “What do you even want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, pencil now balanced horizontally between your upper lip and nose like a moustache. “I’m just thinking.”

Heeseung leaned back against the side of his bed, gaze flicking to the ceiling like the answer might be hidden in the fan’s creaky rotations. “Twelve years from now… we’d be—” He held up a hand, counting quietly. “Twenty-four.”

“That’s the age my parents got married,” you said, as if that somehow doomed you to a ticking clock.

Heeseung made a face. “Gross.”

You frowned, dramatic in the way only preteens could be. “I wanna get married.”

He clicked the fidget toy shut with a snap. “What is it with you and boyfriends lately?”

“I mean… twenty-four is old, Heeseung. Way old.”

“Barely,” he replied, then paused, his brow quirking slightly. “Besides, someone’ll like you.”

You cradled your face in both hands. “What if they don’t?”

He reached out and poked your cheek with the back of his knuckle. “You’re pretty. I’d like you.”

You blinked at him. “You would?”

“Sure.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “But not now. You’re weird.”

You cracked a smile. “Hm, so you think I’m pretty… that’s not what Park Jongseong said last week when I beat him at basketball. He said I looked like a ‘sweaty worm.’”

“Oh yeah.” Heeseung snorted, eyes crinkling. “That was funny.”

You launched a cushion at his face in retaliation. He caught it with one hand, barely blinking.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, tone casual as he dropped the cushion to the floor. “When we’re twenty-four… we’ll get married.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just in case,” he replied with a shrug. “If you don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t have a girlfriend. Then we’ll get married.”

You stared at him, unsure if he was joking. Heeseung always said ridiculous things—like how he was going to invent a chocolate that never melted, or become the first person to skateboard across the ocean. But this? This was different.

“Really?” This time, you sat up properly, legs crossed beneath you, your heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest.

“Yeah.” He nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Are you just saying that?”

Heeseung shook his head. “We can pinky swear on it.”

“A pinky swear?” you scoffed, arms folding. “That’s, like, so elementary school. We need something more binding.”

“Like what?”

You rummaged through your pencil case, digging out a crumpled sheet from your favorite Hello Kitty notebook, half-covered in doodles of stars and lopsided flowers. “A contract.”

Heeseung leaned closer, peering over your shoulder as you smoothed the page flat on the carpet. “You’re seriously writing this down?”

“Absolutely.” You grabbed a glitter gel pen and scribbled across the top in loopy, uneven letters: Marriage Pact – Do Not Ignore (Even If You’re Famous or Rich)

Heeseung burst into laughter. “What kind of title is that?”

“A legal one,” you replied seriously, already underlining it twice. “Sign here, please.”

Heeseung took the pen from your hand, tongue sticking out slightly as he wrote his name in slow, deliberate strokes. Then he passed it back.

You signed yours underneath, dotting the “i” in your name with a tiny heart.

And just like that, two twelve-year-olds, were legally bound by glitter ink.

-

12 YEARS LATER

You slammed your apartment mailbox shut with your foot, flipping through the envelopes as you climbed the stairs.

You sighed. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water,” you muttered, voice rising with each envelope. “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”

You shoved the stack under your arm and nudged the apartment door open with your hip, stepping inside and closing it behind you with the heel of your foot.

Jake looked up from the couch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You held up the bills with a deadpan stare. “If ghosts came in white envelopes and demanded a fuck ton of money, then yeah. Paranormal as hell.”

Jake looked up from the couch, controller still in hand. “Again?”

“Yes, Jaeyun. Bills happen every month. That’s what we signed up for when we became roommates.”

You tossed the stack onto his lap. He sighed and paused his game, the TV screen freezing on a very intense moment in Mario Kart.

He flipped through the envelopes, brows furrowing as he read each one aloud. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water.”

He looked up at you with disbelief, “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”

“That’s what I said!” you replied, dropping your bag by the side of the couch and kicking off your shoes.

Jake was about to make another sarcastic comment, but then he paused.

He squinted at one of the envelopes, holding it up by its edge like it might bite. “What’s a Lee Heeseung?”

You stilled. “…What do you mean?”

Jake held it up with two fingers like it was radioactive. “Someone named Lee Heeseung addressed a letter to you. Wait…Lee Heeseung… sounds familiar. Isn’t this the guy who–”

You lunged forward, snatching the envelope out of his hands so fast the paper rustled.

He started to stand. “Wait—”

But you were already on your feet, clutching the envelope to your chest like it held state secrets.

“I’m going to my room,” you said quickly, already halfway down the hall.

Jake called after you, “You can’t just run away!”

But you were gone.

You dropped the envelope onto your desk and began pacing, feet dragging slightly over the worn hardwood floor. Back and forth. Hands on your hips, then rubbing the back of your neck, then up through your hair like you could physically scrape the panic out of your scalp.

Lee Heeseung.

You hadn’t heard that name in six years. Not since you were 18. What the hell was he doing sending you letters after 6 years of ghosting you? Letters, of all things. Not a text. Not an email. A letter.

You rubbed your face with both palms, fingers pressing into your temples. Your entire body felt tight with confusion. 

You stared at the envelope for a long second.

Should I open it? you asked yourself.

Your fingers twitched.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already tearing into the envelope, clumsily slicing the top open with your nail. The paper ripped slightly at the corner from how fast your hands moved. The letter slid out, crisp and neatly folded.

You read it, then stood in silence, blinking. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Brain empty. You were confused. Stunned. A little stoned but from shock. Absolutely floored. Like someone had drop-kicked your frontal lobe.

This letter is to formally present the enclosed documentation for legal execution of a prior agreement, namely a childhood contract between yourself and one Mr. Lee Heeseung. The aforementioned contract, signed voluntarily at age twelve, contained a clause regarding marital union at the age of twenty-four should both parties remain unwed.  Pursuant to this clause, Mr. Lee Heeseung has submitted the original document, legally notarized, and formally requests your signature on the attached marriage certificate to fulfil the terms of said agreement.  Please review the enclosed documents at your earliest convenience. For any clarifications, feel free to contact our office or Mr. Lee directly.

Your mouth moved but to be honest, all you could manage was:

“What the fuck is wrong with him.”

-

You were late.

You weren’t usually late. In fact, you were one of those annoying people who showed up fifteen minutes ahead of time and still apologised for making others wait. But today? Today was the one day you really didn’t want to be late.

Your first day at your big girl job and here you were, sprinting toward the building that held your future career by its palm.

​​Your shoulder bag bounced wildly against your side as you dodged a man holding a suspiciously large iced coffee, barely avoiding a full-blown caffeine collision. The turnstile doors loomed ahead sleek and metallic. You jabbed your access card against the reader. You slipped through and finally looked up.

And then you saw Jake.

“Hurry up!” he called, gesturing frantically as the elevator chimed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into getting the bus without you.”

You jogged over, breathless. “Well you’d be late and you know I get the nervous poops.”

He glanced at his watch. “Yeah but couldn’t you have held it in? You know how they say the first impression counts.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped in beside him. “They also say to surround yourself with supportive friends, but look how that turned out.”

Jake grinned, holding the door for you. “Touché.”

The elevator doors slid shut with a polished ding, sealing you and Jake into a box of brushed metal and awkward first-day jitters.

“I still can’t believe we got the last two spots at Aureum,” You said, “The Aureum.”

“Well,” Jake  said, trying to catch his breath, “we fought our way here and beat out that no-good Park Eunmi and her bratty—”

“Jake.” You shot him a warning look. “We’re adults now. We don’t go around talking shit about people we won’t even be seeing anymore.”

He blinked. “Weren’t you the same person who called her, and I quote, a ‘two-faced conniving bitch’ yesterday?”

“Like I said,” you replied, smoothing your blouse, “I’m an adult now.”

As two of the newest Junior Marketing Associates, you and Jake had beat out over a hundred applicants. A hundred other applicants who probably practiced their interview answers in the mirror a million times before. And somehow, two under-slept twenty-somethings from a shared apartment with a broken microwave made it through.

Your eyes flicked around the office, trying to drink it all in, endless cubicles with glowing monitors, people tapping away at keyboards like they were born doing it, voices murmuring through headsets, and behind closed doors, offices that belonged to people with email signatures way fancier than yours.

You clutched your lanyard a little tighter. 

“Come on in, guys. Sit down, sit down.” A man in a blazer and slacks stood by the doorway, gesturing everyone inside with brisk efficiency. His voice was clear, professional, and used to being listened to.

You followed Jake into the room, quietly settling into one of the twelve chairs arranged in a half-circle around a low conference table. The space was bright, glass walls on one side, soft overhead lighting, and a large flat-screen monitor mounted neatly in front. A clicker and laptop sat idle on the table. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable.

“I’m Park Jongseong,” the man announced once everyone had filtered in. “We’ll be starting orientation in about five minutes. We’re just waiting for the head of department to arrive, and then we’ll get going.”

The name hit you oddly. A little familiar. Park Jongseong. It tugged at the back of your memory, but you brushed it off. Probably a coincidence. Jongseong wasn’t exactly rare.

He continued, tone practised. “Before that, let’s take attendance. Please scan the QR code on the screen, log in using your company ID, and mark yourself as ‘present.’”

The screen flickered to display the code. A few people reached for their phones immediately.

“If you have any questions, feel free to ask,” he added, hands clasped in front of him, his expression neutral but approachable. The lanyard hanging around his neck read Human Resources – Manager. That explained the ease, the polished tone. He’d clearly done this many times before.

You unlocked your phone and scanned the code, fingers moving over the login screen. Jake leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, making sure he was doing the same thing right.

You tried to focus, but the name still lingered somewhere in your mind. Park Jongseong.

You shook your head, returning your attention to the task at hand.

It couldn’t be. Not that Jongseong. Right?

“Okay, he’s here,” Jongseong said, glancing toward the glass wall. He gave a quick nod to someone just out of sight. “Please use my company email if you have any HR-related issues. Thank you, and I’ll see all of you after this session.”

He stepped aside, and a man entered the room.

“Good morning everyone, I’m the head of department,” the newcomer said, tone cool and efficient. “For anything related to your job, your submissions, deadlines, or team responsibilities, they will come through me. Understood?”

A quiet chorus of nods followed. You nodded too, still focused on your phone screen. It was taking forever to load. You squinted, trying to figure out why, until you realised you’d typed your employee ID wrong. You had tapped 7 instead of 6.

You tapped back, correcting it, only half-hearing the voice that came next.

“Right,” came a quiet chuckle. The voice was warmer this time, slightly amused. Familiar. “Sorry—I forgot the intro bit. I’m Lee Heeseung. You can call me whatever feels comfortable."

Your finger froze on the screen.

The pen you had been holding slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a small clack. You stood up so quickly your chair scraped the polished floor, every eye in the room swivelling toward you.

Heeseung paused mid-sentence, glancing in your direction. His gaze landed on you and stayed.

Your breath caught. Your brain refused to supply anything useful, like words.

Heeseung blinked, the faintest trace of recognition crossing his face but he said nothing.

“Is there an issue?” Jongseong looked up from his tablet, glancing around before his eyes landed on you. His brow furrowed slightly. “Hey, aren’t you—”

“No.” You shook your head a little too quickly, a little too firmly. “Nope.”

“But you’re—”

“Not her.”

Jongseong paused. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” you replied, already feeling the heat rise to your face.

“But how do you know who I’m thinking about?” he countered, eyes narrowing slightly.

There was a long, loaded beat of silence. You could feel Jake watching your exchange, an eyebrow raised.

You exhaled.

“Okay,” you muttered, shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m her.”

“I knew it,” Jongseong said with a grin, nudging Heeseung with his elbow. “I told you she looked familiar. Didn’t you just send her that stupid lawyer–”

Heeseung cut in, his voice even. “That’s enough.”

The room was silent. 

You cleared your throat, brushing your hair behind your ear and reaching for your pen like none of that had just happened. “Anyway. Please continue, Mr. Lee.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, stepping to the front of the room. “Where were we?”

And just like that, orientation resumed.

You sat stiffly in your seat, eyes glued to the screen at the front, pretending to take notes on the company’s mission statement while internally drafting your resignation letter in all caps.

You could feel it.

That unmistakable weight of a stare, burning, pointed, patient. Heeseung’s gaze practically drilled through the crown of your head. And you couldn’t bring yourself to look up. Not once. Not even when Jake elbowed you under the table, trying to stifle a grin.

Unbelievable. Out of all the possible outcomes in this capitalist hellscape, this was what you got?

As if that wasn’t enough to emotionally flatten you, you'd also just received a letter from his lawyers three days ago.

Because apparently, a glitter-gel-penned contract you made when you were twelve still counted.

-

“What the fuck was that?” Jake hissed, yanking you halfway out of your new ergonomic chair before you could even take a seat.

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “The whole thing with Mr. Lee and Park Jong… something.”

“Seong. It’s Park Jongseong,” you corrected, brushing down the front of your blouse as you stood properly this time.

“Yeah, that. What was that about?”

You glanced around quickly. The office floor was open-concept, dotted with neatly arranged cubicles, each one separated by low partitions and decorated with cheerful onboarding folders and branded pens. Too many ears. Too much glass.

“Could you not ask me about it when his office is right there?” you muttered, trying not to move your lips too much.

As if summoned, the two of you instinctively turned your heads.

Heeseung’s office sat just a few feet away. And through the transparent wall, you saw him.

Already looking. Directly at you.

You and Jake immediately snapped your heads back around like guilty children caught cheating on a test.

You could feel the heat rush to your face. Jake ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “He definitely saw that.”

“Of course he did,” you whispered.

“Okay. Lunch,” Jake said, already tugging on your sleeve. “You’re telling me everything.”

-

“Do you remember that guy I told you about… when we first met?” you began cautiously, already regretting this entire conversation.

Jake didn’t even blink. “The almost ex who broke your heart? The one who vanished without a word, no texts, no emails, just poof? The guy you cried over every night for the first two months we shared a dorm? That guy? The one who had you in sweatpants for so long our professor personally pulled you aside after our first group presentation to suggest dressing like you hadn’t just escaped a deadly house fire?”

You gritted your teeth. “You could’ve just said yes.”

“I like my answer better,” Jake replied, flashing that annoyingly smug grin of his.

You rolled your eyes, arms folding over your chest. “Fine. Yes. It’s… that guy.”

Jake’s eyes widened so fast. “Holy fuck. Wasn’t he the one who, correct me if I’m wrong, lawyered you into marrying him like 3 days ago?”

You nodded slowly. “I doubt it’s even legal, but… yes.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, the disbelief painted across his face shifting into something almost amused. “This is highly coincidental,” he said, voice rich with sarcasm. “Almost like…it's fate.”

You stared at him for a beat, then stabbed your spoon into your bowl and shoved a mouthful of meat in before mumbling through it, “If this is what fate is, then fate’s a fucking bitch.”

-

“Do you think they’re dating?” Heeseung asked, eyes fixed on the other side of the company cafeteria. 

Jongseong followed his line of sight.

Across the room, you and Jake were seated at a small corner table, trays pushed aside, both of you laughing, loud and unbothered.. You were leaned in close, practically in tears from whatever Jake had just said.

“Looks friendly to me,” Jongseong shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re still in love with her. Thought you hated her.”

“I do,” Heeseung said quickly. “It’s just—I don’t know. I mean… she was right in some sense.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “Dude, she didn’t even show up at the airport. You waited there like an idiot until the last minute. You almost missed your flight.”

Heeseung gave a tight laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe she was busy…”

Jongseong raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I don’t blame her,” Heeseung said quickly. “She was scared. She thought long distance would ruin us. That we’d fall apart, stop being friends, stop meaning something to each other.”

Jongseong turned his head, slow and deliberate, fixing him with that look, the one he always gave before saying something brutally true.

“Well,” he said, voice calm, “are you friends now?”

Heeseung said nothing.

“Didn’t think so,” Jongseong muttered, then grinned as he picked up a piece of kimchi. “Are you also forgetting who you video called the first hundred times you cried in Canada?”

“Why do you love bringing that up?” Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Jongseong took a long, smug sip of his drink, barely suppressing a grin. He turned back to his tray of cafeteria food before pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung like they were an accusation. “Because it’s funny.”

Heeseung didn’t respond, just glared at his soup.

Jongseong raised an eyebrow. “So by the looks of it, I’m guessing you really got Beomgyu to send that lawyer letter to scare her?”

“To be fair,” Heeseung muttered, “I didn’t know she’d end up under me.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jongseong said through a mouthful of rice, chuckling as he shook his head. “But if you wanna get all weirdly poetic about it, I guess this is kinda like destiny, isn’t it?”

Heeseung stared down at his tray, “Well,” he muttered, “if this is destiny then destiny’s a fucking bitch.”

-

Listen…Heeseung was smart.

He climbed Aureum’s corporate ladder in less than two years, thanks to an impressive portfolio born out of his time in Canada. Moving there had been a blessing in disguise. Academically, professionally, it launched him. He made the most of it. Graduated top of his class, turned internships into job offers, turned job offers into power.

But for all of Heeseung’s intelligence, his work ethic, and his calculated rise, if there was one thing he was consistently stupid about, it was you. He didn’t understand it. In fact, he couldn’t even explain it. You were the one area of his life that turned logic into mush and rationality into dust.

It started as a joke. A stupid, drunken mistake that should’ve stayed buried under the dim lights of some bar on a Thursday night.

It was happy hour. He and Jongseong were at their usual spot, a watering hole they swore they were too old for but kept returning to anyway. One tequila turned into four. Somewhere between rounds, Heeseung started rambling, slurred sentences about you, the past, and that dumb glitter-pen marriage pact you’d made when you were kids.

Jongseong, drunk and equally dumb, grinned and said, “Dude. You should actually send her something. Like get lawyers involved. Just to freak her out.”

Heeseung, handsome as ever and dumb as a fork, blinked. His eyes widened. “Wait. That’s… actually kind of funny.”

“No it’s not,” Jongseong had said, already laughing. “That’s what makes it brilliant.”

Which is how, somewhere around midnight, Heeseung scrolled through his contacts, called the first legal name he recognised, Choi Beomgyu, law school graduate, part-time legal consultant and said:

“Hey, can you help me draft a marriage contract?”

-

It had been two days since you started working at Aureum.

Coincidentally, it had also been two days since Heeseung had done any actual work.

Each morning, like clockwork, he walked in, tailored suit, briefcase in hand, and Prada shoes. He placed his bag neatly on the desk, powered on his computer, clicked into his emails… and then lost all sense of purpose. The first thing he did every morning was type a message to Jongseong. 

Subject: emergency i madonna die i mgona die shes lookihng voer pretty pretty u think shell love me back ohne day? Actually im jk i hate her but if hate why prtty? omg shes lookg voer...pretend teim oding work im doing many work work is fun work is cool Work . im work Best Regards Lee Heeseung Head of Marketing | Aureum & Co. 📞 +82-10-XXXX-XXXX ✉️ heeseung.lee@aureumcorp.kr 🌐 www.aureumcorp.kr “We don’t do average.”

He’d hit send. Then he'd type a second variation and send that too. On the first day, Jongseong had replied with “You good?” On the second, he didn’t respond at all. By day three, Heeseung didn’t even expect a reply. He was just venting into the void.

Heeseung told himself he just wanted a moment. A single conversation. A little closure. Maybe an opportunity to push your buttons, mess with you, throw you off your game. Because as far as he was concerned, you still owed him that. And now, here you were.

Still stupidly, infuriatingly pretty.

-

He sat behind his desk, legs crossed under the polished oak surface, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, eyes fixed on the list of new hires. 

But all Heeseung cared about was one thing: getting you alone.

He had crafted a plan that was equal parts desperate and genius, hosting a Getting to Know You session for each new employee. No one could question it. 

Nishimura Riki—Ni-ki. A boy with his hoodie still half-zipped, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks like he was allergic to authority. He entered without knocking, took the seat opposite Heeseung with zero urgency, and stared blankly at the offered glass of water. Said maybe six words in ten minutes. Heeseung didn’t mind. He respected the quiet ones. Good for him.

Next came Kim Sunoo.

He bounced into the room like the sunlight had a personality and sat with both palms flat on the table like he was bracing for takeoff. Heeseung barely finished the question—“How’s working here so far?”—before Sunoo launched into a detailed narrative about his family, his dead turtle, and the emotional trauma of overwatering a succulent. At one point, he teared up. Heeseung slid the tissue box across the table silently. You know what, good for him too.

Then came Yang Jungwon.

Jungwon knocked twice, entered with a clipboard, and sat like a model intern. His back straight, pen ready, shoes perfectly aligned under the chair. He answered every question clearly, thoughtfully, and didn’t overshare once. Heeseung liked him. He even made a note in the corner of his notepad: Promotion material.

And then Jake Sim.

Jake entered all smiles and sunshine, like he was walking into a brunch spot instead of a corporate office. His tie was off-centre. Shirt sleeves rolled too high. Hair a little too perfect. He slid into the chair across from Heeseung, crossed one ankle over his knee like he owned the place, and grinned.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

The office suddenly felt hotter. Like the air conditioning had given up. Heeseung straightened the papers on his desk even though they were already perfectly aligned, mostly just to stop himself from flipping the table.

“So,” he started, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward with faux interest, “do you see yourself working here long?”

Jake nodded, no hesitation. “Yeah, working at Aureum is honestly a dream. It’s been on my list of dream companies since uni.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “One of your dream companies?”

Jake blinked. “Uh—well, yeah. I mean, I had a few, but Aureum was definitely—”

“So what you mean to say,” Heeseung said, leaning back slowly in his chair with a smile that was definitely not a smile, “is that you’re disloyal.”

Jake froze. “What? No! That’s not—”

Heeseung picked up his pen and made a note on the paper in front of him. It had nothing to do with Jake. He just wrote ‘boring. lame. has uglier hair than me.”

He didn’t hate Jake Sim.

He despised him.

No real reason, of course. Except that Jake seemed to be exactly the kind of person you were comfortable around. The kind you laughed too easily with. The kind you sat next to at lunch and leaned into like it was natural. Didn't help that Jake was incredibly suave and handsome. Damn it.

It wasn’t personal.

Except it completely was.

Heeseung exhaled as soon as Jake left the room, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the final name on the list.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the small mirror near the bookshelf to fix his hair, like that would somehow fix everything else.

And for the first time all day, Heeseung felt nervous.

You cleared your throat, then knocked. Heeseung looked up instantly.

His smile appeared before he could stop it, quick and unguarded, warm enough to light the whole damn office. Then, as if remembering himself, it vanished just as fast. His expression flattened into something more controlled. Nonchalance, he reminded himself. Be cool.

But it was hard to be anything close to composed with you standing there. Your head poked through the doorway, eyes bright and curious. That little hairclip still holding your bangs to the side, the same way you used to wear it when you were younger. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulder, reaching just past your waist. It swayed slightly as you tilted your head.

“Can I come in?” you asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter, shoving a file to the side like he hadn’t just been zoning out for ten full minutes. “Of course.”

Heeseung gestured to the chair across from him, and you made your way over, smoothing the front of your blouse before sitting down. The cushion dipped beneath you, and for a moment, you didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Well… I already know you.”

You looked up.

A small pause.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked, half-standing.

“No!” he blurted, way too fast. He cleared his throat again, more controlled this time. 

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers tapping once against the wood before stilling. He glanced down at the paper in front of him, your employee profile probably and cleared his throat.

“So,” he began, voice measured, “you’ve been placed in the campaign strategy team.”

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what the onboarding email said.”

He hummed, eyes scanning the paper like he didn’t already know what it said. “You’ll be working on the upcoming brand relaunch. A lot of external collaboration, internal pressure, long hours.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“You sure?” He looked up now, eyes sharp. “Because I need people who follow through. Who don’t just start strong and then bail when things get inconvenient.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I’m asking if you’re the kind of person who sticks around when things get hard. Or if you’re more of a… run-and-disappear type.”

There was a pause. 

You stared at him, jaw tightening. “Is this about Aureum, or about us?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

And that was answer enough.

Something in your chest twisted. “Because if you want to drag the past into this, you better say it plainly. Don’t wrap it up in company protocol and pretend it’s part of my fucking job description.”

And then, quieter, more bitter, he added, “It’s just… I thought you were serious about things. But apparently, you were only serious when it was easy.”

The room felt colder.

You inhaled slowly, the words slipping out before your brain could catch up. “You left. Not me.”

Heeseung flinched but you caught it. That flicker of something raw behind his eyes. But then, just as quickly, his expression closed over, sharp and unreadable again.

“No,” he said flatly. “You left first.”

Your breath hitched. “How did I—?”

“I needed you,” he cut in, his voice low, rough, brimming with a bitterness that stung more than you were ready for. “I could’ve used support. A friend. Anything. But the girl I loved the most—” his jaw tightened, “—she left me first.”

“I—”

“So before you paint me out to be the villain,” he said, his eyes dark, voice thick with something between anger and heartbreak, “think about how you ignored me after I told you I loved you.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, your chest rising and falling too quickly. “I didn’t ignore you because of that—I…” The words caught in your throat like they were afraid to come out. “How was I supposed to react? We finally—finally—got together and then right after, you told me you were leaving.”

“It wasn’t my choice!” he shouted, the words shattering between you like glass.

There was silence after that. Not the passive kind, but the kind that stung, like a slap in the middle of a quiet room.

“Mr. Lee,” you said, tone cool, professional, clipped. “I would like to leave now, since this meeting has had nothing to do with my job and everything to do with some attempt to lower my pride or exert some kind of personal power play that I don’t want any part of.”

You reached for the doorknob. And that’s when he panicked.

His mind raced, grasping at anything, everything, until one sentence tumbled out of his mouth like the world’s worst reflex.

“You’re supposed to be marrying me.”

The words dropped heavy into the room like a weight you hadn’t seen coming. You froze, hand still on the doorknob, back turned, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Did you think that lawyer letter was a joke?” His voice was quieter now, but there was something about the way he said it—like he was testing the air between you, like he wasn’t sure if you’d laugh or scream.

Slowly, you turned around, brows drawn together, the confusion and disbelief etched across your face. “Heeseung, that was a contract from when we were kids. Do you really think I’m some kind of idiot?”

He didn’t flinch. “It still stands actually… unless you want to get sued.”

You blinked. “Are you fucking with me?”

Heeseung held your gaze, mouth twitching into a slow, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

And then, he started walking toward you. Steady, unhurried steps that somehow made the air feel thinner with every inch he closed between you. Your heart began to pound erratically in your chest, loud enough you were almost certain he could hear it. Damn him for looking like that—like a fucking model in fitted slacks and a shirt that clung just right to his frame.

He stopped in front of you, close enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne, clean and a little woodsy. God, he was hot.

“Because I’m not.”

“You are insane!” you hissed, voice rising.

“I’m not the one yelling in a see-through office,” he replied, gesturing lazily to the glass walls.

You paused, suddenly aware of the four to five people from accounting who were staring directly at the scene. You cleared your throat and lowered your voice only slightly. “I am not marrying you, Heeseung.”

He clicked his tongue and placed his tea down. “Did you read the bottom? The fine print?”

“I’m not reading anything that came from you and your fuckass lawyer,” you snapped.

Heeseung sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his temples like you were the one being unreasonable. “If you bothered to read a very legal document, you’d know that... it’s either marriage,” he paused to take another sip, “or you pay $20,000.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“$20,000,” he repeated, a little too casually. “As outlined clearly in the exit clause.”

Your jaw dropped. “And where is a girl who JUST started working supposed to get that kind of money?”

Heeseung shrugged, stepping closer. His footsteps were slow, annoyingly calm. He stopped right in front of you and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, like he was mocking you. “Well,” he said, voice low and irritatingly smug, “that’s up to you.”

You swatted his hand away, hard. “I am not marrying you,” you repeated, practically growling.

“So you’re giving me the $20,000 then?” he offered again, tilting his head, lips forming a mock pout.

You narrowed your eyes, then without thinking, leaned in and bit his fingers.

“OW—what the f—” He jerked his hand back with a laugh. 

“I should’ve bit your face,” you muttered.

Heeseung grinned through the sting, shaking his hand. “Or... and I’m just spitballing here,” he said, stepping back with an exaggerated stretch, “I let you go—no marriage, no payment—if you do everything I say for one year.”

You stared at him like he’d grown three heads. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Come on,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Just a year of doing whatever I say.”

You crossed your arms. “Three months.”

“Eight,” he shot back, without missing a beat.

“Four.”

“Six.”

You squinted at him. “Five and I don’t get you coffee.”

“Nope. Six, and you do exactly what I say.”

The air between you crackled, neither of you willing to back down. You stepped closer, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate steps until you were standing toe-to-toe in front of his desk. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned in, eyes dark with challenge, the corners of his mouth curling like he was already claiming victory.

Your nose nearly brushed his. “Fine,” you hissed. “Six months. But if you so much as make me iron your stupid ass fancy Prada suit, I’m out.”

“Okay,” Heeseung said smoothly, his voice low and maddeningly smug. His breath fanned your face. “But you should know, I don’t wear wrinkled suits.”

-

And thus began the worst month of your life.

Day 1: He made you sort his alphabetised collection of business cards… in cursive. Handwritten. On new cards. With a quill. “It builds character,” he said..

Day 5: He scheduled a client meeting at 7am. You arrived. There was no client. He strolled in at 10 with a latte and said, “Wow. You’re early. How driven.”

Day 6: Assigned you to shadow a client. You followed a random man around a bookstore for 45 minutes before he texted: “Wrong guy btw.”

Day 9: Email subject line: “URGENT – FOOT EMERGENCY.” The body? “Buy me socks.” No context. Follow-up email: “With little cartoon frogs. The happier the better.”

Day 11: He asked you to water the plants in his office. None were real. One was a coat rack. You watered it anyway. He thanked you with a straight face.

Day 13: He demanded lunch delivered to his apartment. On your break. You found him mid-couch, watching Shrek 2 with subtitles and a face mask on. “Wanna join me?”

Day 16: Made you create a 23-slide presentation titled: “Why Lee Heeseung Is the Greatest Asset to This Company and Mankind.” You had to present it. To two confused interns and Park Jongseong, who heckled the whole time.

Day 18: Sent you to buy exactly 50 blueberries. “Not 49. Not 51. 50. Count them.” You did. The cashier thought you were insane.

Day 23: Assigned you to “reorganise the supply cabinet.” Inside was a single banana, a picture of himself and Jongseong’s car keys.

God. you hated Lee Heeseung.

-

The soft clink of chopsticks against a lunch container echoed across the sleek, minimal office. Jongseong sat casually on Heeseung’s guest couch, feet kicked up, poking at his lunch.

“You know,” Jongseong began between bites, “this little revenge you’ve got going on? Don’t you think it’s starting to get a little...much?”

Heeseung didn’t look up. “What’s much?”

“You made her pretend to be a floor tile last week.”

Heeseung barely blinked, expression flat.

“And to be fair, she was very convincing,” he muttered, like it was a genuine compliment.

Jongseong set his chopsticks down, suddenly serious. “Hee. Be honest. Are you trying to punish her, or are you just scared to talk to her like a normal human being?”

Heeseung’s lips parted, but no words came out. His jaw flexed. The silence stretched, and for the first time in weeks, he hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, voice lower than usual. 

Just then, the door swung open. You strode in without knocking, your eyes on fire and your movements sharper than necessary. You slammed a paper bag on his desk, the contents shifting loudly inside.

“Here’s your goddamn lunch,” you snapped, not sparing him a glance.

And before he could even process the noise, you turned on your heel and stormed out, leaving the door wide open in your wake.

A beat of stunned silence passed.

Jongseong blinked. “You sure she’s not poisoning that?”

Heeseung finally looked down at the crumpled paper bag, then at the door you’d stormed out through. He didn’t move for a moment, fingers hovering near the bag, like it might explode.

Then, with a low sigh, he leaned back in his chair, swivelling slightly toward Jongseong. “Can you check if she’s had lunch?”

Jongseong narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’m just saying, she’s been running around all morning like a lunatic. Maybe she skipped lunch.”

“Why don’t you check yourself?” Jongseong smirked, already enjoying this. “Or better yet, pack it for her next time. Maybe write a little note with hearts on it.”

Heeseung groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “Jesus. I’m not in love with her.”

“I never said love,” Jongseong sang. “You did.”

Heeseung glared at him. “I’m just doing what a responsible boss would do. Basic leadership. Workforce efficiency. You know, keeping employees from fainting.”

“By micromanaging her blood sugar?”

Heeseung pointed at him, still scowling. “Shut up and just go check.”

Jongseong stood, grabbing his soda and grinning. “Whatever you say, boss.”

As he walked out, he muttered just loud enough for Heeseung to hear, “Bet if she skipped lunch, you’d hand-feed her a five-course meal.”

Heeseung didn’t respond. He just turned back to the lunch bag and quietly moved it a little closer to his side of the desk.

-

You were done. You hated Lee Heeseung with every fibre of your being.

You had been mid-task, setting up a fragile product display for a major investor walkthrough—when the shelf gave way beneath your hand. One of the glass panels slipped, and in your rush to keep it from shattering, your palm dragged hard against the sharp metal edge of the support frame. You hissed, sucking in a breath as pain bloomed across your skin, followed by a streak of red pooling fast..

It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was definitely more than a paper cut. You stood frozen for a second, blood dripping onto the glossy marble floor, the scent of antiseptic and showroom polish mixing unpleasantly in the air.

Heeseung was across the room but moved in an instant, almost stupidly concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice sharp with something that sounded a lot like panic.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, clenching your hand as if squeezing the pain away.

“Let me see.” He was already digging in the drawer for the office first aid kit, grabbing a pack of antiseptic wipes and a bandage like it was muscle memory.

You pulled your hand away before he could touch you. “Can I go now?”

He froze. “I’m just trying to help. Stop being so stubborn.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who sent me to fix a million-dollar display alone. Don’t act like you suddenly care.”

Then you walked off without another word, your wound throbbing in time with the storm brewing behind your ribs.

Heeseung stood there, staring at the streak of blood you left behind on the polished floor. The silence in the showroom echoed louder than it should’ve. The first aid kit was still in his hands, unopened. For once, he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Had he been too harsh?

The thought circled, bitter and biting. He meant to keep things light, or at least ridiculous. Make you squirm a little. Maybe even get back at you for leaving him all those years ago. But this? Watching you walk away, shoulders tense, hand bleeding—this didn’t feel like winning.

It felt like being the asshole.

He set the first aid kit down a little too hard on the nearest counter and exhaled slowly. Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to actually hurt you.

Maybe Jongseong was right. Maybe this whole thing was going too far.

And maybe, just maybe, he needed to stop acting like he wasn’t still in love with you.

But god, you made it so damn hard.

-

You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once. Not since that night.

You hated what he’d turned into, this cold, distant version of the boy who once knew you like the back of his hand. He was still familiar, his face carved a little finer now, his jaw set a little firmer, but everything else? Foreign. A stranger wrapped in the skin of someone you used to love.

He used to be yours.

The boy who’d race across districts just to find that one ridiculous snack you were obsessed with because the local mart ran out. The one who never let you cry alone, whose hoodie always smelled like laundry powder and peanuts, who sat silently beside you, his arm around your shoulder, steady as a heartbeat.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. He wasn’t the one who once turned to you, eyes soft and sure, and said, I love you.

Not anymore.

But somehow, even through the pounding in your chest and the sting behind your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel it, that awful, twisting weight in your stomach. Guilt.

Because he was right.

You had left him first. You had pulled away. When he needed you the most, you had shut down, locked the door, and disappeared behind your own fear.

He was scared. Of course he was. Scared of leaving everything behind. Scared of starting over in a place where no one knew his name or the way he liked his coffee or how he bit his lip when he was nervous. Scared of being alone in a country halfway across the world. And the only person he had counted on to be his constant, you, had walked away.

-

6 YEARS AGO

Heeseung’s palms were sweating. His grip on the bouquet tightened, the white petals of the daisies trembling ever so slightly, your favourite flower. He glanced at his watch, then at his shoes, then back again, heart pounding louder with each passing second. It was noon. You’d be here any moment.

And he felt like he might be sick.

Just yesterday, everything had changed. His parents had sat him down with carefully measured smiles and voices too gentle to be comforting, ‘We’re moving to Canada. It’s a good opportunity. It’s what’s best for the family.’

But what about him? What about you?

His throat turned dry, mouth full of words he didn’t know how to say.

Today was supposed to be your first date. The start of something new, something real. Just two days ago, he’d stood under the willow tree with shaking hands and a confession written at the back of his hand. Then, he’d told you he liked you. And you had kissed him for the first time. 

This day was meant to be perfect. But now, all he could feel was the weight of goodbye on his shoulders and it stunk.

And then there you were.

Pretty as ever, like he hadn't just found out his universe was crashing just the day before. You waltzed into view with a skip in your step, a loose, ribboned blouse tucked into jeans, your hair tied up in a ponytail that swayed with every bounce. Your eyes were wide, full of light, full of him, and everything in you screamed excitement for the day ahead.

“Flowers?” you grinned, raising a brow. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

Heeseung’s lips curved before he could stop them. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

And just like that, the knot in his chest loosened. Just like that, he remembered how you always made him feel. Like everything was okay even when nothing was.

Then you smiled. And he was wrecked all over again.

You reached out, fingers finding his, lacing them together. “So…” you murmured as your hands swung between you, “where we going today?”

“I’m not one to spill secrets.”

“Oh? And is it a crime to wonder what my best friend has planned for our very first date?”

Heeseung winced playfully, biting his lip. “God, the word friend is starting to drive me insane.”

You laughed, soft and teasing. “Well, you haven’t actually asked, so I can’t just go around calling myself your girlfriend. That’d be… desperate.”

“You could reek of desperation,” he said, gaze steady, “and I think I’d still be in love with you.”

You let out a low whistle, raising a brow. “Damn. Dropping the L bomb already?” You leaned in with a crooked grin. “Didn’t peg you as a simp, Lee.”

“And I didn’t peg you as a hater,” Heeseung shot back, his smile matching yours.

Heeseung led you down a winding trail, hand in hand, until the trees parted to reveal a quiet creek. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves. A few couples lounged on checkered blankets, laughter drifting through the breeze. It was peaceful, idyllic.

“Ta-da,” he said, stepping aside with a grin so wide it made your heart stutter.

Before you was his surprise: a small picnic set up just for the two of you. A rattan mat stretched across the grass, a modest basket nestled in the middle. Inside were some store-bought sandwiches, your favourite yoghurt drinks, and tucked beside it all, two small square canvases with a neat set of watercolours.

“We’re painting,” he announced proudly.

You stared at him, then burst into laughter. “So we’re being secretive and artsy now? Who are you and what have you done with Lee Heeseung?”

He nudged your shoulder, feigning offense. “Hey, I can be romantic.”

“Oh please, you totally stole this off Pinterest.”

“Guilty,” he admitted shamelessly. “Honestly, it’s a miracle I even got Jongseong to help set this up while I distracted you.”

As if summoned by name, Jongseong emerged from behind a tree with a dramatic sigh.

“I swear, I do the darndest things for you,” he muttered, stepping into view, brushing off invisible dirt. “Now enjoy, lovebirds. Just remember, if the ravens start circling and steal your food, don’t come crying to me.”

The two of you had spent hours painting and teasing, talking over each other, laughing so hard it echoed off the trees.

“That’s supposed to be me?” you scoffed, squinting at his canvas. “Why are my eyes two completely different sizes?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Heeseung said, scandalised, snatching the canvas back. “Stop looking at mine!”

“I can’t help it! It’s like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.”

“Oh, like yours is any better?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “Why are my eyes so far apart?”

“They’re not!”

“They’re a mile away from each other,” he groaned, holding his face dramatically.

You gasped. “I think they look nice!”

“You made me look like E.T.!”

“They look nice, you’re just picky!” you snapped, pointing at the eyes you’d painted. “They’ve got that same sparkle your eyes have! See? Both pretty.”

He blinked. Then his cheeks turned pink. “So you do think my eyes are pretty.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You just said that.”

“No, I said my painting was pretty.”

“Oh, so now we’re pretending?” he drawled, a slow smile curving on his lips. “We kissed two days ago, and you’re back to acting like calling me pretty is a scandalous revelation? Pretending we’re just best friends again?”

His arm brushed behind you, anchoring against the mat, his body leaning a little closer, warm and steady beside yours.

You swallowed hard. “Well… you are my best friend.”

“Am I?” His voice was softer now, like velvet.

You nodded, a breath catching in your throat. “Y-Yes.”

He hummed, tilting his head. “That’s a pity. I really liked kissing you.”

Then he leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips and you froze. You waited, heart pounding, lips parted slightly, breath shallow. Eyes fluttering closed.

And then…

Nothing.

You opened your eyes to find him gone, leaned back with a smug grin and the audacity to be laughing.

“You fucking asshole,” you hissed, shoving him with a pout, arms crossed tight across your chest.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Heeseung wheezed, still laughing as he reached for your wrist, trying to pull you back.

You turned away, refusing. “You just love embarrassing me.”

“Aww, come on, I was joking.” He bumped his shoulder gently into yours, trying to peek at your face. “You looked so cute.”

“You just want to humiliate me for your own selfish amusement.”

“Aw, baby, please—I was kidding—”

You both froze.

Baby.

Your head turned slowly. “What did you just call me?”

“Nothing.”

“You called me the b word.”

“I’d never call you a bitch,” he said quickly.

“No, not that b word.”

“Best friend?”

“Heeseung.”

“Okay, okay,” Heeseung said, hands raised in surrender, the corners of his lips still twitching with that smug, boyish grin of his. “Fine.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretched tight between you like a string neither of you wanted to pull too hard in case it snapped. The leaves rustled above, a soft hush from the wind, but you couldn’t hear any of it over the way your heart was pounding.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual but your voice still came out sharper than planned. “If you’re not gonna ask me to be your girlfriend, then fuck it.”

He blinked, startled. “Huh?”

You turned your body fully to face him now, cheeks hot, but your eyes steady. “Heeseung?”

He straightened a little, eyes narrowing in confusion, like he wasn’t sure if he was being messed with. “What?”

Your lips curled upward, small but sure. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Heeseung stared.

And for a moment, there was nothing. No cheeky remark or flirty deflection. Just silence.

You hadn’t expected silence. You were bracing yourself for a grin, for the way he’d pull you into a hug and say yes like it was the easiest thing in the world. But he didn’t.

“Hee?” you said softly, your voice faltering, a knot of dread starting to twist in your chest. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I… can’t,” he whispered, barely audible.

You blinked. “What?”

Heeseung’s gaze dropped to the rattan mat between you. His fingers curled into the fabric like he could steady himself with something solid, something real, but the words still caught in his throat. How was he supposed to say it? How could he tell you now after everything? After the daisies. After telling you he loved you. After you asked him that question.

“I’m leaving,” he said, suddenly. The words spilled out like they’d been choking him.

You laughed, but it was hollow, disbelieving. “Leaving?"

“My dad,” he murmured, eyes still downcast. “He got a job offer. In Canada. We’re moving. I’m going with him.”

You sat there for a second, like the wind had been knocked out of you. And then you swallowed hard.

-

You hated reliving that memory.

It haunted you in quiet moments, when the house was too still, when a familiar song played, when someone said his name by accident and the air shifted. That gnawing, hollow ache of losing your best friend. The ache of watching someone who once felt like home turn into a goodbye you never got to say properly.

You’d stopped talking to him not out of cruelty, but because every word felt like watching him slip further away. Because you were scared. Because it hurt. Because loving him and losing him at the same time felt unbearable. You were selfish, and you understood that now. But he was leaving. And what did a couple of teenagers really know about long distance? About staying in love through time zones and silence?

You told him that. You stood there crying and told him it wouldn't work. That it was better to end it before it hurt more. He shook his head. He believed that if you loved each other enough, you could survive anything.

But what could you have given him that would make him stay?

You were no one special. Just a girl. And deep down, you’d convinced yourself he deserved better, someone who could give him everything he was reaching for.

Your own insecurities… they were the cracks that broke everything apart. And by the time you realised that, by the time the fog of fear cleared and you understood what you’d done, he was already gone.

Instead of blaming yourself, you clung to bitterness. You told yourself he was the one who left without saying goodbye. You told yourself he should’ve told you the date, that he should’ve made it clearer. You told yourself that if you had known, you would’ve run to him. That you would’ve fought harder.

But he didn’t tell you.

 And you didn’t ask.

 And that was the end of it.

You sent message after message after he left. DMs, texts, half-drafted emails, all swallowed by silence. No reply. No closure. You watched his life unfold through your screen. New friends. New places. A girlfriend.

He looked happy.

And in some twisted, aching way, you knew you had done the right thing. You had let him go.  And maybe he was never yours to keep.

-

PRESENT

“Did you eat the last cronut in the pantry?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you kicked Jake’s shin under the table.

He flinched and gave you an innocent look that was anything but. “Nope. I think that Ni-ki kid did.”

“Aw, man,” you groaned, sinking further into your chair.

The two of you were slouched in the company conference room, half-heartedly going over the slides for a pitch that your project manager, Park Sunghoon, had asked you to prepare. The room was quiet except for the tapping of your laptop keys and Jake’s occasional groan of disapproval whenever a client email annoyed him.

Then your elbow nudged into his side. “Hey, do you think Park Sunghoon’s hot?”

Jake barely glanced up. “He’s alright.”

“Alright?” You stared at him like he had personally offended you. “Dude, look at him. Jawline? Chiseled. Eyes? Big and brooding. And those muscles—my God, I can see them through his shirt.”

You pointed through the glass wall of the conference room where Park Sunghoon stood in conversation with another colleague, Jungwon, looking far too polished for a Thursday.

Then a throat cleared behind you.

You froze. Jake froze.

The two of you slowly turned around to find Heeseung standing at the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face and a very prominent vein pulsing in his jaw.

Your squeal was high-pitched and unmistakably guilty.

“Mr Lee! We were just working,” Jake said quickly, voice smooth but eyes flickering with panic.

You didn’t say a word. Still not speaking to Heeseung. Not after what he had essentially made you do.

Heeseung shifted awkwardly in the doorway, scratching the back of his neck like he wished he’d knocked first. “I—uh—I need one of you to be my assistant for tomorrow’s meeting in Busan.”

“Busan?” Jake blinked, his brows lifting. “I can’t. I’ve got that strategy consult with Sunoo.”

Then Heeseung turned to you. His voice gentled, just slightly. “You?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes fixed on your laptop screen, fingers still tapping random nonsense into the spreadsheet just to look busy.

“I’ll get a car to pick you up at eight,” he said, hesitating like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t.

You nodded again. Still didn’t look at him. And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, but his presence still hung heavy in the air like the scent of cologne he always wore.

Jake let out a long, low whistle. “You guys are so dead.”

-

Heeseung had told you to pack light. Light, as if you weren’t being dragged into a two-day conference in Busan with the human equivalent of the devil. Unfortunately, there was no suitcase small enough to prepare you for the storm of spending that much uninterrupted time with Lee Heeseung.

It was 6 in the morning, and the sky was still the kind of grey that made everything look sleepy and slightly unreal. You stood outside your apartment building, rubbing your eyes, a hat over your messy hair.

Jake stood beside you like a 1960’s housewife sending off her husband. Dressed in a hoodie tossed over his pyjamas, yawning every three minutes, he looked one gust of wind away from collapsing back into bed.

“You can go back inside and sleep, Jake.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “but I need to see you get into the car safely or I’ll assume someone kidnapped you and I can’t pay rent alone.”

“You could just say you care about me.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Jake grinned. “God, you’re shivering,” he muttered, before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders without another word.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Right as Jake tucked the jacket around you, the window rolled down, revealing Heeseung behind the wheel.

You blinked. “I thought you were sending over a car.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Heeseung said coolly. “So I’m driving us there.”

Your jaw dropped. “You want me to sit in a rolling asylum with you for five hours?”

“Just get in,” he said with an eye roll, already unlocking the doors.

You turned to Jake dramatically. “If I don’t make it back, it means Heeseung has killed me and buried my body in the woods.”

Jake snorted. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said, before softening. “But seriously, text me every hour just so I know you’re alive.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Bye! Be safe!” he called out, watching as you reluctantly opened the passenger door and slid in, still wrapped in his jacket.

And just like that, the trip began.

-

The first hour passed in heavy silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of your legs adjusting uncomfortably or the low hum of the road beneath the tyres. You stared out the window, arms folded, trying to pretend you weren’t painfully aware of Heeseung sitting just inches away.

Then, out of nowhere, he cleared his throat. “So… are you and Jake together?”

You choked on your own saliva, coughing into your elbow as you glared at him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Heeseung nodded, unbothered, eyes fixed on the road.

Another three minutes of silence wrapped around the car. You sighed, leaning your head against the window.

“But if you must know,” you muttered, “no. We’re not.”

“Oh,” he replied, nonchalant. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You turned to him, brow raised. “Never had a female friend before?”

His lips quirked. “Had one. Just like you. In fact, I think it was you.”

That shut you up.

-

You trailed behind Heeseung, dragging both your suitcase and his, the wheels rattling against the tiled floor. Somewhere along the line, you'd just… assumed this was your role for the trip. His assistant. His shadow. His indentured servant, thanks to that ridiculous contract or what would’ve been a $20,000 debt hanging over your head if you refused.

You didn’t complain. Not out loud, at least. But inside, you were already cursing every single decision that led you here.

But before you could even reach the hotel lobby, Heeseung turned around and without a word, took both suitcases straight out of your hands.

“I can do—” you started, blinking.

“Shh,” he said, not even looking at you as he cut you off with a single syllable, raising one hand dismissively.

You stared at him, stunned, as he coolly rolled the two bags into the hotel. Like you hadn’t spent the last hour building him up in your head as the undefeated king of petty power plays.

And now he was carrying your luggage.

You hated that your heart skipped a little.

“I have a reservation Under Lee?” Heeseung said to the hotel receptionist, casually placing both suitcases beside the counter.

You stood just behind him, twiddling your thumbs and trying not to look like someone being dragged into a hostage situation.

“Oh!” the receptionist squeaked, her eyes lighting up. “Lee Taehyun, right? This must be your beautiful new bride! You two look so good together!” She beamed, completely unaware of your soul leaving your body. “And for newlyweds, we actually have a special promotion going on, rose petal turndown service, champagne on ice, and, of course, a complimentary aphrodisiac dessert to spark the honeymoon magic.” She winked.

You sputtered. “No. No, no. Absolutely not. We’re not Lee Taehyun or Lee whatever-he-is. We are Lee Heeseung. Could you please check that instead? Thank you.”

Heeseung scoffed beside you. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” you hissed, turning toward him with wide eyes. “She was about to sell us off to the forest spirits and feed us magical truffles so we could get pregnant and return here every anniversary for the rest of our cursed lives.”

Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples like he’d heard this exact flavour of overthinking from you a hundred times before. “Still as dramatic as ever.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away. Okay. Maybe you had gone a little off the rails with the cursed honeymoon fantasy, but still. Aphrodisiacs? Really?

“…Whatever.”

“Oh, right!” the receptionist chirped, tapping away at her keyboard. “Here we have it—a suite reserved for Mr Lee and his girlfriend.”

Heeseung blinked. “Suite?”

She nodded, all smiles. “Yes, sir. One king bed, ocean view, complimentary couple’s spa vouchers. Booked by a Mr Park Jongseong.”

Heeseung’s eye twitched. “No, that can’t be right. I got Jongseong to reserve two single rooms.”

She frowned, double-checking the screen. “I’m afraid this is all we have under your name. Mr Park Jongseong booked you a suite.”

Heeseung let out a slow exhale, the kind that clearly said I’m going to murder someone when this is over.

Fucking no-good Park Jongseong, he thought, gripping the edge of the counter. Ruining my life once again.

“Well, can you change it to two single rooms?” Heeseung asked, voice strained but still clinging to the last threads of patience.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said with an apologetic smile. “That suite is the only room available tonight.”

“No, but—”

“It’ll be fine. Thank you!” you cut in brightly, grabbing the room key from the counter before he could dig himself deeper. You turned and started walking toward the elevators without looking back.

Heeseung followed, flabbergasted. “How is this fine?”

“Oh, relax,” you said, pressing the elevator button. “We’re just sharing a room.”

“Ten minutes ago, you looked horrified at the idea of someone thinking we were a couple, and now you’re suddenly fine with us sharing a bed?”

You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Oh, we’re not sharing a bed. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

He scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are. I’m a woman.”

“And you also owe me $20,000.”

You turned your head sharply toward him, narrowing your eyes.

Heeseung smirked. The elevator doors slid open. This was going to be a very long trip.

-

This was one of the rare times you’d seen Heeseung serious and you hated to admit it, but it was kind of… annoyingly attractive. The way he stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, voice steady and low as he discussed strategy and projections like he actually cared. His posture, his tone, the faint crease between his brows, it all screamed quiet authority.

“I heard you’re quite the hopeless romantic, Mr Kim,” Heeseung joked mid-discussion, flashing a polite smile.

Mr Kim, a big-shot client who’d made waves in the industry, chuckled. He was currently planning to invest in a luxury jewellery company as a surprise anniversary gift for his wife. Conveniently, Aureum had just acquired one of the most prestigious jewellery lines in the country. Heeseung saw it as a win-win.

“Well, I’m sure you’d understand, Mr Lee,” Mr Kim replied, eyes glinting knowingly.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Of course.”

The truth? He was bluffing. Completely. 

Heeseung had heard stories from others who’d worked with Mr Kim, he valued authenticity, sentiment, sincerity. The only reason the man was even entertaining a partnership with Aureum was because Heeseung had, against every corporate bone in his body, lied and said they were alike. That he too was deeply in love, devoted to his long-term partner.

Meanwhile, you were perfectly content by the buffet table, happily snacking on hors d’oeuvres. Free food, no responsibilities? You were thriving.

“I’d love to meet her,” Mr Kim said suddenly, sipping his drink. “You said you brought her here today?”

Heeseung hesitated for only a beat before nodding. “Uh, I did.”

Mr Kim looked around. “Where is she?”

There was a long, tense pause. Heeseung glanced around the room, praying for a miracle. Then his eyes landed on you, halfway through chewing a mini tart, looking entirely unbothered and, in his opinion, far too cute for your own good.

“There,” he said, pointing. “She’s right over there.”

Mr Kim followed his gaze and smiled. “She’s beautiful. Seems just like what your type would be.”

Heeseung forced a smile, hand loosening slightly around his glass.

God, you were gonna kill him.

Then you wandered over, completely unaware of everything, happily licking tart crumbs off your thumb. “Have you tried the tarts?” you said cheerfully. “They’re so good.”

Heeseung turned to you. “There you are,” he said, voice dripping with sudden warmth. It was…weird. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, but he was already putting on his best smile. “I was just talking about you to Mr Kim.”

You blinked, gaze shifting to the man in front of you. Oh. Mr Kim. You knew who he was. Big client. Even bigger deal.

You quickly bowed. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Ah,” Mr Kim said, smiling warmly. “Heeseung tells me about you all the time.”

Your head snapped toward Heeseung. “He has?”

“He told me you were beautiful,” Mr Kim continued, chuckling. “And I see now he didn’t lie.”

Your eyes narrowed just a fraction, head tilting. “He did?”

“You seem surprised,” Mr Kim said, raising a brow, clearly confused by the disconnect.

Then you felt a light poke on your back. Heeseung leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper against your ear. “Play along and I’ll let go of the $20,000.”

You straightened immediately, laughing a little too quickly. “Oh! I’m just surprised he talks about me, that’s all.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Mr Kim said warmly. “You’re beautiful. The two of you look beautiful together.”

And then you froze.

Beautiful together?

You gulped, lips twitching into a forced smile. 

Back in the hotel room, you slammed the door behind you, nearly tripping over your own suitcase.

“You’re insane,” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Heeseung.

“Look,” he said calmly, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it onto the couch, “just do this for two days, and I let go of the twenty grand. Seems like a win-win, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, jaw dropped. “I can’t even stand being in the same room as you for two days, and you want me to pretend I’m your fiancée? You are actually, clinically insane.”

Heeseung gave you a lazy smile, then leaned against the table. “The deal’s already done. Once these two days are over, you’re free. Mr Kim’s contract is worth a million dollars to the company. So either you suck it up and act like you're in love with me… or you pay me one million—plus the existing twenty thousand you already owe.”

You stared at him. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

Your brain scrambled for a response, but all it managed was a silent scream and a thousand curse words you couldn’t legally say out loud.

You gulped, glaring at him through gritted teeth. “…Fine.”

-

It was the night of the conference. The hotel ballroom was already packed, sleek suits, designer gowns, the clinking of wine glasses, and enough perfume to drown in. Just the thought of having to smile and lie to at least a hundred people about being Heeseung’s loving, devoted fiancée made your stomach twist.

Earlier, Heeseung had sent you to a nearby salon, muttering something about how he refused to walk in with someone who “looked like they just rolled out of a laundry pile.” You’d wanted to punch him. But now, walking out of the room, you… almost didn’t recognise yourself.

Your hair was done in a half-up ponytail, the rest curled into soft, elegant ringlets. The makeup was natural but glowing, and the pink dress they sent up fit so well, hugging the right places, flowing gracefully just at your knees. Pink ballet heels, delicate dangling earrings brushing your collarbones. You looked like you belonged here.

But you didn’t feel like it.

Heeseung had already left for the conference earlier, texting only once to tell you where to meet him and, of course, to not embarrass him.

Charming.

You stepped into the corridor, a bit dazed, and decided to take the longer route through the golf course. There was a lake just beyond the path. The air was crisp, the sky painted with fading pinks and purples. You’d never stayed anywhere this fancy before. It felt like walking through someone else’s life.

Then you spotted it.

A lady in a chef’s hat, sprinting awkwardly across the green grass, arms outstretched, chasing something. A blur of white darted ahead of her.

A rabbit.

Your eyes widened. Were they going to cook it? Serve it at dinner for the hotel guests? You knew people ate rabbit. You weren’t someone to judge—“let people eat what they want” was practically your moral code—but the way the rabbit bounced in terror, its tiny legs scrambling to escape?

No. Nope. Couldn’t do it.

Without hesitation, you lifted the hem of your dress and ran. Full sprint. Across the grass, heels sinking slightly into the dirt, heart thudding as you caught up. With an ungraceful lunge, you scooped the bunny into your arms.

“Please don’t kill him!” you cried, standing defensively in front of the chef.

The chef skidded to a stop, looking at you like you were the crazy one. “What?”

“I know he’s probably delicious, but please! Don’t do it!” You clutched the rabbit tighter. “He’s scared! Look at him!”

The woman blinked… then chuckled. “Miss.”

“I’ll give you money,” you blurted. “I don’t have much but I’ll transfer to you some, just please, let him go!”

She laughed harder now, motioning to the other side of the lawn. “Miss… the rabbit’s a family pet. We’re just trying to get her back into the hotel suite. You see?”

You followed her finger and saw another staff member standing sheepishly beside an open rabbit cage.

“Oh.”

The chef blinked at you for a second, startled, before her features slowly softened into a smile, wide, warm, the kind only older women could pull off.

You were still clutching the rabbit like it was a child in danger.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman said, chuckling as she approached you gently, palms raised like she didn’t want to startle you this time. “We’re not gonna cook the bunny.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “So… you’re really not going to cook him?”

She laughed, her whole frame shaking. “No, darling. This naughty girl escaped from our suite when the door was left open. We’ve been trying to catch her for the last twenty minutes. But thank you for your… enthusiasm.”

You looked down at the rabbit, who blinked lazily in your arms.

The chef stepped closer and gently took the bunny from your arms. But before she stepped away, she paused, looking at you with a fond smile.

“You’re too cute,” she said softly, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Such a kind heart, and so pretty too.”

And then the chef walked off, humming to herself, rabbit nestled contently in her arms like none of the chaos had just happened.

You glanced down at your watch—and froze.

“Crap!” you hissed, eyes widening. You were 10 minutes late. You were supposed to meet Heeseung 10 minutes ago, and knowing him, he probably already assumed you'd either bailed or spontaneously combusted. You lifted the hem of your dress and took off running, again, heels clicking wildly against the marble floor as you made a mad dash through the hotel.

-

Heeseung stood at the entrance of the ballroom, posture stiff, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit. His tie was perfect, his expression… not. He had done the early rounds, greeted the important names, planted the seeds for tonight’s main pitch, and now all he needed was his fake fiancée.

He looked down at his watch for the fourth time. Then toward the entrance. Then back at his watch. He groaned under his breath, jaw tightening.

Of course you were late. Of course you’d leave him hanging, tonight of all nights. He was already imagining himself pulling out his phone to text you a series of snarky messages when the ballroom doors opened. 

And then you stepped in.

Heeseung's breath caught mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything. Time didn’t slow down; it stopped. He swore the music dimmed just to make space for the sound of his heartbeat. There you were, framed by the golden light of the chandeliers, hair curled into soft, glimmering ringlets that fell perfectly over your shoulders. Your heels clicked gently against the floor, matching your earrings that caught the light with every step, brushing your collarbones like a secret. You looked perfect. 

And Heeseung? Heeseung forgot what air was. Forgot that this was a business event. Forgot that this was pretend. All he could think was that no one else in the room existed but you.

You made your way toward him, a little breathless, cheeks warm, your eyes meeting his with that familiar glint of mischief and irritation and something softer underneath. He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his collar like it was suddenly suffocating him.

“You’re… late,” he muttered, voice low, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably—because all he could think was how the hell do you look this pretty and expect me to act normal?

“I was trying to save a bunny,” you said, completely serious. Your brows were drawn together in the most sincere little frown, concern written all over your face like you were still thinking about the damn rabbit.

Heeseung blinked.

You had that look in your eyes, the one where they went all wide and sparkly and impossibly earnest. 

He was this close to melting. Just folding into your arms right then and there, because what the hell. Who gave you the right to be this pretty and this adorable? He wanted to squeal. He wanted to throw a chair. He wanted to tuck you under his coat and never let you do anything dangerous or heartbreaking or normal ever again.

But instead, he cleared his throat, forced his lips into a flat line, and muttered, “Yeah, well… you were still late.”

Pathetic. Even his pretend-annoyed voice sounded whipped.

-

Heeseung found himself standing beside Mr Kim near the open bar, both nursing glasses of champagne. The conversation had drifted from projections and sales to something lighter, more personal but Heeseung’s shoulders were still stiff, his eyes constantly flicking toward the far side of the ballroom to you.

You were talking to people. Merging into a circle of clients and industry professionals as if you belonged there. He watched as you laughed politely at something someone said, nodding attentively, gesturing animatedly when it was your turn to speak. He caught the way someone leaned in closer when you talked, how another man offered you a drink with a too-eager smile.

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“She’s quite charming,” Mr Kim said, following Heeseung’s gaze with a subtle smirk. “Looks like she’s handling herself just fine.”

Heeseung chuckled stiffly. “Yeah, she tends to make a good impression.”

Mr Kim smiled knowingly, taking another sip of his drink. “My wife was talking about someone like her earlier. Said she saw a girl in a pink dress out on the golf course and thought she was watching a Disney princess chase after a rabbit.”

Heeseung nearly choked on his drink.

“Begged the chef not to cook it,” Mr Kim added, clearly amused. “Turns out it was our family pet. Apparently your fiancée offered money to save it.”

Heeseung groaned under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the grin trying to creep up. “That sounds… exactly like her.”

“She’s adorable,” Mr Kim said warmly, his tone turning unexpectedly sincere. “Rare to see someone so real in a room full of people wearing masks.”

He paused for a beat, then added, “To be honest, I wasn’t sold on the jewellery deal at first. Didn’t see the heart in it. But my wife couldn’t stop talking about that girl—your fiancée. Said any company that attracts someone like her must be doing something right.”

Heeseung’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. His eyes found yours across the ballroom, animated and smiling as you spoke to a small group. For a second, something soft bloomed in his chest, something he hadn’t meant to feel.

He nodded once. "She's perfect."

-

The conference had gone better than expected, and the energy in the room had shifted to celebration,champagne flutes half-filled, smiles looser, jackets coming off shoulders.

“If I may,” Mr Kim said, standing tall at the front of the ballroom, his voice warm but commanding enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room, “I’d like to invite someone very special to say a few words.”

The chatter died down instantly.

“Him and his fiancée are the reason I’ve decided to move forward with our partnership with Aureum,” Mr Kim continued, smiling. “It wasn’t just the impressive numbers, or the sleek portfolio, or even the pitch, which, I’ll admit, was still excellent. It was the authenticity. The human touch. In a world full of polished presentations and rehearsed lines, it’s rare to meet someone who speaks like they still believe in what they do and that’s why I’m here.”

Then Mr Kim’s eyes flicked toward him, his smile widening just a little. “Mr Lee. Would you join us for a quick toast? Perhaps say something about your lovely fiancée as well?”

Heeseung froze.

You almost choked on the crabcakes you were devouring.

Heeseung��s hand froze mid-air, fingers curled slightly around the stem of his glass. His eyes widened just a fraction, enough for you to see the panic ripple beneath the surface of his carefully maintained expression.

He stood slowly, giving you one last glance like he was walking straight into a firing squad, and made his way to the front of the room.

Mr Kim clapped him on the back. “I’ve always admired honesty, Mr Lee. Let’s hear what love sounds like from someone living it.”

Heeseung stepped up to the mic.

The room quieted. The seconds stretched. You watched his throat bob, watched the slight tremble in his fingers where they gripped the edge of the podium. He was freezing.

And Mr Kim noticed.

The man tilted his head, expression beginning to shift, curiosity folding into doubt.

You stood.

Heeseung’s eyes found yours immediately. And you didn’t think. You just walked.

You made your way up to the stage, your heels clicking softly against the ballroom floor, your heart pounding. You reached him, gently touched his arm, and turned to the mic. Heeseung stepped aside without a word, his jaw still tight.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice light but clear. “My fiancé’s not really used to a big crowd.  He’s the kind of guy who can negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking, but ask him to express a single human emotion in public and he acts like he’s being held hostage.”

A soft laugh rippled through the room.

You turned slightly, your gaze catching Heeseung’s from the corner of your eye. 

“Well...uh...Heeseung and I… we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember,” you began, “Then at the age of 18 left me for Canada. Canada. Can you imagine? Leaving this—” you gestured to yourself with mock offense, “—for Canada?”

The crowd laughed, a ripple of amusement breaking through the room.

You smiled, softer this time, your voice dipping gently. “We drifted after that—stopped talking, stopped being us. And then… he came back. Somehow, we reconnected, and, as fate would have it, he was actually even more insufferably annoying than I remembered.”

Another laugh bubbled from the audience, gentler this time.

“He knew exactly how to push my buttons. He was cocky, arrogant… God, I hated him. Made me do the dumbest things. Made me run the craziest errands. Like, have you ever seen someone counting exactly 50 blueberries in the middle of a supermarket? If you have, that was probably me.”

The room stilled, the laughter fading like it had never been there. The shift was subtle—just the way attention turned sharper, the way even the background music felt like it had lowered itself into a hush.

“But somehow…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. You turned your head fully, locking eyes with Heeseung, and the noise of the room blurred around the edges.

“After all those years, after all the silence… I realised something.”

You drew in a breath, one that trembled slightly on the way out. “I blamed him for so much time lost. I blamed him for leaving, for not telling me when, for not trying harder. But I forgot…”

You paused. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, but it needed to be said.

“I forgot to blame myself,” you whispered. “And I never apologized.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the mic. The words felt raw, too honest, and somehow… exactly why you had hated him back then. Because loving him hurt, and you didn’t know how to carry that without turning it into anger.

Heeseung’s expression shattered—composure gone, his eyes soft and stunned, like you’d touched a place inside him he thought you’d never reach again. There was something breaking open in his gaze. Something unspoken but unmistakable.

“Till now,” you finished, voice barely above a whisper.

And then, with the ache growing full in your chest, your eyes still locked on his, you breathed into the mic.

“I’m sorry.”

The word hung in the air louder than you intended. You wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek, hoping no one noticed. But then it hit you, you were still on stage. Still holding the mic. Still standing under a literal spotlight in front of dozens of clients and colleagues.

You cleared your throat and plastered on a small, tight smile. “And of course,” you said lightly, forcing the laugh into your voice, “none of this would have happened if we weren’t madly in love and getting married in exactly” ,you glanced at your imaginary watch, “three months and four days. But who’s counting? Apparently, bridezilla herself!”

The crowd laughed. A few people even let out soft awws, and someone near the front clapped.

You gave a stiff little bow, muttered a quick “thank you,” and then got off the stage.

And ran.

You had somehow found your way back to the golf course. You walked faster, heart pounding, heels sinking slightly into the grass. You didn’t want him to find you. Not like this. Not when your walls were crumbling and your heart was screaming things you weren’t ready to say out loud.

But then, a hand gripped your wrist, gentle and firm, stopping you in your tracks. You spun around, startled, only to find Heeseung behind you. 

“What you said back there,” he said, voice low, shaking slightly, “did you mean it?”

“What?” you blinked. “I was just lying to get him off our backs. You know. I was doing my job as your fake fiancée, remember?” You tried to laugh it off, but it came out hollow.

Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “It didn’t seem like a lie.”

You scoffed, looking away. “I was just tryna get the $20,000 off my back, Heeseung.”

“You still love me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was raw now.

You froze. “No, I don’t—”

“Stop lying to yourself!” Heeseung shouted, the words cutting through the quiet night, raw and ragged, like something inside him had finally broken loose. “Stop lying to me! I can’t take this anymore!”

His voice echoed across the empty golf course, full of something desperate and real, something that made your chest tighten and your breath catch.

“That girl…” he said, voice cracking, “that girl I was in love with… who I still am in love with—she’s in there somewhere. I refuse to believe she didn’t show up at the airport.”

“Heeseung,” you breathed, eyes wide, frozen in place.

“Why?” His voice wavered. “Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you show up? Why did you just… shut me out after I told you I was leaving—”

“Because!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you finally let it spill. “Because I’m selfish!”

Heeseung paused, taken aback. His brows pulled together.

“I didn’t want to get hurt,” you whispered.

“That’s not the truth,” he said quietly.

“It is,” you insisted, but your voice wavered.

Heeseung shook his head, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours. “You’re lying.”

You ran a trembling hand through your hair, your voice cracking as you looked away. “Fine! You want the truth? You really want to hear it?”

Your chest rose with a sharp breath, the words clawing their way up. “It’s because I thought… I thought if you stayed, I’d ruin you.”

You turned, eyes burning as they met his. “You were 18, Heeseung. 18. You were so smart. You had this whole brilliant, blinding life ahead of you. A future so much bigger than anything I could give you. And me?” Your voice broke. “I was scared I’d be the reason you didn’t shine. That you’d look back one day and realise you settled.”

You swallowed hard, “So I let you go. Because it felt easier to lose you than to stay and watch you wake up one day and realise you made a mistake by choosing me.”

Heeseung’s breath caught, his entire body tensing. “Why?” he asked, voice cracking, his voice growing louder each with each second passing by. “Why would you think I’d ever regret choosing you?”

You turned your face away, “Because I was scared, okay? I was 18. I was still trying to figure out who I was, let alone what I meant to you. And then suddenly I had to make a decision that felt like it would shape the rest of your life.”

You faced him again, voice rising with the ache in your chest. “You were leaving for this big, shiny life. New country, new people, new everything. And I—” You choked. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed and resented it.”

He stared at you like he didn’t even know how to speak. “What was good for me?” he echoed quietly, like the words were something sacred. Then louder, sharper—“You! You were! I fucking loved you so much, how could you not see that?”

“Then why didn’t you tell me when you were leaving!” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of years unsaid. “I would’ve come. I would’ve come, Heeseung. If I’d known—if you had just told me when—”

“Yes I did!” Heeseung’s voice cracked again. “I wrote it. In the letter.”

You froze. “What letter?”

“The letter I gave your mom,” he said, breathless. “The one I—God, I gave your mom a letter. I told her to give it to you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“What fucking letter?” you whispered.

“I gave your mom a letter,” he said again, quieter this time. “It had everything. The date. The time. Everything. I thought you didn’t come because you chose not to.”

“My mom… never gave me a letter,” you said softly, the words tumbling out like a secret you hadn’t known you were holding.

Heeseung’s eyes widened. “What?”

“If I did know, I would’ve shown up,” you continued, your voice cracking at the edges. “I would’ve told you not to go. I would’ve begged you to stay.” Your throat burned.

“I didn’t mean to leave,” Heeseung said quickly, shaking his head, his voice full of urgency. “God, I didn’t just leave. I waited. I waited until the last possible second. I looked for you until they started calling my name for final boarding.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, heart pounding. “Now I know you didn’t.”

Heeseung took a shaky step forward. “And now I know you didn’t ignore me. You didn’t walk away.”

You nodded slowly, unable to speak as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Before you could hide, before you could even wipe them away, Heeseung stepped forward and gently tugged you into him, his arms wrapping around you like they were made to.

He pressed your head to his chest, where his heart was beating fast and loud, just like yours. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other brushed against your cheek, wiping your tears.

Then, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for the shit I put you through.”

And this time, you didn’t hold back.

“I should've asked. I'm sorry.” you whispered back.

You tilted your face up to him, eyes still wet but softer now, like the storm inside you had finally started to settle. Heeseung looked down, gaze flicking between your tear-streaked cheeks and the curve of your lips, his thumb still gently resting beneath your chin.

And then you leaned in.

The both of you were hesitant at first. But the second your lips met, everything else slipped away. His hands in your hair, your fingers gripping his tie.

The kiss deepened. His fingers curled around your waist. Then, without warning, he tapped your thigh twice.

You understood immediately, jumping up as he caught you with ease. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, and he held you there, effortlessly.

Your lips never parted, not even as he turned and started walking, steady and sure. The golf course faded behind you, quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind.

He pulled back just enough to grin against your cheek. “As much as I like the idea of christening the 9th hole… I think we should take this somewhere less… open.”

-

The door clicked open behind you, but you barely registered it.

In one breath, Heeseung had you in his arms again, his hands firm at your waist, his lips crashing onto yours. There was nothing hesitant about it. Just years of built-up longing released in one desperate, searing kiss.

He guided you backwards gently, lips never parting from yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumbled slightly, gasping into his mouth, and he caught you with a quiet laugh, pressing you down with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Jongseong’s gonna have a field day with this one,” he whispered, grinning against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, Jake too.”

He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “Did you really have to mention Jake when I’m trying to put some moves on you?”

“You mentioned Jongseong first.”

“Yeah, but… Jake’s gross.”

“You’re just jealous.”

He scoffed. “What if I am?”

“Then you’re stupid, because Jake’s like a brother to me.”

“I wanna fire him.”

You snorted. “You can’t fire him without an actual reason, dumbass.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bed like the world had betrayed him personally. 

“This is so unfair. I fall for a girl and her emotional support dog comes in the same package.”

You rolled your eyes, hovering just above him with a smirk tugging at your lips. “Now are we making out, or are we gonna keep talking about our friends?”

“I definitely prefer the first option,” he muttered.

And then his hand slid to the back of your neck, and he pulled you down into him again, his lips meeting yours, firmer this time, no hesitation. Just heat and honesty and a kiss that felt like it had been years in the making.

-

Morning light spilled in through the hotel curtains, soft and golden, casting gentle shadows across the sheets tangled around your legs. You blinked slowly, the haze of sleep clinging to your lashes, the warmth beside you anchoring you to a reality that felt too perfect to be true.

Heeseung was still asleep, bare-chested, one arm slung lazily over your waist, hair a complete mess, lips parted slightly like he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. His face, usually so composed and sharp, looked peaceful like this. 

You smiled, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of his shoulder.

Then you sat up. And screamed.

“Heeseung!” 

 He jolted awake like someone had lit a fire under him. “What? What—what’s wrong?”

“We’re late! The breakfast meeting!”

For a second, you both just stared at each other, completely frozen in chaos. The clock read 8:43. The meeting started at 9.

“Shit.”

You scrambled to untangle yourselves from the sheets, clothes flying across the room as you grabbed the first items in reach, your skirt halfway zipped, his shirt buttoned all wrong.

Heeseung stumbled while trying to put on his socks, nearly falling face-first into the carpet. “Why didn’t we set an alarm?!”

“Because someone was too busy whispering sweet shit in my ear and kissing my shoulder for an hour.”

“Well excuse me for being emotionally available for once!”

You both raced around the room like it was on fire, bumping into each other, yanking open suitcases, swearing under your breaths, and then suddenly, just as you were jamming a shoe onto your foot, Heeseung grabbed your wrist and spun you toward him.

“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Just one. Please.”

You blinked. “Hee, we don’t have time.”

“Just one,” he whispered, already leaning in. “One kiss.”

You sighed. Let your hands wrap around his collar as he kissed you, messy, rushed, and full of everything you’d both been too stubborn to say for years.

When you finally pulled away, both of you slightly dazed, Heeseung grinned. “Totally worth it.”

You smacked his arm. “Let’s go, idiot.”

And hand in hand, grinning like fools, you bolted for the elevator.

-

It’d been a few days since everything had changed. Since the night on the golf course. Since the hotel room. And since well, you and Heeseung had…done stuff. Multiple times.

You weren’t official but you were… together. Always orbiting each other like you were tethered by something invisible. No one knew. Not Jake. Not your team. And definitely not HR, which, unfortunately, was Park Jongseong himself, a man with a love for company policies and a suspicious sixth sense for office romance.

And so, here you were. In the office pantry with Jake, who was minding his coffee.

Jake nudged your elbow as he poured milk into his mug. “So, how was the trip with the devil himself?”

You sipped your coffee. “It was fine.”

“Fine? Really?” Jake squinted at you. “Damn, I thought you were coming back with at least three things I could use to file an anonymous complaint.”

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Y’know… actually, he’s not that bad.”

Jake slowly turned to face you. “Not that bad? He made you pretend to be a floor tile.”

You winced. “Okay, yeah, but—look, we were both kind of crazy. I spat in his coffee once, so like… we’re even.”

Jake nearly dropped his mug. “Even?” He stared at you like you’d just told him you’d taken up sword-swallowing as a hobby. “Who are you right now—wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, wait—oh no.”

You froze.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. The two of you hooked up, didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth then closed it. 

Jake looked personally betrayed, “I knew it. I knew you were all weird this week! Who the hell goes to the janitor closet for breaks?”

You froze mid-sip, eyes darting away.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Heeseung was in there, wasn’t he?”

You blinked.

“Oh my god—you two did it in the janitor cl—EW!” Jake staggered back like the mental image physically harmed him. “I eat lunch near that hallway!”

You held up a hand. “First of all, we did not—”

“You hesitated! That was a hesitation!”

“Jake, if you don’t shut up, I swear I’m going to tell Jongseong you said his HR memo font choice was ugly.”

Jake rolled his eyes, lowering his voice only slightly. “Fine but just so you know, this doesn’t mean I like him. He’s still an asshole.”

You shrugged, sipping your coffee like this wasn’t the most ridiculous conversation you’ve had in weeks. “Good. Because he hates you too.”

Jake blinked. “What the fuck did I do?”

You shrugged, “Exist.”

-

Heeseung sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he finalised the proposal for Mr Kim. It was clean, sharp, every slide perfectly aligned to close the deal he’d been working for almost half a year. A deal that, according to the company group chat, had already been deemed one of the most high-profit wins in Aureum’s history.

He should’ve been riding the high of corporate glory.

But none of it really mattered. Not compared to the fact that he’d come back with you.

He tried to stay focused but every few minutes his eyes drifted upward, toward your little cubicle across the hall. You were hunched slightly over your desk, tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

He rested his cheek on his palm, watching you like an idiot. You were so pretty.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes met his, and instead of pretending he hadn’t just been caught openly simping, Heeseung grinned because ever since the two of you were unofficially official, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head, smirking. Then sent him a flying kiss.

Heeseung squealed. Audibly. And sent one right back with two hands like a dramatic fool.

And that was when the office door swung open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” came Park Jongseong’s voice, disgusted and traumatised all at once.

Right. Glass walls. Stupid, transparent, company-branded glass walls.

Heeseung sat up straight, clearing his throat. “I was… practicing.”

Jongseong blinked. “Practicing what, exactly?”

“…Nevermind."

Jongseong sighed and muttered "You're so weird,” before walking out.

Then the door opened again.

“Wait...I smell something,” Jongseong declared.

Heeseung didn’t even look up. “What?”

“A HR violation,” Jongseong said with a sniff, eyes narrowing.

As much as Heeseung loved Jongseong, god, the man could be such a self-righteous pain when it came to company policies.

“I don’t smell anything,” Heeseung said, typing without looking.

“No, no. I smell it. There’s a strong odor of office romance in the air and it reeks in here.”

“You must be sniffing yourself.”

“Oh please. This company only hires uglies.”

“You’re not the catch you think you are, Jongseong.”

“Yes I am,” he said with absolute confidence, “and I will find out who is reeking of romance. It’s horrendous.” Then, dramatically, he turned to Heeseung. “Is it you?”

Heeseung gulped, eyes twitching. “Couldn’t be me.”

Jongseong stared harder. “You’re right. You reek too much of a man who hasn’t gotten laid in three years because he’s been secretly in love with his subordinate.”

Heeseung blinked. Deeply offended, but smart enough not to give in. “Yeah sure. Whatever you say.”

Then, without warning, Jongseong spun and pointed directly at Jake, who had just walked in with his smoothie.

“It’s him!” Jongseong gasped. “He has the cheekbones for it. Look at him—he looks gorgeous. No way this man isn’t pulling chicks.”

“Cheekbones?” Heeseung scoffed. “They’re more like rotten apples. Don’t you think?”

“No. This man looks like he was carved by God himself.”

“Or the devil, actually.”

“No. Look at him,” Jongseong insisted, grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders and spinning him toward Jake. “He looks like a piece of Renaissance art with a gym membership.”

“He looks like three-day-old underwear.”

“You’re just jealous… because… oh my god.” Jongseong’s eyes widened, turning to face Heeseung fully. “He’s dating her, isn’t he?”

“What?” Heeseung looked at Jongseong like he’d just suggested he was secretly a lizard.

“That’s why you’re extra moody today,” Jongseong gasped. “Because Jake and her are together. And that leaves you all alone.”

Heeseung’s stomach flipped violently. He hated the image of you and Jake together. He hated the way Jongseong even said it like it made sense.

“They’re not together,” he snapped.

“Well, if they are, we could always just fire Jake,” Jongseong offered casually, sipping his coffee.

“We are not—” Heeseung paused. “Hold on. That’s a good idea.”

“Well, then she’d have to go too. Because, y’know, also dating Jake.”

“Oh. Right.” Heeseung grimaced. 

Jongseong raised a brow. “Not like you care though? You fucking hate her.”

“Actually, people change,” Heeseung muttered. “She apologized. She’s… not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Jongseong repeated slowly, squinting.

He looked at you through the glass. Then at Heeseung. Then at you again. Then back at Heeseung.

His mouth dropped open.

“It’s you,” Jongseong gasped, pointing between the two of you like he’d just cracked a government conspiracy. “It's you two!”

Before another word could escape his mouth, Heeseung shot up from his chair and launched himself at him.

Jongseong barely had time to react before Heeseung had tackled him into a makeshift headlock, one hand slapped over his mouth as the two of them stumbled into the corner of the office.

“Let go of me!” Jongseong struggled, flailing under Heeseung’s grip. “I have rights!”

“Not until you promise you won’t say a word!” Heeseung hissed, tugging on Jongseong’s shoulders and trying to wrestle him into silence while Jongseong kicked wildly at the air.

Outside the office, you and Jake stood with your coffees, watching everything unfold behind the glass.

Jake blinked. “What the hell do you think is happening in there?”

You shrugged, casually sipping from your mug. “No clue. Glass walls don’t help if they built the place like a soundproof aquarium.”

Back inside, Jongseong finally managed to pull Heeseung’s hand from his mouth long enough to shout, “I am a man of the people! I have to report this monstrosity!”

“Calm the fuck down,” Heeseung gritted through his teeth, still trying to keep him pinned. “You’re a HR manager, not Captain America.”

Jongseong wheezed, flailing. “The people must know!”

“The people can suck it!” Heeseung growled, still halfway wrestling Jongseong into the carpet.

“Jongseong, I swear to God, if you’re the next obstacle to us getting back together, I’m never forgiving you.”

“I—I—” Jongseong wheezed, still pinned beneath Heeseung’s arm. “When the hell did you get—so—strong?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “Pilates, bitch.”

Outside, you took another slow sip of your coffee, eyebrows raised. “Five bucks says Heeseung bribes him with cake to shut up.”

Jake nodded. “Ten if it’s that strawberry shortcake from the café downstairs.”

“Deal.”

Jongseong finally shoved him off, crawling backward until he could breathe. “Okay, fine!” he huffed, adjusting his rumpled blazer. “You seem pretty serious about her.”

Heeseung straightened, flicked his collar, and gave the smuggest little smirk. “I am.”

There was a pause.

Then, softer this time, “So please?” Heeseung added, meeting Jongseong’s eyes. “Could you just… keep it down?”

Jongseong looked at him. Then at you through the glass. Then back at Heeseung.

He sighed deeply, like he was about to betray his entire code of ethics. “Fine.”

Heeseung grinned. “Thank you.”

“But the second you start getting gross in meetings, I’m reporting both of you to HR which is me.”

“Deal,” Heeseung said, already pulling out his wallet. “Strawberry shortcake?”

Jongseong paused. “Extra whipped cream.”

Heeseung nodded. “Done.”

-

You knew it was a risk.

The moment Heeseung had grabbed your wrist in the hallway and tugged you into the janitor’s closet with that familiar look in his eyes, the one that always made your knees weak and better judgment nonexistent, you knew.

And yet here you were.

Pressed against the wall between a mop and a bucket, lips tangled with yours. His hands roamed your waist with urgency, and your fingers were tugging at his tie.

“This is your fault,” you whispered against his mouth.

“You kissed me first,” he murmured back, breathless, grinning.

“Because you looked hot during the finance meeting!”

“You said profit margin like it was a dirty word!”

You were about to argue when—

The door opened.

“Oh my GOD,” Jake’s voice rang out, horrified.

“What the hell—” Jongseong's words trailed off as he stepped in behind Jake, immediately shielding his eyes with a clipboard. “I knew it. I knew it! I’m reporting the two of you to HR.”

You scrambled to fix your blouse, cheeks burning. “Jake, shut the door!”

“You’ve scarred me. I need therapy.”

“Technically,” Heeseung said, calm as ever, “we’re on our ten-minute break.”

“That’s it,” Jongseong snapped. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you two doing something borderline illegal in the fucking mop closet. I’m reporting you. I’ve been way too tolerant.”

“How about a hundred bucks and we pretend this never happened?” Heeseung offered smoothly.

Jongseong paused. Then grinned. “Damn. Didn’t know I could go blind for ten minutes, but apparently, I can. Nice doing business with you.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, how about me? I can still report this to HR too!”

“You’re lucky I don’t fire your ugly ass on the spot.”

Jake scoffed. “I told you two months ago—I don’t want your ratty-ass girlfriend. You can stop being weird about it.”

“Ratty?” you gasped, hand to your chest like you’d just been stabbed.

Jake rolled his eyes. “You know I’m exaggerating. You’re the prettiest princess in the entire damn kingdom.”

You giggled. “Hee, apologise to him.”

“Absolutely not. He just called you pretty right in front of me.”

“Am I not pretty?” you asked, feigning offence.

Heeseung groaned. “You’re very beautiful. Which is exactly why we’re in this situation in the first place!”

“Well, then, could you please apologise to Jake?”

Heeseung sighed, dramatically pained. “Fine. I’m sorry, and I don’t hate you.”

Jake blinked. “…Thanks?”

“Now,” Heeseung said, already tugging the door shut again, “can we have five more minutes?”

“NO!” they both shouted in unison.

The door slammed shut anyway.

Jake stared at it, traumatised. “I’m never opening a janitor’s closet again.”

Jongseong nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen things. I need bleach.”

“Join the club.”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

omfg😭 sofa king cuteee🩷

Muted Desires || Choi Beomgyu

A Gryffindor who radiated light and laughter, yet craved the solace of quiet moments. A Slytherin who wore a mask of unshakable composure, concealing a heart warmer than anyone could guess.

Your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something more—a connection that felt too fragile to name.

But when a trip pulled you closer than ever, the boundaries began to blur. When Beomgyu stumbled into your orbit one night, bruised and battered, the distance you've maintained dangerously faltered.

As you tended to his wounds in the hushed intimacy of your hotel room, in that quiet, fleeting moment, the months of yearning and longing began to unravel, threatening to upend everything you’ve had carefully built.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 24.4k

pairing: gryffindor! Choi Beomgyu x slytherin! afab! reader

warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, og character, slight slowburn, sort of modern setting? they use phones, not your typical gryffindor-slytherin toxic relation, mention of other idols, amortentia, yearning and lots of yearning, tensions, drinking games, drinking, depictions of injury, physical fighting, wound care, probably missed some eh

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, fingering, kinda switch!reader, beomgyu is mostly dom!, multiple orgasms, slight pain kink, making out with a split lip, slow sex, a lot of feelings, protected sex (huzzah!)

I'm aware it's not the 13th anymore, but that's alright. Happy birthday to my aubade Choi Beomgyu. Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

©yunverie all rights reserved 2025 - do not steal, copy, translate or upload my work on other platforms

You were afraid of many things, but nothing frightened you more than how little you knew about him, yet the gentle smile he’d give you always managed to shake you off your orbit.

It wasn’t the bright, boisterous grin he wore like the stars when surrounded by others, no—it was rather a quiet, small downward curve of his lips—a smile that only ever seemed to find its way to you. As if it carried a secret, a silent gravity pulling you closer despite the careful distance you maintained. It was something muted, something that felt like both a promise and a question, drifting between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

The more you tried to look away, the more you found yourself drawn in. It was a dangerous feeling—the kind that settled beneath your ribs and grew roots before you even noticed. You should have known better. But when he looked at you like that, like he saw something in you worth knowing, worth staying for, your resolve wavered.

Your path with Beomgyu would have never intertwined if not for the entanglement of mutual friends. It was through them that you learned his name wasn’t just a name, that his reputation wasn’t just a reputation. It was through them that you found yourself in a space where his presence became an inevitability, where the quiet corners you once occupied alone were now shared.

Ever since Kai had stumbled upon the Room of Requirement, it had become your group’s refuge—a place that bent itself to your needs, where walls shaped themselves around whispered conversations and laughter softened by candlelight. You liked the quiet comfort of it, the way it allowed you to exist among others without being swept away. And yet, no matter how much you tried to stay on the fringes, Beomgyu was always there, impossible to ignore.

He was the kind of person who filled a room without trying. The kind whose presence was a gravitational force, pulling people in, setting them alight. His laughter rang out like the chime of a bell, his energy infectious. Charming. And yet, despite all of it, he never overwhelmed you. He never demanded your attention. He never reached for you. But somehow, he already had you in his orbit.

You weren’t sure when you started watching him the way you did. When admiration turned to curiosity, when curiosity turned to something far more treacherous. But once you noticed the cracks in his brilliance, the moments where exhaustion tugged at the edges of his expression, where laughter faltered just a second too soon—you couldn’t stop noticing.

The way his shoulders drooped ever so slightly after a long day, as if the weight of his own shine was something he carried alone. The way his fingers found the hem of his sleeve when praise was given too freely, pressing into the fabric like a tether. The way his gaze sometimes drifted, unfocused, as if he were somewhere else entirely, somewhere only he knew how to reach.

These were the things no one else seemed to see. But you did. And that, more than anything, terrified you.

Across the room, Beomgyu laughed, leaning back in his chair in that uncurbed way he always did, balancing it on its hind legs like gravity meant nothing to him. The others hung onto his every word, drawn into whatever story he was weaving, their delight feeding off his light. And you—you sat with an open book in your lap, the words forgotten, your gaze betraying you each time it sought him out.

Then, as if sensing it, Beomgyu looked up. The world didn’t stop, not really. But for a breath, it felt like it did. His grin softened, just enough that it wasn’t for them, but for you.

And then it was gone. He turned back to his audience, spinning another tale, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

Despite everything, to you, Beomgyu remained just out of reach. He was there, always there, and yet—not quite. Like something ephemeral, like light breaking through water—close enough to touch, but never enough to hold.

Later that night, long after the room had emptied, you found him before the fireplace, his usual exuberance dimmed to something quieter, softer. He sat cross-legged on the rug, a pencil in hand, sketching into a worn notebook balanced against his knee. The firelight painted golden warmth onto his face, casting shadows beneath his lashes, softening his features.

You had seen him in a hundred different ways, but this—this was new. This was a Beomgyu stripped of performance, lost in a world of his own making. You wondered—if you reached for him, if you spoke his name now, would he finally let you in?

You hesitated by the doorway, caught between the pull of curiosity and the instinct to retreat. He hadn’t noticed you yet, absorbed in whatever he was sketching—it made you feel like you were intruding on something intimate, something not meant to be seen.

“Are you coming?” Yeonjun’s voice broke the stillness. He stood a few steps down the hall, arms crossed, watching you with mild curiosity.

You turned to him, and plainly said, "Go ahead. I forgot something inside."

Yeonjun’s gaze flickered toward the room, then back to you. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press either. “Alright. Don’t take too long,” he said before turning away, his footsteps fading into the corridor’s hush.

The silence settled again, broken only by the faint scratch of pencil against paper. You dallied a moment longer, watching the way his hand moved fluidly over the page. You found yourself losing into the abyss of mesmerization.

“I thought you were going to stand there all night.”

His voice cut through the quiet, as if gently holding your hands and pulling you back on your feet from falling off. Heat rushed to your ears, but you kept your composure, stepping inside as if his words hadn’t fazed you. "Shouldn’t you rest?" you asked softly, shutting the door behind you. "We have Potions in the morning."

He huffed a quiet laugh, far from the bright, unrestrained laughter he shared with others. “Needed some space,” he admitted. “Gets tiring being everyone’s entertainment.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him say something like that—openly acknowledging the burden behind the persona he carried so well for everyone. He glanced up at you then, and for the second time that night, his expression softened in a way that wasn’t meant for anyone else.

You hesitated before settling into the armchair nearest to him. “So this is what you’re like when you’re not stealing the spotlight.”

“Disappointed?” he teased, but there was no sharpness in it.

“No,” you said, more earnestly than you meant to. “It’s... different.”

He considered that, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the page. The moment stretched, and something about his silence made you self-conscious, so you added, a little softer, “A good different.”

His lips curved slightly. "You think so?"

You nodded, fingers curling over the armrest. “It suits you. This side of you.”

Beomgyu’s smile turned faintly self-conscious. His gaze dropped, as if he wasn’t used to hearing that. “Most people wouldn’t agree,” he murmured. “They’d probably think something was wrong if I wasn’t bouncing off the walls.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his hand fidgeted with the edge of the notebook. “Then they don’t really know you, do they?”

The words had left you before you could think twice, and for a moment, you regretted it—because how well did you know him, really? Yet, across from you, Beomgyu stilled. His fingers no longer toyed with the page. He seemed caught off guard, as if you had touched on something he hadn’t meant to share.

“I suppose you could say that,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The fire crackled softly between you. You felt an unexpected warmth—not from the hearth, but from the softness of his gaze. Your throat felt dry.

“What are you working on?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch too long.

He blinked, like you had pulled him from some far-off thought, and then he held up the notebook. The sketch was rough but intricate—a cluster of flowers, their petals curling at the edges, almost lifelike in their detail.

“You’re an artist?” you asked, surprised.

“Not really,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just draw sometimes. It’s nothing special.”

You leaned in slightly, studying the page. The flowers looked as if they could be plucked straight from the parchment. “It’s good,” you said. “More than good. Why do you downplay it?”

He let out a breath, closing the notebook with a quiet thud. “Habit, I guess. It’s easier to pretend it doesn’t matter than to let someone see that it does.” His voice was levelled, like he was testing the words.

You studied him, again realizing how little you actually knew about him—how much of Beomgyu was wrapped in layers you’d only seen hints of. The loud, playful version of him you’d become so used to was just that—a version. Here, in the firelight, he felt like something else entirely. The Beomgyu who carried more than he let on. The one who, despite his light, had shadows of his own.

He reminded you of an aubade. The thought came unexpectedly, lingering in your mind like the echo of a half-remembered song. Beomgyu thrived in the daylight, filling every space with his presence. But now, in this quiet, he was something softer. A melody that didn’t demand to be heard but stayed with you all the same.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until he tilted his head slightly. "What?"

You hesitated, the words caught on the tip of your tongue. But something about the way he looked at you—unguarded, open in a way you rarely saw—made you brave enough to speak. "You remind me of an aubade."

His brows knitted together. "An aubade?"

“It’s a poem or song for the morning," you explained. "Not just loud or bright—it can be quiet too. Steady. Beautiful in a different way."

Beomgyu’s expression shifted, the confusion giving way to something else. You braced for teasing, for a dismissive remark, but it never came. Instead, he looked at you like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with your words.

"You think I’m like that?" he asked, voice softer than before.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the seam of your sleeve in idle thought. "When you’re like this, yeah."

A quiet breath of laughter escaped him, small and surprised. He glanced away, thumb idly running along the edge of his notebook. "No one’s ever said anything like that to me before."

“It’s how I see you,” you said simply, surprised at how easily the words came. You turned toward the fire, suddenly aware of its crackling embers—but when you looked back, your breath caught. His gaze was on you, intense and intrigued, and for a moment, you wondered if he was studying you to understand what was beneath your facade, just the way you’ve been trying to understand him.

“You aren’t like what they say about you,” he said quietly, leaning back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You have a warm heart.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head. You knew what he meant. Your reputation had long preceded you, tangled in the legacy of your house. A Slytherin, one of the best in centuries, they said. Ruthless in duels, a prodigy in Defense Against the Dark Arts. People admired you, envied you, feared you. They spoke of you with awe or with caution, rarely anything in between. You had grown used to it—the wary glances, the hushed whispers, the way admiration and fear blurred so easily in their eyes. You became someone to either idolize or keep their distance from.

Even among those who considered themselves allies, there was always a distance. A line no one dared to cross. And though you had long learned to live with it, a part of you had always wondered—hoped, even—that someone might see past it. That someone might look at you and not just see the expectations, the legacy, the carefully maintained facade.

Maybe that was why Beomgyu’s words settled so deeply. Why, in that moment, you realized something you hadn’t before.

Perhaps you and Beomgyu were not so different after all.

The fire crackled softly. Beomgyu rested his chin on his hand, watching you with newfound curiosity. "An aubade," he repeated, testing the word. "I kind of like that."

His gaze lingered for another moment, and you swore the space between you shrank. But then he leaned back, breaking the moment with a quiet chuckle, his smile still carrying that touch of sincerity.

"I’ll have to remember that one."

When you returned to the Slytherin common room, Yeonjun’s waiting figure greeted you from the leather sofa. He pinned you with a blank stare as you passed, but you felt no need to share what had happened with Beomgyu. Some moments weren’t meant to be spoken aloud—they were meant to be kept. They were meant to be held close in your heart.

That night, you dreamt of gentle smiles and the hush of dawn’s song.

The library was unusually peaceful today—no hushed giggles from gossiping students, no rustling of hurriedly flipped pages. You took the opportunity of such a phenomenon's mercy and indulge yourself in reviewing your upcoming final’s notes. Though Transfiguration was a subject you didn’t quite dislike, it was still one of the hardest ones for you, hard enough to make you lose sleep over it trying to get everything perfect.  

Then, as if summoned by some cosmic force designed to disrupt your calm, a figure slid into the chair across from you, the deafening screeching of chair legs against the floor entirely unapologetic.

“Guess where they’re taking us for the vacation trip?” Yeonjun’s voice cut through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk, brimming with barely restrained excitement. His smirk was all mischief, eyes glowing under the dim light. “To Paris!”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You hadn’t even heard the professors announce anything yet. Which meant only one thing.

“How do you know that?” You narrowed your eyes at him, though you knew the answer. 

Yeonjun tapped a finger to his temple, his grin widening. “I have my ways.”

Of course, he did. Slytherins always did.

With a sigh, you shut your book, methodically packing your things. “That’s nice,” you murmured, slinging your bag over your shoulder as the two of you slipped into the corridor. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

Yeonjun let out a dreamy sigh, stretching his arms behind his head as you walked. “Ah, the city of love. Romance in the air, the Seine shimmering under moonlight… you, me, a rendezvous at a charming little café.” Then, after a beat, the corners of his lips tugged up revealing his canines into a sly smile, he drawled, “And maybe you’ll finally find love there.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I’m actually looking forward to finding some good chocolate croissants.”

Yeonjun snorted. He had a way of reading people, of slipping between their defenses with the ease of a snake in creeping waves. He never pried—he teased, but only when he knew you could handle it. And when he sensed something deeper, he didn’t push. He just gave you space to reveal what you wanted, when you wanted.

The corridor stretched ahead, bathed in golden afternoon light that streamed through the high-arched windows. Outside, past the courtyard, the Great Lake glimmered. Amidst the scattering of students, Beomgyu stood by the Great Lake with a few Gryffindors, chortling at something one of them said. They gathered around him, drawn to him, the way leaves surrendered to the wind.

“Sup, buddy!” Yeonjun called, raising a hand in greeting.

Beomgyu glanced up. His hand lifted in greeting, but the moment his gaze found yours a new, slow smile graced his lips. You had expected it by now—watching the way the mirth in his expression dimming into something more private.

You returned the wave, your own lips curving faintly, the warmth in your chest unfurling before you could push it away.

Yeonjun made a low noise beside you, a hum that bordered on amusement. “That guy will be with us on the trip,” he mused, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. “It’s going to be a lot livelier.”

You turned back to Beomgyu, watching the way he had already slipped back into conversation, laughing so brightly that drew his eyes in crescents. You took note of the contrast between that and when he wears the rare quietness around him like a comforting veil, when his eyes quietly shine like the full moon; and everyone knew that crescents could never rival the marvellous beauty of the full moon.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how Paris would be for him—always surrounded, always with someone calling his name. You wondered if he’d have a moment to himself at all.

As you stepped into your next class, that thought lingered. You found yourself hoping that, somehow, in the midst of all the noise, he’d get the chance to enjoy the trip in his own way.

A week before the trip.

Most of your exams were done, with only two remaining—Transfiguration among them. The mere thought of the library now, packed wall to wall with frantic students, made you cringe. The idea of fighting for a quiet corner, the hushed but ceaseless whispers fraying your patience, was enough to send you elsewhere. So instead, you chose the Room of Requirement, as you often did when solitude was a necessity.

Tonight, the room had shaped itself to your liking—a warm fireplace crackling softly, its amber glow licking at the dark wooden walls. Two comfortable couches sat near the hearth, but you preferred the floor, parchment and ink scattered around you in careful disarray. The lighting was warm and unobtrusive. Just the way you like it.

You had just settled into a focused rhythm, quill scratching against parchment, when the door creaked open. Your eyes flickered toward the entrance—a little too quickly—and you froze in place.

Beomgyu stepped inside, dark hair still damp, strands clinging to his forehead in careless disarray. He took in the room before his gaze landed on you, and that damn gentle smile surfaced. You blinked, raising a brow at his sudden unannounced appearance. You didn’t hate it, though. 

“Yeonjun told me I’d find you here,” he said, voice laced with something almost sheepish. “I need help with Transfiguration.”

Ah. That explained it.

You made a mental note to have a word with Yeonjun. His tendency to play messenger was starting to feel suspiciously intentional.

Still, before you could voice a response, your gaze betrayed you, drawn to the damp mess of Beomgyu’s hair—dark, soft, tousled in a way that shouldn’t be worth noticing. And yet, you couldn’t look away, caught in the way the dim firelight accentuated every stray lock, made them seem almost soft, and an overwhelming urge to run your fingers through them engulfed your mind.

Did he just come back from Quidditch?

"I did." His voice broke through your reverie, as he answered your unspoken question without a second thought.

Your stomach twisted in brief confusion. How did he—

Then you realized. You had said it aloud.

Mortification crept in, a slow, creeping heat crawling up your neck. You busied yourself with your parchment, adjusting the edges as if they needed perfecting. Anything to regain the upper hand. Anything to make it seem as though your thoughts hadn’t strayed.

Beomgyu dropped to the floor beside you with a quiet groan, stretching his arms overhead before flipping open his textbook. You wondered where he got such energy from to study right after his grueling quidditch practices. You yourself would have to take at least half a day break after slytherin’s quidditch practices before you gained back the motivation and will to even get up from your bed. 

"What can I help you with?" you asked, finding your voice again as you focused on your notes. The thought of helping him with Transfiguration wasn't so bad, you told yourself. There was no reason to turn him away—he was a friend, and if he needed your help, then so be it. 

"Professor says my conjuration spells are correct, but my wand movements are off. It’s frustrating. I know the theory—I just can’t seem to execute it properly." He admitted, rubbing his temple. 

You glanced at him. "Show me."

He raised a brow but obeyed, adjusting his grip on his wand. With a precise flick, he muttered the incantation under his breath. A flicker of magic pulsed in the air, but the form wavered, incomplete.

You caught the flaw immediately.

Shifting onto your knees, you moved toward him, your hand brushing over his wrist to adjust his stance. He stilled under your touch.

"Your wrist is too stiff," you murmured, guiding his hand into a looser hold. "You need to let the magic flow, not force it. Try again."

His gaze flickered to you—close enough that you could see the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, as if about to say something. But he only nodded.

He cast again, this time smoother, the flick of his wrist was more fluid. A bright shimmer sparked at the tip of his wand, and within seconds, a parrot materialized—vibrant green feathers ruffling as it stretched its wings before promptly flapping up and perching itself atop your head.

Beomgyu choked on a laugh, biting down on his bottom lip.

Unamused, you sent him a flat look.

"Real mature," you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips threatened to twitch.

"Sorry, sorry," he wheezed, not looking sorry at all. "Guess he likes you."

With a resigned sigh, you raised your wand, smoothly transfiguring the parrot into a sleek black hat, which dropped into your waiting hands. Then, with another flick, it morphed into a mirror, its polished surface reflecting Beomgyu’s grinning face. Finally, you uttered ‘Evanesco’, Latin for ‘disappear’, countering the conjuration spell perfectly with vanishment. 

He let out a low whistle. "That was impressive."

You gave a small smile, gathering the scattered parchments. "You’re getting there. Your movements are still a little stiff, but if you keep practicing, you’ll be fine."

You were beginning to relish in the moments you shared with him, and the thought both startled and thrilled you. If you told yourself this a year ago, you'd have refused to believe it. You’d never have guessed that you’d find yourself drawn to him like this, looking forward to every small, fleeting moment spent in his presence. But now… now, you couldn’t quite explain it. The idea almost seemed unfathomable. You wanted this. It had become a guilty pleasure to feel the warmth spreading in your chest whenever you were alone with him.

Sorting through your parchments, you quickly gathered the notes Beomgyu would need. It only took a few minutes to explain the key points he needed to focus on, pointing to the sections in your notes. As you spoke, his eyes remained focused on you, nodding occasionally, though his attention seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Once you finished, you returned to your place on the floor, skimming through your notes one last time. You stretched, arms lifting above your head, trying to shake off the tiredness creeping in from hours of studying prior to his appearance.

It had been a little over half an hour, but as your gaze shifted toward Beomgyu, you couldn’t help but notice something was off.

He was slouched against the couch, legs crossed beneath him, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He blinked slowly, as if trying to fight the heaviness pulling at his eyelids, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His posture was slumped, shoulders weighed down with exhaustion. He’d just come back from practice, after all. His body was likely sore, muscles still humming from the strain of the game. No wonder he hadn’t made much headway on his notes.

His head lolled back against the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling before his eyes slipped shut. You observed him for a moment—the subtle tremble of his lips as he exhaled, the exhaustion etched into his features. It was rare, seeing him like this.

With a quiet sigh of your own, you realized the inevitable: Beomgyu wasn’t going to get any studying done in this state.

Without a word, you stood and moved toward him, crouching beside his scattered papers. He didn’t notice you at first, lost in the pull of his own fatigue.

It was only when you began to gather his notes that his eyes fluttered open, his expression softening in surprise. You said nothing, just continued tidying up his things because—well, you simply could.

“I didn’t mean to doze off,” he muttered, his voice rough from exhaustion.

Your fingers paused over the parchment, but your expression remained steady. “Let’s take a break.” Your voice was quieter than usual. “Do you read books?”

Beomgyu blinked at you, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again, as if uncertain how to respond to something so simple.

You didn’t wait for an answer. Reaching for the storybook you always carried, you settled beside him, mirroring his crisscrossed position. The proximity sent a subtle flutter through your chest, but you pushed it aside as you opened the book and held it between you both.

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing to read the page. The boldness of your actions surprised you—how naturally you had done this, without hesitation. But when his gaze flickered with interest, a spark of curiosity lighting his tired features, you realized it didn’t really matter.

Moments later, the story had you both engrossed, the silence settling around you like a comforting blanket. You hadn’t noticed the change at first, but the now-dried strands of his hair brushed lightly against the side of your left cheek. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, while you remained crisscrossed, and that difference in position somehow brought you even closer together.

He was close enough now that you could catch a faint trace of his scent. Even though the sweat from practice had long since dried, his cologne mixed with the residual warmth of his skin, and the combination was... distracting. Not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly intimate.

For a moment, you became acutely aware of how close he was—too close. You hesitated to even breathe, afraid that the smallest movement might draw attention to the space—now barely there—between you. You turned your head slightly, curiosity winning over restraint, and—gosh, he was beautiful.

Lashes fluttering with every slow blink, casting delicate shadows over his cheekbones. The curve of his nose, the soft part of his lips, the quiet, almost dreamlike expression he wore as he read beside you. Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it, the urge to look away overwhelming, but you couldn’t.

Trying to steady your hands, you set the book on your thigh. Before you could focus, you felt the faintest brush of warmth—his fingers grazing the other side of the book. He stifled a yawn with his free hand.

“You can rest your head on my shoulder.”

The words left you before you could stop them. Careless in their honesty. You hadn’t planned to say it, but now that you had, there was no taking it back.

Beomgyu stilled. It was as if your words had broken through the fog of his exhaustion. He sat up slightly, and in that small shift, his warmth—his presence—seemed to pull away from you. A strange absence, one that left the air colder than before.

For a fleeting second, you regretted saying anything at all.

He fumbled with his words, the usual Gryffindor confidence slipping, replaced with hesitation. But before he could say anything, you patted your shoulder lightly, a small, reassuring gesture.

“I insist.”

There was a brief pause. Then, with a quiet sigh, Beomgyu gave in. Carefully, almost as if unsure of himself, he leaned in. His head came to rest on your shoulder, and just like that, his warmth seeped back into you.

Beomgyu stretched his legs out fully, another yawn slipping past his lips. “Thanks for helping me,” he mumbled, feeling sleep taking over him. “And for everything you did.”

You didn’t understand what he meant. You didn’t try to decipher his words either, because you couldn’t trust yourself with your words—not when Beomgyu was so close, not when he was being so vulnerable.

You simply settled with a hum. “Anytime.”

That night, you let him nap on your shoulder as long as he needed. By the time he woke up, you had finished reading the storybook twice. The goodbye was hasty, drawn out with apologies, thank yous, and reassurances—but beneath it all, neither of you really wanted to leave, hesitating, unwilling to go back to your respective common rooms. Unwilling to leave each other so soon.

“What’s going on with you and Beomgyu?”

The Slytherin tent was silent. The pre-practice hustle and bustle had yet to begin, leaving only you and Yeonjun in the dimly lit space. You had just finished fastening the last buckle when his voice cut through the quiet.

Your hands stilled momentarily before turning, lifting a brow. “You need to be a bit more specific than that.”

Yeonjun didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The slow, knowing smirk stretching across his face was enough to make your brow twitch in mild irritation. You had known Yeonjun for almost your entire life. You were well-versed in his tactics, and had learned how to counter his cunning approaches with equal cunning. But despite your best efforts, there were still moments when he managed to slip under your skin.

You exhaled, pulling on your gloves. “If you’re going to make a point, make it.”

Yeonjun hummed, following your movements as you moved through the tent. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” he said, not unkindly. “Alone.”

You shot him a dry look. “He needed help with Transfiguration. Wasn’t it you who told him to come to me?”

“I was curious.” He leaned against one of the support beams, arms loosely crossed. “Wanted to see if I was right.”

You adjusted the strap on your glove, feigning disinterest. “About what?”

“That you’d let him in.”

Something in your chest tightened. Yeonjun took the pause as permission to continue, his voice quieter now, edged with something that almost sounded like understanding. “You keep people at arm’s length. Always have, haven't you? But him?” His gaze softened. “You’re different with him.”

You forced a scoff, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Yeonjun didn’t sound convinced. “You watch him when you think no one’s looking. You listen—to every little thing he says, even when it has nothing to do with you. And when you talk to him, you’re not just speaking. You’re—” He made a vague gesture. “Letting him see you.”

You had to turn away. “Yeonjun, you’re overanalyzing.”

“I don’t think I am.”

The air felt suddenly too still. You liked Beomgyu’s presence in your life. That much had never been a question. And the meaning of your feelings wasn’t lost on you. What you hadn’t realized, however, was just how long Yeonjun had been watching. Observing. You weren’t sure if him knowing that made your unease kick up more, or lift the anchor of burden that had sunk deep in your heart. Either way, a gnawing hollowness formed in the depth of your chest. 

“I like his company more than I thought I would,” you admitted quietly.

It wasn’t much. Just a handful of words, barely even spoken aloud. You don’t explain anything either. But in the stillness of the tent, that transparency—the muted confession—must have caught Yeonjun off guard. His smile flickered, something akin to excitement sparking behind his eyes before melting into a fond softness.

Then, voice uncharacteristically gentle, he said, “You know I never mix friend circles,” he began, “Before you got into this big social network with Beomgyu, I practically raised that guy.” His lips quirked, something warm and distant crossing his features. “If it eases your ailing, just know that he’s a good person.”

You knew that already. But hearing it from Yeonjun—who knew him in ways you didn’t—made it feel different. It was quite childish, but you felt a pang of jealousy at that moment. You wish you knew Beomgyu better, too. 

“And don’t worry,” he added, the gleam of mischief returning. “Paris, the city of love, has a way of pulling people closer—”

The solid thud of your broomstick whizzing through the air smacking him in the back cut him off. Yeonjun stumbled forward, yelping as the broom settled neatly into your grip.

You sighed, dryly lamenting, “So sad. And here I was, giving you the benefit of the doubt that you’d act like an adult.” You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Truly, truly tragic.”

The corners of your lips barely twitched upwards before you turned on your heel and strode out of the tent. Behind you, Yeonjun let out a disgruntled noise, jogging after you. “Paris is going to be a lot more interesting now,” he mused to himself, as he caught up easily, matching your stride as you neared the practice field.

It was the day of departure, and Beomgyu had been awake since four in the morning.

He wasn’t particularly tired—on the contrary, he felt well-rested for the first time in what felt like forever. It was strange, the absence of stress gnawing at his mind, the deadweight of exams and Quidditch matches momentarily lifted from his shoulders. He had been looking forward to this trip for days. The idea of finally escaping Hogwarts, of wandering through unfamiliar streets of Paris, of watching the world stretch beyond the castle walls—it had been a comforting thought, something to hold onto when things felt suffocating.

But that wasn’t the only reason he had been looking forward to it.

He sighed, shaking his head as he swung his legs over the bed, his feet meeting the cool floor. No use sitting around. He might as well make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.

By the time the rest of Gryffindor began to stir, Beomgyu was already dressed, double-checking his trunk with the kind of precision that felt almost excessive. The common room grew livelier as everyone prepared for departure, the excitement palpable in the air. And by five, they were all at the station, the cold biting at their skin as steam from the train billowed into the sky.

Beomgyu adjusted his muffler, his breath visible in the crisp morning air as he glanced around the platform. The Slytherins hadn’t arrived yet, but he knew they would soon. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat, yet it wasn’t the cold that had set a restless energy thrumming beneath his skin.

“Morning, Beomgyu.”

He turned to find Chaeryeong beside him, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She grinned, tilting her head slightly.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice still thick with lingering drowsiness.

She exhaled, glancing around. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Knowing we won’t be seeing Hogwarts for a little while?”

“It’s been this way every winter vacation,” Beomgyu murmured. “Guess it hasn’t really hit me yet.”

“Well, you better start getting excited,” she teased. “It’s not every day we get to go to Paris.”

He hummed in response. Her voice morphed into white noise in Beomgyu’s ear as he zoned out, unable to find himself focusing. Instead, his gaze kept flickering around on every new face toward the station entrance, only looking for you.

Just then, he saw the Slytherins arrive. He filtered out all the faces that aren't yours, and when he finally found you, his heart lurched. There was a feeling of anticipation recoiling in his stomach as he contemplated whether to walk up to you and say hello. 

“Oh, she made it.” There was a note of relief in Chaeryeng’s voice. “I was worried she wouldn’t join us.”

“What?” Beomgyu’s brows furrowed. 

She turned to him, blinking. “You didn’t know?”

He didn’t like the way those words sat in his stomach. His head snapped to your direction once more before prompting her to explain. “Know what?”

Chaeryeong hesitated for half a second, then said, “She got hit by a Bludger the other day. Some Ravenclaw beater sent it her way by accident. It got her right in the side. Heard she was in pretty bad shape.” She winced as if she recalled seeing you. “Yeonjun looked pissed the whole day.”

The cold suddenly felt sharper, needling into his skin. His eyes darted back to you, and now, it was impossible to ignore. The slight hesitancy in your gait, the stiffness in your posture, and Yeonjun carrying your bag while his hand held your arm, supporting your steps. 

You, however, immediately scowled and swatted his hand away. It prompted Yeonjun to let out a long-suffering sigh, but his gaze flickered to you every now and then.

Beomgyu was already moving towards you, mind occupied by sheer urgency and each of his steps pulled him closer to you like a magnetic force. Yeonjun was the first to notice him. The older Slytherin softly snorted a laugh, shaking his head before giving you a small smile. 

“I’ll go find our compartment,” Yeonjun muttered to you, slipping away from your side the moment Beomgyu stopped in front of you.

You noticed him a second later, eyes flickering toward him, surprised by his sudden presence. The Gryffindor’s wide, doe eyes searched you—for any sign of pain or discomfort, his nose and cheeks a shade of peach from the cold. The muffler wrapped around his neck looked warm, but on the inside, he was feeling anything but warm—his blood ran cold.

“Are you alright?” It took everything in him to not stumble over his words. He was sure the worry in his voice overflew but he couldn’t bring himself to hide it. “I just heard what happened,” he added, already taking a small step forward closer to you, but he faltered and stepped back at the last moment. 

You stared at him, eyes slightly wide—like you weren’t expecting that level of urgency from him. For you.

Your gaze softened when the realization seeped into you. Beomgyu was worried about you? It rattled your heart against your ribcage more strongly than the bludger that hit you. The latter brought you immense pain, however, the former brought pain that hurt good.

“I’m fine.” Your voice carried a gentle touch to it. “You don’t have to look like that.”

Beomgyu exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away for half a second before shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known sooner.”

“You couldn’t have.” Your reply came quickly, almost urgent. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

You were sure you caught his eyes glow for the faintest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it showed up, fooling you into thinking you must've misjudged it. Eitherway, you felt your lungs constrict from the way his gaze was locked onto yours. It was compelling you to look away, yet at the same time, it was pulling you in. You had to hear it from him. 

“Were you… worried?” Your voice was cautious, trying not to show the expectations laced within before offering them to him.

“I was.” He did not hesitate the slightest.

The raw sincerity of it all, the honest admission caused the fire in your chest to only burn brighter. He swallowed before continuing, quieter this time. “I was looking forward to this trip because���” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Because you’d be here. It’d be a shame if you couldn’t go on the trip with us.”

He didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting, but the gentle smile that graced your lips wasn’t one he was prepared for. It was small, barely there, but enough to make his breath hitch. Enough to make his fingers twitch with the overwhelming urge to brush them against your cheek. The thought startled him, and he buried his clammy hands deep inside the pockets of his coat. 

And then, without a word, you reached out.

Beomgyu stiffened as your hand met his head, the warmth of your palm seeping through the strands of his hair. The touch was brief, barely more than a ruffle, but it left him completely, utterly frozen. He blinked at you, wide-eyed, feeling the exact moment his brain short-circuited.

You didn’t say anything about it—just let your fingers slip away. “Thank you,” you mumbled softly, as earnestly as you could muster it. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Of course.”

You grinned, placing a hand over the right side of your torso where you got hit. “I’m really fine. The Bruisewort Balm did its magic. I only feel a little worn out but I plan to sleep through the journey anyway, so I know I should be fine.” 

Hearing your assurance, Beomgyu could only nod. Because at that moment, he didn't trust himself with words. 

Before either of you could say anything else, Yeonjun’s voice rang out from across the platform. “You two done? We need to start getting in the cabins.”

You let out a small breath, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to Beomgyu. You let your voice fall a little lower. “I hope you enjoy this trip, Beomgyu. You need it.” And then, just like that, you were gone, disappearing into the crowd with Yeonjun at your side.

Beomgyu remained where he stood, the lower half of his face burying into his muffler—an attempt to hide his red cheeks, the phantom of your touch lingering in his hair.

He wasn’t cold anymore.

You had dozed off almost the moment you settled down in your cabin, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs. The chatter from outside had faded into the background, a distant murmur of excitement. Someone had passed by the door earlier, exclaiming in utter confusion, "How is the train gonna take us straight to Paris?" only for another to scoff in reply, "Bro, this is the Hogwarts Express. Be so for real now."

Sleep had come easily after that.

When you woke, the daylight had shifted. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, golden and soft, casting warm hues over the compartment. A lingering grogginess clung to you, your head muddled with sleep, body heavy from hours of stillness. Blinking, you sat up, only to freeze.

Yeonjun and the other Slytherin were gone. Instead, across from you, Beomgyu sat with a book in his hands—the same storybook you had read with him the night before your Transfiguration exam. He got himself a copy of that?

He glanced up at the movement, his dark eyes skimming over your face before he asked, "How are you feeling? You were out for a while."

You sighed, running a hand over your face. "Shit," you admitted, voice rough with sleep, "but not in pain."

His gaze pinned on you, as if assessing the truth of your words. Then he shut the book with a quiet thud. "Yeonjun went to hang out with your friends," he explained. "I figured I’d watch over you in his place."

You eyed him, searching his expression for any hint of reluctance, but there was none. Only a calm acceptance laced with assurance that he was here now. You murmured a quiet thanks, and he only nodded. The silence between you settled naturally, undisturbed, until your mind wandered back to what had happened before boarding the train.

Your gaze drifted, drawn to his hair again. The memory of ruffling his hair carved into the skin of your hands, still far too easy to recall. You looked away before the feeling could consume you whole.

"You should eat something," Beomgyu said after a while. "You missed lunch."

You waved a hand. "I have emergency snacks. Don’t worry."

You stood, reaching for the bag in the overhead compartment, but the moment you tilted up on your feet, the train jolted. The motion threw you off balance, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you from your long rest.

"Careful," Beomgyu’s voice was low, close—too close.

Before you could stumble, your back found solid warmth. His chest pressed against you, his grip firm but cautious as his fingers curled around your arm, careful to avoid the bruised side of your torso. His other hand braced against the overhead compartment, effectively caging you in.

Your breath hitched. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your clothing, the closeness dizzying in a way that had nothing to do with sleep imbalance.

"Sit down," he murmured. "I’ll get it."

His hold loosened just enough to guide you back to your seat, and only when you were settled did he step in front of you again, reaching up with ease.

You found yourself at eye level with his waist, his sweater lifting slightly as he rummaged through the bag. A sliver of skin peeked out, warm against the dim afternoon light. You swallowed, forcing your gaze elsewhere.

Beomgyu pulled out the box of treacle tart Yeonjun had packed for you, setting it down before offering you one. With a quiet sigh, you took it, splitting the portion between the two of you as you leaned forward, the box balanced between you.

The sweetness wasn’t something you typically enjoyed, but after so many hours without food, the pastry felt awfully good. Your body slowly regained energy, the light conversation between you keeping the moment steady.

"Do you have any plans for Paris?" he asked eventually.

You chewed thoughtfully. "No idea yet. Yeonjun’s probably going to drag me around. If it gets too much, I might shut myself in my room or sneak off for a solo adventure."

Beomgyu huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. I’m not sure what I’ll do either. I might get swept up by people and won’t even be able to look around freely."

You watched him for a moment, taking the last bite of your tart. "If it gets too much," you said, voice quieter, "you can come find me. Or Yeonjun. Or both of us." There was a pause before you added, softer, "If you can’t, then I’ll come find you."

Beomgyu stilled. His lips parted slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes before he quickly stuffed the last of his pastry into his mouth, chewing hastily. The action might have been smooth—if not for the streak of cream now smudged at the corner of his lips.

You noticed instantly. "Oh—" you started, reaching up with your thumb. "You have something—"

The compartment door suddenly slammed open. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, a pair of oversized, obnoxiously flashy sunglasses perched on his nose.

You and Beomgyu both froze.

Yeonjun, his eyes hard to read behind the dark lenses, tilted his head. Then, in an eerily delighted tone, he drawled, "Oh, look at that, Beomgyu. You’ve got my treacle tart’s cream on your lips!"

Before either of you could react, he whipped out a tissue from absolutely nowhere, lunged forward, and grabbed Beomgyu’s head with one hand. Beomgyu screeched, his voice resonating against the walls of the small place.

Yeonjun ignored it, cheerfully wiping his mouth with the other hand like a mother cleaning up her child. "There we go, nice and clean," he chirped, voice laced with exaggerated fondness.

Beomgyu struggled, half-laughing, half-indignant. "Get off me!" he yelped, swatting Yeonjun’s hands away, but the damage had already been done.

Yeonjun stepped back, inspecting his work with great satisfaction, hands on his hips like a proud parent. "Perfect. Now you won’t embarrass yourself in front of anyone."

Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you," he muttered, but the pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

You sat back, watching the spectacle unfold with great amusement, while the train rumbled on, Paris drawing closer by the minute.

The rest of the journey was a blur of raucous laughter and camaraderie, your group huddling together in the cramped chair car of the express, swapping secrets and gossip like your lives depended on it. Someone had smuggled in a portable speaker, leading to impromptu karaoke battles and dramatic sing-alongs. At first, you joined in, allowing yourself to be swept up in the energy. But as the hours stretched on, your stamina waned.

With a quiet excuse, you slipped away, accompanied by a few others who were also tired of the noise. Before you left, your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. He was still immersed in the chaos, laughing brightly at something Kai had said. But beneath the mirth, you caught an exhaustion you had come to recognize. Still, he kept the atmosphere alive, playing his role seamlessly. The image lingered with you long after you shut the compartment door behind you.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Paris at the crack of dawn, the city stirring to life under the first blush of morning. From the window, you caught your first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, its iron lattice tinged with gold as the sun crested the horizon. The Seine, dark and languid, snaked through the city, bridges arching elegantly over its waters. Rows of Haussmann-style buildings stretched along the boulevards, their cream-colored facades bathed in the soft glow of street lamps not yet dimmed.

Before disembarking, the professors gathered the students for a final briefing. "No magic in front of Muggles," they reminded sternly. "You are free to explore, but remain in groups and report any trouble immediately. Most importantly—enjoy yourselves. You deserve it."

The hotel was an opulent blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, its grand foyer boasting marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, casting prisms of light across the gilded moldings. The professors had booked two separate hotels side by side—one for Slytherins and Gryffindors, another for Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their reasoning? "You should have learned how to get along by now." Naturally, friends among the houses protested, claiming they were getting along just fine.

Your stomach turned slightly at the arrangement, the thought of running into Beomgyu in the lobby or hallways setting your nerves alight. When room assignments were handed out, relief flooded you upon seeing Yeji’s name beside yours. She was a Slytherin senior. The alternative—rooming with a stranger, or worse, a Gryffindor who resented you—was unthinkable.

Your room sat high above the city, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking panorama of Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance, framed perfectly against the morning sky. Sheer curtains billowed softly with the breeze as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh linen and polished wood filling the air. The room was a study in elegance—high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, deep emerald velvet armchairs positioned near a sleek black coffee table, and two queen-sized beds with crisp white sheets that looked nearly too pristine to disturb.

Yeji whistled lowly, dropping her bags by the door. "Well, this isn’t half bad."

You huffed a quiet laugh, tossing your coat onto the bed before making your way to the en-suite. The bathroom was just as extravagant, the walls lined with marble, a rainfall shower glistening behind glass panels. You let the hot water wash away the fatigue of the journey, steam curling around you like a cocoon. By the time you stepped out, refreshed and awake, Yeji had already sprawled across her bed, flipping through a fashion magazine.

"I’ll meet you downstairs," you told her, slipping into your shoes.

Yeonjun was already waiting outside the breakfast lounge when you arrived, one hand in pocket as he scrolled through his phone. He barely looked up as he greeted you. "Took you long enough. I was about to starve."

The two of you found a quiet table, the scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air as waiters flitted about, balancing trays laden with croissants and steaming cups of coffee. You glanced around at the Muggles, feeling oddly at ease in the absence of magic. The clinking of silverware, the hushed murmurs of morning conversations—it was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you ate, Yeonjun rattled off a list of places to visit, swiping through his phone. "There’s the Louvre, obviously. We have to go at night—it’s insane then. Oh, and this bookstore, Shakespeare and Company. You’d love it. We could—"

His voice faded into the background as voices rang out from the Gryffindor table. You turned instinctively, gaze landing on Beomgyu.

Ah. He had already been swept away by the crowd.

Yeonjun followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a smirk. "You should help him escape, you know. Whisk him away somewhere quiet, just the two of you—"

You shoved a piece of bread into his mouth before he could finish, ignoring his muffled protest. He choked out a laugh.

But as your gaze found Beomgyu again, lingering just a second too long, a thought flickered through your mind. You had considered that scenario before, hadn’t you? The thought of stealing him away, just for a moment, just for yourself. Of finding a quiet corner in this city meant for lovers, where no one could pull him away from you.

And the sight of him in your mind—hovering above you, close enough to count each delicate lash framing his deep brown eyes, close enough to feel the softness of his lips—

—Well. That was a pleasant thought, indeed.

Yeonjun observed your face for a while, then shook his head with a groan. Yeah, no, he absolutely did not want to know what was going on in your head. 

After breakfast, your group meandered through the city, between narrow alleyways lined with quaint cafés and antique bookshops. Your circle had morphed together naturally, though you were close to only a handful. The others were good acquaintances, but they didn’t carry the same comforting company as the ones by your side.

The morning air in Paris carried the remnants of dawn, crisp yet mellowed by the sun climbing its way over the horizon. The city was awake by now—cobblestone streets damp from the morning drizzle, the scent of freshly baked bread curling through the air as bakeries opened their doors, and wrought-iron balconies adorned with trailing ivy swaying ever so slightly in the breeze.

The Louvre loomed ahead, a masterpiece in itself, its glass pyramid gleaming against the grandeur of the historic façade. The vast courtyard was teeming with tourists, some attempting to take forced perspective photos, others craning their necks to admire the sheer scale of it. The air carried the song of different languages, a medley of awe and excitement.

At some point, the group naturally dispersed in smaller clusters, everyone absorbed in their own conversations. You found yourself walking beside Beomgyu, the world around you fading into a pleasant hum.

A soft bark caught your attention. You turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of a fluffy white puppy trotting alongside its owner. “Oh,” you cooed, crouching slightly as the tiny creature wagged its tail in excitement. “Look at you. Aren’t you the cutest?”

Beomgyu watched you with a fond tilt to his lips. “I didn’t take you for a puppy person.”

You glanced up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem like you’d have one of those dramatic-looking cats that sit by the window and judge people.”

You let out a soft laugh, straightening. “I’ve always wanted a puppy as a kid, actually.”

He hummed, eyes flickering with something thoughtful. “I had one. Sort of.”

You turned to him in surprise. “You did?”

He exhaled, a breath of nostalgia woven into his tone. “My brother and I begged my parents for a dog for ages. We finally got one—on my mother’s birthday. So we named him June, after the date," he said, smiling fondly as if reminiscing a happy memory. "But two days later, my parents decided we couldn’t keep him. Said we didn’t have the time to take care of him properly.” He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was something wistful in his eyes. “I held him and cried for nearly eight hours straight.”

Your chest ached at the image. “That’s—” You paused, unsure how to phrase it. “That must’ve been really hard.”

He gave a small nod, then brightened just a fraction. “We ended up finding Toto instead. A Turquoise Fronted Amazon parrot. My mom could take care of him even when she was alone at home.”

You smiled at that. “Toto,” you echoed. “That’s a cute name.”

“He’s kind of a menace,” Beomgyu admitted, shaking his head with a fond grin. “But he’s family.”

The revelation settled somewhere deep within you—a new piece of Beomgyu you hadn’t known before. And it made you irrationally happy.

The wind picked up, teasing at the hem of your coat, threading cool fingers through your hair. A few strands whipped across your face, catching on your lips, your lashes. You lifted a hand to push them away, but before you could, Beomgyu reached out first.

His fingers brushed against your cheek—something he’d been wishing to do for a while—as he tucked a loose strand behind your ear. You felt it in the way your pulse stuttered, your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him. He looked as if he wanted to say something.

Beomgyu hesitated, his gaze soft yet you couldn’t quite read his eyes as he looked at you. His lips parted, a thought poised on the edge, trembling like the wind itself.

You look beautiful.

The words never left his mouth. He swallowed them down, an ache blooming in his throat. Perhaps he feared what saying them aloud might mean. Perhaps he feared you wouldn’t know what to do with them.

And so, in the end, neither of you spoke. The spell broke when the Louvre loomed ahead, its glass pyramid gleaming against the gray-blue sky, and the moment dissolved into the crisp air.

Inside the Louvre, the grandeur of history stretched in every direction—endless halls adorned with masterpieces, the hush of reverence echoing in the vast spaces. Your group wandered between exhibits, pausing at paintings and sculptures, some making exaggerated interpretations just to get a laugh, others attempting to recreate poses of the statues with varying degrees of success.

At one point, Yeonjun challenged Beomgyu to a ridiculous game of “who can stare at the Mona Lisa without blinking the longest,” which resulted in the both of them getting scolded by a museum staff member. You and Yeji exchanged amused glances, shaking your heads as the boys feigned innocence.

Hours melted away in seamless enjoyment, the museum becoming a maze of stolen moments and shared laughter. And through it all, you found yourself drawn to Beomgyu, the wordless exchanges between you growing heavier, stealing glances at each other while laughing, and even when the other wasn't looking.

By the time you returned to the hotel, exhaustion settled into your bones, but the day had left something lingering—something you weren’t quite ready to shake off just yet.

As you reached your hotel room, Beomgyu passed by, his own keycard in hand. He paused, glancing toward you. You met his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, voice softer than you intended.

His lips tugged at the corner, but there was something else in his eyes now, the glint that you once caught. “Goodnight.”

Neither of you looked away immediately. The hallway felt too silent, the space between you far too charged for such a simple exchange. And then, with a slight nod, he disappeared down the lobby, leaving behind an inexplicable warmth curling in your chest.

The next day, the group scattered across Paris, some weaving through boutiques, others lingering in quaint cafés, savoring the city’s flavors. Beomgyu had brought a camera, the strap looped around his wrist as he snapped photos of everything that caught his eye. Often, students from other houses approached him, asking him to take their pictures, and he obliged with a small smile, adjusting angles, stepping back to frame them against the golden morning light.

You had drifted toward the glass display of a pastry shop, your breath lightly fogging the surface as your eyes traced the delicate layers of a chocolate croissant. Beomgyu watched you from afar. You’d mentioned wanting to try one back on station, and you were so focused on it now that you didn’t notice him approaching until he was beside you.

“Come,” he said, tilting his head toward the entrance. “It’s on me.”

You turned to him, brows drawing together in surprise. “That’s not necessary.”

Beomgyu huffed a quiet laugh. “Please, I insist. It’s a token of my appreciation.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“For helping me with Transfiguration,” he clarified, though something about the way he said it felt like an excuse. “And because I feel like it.”

You exhaled, a soft sigh slipping past your lips. “You really don’t have to—”

“I know.” He nudged the door open with his shoulder and shot you a look, something playful but insistent. “Come on.”

A sigh of resignation, but you stepped in anyway, the scent of butter and sugar wrapping around you. True to his word, he paid for the croissant before you could even consider arguing further. The two of you lingered at the glass counter, surveying the intricate rows of bite-sized pastries lined neatly on silver trays. One of them particularly caught your eye—a tiny bear-shaped pastry, its icing ears round and slightly lopsided, giving it a look of perpetual confusion.

“That one,” you murmured, pointing.

Beomgyu followed your gaze. “The bear?”

“It’s so stupid,” you said flatly, head tilting ever so slightly as you examined it. And then, without thinking, you tapped the glass with a single finger, voice barely above a whisper. “…Cute.”

You didn’t seem to notice the way his gaze traced over your face, too busy scrutinizing the bear as though you were sizing up an opponent. Wordlessly, he bought two bear pastries; your protests falling deaf to his ears.

As he handed you one, you turned it over in your hands, brushing a thumb against its soft edges. It was adorable in a ridiculous way. Then, you reached up and tapped one of its icing ears.

“Boop,” you said.

Beomgyu felt his world stop. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the moment passed. Something unfamiliar curled in his chest, something that made his fingers tighten around the little pastry in his own hands. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was the way you’d said it, and the unguarded smile that graced your lips afterwards, like you’d forgotten to keep your walls up, just for a second. But there it was—an utterly unfiltered moment, so fleeting yet so wholly you that it nearly knocked him off balance.

He took a bite, if only to distract himself. But even as the sweetness melted on his tongue, his thoughts remained tangled in the sound of your voice.

You took a decisive bite as well, nodding to yourself as you chewed. “You okay?” you asked suddenly, glancing up at him, licking off the remnants of crust on your thumb. “Is it too sweet?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. His gaze fell on your thumb in between your lips, the sight making him wet his chapped lips. He swallowed, clearing his throat. “It tastes alright.”

Your eyes narrowed just the slightest at his sudden avoidance of eye contact. 

“Let’s catch up with the group,” he muttered at last, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And with that, he turned, already striding toward the door.

By evening, the Seine stretched before you, silver ribbons of water reflecting the glow of streetlights and distant bridges. Boats drifted lazily along the water, their lights flickering like floating stars.

A few of the students gathered along the stone walkway. Someone groaned about nearly using wizarding terms in front of a Muggle, looking horrified at the memory. A Muggleborn student cackled, shaking their head. “I wonder how the purebloods are doing.”

“The purebloods are living their best lives, thank you very much.” Yeonjun chortled and scoffed, crossing his arms. 

Laughter rang through the night air. Someone suggested taking pictures, and naturally, Beomgyu lifted his camera, angling it as the others huddled together.

You watched him, the way he stepped back, adjusting the focus, snapping a few quick shots before lowering the camera. His fingers lingered over the buttons, and you realized he’d stopped taking pictures after only a few frames. His gaze flickered briefly to the group before shifting away again.

“Beomgyu,” you said, and he glanced at you. “You should be in one, too.”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I’m usually the one taking the pictures.”

You didn’t bother arguing with him. Instead, you turned toward a passing stranger, gesturing toward the camera. “Excuse me, would you mind taking a group photo for us?”

Beomgyu looked at you, taken aback, as the stranger agreed. You pushed him lightly toward the group. “Come on.”

He hesitated but relented, slotting in beside you as everyone squeezed together. The camera clicked, and just as the shutter went off, your hands brushed—brief, a touch so light it might have been an accident.

But when you turned your head slightly, he was already looking at you. And in that moment, with the Seine behind you and Paris stretching endlessly beyond, you thought to yourself—maybe you’d been wrong about how much a single touch could mean.

“How’s it going with Beomgyu?”

The hotel lobby was quiet at this hour. You sat into one of the sofas, an empty cup of coffee resting before you, long since forgotten. The book in your hands had begun to blur at the edges, your focus slipping every few pages.

You glanced up when Yeonjun settled onto the single sofa beside you. A sigh escaped your lips as you closed the book, resting it on your lap. “I don’t know, honestly.”

It was the truth. You had noticed something off about him lately—but you weren’t one to jump to conclusions. Maybe it was the comfort you offered him that he mentioned to you once. Maybe that was all it was. And yet, deep down, you hoped it wasn’t.

Yeonjun hummed, studying you. “He’s been acting weird, though, hasn’t he?”

You glanced at him, considering. “You think so too?”

“I have eyes, don’t I?” He scoffed. 

Before you could retort, the hotel doors swung open, and a trio of Gryffindors stepped inside. You recognized them immediately—Beomgyu’s Quidditch teammates. The one in the center, Yoo Jaekyung, was their Seeker. And he was also someone who never missed an opportunity to make his distaste for you known.

Your brows twitched. Whether his hostility stemmed from the house rivalry or your direct competition as Slytherin’s Seeker, you still weren’t sure. But the disdain in his gaze whenever he looked at you was clear enough. Prejudice ran deep in people like him.

He caught sight of you and Yeonjun, his steps slowing for the briefest second before something smug flickered across his face. With a smirk, he changed course, making his way toward you.

Yeonjun muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. You braced yourself.

Jaekyung stopped just short of your seat, tilting his head in mock concern. “I heard about your little accident.” His voice was honeyed, far too sweet to be sincere. “Nasty hit from that Bludger, wasn’t it? Are you feeling better?”

You met his gaze, unfazed. “I’m fine.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if in sympathy. “Accidents like that—well, they’re bound to happen when you’re not skilled enough to avoid them. You should be more careful. Can’t have Slytherin losing their star player, after all.”

Yeonjun made a sound of irritation, he rose to his full height, towering over Jaekyung with ease. “Right. Are you done acting like a child, or should we wait for you to throw a tantrum too?”

Jaekyung’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. You, however, placed a hand on Yeonjun’s arm, stopping him before things escalated. Your voice was even. “Let’s hear him out. It’s rare that he has something to say.”

Jaekyung’s smirk deepened, mistaking your patience for something else.

You tapped a finger lightly against your knee, feigning contemplation. “Though, that does raise a problem.” You let your voice drop just a fraction, letting the next words land sharper. “Because in every match against me, you’ve never managed to catch the Snitch.”

The satisfaction of watching the vein in his temple twitch was almost enough. His jaw clenched, the forced smile doing little to mask his irritation. “Get well soon,” he bit out, before pivoting on his heel and striding away, his teammates trailing behind him.

Yeonjun dropped back onto the sofa with a groan. “Merlin, people get so bloody ass-hurt over everything.”

You only shrugged, offering him a small smile. You were used to it.

“I have some dirt on Jaekyung.”

A new voice cut through the air, causing both of you two to startle.  Yeonjun flinched, nearly spilling his drink. “Bloody hell—Jeongin—” Yeonjun swore, hand over his heart. “What is wrong with you?”

The Hufflepuff only blinked, expression blank as ever. He crouched down beside you, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. “He’s used charms to win a few matches. There is proof latched within his broomstick.”

Beside you Yeonjun went on a spiteful rant about Jaekyung being an absolute bloody asshole and a sore loser. But all you could think of is, where did Jeongin get such information? Your brows lifted slightly in curiosity. “How do you know that?”

Jeongin shrugged. “I just do.” Then, casually, “I thought I’d tell you. Might be useful one day.”

You studied him, taking in his innocent demeanor, the unbothered way he delivered the information. A Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat had declared. And yet, in this moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had made a mistake. Still, you chose not to voice it. Instead, you simply nodded, filing the information away for later.

“Duly noted.”

The next two days slipped by in a blur, the hours spent trailing behind Yeonjun through cobblestone streets and warm-lit bookstores, occasionally merging into the chaos of group hangouts. Someone’s room always seemed to be the designated meeting spot for the evening, where everyone sprawled across beds and armchairs, playing muggle games with the kind of reckless abandon that came with being far from home. Cards flicked across the floor, dice rolled under furniture, and soft music hummed in the background as someone recounted a ridiculous story from earlier in the day. These nights were filled with a quiet kind of joy, but you couldn’t ignore the gnawing awareness that something was missing.

You had been seeing Beomgyu less. Not because of chance, but because Jaekyung made certain of it. You weren’t stupid. By now, it was obvious to you that others had taken notice of your closeness to him, none more so than Jaekyung himself. The Gryffindor Seeker carried himself with the pathetic confidence of someone who always got what he wanted, and lately, what he wanted was to keep Beomgyu occupied. He made a game of it—boasting that the Gryffindor Quidditch team deserved their own exclusive outing, and whisking him away before you could say otherwise. Beomgyu never resisted, never even seemed to notice the way your eyes lingered when he left, and that, more than anything, made your stomach curl in something uncomfortably close to irritation.

So you spent your time elsewhere. Yeonjun, ever attuned to your moods, filled the space Beomgyu left behind without needing to be asked. He took you to the bookshop he’d promised, where the scent of papers and new books curled into the air like something sacred. You wandered between the shelves, tracing the spines of books with absent fingers, letting your mind get lost in stories that weren’t yours.

The afternoons were spent shopping with Yeji and the girls, their laughter drifting through the streets like birdsong, but in the quieter moments, you found solace in your room. With its sprawling balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower, it felt like something out of a dream. You would curl up with a warm cup of coffee, watching the city shift from golden daylight to dusk.

On the fourth day of the trip, a campfire was arranged by the banks of Seine. 

The fire crackled in the cool evening, its soft amber glow spilling over the group of friends gathered around. You sat at the edge of the circle, your gloved hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa. You aren't cold exactly, but the crisp air nipped at your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

Your gaze drifted toward Beomgyu, unbidden, as it often did. He was seated across the fire, leaning back on his hands, the sight tugged at something deep in your chest. His hoodie—a deep gray that seemed impossibly soft—hung loosely around his frame, the hood falling slightly over his hair. It looked so comfortable, so warm, that you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped in it.

Or more accurately, to be wrapped in him.

The thought came suddenly, without warning, and it made your breath catch. You took a small sip from your mug, trying to focus on the heat spreading through your fingers instead of the ache settling in your chest.

It was a silly thought, really. The idea of stepping closer, of tucking yourself into the space between his arms and resting your head on his chest—it felt so vivid, so painfully out of reach. Your heart ached as the question echoed in your mind like a prayer.

Why was Beomgyu so unreachable? 

You perhaps made the error of thinking he let you in. Because at the end, he wasn’t yours to lean on like that, to hold onto when the air felt too cold and the world too distant. And he never would be. You stilled as the last thought settled in the crevices of your brain, eyes widening slightly. 

Oh, God.

You were in love with Beomgyu.

Love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in your chest every time you saw him. Love was the way you could forget about everything when you were with him. Love was the catch in your breath when he looked at you in his intense way.  Love was the way you could be yourself around him. 

You thought you were the one saving him from the world’s relentless grasp by offering him a piece of solace in your company, but it was Beomgyu who had been your saviour all this time.

You risked a glance at his way, which you immediately regretted. Seeing his smiling face lit up with the golden glow of the campfire, you realized how much you've missed being near him these two days.

And then you knew that you could become homesick for people too.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Heeseung's impromptu gathering took shape. Students lounged on beds, sprawled across the floor, and perched on chairs. You had attempted a discreet exit upon hearing the mention of "truth or dare," only to have Yeonjun snatch your wrist and haul you back with an exasperated, “Oh, come on, don’t be boring. Loosen up a little.”

Resigned, you had settled into a corner chair, trying to blend into the background. You counted down the minutes until you could leave.

Your stomach twisted when your gaze involuntarily drifted to the doorway as Beomgyu entered, his presence immediately lighting up the room. However, your mood soured when Jaekyung and his entourage flanked him, steering him to the opposite side before he could acknowledge you.

The game commenced with the dreadful spin of a bottle, its neck pointing to various participants amidst cheers and playful jeers. First, it landed on Yeonjun. He chose dare, of course, and was promptly ordered to step onto the balcony and scream at the top of his lungs.

He did so with theatrical flair, gripping the railing and shouting into the Parisian night, “I AM SEXY AND MYSTERIOUS, COME FIND ME IF YOU DARE—” before a professor’s sharp voice echoed from somewhere below, “Whoever that is, get back inside before I hex you!”

Yeonjun scrambled back into the room to the sound of uproarious laughter, dramatically clutching his chest. The next victim was Kai. He picked truth, and someone immediately asked, “Who was your first crush?”

Kai groaned, rubbing his face before mumbling a name. A chorus of “No way!” and “I knew it!” rang through the room, followed by a good-natured shove from his friends.

The bottle spun again.

And this time, it stopped on Beomgyu.

The room erupted in cheers and anticipated exclamations. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, and after a brief moment of deliberation, chose truth.

Whistles and mischievous laughter followed, then someone finally asked, “When was the last time you cried the hardest?”

The question sounded innocent, yet you couldn't help but sit a little upright as you closely inspected Beomgyu. He seemed to consider his answer for a few seconds, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chain. But before he could even speak, Jaekyung took the lead.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Jaekyung cooed. “Our golden Gryffindor boy cried like a baby when he heard his mother was sick.”

Your body went rigid, blood boiling dangerously underneath. Something akin to anger and speechlessness glinted in your eyes as you glared daggers at Jaekyung. But he did not stop there. Instead he continued, making matters worse. 

Jaekyung made a face, mock-pouting, and cooed, “A real mama’s boy, aren’t you?” He even had the audacity afterwards to wrap his arms around Beomgyu’s neck.

People around laughed, others with coos of mock sympathy. Beomgyu laughed along with them, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Too forced.

You saw it immediately—how could you not? The way his shoulders tensed under Jaekyung’s arm, the way his fingers curled subtly into the fabric of his pants. His gaze dropped to his lap, then for the briefest moment when he looked up, you saw him searching around the room—and found yours.

Your vision shook, breath choking in your throat when you saw the look in his eyes. It was quick, barely perceptible, but in that single glance, you made out the absolute desperate look of pleading. The dim lighting caught the faint sheen in his eyes before he blinked it away, tearing his gaze from yours and smiling even wider, like it would drown out everything else.

You had to get him out of here.

And so, you tilted your head, feigning idle curiosity. “You know, Jaekyung,” you mused, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “I heard an interesting rumor about you the other day.”

The sound of your voice quietened the entire room in an instance. These were the times when you relished in the power of your reputation; whether it was because of your deliberate participation in such a crowd, or the fact that it was a showdown between the two rival Seekers, either way you had the attention of the entire room on you. 

Jaekyung turned, brow raising. “Yeah?”

People perked up, eager for another potential story.

You hummed. "Mhm. It’s funny—I wasn’t even going to mention it. But now that I think about it, it really was hilarious.”

Someone leaned in. "Oh, do tell."

You shrugged, taking your time. “Something about a certain game of Exploding Snap gone terribly wrong. Something about you running down the corridors with a sack covering your head and screaming for your life.”

"That was you?” One of Jaekyung’s lackeys burst out, turning to him in disbelief. 

People erupted into conversation, overlapping voices piecing together the memory, adding their own exaggerated details. Jaekyung stiffened as someone reenacted his supposed sprint through the corridors. Amidst the overexcited bunch, Jeongin let a small smirk tug on his lips that went unnoticed by everyone. 

Chaos ensued as another fit of laughter erupted, now mocking Jaekyung who remained awkwardly laughing, trying to prove his innocence. And just like that, the attention was diverted, Beomgyu completely forgotten. 

From your place in the corner of the room, you caught a sight of a figure slipping through the doors. You exhaled softly, relief barely settling in before you felt the eyes of Yeonjun. When you turned to him, he smiled at you, an encouraging nod followed. 

That was all you needed to follow Beomgyu out the door.

Out in the dimly lit hotel lobby, you scanned the space with quick, searching eyes, your pulse hammering against your ribs. The adrenaline of what happened back in the room still pressed against your skin, but you pushed it aside, thinking only of where he could have gone. Then, a memory surfaced—Hogwarts, late at night, when curfew had long since passed. More often than not, you would find him alone in the Astronomy Tower, sitting in the hush of the night sky. Back then, neither of you spoke, only acknowledging each other's presence in the quiet. And so, trusting your instinct, you turned on your heel and made your way to the rooftop.

The night air met you with a crisp bite as you stepped onto the rooftop terrace. The city stretched beneath you in a glittering sprawl, the Eiffel Tower casting its golden glow against the dark. There, sitting on the steps with his back to you, was Beomgyu. He was still, unmoving, save for the faint rise and fall of his shoulders.

He didn’t notice you at first. You stepped forward carefully, pausing when you heard it—barely audible, but unmistakable. A sniffle. Your heart twisted at the sound. You made  your arrival known when the ground beneath echoed your approaching steps.

"That was very brave," Beomgyu's voice broke the silence, rough with an attempt at humor. "And also very stupid. He’ll make sure to get back at you now."

You watched his hunched figure before finally speaking, voice quiet. "We Slytherins are brave, yes. But not stupid,” you murmured, looking skyward. “Given the choice, we'll always save our own necks."

He turned then, looking at you in the low light, something unreadable shifting in his gaze. "Is that why you're here?" His voice was quieter now. "Did you follow me to save yourself?"

It was only when he faced you that you realized how much you had missed seeing him up close. How much distance had settled between you these past few days. And perhaps that was why, without thinking twice, you descended the last few steps until you were right in front of him. Then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto your knees, meeting his eyes. The tension in your chest unfurled as you shook your head.

"No," you admitted softly. "I told you, didn't I? That I'd find you when you couldn't."

His bottom lip trembled, throat clogging up as he let his head fall, eyes squeezing shut. He fought against it—fought against the weight pressing against his ribs, the storm brewing behind his eyes. But his entire world seemed to stop when he felt it—the warmth of your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close. His breath stuttered. And then, before he could stop himself, his body caved into yours.

"I'm sorry for not asking first," you whispered, your breath fanning against his ear. "But I figured you might need this hug."

That was all it took for his resolve to shatter. A choked breath left him as he curled into you, his hands gripping the back of your shirt. His shoulders shook, the quiet sobs muffled against your skin. You felt the tremor of his body against yours, the sadness seeping into your own bones. Your throat burned, but you stayed still, holding him tighter, refusing to let go, refusing to let him drown in that pain alone.

Distance meant nothing when the person meant everything.

You didn’t speak for a while. This wasn’t the scenario you imagined when you so desperately wanted to hug him. However, you didn’t complain. You’d hold him whenever he wanted it, whenever he needed it, and you would continue to do so as long as it required. His sobs quieted eventually, though the quiet ache remained.

When his breathing evened out, you murmured, "How’s she now?"

His arms remained around you, but his voice was steadier when he answered, "It was a long time ago. She’s fine and healthy now, but..." He swallowed thickly. "I guess it was the memory that made it feel like it just happened all over again."

Your gaze softened. Fondly, you reached up, brushing away the single tear trailing on his cheek with your thumb. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch. "I don’t want to sound rude, but... you need a change in friends."

Beomgyu let out a breath, something like a half-laugh. "I despise Jaekyung, actually."

You blinked. "Oh."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My acquaintance with him is... necessary. Because of Quidditch. But most of the time, I wish I could rip his head off."

You hummed in amusement, lips twitching. Then, after a beat, "I saw a fair in the city earlier today,” you said, eyes brightening a little as the thought came to you. “Do you want to go? If you'd rather head back to your room, that's fine, too."

Beomgyu was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating your offer. Then—"No. I don’t want to go back yet."

You nodded with a smile. "Alright then, let's visit the fair."

But just as you started to stand, Beomgyu’s hand found yours, and the sudden contact froze you in place. His fingers tightened around yours—a little reluctant, but firm. Then, in a voice so small you almost missed it, he said, "Thank you."

You barely had the chance to respond before he exhaled a quiet laugh, gaze dropping to where your hands remained clasped. "You know," he said, his tone light but distant, "I always thought you were a bit too unreachable for me."

Your breath stilled. The world tilted, the ground beneath you shifting. A quiet, electric tremor shot down your spine. Beomgyu thought you were unreachable?

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. Because all this time, you had thought it was him who had been just out of reach. That no matter how close you got, no matter how many nights you spent at his side in quiet companionship, there had always been something unattainable about him—something you dared not long for because it had never been yours to have. And yet, here he was, speaking as if you were the one perched on some distant pedestal, as if he had been the one looking up all along.

A breath rattled in your chest, the weight of the realization crashing down with a force that left you reeling. Every glance, every lingering moment, every ache in your ribs that you had swallowed down without question—had he felt it too? Had you spent all this time yearning for something that had been yearning right back at you?

And then, even softer, as if he was only speaking to himself—

"Where have you been all my life?"

Something inside you curled tight, heat coiling in your chest, in your throat, in the very marrow of your bones. You felt lightheaded, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You forced yourself to your feet, swallowing hard.

"The fair," you said, voice even despite the hurricane within you. "Let’s hurry before everything closes."

You made a quick stop at your room to grab your jacket and wallet before heading back out. When you reached the elevator, Beomgyu was already there, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes were a little puffy, a trace of exhaustion lingering in them, but the warmth in his smile softened the edges of his weariness.

Paris at night had always been breathtaking, but there was something different about seeing it like this—with him. The glow of string lights stretched above, casting golden halos over the cobbled pathways. The scent of caramelized sugar and roasted chestnuts drifted through the cool air, mixing with laughter and the distant strumming of a guitar from a street performer tucked into the corner of a square.

Beomgyu nudged your arm, tilting his head toward the rows of stalls ahead. “Where to first?”

You scanned the fair, the swirl of activity pulling at your attention. “Food,” you said. “You barely ate today.”

His brows lifted, feigning offense. “Are you keeping tabs on me now?”

You shot him a look, but his grin only widened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. With a scoff, you turned toward the nearest stand, and he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours in the moving crowd.

You both settled on crepes, their warmth seeping into your fingers as you took the first bite. Beomgyu, instead of eating his, watched you, waiting for your verdict. When you nodded in approval, he finally took his own bite, eyes flickering shut as a low hum of satisfaction escaped him.

“Good?” you asked, a trace of amusement lacing your voice.

“Mmh,” he murmured around another mouthful before swallowing. “I think I just fell in love.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. As you wandered further, the fair unfolded around you—a blur of color, the rise and fall of laughter, the clinking of game tokens. Beomgyu tested his luck at a stall, missing the target on his first try. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for another attempt.

But before he could, you nudged him aside and took your own shot. The ball hit dead center, toppling the target with ease.

His jaw slackened. “No way,” he breathed. “That was pure luck.”

“Skill,” you corrected, reaching for the small stuffed bear the vendor handed you. You turned, pressing it into his hands. “Here. Since you tried so hard.”

He stared at the plush toy, then back at you, his fingers curling around the soft fabric. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” you said, entirely unconvincing.

He shook his head, tucking the bear under his arm as you strolled onward. The night stretched around you, a haze of laughter and playful ribbing, of moments that lingered just a second longer than they needed to. Eventually, you both slowed near a stall adorned with ribbons, clips, and various hair accessories, their silk and satin edges fluttering under the glow of the lanterns above.

The vibrant flowers and intricate designs caught your eye, drawing you in. Your fingers traced over a delicate floral piece—soft ivory petals tinged with a faint blush. It was simple but striking.

Beomgyu followed your gaze, then reached forward, plucking the ornament from its place. His fingers brushed yours in the process, a brief touch that sent a ripple through your senses.

"This would look great on you," he mused, voice light yet sincere.

You hesitated, glancing at him before shifting your focus back to the clip. "I don’t know if I’m really the flower type."

He tilted his head, considering you. "I think it would suit you."

Before you could protest, he stepped closer, lifting a loose strand of your hair between his fingers. His touch was featherlight, his fingertips warm against the cool night air. The motion almost absentminded as he tucked the flower into place, adjusted the clip with an almost delicate sort of care.

"There," he murmured. "Perfect."

He was close enough that you could see the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes, the way the streetlights cast a glow in his hair. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered, as if admiring his work.

Under his intense gaze that pinned you to the ground, you glanced away, feeling your airways constricting. You looked at yourself in the small mirror the vendor offered, grazing the ornament.

"You’re beautiful," he said, soft but certain.

Your eyes widened. Turning your gaze back at him was a bad idea because the blood from your cheeks earlier which had subsided, rushed back immediately. He was watching you with such a dreamlike, dazed smile. The words settled somewhere deep, unshaken by embellishments, and yet they held a weight that left you grasping for balance.

"You know," the stall owner chimed in, smiling knowingly, "if you're looking for a couple's discount, I can give it to you for the matching set."

A startled breath caught in your throat. Your hands shot up waving as you opened your mouth, your voice coming out far less composed than usual. "Oh, no, it’s not like that—"

"We’ll take it," Beomgyu cut in smoothly, reaching for his wallet before you could finish.

You turned to him, eyes widening. "Wait, what are you—"

He waved you off, handing the cash to the vendor without missing a beat. "Consider it my gift," he added, his voice laced with satisfaction.

The stall owner chuckled, handing you the packaged clip. "A good choice," she remarked with a wink. "It suits her perfectly."

You exhaled, the warmth creeping up your neck, but Beomgyu only looked pleased, a victorious gleam in his eyes.

"Tonight was supposed to be about you," you sighed, holding the small package in your hands. "Why are you the one giving me gifts?"

Beomgyu held up the stuffed bear you had won for him earlier, his lips curling into a smirk. "You already got me this," he pointed out. Then, more quietly, "Besides, you brought me here. You made sure I was alright. A small gift is the least I can do."

You had no response to that.

"Accept it," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly. "For my sake."

A single snowflake drifted between you, catching the golden fair lights as it fell. Then another. And another.

Beomgyu tilted his head up, watching the first snowfall of the season settle over Paris. The world around you seemed to hush, the fair’s glow casting a warm halo over the descending frost. A slow smile spread across his face, something wistful in the way his gaze traced the sky.

"I want to see the Seine."

You glanced at him, the request unexpected. He turned back to you, eyes shining. "That day we visited, I couldn’t really take it in—not properly, not with everything else going on."

The quiet honesty in his voice softened something in you. "Then let’s go."

The walk to the bridge was slower, the fair’s noise fading behind you as the Seine stretched before you in its midnight stillness. The river carried the reflection of the city’s lights, a gentle shimmer under the falling snow. Beomgyu leaned against the railing, his hands curled over the frost-kissed iron, the glow of the streetlamps painting his profile in gold and shadow. Snowflakes clung to his hair, caught in the sweep of his lashes, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You watched him take it all in, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet breath. He turned to you then, his exhaustion evident in the way his body carried itself—but there was warmth in his gaze, something that made the air between you shift.

"How are you feeling now?" you asked, voice softer than you intended.

His lips parted, hesitation flickering over his features before he finally answered. "I feel much better." His eyes didn’t leave yours. "Thank you."

And you tried—God, you tried—not to say that you loved him. Tried to swallow it down, push it away, because tonight wasn’t about you. Tonight was about him, about making sure he was okay.

But then he reached up, fingertips ghosting against your cheek, light as snowfall. The warmth of his touch burned through the cold. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between restraint and surrender. He was close, close enough that the city blurred around you, close enough that his gaze flickered down—to your lips, then back up, eyes locking with a silent plea—

“Shit.”

—Beomgyu’s foot slid against the fresh snow, his arms flailing as he yelped. The moment snapped, the sharp bite of reality returning all at once. Instinct took over—you reached out, grabbing his arms before he could stumble further, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeves.

Your pulse was a riot against your ribs. "Beomgyu—"

And then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against you, your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket, Yeonjun’s name flashing on the screen.

You hesitated, the moment still hanging between you like an unfinished sentence. Beomgyu exhaled, something obscure passing over his expression before he turned back toward the river.

When you hung up the call, your voice felt foreign in your throat. "They’re making rounds. It’s time to go back."

The walk back to the hotel was silent. You didn’t meet his eyes when you reached the entrance, didn’t look back when you passed a very curious Yeonjun, locking the door behind you as soon as you stepped inside your room.

That night, sleep did not come easily to you.

Beomgyu was losing his mind.

Sleep had evaded him, slipping through his fingers like sand, and now, as the pale morning light filtered through his curtains, his thoughts remained tangled around you. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, but it did nothing to ease the restless ache in his chest. Last night’s scenes replayed behind his eyes in an unrelenting loop, haunting him, taunting him. What was he thinking?

His mind reeled back, drifting to the first time he had truly seen you—not as the girl everyone whispered about, the cold and cunning Slytherin, but as someone real. The flickering glow of the fireplace in the Room of Requirement had softened your sharp edges, revealing a warmth beneath the frigid surface. That night had unraveled everything he thought he knew about you. Without even realizing it, he had begun craving your presence, finding solace in it, drawn to the peace that rested between you.

Since when had you become his safe haven?

Beomgyu closed his eyes and draped an arm over them, lying motionless against the mattress. But the memory of you persisted. The way your arms had wound around him on the rooftop, the way your scent had lingered against his skin—soft florals, a trace of vanilla, and something that was just you. Maybe it was exhaustion clouding his mind, or maybe he had simply stopped pretending, but he wanted to feel your lips against his. The thought struck him like a force of nature, leaving him breathless in its wake.

His spiraling thoughts were abruptly shattered by the creak of the door. Heeseung sauntered in first, voice already animated as he recounted how he had caught two professors making out last night. Jeongin followed behind him, slipping onto the bed beside Beomgyu without a word.

Heeseung, noticing Beomgyu’s silence, slowed his chatter, his tone shifting. "What Jaekyung did during Truth or Dare—I'm sorry, it was very low of him."

Beomgyu sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It’s fine."

"No, it’s not. Did you see me laughing?" Heeseung pressed. "Yeah, exactly. None of us found it funny. Jaekyung knew he messed up. He barely said a word the rest of the night. Well, specifically after that revelation."

Beomgyu let out a small breath, forcing a half-smile. "Really, it doesn’t bother me."

Heeseung wasn’t convinced. He studied Beomgyu, his sharp gaze flickering over the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You look awful, man. You sure you’re good? You had a long night, huh?"

Beomgyu hesitated. It wasn’t about Jaekyung. It wasn’t about what had been said. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but he couldn't tell them that. Because the real reason for his unrest was you.

Heeseung, ever oblivious, started rummaging through the room, muttering about finding anything to help. But Jeongin, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke.

"Wanna see something?"

Both boys turned to the Hufflepuff as he casually reached into his sling bag and pulled out a small vial. He held it up, letting the light catch on the iridescent liquid inside.

Heeseung nearly choked. "Dude, is that—?"

"Amortentia." 

Beomgyu sat up abruptly. "How the hell did you manage to sneak that into Paris?"

Jeongin only grinned, his fox-like eyes gleaming with mischief. "I just did."

"You’re a Slytherin in disguise, aren’t you?" Beomgyu gave him a pointed look.

Jeongin merely shrugged, shaking the vial slightly. "So, do you want to take a whiff or not?"

Beomgyu hesitated—he had smelled Amortentia before, but that was a long time ago. The things he had loved back then surely couldn't compare to now. Slowly, he took the vial, uncorking it with careful fingers. The moment the scent reached, a laugh threatened to break out from him.

Because of course, it was you.

It had always been you.

Your scent filled his lungs, weaving into his very essence, curling into the spaces between his ribs, settling in the marrow of his bones. The delicate trace of your floral shampoo, the warmth of vanilla that clung to your skin, the bittersweet coffee that lingered on your lips. And beneath it all, something intangible—something that wasn't just a scent, but a feeling. A muted gravity pulling him home. It filled him like the hush of the tide against the shore, constant and inevitable.

Beomgyu had spent his life bending, shifting, molding himself into what others needed him to be. Always laughing, always the light, always the reflection of what others wanted. He had blurred the lines of himself so many times that he feared there was nothing real left underneath.

But here, now, he knew.

Because for once, he wasn’t afraid of what he wanted. For once, he wasn’t running away. He was running toward it—toward you.

Beomgyu loved you.

And it was the truest thing he had ever known; the truest he had been to himself. 

You weren’t doing any better.

When Yeji left for breakfast, you refused to leave your bed, burying yourself deeper into the sheets. Time passed in a haze until Yeonjun dropped by, setting down a tray of food with an expectant look that left no room for argument. He made sure you ate, his gaze watchful as if he could see right through you. And in the end, he did.

With little effort, Yeonjun coaxed the truth out of you—the tangled mess of last night, the words unsaid, the emotions left raw and aching.

"Wait," he blinked. "You’re saying—I cockblocked you?"

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face. His choice of words made you cringe, but in a way, he wasn’t wrong. Instead of confirming it, you merely grumbled in protest.

Yeonjun only laughed, ruffling your hair in a rare display of fondness. "It’ll work out," he said, voice softer now. "You two just need to stop being idiots about it."

“Easier for you to say,” you muttered bitterly, throwing another pillow.

He caught it easily, his laughter carried by the wind that visited through your open balcony. Moments like these reminded you why you were grateful to have him in your life—not just as a friend, but as family.

Today, though, you weren’t in the mood to go out. You hadn’t slept a wink last night, and exhaustion pulled at your limbs. So, as the world carried on beyond your window, you curled back under the blankets, surrendering to sleep.

But before you drifted off, a decision settled firmly in your mind.

Tomorrow before leaving, you will talk to Beomgyu.

Beomgyu didn't know who he was expecting when he opened the door, but it certainly wasn't Jaekyung.

His face remained blank, devoid of any welcoming expression, though irritation simmered just beneath the surface. Jaekyung, with his usual cocky nonchalance, stood there holding up two beer bottles as though they were old friends sharing a casual drink. "Let’s have a chat over drinks?"

A bitter taste coated Beomgyu’s tongue. He didn’t want this conversation, didn’t want to spend another second in Jaekyung’s presence, but with the inevitability of Quidditch matches and shared spaces, dragging this out seemed more of a hassle. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he stepped aside, wordlessly agreeing.

That’s how he found himself on the rooftop of the hotel, the night air crisp against his skin, the city lights sprawling endlessly beneath them. Jaekyung popped open his can, tilting his head back for a long chug before sighing, relishing the bitter taste. He started talking—about last night, about how he hoped Beomgyu didn’t take it to heart, how it was all just a joke, how he hadn’t meant to hurt Beomgyu’s feelings or disrespect his mother. The words tumbled out in a half-hearted apology, as though he expected Beomgyu to nod along and laugh it off.

Beomgyu remained silent, his grip loose around his own can, having only taken a single sip. He wasn’t really here to make peace, just to tolerate the moment until it passed.

Jaekyung scoffed, took another sip, and muttered, "That Slytherin bitch really had to ruin shit for me."

Beomgyu’s fingers tensed against the can. His brows furrowed as he turned his head, eyes sharp. "What?"

Jaekyung exhaled in exasperation. "You heard me. That girl—she really has some nerve. If she hadn’t butted in, everything would’ve gone fine for me. But no, she just had to stick her nose where it didn’t belong." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed. "You should be careful around her, Beomgyu. I mean, come on. You know how those Slytherins are. Always scheming, always looking out for themselves. Who knows how dirty her hands are? Wouldn't be surprised if she's dabbled in the Dark Arts."

Beomgyu’s grip on the can tightened, metal bending under the pressure of his fingers.

Jaekyung let out a dry chuckle, swirling the beer in his hand. "Hell, I wouldn’t even be shocked if she ended up killing someo—"

The words couldn't fully leave Jaekyung’s mouth, Beomgyu’s fist curled into the front of his shirt, shoving him back with enough force to slam him against the wall. The dull thud of impact echoed in the night air. Jaekyung’s beer can clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the concrete.

The moment stretched, heavy with unfiltered rage. Beomgyu’s chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, his knuckles white against the fabric of Jaekyung’s shirt. His heart pounded, his vision blurred in a haze of fury.

Jaekyung, momentarily stunned, let out a breathless laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk despite the pressure against his collar. "Don’t tell me you like her?" he taunted, his voice dipping into something almost mocking. "Do you even know what you’re doing?"

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening. "Say another word about her, and I swear to God, I won’t hold back next time," he warned, his voice low, deadly.

Jaekyung only grinned wider, eyes glinting with amusement. "You’re ruining Gryffindor’s image by hanging around with that filthy Slytherin."

That was all it took.

His fist snapped forward, knuckles colliding with Jaekyung’s jaw in a brutal, sickening crack that rang through the night. Jaekyung’s head jerked to the side, his smirk wiped clean as he staggered, nearly losing his footing.

Beomgyu didn’t care about the consequences. Not the whispers, not the wary glances, not the tarnish on his image this could bring. If it meant protecting you—from slander, from the storm of false assumptions, from people who spat on your name without knowing the first thing about you—then his reputation could burn.

By the time you woke up, the sun had already begun its slow descent beyond the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of amber and violet. A dull throbbing pulsed behind your eyes as you pushed yourself upright, the remnants of sleep still clinging to your limbs. Blinking away the haze, you scanned the room, your gaze landing on the empty space where Yeji had been. Her absence was quickly explained by the neatly folded note left on the bedside table.

Spending the night with the girls. Don’t wait up!

You sighed, rubbing at your temples before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The headache lingered—a dull, persistent ache that made deciding between coffee and painkillers a heavier task than it should have been. Eventually, you settled on coffee, craving the warmth more than anything, but you shot Yeonjun a quick text anyway, asking him to grab some medicine on his way back.

At that moment, Yeonjun was at a bar with his friends. His phone buzzed just as Heeseung announced he was heading back to the hotel. Yeonjun barely glanced at the screen before catching Heeseung by the wrist.

"Hey, do me a favor? Grab some painkillers from the pharmacy on your way back and drop them off for her?"

Heeseung, already halfway out the door, gave a lazy salute before disappearing into the night. The city lights flickered against the polished streets as he made his way to the nearest pharmacy, the mild buzz of alcohol in his veins making everything feel a little lighter. The store was nearly empty save for one other customer browsing the aisles, and in his attempt to maneuver past them, Heeseung’s shoulder clipped theirs, sending both their purchases tumbling to the ground.

"Shit, my bad," he muttered, hastily gathering his things. The stranger offered a muttered reassurance, but embarrassment burned at the tips of his ears. Before he could make a bigger fool of himself, he all but bolted out the door.

By the time he reached the hotel, the sky had deepened to a velvety blue, the streets humming with the distant sounds of nightlife. He knocked on your door, shifting on his feet as he waited. When you finally opened it, brows furrowed in confusion, Heeseung only grinned.

"Yeonjun’s gonna be late, so he asked me to drop this off for you."

You blinked at the offered packet before reaching out to take it. "Oh. Thanks, Heeseung. You should get some rest."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand dismissively, then let out a sheepish chuckle. "Almost didn’t make it in one piece. I crashed into some poor stranger at the pharmacy and sent both our stuff flying. Thought they were gonna curse me on the spot."

You shook your head with a small laugh, watching as he sauntered off down the hall before shutting the door. Tossing the packet onto the bed, you turned your attention to the half-packed suitcase waiting for you. With your departure set for tomorrow night, you figured it was best to finish now, leaving only the essentials untouched.

By the time you were done, you were exhausted. You turned off the lights to ease the dull headache, leaving the room bathed in the faint glow of the city beyond the balcony doors. Drawn by the cool night air, you stepped outside, letting the gentle breeze carry away the last remnants of your lingering headache. The trip had been a blur of moments, each one folding into the next, but despite everything, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to Beomgyu.

You hadn’t seen him all day. Not since last night on the bridge.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the memory, and you groaned, dropping your face into your palms. Shaking your head, you turned away, desperate for a distraction. That’s when your gaze landed on the packet resting on your bed. Right. You should put it away.

Grabbing it, you tore it open with little thought—only to freeze. There were no painkillers inside. Instead, a mix of unfamiliar medicine stared back at you, along with—

Your stomach dropped.

—several packets of condoms.

For a second, you just stared, unable to process what you were looking at. Then, realization struck like a slap to the face.

Heeseung must've picked up the wrong packet. Oh god.

A strangled sound crawled up your throat as you dragged a hand down your face. There was no way you were keeping this. You had to return it. Now.

Exhaling sharply, you marched toward the door, and yanked it open—only to stumble back in surprise.

Beomgyu stood just outside, equally startled, his eyes widening as yours did the same. Your breath caught, pulse stumbling over itself as you took another step back.

He looked as if he’d been caught red-handed, lips parting slightly before snapping shut, his fingers twitching at his sides. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both frozen in place, the tension crackling between you like a frayed wire. Your heart pounded, his gaze settling heavy in your chest, leaving you breathless in a way that had nothing to do with surprise.

Your eyes widened, and then widened even more when you took in his face—a deep bruise darkening his right cheekbone, his lower lip split and raw. The sharp inhale you took was nearly drowned by the surge of panic crashing through you. Without thinking, you stepped forward, reaching for him, but the movement seemed to shake him from his daze.

“S-Sorry, I should go back—” Beomgyu stammered, already taking a step back.

Your fingers caught his wrist before he could slip away, your grip firm despite the hammering of your pulse. "Get inside."

Beomgyu hesitated, but the authority in your voice left no room for argument. You tugged him in, shutting the door with more force than necessary before turning on the lamp atop the dresser. The warm glow cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the damage on his face. You exhaled sharply through your nose, frustration simmering beneath your skin as you pushed him onto the bed.

He let you, watching in silence as you crouched before him, scanning his injuries with an expression that left no space for anything but raw, unfiltered concern. He should have been saying something—assuring you, maybe—but he found himself caught instead, watching the way your brows knit together, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to touch him.

Beomgyu didn’t know what came over him after the fight with Jaekyung, but he was sure of one and one thing only—he needed to see you. That was why he let his feet take him to your room, but as he was about to knock, he woke up from his daze. Caught in between the dilemma of letting his desire to see you win or turn away and go back to his room, he spent more time standing in front of your door than necessary

“Who did this to you?” The question left you in a voice steadier than you felt. But you didn’t wait for an answer. You already knew. “Jaekyung?”

Beomgyu's hand shot out, grasping yours before you could rise. “Listen to me. Please.” His voice was hoarse, his grip warm. “I started the fight.”

You froze, stunned. He sighed, lips pressing together before he spoke again. “He said some things about you he shouldn’t have. I couldn’t just let him run his mouth when he assumed the worst about you.”

Something in your chest twisted—something sharp, something ugly. Your pulse thrummed as a thousand thoughts warred within you. Was this your fault? Did he feel like he had to defend you? Anger flared, not at him, but at the situation, at Jaekyung, at the bruises marking Beomgyu’s skin.

Without a word, you pulled away, heading for the bathroom. You needed something—anything—to fix this mess. But you found nothing, except opting for a bowl of water from the basin. Frustration burned as you muttered a curse under your breath. You yanked open your bag, grabbing your wand and a handkerchief instead. You threw a Mufffliato charm at your door before getting hold of the dresser stool.

Returning, you dragged the stool in front of him, sitting so close your knees brushed. His fingers curled against his lap, his gaze heavy as it followed your movements.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.” The clipped response did little to ease him. His fingers found yours again, tentative this time. “Don’t be upset,” he murmured, and the quiet weight in his voice sent something quivering through you.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I’m not upset,” you whispered. “But I need you to let me take care of you.”

You may have appeared frigid outwardly as you pulled your hand away from his and worked to wet the cloth with water, but inside, you were trembling. Your emotions threatened to spill over, pressing against the tight control you struggled to maintain. You chose silence, but the longer Beomgyu stared at you with those dark, blazing eyes, the harder it became to hold everything in.

Beomgyu, as if sensing it, tried to assure you that he was fine.

“Stop.” Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the bruise marring his cheekbone as you brought the cloth to his skin.

The moment it touched his wound, he went rigid, eyes squeezing shut, a strangled groan escaping his lips. The sound shouldn't have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did, settling uncomfortably in the back of your mind. His hand found your thigh, fingers curling into the flesh. Your breath became uneven, hands trembling, but you carried on, ignoring it.

You wrung the cloth in your hands, the fabric twisting between your fingers. "Do you think this changes anything?" The words came measured, steady despite the storm within. "Do you think I care what Jaekyung says about me?"

You dabbed at his wound again, perhaps a little too firmly. Beomgyu hissed softly, but he didn’t pull away. His grip on your thigh tightened instead.

"If he spreads shit about me to the entire Hogwarts, it wouldn’t matter." You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you dipped the cloth back into the water. "I’m used to it." The tremor in your fingers betrayed you as you wrung it out again, your knuckles paling from the force. "Nothing would have made a difference."

You pressed the cloth to his skin once more, frustration bleeding into every action.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your leg.

You swallowed, hands tense as you tossed the cloth aside. "You didn’t have to act so rashly," you muttered, softer now, though no less strained. Your grip on your wand tightened. "You didn’t have to taint your hands for me." Your lips parted, but the words felt heavy on your tongue. You inhaled sharply, forcing them out anyway. "I’m already in ashes."

The weight of it all pressed down on you, suffocating. Still, you forced your hand steady as you lifted your wand. With a muttered, "Episkey," the bruise on his cheek faded, healing instantly under the glow of magic.

You finally looked at him then, your eyes searching his face. Beomgyu held your gaze, the fire in his own unwavering.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. "Why?" The question slipped out, quieter than before, like it had been torn from somewhere deep inside you. "Why would you go this far for me? When doing so now will destroy your reputation?"

A shaky breath left you as you ran a hand through your hair, then buried your face in your palms. Silence stretched between you, but it suffocated you and dragged you down as if drowning in the deep sea with no hopes of swimming back up.

Beomgyu watched you, his jaw tightening. Even now, you were worrying about him rather than feeling any anger over being disrespected. How could you be so selfless? How many years of cruel judgment had it taken for you to be this nonchalant about people dragging your name through the dirt?

Regret wasn’t something Beomgyu felt tonight.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you’re worked up.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Beomgyu only offered a lopsided smile, tilting his head. “Did you really think I’d just stand there and let that son of a bitch talk about you like that?” His voice was quiet but firm. “You don’t deserve that.”

You felt waves of gratitude wash over the shore of frustration and guilt, mixing into a cacophony of intangible emotions in your chest. To know the person you loved so dearly saw you for who you were and stood up for you even at the risk of being ruined—it was getting harder to fight back the clog in your throat, the sting behind your eyes.

“But will you ever let me do the same for you?” The words tumbled out before you could even think, slipping past the restraint you had been holding onto.

He stared at you for a moment, his face softening in the dim light. “I didn’t think you needed to,” he said at last, voice quieter now.

“I do,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the vulnerability in your words. “I want to.”

You held your wand up to heal the split in his lip, but he caught your wrist again, stopping you before the spell could form.  You froze when he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the curve of your neck.

“You already do,” he murmured, his voice no louder than the snow drifting outside. “I don't think you realize how much you change everything just by being here.”

His scent was dizzying, warm and intoxicating, pressing into your senses until it became difficult to think of anything else. But nothing could have prepared you for the wildfire coursing through your veins when his lips grazed the skin just above your collarbone. A quiet gasp slipped from you before you could swallow it down. Your free hand moved on instinct, gripping his bicep, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Beomgyu,” you managed to breathe out, mind unraveling at the fact that such a simple touch from him had set your entire body ablaze. You weren’t sure if you were trying to stop him or yourself.

You felt it then—the shudder that passed through him, as though he was holding back something just as consuming as what had taken root inside you. He didn’t move away. Instead, his grip on your hand tightened slightly as he lifted his head, eyes finding yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with restraint, his breath uneven against your lips.

“And I don’t think you understand how hard I’m trying to resist.”

Your chest ached. Because he had been holding back, all this time. And you had, too.

The realization unraveled you. It wasn’t just tonight. It had been every moment before this one—every touch avoided, every glance turned away too soon, every night spent swallowing words that threatened to spill. You had forced yourself into stillness, even when everything inside you begged to reach for him.

But now, with his words settling deep, breaking apart the last of your restraint, there was nothing left to stop you.

Your hand trailed from his bicep, slipping into his hair, fingertips threading through the strands. His lashes fluttered, and then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as though savoring the warmth of your palm. A breath escaped him, quiet, shivering.

Your heart pounded. Your emotions curled tight in your chest, coiling, pressing, threatening to consume you whole.

And so you kissed him.

His lips felt soft against yours. The touch was careful, lasting for just a few fleeting seconds before you pulled back, shamelessly breathless, searching his face for his reaction. Beomgyu remained still, gaze lowered, lips parted as he lifted a trembling hand to touch where your lips had been. His fingertips brushed over his busted lip, smearing the faint trace of blood left behind.

“More.”

The word was barely a whisper, but the desperation in his voice sent a spark skittering down your stomach. He let go of your hand, his palms cupping your face instead and pulled you in, crashing his lips onto yours with more intention this time. The sheer intensity of it clawed out a tattered whimper from the back of your throat as you tumbled forward into him.

The taste of blood mixed into the kiss, coppery and intoxicating, the sting of his split lip making him hiss against your mouth. It should have made you pull away, should have given you pause, but instead, it only fueled the heat roaring between you. Your tongue swiped over the wound, drawing a sharp, shuddering moan from him. You noted how he liked the pleasure that came with pain before sliding your tongue deeper into his mouth, claiming him.

He met you with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours in a battle for dominance. But you refused to lose.  Your body moved on its own, pulling him even closer as you straddled his waist. Your fingers tugged at his hair, drawing a broken moan from him, and just as you felt him start to crumble beneath you, you pushed him back against the mattress.

Beomgyu let out a quiet yelp, eyes wide as he stared up at you, dazed and breathless. Your heart stuttered, not expecting it to be so utterly, devastatingly adorable.

Your gaze flickered over him, your breath shaky, heart thundering in your chest. You had wanted this for so long—to feel him like this, to have his scent clinging to your skin, to taste his lips, even if they were bruised and tinged with blood. It felt surreal, intoxicating, overwhelming in every sense.

A fond smile ghosted your lips as you reached out, fingers brushing through his tousled hair. His skin was already covered in a sheen of sweat, the winter air failing to cool the fire blazing between you. His chest heaved with each breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“Are you still upset with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, breathless.

You shook your head, reaching for his bruised knuckles. Bringing them to your lips, you pressed a soft kiss against them.

“Just promise me you’ll never let yourself get hurt for me.”

His fingers curled against yours, before he lifted his other hand, tangling it in your hair, pulling you down to him. He sealed the promise with another searing kiss, one that stole the breath from your lungs and ignited every nerve in your body. He flipped you over in one swift movement, deepening the kiss.

This time, it was fervent, consuming—his lips moving against yours like he’d been starving for this. His body slotted between your parted legs, pressing against you entirely. Your eyes flew open when you felt him grinding his hips against yours, his hardness rubbing against your torrid core—and despite both of you being clothed, the scorching pleasure it was bringing was mind numbing. A broken gasp spilled from your lips as your back arched against him.

Beomgyu pulled away just enough to look at you, watching the string of saliva connecting your lips before it disappeared. His gaze darkened at the sight of you beneath him—lips swollen and red-stained, face flushed, hair framing you so perfectly that it made his breath hitch. His entire body burned with the need for you, an ache so deep he could barely think.

God, he needed you.

So badly it was nearly unbearable.

“I need you,” he almost pleaded, his hips kept grinding against yours, making your sanity crumble away further. Your mind had nothing left but his name chanted over and over again like a prayer. “Can I have you? Please let me have you?”

You nodded through your haze, because how could you refuse?

He pulled his hoodie and shirt off over his head in a quick motion, and your eyes, heavy with lust, trailed down his body, his flexing muscles as he threw the clothes across the room. Beomgyu dipped down to press his lips to yours once more, his arm wrapping around your head, the other hand tugging at the waistline of your pants. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbones before biting down on the supple flesh, eliciting a strained moan from you. "So perfect."

Beomgyu groaned against your pulse point when his fingers slid in between your folds, collecting your arousal before lathering all of it in an up and down motion over your slit, each time bumping against your clit and applying just the right amount of pressure on the bundle of nerve. It sent jolts of pleasure through your body as your nails dug around his shoulders, your back arching into his body. When his name came in the form of a broken melody past your lips, he pushed two fingers in your waiting core, curling them deliriously against your sweet spot that had you seeing stars. 

Your hips stuttered, grinding up to meet his thrusting fingers as you writhed underneath him while Beomgyu’s torrid lips drew wonders on your neck, leaving behind a trail of fire. It felt so good, your lips caught between your teeth, your head buzzed with unfathomable ecstasy at the feeling of his long, thick fingers massaging your walls. You only could wonder how his cock would feel inside you. The thought alone had your thighs trembling. 

The familiar sensation of heat coiling in your lower stomach began to embrace you, and you knew Beomgyu knew, because your walls clenched around his digits. He lifted his head to lock eyes with you, as his fingers picked up their pace, encouraging you to come undone. “You’re doing so good for me,” he coaxed. “You’re doing amazing, love.”

“Beomgyu,” you whined, voice trembling and gasping. “I’m—I’m almost—” 

The relentless pace along with his sweet praises sent your senses into a euphoric haze as you cried out, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Beomgyu ran his fingers through your hair, soothing your scalp as you came down from your high, chest heaving with every breath you took. The sinful sight of him wrapping his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them made you glance away.

“Sweet. How do you taste so sweet?” His thumb pressed against your bottom lip before pulling it down. His tongue pushed past your lips, the feeling of your arousal melting into your mouth was so overwhelming that it drawled out a groan from you. 

Your mind was already so fucked out that you had to snap yourself into reality when Beomgyu repeated his question. He cooed, gently caressing your cheek when you blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes. 

“Do you want to keep this on?” he tugged on the hem of your shirt, eyes trailing the skin of your arms where goosebumps have risen. The goosebumps didnt come from the cold, no—it was the mere effect he had on you, so you shook your head, propping yourself up just enough to tug your shirt over your head, leaving only your bra on.

Beomgyu swallowed thickly, sitting back on his heels as his eyes roamed around your body—over the soft swell of your breast, the dips of your collarbone, the curves of your sides—and he kept wondering how he managed to get so lucky. His hand glided up the small of your back and with nimble fingers he unclasped your bra before letting it join the discarded clothes on the floor. Pulling you flushed against his chest, Beomgyu peppered soft kisses on your shoulder and he inhaled your scent. Gosh, he was going crazy—absolutely, maddeningly insane for you.

Your bleary gaze fell on the outline of his hardened shaft, waiting and beginning to be pulled out from its restraints. With shaky hands you reached out to tug on his sweatpants, expectantly looking up at him. Beomgyu wasted no time working on his pants, strong hands pulling you closer to him before his leaking cockhead grazed your clit. The choked moan that escaped from the back of your throat made you wonder if it truly was your voice. 

“Protection?” he asked, his voice momentarily cutting through your heady haze.

You nodded, looking at the packet that, now thanks to Heeseung’s clumsiness, came in handy. Beomgyu followed your gaze, reaching for the packet before emptying its contents on the bed. Even if he had any questions, he chose not to voice it as he silently tore one packet with his teeth and rolled the thin rubber over his shaft, giving it a few pumps.

The anticipation that coiled within your stomach crawled up to your throat and through your chest, gathering all your oxygens from your lungs on its way. Beomgyu shuddered over you, hands roaming, fingers mapping out your skin like he was committing every inch of you to memory. He lined the tip of his cock against your entrance—then suddenly stilled all his movements. 

Your heart stopped as your eyes searched his face, looking for any semblance of discomfort—or worse, if he was thinking it was all a mistake, if he was thinking of backing out at the last moment. Beomgyu closed his eyes, brows knitting together as he exhaled sharply. The silence felt too thick for you to disturb it. You could only wet your chapped lips—a futile attempt to ease your nerves.

Finally, in a low whisper, he said, “I think I might be a terrible person.”

For a split second, you believed him—you thought he was about to confess something unforgivable. Then you realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.

You let out a shaky breath. Was it relief? Perhaps. Perhaps it was also the love that you felt for this man. He was already so deeply tangled in your soul, you weren’t ready to let go of him so easily. Not in this lifetime, not in the next, not in any lifetime to come.

You cupped his face, tilting it to make him look at you. You tried to pour all your love, your admiration, your desire into the way you gazed at him. With a fond smile, you murmured, “I’m a terrible person too. And I want you. I just want you—all your flaws, your mistakes, your smiles, your jokes, everything.”

He kissed you, so deeply, so fiercely, that the gasp you let out when you felt him stretching you was entirely devoured by his mouth. Fingers clawing his back, you couldn't decide where to focus—the sheer euphoric wave of pleasure engulfing your body, or the way Beomgyu muttered apologies in your ear. 

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry—ah, I'm so sorry, love,” he whispered softly, giving you time to adjust as he slowly sank into your aching core. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he had to fight the urge to cum from just feeling your tight walls clench around him. “I promise, it will feel good. I’ve got you.”

The bed creaked beneath you as he pulled out slowly before pushing back in, setting the pace into deep languid thrusts that had you gasping and moaning with every movement. Beomgyu tried to hold onto the last bit of his sanity when he felt your hand trail up to the hair on his nape, curling and tugging on a fistful. He buried his face into your neck, strained moans filling your ear deliciously as his hips snapped against yours. You didn't notice his arms buckling, one of his hands having to brace the mattress beside your head, fist twisting into the sheets.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to bring him even closer to you—as if such an act of desperation could alone imprint every pattern of his body on yours. The depraved sound of skin against skin along with your mingling groans and gasps resonated off the walls of the room. Your already sensitive cunt throbbed with pleasure with every shallow drag of his cock, reaching unfathomable places inside you. 

It wasn't the cold air that sent a shiver down your spine but rather his featherlight touch over your hardened nipple. You squirmed at the sensation and he immediately moved his hand away. “Too much?” concern laced his voice as he let his hand find purchase on your hips instead, massaging the soft flesh. His consideration and care towards you knocked the air out of your lungs, chest constricting painfully. 

“Kiss me,” you pleaded breathlessly, “Beomgyu, please kiss me.”

He didn't need to be told twice, stealing your breath in a slow, languid kiss that matched his pace. His lips moved against yours with aching slowness, savoring every second, every press, every stolen breath. His hand from your hip trailed up your sides, leaving a searing path in their wake, fingertips pressing into your skin as if he needed to reassure himself that you were real, that this was real.

All the whimpers and moans that spilled from you—he swallowed them down greedily, a low hum of approval vibrating against your lips. He broke away only to pepper kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “You drive me insane,” he murmured between kisses, voice thick with desire, each word punctuated by his shallow thrusts. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

His words sent a tremor down your spine, and when he found the pulse point beneath your jaw, sucking lightly, you let out a soft gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. You felt your high approaching you again, your whimpers getting louder by the seconds as your eyes rolled back to your head. He groaned at the sensation of your walls spasming, the sound reverberating against your skin like a plea, a promise, a confession.

You were his undoing—and he was yours.

“Let go, love,” he muttered in a strained voice as you clenched around him like a vice, your body quivering when you finished, his name spilling from you so sinfully that it drove him over the edge. He helped you ride out your orgasm, seeds spilling inside the condom but the warmth seeped into your walls, making you bite down on your lips harshly.

There was a beat of silence as you both chased for air. Beomgyu moved first, helping you sit up with the same gentleness and care as before. When he returned with a damp towel, he pressed it softly against your skin, wiping away the sheen of sweat. His eyes, dark yet brimming with unmistakable adoration—something tender, something irrevocable—never wavered from yours.

You took in the quiet love in his gaze, the way it mirrored your own, and let yourself smile. Your fingers brushed against his bruised lips, tracing them with featherlight touches. "Remind me to fix this," you murmured.

Beomgyu chuckled, a boyish grin breaking across his face before he tugged you down with him onto the bed. He pulled the covers over both of you, cocooning you in warmth, in safety, in him.

For a fleeting moment, you still thought it was a dream. If it was, then it would be the happiest one you've ever had. But the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic beat of his heart against your skin, and the way his body heat shielded you from the bitter Parisian winter told you otherwise. This was real. Every second of it was real.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You tilted your face up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, sealing the words against his mouth before murmuring them back to him.

And then, like an echo in your mind, Yeonjun’s words from before resurfaced—that Paris, the city of love, truly had a way of bringing people together.

The morning air was tinged with the scent of freshly baked bread and coffee as you walked through the narrow streets lined with breakfast cafés. The quiet hum of Paris waking up surrounded you, but your mind was far from the charming scenery. Your hands remained tucked in the pockets of your coat as you thought back to the last message exchanged with Beomgyu—your simple note telling him not to wait for you, that he should go ahead and get breakfast without you.

You slowed your steps as you neared a particular café, your gaze settling on the man seated near the window. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too lost in his own world—perhaps nursing the remnants of last night’s misjudgment.

The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your presence unnoticed at first. You made your way toward him with unhurried steps, pulling out the empty chair across from him with an ease that belied the tension hanging between you.

“Good morning, Jaekyung.”

Your voice was pleasant, smooth—almost sweet—but your eyes held none of the warmth your tone suggested. The cruel amusement dancing in them, however, was impossible to miss.

Jaekyung stiffened, his expression shifting the moment he looked up and met your gaze. He stared as though he had seen a ghost. A reaction you found deeply satisfying.

You leaned back against the chair, taking in the damage Beomgyu had left on his face. A slow smile curled your lips. A shame, really, that Beomgyu’s fist had gotten to him first. You had so much more to say.

Jaekyung recovered quickly, forcing an unimpressed scoff as he crossed his arms. “Are you looking for more trouble?”

Your brow lifted at his audacity. For all his bravado, he didn’t seem as comfortable now. When you didn’t immediately respond, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the movement. “Look, if this is about your boyfriend, then I have nothing to say. He hit me first, so obviously, I had to act.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. Then, with the same polite smile, you spoke. “Jaekyung,” you said lightly, “if I were you, I’d choose my next course of action very carefully.” You let the words settle, your gaze never breaking from his. “Specifically with the amount of dirt in your hands.”

His fingers twitched against the ceramic cup, his brows knitting together as his body stiffened. His voice dropped slightly. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned forward just enough for your presence to fully command his attention. “Between you and me,” you murmured, voice carrying the air of something far more dangerous than idle threats, “I think we both know who truly has tainted hands here, don’t we?”

Silence. A thick, suffocating pause where the realization dawned in his eyes.

You watched him struggle to formulate a response, but you had already grown bored. You pushed back your chair and rose to your feet. You adjusted the cuffs of your coat, smoothing out an imaginary crease as if this entire encounter had been nothing more than a passing chore.

Before turning away, you allowed one last look at him—one that stripped away the pleasantness in your smile and replaced it with something far colder.

“Take it as a word of advice.” You paused. Then, with a sharpened edge that left no room for misinterpretation, you added, “Or better yet—a warning.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, the quiet sound of your departure swallowed by the morning bustle outside. Behind you, Jaekyung remained frozen in his seat, the reality of your words settling deep into his bones.

When you returned to the hotel, you found Beomgyu seated in the lobby by the fireplace, a book in his hands—the same one he had been reading on the train. The sight of him made your heart swell, a warmth unfurling deep within you.

Sensing your presence, Beomgyu lifted his head, his lips curving into a gentle smile—the one he reserved only for you. His face was free of bruises now; you had tended to them carefully that morning before he left your room, making sure every mark was soothed away by your touch.

“You’re back,” he murmured, rising to his feet. His hands found your face, cradling it with the kind of tenderness that made the world around you disappear. Then, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the muted words between you.

A loud gasp shattered the moment.

Oh. Right. You had completely forgotten that your friends were still around.

You turned to find Heeseung standing a few feet away, his mouth comically wide open. Beside him, Jeongin looked positively delighted before promptly dragging Heeseung away, muttering something about giving people privacy. You didn’t miss the way Yeonjun smiled at you from where he sat across the room—there was something genuine, something deeply affectionate in his gaze, as if he was truly, wholeheartedly happy for you.

Beomgyu’s thumbs traced soft circles against your cheeks. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, as if this moment belonged only to the two of you.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s stay here. It’s warm here.”

You tugged him back to the sofa, the flickering fire enveloping its warmth around you. As you settled in beside him, a playful smile ghosted your lips. Lifting the book in your hands, you turned to him and asked, “Do you read books?”

The same question you had asked him weeks ago, back in the Room of Requirement. Back when you had lent him your shoulder, when he had dozed off beside you as you read together.

Beomgyu huffed out a soft chuckle, recognizing the memory you were drawing upon. Tenderness and something softer flickered in his gaze as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes, love,” he murmured, smiling against your skin. “Yes, I do.”

And as you sat there together, wrapped in the soft glow of the fire, you couldn’t help but think that Beomgyu was exactly like an aubade—a gentle reminder of all the warmth and beauty that could be found in unexpected moments, lingering long after the night had passed.

THE END.

Taglist; @dawngyu @gyu-tori @xylatox @hoefororeo @imlonelydontsendhelp @caratcakemoa @flowzel @weaknerv @kejingken @ewsnup @somiaw @bamgeutori @whatblop @hanhani29 @lilbrorufr @melmochii @slut4gyuu @no1likemybbgcharlie @izzyy-stuff @wonderstrucktae @virtaideen @viciousdarlings @rprpilynj @hyukarma @heejamas @beomkyum @fancypeacepersona @jich3nle @beommieternity @fatbixchwithanopinion @frankghgr @xodidarks @thelastairbend3r-blog @nagyu @90steele @kyukyustar @xai-mery @heretoreadshi

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

😭😭😭awww i love harry potter soo much- my two worlds colliding🩶

half a spell. | part one

synopsis: With the Yule Ball fast approaching, Beomgyu enlists you—his best friend—as his wingman in a bold plan to win over Kim Chaewon, the school’s golden girl. In return, he promises to find you the perfect date, sparking a ridiculous series of interviews. Meanwhile, you’re quietly drawn to Kai, a reserved Hufflepuff whose tutoring sessions slowly unravel something unexpected between you. But as your connection with Kai grows and Beomgyu edges closer to asking Chaewon out, something unspoken begins to shift between the two of you—just in time to make everything so fucking complicated.

pairing: gryffindor bestfriend!Beomgyu x gryffindor fem!reader, hufflepuff!Kai x gryffindor fem!reader

genre: hogwarts AU, bestfriends-to-lovers, wingman-to-lover, slow-burn romance, unrequited crush, jealousy sparking realization, love triangle (?)

warning/s: lots of swearing, slow burn as fuck

wc: 14.6k

a/n: omgg ive always wanted to write a hogwarts AU ficc LMAOO my guilty pleasure lowk omg. i was originally going to focus on beomgyu in this fic but i was like... hueningkai as a hufflepuff tho.. so here we aree. i rlly hope u guys like this bc damn did this take me a long time to write like omll

“We’re fucking doomed.”

Beomgyu dramatically drops his head onto the table with a dull thud, narrowly missing an open ink bottle.

It’s mid-afternoon. The Great Hall during this time is supposed to be for a quiet study—OWLs prep, strictly enforced and monitored by professors.

Key word: quiet.

But the silence has drifted away. Instead, the hall hums with restless energy. Sunlight streams through towering windows, casting light over scattered notes and half-abandoned textbooks.

The usual calm has given way to whispers and occasional bursts of laughter. The scratch of quills and rustling pages mix with distracted sighs and daydreams. Some faces are marked by sleepless nights, others glow with the daze of infatuation. Concentration slipping away, piece by piece.

A Fizzing Whizzbee pops with a sharp fizz beneath the Slytherin table, followed by a muffled snort or someone kicking their friend under the bench. At one end of the hall, a group of Hufflepuffs have given up entirely, huddled around hand-drawn dress sketches, giggling behind their cupped hands. Across the room, a Ravenclaw boy stumbles over his bag, too distracted by the girl beside him to notice his scrolls spilling out like breadcrumbs.

And above it all, the whispers of the Yule Ball hang like perfume—sweet, inescapable, and everywhere.

Ah, yes. The Yule Ball.

Announced weeks ago by Dumbledore—twinkle-eyed and dramatic as ever—and somehow it’s still haunting every hallway like a lovesick ghost. It's the kind of event that cracks even the most disciplined minds.

Some are practically glowing with excitement. Others? Well, they’re spiraling. Hard.

It’s everywhere. And it’s only getting worse. Even the castle ghosts have started gossiping.

You’d think that with the Triwizard Tournament in full swing and OWLs looming next Monday, students would be too stressed to even function, let alone obsess over who’s asked who to the ball.

But no. Everyone’s officially lost their minds.

And unfortunately, at the Gryffindor table... that includes my friends.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence—dramatic, hopeless, and loud enough to earn a few startled looks from nearby.

“Doomed how exactly?” I ask, not bothering to look up from my notes.

He lifts his head just enough to shoot me a glare. “Doomed as in doomed. The Yule Ball is in, what, two weeks? And none of us have dates. Or plans. Or hope.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nari cuts in from beside him. “I might have a plan.”

“You said that yesterday,” Jungwon reminds her. “Then you chickened out the second Kang Taehyun asked you what time it was.”

“Okay, well—he looked at me,” she defends herself.

Beomgyu drops his quill like he’s just sealed our collective fate. “Yep. This is it. We’re done for.”

Nari scoffs softly. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being accurate,” he says, slumping back in his chair like he’s mourning his own future. “The ball’s in two weeks, and I’m still date-less, dress-robe-less, and dangerously close to just throwing myself into the Black Lake.”

I finally look up, share a glance with Nari, then turn back to him.

“I thought you didn’t care about dances,” I say.

“I didn’t,” he groans, face smushed into his Charms notes. “And then people started getting dates. Hot dates. And now I’m panicking.”

“You panic every time someone looks at you for more than three seconds,” Jungwon comments dryly from beside me.

“This is different,” Beomgyu whines, lifting his head just enough to meet my gaze. “This is social survival. I can’t be the only loser who shows up stag. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“What reputation?” Jungwon and I say in perfect sync, then high-five.

“Adorable,” he groans, shaking his head. “I’m basically hopeless, guys.”

I lean back, letting out a breath. Sometimes I wonder how we got here—how a castle full of talking portraits and vanishing staircases somehow became the backdrop to our everyday lives.

Beomgyu and I met in first year, thrown together in Charms class. He was this quiet, awkward kid who flinched every time his wand sparked. I offered to help him with a simple spell, and apparently, that was enough to earn a lifetime of chaos.

The shyness didn’t last. One week he was all awkward smiles and nervous stutters. The next, he was critiquing my handwriting, stealing snacks off my plate, and insisting the Bulgarian National Quidditch team had the best uniforms in Quidditch history.

Do I regret helping him that day? Absolutely.

(Not really.)

We’d known Nari and Jungwon since first year too—mostly just names we recognized, people we occasionally partnered with in class. Things didn’t really click until second year. Nari and I bonded in Herbology after a near-meltdown over a screaming Mandrake. Beomgyu and Jungwon got close after accidentally setting off a dungbomb in the boy's bathroom and being sentenced to scrub the floor with enchanted toothbrushes.

By third year, we were an actual group. Chaotic, loud, kind of a mess—but it worked.

Now, in fifth year, we’ve survived detention-worthy mishaps, disastrous crushes, and one unforgettable cursed toilet incident.

But through all of it, Beomgyu and I have always had this quiet understanding, this unspoken bond.

So when he lets out that dramatic groan and slumps forward like the world’s ending, I know exactly what’s coming next—even before he turns toward me with that look.

And there it is.

“That’s why I need your help,” he says, pointing a finger at me like he’s just had a brilliant idea.

“No,” I say automatically.

He blinks. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I don’t need to. The answer’s still no.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like I’ve wounded him. “You used to be nicer.”

“I used to have a will to live. Things change.”

He pouts dramatically, but I just raise a brow.

“Let me guess,” I deadpan. “You want me to help you find a date for the ball?”

He lights up. “Dang, you know me too well.”

Jungwon pipes up with a grin, “So, who’s the unlucky girl this time?”

We all know exactly who.

The girl who tops nearly every class and somehow has Beomgyu wrapped around her finger without even trying. Sharp mind, softer smile, and a way of answering the hardest questions like it’s nothing. The girl who probably doesn’t even know Choi Beomgyu exists beyond the usual hallway nods.

Beomgyu shrugs, but his eyes wander—past our table, toward Ravenclaw.

Toward her.

“Chaewon,” he says.

Of course. My stomach does a slow, uncomfortable flip.

A laugh breaks out beside Jungwon.

It’s Jay, another Gryffindor who’s been eavesdropping.

“Kim Chaewon? Dude, that girl's got so many people interested, even some seventh years are hoping to ask her.”

Nari nods. “He’s right. It’s not just looks or charm. She’s brilliant and kind too. No wonder everyone’s after her.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.” Beomgyu shrugs.

“Come on, man. It’s easier than it looks—asking someone to the ball,” Jay says with a casual shrug.

Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy who hasn’t even tried.”

Jay only smirks, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. He scribbles something quickly, tears the page out, and starts folding.

“What are you doing?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

Jay doesn’t answer.

He just turns slightly, scanning the tables before spotting someone a few seats down—Huh Yunjin, a Hufflepuff with a perfect braid and equally sharp grades. With zero hesitation, he raises the newly folded paper airplane and launches it in her direction.

It glides smoothly before landing right next to her parchment. She blinks, surprised, then looks up to meet Jay’s gaze. He gives a sheepish wave, gesturing to the note.

Curious, she unfolds it.

We watch from afar as she reads the scrawled message: Will you go to the dance with me?

A moment later, her lips tug into a smile and she nods—shy, but definitely a yes. She turns to her friends, who immediately burst into whispers.

Jay leans back, smug as hell, and picks up his quill like nothing has happened.

“Damn,” Nari mutters.

“Show-off,” Beomgyu grumbles.

A second later, he turns to me with wide eyes.

“Okay, so that's why I need backup. Moral support. Someone to make sure I don’t spiral mid-sentence.”

“You want me to be your wingman?” I say flatly.

He grins. “Exactly.”

Nari groans. “This is ridiculous. It’s a dance, not a battlefield.”

“For you, maybe,” Beomgyu sighs, placing a hand over his heart. “But for the rest of us emotionally underdeveloped disasters, this is war.”

I roll my eyes. “What’s in it for me if I say yes?”

“Funny you ask,” he says, digging into his robes before pulling out a tiny, beat-up notebook.

I raise an eyebrow. “Money? Food? Cheat sheet for Potions?”

“Better.” He opens it, holding it out.

The three of us lean in, squinting at a poorly written, barely legible list.

“What is this exactly?”

“It’s a draft list,” he says proudly. “Potential dates. For you. I figured if I’m not going alone, neither are you. So we can sort them out together. Like auditions."

"Like auditions?"

“Think of it as... the Tournament of Eligible Wizards.”

“That’s not a thing.” Nari says.

“It is now.”

“You’re actually insane,” I mutter.

He just smiles, turning those ridiculous puppy eyes on me. “So? Will you do it?”

I don’t hesitate.

“No.”

For the next two days, Beomgyu launches what he calls a 'gentle persuasion campaign'—emphasis on gentle, despite there being absolutely nothing lowkey about it.

It starts with the small things. Carrying my books to class like some Victorian gentleman, all stiff posture and exaggerated bows. Saving me a seat in the common room, then dramatically fanning it with his hand like it’s some royal throne. Sliding me chocolate frogs during breakfast, each accompanied by a cryptic note scrawled in his messy handwriting:

“For the fairest of them all. P.S. Say yes to my plan.”

I try to ignore it. I really do.

But when I find a single, perfectly folded origami heart on my pillow one night, I start to reconsider.

Because this? This is not subtle.

Then he takes it up a notch. This boy starts buttering up my professors.

“Professor Flitwick, wouldn’t you agree that Y/N is exceptionally talented at Charms? She just told me how she managed to perfectly cast a Protego Shield without even moving her wand!”

Or passing Sprout on the way to Herbology: “Y/N could probably single-handedly replant the entire greenhouse, she’s just that amazing.”

It didn’t take long before that backfired—next thing I know, I’m stuck after class hours actually replanting some of the trickiest plants, all thanks to him.

Of course, he came over shortly after with wide, apologetic eyes and cheeks flushed, gently taking my hand like he was silently begging for forgiveness.

Then, without a word, he knelt down and helped me replant the delicate Whomping Willow saplings I’d been struggling with, making sure every root was set just right.

How could I stay mad?

By the end of the second day, he’s pulling out the big guns—puppy eyes, dramatic sighs, and a painfully off-key (and way too loud) rendition of “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” echoing through the corridor outside Potions.

Needless to say, I told anyone who witnessed it that I didn’t even know the guy.

All of this was enough to make me question my sanity—like a headache I didn’t ask for. And yet, there’s something weirdly endearing about all of it.

But I don’t say yes. Not yet.

Because helping him means watching it all unfold from the sidelines—something that stirs something inside me I’m not ready to face.

So instead, I focus on something that makes sense.

Namely, tutoring.

Namely, Huening Kai.

Late one afternoon, I settle into a quiet corner of the school library with Kai, tucked behind a pile of Transfiguration books and a globe that’s been spinning slightly off-axis all afternoon.

It’s calm here—the kind of quiet that settles in your chest—broken only by the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional scratch of his quill. Kai’s hunched over his notes now, brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. A stray strand of hair falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t notice.

“So if you switch the order of the incantation, you’ll reverse the spell completely,” I say, voice low, steady. “That’s why your teacup exploded—you basically undid the base form mid-transfiguration.”

Kai blinks, processing. “Right. That… makes sense.”

“Here.” I lean over, reaching for his notes, and he shifts slightly to give me space. Our arms brush.

“Try it this way next time,” I add, scribbling a revised sequence onto the page.

He’s quiet a moment, then says, “Thanks. You’re really good at explaining things.”

I shrug. “I’ve blown up enough teacups to learn from it.”

A quiet laugh escapes him—soft, almost shy—and I catch his smile as he glances my way.

It’s… easy. Warm.

This all started when Professor McGonagall assigned me to help him with Transfiguration—vanishing spells, mostly. Astronomy got added soon after, once Professor Sinistra noticed he couldn’t keep his constellations straight.

At first, I thought it would be awkward, but somewhere between late-night revisions and half-whispered complaints about homework, we just… got used to each other. Comfortable, even.

Now these sessions feel less like an obligation and more like something I don’t really mind making time for.

After a pause, I lean back with a sigh, twirling my quill once between my fingers.

“Okay,” I say, lowering my voice like I’m sharing a secret, “can I complain about something slightly unhinged?”

Kai blinks, then smiles softly. “Always.”

“Beomgyu is driving me insane.”

Kai chuckles. “What did he do now?”

“He’s been on this unholy mission to convince me to help him ask out this girl to the dance. Like, full-on campaign mode. Bribes. Compliments. Chocolate frogs. Yesterday he wrote me a poem. A poem, Kai.”

Kai lifts an amused eyebrow. “That’s… kind of sweet?”

I groan. “It was a haiku about how I’m his only hope. And he rhymed ‘ball’ with ‘downfall.’”

He presses a hand to his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Kim Chaewon.” I say.

“Oh?” he says, genuinely surprised.

“I know, right?” I giggle at the way his eyebrows lift.

“The thing is… I’m not even mad about helping him,” I admit. “It’s the way he’s going about it—like it’s life or death.”

“That does sound like him,” Kai says, eyes twinkling.

“And the worst part?” I continue, voice low, "Is that I’m this close to giving in. Which I shouldn’t.”

The next morning, Beomgyu and I make our way to Care of Magical Creatures, our boots crunching softly on damp grass as the castle looms smaller behind us. The stone steps are slick with morning mist, and the air smells rich with wet earth and fresh hay.

There’s a low buzz running through the class—something about today’s creature being “a bit more exciting,” according to Hagrid. Which, knowing him, could mean anything from harmless flobberworms to something closer to fire-breathing death.

Beomgyu falls into step beside me, hands stuffed deep in his robe pockets, unusually quiet. He’s been like this all morning—restless, like he wants to say something but keeps holding back.

I can tell he’s trying not to push. Not today.

“I’m not saying anything,” he mutters after a few seconds, glancing at me. “Just… making a point that I’m not saying anything.”

“You literally just said something,” I deadpan.

He flashes me that familiar grin. “Yeah, but not the thing. So I get points, right?”

I shake my head, hiding a reluctant smile as we join the rest of the class gathered near the paddock. Professor Hagrid is already waiting, towering beside a large, roped-off enclosure with something… feathery and enormous shifting behind it.

“Right then! Everyone here? Good. Got a real treat for yeh today,” Hagrid beams. “Now, everyone gather ‘round, but not too close, yeah?”

Beomgyu nudges me as we edge into the group. “Place your bets now—giant spider or scaly death lizard?”

“Tempting, but I’m going with majestic death bird,” I murmur.

A sharp rustle of feathers confirms it. In the center of the clearing stands a hippogriff—massive and sleek, its silver wings folded neatly. It fixes us with an intense amber gaze, claws gleaming in the morning light.

“This here is Buckbeak,” Hagrid announces. "He’s got a bit of a temper, so you’ve got to show him respect.”

Beomgyu whistles low under his breath. “Majestic death bird wins.”

A ripple of gasps spreads through the students as Buckbeak fully reveals himself, wings twitching with a soft rustle. A few students shuffle back, eyes wide. Park Yejun somewhere near the front lets out a strangled noise and ducks behind their partner.

Hagrid stands tall beside the creature, his large hands resting on the rope fence. “Now, hippogriffs ain’t just any magical beast,” he begins, voice low but proud.

“They come from forests far from here—wild places where they can stretch their wings and hunt. Half eagle, half horse, see? Sharp eyes and beak of a bird, with the strong legs and body of a horse.”

We spread out in a loose half-semicircle around Buckbeak, giving him plenty of space. He eyes us keenly, feathers rippling, that sharp amber gaze sweeping the group.

"This one here’s a Highland breed, they come from up north near Inverness. Now, hippogriffs are proud animals. So you make sure you bow first, make eye contact, and if he bows back, you’re good to go.” Hagrid continues.

Beomgyu mutters under his breath, “So basically, a flying judgment machine.”

I nudge him. “Still sounds more reasonable than Professor Snape.”

Near the back, I spot a familiar figure—Kai, notebook tucked under his arm, watching the hippogriff with quiet curiosity. When he sees me, he lifts a hand in a small wave, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile.

I smile automatically and wave back.

Beomgyu’s gaze slides between us. “Who’s that?”

“Kai,” I answer, too casually. "I tutor him Transfiguration and Astronomy."

Beomgyu raises a brow. “Tutoring,” he repeats, like he’s filing the phrase away for later interrogation. “Hm.”

Hagrid looks around with that big grin of his. “Alright then, who’s brave enough to go first?"

No one volunteers—just a lot of nervous glances and shuffling feet.

Then, almost like on cue, the whole class takes a step back—except me. I freeze, and wouldn’t you know it, I end up looking like I just boldly stepped forward on my own.

Hagrid’s eyes light up as he points right at me. “Well, well, well! Look who’s volunteered herself. Y/N, come on, don’t keep Buckbeak waitin’.”

Suddenly, every pair of eyes is on me—including Beomgyu’s—and I’m left trying to figure out if I should be proud or mortified. I nudge Beomgyu as I walk toward the creature. He just smirks, clearly entertained by how caught off guard I am.

“Assholes” I mutter under my breath, heart starting to climb into my throat.

Buckbeak's eyes track me as I move closer—sharp, intelligent, and definitely not forgiving. I try to keep my breathing steady, my steps slow.

“Alright now, Y/N,” Hagrid says gently, stepping up beside me. “Start with a bow, nice and respectful. Show ‘im yeh mean no harm.”

I nod, swallowing hard. Slowly, I bow at the waist in what I hope is the most confident and respectful bow this animal has seen in his life, fighting every instinct screaming at me to look away. My spine locks tight. My palms go clammy.

Buckbeak stares.

For a terrifying few seconds, he doesn’t move. Just breathes. Watches.

Then, finally, he bows back.

A wave of relief washes over me. I exhale slowly, trying to keep it steady. Behind me, someone mutters, “Bloody hell,” and the rest of the class finally breathes. A flicker of pride stirs in my chest.

Hagrid claps a hand on my back, nearly sending me forward. “Good job! Not many get a bow on their first try. Now, step forward slow—hand out, let him have a sniff.”

I take a shaky step forward, holding my hand out. Buckbeak leans in, nostrils flaring. His breath is hot and heavy against my fingers. He doesn’t pull away. His feathers rustle faintly with every breath—sleek, metallic, dangerous.

Oh my god, I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it—

The sound slices through the clearing like a blade. A dropped bucket. Metal hitting stone.

Buckbeak jerks his head back. His wings snap open with a thunderous whoosh that knocks the wind from my lungs.

“Shit—!” I flinch, stumbling back.

But not fast enough.

There’s a blur of feathers and claws. A warning screech. Then—

Impact.

Something slams into my side, knocking me clean off my feet. The world flips for a split second before I hit the grass, winded. There’s another sound—sharper, human. A hiss of pain. I whip around, panic flooding every nerve.

Gasps. A scream.

“Whoa there! Easy, Buckbeak! Down, boy—down!” Hagrid’s voice booms out, firm and commanding.

The hippogriff stomps, agitated—but he doesn’t strike again. Slowly, wings folding, he backs away, eyes still sharp but no longer hostile.

I scramble up, breath caught in my throat, and immediately spot Beomgyu crouched in front of me, arm curled protectively around his middle. His sleeve is torn and blood is blooming fast.

“Are you okay?” he asks first, breathless and hoarse.

“You’re the one bleeding,” I manage, eyes wide. “What—why would you—”

He winces, crouching lower to keep the weight off his arm. “Didn’t really think about it. Just saw claws coming at your face. Not a fan of that visual.”

I huff out a laugh that’s more nerves than amusement. “You’re actually insane.”

There’s a tremble in my voice I didn’t mean to let slip. My hands hover uselessly, unsure if I should help him up or shake him for doing something that reckless.

He looks up at me with that stupid, lopsided grin—pale but smug. “Little bit,” he says.

Behind us, I catch a flicker of movement. Kai—frozen halfway from where he’d clearly started to move too. His hand is clenched around his wand, jaw tight, but his eyes are on Beomgyu.

On me.

On us.

Hagrid rushes over, dropping to his knees. “Sweet Merlin—hold still, lad—let me see.” His eyes go wide at the blood. “Lucky that wasn’t deeper. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

He shoots Beomgyu a look—half-scolding, half-shaken. “Brave, yeah—but reckless. What were yeh thinkin’?”

Beomgyu just gives a breathless laugh, still pale.

“Y/N,” Hagrid says, voice low and tight, “take him up to the infirmary. Quick as yeh can.”

I nod, slipping an arm under Beomgyu’s without a word. He doesn’t resist—just leans into me, jaw tight, not meeting my eyes.

And even though I’m half ready to strangle him for jumping in like that… I can’t stop replaying it.

How fast he moved. How fast I could’ve—

And behind us, Kai’s eyes follow every step.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Beomgyu hisses through his teeth. “Ow. That burns.”

“Good. Means it’s working,” Madam Pomfrey snaps.

I let out a soft breath, watching as the gash slowly begins to seal, the raw edges knitting themselves together like melting wax. The blood vanishes in slow spirals as the soaked fabric returns to its original color. After a few long minutes, she pulls back and gives me a curt nod.

“He’ll live. No flying or Quidditch for at least two days. And if I catch you messing with the spellwork, you’ll be back here with worse,” The old woman says briskly, already turning away before Beomgyu can muster a reply.

The door to her office swings shut behind her, leaving a sharp silence in her wake.

Beomgyu exhales, leaning back against the crisp infirmary sheets. His uniform is rumpled, sleeve still torn, though the blood is gone—replaced by smooth, freshly-healed skin wrapped in gauze.

“Well,” he says after a beat, glancing at me. “That was fun.”

I stare at him.

He stares back, as if surprised I haven’t said anything yet.

“You could’ve died.”

“That’s dramatic,” he says, then immediately winces when he shifts too quickly. “Okay, a little dramatic.”

I don’t laugh.

“You think?” I fold my arms.

He turns his head toward me. “Could’ve been worse.”

"You literally got clawed by a hippogriff, Beomgyu."

“Minor inconvenience,” he says, wincing as he tries to shift.

I glare at him, then sit on the edge of the bed, arms still crossed. “You’re an idiot.”

He smiles faintly. “Takes one to love one.”

That gives me a pause.

The silence stretches—just long enough to feel heavy. His smile falters slightly, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

I glance away, suddenly too aware of how close we are. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly. “Get in the way.”

He shrugs with his good arm. “Didn’t really think about it.”

“That’s the problem,” I snap—but my voice is too soft, too shaky to land properly.

He watches me for a beat, expression unreadable. “You looked scared.”

There’s no teasing in it. No edge.

Just fact.

“I’ve never seen you look like that before,” he adds, quiet.

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know how to say that I was. That I still am.

For a moment, all I can hear is the tick of the clock on the wall and the distant sound of Madam Pomfrey muttering behind her office door.

“I owe you,” I say finally, voice quiet.

His brow furrows. “You don’t.”

“I do,” I insist. “You got hurt because of me.”

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can say something else stupidly noble.

“So I’ll help you.”

He blinks. “Help me…?”

“With your big Yule Ball plan,” I say, forcing a small smile. “Chaewon. Operation Win Her Heart or whatever we’re calling it now.”

Beomgyu stares like I’ve just offered him a Hippogriff of his very own.

I nod. “Consider it your thank-you gift. For being an idiot.”

A beat.

“You sure?” he asks, something unreadable threading through his voice.

“Positive,” I lie.

He grins. Not one of his usual cocky, exaggerated ones—this one’s smaller, tired at the edges. Real.

“Well,” he says, “if you’re offering…”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he hums, eyes closing briefly as he leans back.

I study him in the quiet that follows. His hair’s a mess, there’s still a smear of dried blood on his neck he hasn’t noticed yet, and yet somehow, he still looks infuriatingly smug. Infuriatingly… Beomgyu.

But my heart’s still a little unsteady. From the moment he moved. The sound of impact. The idea of—

No.

I cross my arms. “So. What's the plan? You said you needed help landing a date with Hogwarts’ golden girl. What’s the first step? Flashcards? Dramatic declarations? Peacocks?”

His mouth quirks. “Tempting. But I was thinking interviews.”

I blink. “Interviews?”

He cracks one eye open. “Gotta find your perfect date too, remember? It’s a joint operation.”

I stare. “I never agreed to that part.”

“It’s a package deal,” he says, smug despite the gauze. “You help me, I help you. Everyone’s happy. I don’t bleed out. Win-win.”

I roll my eyes but don’t argue.

Because something tells me it’s already too late to back out.

And when I glance at him again—his lashes resting against his cheek, a faint crease between his brows even in rest—I realize something else, too.

That maybe the part I should really be worried about… isn’t helping him fall for someone else.

It’s what happens after I do.

“So you agreed to do it?” Nari stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Voluntarily?”

I sink into the couch beside her, rubbing at my temples. “He got hurt because of me. What was I supposed to do—nothing?”

“I mean…” She tilts her head, considering. “Yes?”

I give her a look.

She shrugs, not even a little sorry. “You do realize you just signed up to help Beomgyu stage a grand, romantic operation. That’s not a favor, that’s a side quest with emotional consequences.”

“Yeah, well.” I exhale. “Guilt makes people do stupid things.”

She hums, watching me carefully—but doesn’t press. We both stare into the fireplace for a while, letting the quiet settle. The flames flicker against the stone, and somewhere upstairs, someone slams a door.

Nari leans back with a sigh that sounds like it came from her soul. “I swear. If I have to carry my Potions group through one more sentence, I’m putting leeches in their shampoo.”

I snort. “Do it. I’ll provide the leeches.”

She slumps further into the couch, arms crossed like a personal protest. “It’s Potions, Y/N. All they had to do was test ingredients and write literally anything coherent. Instead, I’m rewriting everything from scratch.”

“Oh, I feel you,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “My Muggle Studies group still hasn’t turned in their sections. I think one of them genuinely believes I’ll finish it out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Are they wrong?”

“…No. But I hate that they’re right.”

She shakes her head, muttering something dark under her breath, then sighs. “Oh my god. And guess what? I was supposed to have a meeting tonight—literally right now. Wanna guess who bailed again?”

I glance at her. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

“Left me mid-draft with half the analysis missing just to ask that one Slytherin girl to the Ball.”

I blink. “Wait—now? During the meeting?”

“Dipshit said something about ‘perfect timing.’” She rolls her eyes. “If he’s gonna ditch his group to shoot his shot, he better fucking score.”

Across the room, Beomgyu is holding court.

Literally holding court—surrounded by at least seven people, most of them girls leaning in with sparkling eyes and slightly over-exaggerated laughs. He’s all dimples and nonchalance, grinning like a prince who doesn’t even realize he’s being worshipped.

Or worse—does realize and just knows how to make it look effortless.

“Apparently throwing yourself in front of a hippogriff gets you fans,” Nari says dryly, following my gaze. “Who knew.”

I roll my eyes, trying not to look for too long. He’s laughing with Jay and Jungwon now, casually spinning his wand between his fingers like it’s second nature—like he doesn’t have a neatly wrapped bandage under his uniform or a half-healed scar tucked beneath his sleeve.

He catches my eye mid-laugh.

The smile shifts for a second—softens. Just a flicker. But it’s there.

I look away first.

The portrait door swings open with a BANG!, and Jiho stumbles in like he’s just survived a dementor’s kiss. Pale, dazed, and clutching what remains of his dignity, he’s being half-dragged by two Gryffindor students, one arm slung over each of their shoulders like a fallen soldier.

The common room quiets, eyes turning toward the spectacle.

Nari blinks. “Is that—oh my god. Jiho?”

Nari's groupmate.

One of the guys propping him up grins, clearly trying not to laugh. “He did it. Asked out that Slytherin girl.”

Jiho opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. All that comes out is a hoarse, soul-deep groan.

“And?” Nari asks, already bracing for the answer.

“She laughed,” he says hoarsely, like the words have personally betrayed him. “Not just a little laugh, either. Full-on cackled, like I was some punchline of a bad joke.”

I choke on a laugh. Nari is already snorting.

He waves a hand dramatically. "Then she said something about Saturn being in retrograde, or my ‘stars not being in my favor.’ I don’t even know what that means—I just blacked out after that."

“You know, I’m starting to think I’m cursed,” Jiho says, staggering toward an armchair and flopping into it like a war veteran. “This is the third girl this week who's mentioned the entire solar system before walking away.”

Nari bursts out laughing. I press a hand to my mouth to keep from smiling too loudly.

He slumps deeper into the cushions with a tragic sigh. “At this point, I should just drop out.”

“Not before the project’s done,” Nari says sweetly. “Then you can spiral.”

Their banter fades into the background as my eyes drift—almost involuntarily—back to Beomgyu.

Jay’s mid-laugh, flicking a chocolate frog into the air and catching it with the kind of smooth, practiced ease that says he’s done it a hundred times. He grins, pleased with himself.

Beomgyu cracks his knuckles, like some kind of chocolate frog ninja, and tosses one up—

Only for it to bounce off his nose with a pathetic boink before flopping onto the floor.

He blinks, then tries again—this time missing so badly the frog lands on his shoe and starts hopping away.

Around them, a few friends bite their lips, trying hard not to burst out laughing. Jay just crosses his arms, watching with quiet amusement.

Jungwon shakes his head with a soft chuckle and pats Beomgyu on the shoulder.

Beomgyu shoots him a mock glare but can’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.

I bite back a laugh, the corners of my mouth twitching.

Because as much as I want to pretend this whole plan is just a favor—a simple “thank you” for him saving me from the hippogriff—I know better.

I know I’m pretending I don’t feel anything when he’s near.

But for now, I shove that down. Focus on the plan. The interviews. The “win her heart” nonsense that somehow feels way more complicated than it should.

For now, I’m just going to help Beomgyu—because he needs me.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

“Merlin, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“You agreed to it.”

“Because you emotionally blackmailed me with your near-death theatrics.”

Beomgyu grins like it’s a compliment. “It's my specialty.”

We settle into a quiet corner of the courtyard, sunlight flickering over the blank parchment between us. Beomgyu’s already uncapped his ink, treating this like some kind of strategy meeting.

“So,” he says, “what’s your type?”

I blink. “My what?”

“Tall? Brooding? Has opinions on cauldron safety? I need something to work with.”

“You’re serious.”

“You think I got almost trampled by some bird-horse just to half-ass a matchmaking campaign? Of course I’m serious.”

I sigh. “…Can’t believe you’re calling it a campaign.”

“Why start with me?” I mutter more to myself than to him. “Shouldn’t we be talking about what you’ve got planned for yourself instead?”

Beomgyu shrugs. “Yours is more fun.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He looks at me like he’s weighing something, then shrugs.

“My part’s easier. Cause I already know what I want, and Chaewon already knows me… kind of. We just have to shift perspective." He taps the parchment with his quill. “But with you? People need an introduction.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds dramatic.”

He smirks. “Because it is. Now come on. You’re stalling. Ideal date. Go.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Someone... real. Smart. Decent. Not allergic to listening.”

“No dramatic peacocking?”

“I’d prefer they not scream poetry across the Great Hall, yes.”

He scribbles something on the parchment. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone better than me.”

“Maybe..”

He laughs—but it’s delayed. A half-second too late. The smile that follows doesn’t reach his eyes, not at first.

I exhale. “I also want someone grounded too."

I pause, biting the inside of my cheek.

Then, adding. "Not performative. Can make me laugh without trying too hard. I want them to be quiet-smart too, not the loud, know-it-all kind.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away.

He just nods once, quill still poised over the parchment like he’s giving it his full, ridiculous attention. After a beat, he flips it around and slides it toward me, ink slightly smudged where his hand dragged across the corner.

“Here,” he says. “Updated list. Crossed out some, added a few.”

I scan the page.

There’s a neat little X next to someone I vaguely remember snoring through our Potions final. Another’s been crossed out with the note “snores in Divination.”

I’m halfway through an underlined name when something in the middle catches my eye—bold, circled, underlined twice.

“Wait—Park Sunghoon?” I blink, holding the parchment up like I misread it. “You actually put him on the list?”

Beomgyu barely looks up, still doodling in the corner of the page. “Yeah. Why not?”

I blink at him. “As in, top of his class, probably has fan mail, currently competing in the Triwizard Tournament Park Sunghoon?”

He shrugs like we’re talking about some random guy in the courtyard. “Also volunteers in the infirmary, fluent in three languages, and pretty sure he bakes when he’s stressed too.”

“I know that. Everyone in the castle does. That’s why this is insane!”

“Is it?” he says, finally glancing at me, one brow raised.

“Yes!” I gesture toward the parchment. “The guy's got a literal fanbase and hasn’t even come close to losing a round in the tournament. And he’s tall. Like, how-is-that-even-fair tall.”

Beomgyu fights a grin. “So what I’m hearing is… he’s perfect.”

“What you’re hearing is that he’s not even remotely in my league."

He shrugs again, calm as ever. “Reach for the stars, Y/N.”

“That’s not reaching for the stars,” I mutter. “That’s launching myself into space with a broken wand and a hopeful prayer.”

He laughs under his breath, then leans forward, elbow on the table, smile softening.

“Look, if I’m out here doing my absolute most to win over Chaewon, you’re not getting away with playing it safe.”

My eyes narrow. “So this is a solidarity thing?”

“It’s a ‘why the hell not’ thing,” he says, still smiling. “Besides…” He taps the parchment once. “You’re you. If that’s not enough, that’s his problem.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious—but it sticks more than I want it to. I glance back down at the list. Sunghoon’s name is circled—bold, clear. Like Beomgyu genuinely believes I could stand a chance.

I clear my throat. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you if I spontaneously combust trying to talk to him.”

He smirks. “We’ll pencil in a medical contingency plan.”

I nudge him before tapping on another name. “And Soobin? Also new.”

“Ravenclaw,” he says. “Bit clumsy. But in a charming way. Grounded. Observant. Feels like someone who’d actually remember your birthday.”

“Are you really finding me a date or just tossing random names on a list?”

“Bit of both,” he admits. “But Soobin’s sweet. Tripped over his own shoelace once and apologized to the floor. Figured you’d appreciate that kind of sincerity.”

I can’t help but grin, looking at the crossed out names.

“You don’t waste time, huh?”

“Nope,” he says with a grin. “I believe its better to narrow it all down before the interviews.”

“Quality over quantity,” I say, folding my arms. “Fine. But I’m not going to go easy on them.”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t want you to.”

I trace a name with my finger, suddenly quieter.

“Do you really think any of these guys would want to… actually go out with me? Or even say yes to all this chaos?”

Beomgyu looks up, expression unreadable for a beat. His eyes meet mine, steady and serious in a way that steals my breath for a second.

“If I were them?” he says.

“I’d be crazy not to.”

My throat goes a little dry.

Before I can say anything, he snatches the parchment back.

“Also—hear me out—I think we should add that Durmstrang champion to the maybe list.”

I stare at him. “You mean the one who made a second year burst into tears just by looking at them?”

“Yep. Thought he might be your type.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blink since the opening ceremony.”

“Exactly. You love a challenge.”

I groan, half-laughing. “You’re an idiot.”

Beomgyu grins wide. “And yet, here you are.”

I straighten, voice steady. “Right, but this has to wait until after OWLs. No exceptions.”

He opens his mouth to protest.

“No,” I say firmly, cutting him off. “That’s non-negotiable.”

Beomgyu raises an amused eyebrow. “After OWLs, then.”

Later that night, the castle feels quieter, the weight of the day settling into stillness.

“Okay,” Kai murmurs, squinting at the diagram in front of him. “If the angle of elevation from the northern horizon is thirty-seven degrees and Mars is in retrograde… what does that mean again?”

The Astronomy Tower is nearly empty, bathed in soft blue moonlight and flickering candlelight. A light breeze curls through the open arches, rustling the edges of my notes.

We’ve been studying here for over two hours now, notes and textbooks spread between us like a quiet fortress against the night. Kai lies halfway on his stomach, chin resting in his palm, eyebrows furrowed in quiet frustration.

I glance up from my notes, trying not to smile. “It means you didn’t do the reading I assigned last week.”

He shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I skimmed it.”

“You skimmed the title page.”

“Still counts,” he mumbles, eyes flickering up to meet mine for a moment.

I snort, leaning over to tap my quill against his notes. “Try again. Where’s the observer located?”

He groans softly, dragging his quill across the parchment like it’s a punishment. “Hopefully somewhere with a better tutor.”

I gasp in mock offense. “Rude.”

Kai lifts his head just enough to flash me a lopsided smile. “Kidding. You’re brilliant. The best in the tower.”

I arch an eyebrow. “There’s no one else in the tower.”

“Exactly,” he deadpans, then grins wider.

I snort again, tapping my quill against his notes. “Try again. Where’s the observer located?”

He groans, slouching just a little, but his smile stays soft. “Somewhere with snacks would be nice.”

“Kai.”

“Fine, fine,” he mumbles, squinting at the diagram. “Northern Hemisphere. Mars looks like it’s going backward… because of perspective. Retrograde.”

I blink. “That’s… actually right.”

He sits up a little straighter, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

“See? Not so bad having me as your tutor after all,” I say with a playful smile.

“Okay, okay, you’re actually pretty great at this.” He taps his quill on the parchment, smiling softly like he’s teasing but totally sincere.

Kai shifts beside me, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of my notes. After a moment, his voice drops a little. “Hey… how’s Beomgyu doing, by the way?”

I glance up. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah?” His voice is casual, but his brows pull together just a little. “That scratch looked really bad when I saw it happen. It was all pretty terrifying.”

“Yeah, I thought I was gonna get my head bitten off. But I'm really grateful he was there.”

Kai nods, gaze dropping for a beat. “Yeah… lucky you had him.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but there’s something thoughtful in his expression—like he’d replayed it too.

“But he’s alright now,” I add, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Acting like he wrestled Buckbeak bare-handed and lived to tell the tale. So, I guess the guy’s alright.”

He shifts a little closer, voice gentle. “How about you? How are you holding up after all that?”

“I’m alright, actually. Honestly, it was a lot in the moment, but now it just feels like one of those crazy stories. " I smile a little, glancing at Kai. “Having Beomgyu around made it easier too, I guess.”

Kai’s smile softens, eyes warm. “Yeah, he really does look out for you, even when things get a bit crazy.”

I chuckle softly. “Brave or foolish—I’m still not sure.”

Kai shifts slightly again, voice quieter. “What about the Chaewon thing? Are you two working on that yet?”

I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips. “Oh. It hasn’t started yet.”

“No?”

He raises an eyebrow, curious. “Something more important than his own plan with Chaewon?”

I nod slowly. “Apparently, me.”

His expression falters, just slightly.

“You?”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “He’s on some kind of matchmaking mission. Says people need a proper introduction.”

Kai leans back a little, eyebrows raised. “Matchmaking?”

“He actually made a list. Interviews and everything.” I give him a playful look. “But I made it clear—it has to be after exam season. That’s the only way I’d fully agree to this.”

He chuckles, then sighs like he’s bracing himself for something. “Sounds like he’s got it all figured out.”

“Right?” I smile, though there's a subtle hesitation there. “He calls it a campaign. Like, it's a whole operation.”

Kai is quiet for a moment, then says gently, “And you’re okay with it?”

I shrug. “He’s pretty determined… and maybe a little emotionally persuasive.”

His smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Still… whoever he picks is going to be lucky.”

I blink at him. “You really think so?”

He meets my eyes, not flinching. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Around us, everything quiets down—the soft breeze, the flicker of candlelight, and something unspoken hanging between us. The silence stretches on as the night deepens around the Astronomy Tower.

Kai glances down at the worn clock carved into the stone floor beneath us, his eyes narrowing.

“Wait…” he mutters, sitting up straighter.

...

“Oh SHIT!—” Kai blurts, a grin spreading. “What time is it?!”

I follow his gaze—and immediately feel my stomach drop. “Oh hell.”

We both stare at the clock for a beat in stunned silence before launching into motion, gathering books and parchment like two first years during a surprise dorm inspection.

“Yep.” He snatches a stack of notes, eyes wide. “We’re past curfew. Like… way past.”

“Why didn’t we check the time?” I whisper, half-shouting as I scramble for the papers.

“You were so focused on tutoring, I don’t think either of us noticed the time,” he says, a little panicked but smiling. “And I was still messing up the planets.”

A small warmth flickers inside me at how earnest he sounds—unexpectedly sweet. Then the reality hits.

“We’re going to get caught,” I groan. “Filch is probably out there breathing down a suit of armor right now.”

Kai winces. “With Mrs. Norris. Lurking. Like she always does. Like she knows.”

“Fuck. I forgot about her.”

We’re already at the top of the steps when he suddenly pauses. “Wait—your common room’s farther, right?”

I nod. “Gryffindor Tower.”

He shifts his books to one arm and tilts his head toward the hallway. “Alright. Let’s go.”

I blink. “Wait, what? Your common room's like ten feet that way.”

“Exactly. Which means I’ve got time to make sure you don’t get eaten by a cat-demon.”

“You don’t have to walk me—”

“I know,” he smiles softly, already heading in my direction.

I hesitate, then fall into step beside him.

We make our way down the spiral steps, moving as fast as we dare without tripping over our own feet or dropping anything. The castle feels twice as silent now, like even the portraits are asleep—or pretending not to notice us.

Kai holds the stairwell door for me, peeking his head out before motioning me through with an exaggerated “All clear” whisper.

The tower door groans loudly as we slip out, the sound echoing down the corridor. We both freeze.

“Shhh—” I whisper.

“That wasn’t me,” Kai whisper-hisses. “That was the building.”

The castle is dark and quiet in that eerie after-hours way. Our footsteps feel way too loud, so we start tiptoeing in exaggerated slow motion.

“This feels like a heist,” he mutters. “A very nerdy one. Like we’re smuggling notes instead of treasure.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna jinx us—”

Patter-patter.

We both stop dead.

Then—a soft meow.

Kai’s eyes snap wide. “Oh my God.”

Before I can react, he reaches out and grabs my hand, tugging me gently behind a suit of armor nearby. The sudden contact makes my heart skip, but I don’t pull away.

I whisper, “It’s her.”

He crouches low, voice barely audible. “Mrs. Norris.”

We press ourselves flat against the cold metal, barely daring to breathe. My fingers instinctively reach out, curling around his, and he gives a gentle squeeze—quiet, but steady, like a lifeline.

I catch the faint pressure, and for a moment, heat blooms in my chest. I internally shake my head at the thought, trying to focus on the situation at hand.

This isn’t the fucking time to get distracted, Y/N. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—just instinct, nothing more. I think to myself.

After what feels like forever, Kai peeks out cautiously and gives me a small thumbs-up.

“Looks like we’re safe for now,” he whispers, a relieved grin tugging at his lips.

I can’t help but snort quietly. “I almost lost it holding in that sneeze.”

He squeezes my hand again, eyes warm. My heart stutters a little.

Together, we slip back into the corridor, tension easing just a bit, like the night’s weight has lightened between us. We stop in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait.

I turn to thank him, but he’s already looking at me, like he wants to make sure I get inside before he leaves.

“Thanks,” I say, quieter now.

He tilts his head, that soft smile back on his face. “Anytime.”

“You head in first,” he adds, “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone lurking around.”

I give him a small, grateful smile and step forward, pushing the portrait just enough to slip inside.

With a final glance over my shoulder, I whisper, “Goodnight, Kai.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies, his voice just as quiet.

Then the hallway falls silent—except for the steady flutter of my still-racing heart.

The morning after.

The Great Hall’s buzzing like usual—cutlery clinking, low chatter everywhere, and somewhere an owl screeches as it flies overhead. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, making warm patches across the tables.

I slide into my usual spot at the Gryffindor table, arms heavy, eyes burning from not enough sleep. Nari’s already halfway through her porridge, flipping through her notes with this half-focused frown. Jungwon’s across from her, poking at a piece of toast.

He looks up the second I sit down across him, eyebrows raised.

“What hole did you crawl out of?” he says, grinning. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

I groan, dropping my head onto my folded arms. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Jungwon keeps watching, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“We didn’t see you in the common room last night. You vanish into the walls or something?”

“Stayed out later than I meant to,” I mumble.

Nari glances up briefly, but doesn’t comment—just keeps flipping pages, her focus split.

Then Beomgyu drops into the seat beside Jungwon, hair still damp, somehow looking way too awake for this hour. He takes one look at me and snickers.

“Yikes,” he says cheerfully. “You look like a Bludger caught you on the way to breakfast.”

I blink at him, too tired for comebacks.

Jungwon leans in, his grin widening. “Or maybe,” he says dramatically, “someone just had a very productive study session.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. I just pick up a baby carrot and chuck it at his head.

Thwack! Direct hit.

“Oi!” he yelps, ducking a second too late. “Uncalled for!”

“Totally called for,” I say, already reaching for another.

I toss it at Jungwon again, who throws his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. Nari finally looks up from her notes, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“You two never change,” she says, shaking her head. “How do you even function like this at breakfast?”

“Hey, some of us thrive on chaos!"

Beomgyu chuckles and leans back slightly, then shifts a little closer to Jungwon, his eyes narrowing with playful curiosity.

“Seriously though,” he says, “where were you last night? I didn’t see you anywhere in the common room.”

Jungwon makes a show of nodding. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

I sigh.

"Did you sleep in the library again?” Nari asks.

I wave a hand vaguely. “Something like that.”

“Sketchy,” Beomgyu says, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “You’re being very cryptic this morning.”

“She’s definitely hiding something,” Jungwon says, eyes twinkling as he leans in dramatically. “Secret Hogsmeade rendezvous? Late-night broomstick joyride? Did you elope?”

I grab another baby carrot and fling it at him without hesitation.

Thwack. Right between the eyes.

“OW—again?!” he cries. “Why is food your weapon of choice?”

“Because it’s handy,” I mutter, reaching for another just in case.

Then it happens. Silence.

They’re all watching me now—waiting. The teasing’s stopped, but the curiosity’s still there, sharp and lingering.

Jungwon’s eyebrows are halfway to his hairline like he’s piecing things together. Nari’s notes are officially forgotten. Even Beomgyu, frozen mid-reach for a muffin, doesn’t look away.

I rub my face. “Okay. Fine.”

The table leans in just a bit.

“I was tutoring Kai,” I say, trying to keep it casual. “In the Astronomy Tower.”

Jungwon immediately lets out a long, exaggerated, “OoOooh,” and beams. “Scandalous.”

He points at me triumphantly. “Told you! Study session turned into a little more—Astronomy Tower edition.”

I give him a flat look. “It was just literally tutoring.”

“Sure,” Jungwon says with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like the stars weren’t the only things you were aligning last night.”

“You’re disgusting,” I mutter.

Nari snorts into her porridge. “That’d explain why you disappeared before curfew.”

I nudge her lightly, hiding a smile. “We lost track of time. We were going over charts and—next thing I knew, it was nearly midnight.”

My gaze flicks across the hall—just for a second.

The Hufflepuff table is its usual happy chaos, busy with laughter and loud chatter. And there, in the middle of it, Kai's laughing at something one of his friends said, hand half-covering his mouth, bright-eyed and cheerful. He doesn’t notice me looking.

But someone else does.

Beomgyu doesn’t turn—doesn’t need to. I feel it. He knows exactly where I’m looking. His smile doesn’t falter, but something in his posture tightens—just slightly, like a chord pulled taut.

“That must’ve been a trek,” Nari says, glancing at me over her spoon. “Getting all the way back to Gryffindor Tower from there?”

I shrug. “Kai walked me back.”

A short pause.

Then Jungwon pipes up, brow quirking in faux puzzlement. "Isn’t the Astronomy Tower like... way closer to the Hufflepuff dorms, though?”

I hesitate for half a second, then answer, “Yeah. But he insisted.”

Nari blinks. “He walked you all the way back?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a longer silence this time. Jungwon’s practically glowing with mischief, while Nari watches me more carefully now. But it’s Beomgyu I feel the most—quiet, still, unreadable.

Then, finally, he clears his throat.

“Well,” he says, voice light, even. “That was… gentlemanly of him.”

His smile is there, but dimmer than usual. Still warm, but not quite lit from within.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, brushing a crumb off the table. “We didn’t want another Filch encounter.”

“Wise,” Jungwon says with a laugh. “Old man’s got bat ears. I sneezed once—two corridors away—and he still found me.”

That gets a laugh out of Nari, and the conversation shifts—something about the ridiculous new Divination seating chart and how Jungwon always ends up next to the kid who smells like dungbombs.

Beomgyu laughs too, tossing in a few jokes of his own. But I notice the way his fingers keep fidgeting with the frayed cuff of his sleeve, how he avoids looking directly at me. How he lets the noise carry him instead of steering it like he usually does.

Maybe the others don’t catch it.

But I do.

Eventually, Nari shuts her notebook with a sigh. “Alright, I need to grab my Herbology notes before class,” she says, pushing back from the table.

Jungwon stretches, groaning. “If I get stuck with dungbomb guy again, I’m dropping Divination. Mark my words.”

We all rise, some grabbing last-minute bites or straightening their robes, the morning pulling us apart into different halls.

“See you guys later,” Nari says over her shoulder.

Jungwon shoots me a look as he heads off. “Try not to hurl more carrots today, yeah?”

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

Just like that, we’re moving—blending into the morning stream of students filing out. That’s when I feel someone fall into step beside me.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says, appearing at my side like he’s been there the whole time. “Didn’t think I’d have to jog to catch you.”

I glance over. Books in one hand, a half-eaten muffin in the other—he looks normal. Almost. Still joking, still easygoing, but there’s something quieter underneath. Like someone turned the volume down.

“Sorry,” I say. “Thought you were still busy inhaling your second muffin.”

He holds up the muffin in mock offense. “I was. But then I looked up and you were halfway to the dungeons.”

“Figured I’d beat the hallway traffic for once. Character development and all.”

We walk. The corridor is thick with chatter, footsteps echoing against the stone, laughter bouncing down the halls. For a second, I think we’ll slip back into our usual rhythm.

Then he says, voice softer, “I, uh… waited up for you last night.”

I blink, glancing at him. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “In the common room. Thought we could go over stuff for the interviews, maybe over some awful hot chocolate or something.”

Something in my chest tugs.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, gently.

“I know,” he says, finally meeting my eyes. “Still figured I might.”

A beat.

“Guess I got a bit worried when you didn’t come back,” he adds, even quieter.

That lands heavier than I expect. Not dramatic—just real. Simple. Honest.

“I lost track of time,” I admit. “I'm sorry.”

“No need to be,” he says quickly. “Just glad you’re not, I don’t know, trapped in a secret passage somewhere.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “No trolls or secret dungeons, promise.”

His smile softens, and this one feels like him again—less like a mask, more like a quiet nudge between friends.

“So,” he says, glancing sideways. “The plan—still on? Since it’s still after exams, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to back out or—”

I shake my head. “I’m still in.”

His grin returns, this time with a flicker of mischief. “Good. Because I’ve got some questions ready that might scare a few people off.”

I grin. “Perfect. That’s exactly what we need.”

“Exactly what we need,” he echoes.

We keep walking—side by side. And for the first time all morning, the air between us feels steady again.

The final stretch before O.W.L.s doesn’t feel like a countdown anymore—it’s more like a slow descent into collective madness.

The whole school is tense and restless, fueled by too much caffeine and too little sleep, like everyone’s bracing for impact. The Yule Ball, once the center of every whispered conversation and dramatic sigh, has quietly faded into the background, replaced by something far more terrifying:

Academic reality.

Suddenly, distractions aren’t even an option anymore. Every corner of the castle now packed with students, heads down and books open.

The library’s standing room only, its usual hush replaced by frantic page flipping and the occasional quiet breakdown. The Great Hall has turned into a shared study battlefield—ink-stained hands, scattered parchment, and half-empty cups of tea abandoned for diagrams and spell lists.

Hell, even the common rooms, once filled with laughter and half-hearted homework attempts, have gone quiet. Now they flicker under dim candlelight, filled with the sound of scribbling quills and muttered incantations whispered like prayers.

Everyone’s after the same thing: a few more hours of sleep, a little more time to cram, one more chance to make it all stick.

My schedule’s a mess too. I’m bouncing between my own revision, tutoring Kai, and squeezing in the occasional study session with Nari.

She and I work well together—quiet, focused, no theatrics. We don’t need much talk to get things done. She usually studies alone or with her Slytherin friends, but we make time when we can. It helps having someone just as determined to survive this.

Studying with Jungwon and Beomgyu, however? A total lost cause.

I’ve tried—honestly, I have—but within minutes, Jungwon’s doodling dragons in the margins of my notes while Beomgyu constructs a miniature fortress out of textbooks and christens it “Castle Beom.”

Seriously?

Still, there’ve been moments. Quiet ones. Just me and Beomgyu, side by side as I walk him through Arithmancy theory. He listens, surprisingly focused—brow furrowed, mouth set, like he’s trying to soak it all in at once. Sometimes he grumbles, sometimes he jokes, but he always listens.

“You don’t have to help me, you know,” he said once, fidgeting with the edge of his parchment. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

I just nudged the notes back to him and said, “You’d do the same.”

And he would. I know he would.

Lately, though, I haven’t seen much of him—or Jungwon, for that matter. My world’s narrowed into a tighter loop: books, parchment, Nari… and Kai.

Kai’s become a constant. We don’t schedule sessions anymore—we just find each other. In quiet corners between classes, at small tables before curfew, on stairwells between floors. He’s improved—not just at Astronomy, but at keeping the panic at bay.

Sometimes we study in silence, sometimes we laugh through the trickier bits, and sometimes—especially when he’s half-asleep over his Transfiguration notes—he’ll ask me something quietly, like it’s just occurred to him that I might disappear when exams are over.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Finally, the morning of our first exam arrives.

We fall into step on the way to the Great Hall—books clutched tight, nerves humming just beneath the surface.

“You remember the difference between lunar and solar conjunctions, right?” I ask, eyes flicking over my notes one last time.

Kai bumps my shoulder lightly. “Only because you explained it with biscuits.”

“Hey, that was a brilliant analogy.”

“It really was,” he agrees, then looks at me softer now. “Thanks for sticking with me through all this.”

I glance up and catch something gentle in his gaze—like he’s still figuring out how we ended up here, together.

I smile and nudge his elbow. “You’ve come a long way.”

We slow as we reach the doors, sharing a quiet breath—an unspoken promise not to throw up.

“Good luck,” I say, quieter than I intend.

Kai meets my eyes. “You too, tutor girl.”

“To surviving exams!” Beomgyu declares, raising his mug with a triumphant grin—loud enough to turn a few curious heads nearby.

The cozy warmth of the Three Broomsticks wraps around us like a soft blanket. Firelight flickers across worn wooden beams and stained glass, while the murmur of other students’ laughter and chatter fills the background. The end-of-exam tension finally begins to melt away.

We all clink our mugs against his.

“To surviving,” Nari echoes, grinning like she’s just escaped a dungeon. “I’m so glad it’s over, I might actually remember what fresh air feels like.”

Beomgyu takes a long sip of his butterbeer, eyes glinting with relief.

“I swear my quill was doing the writing by itself by the end,” he says, slumping back in his chair. “I was just there for moral support.”

Jungwon leans back with a stretch. “I’m just glad I can stop pretending I understood anything in Arithmancy.”

I smile, glancing around at the group. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been this ready for anything to be over. No more late nights pretending to be productive.”

Nari nudges me with a knowing look. “And yet here you are, about to jump into a whole new kind of chaos. Willingly, too.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Right, Beomgyu—wasn’t there some little project you and Y/N were supposed to kick off now that exams are done?”

I groan. “Oh, fuck off.”

Beomgyu’s grin spreads like wildfire.

“Wow, thanks for the reminder, Jungwon.” He turns to me, eyes gleaming. “I was starting to think you’d try to run.”

“I was really hoping you’d forget,” I mumble, taking a sip.

Nari shakes her head, smiling. “Honestly, I still can’t believe he talked you into this.”

“Barely,” I say. “At this point, I’d rather have Buckbeak add me to his collection than go through with it"

Beomgyu just grins, raising his mug again.

“Too bad. Operation: Find Y/N a Date officially begins.”

「 ✦ Operation: Find Y/N a Date ✦ 」

A Choi Beomgyu Production - complete with a comedic montage series of date interviews. (Y/N: You're an idiot.)

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Interview #1 | Library

“Seriously? The library?” I whisper, shooting Beomgyu a pointed look. “We couldn’t meet literally anywhere else?”

He just leans back in his chair, completely relaxed, like this isn’t about to turn into a magical disaster. “He wanted to meet here. I didn’t have a choice.”

Before I can respond, the date arrives—a Ravenclaw boy with glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, clutching a stack of scrolls and parchment tied neatly with a blue ribbon.

Barely two minutes in, and the guy—Nathaniel? Nolan? Something with an ‘N’—is already unraveling.

“If I’m honest,” he says, adjusting his glasses, “I think emotional compatibility only happens through shared trauma or, like, a serious understanding of magical theory. You know about love languages? Mine’s spellcraft.”

I blink. “Your… what?”

“I brought a compatibility chart,” he adds, pulling out a wrinkled parchment covered in stars and scribbles. “Don’t worry, it’s color-coded.”

I glance sideways at Beomgyu, who’s visibly struggling to keep a straight face.

I rest my hand on the table and subtly flick him the middle finger without breaking eye contact.

I mouth, I hate you.

His only response is two emphatic thumbs up.

Then Madam Pince rounds the corner and gives us a sharp, hissing “Shhh!” like the sound itself might turn us to stone.

Of course. The library.

Interview one: FAILED!

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #2 | Courtyard

“Ready for this?” the next guy says, brushing his bangs back as we sit in the courtyard.

I blink. “Wait, ready for what?”

Before I can say more, he just starts singing.

Loudly and painfully off-key.

Right there, in the middle of the courtyard.

“When I saw you across the Great Haaaall—”

He holds that last note a little shaky, but you can tell he’s really putting his heart into it.

I slump back in my seat, trying not to cringe. Beomgyu is already half off his bench, barely holding in his laughter.

When the guy finishes, he winks like he’s just won the whole thing.

I clap, slow and sarcastic. “Bold move.”

Beomgyu’s voice cracks. “That was… something.”

No questions. He just nods and walks off, clearly proud of himself.

I smack Beomgyu on the arm as he starts to laugh.

Interview two: FAILED??

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #3 | Gryffindor Common Room Edition

He sits down across from me at the wooden small table and just blinks. Then he stares at the floor like he’s trying to disappear.

“Hey,” I try, keeping my voice soft.

“…Hi.”

“How are you?” I smile gently.

“I’m good…”

A long pause.

“Um… do you want to maybe tell me about yourself?”

“…”

Another awkward silence.

Then he makes this tiny squeaking noise, his cheeks flush bright red, and before we can even blink, he bolts—straight out of the common room.

Beomgyu and I just watch him disappear.

“…I kind of feel bad,” I say quietly.

Beomgyu snorts. “Why? That was probably the most cardio he’s done all year.”

Interview three: ???

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #4 | Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop

“Right, so,” the Slytherin guy says, spinning a sugar spoon between his fingers like he’s rehearsing a speech, “I don’t really believe in labels… but I do believe in academic synergy.”

I blink. “Academic synergy?”

He leans forward, eyes sparkling. “It means we’re intellectually compatible. Spiritually aligned. And—if you let me copy your Arithmancy notes—I’d say we’re destined.”

Beomgyu lets out a sharp breath without looking up. “Rejected.”

The guy smirks, unfazed. “I don’t take no for an answer.”

Beomgyu finally meets his gaze. “Oh? Are you gonna fight us?”

The guy stands suddenly, clutching his chest like he’s been struck by a powerful curse. “No,” he says, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m going to faint.”

And with the flair of someone on stage, he collapses—slowly—onto the polished tea shop floor. One arm draped over his forehead, robes spreading out like he’s been practicing this exact move.

What. The. Actual. Fuck

The room gasps. Customers jump up, alarmed. The shop owner rushes over with a dessert menu, frantically fanning him.

I blink, then grab a napkin and join in because… what else do you do?

I glance at Beomgyu.

Beomgyu shrugs and starts fanning too, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He leans in, whispering, “Is he breathing too evenly for someone who’s unconscious?”

I whisper back, “I can see his eye twitching.”

From the floor, the guy sighs dramatically. “The agony of unrequited academic love…”

The owner narrows his eyes. “Get up.”

Slowly, he sits up, brushes invisible dust from his robes, and groans theatrically. Then he points at me, winks, and says, “Offer still stands.”

And just like that, he strolls out—completely fine.

Beomgyu and I watch him leave, then follow out of the tea shop.

Outside, the cold air hits us, and the gravel crunches beneath our boots as we make our way up the path. I stay quiet, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

Finally, Beomgyu breaks the silence. “He… fainted.”

“He actually just did that,” I say.

“This is worse than I imagined,” I add, pressing my palms into my cheeks.

“That singing guy nearly summoned thunderclouds,” Beomgyu says, muffled by his scarf.

“And the first guy literally brought a scroll titled Why I’m the Best Candidate for Y/N’s Hand in a Winter-Themed Social Setting.”

Beomgyu stops mid-step, turns slowly. “He did not.”

Wordlessly, I reach into my coat pocket and hand him the parchment.

He stares. Then screams.

We both start laughing—loud and breathless—until I have to lean into him to keep from slipping on the uneven path. My sides ache. His laugh goes high-pitched and wheezy.

By the time the castle comes into view, we’re still giggling like we’ve lost it.

Beomgyu wipes his eyes. “We’re not even halfway through.”

“I’m scared.”

“Same.”

Interview four: FAILED!

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #5 | Courtyard Pt. 2

“Wait,” I murmur, squinting toward the courtyard. “Is that—”

“Park Sunghoon,” Beomgyu finishes, eyes wide.

I blink, still trying to wrap my head around it. “You actually owled the Ravenclaw Head Boy?”

“I thought he said yes in a joke-y way! I didn’t think he’d actually—oh damn.” Beomgyu says, disbelief in his voice.

Then it sinks in, and my voice drops. “Oh, fuck.”

I glance at Beomgyu. “Please don’t tell me you got that Durmstrang guy involved in this, too.”

“Nope. Not this time.”

We hadn’t expected him to come—figured he’d be too busy prepping for the next task. But there he is, walking like he owns the place, hands tucked into his coat pockets, scarf wrapped snug around his neck. The breeze catches his hair just right, like it’s all part of the moment.

When he reaches us, he offers a small, calm smile. “Hope I’m not late.”

“No, you’re—” I blink, caught off guard. “Very… punctual.”

I try to play it cool. “Thanks for coming. We didn’t think you’d actually—uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies softly.

“Yeah, I thought it sounded kind of nice,” he says, his eyes lingering on mine just a moment longer than usual. “And… well, I was curious.”

“You,” he adds easily. Then, like he realizes how forward that sounded, he gives a slight, shy smile. “And the whole selection process, of course.”

Beomgyu stifles a cough behind me.

“Right. Well,” I say, nodding toward a nearby bench, “let’s get started?”

He nods and follows me. We sit side by side, a polite distance apart, but there’s a quiet awareness between us. Not obvious, just… there.

“So,” he says, glancing over at me, “do I get actual questions, or is this more of a vibe check?”

“A little of both,” I reply, meeting his gaze. “Depends on how honest you want to be.”

Sunghoon smiles softly. “I’m usually honest. Maybe too honest.”

“You hesitated a little just now.”

“I’m self-aware,” he says with a small grin.

I can’t help but laugh, and his expression softens — like he wanted that reaction.

Beside us, Beomgyu taps his quill. “You two want me to leave for a bit?”

I roll my eyes. “Be serious.”

Sunghoon leans back, arms crossed. “Let him stay. I kind of like the challenge.”

I raise a brow. “Challenge?”

“You’re hard to read,” he says quietly, not teasing. “It makes this more interesting.”

Beomgyu scoffs quietly at that.

I don’t answer right away. The moment lingers — his gaze calm, steady but not pushy. There’s a quiet kind of stillness that feels… full.

Finally, I clear my throat and glance down at my parchment. “Okay, first question: What’s your favorite winter activity?”

“Staying warm,” he says right away. “With good snacks, and hopefully with someone who won’t mind if I fall asleep halfway through a book.”

“That’s pretty specific.”

“What can I say? I know what I like.”

I smile, and he smiles back—soft, but there’s something charged beneath it.

We’re both smiling. Not wide, but enough.

Beomgyu exhales quietly. “Okay, yeah, I’m definitely the third wheel here.”

Neither of us corrects him.

And the interview hasn’t even started.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #6 | Room of Requirement

If Sunghoon is polished and poised, Soobin is something else entirely—something softer.

Quietly endearing in a way that catches me off guard.

The Room of Requirement shifts again to match the moment: warm and softly lit, with low ceilings and enchanted windows casting a dusky sort of glow. Thick rugs muffle our footsteps, though here and there, worn cobblestones peek through.

Soobin nearly trips on one the second he steps inside. He catches himself quickly but still looks horrified.

“I’m so sorry—I swear I saw the stone, but then my foot just… yeah. Anyway—hi.”

I glance, startled, then smile. “Hello.”

He’s gentle, in both voice and presence. He talks quietly about his love for Care of Magical Creatures, how fascinated he is by nifflers and thestrals.

He admits he plays piano, but only when no one else is listening—too nervous to perform for an audience. His words tumble out unevenly, but he laughs at himself when they do, and somehow that makes the whole thing even more endearing.

Halfway through, his elbow knocks into the ink bottle. It tips, dark liquid spreading toward the parchment like a slow disaster.

His eyes go wide, and his face flushes with panic.

I wave my wand quickly and clean it up. “Don’t worry about it. That kind of thing happens to me at least twice a week.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. Then he smiles again—easier now, a little more certain.

Beomgyu has been mostly quiet, chin propped in his hand as he watches the whole thing.

When Soobin stands, thanks us, and slips out the door (almost forgetting his scarf on the chair), Beomgyu leans toward me and mutters under his breath,

“...Alright, he’s kind of cute.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Beomgyu just shrugs like it’s nothing. “Whatever.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Interview #7 | Quidditch Pitch

“Now this guy,” Beomgyu mutters as Yeonjun jogs toward us, still in his Slytherin practice gear, “absolutely screams ‘walking red flag.’”

Yeonjun doesn’t hear him—but judging by the smirk on his face, he wouldn’t mind if he did. He’s still a little breathless from flying, broom slung over his shoulder, wind-tossed hair looking unfairly good for someone who just spent an hour chasing a Quaffle.

He climbs up the bleachers two steps at a time and drops onto the seat across from us with the kind of easy confidence that’s probably gotten him into (and out of) trouble more times than anyone could count.

He flashes me a wink. “So, am I the first Slytherin you’ve interviewed, or just the best-looking?”

I raise a brow, amused. “Both. For now.”

Yeonjun smirks. “Good to know I’ve set the bar.”

Beomgyu’s face does not look amused at this.

I hum. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

Yeonjun grins wider, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So, is this actually an interview, or just a good excuse to talk to me?”

“That depends,” I say, matching his energy. “You got real answers, or just a bag of recycled pickup lines?”

His smile sharpens, impressed. “Ohoho—I like her.”

Beomgyu, flat as stone, clears his throat. “Yeah, speaking of lines—you told Eun Ae from History of Magic the same one last week.”

Yeonjun freezes for half a beat, caught. Then he recovers with a shrug and a flash of teeth.

“I have a repertoire,” he says smoothly.

“Noted,” I reply, smirking.

The moment lingers—playful and just a little electric, like a Quidditch match right before the whistle. Beomgyu mutters something under his breath and jabs his quill a little too hard, nearly tearing the parchment.

Just as Beomgyu finishes scribbling Yeonjun’s name with the words "menace to society", a gust of wind lifts through the stands.

I glance over as a group of students makes their way up the opposite side of the bleachers—Chaewon among them, laughing at something one of her friends says. She’s in Ravenclaw robes, but a couple of the girls with her wear Slytherin green, waving at the players still hovering on their brooms.

Chaewon waves back at them, then finds a seat a few rows above us. She tosses her scarf over her shoulder, still smiling as she settles in.

And that’s when I notice it: Beomgyu’s gone quiet. His quill stills. He doesn’t even finish the sentence he was half-muttering.

Just the smallest shift—shoulders drawn in, lips pressed together. I catch his eyes flick up toward her, linger for a second too long, then drop back to the page like nothing happened.

But Beomgyu isn’t listening.

And neither am I.

We’re making our way back from the Quidditch pitch, the courtyard washed in late-afternoon gold. I drop onto a cold stone bench, still running Yeonjun’s interview back in my head.

Beomgyu sinks down beside me, the usual smirk on his face—but there’s something different about it tonight. Sharper. Guarded.

I let out a sigh. “Well. That was a bit of a circus.”

He huffs a dry laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

I glance over. “So? Anyone catch your eye?”

He shrugs, casual. But the slight curl at the corner of his mouth gives him away. “Yeonjun? All show. No substance. He’s charming, sure—but I doubt he’s in it for anything real.”

I smirk, remembering Yeonjun’s grin. “Yeah, I got that vibe.”

“What about Soobin?” I ask.

Beomgyu’s expression softens. “He’s nice. Genuine. But… I don’t think it’d work. I feel like you’d be the one putting in all the effort.”

I nod slowly, letting that sink in.

“And Sunghoon?”

He lets out a quiet sigh. “Too put-together. Like he’s performing instead of just… being himself. Something about it feels off.”

“Put-together?” I tease. "He’s literally swimming in the Black Lake tomorrow. I think he’s allowed to be a little focused."

Beomgyu smirks. “There’s focused, and then there’s ‘trying way too hard.’”

I laugh. “You’re just jealous he didn’t laugh at your terrible joke.”

“Terrible? It was a masterpiece!” Beomgyu protests. “Anyway, if I had a task for a life-threatening tournament tomorrow, I’d be too busy trying not to die to care about Yule Ball interviews.”

I grin. “Sounds like someone’s scared I might find someone better than you.”

Beomgyu shoots me a mock glare. “Keep talking, and you’re going alone.”

I glance at him. “You’re not really sold on anyone, are you?”

There’s a pause. Barely noticeable.

Then he flashes that familiar grin—mischievous, but quieter than usual. “Maybe I just don’t think they’re good enough.”

I raise an eyebrow. “For me?”

He meets my gaze, steady. “Yeah. You deserve nothing less.”

And just like that, whatever comeback I had disappears. Because this time, Beomgyu isn’t joking.

The Great Hall hums with the kind of noisy excitement only winter can bring. Light from the enchanted ceiling glimmers like frost, casting golden reflections on the tables below. Students chatter over half-eaten meals, bursts of laughter erupting as someone unwraps yet another extravagant owl-delivered package.

At the Gryffindor table, I’m halfway through my third spoonful of treacle tart, seated beside Nari, Jungwon, and Beomgyu, whose expression is unusually wary.

“I’m serious,” Nari is saying, tone overly casual as she peels a clementine with exaggerated care. “A squirrel delivering the note. It's subtle. Charming. Plus: small enough to run if it goes badly.”

Jungwon coughs on his pumpkin juice. “Subtle? You’re about to send a rodent to flirt on your behalf.”

“It’s Taehyun,” Nari argues. “He’s shy. I need an opening move that screams ‘soft whimsy’ instead of ‘chaotic desperation.’”

Beomgyu snorts. “You say that like you’ve ever had a soft approach in your life.”

I grin. “If you do the squirrel, I’m begging you to put it in a little bowtie.”

“I was going to,” Nari says smugly.

“Still can’t believe people are already getting their dressrobes owled in,” Jungwon says, glancing down the table where a group of third-years are gathered around a box with squeals of excitement. “Some families go all out.”

“Chaewon’s probably getting owled something straight from Paris,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head.

He leans back with a groan. “Meanwhile, I’m bracing for something completely tragic.”

Nari doesn’t even look up. “You? Tragic? Highly doubt it.”

He points at her, serious. “You don’t know her taste. One time she made me wear a gold-trimmed cloak to a wedding. I looked like a cursed tapestry.”

That gets a laugh out of Jungwon and a few others nearby.

Nari smirks. “Your family’s loaded. Worst case, it’s tragically expensive.”

“Exactly my fear,” Beomgyu mutters. “How am I supposed to get Chaewon to say yes if I show up looking like I got dressed in the dark at Gringotts?”

Someone down the table chokes on their juice. Nari snorts. “Honestly? That might be your best shot. She’ll say yes out of pity.”

Beomgyu whines, looping his arms around mine. “Y/N, Nari’s bullying me again!”

I smile softly and reach up to ruffle his hair. “Aww, poor Beomgyu. Need me to rescue you from the evil witch and her wicked spells?”

Nari laughs, shaking her head. “Of course he always runs to you when he needs a safe spot. You’re basically his personal bodyguard.”

Beomgyu shoots her a playful glare but tightens his hold on my arm. “Yeah, yeah, evil witch. Just wait—I'll get you back.”

I chuckle, glancing between them. “You two are hopeless.”

A soft flutter of wings cuts through the chatter. Two owls swoop low—one drops a sleek, green package into the hands of a smirking Slytherin nearby. The wrapping is neat, with silver ribbon catching the light.

The other owl, a grand and glowing creature, lands right by the Gryffindor table, carrying a box so ridiculously fancy it draws some snickers. The velvet wrapping is deep red with gold embroidery, but the faded, frayed floral pattern makes it look like it was wrapped by a very old-fashioned relative.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. He leans forward, hands pressed together like he’s pleading, whispering, “Please, please don’t be for me…”

The owl drops the heavy box beside him with a soft thud. A few Gryffindors chuckle, others shoot him amused looks.

Beomgyu forces a smile, clearly bracing for whatever’s inside.

“Is that from your mum?” I ask, eyeing the gold wax seal and the expensive-looking wrapping.

Beomgyu stares at it like it’s cursed. “Why does it look like a wedding cake?”

A note is tucked beneath the bow:

Darling, I added extra flair to make you stand out! Can’t wait for pictures. Love, Mum.

“Oh no…” he mutters. Still, he cracks the seal.

He lifts the lid—and goes utterly still.

It’s hard to even describe them. Maroon velvet. Ruffled collar. Lace. So much lace. The sleeves are dramatically puffed, the lining is satin, and there’s a glittery gold crest stitched right over the heart.

For a beat, no one says anything.

Then—

“IS THAT A BIB?” Jungwon wheezes, leaning forward to get a better look.

Nari chokes on her juice.

“Oh my Godric,” Nari says, nearly breathless. “I take everything back.”

I try to hold it in, but once Beomgyu holds the robes up by the shoulders, the entire corner of the Gryffindor table loses it. Jungwon slides down the bench, wheezing. Nari is pounding her fist on the table. I press my face into my sleeve, tears threatening to escape.

A younger student two seats down blurts, “My grandfather has that exact set!”

“Beomgyu,” I gasp between laughs, “it’s got frills on the frills.”

Beomgyu just grabs the note in one hand and the ruffled cravat in the other. “HOW,” he says, voice hoarse with disbelief, “am I supposed to get Chaewon to say yes to me while looking like a haunted opera singer?”

Laughter bursts from around the Gryffindor table.

“She might appreciate the drama,” I offer gently, trying not to laugh too hard.

“Y/N,” Beomgyu says solemnly, “if I show up looking like this, I’m legally obligated to challenge someone to a duel over her honor.”

“Please do,” Jungwon says. “Make sure it’s near the snack table too.”

While everyone else is still reeling from Beomgyu’s tragedy, I sense someone behind me—a gentle shift in the air, a soft shuffle just past my shoulder. Then a light tap.

I turn. Kai is standing there, looking quietly pleased and a little nervous.

“Hey,” he says. “Mind if I borrow you for a second?”

My expression softens. “Sure.”

We leave the table as Jungwon launches into a theatrical impersonation of Beomgyu as a pompous aristocrat. I follow Kai down one of the quieter corridors just off the Great Hall, where the noise fades into low, musical echoes.

Kai reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped parcel. “I… meant to give this to you earlier. For helping me with Astronomy.”

I open it carefully. Inside is a tiny handmade charm—a miniature planet that spins slowly on its axis, attached to a slender cord bracelet.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he says quickly. “Just… something I made.”

My heart lifts a little. “Kai, it’s perfect.”

“I know tutoring’s over, and I guess I was just…” he hesitates. “Hoping it wouldn’t mean we’d stop hanging out.”

I meet his eyes, steady and sincere. “We won’t. I like spending time with you. And not just because you can now identify all the moons of Jupiter.”

He laughs quietly. “Even if I do mix up Io and Europa sometimes?”

“Forgiven,” I say. “As long as you keep making things like this.”

We smile at each other—warm and simple, the way things always feel with Kai.

When I return to the table, the mood has shifted entirely. Someone's asked Jungwon who he’s taking to the Yule Ball, and he’s suddenly very invested in peeling the label off his pumpkin juice. Beomgyu is slumped across the bench, dramatically pretending to write his will on a napkin.

Nari, meanwhile, is eyeing me with a raised brow and a suspicious grin. I just slide back into my seat, the charm bracelet wrapped around my wrist.

Beomgyu glances up as I settle in, his eyes flicking briefly to my hand before returning to his theatrical scribbling. He crumples the napkin with a little more force than necessary.

Around me, the table is loud with jokes and last-minute plans, fizzy with nerves and possibility. But in my chest, something softer hums—hopeful, and a little bit new.

Like something is just about to begin.

a/n: holy fucking shitballz bro this took me so long to write and theres still sm more to this story PLEASEEE I'll post part 2 soon but i rlly hope u guys enjoyed this (pls comment that u did) JSBDHAJSBHSH

p.s. I am completely aware that some of the personalities probs dont match exactly the characters irl, so pls take in mind this is fanfiction

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

AHHH THESE R EATINGGG😭🫶

dirty dancing | PSH

part 2 of the Night in Hollywood!series

☆ trope: enemies to lovers!au, 1960s!au

☆ pairing: dancer!seonghwa x reader

☆ warnings: probably some inaccurate sixties references oops, reader is v shy in the beginning, smut, marking, p in v intercourse, use of protection, dirty talk, sub!reader, dom!hwa, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), grinding, slight degradation kink and manhandling, slapping, mirror sex, size kink, sweet aftercare, the “L” word, smoking/tobacco use, drug use, seonghwa is able to lift reader when they dance, profanity, sloww burn, SA, groping, mentions of a*ortion (if you’ve seen the og movie then you’ll know about penny’s situation), accidental pregnancy (not reader) — NOTE: IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH THESE TAGS, DNI! Please read the actual film’s synopsis first if you’re you do not like the last few tags.

☆ synopsis: THAT WAS THE SUMMER you met resident heart-breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

☆ playlist: be my baby by the ronnettes, another saturday night by sam cooke, still feel like your man by john mayer, we belong together by ritchie valens, karma chameleon by culture club

☆ a/n: for everyone that’s been following along with the writing process, thank you so much for your patience and understanding. I really had to force myself a few times to just sit and get this done, but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out! Let me know what you think with your reblog and feedback! cheers to the long awaited second fic of this series🥂

☆ word count: 14.3k

THAT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1963. When everyone called you baby, and it didn’t seem to occur to you to mind. 

Summer was in full swing; families driving up to the vacation resort owned by your aunt in their shiny new corvettes, eagerly awaiting the nights of drinking, golfing, and mambo classes accompanied with luxury hospitality.

That’s a given when you're staying at a place like your aunt's vacation resort. 

Pool days followed by structured entertainment for these folks meant summer job opportunities for young college students like yourself, hoping to save up some money before the fall semester came. 

While other girls vacationing at the resort were spending their time fawning over The Beach Boys, sneaking out to the lakes to go skinny dipping, and enjoying the taste of freedom, you were taking orders and waiting tables at the bar across the golf course every night. Your hair smelled of fryer grease, your pockets filled with ketchup packets, and with every passing shift you worked, the burning desire to just quit and get away grew deeper in your heart.

But you really needed this money. There wasn’t any other reason that could replace why you were still here after closing hours, folding table napkins into the shape of swans.

“It’s for you, baby”

A voice brings you out of your thoughts, turning to see a long outstretched hand holding the receiver of a phone towards you.

Yunho sits slumped against the counter on top of a bar stool, his polo uniform shirt that you were wearing one identical to sticking to his chest with sweat. All the while he fanned himself from the sweltering July heat. 

He wipes a bead of sweat running off the side of his brow. 

“It’s a call for you,” he repeats again, shrugging the receiver to you expectedly. 

You quickly walk over, taking the phone with a quiet thanks before holding it close to your ear. 

Yunho watches the frail and timid little thing you were, barely holding the receiver close enough before a familiar voice cuts through. 

“I hope that those napkins are looking like swans and not chickens, baby”

Your aunt’s soft laughter fills your ear, breaking out into a silent state of panic as you eyed the pieces of cloth spread disappointingly across the table you were just standing at. 

You truly sucked ass at folding. 

“Just trying my best” you told her softly, voice unfamiliar as you just let out the first few words you’ve spoken all night. A sudden feeling washes over you that you’re being watched, and you’re proven right when you crane your neck to see Yunho looking at you out of the corner of your eyes. Warmth spreads throughout your face when you momentarily locked eyes. The tall blonde boy merely smiles, trying to be friendly before you shuffle awkwardly and turn away from his gaze.  

He wasn’t trying to be weird. In Yunho’s defense, it was just kinda interesting for him to see you share a casual conversation with your aunt, known as none other than his own employer and the literal owner of the resort he worked at. 

Plus, he never got to hear your voice. Like ever. 

Tangling the cord of the telephone wire in between your fingers, you questioned your aunt quietly. “Did you need help with something?” 

“I do, actually” she says, the background muffling her words with loud chatter as it seemed the lodge guests were still up and wide awake at this hour. 

“I need you to do me a favor. Grab those watermelons sitting in the fridge and bring them down to the kitchen in the main building for me. I forgot to get the staff here to pick it up, and it would just be so much faster if you brought it down for me, darling.”

You eyed the mentioned goods sitting perched in the back kitchen. 

“The ones on the counter?” You asked hesitantly. 

“I don’t recall leaving any other melons on top of one of my kitchens… so, yes” she remarks sarcastically. 

Hauling those massive things and walking back to the main building was going to be a hassle, especially with your location being all the way on the opposite side across the golf course. 

But what you were dreading even more was confirmed with what she said next. 

“You could just ask that boy Yunho to help you.” She states casually.

Your body tenses at her words, dreading the likely fact that you’ll have to speak more than five words to the golden retriever looking bartender in order to complete your aunt’s request.  

“I’m sure you two will be fine. I’ll be expecting to see you soon, baby”  

“Okay, goodbye” is all you say, hearing her thanks over the phone before you hang up. 

You hand the receiver back to Yunho, who had still been watching you with a small grin on his face. 

“Boss say anything important?” watching as your brows furrow in debated thought, wondering if you should just ask him for his help. 

Your hands get a little clammy, and you make an effort to smooth your khaki work pants, nervousness getting to you. For fucks sake, you were only asking him to help you hold a watermelon. The worst he could do was say no!

You looked up to the tall boy, already feeling a little stupid when you saw him look at you quizzically. 

“Actually, Yunho…” you began, swallowing in nervousness. “Could you help me bring those?” You muttered quietly, shoulders cowering as you pointed to the watermelons sitting on the kitchen counter. He looks back to see what you’re referring to. 

You immediately see his face change in surprise, having caught his attention by speaking more words just now, than you had the entirety of the few weeks you’d worked together. 

Then, the boy can’t help but break into a smile when he hears you clear your voice to speak up again.

“Please?”

“Do you believe watermelons are berries?” Yunho asks you, taking long strides in front of you across the damp grass of the golf course. 

The faint chirping of crickets and summer cicadas resonates across the amphitheater of an empty field, the only sources of light coming from the outdoor flood lights illuminating the path to the main building of the lodges. 

The nighttime air was humid, an unsatisfying breeze blowing past you two as you made your way together.

“Sorry?” You huff, trying to catch your breath. 

You’re staring at the way he’s been able to tuck the two large melons safely in his arms, having to stop in his tracks as you struggled to keep up with his speed while carrying just one.

“Technically, watermelons don’t have any internal divisions, but because they have seeds you could argue that they’re just massively large berries.” he points out, the idea seeming to spill from his mouth like he had been pondering the thought for very long.  

His brows are furrowed in thought when he looks over to you, awaiting your opinion.

“I-I guess so” you agreed meekly. How else were you to respond?

Your arms began to hurt from holding the heavy fruit for so long, and the both of you had only barely made it past the pond near the golf course, changing direction towards a trail with a cleared path. Yunho carries on with his fruit philosophy.

“If you put popular beliefs aside, pumpkins are considered berries too.“ He grins, chuckling to himself as he walks beside you. “Which means you and I are just holding three massive berries in total!”

“Right..” 

Before you could think to say anything else in response, a tall figure identical to the height of Yunho rushes up from behind and smacks the back of head. 

You’re seconds away from dropping the watermelon in your hand from shock, jaw hanging open as you clutched on the melon in surprise while Yunho stops in his tracks to curse out loud. 

“What the fuck-”

“Hey yuyu, finished your shift already?” A boy cheekily grins while wearing a blue, well-loved varsity jacket. His eyes turned into crescent moons while giggling with utter joy at the sight of his friend scowling in pain, dodging the kicks Yunho tries to get back at him while holding the two fruits. 

“Get off my back, Mingi” he spits, though he lets the boy hang near him. 

You do what you’ve grown accustomed to over the past month of working here, making yourself invisible amongst the two friends you slowly trailed behind. 

There’s a good reason you‘ve become this shy and hesitant to ask for help while working at the resort, and that was because no one here actually liked you. 

Being the niece of the lodge owner didn’t exactly have the perks you’d think would come with it. Rumor had already spread like wildfire on your first day of work amongst the young employees, gossiping all sorts of ridiculous stories as to why a girl like you needed to be spending her summers working at her rich Aunt's resort to make money. From rumours that you were cut off by your rich parents, to one being that you got knocked up and sent away here as punishment, the gossip from the part-timers was like a supply of fuel to be added to the fire. 

You had been extremely lucky to get this job thanks to your Aunt. In order to keep your place here, you made up for it by working twice as hard as any other person. Picking up other people’s shifts while tolerating being ignored and trashed about was something you decided you’d stick it out for the whole summer. You desperately needed this money to afford finally moving out of your house back home. It was only after much hesitance that you resorted to reaching out to your distant Aunt on your mothers side you never actually talked to. You were willing to do any work she gave that would be enough to keep the bills paid. The only friend you seemed to somewhat make while working this summer was Yunho, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to care about all the nepo baby crap he heard everyone spew behind your back. 

“Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be giving tango lessons to the bungalow bunnies back at the gazebo?” Yunho teases to his friend, propping up the watermelons in his hands to make them appear like two large breasts. 

You looked away, blushing as Yunho juts his lips out to mimic the middle aged trophy wives his friend frequently gave dancing lessons to. Mingi must’ve been a part of the entertainment and dance staff, the one clique of part-timers in this place that no one else seemed to be able to go against. 

He teased in a high pitched southern accent, “Oh, Mingi, you really know how to put those hips to use!”

Yunho's laughter resonates throughout the empty field, becoming Mingi’s turn to pummel his ass from embarrassment, ears going red. 

“Shut up, man! Keep talking but at the end of the day, you could only dream what it’s like having those women all over ya!” He states proudly.

Yunho peers over to see you awkwardly trailing behind, shoving his friend’s shoulder and jerking his head to you, motioning to give you some help. Mingi leans down to grasp the sliding melon falling out of your hands, letting you catch up so you three could all walk together. 

You’re about to protest but Mingi is already smirking down at you. 

“So you’re the boss’s niece everyone’s been talking about, huh?” 

Knowing the rumours going around about you, you were mentally preparing for what else was to come out of Yunho’s friend. But the next words that he says surprises you instead. 

“I don’t care about that bullshit, y’know” 

He grins, standing tall with the watermelon easily tucked under one of his arms. 

“If I were you, I’d own it proudly.”

You hadn’t expected that answer to be honest. You glance over to Yunho who chuckles at his friend, gratitude and relief seeping into your heart when you realize Mingi seems to be a decent guy just like him. 

“First thing I’d do if my aunt owned this place would be to raid the liquor cellars under the guests lounge” he states, Yunho rolling his eyes while Mingi looks at you again. “I’d be trying to get away with all the shit I could do.”

The blonde scoffs, sneering at his friend's words. 

“Yeah, as if you can even handle your alcohol well.”

Mingi glares back.

“Kid passed out one time from a sip of beer” Yunho mutters to you, watching the corners of your mouth turn up. He definitely didn’t appear to be a lightweight in your thoughts.

“You don’t really speak much do you?” Mingi interrupts, coming closer as you walk side by side.

You shook your head.

“What did they call you again?” he pauses to think, racking his brain to find the nickname everyone made fun of you for. “Bonnie? Berry?…”

It's ridiculous how a childhood nickname your Aunt kept for you had now stuck with the entire staff at the summer lodge. So admittedly, you can’t help it if some of your frustration seems to slip out when you give him a sarcastic roll of your eyes 

“It's baby,” you answered with a huff. 

Mingi stares at you for a moment which makes you worry you’ve taken your attitude too far, before he’s already chuckling at your response. 

“Well baby’s got spunk, hasn’t she?” 

“Not everyone calls me that” you tried to convince him, frowning when Yunho chips in.

”Yeah right, everyone calls you baby here.” he grins, teasing you.

You looked away, awkwardly staring at some bushes nearby. He was right. 

Mingi already decides that he likes you, and seeing how Yunho likes you as well, the rumours he’s been hearing about you going around don’t matter to him anymore.

“Well then, baby” He beams, the lights near the main building's entrance glowing brighter as you get closer. “Wanna go to a real adult party?” 

You slowed down your steps, eyes widening at his words as Yunho shoved his clueless friend for his comment. 

“Don’t fucking say it like that, creep!”

Mingi realizes what his offer might’ve sounded like, assuring you that he was just inviting you and Yunho to the after party the entertainment staff were holding in the abandoned barn behind the west building. The west building located dorms where all the staff were able to live during the busiest time of vacation season. 

“A party?” You repeated, lips parting softly. 

Mingi nodded eagerly as he joked. 

“C’mon, you’re not gonna tell your aunt on us, are you?” 

The three of you stood near the back entrance of the main kitchen. Your last task of the night would be dropping off the watermelons before you’re free to walk away from the offer standing before you tonight. 

And perhaps it's because you're tired. Not necessarily tired from lack of sleep, but tired of the whole routine. Of the monogamous, soul-draining routine you’ve picked up ever since you got here, which was spending any second you weren’t working, sleeping, or eating, being cooped up in your twin-sized bed reading or laying awake at night to the sounds of cicadas. 

“I wouldn't tell her regardless, Mingi” you said truthfully, which makes the boy change his playful demeanor a bit. 

You thought for a long, hard moment. 

You’ve never had friends. Never broke the rules. Never once dared to sneak off the property to go somewhere, let alone a party with other people your age. And so with in mind the thrill of it all, with the absolute exhaustion of being alone all the damn time, you say yes. 

The two boys grin in excitement, and Mingi thrusts the watermelon in his arms to perch over his right shoulder.

“Great! Me and Yunho will pick you up at your dorm once we drop these off.” He says, the two boys walking off inside to drop off the delivery your aunt requested. It isn’t before Mingi turns to call out your name.

“Oh, and baby! Don’t be afraid to dress casual” he smiles, sending a nod of his head back to you. 

Inside, your stomach turns. 

You’re already started to regret this. 

You mumble quiet curses to yourself, awkwardly adjusting the cardigan and short skirt dress you managed to convince yourself was deemed appropriate for hanging out with other staff outside of work hours. 

You’re walking up those steep wooden steps of the hill leading up to the barn house, and with every thumping sound of the music getting louder, so does the beat of your heart inside your chest.

“Just be cool, baby” Yunho reassures you, having changed out of his uniform as well into a pair of shorts and a yellow Hawaiian button up shirt. 

“We’ll introduce you to more of our friends” Mingi assures, leading the way at the very front. 

You huff worriedly in response, knowing that the other college kids aren’t going to be very happy when they see the outcasted niece of the resort owner. But you still send them both a thankful smile, keeping it plastered on your face for not too long. 

“I just hope that son of bitch Wooyoung doesn’t eat all the pop tarts” Mingi mutters under his breath, shaking his head and clenching his fists inside his varsity jacket. 

“He knows I like strawberry…”

Once you reach the doors to the barn, Mingi and Yunho pause to look down at you before going in. “Ready?” the bartender asks, beaming down at you. You swallowed your nervousness, bundling up your nerves and hiding them away inside you. You give them both a small nod. 

Mingi immediately kicks the barn doors open, hollering to the large crowd of dancing college students. Half of which you know for a fact don’t work at the resort and have driven up from the city. 

And all at once, your breath is taken away. 

Bodies melted against one another in an obscene way you had never before seen back home. A few girls were wearing tight, form-fitting clothing that accentuated their hips and curves, while men sported the trending greaser look that had them thrusting their hips through tight fitting jeans or leather pants.  

You watched from a distance as couples grinded onto one another, dancing so passionately as though the music had overtaken their minds. The barn, though appearing to be rundown and shabby from the outside, was the definition of a banging, fucking party. 

“What are they doing?” You asked cluelessly to Yunho, unable to take your eyes off the sweaty bodies molding themselves together on the dance floor, rocking their hips and shaking their legs. 

This wasn’t even dancing. This was something else. 

He laughed loudly. “They’re just dancing!” looking down at you as he raises his voice over the loud music. “All the kids are doing it back home.” 

“You wanna try it?” He asks, teasing you. You reverently shake your head no and he can’t help but laugh at your continuation to stare in shock. He urges you forward instead. 

“Come on, baby”

You can tell how popular Mingi and Yunho must be, the way that every so often they bump into a friend of theirs and chat with them eagerly. A few of them give you some judging stares, but with the two giants by your side, it doesn’t bother you as much as it usually does. 

Beer, cigarettes, and slips of condom packages are exchanged on the dance floor, folks minding their business and having the time of their lives. 

“Can you imagine dancing like this on the main floor?” Yunho laughs, gesturing to the sea of sweat, lust and rhythm that could never in a million years find its way back to the ‘family friendly’ establishment you worked for. 

“Your aunt would close the place down first!” he chuckles, letting you grab onto his arm to navigate through the party. 

Yunho catches up to Mingi standing a few meters away, thinking you’d follow when you let go. Instead, a hand snakes its way around your waist near the dance floor, grasping you tightly and making you jump from surprise. A body begins to lewdly grind itself against you, worn out jeans coming into view as their legs trapped yours in between them. 

“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you?” a voice whispers into your ear, the smell of booze reeking from the man’s hot breath. 

“Haven’t seen you around here” his accent slips through. 

Sweat begins to form on your forehead, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You were highly uncomfortable right now. 

“Please let go,” you asked politely, struggling to pry the dirty hands off of your body. 

“C’mon,” he protests, pulling you closer. “Just one dance, OW-”

A heeled shoe comes to stomp on the man's big toe, a manicured hand swatting the grip on your hips away, making him yelp in pain and shove you away. You stumble a bit, whipping your head around to see the ugly looking bastard. A woman stands in front of you protectively between him, hands on the hips of her dress.

“You fucking sleaze!” You hear from in front of you.

“Fuck was that for, Minny?” he lashes out, his voice rising in tone over the loud music. A few couples stop to stare at his outburst momentarily, though they quickly go back to dancing, moving around the comotion. 

“The next time I see your nasty hands touching another poor girl's ass, Bobby, and I'm telling Seonghwa and the rest of the dance crew.” the girl snaps, dangly earrings rushing back and forth above her perfect exposed collar bones while she points an accusatory finger in the direction of the pervert. Her chest moves with every fuming breath she takes. 

Bobby, who had just been trying to cop a feel at you, scoffs, staring her down and intimidating you in the process. 

“You ain’t gonna do shit, Minny.” He spits to the floor, making you take one more step behind the girl. 

“I might not do shit. But you sure as hell know Seonghwa isn’t gonna leave you alone.”

“Just like last time” She threatens, watching as his eyes look away pathetically in fear, knowing specifically what she was referring to. 

“You’re fucking disgusting. Get the fuck out of my sight” she brushes him off, watching how he glares at her for a moment before reluctantly sliding to another side of the dance floor. 

The situation de-escalates as quickly as it first began. 

Your heart continues to pound against your chest, a wave of relief washing over yourself when he leaves. Your hero, standing tall in front of you in pretty tango heels and a pink chiffon dress, lays a hand on your shoulder. 

“You alright, hun? Don’t mind that creep, he’s lower than piss on the floor” she states, the lights flashing over her toned, dancer body. She shakes her head in frustration. “These sort of morons are always lurking on the dance floor so you gotta be careful sometimes”

You’re starstruck, words unable to fall out of your mouth as you thank her. 

“Thank you for that” you find the courage to say. She smiles, sending you a small wink.

“Don’t mention it. Girls gotta stick together” she grins. 

Just as she’s about to leave, Yunho rushes over to you, messy blonde strands sweeping over his frantic eyes. 

“I was looking for you, where the hell did you go?” Yunho towers over you, in the process also making eye contact with the girl. 

“Don’t go losing your girl now, Yun” she teases, arms crossing over her chest. 

Yunho immediately recognizes the face and smiles. His ears begin to match the red party cup he was holding in his left hand.

“Minny!” he grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy as usual,” she shrugs. “Booked under mambo classes, kids tango, main floor ballroom, you know how it is.” she sighs. “You?”

“Night and day shifts all fucking mixed together” he replies. 

The two become lost in each other's eyes, clearing your voice as you speak over the loud music. 

“I’m not his girl, by the way”

She looks back at you, shooting a smirk at Yunho who laughs out loud, introducing you to her.

“This is baby, we work the night shifts at the bar down by the golf course together” he explains. 

He sends a smile to the girl in front of him who you can already tell he’s head over heels for. 

“This is Minny, works with Mingi and the rest of entertainment if you didn’t already notice.” 

“B-A-B-Y, baby?” She asks, eyes going wide as a sweet grin settles on her lips.

“That’s your name?”

You nod slowly, face feeling warm. 

“Just a nickname we all call her” Yunho chuckles, looking down at you as he explained. “But she sure does look all clueless like a baby, doesn’t she?” 

Minny nods, smiling at you as the song changes to something fast paced that makes people cheer and holler over their cigarettes and drinks. 

“Let’s go dance then, baby” she smirked, intertwining your hand with hers as she flashes a look towards Yunho.

“Bye, Yunho!” She winks back. 

You’re unable to say anything more as Minny guides you to the dance floor, your feet resisting her pull as you frantically shout over the music. 

“But I can’t dance!” 

She waves you off like it’s no big deal. “It’s okay if you don’t know! I’ll teach you!” She encourages, her body swaying so naturally in a way that makes you envy her. 

“Just feel the music, baby” she tells you. “Forget about everything else.”

You follow her words, a small smile making its way to your face as you become excited with every passing beat of the music. You’re not as good as her, but it’s a start to you coming out of the protective little box you’ve been in for too long. 

Minny’s eyes close as she looks up to the ceiling, shutting her eyes and desperately trying to let the music consume her. 

“Sometimes you just gotta dance ‘til your feet hurt more than what's in your heart”

From afar, a figure leaning against the wall follows your every move, watching you unknowingly throw your head back and giggle with every move you attempt to follow. 

“Someone must’ve had a fun time last night”

Your aunt continues diligently writing away in her cheque book, accounting for the weekly sales and profits behind the counter of the front desk of the resort. With every check mark, she goes back to the large calculator beside her, punching in numbers under her steel rimmed glasses, a few curses of frustration slipping out when the machine doesn’t work. 

“I’m surprised you’re not awake like you usually are, baby” she points out, watching as your slumped back immediately turns straight and you sit up tall in your seat, blinking your tired eyes. 

You should be properly manning the front desk you’re sitting at right now, but with all the guests gone to do the lodge offered activities like canoeing or water polo, the main desk is left empty except for the two of you sitting in your seats. 

“Have you been staying up late?” She asks with sharp curiosity. 

You shook your head, stifling a yawn. “I think I just slept in a weird position. Haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

The truth of the matter was, you’ve been sneaking out for the last few nights, having the most exhilarating experiences dancing and hanging out with Minny and the rest of the party staff in the abandoned barn.

Although your dancing wasn’t as good as Minny’s, no one seemed to care that you were there with them. For all the kids that did seem to talk shit in front of you for joining them, Minny would stick her fist up their asses just to defend you, and you had grown to love her already.

At your carefully picked response she nods, going back to her checkbook for a moment before she asks you carefully. 

“And are the part-timers treating you well? Teaching you the ropes behind everything here?”

You could never bring yourself to explain to your aunt that you were usually a complete and utter outcast amongst the lodge staff. You’d rather keep these details to yourself than to cause more unnecessary trouble to the woman who got you the job in the first place, so you opt for the same reassuring sentence you’ve been telling her since the first day. 

“Yes, they’re good to me.” You lie. 

She nods with a satisfied sigh, closing her checkbook and adjusting her glasses. 

“Just don’t get too close with the entertainment staff” your aunt warns you. 

You turn your head to look at her properly this time. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Some of those dancers are looking for trouble, and I mean especially the boys” she tsks, disapprovingly shaking her head. 

“God knows what I’ve had to do to get them to stop causing trouble and keep them in line for the guests. Those kids can dance, but lord can they be a pain to deal with”

Your quiet stare at her causes your aunt to shake her head, her wrinkles deepening as she waves it off to you. 

“Though that’s nothing you need to know. Just be mindful of who you’re with and why you’re here” she reminds you, firm and strict. 

You nod, thinking to yourself as her words circled your mind. 

Later, when your shift ends that night, you follow the trail of pebbled tracks back to your dorm, the sun already set as the outdoor flood lights turn on. 

The summer breeze blew through your hair as you made your way outside the main building. Just as you’re about to walk away, a hand grabs your arm, yanking you to the bushes nearby making you scream.

You’re met face to face with a frantic looking girl, her close proximity and frazzled looking appearance throwing you off guard as mascara stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes stared back at you.

“Minny?”

“Baby, I need you to help me” she pleads softly, choking up on her sobs as her body shakes violently. She was a complete opposite to the sweet, carefree looking girl you met a few nights ago. 

You immediately place a hand around her arm, trying to calm her down. 

“W-What’s wrong? Is everything alright? Are you-”

She mutters something incoherent to herself, shaking her head as she raises her face to look at you. 

“I need you to find Yunho for me. Now!” she cried, clutching onto your arms in desperation. “Just please find him for me” she whimpers, snapping you from your thoughts.

You knew that if you didn’t help her right now something very bad would happen. 

“O-Okay I’ll find him” you told her reassuringly. 

You left to run through the vast green fields of the resort, knowing that whatever Minny needed to talk to Yunho about, it must’ve been urgent. 

The west building where all the summer part-timers lodged, came into view. You picked up your pace, quickly passing each and every numbered door until you stopped in front of Yunho’s and knocked frantically on the wood while trying to catch your breath.

You gasp for air, hearing approaching steps as the door swings open and you're face to face with a man you’ve never seen before.

“Yunho!” You cry out first thing, though his name dies in your throat as your eyes catch up to your voice and you stare at someone else. 

Standing in front of you is a dark haired man. Tall, lean, but with a body displaying strength. You glanced up at his face. At his sharp nose, perfect lips, and deep piercing eyes that followed you with every heavy breath you took. 

“Can I help you?” He asks intensely, looming over you. You try to rack through your thoughts to make sure you don’t forget what you’re standing here for.

Just behind him do you see Yunho sitting on a worn out leather couch in his tiny room, laughing with a few other guys about something while a cigarette was propped behind his ear, the strong smell of drugs and burnt tobacco wafting in the air.

You forgot about the figure staring down at you, intimidated by his stance but looking  past it. 

“Yunho!” you called out, the worry and urgency prominent in your voice.

The blonde looks over to you, his smile faltering in confusion at your sudden presence, before he notices the fear in your eyes and sits up straight.

“It’s Minny” is all you have to say before he’s grabbing his leather jacket and walking out the door. An arm stops to grab onto him.

“What about Minny?” The man who answered the door asks in concern, his expression turning into one of protectiveness. You saw his grip tightening around Yunho's arm, to which the boy shoved off roughly.

“That’s what I’m going to find out” he grits, turning to face you now with his brows furrowed and an expression laced with worry. 

“Where is she? I’m coming with you.” He states firmly.

You have no time for this, so you leave the tension radiating off the two at the front door, motioning Yunho to follow you as you lead him back to Minny. When you see the figure from the doorway catch up alongside you, you look to Yunho for at least some sort of explanation. 

“This is Seonghwa.” he sighs, his long strides speeding up in a hurry. 

“He’s Minny’s dance partner. We can trust him, " he says, his lips forming a tight line.

You look at Seonghwa, watching as the boy dressed in all black turns his gaze to look back at you, an unreadable expression on his face before you look back to the trail.

You hear him mutter under his breath in concern. 

“Jesus christ, Minny, what did you do now?” 

It's not long before the three of you are approaching the bushes of the main building. Seonghwa dashes in front of all of you at the first sight he gets of Minny crouched in a fetal position, sobs still wracking through her body. Yunho follows suit, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair when he sees her. “Minny, what happened?” he breathes out.

The dancer looks up, tears clouding her vision when a soft sob leaves her throat.

“Yunho-” she begins to say after hearing his voice, then clutching the skirt of her dress when she sees who followed nearby.

“Seonghwa?” 

You didn’t know what to tell her, standing awkwardly off to the side before a beat of silence follows when Seonghwa takes ahold of the girl's hand, holding it gently.

“That’s alright honey, I got you. Seonghwa’s here” he assures her, embracing her in a comforting hug as he pats the back of her hair, letting her tears fall onto his suit.

Minny accepts the embrace, finally letting the words spill. 

“Seonghwa, it’s bad. It’s bad this time” she wailed, mascara staining her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath with every sob that racked her body.

Yunho approaches the girl, crouching down so he could look at her properly, feeling as though the worry and suspense would consume him. “What is Minny? Tell us!” 

The girl holds her body closer to her small frame, letting another tear fall before she looks up at you all. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

“So what’s he going to do about it?”

Seonghwa turns his head to glare at Hongjoong who had directed the obvious question to him.

The four of you had relocated to the empty barn house sitting in the forest behind the resort, the once lively and upbeat place replaced with a solemn mood that unveiled a frightening situation. 

Only you, Seonghwa and Yunho first knew about Minny, though that was shortly changed when the rest of the entertainment crew living at the barn found out as well when they saw you arrive with the sobbing girl. 

You out of all people had somehow been roped into it all, watching as the dancers huddled near the poor girl on their worn down couch supported with slates of wood, a cloth blanket covering her shivering shoulders. 

“It’s not Seonghwa,” Minny states clearly, scrunching her face at the assumption. She hangs her head, feeling nauseous from the anxiety. 

“But I thought-”

“Well you thought wrong” Seonghwa spits back, turning away from his friend when he realized he wasn’t helping.

Hongjoong was the leader of the crew. Followed by Seonghwa, Mingi, and another boy named Wooyoung who you had just met tonight for the first time. Yunho appeared close with them, watching as they discussed the seriousness of the situation. 

Minny groans when Mingi asks for the truth. 

“Then who the fuck did this to you? I swear I’m gonna kill that fucking bastard” he threatens, nostrils flaring as he over protectively tells his friend.

Minny tells him dejectedly. “He wants nothing to do with me or it. Didn’t even believe me when I told him…” 

Yunho turns his head, staring at her as he gently asks. 

“Tell us who it is, Minny”

She’s silent before she lets it out.

“It’s Bobby.”

You stared in horror, realizing the pervert who felt you up at the party a few nights ago was the father. You felt like throwing up and shooting him at the same time.

Wooyoung's eyes widened, his fist covering his wide open mouth as he exclaims. 

“Bobby “The Sleaze” Gilmer?”

Seonghwa looks at the girl he would call his own sister in disbelief. 

“That fucking lobby boy who works on the main floor did this to you?!”

She sighs, looking just as disgusted by hearing his name.

“If I could go back and close my fucking legs, believe me, I would!” She retorts back, huffing as her voice raises in frustration. 

“I didn’t mean to get with the guy! It just happened a few weeks ago and I didn’t think much of it until I was feeling nauseous yesterday afternoon during rehearsals.”

She leans back, knowing she’s made up her mind. 

“I’m not keeping it, I-I can’t. I have to get rid of it, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do when Seonghwa and I have upcoming performances at other hotels” Minny realizes with small sniffles, the scary reality crashing down on her again in this situation. 

“I-I mean I can get the girls to fill in for my classes here, but what the fuck am I supposed to do outside of this?” she says, a tear flowing down her cheek. “How are we going to tell them we can’t perform?” She admits defeatedly, thanking Mingi when he hands her a tissue box. 

“We’re gonna get you a doctor first, Minny” Yunho promises, watching as Wooyoung nods in agreement before he points out another problem. 

“Yeah, but where are we even gonna get the money for a doctor Yunho? And if word gets out with the other staff, we’re all fucking screwed.” 

Mingi shoves him in the rib cage for saying that, everyone sitting in a discouraging silence.

Hongjoong briefly glances over to you, rolling his eyes in cynicism.

“Great, and now that baby over here knows, she’s gonna run off to her playpen and tell her Aunt everything!”

You haven’t hated that nickname any more than you did right now.

Before Minny goes to your defense, you stick up for yourself first.

“I would never do that.” You state seriously, looking him in the eyes. Hongjoong still crosses his arms skeptically. “I’m not turning my back against you guys. I’m on your side, and I’m going to do whatever it is I can to help you Minny” you promised her wholeheartedly. 

Yunho, who was grasping onto Minny's hand, gives her a reassuring squeeze while sending you a small thankful smile.

“Don’t blame yourself too much Minny. This could’ve happened to anyone and it just so happened to be you. But now you know we’re all here for you, every last one of us.”

The blonde and the brunette lock eyes for a split second. 

Mingi mutters sarcastically under his breath to what his friend says. “Yeah, can’t say if I know anyone who’d sleep with Bobby Gilmer” 

Minny ignores him, shaking her head as she still needs to face reality. 

“Then who’s gonna dance with him then?” she nodded in the direction of her partner. 

Seonghwa looked overwhelmed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

You spoke up. “Couldn’t someone else fill in? There’s other girls who do nightly entertainment that must be free. There can be a way for us to come up with the money and if someone-”

Seonghwa glances over, his reply sharp as he cuts you off. “No, Ms. Fix it, nobody else can fill in. Maria has to work all day, she can’t learn the routines, and Rosie’s gonna have to fill in for Minny’s other classes. All of us could try and pick up a few jobs to pay for the fees but that money isn’t going to be enough! Nothing else is gonna cut it unless we do those performances.”

The man clenches and unclenches his jaw, taking a deep breath to control his frustrations. 

“We all work,” he says, making each word a defined statement.

You stand back in the corner where you belonged, Seonghwas gaze and rude attitude making you clench your fists in anger. 

“Hey, all she’s trying to do is help!” Yunho defends you, brows furrowing as he stares the black haired boy down. Tension arises once again between the two.

“And maybe Hongjoong is right,” Seonghwa spits, taking another jab at you. “Maybe the kid here is gonna jeopardize this whole fucking situation and get us all fired!”

Minny cuts him off on his last word, pointing an accusatory finger as she looks at him with disappointment.

“Stop that Seonghwa. Both of you calm down the fuck down and-”

Just as Seonghwa is about to retort back to Yunho, a question directed towards you leaves everyone to stop arguing for a moment.

“Do you dance, baby?”

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung who stands there with a cigarette lodged in between his lips, playing with the straps of his suspenders as he looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

“For fucks sake, Wooyoung” Seonghwa mutters under his breath loudly, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“What? I can’t ask the chick if she dances?” He retorts back defensively. 

“I- No I don’t.“ you reply, taken aback.

Mingi looks at you carefully, his eyes gazing up and down your body, able to imagine you as a dancer partner as he catches on to what his friend was suggesting.

“No, he might be onto something…”

Minny lifts her eyes from the wet tissues, pupils dilating as she looks at you too. 

“Baby,” she gasps, sitting straight as the blanket around her shoulders falls. 

“You could fill in!”

“what?!”

“yes!”

“Are you all out of your fucking minds?!” Seonghwa shouts, hands resting on his hips because now the impossible idea Wooyoung shared has now made him furious.

Minny snaps at her childhood best friend, clutching the skirt of her dress as she stands up to face him straight on. 

“You’re the best dancer out of all of us Seonghwa, you could lead any partner!”

“I can’t even do a full dance routine, let alone the Mambo!” You exclaim, cheeks getting hot. 

Seonghwa looks at your expression and decides to speak on your behalf as well. 

“The kid says she can’t even do the Mambo! She cannot dance, she’s got no talent, nothing!”

Jeez, when he says it, it just twists the knife a little deeper in the wound. 

You watch Seonghwa carefully, a glare in your eyes as you stare him down.

The group goes back to defeat as you stood there silently, hearing them discuss other possibilities as to what they could do to make up for the money.

“I could try to pick up weekend shifts at Kellerman’s right across the town” Wooyoung offers, sending a smile of hope to Minny who looks over in gratitude. “We could put that money to use.” 

“I already got another part time job at the gas station a few miles from here,” Mingi smiles, his usual boyish attitude replaced with sincerity. “I can pitch in.”

Yunho reassures the girl sitting beside him on the couch, facing the fearful situation with an optimistic outlook.

“Whatever you need Minny, we’re here for you. We’ll get that money, just leave it to us and—”

“I’ll do it.” 

Heads turn at the sound of your confident voice, your gaze unwavering as you send a promise to Minny as well. 

“What do you mean you’ll do it?” Yunho asks incredulously, not believing his ears. 

Wooyoung silently smiles at your decision, a grin forming on his face. Beside you, you can feel Seonghwa stare you down, closing your eyes as you let out a deep breath. 

“I‘ll fill in as Seonghwa’s dance partner. I’ll do whatever it takes, however many rehearsals or lessons he’s willing to teach me, but one thing is for sure Minny, I’m not leaving you on your own either” you tell her, thinking back to how the girl has stood by you in the short amount of time you’ve gotten to know her. 

Minny stands up abruptly, rushing over to you and knocking your breath out by giving you a tight hug. 

“Thank you” her voice cracks, knowing how much this meant to you while feeling sorry at the same time. “Thank you so much”

You hug her back gently, letting your hands pat her back in response. 

“No more than a few shows.” Seonghwa mutters while crossing his arms, causing you to pull back.

“Three shows and that’s it” he states, not believing what he’s gotten himself into.

He walks off, slamming the barn door closed. Hongjoong sighed, muttering a word of ‘good luck’ to you. 

“This is gonna be very interesting” Mingi whispers to Yunho who looks at you with slight worry. 

“He‘ll teach you everything you need to know, baby” Minny reassures you as she wipes her own tears away. She sniffles, turning your chest so you could face her properly.

“I know you can do this”

Holy fuck you couldn’t do this.

What on earth did these dancers wear? Was everything always this suffocating and tight?

“Come on out” Seonghwa impatiently states for the second time, tapping his foot against the polished wooden floors of the dance studio, arms crossed against the black tank top he wore for today's first practice. 

You felt the tight material of the dance leotard hug your body in places you didn’t know you could even show off, and you felt every fiber of your being regret the decision you made to say yes. 

Awkwardly, you step out from behind the folding screen, clutching your arms self-consciously around your body as the tight outfit felt foreign and made you feel exposed. 

Seonghwa narrows his eyes as he suddenly comes forward to rest his hands on your hips, shifting them forward and making you cry out in surprise. 

“What-” 

“Turn around for me” he states without wasting time, watching as you reluctantly turn slowly. It allows him to get a view of the back, but it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed when his large palms keep their place on your body as you move beneath.

“It’ll do” he decides, leaving you standing timidly when he goes to place the stylus on the Solomon Burke record. The music rings throughout the empty studio offered for private lessons.  

“Follow my steps” he orders, swiftly moving to the front of the room and facing the mirrors. 

The loud music makes you overwhelmed, unsure how to even begin copying the first step when Seonghwa takes swift, graceful shuffles, displaying how to move to the beat. 

“I want your form always straight. That means chin up, shoulders back”

You look back in confusion, your steps hesitant as you copied him. 

“Try and keep up, baby” he huffs, watching you dance like a baby deer learning to walk.

You bite your lip, repeating the moves Seonghwa had just shown you in complete focus, unaware when his presence comes closer and you suddenly feel his breath hit your neck. You lightly gasp when strong arms support your own, his hips moving against yours. 

“Sometimes the steps aren’t enough,” he urges, his deep voice entering your ear. 

“Feel the music” 

You glance up into the full length dance mirror, following the way he was skillfully molding your body to move to his own wishes. Your heart continued to beat against your chest, throwing you off with the rhythm of the vinyl that was currently playing out loud.

When he sees you distracted, Seonghwa bites his lips, grips your hips and spins you around, making you grasp onto his biceps as your ankles stumble in the dance heels you weren’t accustomed to. 

“I want you staring at your own body when you dance and look into the mirror” He warns you, firmly holding you in his grasp. 

“Not on me, baby” 

A moment of silence passed as you looked up at him stunned. 

“Nod if you understand” 

You swallow. Following his orders. 

With one last smirk, he spins you back around and lets go before now going in front to put you in another starting position. 

“Eyes on my feet now, honey”

The next few weeks have you going through pairs of shoes faster than the number of cigarettes you saw Seonghwa burning at every dance practice. You found yourself waltzing through hotdog orders, practicing steps and dance moves Seonghwa practiced with you while filling up pints of beer and serving tables. 

You really wanted to do a good job and you would do whatever it takes in order to prove that to Seonghwa and Minny. 

When you passed by other staff, you could hear the hushed whispers going around.

Why was she hanging with him? What was she doing in that studio?

Thankfully, no one dared to challenge you once they confirmed who you were spending all your late night evenings and early weekends with. It came across as though you and Seonghwa were secretly dating, when in fact, Seonghwa was meticulously putting you through hell every time he saw you. He had to teach you to keep up with the strict choreography he adjusted for you when you came to fill Minny’s shoes. 

But he was growing all the more frustrated with you at every practice, and you were well aware of it. 

“Hold on the fifth count I said, goddamn it baby are you deaf?” 

Seonghwa yells at you from across the sweltering hot studio one rainy afternoon. It was only two days before your first performance. 

With two days left on the clock, the pressure was getting to the experienced dancer, knowing he had to make sure you did flop on your ass the minute you went on that stage. 

But that was unfair to assume you weren’t struggling with your own share of concerns, putting your mind and body through hell just to try and keep up. 

“And what's up with your turns today? You gotta concentrate! Is this your idea of fun?”

He takes the cigarette hanging in his mouth and flings it out the open window, the pouring rain thundering above the barn as you glared at him, teeth gritting with anger. 

You were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached with soreness as sweat trickled down your forehead and covered your eyesight. Your feet ached, your back felt like shit, and your patience with Seonghwa and his excruciatingly annoying nagging was wearing thin. 

Placing your hands on your hips, you turn to face the man in front of you properly, feeling like you’ve had just enough of his bullshit. 

“Oh yes, as a matter of fact this is my idea of fun” you sarcastically barked back, stepping forward to him in your dancing heels that tapped against the shiny, shellac floorboards below you. 

“We’ve got the show coming up in two fucking days, you wont show me lifts, I’m not even sure on how to properly do turns, and yet I’m doing all this just to help that poor girls future, even if you’re being a fucking asshole and all I want to do is drop you”

Seonghwa ticks his jaw, sweat forming above his brow as he looks down at you.

The rain continues to pour, sloshing down the trees and seeping into small puddles over the open window ledge. 

He pushes off the full length dance mirrors, the sounds of rain growing louder outside. Shuffling back as he approached, you still kept your gaze locked on his own. 

You hated that even when you were pissed at him, he still looked that good. 

“What?” You bit back at Seonghwa who peered down at you.

“Do you have a raincoat?”

You look at him in confusion. “No, why?”

He turns to the couch nearby, grabbing his leather jacket and flinging it over to you, seeing you barely catch it in surprise. He doesn’t turn to look at you, simply walking near the window to inspect the rain before he calls back. 

“Cover yourself with that and follow me” 

You trudged through the wet rain, droplets hitting your legs as Seonghwa’s leather jacket protected you from getting wet on your head. He had decided to face the rain head on, quite literally, choosing to get wet while leading you down the hill to a different part of the forest nearby the resort. 

“Where are you taking me, Seonghwa?” You called out, eyes squinting just to see him through the pouring droplets.

He said nothing, giving you no clue as to where you were going before eventually stopping under a grand oak tree that had to have been at least a few hundred years old. Its bark and long strong branches were a testament to time. 

It was only then had the rain decided to stop, the clouds clearing bit by bit as the sun shined through the cracks of leaves. 

Seonghwa’s jacket sat slumped over your shoulders, watching as he brushed his damp locks out of his face and turned so his back was no longer facing you. 

“When you dance, baby, what do you feel?” He blurts out, looking at you as he tries to read your expressions. 

You sighed, lips parting to say something before they closed shut.

“Like I don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing” You confessed, looking towards the boy holding a soft look in his eyes. 

“Dancing is not just about how your body moves, baby. When you dance, your body is the vessel, but your soul is the driver.” Seonghwa described, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders to reveal your white tank top underneath. 

He throws the leather to hang over on a branch nearby, before beginning to unbuckle his pants and catch you off guard. 

“What the hell are you doing, Seonghwa?!” You shrieked, trying to look away as you couldn’t believe the man in front of you was stripping. “Put your clothes back on, Jesus Christ” you exclaimed, trying to tear your eyes away from the strong, tanned thighs that slipped from the hem of his pants. 

Seonghwa stands in front of you in his boxers and black tank top, watching your expression. 

“When you dance with someone, you get a feeling of the pulse in your heart as it lets every note guide your next movement. It's about the connection” he says as he lifts the corners of his top over his head, exposing his chest and sculpted upper body.

You stood there, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. 

“We can connect just fine with our clothes on, don’t you think?” You retorted back nervously. 

Seonghwa ignores your comment, shifting closer to you and grasping your hand in his own to set your palm against the flesh of his right chest, his heartbeat resonating against your fingertips.

You still your movements as you feel the intimacy of it all, hearing what he has to say. 

“It’s a game of give and take, of trust and tension. Every beat I share with you when I dance is a promise. Every spin is a challenge. There’s no holding back, no second-guessing. It’s raw, it’s intimate and it lets two bodies speak the language of the music they’re dancing to.” He tells you passionately. You stand there with just Seonghwa, a warm feeling spreading in your chest. 

“I’m trusting you, baby” He utters softly, gazing at you. “So I need you to trust me too”

He looks down at your body, his gaze following your fingers absentmindedly playing with your dance skirt. You look back up at Seonghwa, tracing the faint wrinkles near his eyes, the curve of his jaw, and the structure of his overall face. If trust was what he was talking about, then trust he would get. 

You shrug your tank top off, exposing the white lacy bra you had on underneath. Thank god you wore something nice today. Seonghwa lets his hand find their usual place around your hips, letting you shrug out of the oversized rain boots you borrowed from before, padding your bare feet over the damp, freshly rained grass. 

The moment is quiet, personal. You’ve never done anything like this with Seonghwa before, or with any other person for that matter.

“You’re real pretty when you listen well” You hear from above you, cheeks flaring up and mouth becoming dry as you shoot a look at Seonghwa focused on your eyes.

“I’m joking,” he smiles. “You’re always pretty”

Was Park Seonghwa flirting with you right now? The guy you swore had it out for you every time you crushed his toe with your heel? You can't even believe the fact that you two were standing here in this vast luscious meadow, half naked under an oak tree and sharing this intimate moment together. 

He lets go of your touch, running a few steps back as he readies himself to lift you. With a clap of his hand, he leans a little forward so the silver chain around his neck hangs back and forth. 

“C’mon baby, I know you’ve got it” he grins.

Here it was. The big lift. The one move you had been dreading during the whole entirety of rehearsing. Every single time you even tried listening to Seonghwa explain it to you made your palms sweaty, the image of you falling to the ground and breaking your skull imprinting your mind.

The grassy ground feels foreign beneath your feet, but you can see why Seonghwa chose to bring you here in this vast meadow to practice lifts. It was far better being cooped up inside a studio. This was away from the resort. Away from people. Just the two of you. 

You see him urge you to run. He’s watching you carefully, ready to support you. And so with his trust, you're sprinting forward, sharing a loud scream as Seonghwa hoists you up into the air. It was just enough so that your upper body lifted up magically, seeing a new level of your natural environment. Your toes are off the ground for a few moments before you're brought back down. 

You’re so close to him that your breath becomes shared, noses on the verge of hitting each other as you glance at his lips for a split second. You’re hyper aware of how he feels right now, his hands on your body keeping you safe and god dammit you realize you kinda do like it. You like Seonghwa, and he looks as though he might like you back.

He clears his throat, finally pulling away. 

“Good, that’s it, I want you to do the exact same thing but hold your core longer this time” He tells you, cautiously taking a few more steps back on the soft, plush grass. “I’m gonna raise you up a bit higher”

You let out a deep breath, shaking your nerves though you confessed to Seonghwa the fear that had been circling your thoughts. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” 

He chuckles but then softly assures you, his heart clenching. 

“You won’t hurt me baby. Now again! Jump!”

Finally the night of the performance comes. You’ve practiced your steps, you’ve tailored your dress, you’ve noted to keep your shoulders up like the hundreds of times Seonghwa told you so, and you’ve prayed even more times for the lift to turn out well. But the pre-performance jitters are still really getting to you.

Peeking out from behind the backstage curtain of the hotel you and Seonghwa were performing for, your eyes look over the crowd of folks present tonight to see you dance. 

God, you felt as though your stomach was going to fall out of your ass. You feel nauseous, looking around to see if there was a mop bucket or something for you to puke your guts in when a warm hand comes to rest on your waist, turning you around so your back hits the stage wall. 

Suddenly you realize you’re trapped underneath Seonghwa’s hold.

“Hey, look at me baby” Seonghwa tells you, voice firm but softening a bit when your nervous eyes reach up to his. He looks dashing in his sleek suit slash tuxedo, his hair gelled back and different from the soft curls that would hand over his forehead when you two practiced. You watch as he begins to assure you. 

“Just like we practiced.” He brushes a loose curl from your hair, the action making butterflies explode in your already nervous stomach. You bite your rouge coloured lips, the sparkly dress and heavy makeup Minny did for you making you feel out of place. You're scared of messing this up.

“Follow my lead and you’ll do great.” 

Seonghwa seems nervous but there wasn’t a possibility it could be as much as you were. Your lips part softly when he touches your arm to remind you one last time. 

“And sweetheart, don’t forget to have fun” he grins. You nodded back, your thoughts clearing a bit thanks to his comfort. 

And now, the Sheldrake Hotel presents Park Seonghwa and partner in Mambo Magic! 

The voice through the microphone pulls you from the wall. Carefully, Seonghwa takes your hand in his own, straightening his posture and flashing you one last look before you take to the stage, the blinding show lights coming into view as the audience claps enthusiastically. The stage looks bigger than it did off stage, your mouth feeling like there were cotton balls shoved inside it. He takes his position behind you, hand on your hip like you’ve practiced a million times when the music finally begins. 

It’s funny how the body acts on its own. One second you're completely still and the next you're following Seonghwa to the rhythm of the music, your steps fast, precise. 

Before you knew, your body already knew. 

He spins you around, grasping your hand as the skirt of your red dress flowed gracefully, hearing the sounds of the impressed audience watching below.

Every move you made fell in line with what you had learned, a reassuring comfort to have Seonghwa’s hands on your body almost the whole time as you let him serenade both you and the audience. 

“Doing so well” He muttered under his breath, his expression never changing as you successfully executed your cross body lead. A little bit of pride grows in his heart. Seonghwa does incredibly like he always did, watching how his expressions changed to correspond with the music, his dancing following with the changes in tempo. Park Seonghwa was born to perform.

Finally it comes time for the grand finale. The lift. Seonghwa steps back, giving you the space you needed before he ushers you into your cue. You don’t know what happens to you after doing well so far, but you stop right at the end of your tracks, come face to face with a bewildered looking Seonghwa who watches you attempt a random dance move to keep the music going. 

God, no!

His arms find his way around you, leading you into his steps expertly before soon the song ends and you're both posing with baited breath, face to face with the final spotlight shining down. 

The audience erupts into applause, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. You did it, and it was over, but you still had to swallow the disappointing truth. 

You didn’t make the lift.

Seonghwa takes your hand in his own, both of you taking a deep bow before striding off stage. Only when you're out of the stage lights do you burst in apology, catching your breath from dancing. 

“I’m so sorry, Seonghwa.” shaking your head as you already expected the criticisms to follow. “I chickened out at the last minute and I couldn’t do the lift. I-I thought I could, but then I saw you and I didn’t want to risk it, and I’m pretty sure I was late on that last step and I’m really sorry for stepping on your toe-”

His hands engulf your body into his own. Inhaling his strong cologne and the musky smell of cedar and cigarettes, Seonghwa has his arms wrapped around your body in sheer proudness, patting your hair and whispering softly into your ear. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you hear me?” He says, cutting you off. You didn’t know what to say, your body tensing under his sudden actions. 

“I don’t care about the lift, baby. We can work on that later” he comforts you. He pulls back, watching your stunned face. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but he stops to collect his words.

“You were incredible… you did so well.” The compliments circle towards your beating heart, making your worries disappear with what he says next.

“Minny would be proud of you” he smiles, the corners of his mouth turned upwards. 

You grinned back, tears forming in your eyes with huge relief. You hug him back wholeheartedly this time, the other performers watching you two backstage. 

You shared the embrace for a while longer than before. This time, not as dance partners but perhaps something a little more.  

After the first performance, you continued practicing with each other. You both learned to adjust to each other's dancing, and the lifts and spins eventually came like second nature to you. Soon, sweltering July heat faded into soft August showers. A close partnership blossomed between you and Seonghwa, finding each other's rhythm every time you snuck from the west building to practice in the abandoned barn house, even when the dance studio was closed. You found yourself running off to dance with the boy, even when your performances were over. You already raised enough money by booking shows at every hotel, inn and resort nearby, and you were more than relieved to have found a doctor in town, willing to help Minny.

And what do you know, you and Seonghwa turned out to be too good of a dancing couple to not do a few more extra shows with. Dancing turned into a real, second job for you now, and that meant the chemistry between you two changed. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of him” Minny asks you the night before she’s headed into town. You know she means Seonghwa. Her manicured nails grasped your hands and held them close. She would be gone for a few days for the procedure, but she knew she had to still say her thanks to you before she left. 

Minny stands in front of you looking like a girl scared shitless for her life. You knew how strong she was for going through all this, and you only prayed for her to receive the best outcome that reflects her choice. Not the outcome any other fucking person wanted in order to criticize her for her mistakes. 

Your eyes soften when she mentions Seonghwa. 

“I’ve danced with him since we were kids, baby.” she confesses. “I know what he looks like when he’s out there performing, that, that look he has that makes him feel like he’s got everything he needs in the world.” 

“He looks like that with you. I know he wants you just as much as you do”

You blush, shaking your head in denial before she catches you into a gentle hug. 

“I could never thank you enough, baby” she whispers, making your heart go warm. “You’ve done a favour for me that no other being but a real friend could do”

For the first time since coming here, you felt as though you could confidently say you had found happiness in something, and that was from finding both a passion and a friend. 

“C’mon Minny” Yunho softly calls for her from behind, leaning against his car with the door open. He’s gonna drive her into town and take care of her just like he said he would. 

He looks back at you with a smile, and you reciprocate it back to the blonde boy.

“Drive safe” you told them, watching Minny wave you goodbye. 

You were undeniably scared for Minny. 

But seeing her walk back to intertwine her fingers with Yunho who stands by her side by the door of the car, looking as though he was ready to fight the entire world for her, you knew that she would be okay. 

“C’mon doll, I didn’t teach you to dance with form like that” Seonghwa teases you one afternoon a few days later, the barn house empty as you two fooled around with a new set of LP’s Hongjoong bought. 

He slides his strong arms down your thighs, adjusting the casual position you were dancing in, though the gesture is in fact far from innocent. And it still makes a smile curl onto your face. 

You shake from his hold with a gasp, feigning fake innocence and batting your lashes to a cocky looking Seonghwa who stares down at you with pulsating desire.

“Now don’t go correcting me about form when I can see your hands just can’t keep to themselves” you teased, your hands ghosting over his exposed skin under his shirt, pushing away his grabby arms as you suddenly switched roles. You were becoming the teacher and him, the student. 

Seonghwa groans at your cruel teasing, watching your legs shuffle themselves to the music, your hips brushing against each other every so often that it drives Seonghwa mad to have to keep his composure like this for another second longer. 

“Look at you move, Jesus Christ” he mutters.

“Uh uh, you keep your eyes on the mirror, Hwa” You commented, using his own words he once used against him. “Not on me, baby” you smiled.

Seonghwa doesn’t think he can take it anymore and swipes a hand to hover near your ass, gripping the flesh hungrily so your back was pressed to his chest and he could feel you dance against his body. Nothing would be able to pass in between you. 

You bit your tongue to prevent letting out a moan. Did he always have to pull the rug right under your feet like that? Just when you were finally starting to get the upper hand in the moment, he leaves you feeling like you had no absolute control from the beginning.

“Keep it up and let’s see what happens” he hums into your ear, the movement of your bodies having reached a new level of comfort and compatibility. 

You just fit so well together now. 

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, matching the slow tempo of the music. Even while you couldn’t see him due to your eyes being closed in pure bliss, you could feel his stare on your face. The expression you put on while grinding against his body, his intent stare reflecting through the mirror. 

All that sexual tension that had been manifesting between you two these past weeks was reaching its limit. The time was now, and Seonghwa was afraid it would all end with him doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your sweet body. 

The last song on the record ends as the vinyl comes to a stop. You opened your eyes to see Seonghwa gazing down at you. 

“Keep moving,” he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek. He wanted you to move not because the music was telling you, but because your heart was telling you. 

There's that thumping feeling of your heart that makes your ribs rattle against your chest, pressing on the tips of your toes to look him properly in the eyes. 

“If you want me to move, you’re gonna ask me nicely, Seonghwa” who marvels at the sight of how far you’ve grown out of your shy timid shell.

“Look at my baby making demands” he says in astonishment, a giggle escaping out from you. Then the dancer stoops his neck down, leaning close to fulfill your request.

“Please, baby” he moans, watching as your hands creeped up his chest. He looks at you with an intense gaze, sucking you into a need that’s bordering obsession. 

“Be my good little girl”

Your lips crash into his, your actions becoming the fuel to set ablaze a burning fire of lust that leaves Seonghwa hoisting you up into his arms, hands supporting your thighs as he pushes you against the full length mirror. 

“Fucking finally” he mumbled as front teeth clashed, fighting for dominance with you as you made out passionately. His hands caged you against the wall while your thighs straddled his hips and your legs linked from behind his ass. You could feel Seonghwa’s hard member pressing against you up from through his slacks, letting out beautiful whines and deep gasps as your pussy craved for pleasure.

“Please, Hwa” it turned into now your turn to beg. You allowed access for his lips to trail down your open jaw onto the skin of your neck, his breath tickling you.

He coos at your pathetic state, deciding to sit himself down onto a nearby couch in front of the mirror, bringing your thighs to cradle him on each side, knowing that this position would give him the perfect view of your back. 

He moans, feeling your lips press hickies against his neck, his eyes following the curve of your ass in your jeans. 

“Let me see you move, baby”

Those words mean something different now. They can’t mean what they did before in rehearsals. Not when you’re laying on top of Seonghwa right now, stripping your clothes off, so that his cock finally brushes against your sopping wet folds. 

Seonghwa is big. Even with just his pants on, his belt unbuckled and his leaking tip poking through, you can tell he’s hiding a little more length underneath. He doesn’t dare take his lips off of you, moaning as he hurriedly shuffled through the pockets of his leather jacket hanging nearby, taking out a condom as a few others fell to the floor. Why even bother to pick them up when he knew it would be easy access for him when he fucks you against the floor later. 

“Seonghwa, quickly” you begged softly, watching him slide the latex over his cock. It had been so long since you felt anyone inside you. Your first time had felt so underwhelming and disappointing you thought you’d never want to have sex again. 

But fuck that because Seonghwa here has you begging like a bitch in heat.

He stops his movements to look at you properly, holding your soft cheek in his right palm as he brings you back from a hazy trance.

“Hey, listen to me” he mutters, looking almost like he was in pain to fight back the urge to not just take you right there.

“I want you so bad, baby, I really do” he mumbles, his raven coloured hair falling from its secured style to frame his face. He catches his breath for a moment to look in your desperate eyes. 

“But I also want to make sure I hear it from you” 

You’re about to give him what he wants, but the words get choked up when Seonghwa accidentally shifts his hips in a way that causes him to slip in his seat, rutting his hips up and feeling his bulbous tip slap your awaiting entrance. 

You mewl, clawing at the sofa material. 

“Shit, fuck, I-I need to hear you say it baby. Tell me you need me” he sighs, watching you cry out loud and fall to his chest, his arms cradling you while your bare tits brushed against him. “Can you tell me you need me?” he whispers.

“Seonghwa, I need you right fucking now” you reply instantly, not believing how long its taking for him to make love to you on his lap.

“I need you” you repeat a dozen times, yelping when the anticipating stretch you were dreaming of finally came. 

Seonghwa allows his strong arms to wrap around you and support you, pressing kisses on the side of your forehead. “That’s my good girl” 

“Oh fuck” 

“Doing so good. Look at your form through that mirror” he observed, watching your back arch from behind you, staring as his cock disappeared when you sank down again and again. 

You gripped his shoulder, unsure of his deal with watching him fuck you, but you let him do so, the pleasure consuming you. A sound was building inside of you as your hips snapped to the rhythm that Seonghwa made for you, watching you ride him. He was leading you, just as he always did on the dance floor, 

That sound struggled to be let out. A cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain what would follow next, just knowing that Seonghwa’s cock felt so good. Too good. 

His hands grip the mounds of your behind, his breath turning uneven with every passing second.

“Look at my little baby, too fucked and drunk on my cock to even speak properly” he smiles, throwing his head back when he feels your walls clench harder. His hands roam your beautifully strong thighs.

The lewd squelching is embarrassing to hear resonate throughout the empty bar house, mumbling incoherent words when all of sudden, Seonghwa slaps one of your ass cheeks, causing a burst of fire to spread through your legs, your already weak knees breaking their position as your breath hitched into a surprised yelp.

“Fuck, Seonghwa!” You moaned loudly, the sounds echoing off the walls.

“You like that baby, don’t you?” He teases. Your knees begin to give out, turning your face away from the mirror so you wouldn’t have to watch as Seonghwa used you mercilessly. His pupils were dilated, a slight obsession forming while watching you.

“Pretty things have to be watched properly, don’t they?” he tuts, pulling your hair  to the side and letting your head turn on his chest so you were now forced to get a glimpse of both your expressions in the mirror reflecting you. He already feels that you’re both close. 

“S-shut the h-ah- hell up” you had the audacity to mumble, tears forming near your eyes that make him laugh sadistically. He wasn’t even gonna spank you for that tone, he‘ll just fuck you harder.

“But you’re gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” He goes back to his soft voice, palming your ass as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. 

“You’re still gonna take all of my fucking cock, right baby?” 

You nodded compliantly, the last few whines leaving your swollen lips from biting them too much, as it suddenly feels all too much.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take it!” 

Your shuddering as your orgasm takes over you and you let out a weak noise, feeling Seonghwa fuck you till he came as well. 

“T-Take me” you mumbled under your breath, giving into the submission. “Make yourself feel good too” you sighed, knowing that he would treat you the same, if not better. 

And at that, his cock twitches, letting out a groan as he finds his release too. Your warm walls clenching and unclenching periodically. 

Heavy breathing resonates throughout the room. The smell of sweat and sex undeniable, falling on top of Seonghwa as he cherished you for a few minutes more, praising you all the while.

”So good to me baby” he pants, holding you as he switches positions to place your back against the couch now. 

“So fucking good to me” he sighs, letting you catch your breath 

You feel his hands coming to either side of your head as he pulls out his cock, whimpering at the empty feeling as you looked down to see the shiny condom filled with his seed reflecting the light. You close your eyes, letting a hand travel down to gently tug on the pulsating tip of his cock that rests on your lower stomach. Seonghwa groans, silently thinking he has to tell you or else he’ll regret it.

Your legs spread a little bit further, feeling his slick coat your stomach. Perhaps he would let you suck —

“I love you”

You opened your eyes to see Seonghwa is looking down at you like he’s never done before, sweat glistening on his skin as his chest heaved out every last breath from him.

You both lay there in silence, feeling stunned as you watched him lean down and press a kiss to your frozen lips.

“Fuck, I’m in love with you baby” 

You blink away small tears, feeling embarrassed that the post-sex endorphins were doing this to you but Seonghwa paid no attention. He was the same.

“I really love you” he says again, almost as if he was saying out loud to realize it again. It makes you wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. You finally whispered back.

“I love you too, Seonghwa”

It feels right. To be here with him and to feel this way. To feel good. 

For so long, a part of you felt as though you could never fully enjoy anything you did. This summer job you took up had you looking at life with a one track mind, thinking everyone here was temporary. Though in that moment as you pulled Seonghwa in closer, you knew he wouldn’t be temporary. 

This boy would be forever. 

“Baby?” Seonghwa calls to you after a moment passes, just as you’re bathing in the sweet feeling of gentle aftercare and calmness. 

You hum, the head resting against your chest moves as he adjusts himself to be face to face, with you looking up at him. He caresses your hair in his hands. 

“Tell me your real name.”

It takes you a second before the name spills from your lips.

Seonghwa smiles, pulling you in closer and tucking his chin in the valley of your neck.

“It’s beautiful. And it suits you. Suits you just fine”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

Seonghwa pats your back softly, calling you by your real name which he silently wishes you told him earlier, just so he could've called you by it more. 

You shake your head insistently, words coming out muffled as you hold him in your arms, desperately trying to remember this feeling for a moment more. 

“Five more minutes” you quickly stated, making Seonghwa break into a soft grin. 

“I gotta go, love”

You didn’t take that for an answer, fighting back the tears and frustrations as you looked up.

“You don’t have to leave” you cried, lashes fluttering as the teardrops fell from your eyes. Seonghwa looks down at you, calmly wiping them away. Yunho was right. Sometimes you really were a baby.

“You could stay. don’t go” you begged naively. 

It was only so long before your Aunt found out about you sneaking around with Seonghwa, and it didn’t take the boy a split second before he knew he wasn’t gonna let you lose the job. So he took the full blame.

His car is packed, his small box of belongings that he came here with sitting in his backseat as the clouds drifting in the blue summer sky above, cast a shadow down over you two. 

This summer will never be forgotten. What you had learned, what you experienced, what you had felt. It would stick with you wherever you’d go. In that sense, Seonghwa would then still be with you forever. Maybe just not side by side with you.  

He looks down at you and asks you softly. 

“Are you gonna keep dancing even when I’m gone?” His thumb places itself underneath your chin, making you look up at him. 

You nod. There was no denying it. 

“Then that’s all I need” 

Seonghwa smashes his lips against yours for one last time, making you stifle your cries as your lips move in sync, savouring each others taste. 

He’s first to let you go, brushing the tears away with his thumb and grabbing his leather jacket that he left perched on the hood of his car. 

Without any more words, Seonghwa gets inside the driver seat and starts the engine, a roar coming to life as he slowly drives off into the distance, leaving you standing alone with a hand over your heart. 

You were right. He would always be your forever. 

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[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

AWWWWWWWW BFNDFB OMGG😭🩷

the parent trap | KHJ

part 1 of the Night in Hollywood!series

☆ trope: exes to lovers!au, divorced!au

☆ pairing: producer!hongjoong x designer!reader, dad!joong x mom!reader

☆ warnings: nsfw (mdni), swearing, mentions of food, mentions of food poisoning, female desc. reader, drinking, suggestiveness, smut, slight!breeding kink, oral sex (f. receiving), overstim, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!) nipple play, titty sucking, marking, praise, slightdom!joong, blond!joong bc that itself is too much for me, mentions of (early) pregnancy, you’re both in your early thirties and make an unbelievably stubborn couple in this!

☆ synopsis: AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

☆ word count: 18.1k

☆ playlist: soulful strut by young-holt unlimited, l-o-v-e by nat king cole, just the way you are by billy joel, slipping through my fingers by abba, this will be (an everlasting love) by natalie cole

☆ a/n: it’s finally here. I can’t believe I’m writing this and saying it’s finally here oh my goodness. first off, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has supported me with the series so far (shoutout to @kitten4sannie , @byuntrash101 and especially @desirehorizon for being amazing!) everyone’s sweet comments have been greatly appreciated, and I just hope this silly little fic brings a smile to your everyday lives.

ty for making writing worth it as a writer. now cue the opening credits!

“ABSOLUTELY NOT” Hongjoong says.

“But dadd,” she whines, clutching the wrinkled pamphlet closer to her chest. Eunseo’s small hands are covered in purple doodles her sister drew using a glitter pen. 

“Why not?” the girl complains, shrugging her shoulders. 

He sighs, pushing his glasses up with one hand as he continues typing away at the important document the producing company sent him on his laptop. He tries his best to reason with the child.

“Because, baby…” pausing to think for a moment before responding. “It would be hard for your mom and I to find a time that fits into our schedules. I’ve got work, and she must be busy as well.” 

Eunseo glares at her father’s excuse. 

Okay, yeah, the man knows it’s somewhat of a lie, himself. 

She continues to protest by shoving the advertising pamphlet in her dads face and blocking his view of the screen. Thankfully, Hongjoong is used to these sort of work distractions, expertly avoiding her by craning his neck sideways and continuing to type away.

“But dad, it’s an amazing cottage resort! They’ve got a lake where you can go swimming in, a forest hiking trail, a bonfire to roast marshmallows and even a diner less than fifteen minutes away! So if you end up burning the camp food like last time, we can just order and eat in! Isn’t that great?” She beams. 

He stops typing for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he gives his first born a look that makes her immediately break into a sweet smile, batting her lashes and flashing him a look of innocence. 

“Please?” She begs, standing on the edge of her feet as she gazes up at him. “The last time we went was when Eunbyul and me were toddlers.” 

And how on earth could any dad’s heart not melt at the sight of his daughter trying to convince him about one harmless vacation? 

Hongjoong wheels his office chair back, turning so he could look her in the eyes properly and tuck a stray hair behind her ear. 

“Listen honey, I’m sorry, I really wish I could, but…” he trails off, looking back at the open tabs and file documents displayed on his computer.

Turning his head around and upon seeing a frown form on his daughter's face, he quickly reassures her. 

“Once you finish your final piano recital tomorrow and your mom picks your sister up to take her to her hockey game, how about we go fishing the weekend afterwards?” he suggests, brows raising. “That’ll mean I have just the two of you all to myself.”

Eunseo mumbles under her breath, quiet but insistent enough that he catches it. 

“But we’re supposed to be a family of four.” 

She sulks, thinking of how that would leave you, her mother, left out of their plans. The arms holding the pamphlet up, ultimately fall down in defeat. 

He places a peck on her forehead, patting her on the back. “You know, if you can get your mom to say yes, then I’ll think about it” he chuckles, knowing the highly unlikely probability of the event.

Adjusting his glasses, the producer goes back to his work, peeking his daughter slugging away from the corner of his eye. 

Eunseo slumps her shoulders in defeat as she walks out of her dads office, turning the corner to see her twin sister, Eunbyeol, pressing her ears near the door with her neck outstretched. Clearly she’s been caught in the middle of trying to overhear their conversation. 

The twin younger by fifteen seconds quickly rushes over, waiting expectantly.

“So? What did dad say?”

Eunseo exhales, throwing the information pamphlet away on the wooden floors and slumping against the living room couch. 

“He’s totally not buggin. Said he wants to take us fishing next weekend instead. Just us three.” she grumbles. 

Eunbyeol scrunches her nose at the idea. 

“But dad sucks at fishing.”

Her sister groans, kicking her small feet against the couch in frustration. “I know!” Eunbyeol starts to worry, coming to sit beside her.

“Then how on earth are we going to get mom and dad to get back with each other again? They haven’t been in the same room since we were like, five!”

Her twin sister scoffs, “First, we gotta get them to have a proper conversation with each other. They barely even talk when they drop us off at each other's houses.”

Nobody truly knows why you and Hongjoong had divorced so suddenly when the girls were young. Not even themselves.

All they were used to were cold stares and one word replies shared amongst their parents, refusing to find harmony in their co-parenting.

Frankly, your girls have had enough of the performance you were both trying to maintain, looking past your expressions to realize you and your husband still held feelings for the other. It was only a matter of time and place in order to set you two up together, thus, the idea of an intimate, family getaway came into their minds. 

After a few moments of letting her words hang in the air, Eunbyeol’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

“That’s it!”

The older twin looks up quizzically, watching her sister jump off the couch and gaze at her excitedly. 

“We’ll just have to force them to meet each other! We can always guilt trip them for dropping us off at their houses and making us play alone!”

Eunseo rolls her eyes at the idea. “Right, and how are we going to do that dummy? The only reason they’d do that, was if it was an emergency.”

Whoever said twin telepathy wasn’t a thing was a liar, because the second Eunseo catches onto what her sister is saying, the twins share a look of pure mischievousness, the gears in their brains working together as one. 

With hushed whispers and quiet giggles, the twins immediately begin conducting their plan in secrecy near the corner of the living room, backs turned and in the middle of discussion when Hongjoong walks out of his office with an empty coffee mug. 

“What are you guys doing over there?”

“Leave us alone! Family man traitor!” Eunbyeol shouts, holding a slightly hostile grudge to her father before turning back to whisper to her twin. 

Hongjoong shakes his head, sighing as he heads into the kitchen. 

“Then it’s perfect! I’ll stay here with dad once my piano recital is over, and then when Mom picks you up for your hockey game tomorrow, we’ll try convincing them together!”

Eunbyeol nods her head in agreement, eyes lighting up with excitement as she whispers in a hushed tone. 

“And once both events end, we’ll pretend to be so sick that they have to take us to the nearby hospital.”

The other twin smirks. ”Where we’ll end up guilt tripping them into taking us to the cottage.”

They double high five in victory at their flawless plan, already waiting for tomorrow to come as soon as possible.

“A summer cottage?” you repeated, brows raising at the idea as you made a left turn onto your street. 

Eunbyeol nods eagerly from the back seat after getting picked up, having ranted on and on about the ad in the pamphlet since the moment you saw her.

“It's an amazing establishment mom,” She boasts, making you laugh at her words while parking the car and unbuckling your seatbelt.

“They have everything you could possibly think of!”

“Oh, really?” You say skeptically, opening the door for her. 

Eunbyeol is lost in the middle of passionately describing all the relaxing activities you could do by yourself, or rather per se, with a special partner together. 

“There’s couples hiking retreats, couples canoeing, couples yoga… did I mention couples hiking retreats?” She confuses, retracing her words. 

You roll your eyes and smile, keys jangling as you walk through the entrance of your apartment flat while balancing the bags and items in your hands.

Being a wedding dress designer and yet picking up your daughter from your ex-husband's house could’ve been ironic to some people. But after having split with Hongjoong since the girls were so young, you came to grow fond of having some independence as a divorcee, channeling your main focus into setting up your own bridal shop downtown.

It was through that hard work and focus that you did it all by yourself with no additional help.

You’d be lying if you said you haven't opened a bottle of red wine some nights due to loneliness as a divorced single mother, but at least that was what you had your daughters for.

You made sure to work just as hard as you did enjoy playing and spending time with them. After all, they were the light of your life and purpose for living.

Balancing the pizza you picked up on the way home, you set it down on the kitchen island, telling Eunbyeol to go wash her hands in the sink. The girl doesn’t stop ranting.

“There’s usually only two rooms in the cottage, so you’ll have to sleep together with dad, but I guess you won't mind, would you? After all, you were once married” She rolls her eyes, reaching for the soap.

You shake your head with a sigh. ”What is up with you and getting me and your father together in the same room?” you muttered as you took out the plates and utensils. 

Eunbyeol eventually walks back to you, wiping her hands on her baggy jeans before sitting on the kitchen stool. 

“It’s not that I’m obsessed, Mom. Actually, Eunseo and I are just dying to get away this summer now that school is over.”

Turning around from plating the pizza and salad, you chastise your daughter, telling her to sit with her bum flat on the stool so she doesn’t fall. She immediately listens, carrying on with her persuasion. 

“We just want you and dad to get the chance to relax as well, that’s all!” her mouth full from a bite of hot, greasy pizza. 

You smile, wiping your washed hands on the kitchen towel and coming over to wrap your arms around her affectionately. 

“Spending time with you and Eunseo every week is how I relax,” you assured her, smothering your baby with kisses on her cheek.

Byeol lets out a squeal of annoyance, taking another bite of her pizza. “You’re squishing me!” She tries hiding her smile, failing when you lean in closer. 

You pull back in laughter, ruffling her hair as you walk away while reminding her.

“Oh! Don’t forget you’ve got your hockey game tonight!”

Byeol chews faster, munching on the soft crust and counting down the hours on the kitchen clock. 

She smiles to herself. 

“Don’t worry, I know!”

“What do you mean you need to go to the hospital?” Hongjoong asks in a worried voice, standing against the women’s washroom stall. He holds Eunseo’s congratulatory flower bouquet for first place in hand, feeling the stares of multiple women passing by, clearly judging him for being in the ladies room with them. 

“Honey, is everything all right?” He asks worriedly. A string of groans come from behind the door.

“You need to leave!” one old lady thrusts her walking cane at the father, lips pursed in dissatisfaction. 

Eunseo did such a phenomenal job tonight for her piano recital, that Hongjoong was shocked to see his daughter clutch her stomach first thing after running down the steps of the stage, dashing to the washrooms.

He whips his head back. “My daughter’s having a bit of a situation in here, okay ma’am? Have a bit of sympathy!” He barks frustratedly out loud to the onlookers, turning back to speak in a softer voice to the stall door. 

“Eunseo, baby, talk to me, is everything alright in there? Are you sure you need to go to the hospital? Is it that bad?” 

The girl continues her acting performance, letting out fake groans while typing furiously on her cellphone. 

“Oh the pain! I think I might have food poisoning, dad!”

Seolie: How far along are u

Byeolie: Mom’s outside, banging to come in. 

Seolie: same, I told dad I needed to go to the hospital.

Eunseo lets out another groan of pain, causing Hongjoong to worry even more. 

“That’s it, Eunseo. Let me in and help you” he decides, searching his bag for a painkiller or at least some sort of medication for relief. 

The girl frantically checks her phone, eyes lighting up at the new message. 

Byeolie: Mom’s getting the car to take me to the hospital. I’ve got her convinced to call dad soon.

Eunseo types as fast as her small fingers can move, even faster than when she performed her piano solo from before. 

Seolie: Then what do I do????

Hongjoong gets slightly suspicious at the lack of sound coming from the stall, calling to his daughter again.

“Eunseo? Everything alright?”

At the next notification, the girl makes up her mind, getting the signal from her sister. 

Byeolie: play dead. Mom calling soon. See ya there.

The actress gets into character, gaining her composure before unlocking the washroom stall and holding her stomach as she stumbles into her dad’s surprised arms. 

“Eunseo!”

She wails, falling limp. “Oh, dad! Please! Take me to the hospital, it hurts too much!”

It’s truly a mystery which parent she got her acting skills from.

But she doesn’t have to tell him twice at that point. The man is already piggy backing his fainted daughter and sprinting out of the ladies washroom, reassuring her with soothing comments as he makes a beeline for the parking lot.

“Stay with me baby!” He huffs, unbeknownst to Eunseo who peeks one eye open. 

Only after he straps his daughter in the backseat and is turning on the engine does he receive a sudden phone call from you, pressing the speaker for the whole car to hear your panicked voice. You break the news to him first. 

“Eunbyeol’s severely sick. She fainted right after her hockey game.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened. “What?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “She was holding her stomach saying she ate something wrong. Is Eunseo okay?” 

Hongjoong puts the stick into drive, backing out of the parking lot and replying in a hurry.

“She’s hit with the same thing right now. I’ll meet you at the Hospital in ten” he grunts, sweat forming on his brow as he speeds through traffic, not caring if he gets a ticket. 

Had he looked in his rear view mirror, he would have seen Eunseo sagging near the car door, clutching her stomach with a small grin on her face.

You never liked the hospital. 

The sounds of babies crying and hospital beds wheeling become the background noise, shifting nervously in your seat that was in the emergency pediatrics unit waiting area. 

Hongjoong has his eyebrows furrowed, hunched over one seat beside you as he hangs his head in his hands, knees bouncing up and down. A middle aged nurse nasally calls on the next family waiting from the front desk, boredom laced in her voice. 

You sigh, uncrossing your legs and choosing to bite at the fingernail on your right hand once realizing you’ve already done the same to all the ones on your left. 

“It’s all my fault.” Hongjoong confesses, suddenly sitting still. 

You glance to your left, watching as he sits up slowly. 

“Last thing they ate together would’ve been at my house. I probably made them sick with something I fed them,” he dejects, hanging his head down in shame. 

“It’s all my fault, god I’m so stupid!” He beats himself up. 

You have half the mind to snap at your ex-husband, anger already filling up inside you earlier when you heard Eunbyeol suggest it was something she ate at her dad’s house. You really did want to yell at him for being so bad of a chef that he sent his own daughters to the emergency pediatrics unit, undeniably relieved that Seonghwa was working tonight’s shift. 

But those cruel words sitting on the tip of your tongue are thrown away when you glance down to see your ex-husband missing a shoe on one of his feet. 

Hongjoong rushed over here so fast with Eunseo that he left his shoe behind like some sort of fairytale, Cinderella. He hasn’t even realized he wasn’t wearing one right now.

You exhaled, knowing that if there's one thing you’ve learned while parenting, it was that to have patience and understanding was a virtue. Even for your ex-husband.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed, staring at your hands folded in your lap. 

It feels awkward when Hongjoong stops tugging at his blond locks to look at you in surprise, continuing to speak as you place a gentle hand on his thigh. 

“That could’ve happened to anyone. We don’t know yet if it was because of the food. Let’s just pray and wait and see” your voice being a sign of reliability to him. 

The man is a little shocked at your supportive nature to tell you truthfully. He delivers all the things he needs to say through his grateful gaze alone, reciprocating a small smile. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you guys tonight.” Seonghwa chuckles, walking in before Hongjoong has the chance to reply. He comes from the patient's room wearing his dashing, white doctor's coat. “Together, at that” he mumbles under his breath before looking up and flashing you a polite smile while giving his worried friend a soft pat on the back.

Hongjoong holds his breath when he asks: “How are they?”

“Better,” he tells him, flipping through some papers on his clipboard. “But it was a big shock to their bodies. They need some rest at the moment.” 

The pediatrician tries not to show his smile, standing in front of you and Hongjoong while hiding his expression behind his clipboard as per his niece’s request.

To be fair, if someone had told Seonghwa earlier that evening that he would receive a fifteen minute pep talk from his best friend's twin daughters that day in the emergency unit, he would’ve laughed in their faces. 

Alas, life was always filled with surprises. Here’s what went down thirty minutes earlier in the hospital room:

“We’re trying to get them back together,” Eunseo announced confidently, sitting next to her sister on the hospital bed. 

Eunbyeol nodded, eyeing the dumbfounded medical professional standing in front of them with his clipboard tucked under his arm, hands in his pockets. 

“So.. you guys don’t need an IV drip?”

“It’s this whole entire thing, Uncle Hwa, we’ll explain to you later.”

It took a minute before Seonghwa reclaimed his composure as an adult, chastising the twins for pulling a false alarm over something like this. He made sure to make them promise him they wouldn’t do something stupid like this again. But after that, of course Seonghwa is immediately pairing to help them with their plan on getting his best friend back together with his ex-wife. The man is just tired of watching Hongjoong beat himself up half the time about missing you. 

“So you essentially want me to lie about the fact that you guys don’t have food poisoning, and were just faking this whole thing so your mom and dad would have a reason to see each other.” 

The twins nod, one of them pointing out. “And make sure to tell them we’re fine of course. Maybe throw in we’re like, really sick, but that we’ll live so it’s best if we get rest.”

“At like a cottage or something” the other chimes in, wiggling her eyebrows at the hint. 

The doctor sighs, scratching his neck sheepishly. 

When Seonghwa leads you and Hongjoong into the hospital room, both of you feel awful seeing your babies laying in their beds, dressed in the children’s gowns. 

Eunbyeol peeks open her eyes first, voice hoarse (she practiced). 

“Mom? Dad? Is that you?” she groans, pretending to clutch her stomach in pain. 

Both you and Hongjoong rush to each child, grasping their hands and stroking their heads softly with sympathy. 

“Hey baby, I’m here” you coo.

“I’m so, so sorry girls, it was probably all my fault. I should’ve never cooked for you guys earlier today.” their dad cries out painfully, looking down in shame.

You come to stand beside him, reassuring them both. “But what’s important is that you guys get better now. We want to make sure you get the rest you need” you say, making eye contact with your ex-husband. 

Seonghwa clears his throat, crossing his arms as he flashes a wink to the girls behind your backs. 

“They seemed to have been mentally exhausted as well,” He asks on purpose, watching as you and Hongjoong share a look with each other. “Have they been receiving proper familial support at home?” 

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw my parents in the same room together.” Eunseo weakly admits, showing a faint smile. 

As parents, you and Joong feel the most amount of guilt anyone could ever feel. You realize how exhausting and stressful the pickups and drop offs to each other's houses could’ve been, especially when you two were so busy with your respective jobs to spend time with your daughters now that it was summer break for them. 

Hongjoong smiles, holding both their hands and making a promise to them. 

“Make sure to rest you two. Tell me, is there anything you guys need right now? Anything you guys want I'll make sure to get it for you.”

”Do you guys have crunchy ice?” Eunbyeol blurts out loud, breaking her weak facade. 

Eunseo almost wants to shoot a glare at her sister but she realizes both of you are still looking at them. 

“I can get you some ice!” Seonghwa quickly assures you and his nieces, mouthing to them good luck for support as he shuts the door behind him. 

You sigh, coming over to stroke Eunseo’s hair and caress Eunbyeol’s hand. 

“Well? Is there anything else you guys need from us?” Hongjoong states, eyes soft in sympathy. You nod, waiting to hear their response.

“Let us know girls, anything at all.”

Eunbyeol and Eunseo finally take their chance, sharing a hesitant look before speaking at the same time. 

“We want to go to the cottage”

“Together,” Eunseo says.

“As a family.” Eunbyeol adds in.

You and Hongjoong share a silent look. 

Later into the night, the twins are finally discharged from the hospital, deciding that they would stay at Hongjoong’s mothers apartment which was closest nearby, considering they were both tired and immediately needed a place to rest. 

The car ride home is awkwardly silent, even as the kids are (what you think) to be fast asleep, hockey gear and a bouquet of flowers riding with them in the backseat.

It was at their request for you to drive them to their grandmother's house, wanting both their parents with them till the ride home. Hongjoong settled on driving your car and dropping all of you off, planning to take a taxi back home and pick up his own car in the morning. Despite your protest on how inconvenient that was, he insisted as he didn’t want to disappoint the twins.

But suddenly the man begins to regret his offer, currently driving in complete silence on the highway, eyes facing forward and shoulders tense. Quiet FM nightly jazz plays from the radio. 

You’re sitting passenger seat up front with him in what feels like forever, looking solely at the reflections in the window, the street lamp lights scattering across your face as you travel through the nighttime traffic. It’s awkward being together like this.

You hear him clear his voice, speaking softly so he doesn’t wake up the girls.

“So, are we really considering that cottage retreat?” he glances back at you. 

You sit up, straightening your back and exhaling as you secretly wanted to have avoided that topic of discussion.

“We can’t Hongjoong,” you reasoned, shaking your head. “I couldn’t possibly take a whole vacation from the dress shop. Not unless I had someone take care of it for me, which my staff probably aren’t ready to do.” you explained, voice tense.

Hongjoong nodded, understanding your point of view. “I realize that. I’ve got a few projects I have to record and demo with Eden.” he tells you, an arm placed on the wheel with his sleeve rolled up. His veins become perfectly outlined as he passionately tells you about his producing job.

He’s so hot like that.

Jesus what were you thinking? Cursing your mind as you clear your voice and try to change the topic.

“How’s everything been going then?” you say stiffly. He nods, still awkward with sharing conversation with you. 

“Um, it's going good. You?” he asks.  

“Fine.” you swallow. 

Silence prevails. He’s first to speak again, building the courage to say the next thing in his mind. 

“I’m willing to put things on hold if I need to.” He confesses. 

Hongjoong continues to drive normally after having said that. Now it becomes your turn to stare at him now, watching how he glances at the side mirror, switching lanes swiftly like the pro-driver he was. 

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I think it would be good for the girls,” he admits, calling you by your name. Even hearing him call you your name feels weird. It feels foreign, like it almost wasn’t yours. 

“Hongjoong-” you warn, shaking your head at the warry possibility. 

“Just hear me out, alright?” He states firmly, making you quiet. 

He glances back into the rear view mirror, watching your girls peacefully asleep with their heads leaning against each other. 

“It’s been almost seven years. Seven years since they’ve last seen their parents speak to each other without breaking into a fight. Tonight was the first time they saw us together without having to plan a drop off and pick up in god knows how long.”

Hongjoong licks his lips, gripping the wheel as he emphasizes. “Seven years since they’ve gotten a goodnight hug and kiss from us at the same time in one place.”

You scoff, turning to face him properly this time. “I don’t know why you’re acting as though we can make this request of theirs come true Hongjoong. This is a big deal-”

“It is a big deal!” he exclaims, trying to get his point across. “I can see how badly our daughters want us to both be in their lives more, to acknowledge the fact that the other still exists after splitting apart.”

He sighs. “Us, not acknowledging each other’s existence at all is worse than if we had to see each other regularly.”

You bite your lip, getting angry. “So what Hongjoong? You’re saying you want to suddenly play family with them at the cottage?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Do you really think we can pretend to be normal parents to them without fighting like we are now? There’s a reason why our current schedules work. Don’t make me seem like the bad guy for not wanting to take them.” You glared, pointing a finger at him. His jaw locks. 

“You fully knew the lifestyle changes we would need to make as a couple when you signed those legal papers—”

“Well then did you also predict everything that happened after you brought me those papers?” He spits like venom, gaze hard as he clenches the wheel.

You blink your eyes at his words, pressing your knees together at his sudden attack. 

You don’t remember clearly if you even meant what you said at the time when you threw those papers at him seven years ago. But all you still know is that Hongjoong was just as stubborn as you were, making up his mind to sign them in the end regardless.

Looking in the rear view mirror, you muttered to him quietly. 

“Don’t raise your voice. The kids are sleeping.”

Their dad scoffs, muttering a sure, under his breath as he switches lanes. 

The kids were in fact, not sleeping, and very much awake. Eyes closed but ears wide, as they were listening in to the first real discussion their parents were having in so long. Or perhaps it was an argument?

At the right turn into his mother’s apartment’s underground parking lot, Hongjoong shuts off the engine, getting out of the car without another word and shutting the door in your face. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hear the back door open. 

You watch in the corner of your vision as his demeanor immediately changes, softly caressing Eunseo and Eunbyeol’s hair. 

“Hey girls, we’re here now. You gotta wake up.” He coos.

They yawn theatrically, pretending to stretch their arms. 

“So soon?” Eunbyeol mumbles.

A few feet ahead, you see your mother in law walking out from the elevators, a knit cardigan wrapped around her small frame. You smiled, getting out of the car and greeting her first. 

“We’ll leave Eunbyeol’s hockey gear with you for the night if that’s alright Mom-” 

Hongjoong’s words are cut off as the woman who birthed him walks straight past him, ignoring him and immediately taking you in her warm embrace, eyes forming crescent moons. 

“How are you my dear?” she asks, causing you to smile and hug your mother in law affectionately. “It’s been so long, I’ve missed you so much!”

Despite the break up between you and Hongjoong, you were thankful for one thing, and that was the fact that your relationship with Hongjoong’s family stayed strong, especially with Mrs. Kim.

“I’ve missed you too” you tell her genuinely. “I’ve been good, I’m just sorry for dropping them off so suddenly at your place,” You say, feeling apologetic for waking her up late into the night. 

“We had a bit of a situation,” you explain, watching as Hongjoong collects their things. 

She shakes her head, reassuring you. “Nonsense! Why would you be sorry for that.” she grins, turning her head at the car. “And where are my girls, may I ask?”

At the sound of her voice, Eunbyeol and Eunseo dash out from the back seat and into their grandmother's welcoming arms, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks.

Hongjoong is the only person that stands all alone, awkwardly holding the bouquet of flowers with heavy hockey gear and a duffle bag perched on his shoulder. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed my little squirrels!” she exclaims using their signature pet name and happily reuniting with her grandchildren. 

She turns her head, face falling at the sight of her son and lips pursing into a frown. 

“And where on earth have you been? Not giving me a call!” she snaps, slapping her son on his back. Eunbyeol laughs out loud while Eunseo tries to keep her giggles in. 

You hear your ex husband protest to her while you close the back seat door. 

“OW! I’ve been busy alright?” he mumbles, massaging his sore arm. 

Your mother in law takes both the twins hand’s on each side, nodding her head to you. 

“Leave all the kid’s stuff to Hongjoong, he’ll take care of it darling” she smiles sweetly, sending a glare to her son to take a hint and be more of a gentleman to you. She walks away with her smiling granddaughters, exchanging light-hearted giggles and excitement. “Bye, mom!” The twins wave back. 

Hongjoong cranes his head up, sighing at the ceiling before taking Eunseo’s piano bag that you were holding in your hand in one swift motion, walking reluctantly behind the three. 

“Stay here. I’ll drop them off.” he briskly walks away, leaving you stunned. 

Hongjoongs words from before can’t help but replay inside your head as you wait for him to come back down. 

Before you guessed it, it was already the ride back home, and the car was painfully silent once again. In reality, you were each thinking deeply to yourselves about the possibility of the cottage retreat. Could you really be a mom and dad together as a couple to your kids?

“Are you giving your plants enough water?” He brings you out of thought, the car slowing down as he turns onto your street. 

You look up, giving him a confused look. 

Hongjoong nods in direction, following his eyes to look at the measly, dying flower pot perched on the steps of your flat’s entrance as the car stopped to a halt. “You know, it’s really hard for plants to die when they’re outside.” He says in amazement at your shit gardening. 

You scowl at him, asking him when he became such a plant expert all of a sudden. 

He continues to poke fun at you, smirking when he undoes his seat belt. Hongjoong suddenly leans over to help you unbuckle your own, face dangerously close to yours as he lowers his voice. 

“Unless their owner just really sucks at taking care of them.” 

His eyes gaze into yours for a split second, feeling your face heat up from the proximity. You let out a tiny gasp for air when he leans back in his own seat. 

“Fuck off” you replied harshly. 

“You should give them some more care,” he suggests, ignoring your swearing. 

You don’t reply to his stupid comment, refusing to look at him as you get out of the car. 

“I can go in by myself” you press, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder. You didn’t think it was necessary to draw out your time with this man any further.

Hongjoong straightens his dress shirt as he moves to your side of the car, shoving his own car keys in his trousers as he locks your doors and hands over the keys. You take them hesitantly, watching as he rests against the car door, strong arms crossing against his chest. 

“Think about it at least.” he mutters to you. 

You look at him, eyes shutting softly when you realize he was still talking about the cottage getaway. Sighing his name is exasperation, you run a hand through your hair. 

“Hongjoong-”

“Would it kill you to spend a week with me and our daughters?” He scoffs as he asks you straight up, looking at you in a way that makes you hesitate to say your next words. You observed one hand come to shuffle with the silver lighter in his trouser pockets. 

You stayed silent for a moment, genuinely thinking back to your daughters and what this meant to them if you went. What this would mean for you two as well. 

Finally, you look up to him, returning his gaze.

“I need time.” 

He nods, face serious. “I understand.”

“Let me think about it.” You mumbled. 

And with that you turn around, walking up the steps to your front door. At the sight of your flowerpot, you quickly remember his comment and snatch it in your hands, slamming the door shut to Hongjoong as he finally lets a soft grin break out on his face. Letting his back come up from leaning against the door, Hongjoong nods his head, satisfied enough at that answer, as he walks silently down the road while opening his Uber app. 

At least you’d give it some thought. 

Okay, maybe now you’ve given it too much thought. 

Sipping your fifth glass of wine of the night, you’re sitting, back hunched over with your knees tucked into your chest on the breakfast table chair, zoning out as your best friend Sophie continues barking at you and your inconsistent commitment. 

“I don’t even understand why you’re considering going! Does the man realize what it takes to leave your own shop for a full week?” she fumes, adjusting her royal jelly sheet mask while cursing at your ex-husband for pressuring you into going to the family retreat. 

“Not everyone can just pack their bags and go swimming at the cottage, Jesus Christ” she rolls her eyes. 

“He didn’t pressure me,” you told her pouting. “He wants to do it for the kids” you mumbled looking down as you defended him. 

You invited your best friend Sophie over to your apartment that evening for your weekly slumber party, a time you each looked forward to dedicating a bottle of wine and chardonnay over some gossip, spilling all the uneventful drama in your lives. 

Perhaps you revealed too much drama to your best friend tonight. 

“I don’t think I would mind going, to be honest” you hiccup, words slurring. “I haven’t had a vacation in so long, Sophie, and the girls really want to go! I would feel bad for leaving them with nothing to do this summer.” confessing through the alcohol. 

Cheeks flushed, you sigh as you play with your silk robe mindlessly while Sophie shakes her head at you, one hand coming up to snap at you and bring you back to reality. 

“Hello? Earth to Ms. Divorcee?” She sighs, rolling her eyes in frustration. “You said you wanted to set boundaries with him! To cut the line straight and keep your distance so you could get over your feelings for him! Show him who’s boss!” 

“He said he’s willing to put his music projects on hold for us,” you muttered quietly, the thought making your heart weak as you smiled at the memory of Hongjoong teasing you about your flower pot. Your chest blossomed with warmth now. 

Sophie sighs, shaking her head as she thinks just how differently you were feeling four wine glasses ago.

“Listen, honey, I’m just warning you in advance” she sips the golden liquid in her glass before placing it on the table. 

“Take it from a girl who’s had three divorces. I mean look at me! I’m still somewhat young, I’ve got no kids, no responsibilities, filthily rich, and not once have I had to pay for my own divorce settlement fees!” 

You nod mindlessly, eyes blinking softly under the bright kitchen lights. 

“What you need is a provider, sweetheart,” she crooned, caressing your head. 

“A guy who won’t leave you stressed and unimpressed like Hongjoong does.”

You continue mindlessly nodding your head at her words, ears perking up when you hear small footsteps come down the stairs. 

“Hi mom, Hi aunt Sophie.” Eunbyeol greets, eyes glued to her iPad that Eunseo trails after from behind, whining how it was now her turn to play Super Mario.  

“Hi girls,” Sophie replies like the cool, hot aunt she is, eyes shut as she’s concentrating on giving herself a collarbone massage right now. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you mumbled, smiling at your daughters standing near the fridge getting a glass of water. 

“Say, did your dad tell you guys anything about the cottage?” You blurt out loud, avoiding the look that Sophie gives you. Eunbyeol looks up from the glowing screen, ears perking in interest. “No, not much, why?” 

Eunseo snatches the iPad from her twin, coming over to you. “Did Dad say we’re going?” She asks enthusiastically, eyes widening. Sophie is quick to assure them. 

“Now of course not girls, your mother here was just-”

“Oh fuck it, why not?” you say confidentially, shining a bright smile. “Let���s go to the cottage!” You exclaimed in drunk excitement, all three girls staring at you with their jaws hanging at your sudden profanity as well as your final decision. 

Oh, how dangerous the effects of a bottle of wine were. 

Eunseo and Eunbyeol immediately embrace each other in a passionate hug, squealing in excitement that their plan actually worked. You and Hongjoong were now both convinced. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to go as a family!” They cried in happiness. You giggled at their joy, reciprocating their enthusiasm.  

Sophie leans back in her seat defeated, shaking her head with pursed lips as she picks up the whole Chardonnay bottle and sips it. 

“Oh whatever. . . This isn’t my problem anyways.” 

When Hongjoong drops by the next morning to pick up Eunbyeol and Eunseo from your house for the weekend, he can’t lie but be a little heartbroken at the way his daughters ignore his kiss to them first thing. They instead, immediately shove the cottage advertising pamphlet in his face with victorious grins. 

“See! We told you mom would say yes!” 

“Say yes to what?” He pouts, avoiding the paper and obsessively trying to peck a kiss to each of his daughter's cheeks. The idea of going to the cottage almost slipped the busy man’s mind after almost a week of no news from you. 

“What’s so important that you guys don’t even say hi to me anymore?” he sulks.

Eunseo giggles, fighting back her laughter when her dad tries to tickle her with his kisses. 

“We’re going to the cottage!”

Hongjoong stills himself, leaning back to make sure he heard her correctly. 

“We’re what?”

Eunbyeol, taking after her mother, has a cheeky expression on her face as she places her hands on her hips and sasses her father. 

“Pack your bags and swimming shorts, daddy, we’re going on a family vacation!” 

In perfect timing, you manage to stumble out your front door, coffee mug in hand and mid-yawn when you realize Hongjoong is already staring at you in shock. 

“What?” you snap, still grumpy from your slight hangover. “You’ve never seen a woman wake up before?” You replied, asking your kids if they packed all their stuff. 

The twins watch as their dad stands up from his crouched position. 

“You’re going to go to the cottage?”

At Hongjoongs words you freeze, everything coming back to you all at once. The wine, the twins, the promises, it hits you like a moving truck. 

“Well…”

“No take backs mom! You said it yourself last night that you were excited to go to the cottage!” One of the twins pointed out. 

Hongjoong doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“I-I did say that, didn’t I?” You chuckled sheepishly, toes curling at the rookie mistake you made in parenting 101: saying yes when you should’ve said no. 

Your ex-husband quickly tells the kids to put their things in the trunk, promising he’ll be right with them after talking to you. As Hongjoong dashes up the stairs in his white polo golf shirt, you feel slightly exposed being in only your silk slip dress and robe. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be here so early” you mumbled, looking down at your toes. 

He ignores you. “So I’m guessing we’re going then?” He smirks, looking at you with an expression of undeniable cockiness and peaked interest. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Let’s surround the focus of this trip towards the kids” you remind him, straightening your back.

Hongjoong nods, agreeing with you wholeheartedly. “Of course, that was my intention from the beginning,” he smiles. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, unnoticing his stare drop at your breasts perking up from the cool morning air. You jump in surprise as you hear the honking of the car. 

“Come on, love birds! We gotta go back to dad’s to get our swimming stuff!” Eunbyeol cackles, leaning from the backseat into the driver's seat window. Eunseo already begins journaling in her hello kitty note book, an organized list of what she’ll need to bring to the cottage.

Hongjoong looks back at his daughters, before looking back at you with a smile. 

“Let’s keep in touch about details, alright?”

You nod silently, gripping your mug. At the sound of your nextdoor neighbor coming out, Hongjoong contemplates for a moment before quickly leaning forward, shielding you from their view with his backside. Clearing his throat, Hongjoong nods his head to the inside of your house, leaning forward to whisper to you. 

“Think, um, you should get inside, it’s getting cold,” he mutters, his dimples faintly showing. You glare up at him, “I’m going to say goodbye to my own daughters”. Still clueless to what he was referring to. He grins, shrugging his shoulders before looking at you. 

“If you insist. Just thought you wouldn’t want your neighbor to see what I can see, would you?”

You gasp at his words, looking down at your chest to see what he means before wrapping your robe around you. You quickly waved goodbye to your girls before you shut the door in Hongjoong’s smug face. 

It’s now become the second time you’ve done that.

Thankfully, the next time you see Hongjoong you’re wearing a much more appropriate outfit. In a white cotton blouse and casual jean shorts, your effortlessly chic vacation outfit was the only highlight today, considering the day you had been internally dreading for so long was finally here. 

You tried to take deep breaths while scurrying all over your house and finishing some last minute packing. Reassuring yourself that a family getaway couldn’t kill you. 

Right?

Reservations at the cottage were made over the phone last week, booking a house with the perfect lake side view, access to the forest trail and close proximity to the offered activities. It would only be a seven day stay, both in your respective rooms, (you clearly emphasized you and Hongjoong had to have separate ones) while the twins would lodge together. You had no intention of interacting with your husband alone together on this trip, apart from the quote on quote, ‘family bonding times’ you promised your daughters. And yet why were you here sweating nervously like a sinner in church?

“What a hot lady!” Eunbyeol wolf-whistles at your outfit when she walks through your bedroom doors. You jump at the sudden entrance, realizing Hongjoong was already here to pick you up with the girls.

A pair of black designer sunglasses slightly too big for her sat perched on her nose. Eunbyeol smiles before jumping onto your bed of clothes. You already know Hongjoong must’ve spoiled her and her sister with those, buying them a pair each.

“C’mon Byeol, off the bed” you quipped, packing your toothbrush as she reluctantly slugged off the covers. 

Your suspicions of Hongjoong buying them designer items are correct when Eunseo walks in, classily perching her matching white ones on her head before chastising her sister's tasteless compliment. 

“Elegant. She’s Elegant, Byeol. You don’t just go around wolf-whistling at people.” she rolls her eyes. 

“You look very pretty by the way, mom”

You smiled, nevertheless pleased at both their compliments and thanking them before going back to doing a last minute check of your things. 

Sun cream, clothes, makeup bag, swimsuit…

At the thought of your swimsuit you immediately blush, thinking back to how Sophie forced you to borrow her yellow bikini that left very little to the imagination. Despite your protests that you wouldn’t be needing it, she insisted. 

Hongjoong is last to walk through your front doors, swinging his car keys around his index finger and calling to his three girls from the downstairs foyer of your apartment. The man is clearly excited for the trip, he can’t lie. 

“Come on ladies, we’re gonna miss the chance to swim in that lake if we don't leave soon!” 

Hongjoong is your typical dad, except for the fact that he does not mess with dad!fashion. The producer is dressed classily from top to bottom in a loose-fitting designer button up with a pair of reformed denim pants, his pearl earrings and gold piercings complementing his outfit perfectly. 

Kim Hongjoong didn't play when it came to fashion. Even as a father. 

“Coming!” You exclaimed, ushering your kids out of your bedroom and making your way down the stairs with your suitcase. Seeing that it would only be a week at the cottage, you tried to pack light, though you may have to reconsider that thought with the way you struggled to lift the case properly. 

“Need some help?”

A strong hand comes to help you, immediately inhaling the scent of Hongjoong’s cologne as he brushes his knuckles near yours. “Here, I’ve got it” he assures, making you step back and admire your undeniably fine husband. 

Ex-husband. You meant Ex-husband. Scratch out the fine as well. 

You watch from behind as he struts out the foyer, smiling and joking playfully with his twin daughters, carrying your luggage out the door with them. 

What was this trip doing to you?

Once you’re on route to the cottage resort and the GPS is set, the car is blissfully quiet, each and every one of you surprisingly at peace. Jittery excitement still lays deep in your daughters' minds as you overhear them talk about what they want to do first once they arrive. 

Hongjoong’s 2000s soft rock and ballad playlist is playing quietly throughout the speakers right now, relishing in the music as luscious, green trees flash by you from the passenger window. 

While Byeol and Eunseo distract each other on their own, Hongjoong turns to talk to you. 

“I’m not going to lie, it’s been forever since I’ve been on a road trip” he smiles.

You copy him, feeling good in the moment. “Same, I don’t remember the last time I went to one.” you confessed, thinking only of all the times you had in the past when you were a child and as a teenager. 

Even back to when you were a young college student, wide eyed and so innocent to the chaos of your first college retreat with Hongjoong. That was the summer you two began dating, and boy were you fools in love. You cautiously look to your husband driving, bringing up past memories.

“Do you remember that one college retreat we went on during second year?” 

The corners of Hongjoong’s lips are already grinning upwards, smiling as he reciprocates your expression. 

“Right, like I could forget that summer” he replies sarcastically, gripping the steering wheel. 

It’s an easy memory to digest. A time when you were both so young, filled with nothing but dreams and passionate love for one another. Love so deep, that you remember the nights you’d spend locked up with Hongjoong under the sweaty bed sheets inside your cabin, blissfully making love until the sun would rise and he would finally kiss you to sleep. Perhaps, it was that summer when you realized you were going to marry and be with Kim Hongjoong forever someday. 

Though it’s too bad, someday already passed. 

“Do you remember when Seonghwa got so drunk he ended up confessing to Jieun in front of all the girl’s sleeping cabins?” Hongjoong snickers, relishing in the embarrassing memory his friend always hates him for bringing up. You laugh out loud, remembering the memory. “Oh my god, yes!” You turned to face him, shaking your head. “In nothing but his underwear, right?” 

Hongjoong nodded, smiling with one hand on the steering wheel as he drove.

“Didn’t he end up jumping into the lake afterwards? With you having to go in and save him as well?” You share your laughter with one another, catching up on past memories as your twin daughters listened attentively in the back, reliving them with you together.

That's what makes the hour and half drive from the city into the wilderness feel so short, finally pulling into the graveled parking lot of the vast cottage resort. White suburban cottages lined along one another, a good amount of distance in between each for every family staying. 

As Hongjoong parked the car, the view outside was so glorious you had to hold your breath. Glistening clear blue waves in the lake reflect the bright sunshine from above. A light breeze is present today with the way the willow and oak trees swayed gently. 

“It’s beautiful” you gasped from as far as you got out of the car, stretching your upper body with eyes closed as you inhaled the fresh air. 

Hongjoong stills his movements, shutting the door before replying with his gaze caught at your backside.

“Yeah, it is” he smiles.

Both of you turn around at a loud voice coming from behind. “We’re gonna explore the campsites and souvenir shops first!” Eunbyeol shouts as she runs away with her sister's hand in hers, towards the wooden cabin that's settled further away. 

“What about lunch?” you call to them. 

“We’re not hungry!”

Hongjoong tells them to be safe, and to stick around nearby. You smirked, helping him unload the trunk as you told him. “They’ll be fine. They’re probably too excited to even think right now” you giggled, bumping shoulders with him. 

You feel the tension that was once so strong between you two fade slowly, walking up the wooden steps of your lodge and exchanging conversation with each other.

“Hey, I just want my babies to be safe” he admits, a grin on his face as he holds the cooler in his hands. You chuckle, shaking your head at his protectiveness. 

“Here it is!” he exclaims, setting the suitcases in the front foyer as he opens the door. “Lodge number 1117”

The two story cottage is larger than it appears from the outside, having a modern yet rustic interior that you and Hongjoong admired. It had everything you would need, from a well designed kitchen area to a cozy living room space.

“It’s perfect, the kids will love it” you beam, looking at the hanging hammock chair in the corner of the living room and the gray stone fireplace. It fit perfectly for your family. 

Hongjoong smiles, sunglasses perched on top of his head as he sets the luggage down near the kitchen. Walking up beside him, you help him unload the cooler and ice boxes first, settling into your new home for the next few days. 

“I’m guessing you still drink?” you ask, looking in his direction as you unloaded the case of beer you saw him bring from the trunk.

He gestured to the booze. “C’mon, it wouldn’t be a vacation without it, would it?” 

You wholeheartedly agreed, placing a few in the fridge before you shut it closed. 

“Hopefully, this time we won’t end up shit faced like we did back in college” you laugh, turning to face him. 

“I can already picture that time we got so drunk from that bottle of tequila my friend brought, we snuck out of the campsite and went to the forest and got lost.” you spoke, the memory a little foggy but nonetheless fresh in your mind. 

Hongjoong smiles, listening as you speak.  

“There wasn’t anything but trees and bushes in that forest!” You exclaimed, shaking your head. “What did we even do there?” 

Hongjoong replies nonchalantly, folding the cardboard box in his hands.

“I’m pretty sure we fucked.”

You momentarily freeze at his words, before letting out a soft awkward laugh, causing him to look up. 

“No we didn’t, Hongjoong” you immediately deny, not believing his words. But your brows began furrowing at the foggy memory, starting to realize you really couldn’t trust your alcohol tolerance, now as an adult and even back when you were a college student. Did you guys have sex? In a forest out of all places?

Hongjoong leans against the kitchen counter, across from you as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and smirks smugly. 

“Nope, I distinctly remember it” he recalls, taking a step closer so he was now in your space. 

“I held your hand in mind as we walked up that trail by the cliff. And gosh, were we horny that night, because I remember you complaining about all that dirt you got on your knees from giving me the greatest head i've ever experienced in my entire life-” 

Slapping your hands over his mouth to stop him from going on, you blushed as you glared at him. 

“Jesus christ,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes before confessing.

“I get it, we fucked.”

Suddenly, you and Hongjoong break out into giggles like varsity sweethearts again at the story. Though embarrassed and cringing internally from the way you acted as young adults, it was nice to share them together now. At the proximity in which you’re standing in, you can't help but stare at each other softly. A hand wraps around your waist, making your breath hitch as he pulls you closer. 

“What are you doing?” you grin, watching him.

He looms over you, able to tell that something sits right at the tip of his tongue that he hesitantly decides to say. “I’m pretty sure,” he mutters, staring at your face and cautiously grazing the skin under your blouse. You feel your breathing speed up. 

“I also held you like this in my arms as you were leaning against that tree” his grip gentle and immediately transporting you back to the scenery that night. His sharp tone contrasts his touch. 

“Yknow, the one we fucked against?” he teases to you one more time.

The scent of burning campfire. A cold, midnight breeze. The feeling of the rough cedar tree against your back as Hongjoong thrusted inside you with every delirious snap of his hips, holding you close while he fucked you to oblivion with only the forest animals standing witness to your sinful actions. The film replays like a cheesy R-rated romance movie in your mind. 

“Did you, now?” You gulp, looking up at him as you adjust to the foreign feeling of his touch on your hips. 

“Yeah. I remember it all” he states, smirking down at you with an intense gaze.

The memory dies down when you catch yourself staring at his lips, arms finding their way around his neck as he dives down to whisper softly to you.

“Do you remember too?” He asks.

How he held you in his arms. How he whispered in your ear while you came around his cock, drool and traces of cum littering the corners of your mouth while Hongjoong didn’t care if you were stretching his flannel from how hard you were tugging at the material.

You nod. “I do,” you muttered, lashes fluttering as you felt as though your heart wouldn’t stop beating. “I remember you kissed me on the lips,” you confessed. 

Perhaps you wanted him to do it again right now. 

He looks in your eyes, searching for your approval that you desperately give, breath hitting each other's faces as he slowly leaned down to try and connect your lips. His chest is pressed against yours, and you begin to realize you haven’t shared the same breath like that in so long. You were so close to kissing right then and there.

If only you leaned in closer…

“We’re back!”

You push Hongjoong across the kitchen, shoving his hip painfully into the marble counter and ignoring his high-pitched groan of agony as you immediately look away to avoid suspicion, continuing to grab the beer from the icebox in front of you.

“Girls!” you exclaimed, voice wavering. 

Of course, Eunbyeol and Eunseo walk in with matching postcards and goodies from the souvenir shop in their hands, their sunglasses perched on their heads as their eyes lit up with excitement. They were still oblivious to the fact that they almost caught their parents about to make out in the kitchen.

“Dad, this place is amazing!” Eunbyeol deadpans, telling her father. “They even have jet skiing on the other side of the lake! We gotta go now!”

Hongjoong clutches his hip, pursing his lips as he hides his expression of pain and surprise. 

“Really? That's great sweetie”

Eunseo however, is quick to catch on.

“What were you guys doing?” she looks at you suspiciously. Her words hang in the air for a moment. 

“Were you guys about to kis-”

Hongjoong and you frantically scurry to find a plausible excuse, shuffling awkwardly. 

“I was helping your dad unload the cooler” 

“I was helping your mom get something out of her eye”

Both girls stare at you meekly. Eunbyeol scrunches her nose. “Huh?”

Plastering on a fake smile, you briskly leaped over the luggage nearby, ushering them upstairs before they had the chance to ask anymore questions.

“I think it’s time to unpack your things.” you watched their eyebrows quirk at the way you pushed them out the kitchen.

“We can do it on our own, mom! It’s really no big d-”

You clamp Eunbyeol’s mouth shut with your hand, blushing profusely as you walk away with them. 

Hongjoong stands there alone in the kitchen, rubbing his hip and wondering what the hell just almost happened.

The next few days, you and Hongjoong don’t discuss the incident between you two. Rather, the beginning of the trip after that event has become a painful performance trying your best to be eerily polite yet distant to each other in front of your children, as if that would make you forget the fact that you two almost kissed in the kitchen.

“Could you pass the sunscreen, honey?” Hongjoong would say awkwardly, turning his back to flash you a cheery smile on the lake deck as Eunbyeol and Eunseo watched you interact while floating in the cool, summer waters. 

You passed the bottle to your ex-husband while maintaining awkward distance. “Of course, darling!” 

“Thanks honey!”

“No problem sweetheart!”

This resulted in Eunbyeol and Eunseo looking at their parents in horror, the youngest twin muttering under her breath as they discussed an urgent change of plans.

“We have to get them to stop being weird.”

Apart from that, the ‘family bonding time’ promise to your daughters was maintained, and each day was an adventure for all of you in terms of what you would do together next. An accumulation of forest trekking, water-skiing and outdoors barbeques on the patio of your cottage made everyday feel more and more special for your girls, seeing how they relished in having both their parents with them at the same place and time. It became moments of peace and resolution that eventually became special for you and Hongjoong too. 

“I hope we stay here forever,” Eunseo blurted out one evening after a blissful day near the lakeshore, watching as the sun began to go down. She was busy licking the sticky sides of her melting ice cream cone in one hand, the other one held in yours. 

Hongjoong and Eunbyeol were a few feet ahead, laughing loudly and holding hands as they compared their fruit popsicles with one another to see whose was bigger. 

“You and Byeol would eventually get sick of going to the lake all the time” You smiled, the corners of your mouth turning up before her next words made the strings of your heart tug. 

“Sure, but at least you and dad could be together with us too.”

You watched as she ran up to her sister and dad, joining in on their fun as she began boasting that her ice cream was better than theirs. Hongjoong’s smile is the biggest you’ve ever seen it to be, looking down at his girls with a golden tan from the past few days spent outside, and hair slightly damp from swimming. 

Any person could tell the love in his eyes was as pure a father’s love for his girls could be. 

Her words stuck with you until that very night, where after dinner, board games, and much pacing back and forth in your own room before getting into bed, you decided to cautiously approach Hongjoong’s room on the opposite side of the second floor.

Bare feet padded across the wooden floors as you peeked through the sliver of the open door.

He's wearing an oversized sleep tee and blue pajama pants, getting in some nighttime reading before bed. His glasses are perched on his nose, intently reading his paperback novel. He looks as domestic as a husband gets. 

At the sound of your steps though, he sits up from his relaxed state on his bed, one arm that was supporting his head coming out as the other hand settles the book down on his abdomen. He looks surprised to see you. 

“Hi” he states, looking at you. 

“Hey”

Hongjoong’s expression immediately softened at your figure, watching as you shuffled awkwardly in front of him. The room is quiet. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” He nods, setting his bookmark in the spine of the cover and turning his attention to you, offering you to take a seat on his linen covers. You see his polaroid camera with photos taken of Eunbyeol and Eunseo perched on a desk nearby. 

You don’t see the ones he secretly took of you, as those are in his drawers. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t sleep by yourself” he gently teases before watching as your smile doesn't reach the ends of your eyes. You wrap your silk robe closer to your body, feeling sort of vulnerable. 

“How do you like the resort so far?” He asks, watching as you played with your fingers absentmindedly. “Is the room okay?”

“It’s wonderful Hongjoong, better than I could ever have hoped for.” You spoke up, telling the truth.

It’s hard to arrange your thoughts in your head when it’s just the two of you in his room. The kids were already fast asleep. Now was your chance to just tell him how you felt. Why were you hesitating so much?

“Hey, look at me.” Hongjoong’s soft voice calls out to you, a protective hand coming out to caress the back of your head in habit. He can tell you want to say something, and the gesture makes you emotional, remembering how he always used to do that to ease your nerves when you were younger. 

“What’s wrong? Am I making things uncomfortable on the trip?” he worries about the boundaries you established with him at the beginning, watching as your lip begins to quiver and the emotions suddenly overcome you. 

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” you sniffled, tears forming near the brim of your eyes as you looked up at the father of your children. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, shifting through the covers over to you. “Woah, hey, shh that’s alright I got you” he coos, immediately going into dad mode and embracing you in his arms, letting your head rest against his chest. 

The action is natural, no longer foreign or weird, and you silently thank him for leaving reassuring circles on your back. Husband or not, Hongjoong would always be your best friend first. You had forgotten how much you missed this comforting side to him.  

“Tell me what you’re sorry about” he states, chest tightening at your wet cheeks before he slowly raises your chin to look him in the eyes. 

“For being mean to you for so long” you sniffle, a weakened state of emotional guilt eating away at you. You let him watch you carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about how happy the girls have been during this trip. A-And it kills me that we’ve been fighting for the past seven years, and that they’ve grown up seeing such bad parts of ourselves, of my own self” you ramble, confessing how you felt. 

You look up. “They’re happy because we’re together Joong. Because we’re not fighting or avoiding each other like we used to do before.”

He watches as you look up at him with tears forming in your eyes. 

“You’re such a good dad. And I realized you deserve to hear that.”

At the sounds of more sniffles, Hongjoong finally speaks, smiling as he brushes stray hair from your face. 

“I wouldn’t want anyone else but you to be the mother of our children, I hope you know that”

His truthfulness throws you off guard.

“I’m sorry too” he sighs, letting you sit up straight and look him in the eyes properly. “I haven’t been the best partner either, baby. We were both mean to each other.” he says, brushing a tear away from your face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve thrown a hair dryer at me once before as well” he attempts to make you laugh, affection blooming in his chest when he sees he succeeds, wiping your tears. 

“But I already knew how you felt, sweetheart. I always know” he smiles, eyes mirroring a weak ache in his heart.  

“Married or not, we were once friends. And now we’re family” His voice turns deep, strong and dependable like the father he’s become.

“We can start over” you tell him, smiling as he folds his hands over your palm. “We can always do better from now and going forward. For ourselves, and for Eunseo and Eunbyeol.” 

Hongjoong nods, hesitantly for a split second before he leans over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, showing a gesture of affection that you longed for so long.

You shut your eyes, the kiss making your heart flutter. 

“Friends again?” He whispers, though silently wanting something more. 

You sighed, pulling him in closer to embrace in a hug. “Friends” you nodded while inhaling his comforting scent. 

The next morning, and for the rest of the remaining trip onwards, you and Hongjoong’s relationship dynamics did the equivalent of a 180 degree turn. 

It’s hard to believe you two really just wanted to be ‘friends’

Eunbyeol and Eunseo could tell by the way you talked to each other more, noticing you share more secret glances and fleeting touches that were innocent to the eye, but concealing a longing that you both tried to hide. You knew you couldn’t get carried away. You and Hongjoong were simply resolving a rough patch in your parenting. Not getting back together in a relationship. 

But after spending more time together while Eunbyeol and Eunseo became occupied on their own, it was hard keeping the interactions to a justified amount. Long walks in the forest, evenings spent cooking together, even cuddling together on the couch during family movie night. Thinking your kids were too busy watching the vintage Disney movie play on screen, when in fact, the real love story they were more invested in was happening right in front of their eyes, watching their parents falling in love again.

This led to the last event in their plan that they hoped would finally seal the deal. 

On Saturday night, the last night of your trip before you had to go back to the city, you and Hongjoong are surprised to find mini invitations left on your beds, scribbled in glitter pen and cursive handwriting reading out the following:

Gourmet Dinner Date for 2

Time: 7:30 pm

Location: Outdoor patio 

Dress code: Formal and Classy

You and your husband chuckled at the cards left on your beds, suddenly finding a twin each by your side and ushering you to get ready. 

“Do you and your sister even know how to cook dinner, Eunbyeol?” You questioned as your daughter rushed to push you into your walk-in closet, forcing you to get ready. 

She huffs, placing her hands on her hips looking offended. 

“At least my cooking skills don’t take after Dad’s, mom.” She mumbled, choosing your shoes for you. “Have some trust in a girl!”

Meanwhile, Hongjoong gets pampered by Eunseo in the other room, though in reality, her blunt critiques on her dads fashion are bruising his pride at the moment. 

“Dad, you have many normal clothes to wear. You have to chill with the ripped baggy jeans.” she demands, trudging through his closet to find something formal for him to wear. 

He begins to protest but his daughter shakes her head. “You’re supposed to look good for mom!” she huffs, searching on her own. At Eunseo’s words, the man starts to slightly worry, scratching the back of his head. 

“You and Byeol are gonna join too, right?”

She stops for a second, looking back to her father as she avoids the question and instead retorts back. 

“It’s just a date, Dad. Relax”

Back to what was happening in the other room at the end of the hallway, you huffed in frustration when you walked back into your closet after Byeol rejected another one of your outfits for the dinner date. 

“I have nothing else to wear, sweetie, these are all the clothes I have.” you came to terms with a hand coming to your forehead after having searched in despair. 

The ten year old shakes her head before pushing you out of the way and digging deep into your suitcase. She reveals a delicate piece of material you didn’t even realize you packed. 

“We got some help from Aunt Sophie and Uncle Hwa to pack you guys clothes that you could wear for a special occasion.” she wiggles her eyebrows, a smug grin on her face as you gap in shock. 

You inspect the dress, lips parting in disbelief as you feel the material. 

“I haven’t worn this since I was in college.” You uttered softly to yourself. 

At one longing look of the short dress, you shake your head, walking back into the closet to find something else. “I-I can’t wear this Byeol, what would your dad think?“ you asked nervously.

“Dad said he thinks your boobs looked hot in this dress so Aunt Sophie and I picked it specially” she looks up at you, proud of what she just said.  

You whip your head around, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Byeol! Where did you hear that from?” 

She sighs. “Dad had one too many drinks this one time and started talking about you guys back in college” she explained before shoving the infamous black dress in your hands. 

“Talked a lot about how pretty you were,” she draws out her words in a teasing voice. You curse your husband for his mistake.

You bite your lip as you stare down at the fabric in your hands. 

It was undeniable. You knew you looked amazing in this dress. You could testify from the amount of times Hongjoong ripped it off of you after countless night out’s filled with sexual tension and playful flirting. For god's sake, Eunbyeol and Eunseo could’ve almost had another sibling thanks to that dress.

“Fine.” you muttered bashfully, turning away as you walked into the closet to change. 

“But I’m just gonna try it on.”

Thirty minutes, one mental breakdown and too many outfit changes to count later, you walk down the stairs wearing the dress Eunbyeol had successfully persuaded you to wear. 

What do you know, the kid was right. Your boobs looked amazing in that dress. 

Not just your boobs, your whole body looked incredible with its strong curves and the beautiful fill it gave to the dress, making it slightly tighter than when you wore it as a twenty year old, but still all the more mature and sophisticated. You really did look hot.

Eunbyeol rushes down the stairs before you, catching up with her sister to inspect her job on their fathers preparation. 

“Well?” She says expectedly, looking at her dad. “Let’s take a look!”

He sports a simple yet timeless white collar dress shirt, the first few buttons undone as he wears a form fitting black dress-vest that accentuates his waist, dress pants paired to go along with it. Though simple, his silver rings pulled the outfit together, making him just as good looking and sophisticated as you were. 

Hongjoong’s back faces towards your front, watching as the man nervously shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“How do I look guys?” He gulps, adjusting his collar and sweeping his blond hair back. 

Eunseo rolls her eyes, a grin on her proud little face. “Do you even have to ask, dad?” She’s more than confident in the outfit she and Seonghwa coordinated together. 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he nervously tells them. 

“I want to look good for your mom, you know what I mean? She's a difficult woman to impress sometimes.”

“I’m difficult?” You tease, walking down the last few steps of the stairs. 

The man turns his head around, losing his breath at the sight of you standing there in front of him, wearing that dress that he hadn’t seen you wear for so long, looking breathtaking in every possible way. 

“Hi” you grinned softly, feeling sort of shy.

The way you fit in that dress made an insatiable hunger fuel inside Hongjoongs chest, eyes gazing at the way you strutted over in the black, lace covered material with your hair tied back and glossed lips turned upwards as your dimples showed. He breaks from his admiration when you quirk a brow at him, making the man almost fall to his knees and stutter uncontrollably. 

“I-I No I didn’t mean that-“

You giggle as you bravely take Hongjoongs hands in your own, shutting him up as you turn to your daughters standing in front of you, starstruck at your aura. 

“Outside, right?” you winked at them. 

“Right this way!” Eunseo enthusiastically leads you out back to the outdoor patio, a perfect view of the garden and lakeside coming into effect. Hongjoong slips his hand from yours, and slides it across your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“My parents are too cool” Eunbyeol sighs under her breath, watching from behind in awe.

Your ex-husband makes you swoon when he leans in to whisper softly. “You look breathtaking, sweetheart.” feeling an immense sense of pride at how lucky he was to make you the mother of his children. 

You blush, turning to him to whisper playfully back. 

“Not bad yourself.” 

You both look forward when you come to a stop at the patio steps, sheer amazement at the full preparation your daughters did for this event. Fairy lights were hung around the area, a table with two chairs on either side placed with a white table cloth and a bouquet of freshly hand picked flowers from the forest, battery powered candles that were sold at the souvenir shop lit in the middle and glowing softly. 

Eunbyeol dashes to the door when it rings, making you and Hongjoong furrow your brows. 

“Is someone here?” he asks, watching Eunseo fold a napkin over her arm like the pro waiter she was. The other one walks out, an oily fast food paper bag in her hands as she smiles. “Dinner is served!” 

“Turns out that diner 15 minutes away also delivers!” She chuckled, helping her sister plate the two cheeseburgers, fries, and vanilla and strawberry milkshakes. 

You and Hongjoong continue to watch in stunned amazement as the girls prepare the not exactly gourmet(?) but still impressive meal in front of you, their small hands working swiftly. 

“You guys prepared all of this?” You asked, getting a little emotional. They grin proudly, nodding their heads. “We called the place earlier and planned it all by ourselves!”

You pressed a kiss to each of their soft cheeks, thanking them both as Hongjoong did the same. 

“What did I do to get so lucky with my girls?” he smiles, ruffling their heads. 

“What about you guys?” You asked, watching as they slowly backed away to give you two some privacy. 

“Natalie and her mom invited us over for dinner and a sleepover tonight at her cottage,” Eunbyeol smiles. At the mention of their newly made friend that they had gotten close to over the week, Hongjoong looks at you then back at them. 

“What? But- ”

She cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “Her mom said it’s totally fine with her. She’s only two cottages down, and she’ll make sure we’re back in time again for tomorrow when we leave!” 

The two girls smile in excitement, though the both of you have your parental instincts kick in. 

“Please?” they begged, wanting you to let them go so that they could do this for you guys as much as they wanted to do it for themselves. “She’s waiting for us now!”

Hongjoong feels guilty. “C’mon, you guys should still join us!”

Eunseo immediately shakes her head, declining the offer. 

“Tonight is all about you guys. We don’t want to intrude” she chuckles, bumping shoulders with her sister who chips in.

“We’ll text you guys in the middle to let you know everything’s good of course” 

You and Hongjoong smile, a feeling of immense proudness overwhelming you from seeing your daughters act so grown up. There wasn’t anything else you felt grateful for more. 

“Thank you girls.” you muttered softly, watching as they flashed you a wink before hurrying out through the backyard door. 

“Don’t get all kissy in the backyard!” Eunbyeol teases, making cheesy smooching sounds with the back of her hand as her sister rolls her eyes and shoves her out. 

Before you know it, you’re left standing with just the sound of smooth jazz playing on the patio speakers and the buzzing of the summer cicadas. 

“She takes after you, I hope you know that” You told Hongjoong softly.  

He chuckles, “Not as much as you.” He gestures to the table. “Shall we?” 

And that’s how the next few hours seem to pass by without even realizing. 

You see, there was a reason why you fell in love with the man sitting in front of you, and you’re just beginning to remember it now. Being with Hongjoong felt as if the moment was everlasting, and you could testify that from the amount of laughter and deep conversation that was shared over dinner, bringing you to sit on that patio until the sun had set. Every so often you’d smile again at the thought of the twins preparing this all for you. 

“I don’t remember the last time I’ve been on a date like this” You blurted out after laughing about something, taking a sip of your strawberry milkshake through a straw. 

“Oh, so we’re going on dates now, are we?” Hongjoong grins, making you roll your eyes at him. 

You lean forward on the table cloth, watching as a glimmer passes through your husband’s eyes while he sits back in his chair, cocking his head to the side as he clears his voice. 

“But you’ve gone on dates after we split, haven’t you?” he asks, leaning forward in interest now, letting his chin rest on his palm. 

You shook your head slowly.

“Nope. Not since signing those papers” you revealed. 

Hongjoong furrows his brows in surprise. “And why’s that?” 

You suddenly didn’t have an answer. “I-I don’t know, I just…” You began, watching how he looked at you with an unreadable expression. You smiled, looking down and suddenly feeling embarrassed. 

“I guess I was too focused on running the bridal shop, I couldn’t find the time to.” You use as a cliche excuse. 

“Bullshit” he retorts back immediately. 

“It’s true!” You protested, throwing a fry at him that he dodges, landing on his finished plate. 

“You always did say back when we were younger that you wanted to be a designer. And look at you now” he admires, letting the candle lights shine a youthful glow to your face. 

“You always said you wanted to become a music producer and write your own songs.” you reciprocated, smiling as you soaked in the presence of one another. “And here you are now.” 

You think for a moment before asking the same question. 

“How about you?” 

Hongjoong silently shakes his head as his answer, though silently thinking about something else. The music changes to some old Billy Joel song in the back. You don’t realize it, but Hongjoong smiles to himself when he realizes the girls added it to the playlist. Of course they had to, it was one of the songs you played at your wedding. 

“What were we thinking when we got married like that?” You asked out loud, looking at how far you’d both come. You definitely skipped some of the order of the stages of a normal relationship. 

“I mean, we had no money, no prospects. Hell, we didn’t even have a car, Hongjoong!” you realized.

Your husband laughs, sitting straight and letting some skin show through his unbuttoned collar. 

“We were young” he justifies. 

“Yeah, and stupid too,” you pointed out, feeling the summer breeze pass by. It felt good to sit here like this with him.

You wondered, could sitting here like this with Hongjoong be a regular thing? After this trip, would you be able to walk back into each other’s lives again like this? 

As both parents and lovers?

Hongjoong brings up something you wouldn’t have expected him to. 

“Do you remember when we first found out about Eunseo and Eunbyeol?” he questioned softly, looking at you. 

You blink, taken aback. Suddenly you’re back in your college dorm washroom, sobs wracking through your body as Hongjoong who had only just sent his first few mixtapes to recording stations and companies nearby, pulled you close into his chest, eyeing the two lines left on the counter while he caressed your back. Only twenty years old and figuring out what you wanted to do with your lives, you were suddenly stuck in a sudden situation that had made you feel like your dreams would have been given up on completely. 

“I do,” you told him, pulling yourself from the memory. 

“I remember because in that moment I felt like the whole world was caving in”. You laughed, though it wasn’t fully cheerful.

“I don’t regret it, though” Hongjoong replies after some thought, gazing at you with truth in his eyes. 

You shook your head. “Of course. Neither do I.” 

It was a blessing to have two beautiful daughters as the product of your love.

“I don’t regret you either.” Hongjoong states.

You lock gazes, unable to take your eyes off of his face. 

“I loved you when I first met you and I still loved you when we divorced,” he says all at once, making your breath hitch and heart waver. 

“Don’t say that.” you tell him, looking away and suddenly reminding yourself you’re still divorced from the man sitting in front of you. 

How could he still love you after all this time? How could you feel the same about him?

Hongjoong continues, shaking his head as he bites back the lodge in his throat and makes up his mind. He has to tell you. 

“Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.” 

Don’t do this to me you begged silently.

“I’ve hurt you just as much as you’ve hurt me.” He swallows, thinking back to the times you already knew he was referring to. The times where you fought to the point where there wasn’t even anything worth fighting for anymore. 

“But you have given me the greatest gifts of my life.” He smiles, holding his tears back.

“And for that I will always love you.”

You push your seat from the table, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and wanting to avoid him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” you dejected, walking away from the patio and from Hongjoong.

There wasn’t anything else you could fake anymore. You couldn’t bear to hear the man you once loved, possibly even still love, say these things like he had a dagger lodged in his heart. Didn’t he know he was only going to do the same to you?

Hongjoong is quick to catch up, holding onto your wrist and turning you around, that your back collides with the nearest wall inside, pressing your fronts together and closing the distance.

“Why do you always run away from me? From the possibility of us?” He exclaimed, voice breaking. His heart crushed at the way you turned your head, hot tears already clouding your vision. 

“Because ‘us’ can’t happen again, Hongjoong!” You cried, staring up at the man you once promised your life to.

“Don’t you get it? Us going on this trip isn’t a sign to get back together. What would we do seven years after breaking up?”

“We could do it” He states firmly, staring you down, both your chests heaving.

You bite your tears back again. “No we couldn’t, honey. We would be pretending to think we solved our marriage. What would we do about our daughters? After putting them through our constant fighting— ”

He slams his lips to your own, shutting you up as you painfully resist his touch. Your hands came up to push him away, but at the sudden gesture, you’re already giving in and sobbing softly, letting him hold you for just one last time. 

Your lips mold so perfectly, it almost hurts how much you missed this feeling. To have him slot his arms around your waist, pull you in close, and cherish you. You almost forgot this feeling. 

He pulls away softly, watching your lashes flutter, pleading to you for a chance as he leans closer, making your breath hitch. 

“We could be together as a family again,” he states firmly, your name leaving his lips in a desperate plea. “We never know if we try—”

You drown out his words, looking up with tears falling as you cut him off. 

“Seven years ago I gave you those papers to sign, thinking that you would’ve chased after me,” 

Hongjoong holds his breath, watching as the next words stumble from your mouth. 

“I realize now, how stupid I was to think that.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to chase you”

Shoving his chest away while mustering the last of your strength you uttered. “Of course I wanted you to chase me.” You let go of his hands. “It’s too late either way”, walking away from the defeated man.

Hongjoong stands alone near the patio entrance, watching his tears fall to the wooden floorboards. Holding the ring he had kept hidden in his trouser pocket, he plays with it in his fingers, silently wishing he had given it to you sooner. 

It rains the next morning on your departure back to the city. Perfect, considering it reflects the sudden storm of utter depression that falls upon your family. Long gone are the cheerful giggles and longing stares that were shared between you and Hongjoong during the ride to the cottage. 

There was no room for that, not after last night.

Eunbyeol and Eunseo sat slumped in the backseat, rain hitting the roof of the car as they mindlessly played on their cell phones. Really, they were peeking from behind every so often and watching their parents sit in the front seat with tension so thick, you could’ve cut it with a knife. 

What had they done wrong? They planned the trip, the activities, the dinner— it was all perfect. And yet why were you still fighting with each other? 

These questions racked in their brains, baffled to have witnessed the sight of their parents refusing to talk to each other after walking back from their friends' sleepover. 

Eunbyeol and Eunseo felt as useful as matchmakers without a couple, feeling their efforts all gone down the drain. 

At the sudden ring of your cell phone, you pick up, answering at the voice of your assistant. 

“I’m driving back up right now”

Hongjoong continues focusing on the road, the occasional wiping of rain from the windshield wipers on the front window. 

“Yes. That’s okay, I'll take care of it.” You muttered, glancing at the rear view mirror for a moment. Your twin daughters immediately sigh, having an idea of what to expect when you say those familiar words. 

“Thanks for letting me know.” 

You hang up the phone, 

“One of us isn’t going with you, are we?” Eunseo asks, making you look back at her with a sigh. 

“No, you’re not” You confess, apologetic. ‘I’m sorry honey. I really am.”

You look back facing the front, swallowing as you told Hongjoong. 

“You’ll have to drop me off at the studio. Some things aren’t working out with the client so they need me to come in and take care of it.”

He nods, unphased as he continues to look straight. 

“Will you be fine with the girls?” You asked carefully, watching them as they were slumped in the backseat.

Hongjoong grips the wheel before turning to you. 

“I‘ll be fine. Don’t worry about it” sending a small smile, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. 

The twins thank god that at least neither of them had to choose to go back home with either parent. 

They would’ve hated that more. 

After barely being able to depart and say goodbye to your daughters in front of your studio, holding them close for a warm embrace and thanking them for an unforgettable weekend, Hongjoong drives off with his daughters, an empty feeling cascading his thoughts. He puts on a smile still, trying to cheer up his girls. 

“What do you want to do first when we go home? Want to unpack and then eat? We can eat and then unpack. Or we could- ”

Eunseo crosses her arms, having been fed up for far too long.

“Dad, you must be out of your mind.” 

Hongjoong stills, furrowing his brows and peeking at the first born who crosses her arms, holding an attitude. 

“Eunseo, what are you- ” 

“You’re telling me you and Mom just spent a whole entire week together at the cottage, had the best time of your lives since separating with one another, and now you’re just going to go back to not speaking or talking to each other again?”

Hongjoong blinks at his daughter’s sudden outburst, already making a turn into the driveway of his house.  

Eunbyeol now reciprocates her twin, looking at her dad as she slouches beside him, coming near the front seat area. 

“She’s got a point dad. Do you really just not love mom anymore?” She worries, looking up at him genuinely concerned. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know how to answer these sudden questions right now, stuttering to reply.

“Me and your mother are fine!” He lies, trying to reassure them. “That trip wasn’t just for us, it was also for you two to enjoy— ”

Eunseo asks the million dollar question. 

“If you still love Mom, why are you letting her go a second time?” 

With the engine turned off, it's gone silent. Two pairs of eyes staring at their father, awaiting his response. 

“Well? Are you going to chase after her or not?!” Eunbyeol groans, her fathers lack of response making her pull her hair. 

They were right. How could he have made the same stupid mistake twice?

Hongjoong struggles to put the keys back in the engine, telling them to put their seat belts back on. Their eyes begin to glow with hope.

“Do you girls mind staying at your uncle’s for a bit?” He asks hurriedly, punching into his cell phone to call his brother for a favor as he pulls out of the driveway. Eunbyeol squeals, hands clamping over her mouth as her sister speaks on behalf of them both. 

“Dad, if you don’t drop us off and get your butt over to mom’s right away, I’m gonna report you to child services.” she threatens, watching as he steps on the accelerator, heart pumping so fast as he smiles through the rear view mirror.

You sighed, holding up your cellphone to your ear. 

“Call me once she approves the design then,” you told your assistant through the receiver, one hand looking over the sheets of paper, highlighting the changes to the new blueprint. 

“Alright then, bye.” 

After hanging up the phone, you rubbed your temples, head pounding as you tucked the files back into the folder. 

The clock in your studio showed the hands about to reach seven pm. A few hours had already passed since coming back from your trip to the cottage, trying to forget everything by burying your focus into the new dress prints a client of yours requested, remodeling them after the original was rejected. 

Fingers worked away swiftly, comparing textiles and fabrics as you looked at the piles of papers and messy sticky notes in front of you. But yet the gears in your mind seemed to churn achingly slow, sighing as you repeatedly told yourself the same thing. 

Just focus on the dress, focus on the dress, focus on the dress.

Don’t think about him. 

The task is impossible. Your mind can’t help but slip back to what your relationship has become with Hongjoong, and what you were going to do now that those seven days were over. For so long you had deprived yourself from indulging in your love life, prioritizing taking care of Eunseo and Eunbyeol while juggling your job as a designer. Had you been doing it all wrong? 

Hongjoong’s words repeat in your head like a broken record player. 

I will always love you

Lies. That promise couldn’t be kept. Your divorce was a clear outcome of it. You and Hongjoong were two people not meant for one another. You were too different, all you would do is hurt one another, make life an unbearable living hell—

And yet you missed him. You missed Hongjoong so much. 

What was fucking keeping you from loving him? Was it your stubbornness? Was it really the fact that he didn’t chase after you? Or was it none of that and just your own self being stupid?

The front door of the studio opens, pulling you from your thoughts as you got back to the sketches. You called up from your desk as you worked quietly. 

“The studios closed for the- ”

Heavy breathing. The man who just walked in catches his breath from dashing out of his car and up the three flights of stairs, driving through almost an hour of traffic in pouring rain to be here in this moment with you.

“Hongjoong?”

He’s drenched, making a mess on the floor of the studio as the droplets fall softly one by one. 

Suddenly he's striding over to where you’re sitting in long steps before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss throws you off guard, the shock of his cold hands cradling your face makes you close the gap unknowingly. 

Linking your arms around his neck while kissing back passionately, you let your hands rest on his shoulders, pulling back for air as you panted heavily, catching your breaths and looking at each other with pure love and lust. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, feeling dumb because your heart already knew the answer. His hands wrap around your waist, desperate as if you would leave him again. 

But he’s just so fucking tired of that now. He just wants to love you now.

“I lost you once.” He breathes, eyes watering.

“I’m not going to lose you again”. 

Suddenly, everything that kept you from being with each other is thrown away. 

That hate, that fear, everything is gone because you realize you still needed each other. You’re still the same twenty year old couple standing in that dorm washroom, holding each other close and knowing it’ll be okay because at least you had each other. 

You grasp onto his damp shirt, pulling him down with such force that your lips meet again, taking charge as you finally allowed him to have you. 

“You’re a fucking idiot” you whined between kisses, curses escaping your lips when he softly bites the flesh of your neck to test the waters. “I hope you know that”

He agrees wholeheartedly, nodding as if he was already getting pussydrunk.

“I’m an idiot” he mumbles to himself, letting it escape his lips like a mantra. Well, he was stupid enough to only chase after you this late, so if his wife told him he was an idiot, then so he was.

“Let me prove how much I love you,” a hand comes to graze near the collar of your shirt. 

You gasped, watching as Hongjoong lifted you from your seat and rutted his hips against your core pathetically, your ass digging into the edge of the table.

“Here?” Your eyes widened, watching his expression turn dark. He presses kisses on your collarbone, making your hands grasp the wood for support. “Hongjoong wait,” you exhaled in a deep breath, heart beating against your chest.

But he doesn’t give a shit. He’s tired of waiting. 

“It’s been too fucking long” he protests, ripping your top off. You’re dizzy from how abruptly he’s stripping you, latching onto his shoulders for support as you wobble from him unzipping your jeans and pushing them down, exposing you in nothing but your underwear and bra. 

And like the good little whore you are, you immediately spread your legs, letting Hongjoong get a view of the embarrassingly wet patch leaking through your panties as he’s crouched down to let you step out of the denim near your ankles.

Holy fucking shit

You stand bashfully, toes curling from how exposed and vulnerable you were being the only one naked. 

“Please?” you asked nicely, letting your foot rest on his shoulder as your pussy was now on full display for him.

You don’t have time to even finish the last word before Hongjoong dives in, lapping at your soaking cunt and humming in pure ecstasy at the taste. The muffled vibrations make you throw your head back, tugging on his locks to shove his face further. 

Hongjoong’s hands press into your thighs that cage his head in, leaving a grip that you guarantee with littering the flesh with red splotchy bruises. Did you mind? Not at all.

When his tongue pokes at the gummy flesh of your walls, you let out a full moan, echoing throughout the studio as the air begins to smell like sex. 

“Right there, yes” you urged him, leg beginning to shake from how weak it was getting. 

He's so invested, you fear he might suffocate any longer if he doesn’t pull back for air. So you grasp his head, pushing him away from his meal while you both gasped lightly.

You watch him wipe his slick covered chin with the back of his hand, not breaking eye contact as he stares. 

“You were just begging to be fucked for all these years, weren’t you sweetheart?” He teases. 

Though you wanted him to lap at your juices until you came, you knew you needed to still feel his cock inside after so long. 

Your fingers played with the hem of your underwear, smiling back at your husband. 

“And you were just begging to get a taste of this pussy, weren’t you, Joong?” wiping that smug grin off his face.

”Lay down for me” he demands, getting up so that one hand finds its way to the back of your bra to unclasp it. The other clears half your desk covered in wedding dress blueprints and sketches, making sure nothing would make you uncomfortable before he fucked you on that mahogany surface so all you’d remember would be his name. 

And people said romance was dead. 

When the bra slides off and your bare back hits your desk, you suddenly realize what Hongjoong’s intention was when he ordered you to do that. 

Soft mounds spill out as your breasts take their natural form, giving Hongjoong the perfect view of your tits. Pervert. 

He immediately latches his tongue on a nipple, taking his hand and playing with the other, twisting painfully. 

A cry escapes your lips, parting them open as you let him play with them as much as he wanted to. He smiles against the motherfuckers, knowing that shut you up perfectly. 

“Are you ready for me to fuck you now?”

“Please, Joong, I need you” you whined, submitting yourself to your husband. He already knows you’re in need of one last kiss, coming up to give his wife what she wants by slotting his lips against yours again, this time much harsher. 

“Tell me so that I treat you good, baby” he mumbles, pulling back and making you clench your thighs together. He undoes his shirt in the meantime, unbuckling his belt and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek when you sobbed. 

“Fuck me, please” 

His fingers slide your panties to the side to press his aching tip to your wet core. 

“Like this?” He teases.

“Inside, Hongjoong” you emphasized, meaning what you said with the way your nails dug into a pile of papers nearby. Biting your lip from how sensitive and needy your cunt was. 

“I know, I know,” he murmured, smiling to himself after messing with you. 

“I just missed this pretty cunt” before in one strong thrust, Hongjoong’s bulging tip enters inside your walls, giving you a stretch you forgot how much you loved. You whined softly. 

“Shit” he curses, relishing how the buildup finally led to this moment. 

The man is ravenous, but he’s genuinely trying his best to ease the painful stretch as you adjust to his thickness, nipping your neck in a trail of hickeys and love bites posessively.

With every thrust he makes, you arch your back, pencils and papers shuffling near by you. 

“Fucking look at my wife” he admires proudly, watching the woman he loves bounce her tits at every thrust of his cock. 

“S’too much” you caved in, shaking your head at the stimulation. 

You claw at his arms, head turning to the side as your eyes roll back from pleasure. 

“I know, mama, I know” 

He grabs a tit in his left hand, the right one coming down to play with your clit, pressing slow circles near where you were connected. 

“Fuck, I missed these” He rasps, savouring the feeling of your soft flesh in his hand, making you throw your head back. 

“Missed how they looked when you were pregnant” he says, thinking of how ethereal you looked when you were knocked up with his kids. 

“God, at this point I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant again” Hongjoong grunts, snapping his hips deliriously back and forth. He envisions you round and full, fulfilling his inner fantasy. 

“Shut up.” You spat, breaking the mood as you bit your lip to suppress a moan. He almost laughs when you then crane your hips back to give him easier access to keep penetrating you. The desk shuffles. 

“Your mouth is saying one thing, honey, but your body is saying something else” 

After hearing his words, you suck him in further, both of you now getting close. 

“M’close. M’so close!” you whimpered, sitting up so that now Hongjoong could hold you in his arms, caging your body so his cock could stuff you better. 

Your mouth hangs open in silent bliss, hands scratching his back. You leaned into his ear, making the final chord inside him snap. 

“Make me cum, daddy” 

And just like that, you’re clenching around Hongjoong’s massive cock as a creamy white ring begins to form. Hot ropes fill you up inside, tangled in a sweaty mess as he purrs, caressing the back of your head again in habit. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart. You did so good for me”

The sounds of your breathing fill the studio, a pencil or two rolling quietly away on the ground from being shoved off the desk. He shakes his head when you try to pull your sweaty bodies away, hair sticking to your neck but feeling the way he refuses. 

“Just let me love you,” he mumbles into your shoulder, dick softening inside you. “Just for a moment.”

You’re too tired to say anything back, so you finally give in. 

Seven years passed by you two without even realizing how much you still loved each other. Though you wouldn’t be able to get that time back, for once, there was something that you and Hongjoong agreed upon. 

You had no intention of wasting that time any more. 

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

Months later, and it still takes everything in Eunbyeol and Eunseo hearts to not scream at the sight of their parents when they walk hand in hand, smiling happily in public as they pick their daughters up from the first day of school. 

The girls jump into their parent’s embrace, eying the two silver rings they now wore proudly together. 

“How was school, darlings?” Hongjoong asks, pressing a kiss to Eunseo and Eunbyeol. 

“It was fun! We watched a documentary about lovebirds” she smiled, looking back up. You laughed softly.

“Which reminded me to tell you,” she grins, watching as you, her sister, and father all looked at her. 

“I hope you know that getting you and dad back together was my plan from the start.” she confesses, smirking at Eunbyeol who scoffs, crossing her arms. 

“Nuh uh, this was my idea first!” 

Before her sister could yell at her twin, you jumped in. 

“Plan? What plan?” You asked quizzically, both you and Hongjoong standing there confused.

“To get you guys to fall back in love again, of course!” Eunseo smiles, both her and her sister now giggling softly together.  

“How am I just finding out that there was a plan?” Hongjoong mutters, scratching his neck in confusion. You turned to the two girls, stopping in your tracks on your way to the car

“When did you two even think of all this?” grinning in astonishment as you felt Hongjoong slot his hand and intertwine it with yours. It felt natural now.

“Yeah, I'm curious too” he states, leaning close and becoming intrigued.

Your daughters look at each other before smiling. 

“It’s a long story.”

But at last, time is something you finally now have as a reunited family of four, walking back to your car, holding hands with a twin on each side.

Listening carefully, as your daughters start from the very beginning.

taglist: @vent-stink @dazzlingstarrs @vcutparis @xpixie @potatos-on-clouds @showingmafandomlove @bibbleypoof @kpop-will-kill-me @avantalem @beabatiny @gabrielle-brugger @nsixns @amaranth1ne @stayminho @myblovedjyh @kkeshia @rebekah-reads @yoonbroom @4kwp @butterflydemons @iwaizumiismybae @soobinsputnik @stayatinykatsy @atitties @justconniez @kitten4sannie @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @cheolsthicthighs @morethingsfandom @geminiml95 @byuntrash101 @quailbagutte @syubseokie @newworldwritings @urmom26john @sleepy-kat-here @pearltinyy @hjshyhyssnmgwyjh @cursedeastern @starryunho @piratekingateez2001 @jiminbility @paumll @drinkingrumandcocacola @roomsofangel @channies-bbg-room @meanaonthemoon @teeztopia @pommelex @kiln9z @sanhwalvr @youresolivlie @edawg77 @a-0206 @summer-gyu @bvidzsoo @yoongzsmile28 @tournesol155

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

I FW BEHSHSVBEVVDV

Heaven And Back ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: first time

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, virgin reader, use of drugs, eventual smut

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 2.7k

chapter two

masterlist

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The afternoon sun was too bright when y/n cracked open one bleary eye. Her laptop still hummed faintly on the desk across the room, a reminder of the all nighter she’d pulled to finish the ancient history essay that had been eating her alive for a week. She shifted under the covers, limbs heavy and slow, the ache of exhaustion buried deep in her bones.

Ningning’s bed was empty, again. No surprise there. Her roommate had practically moved into her girlfriend’s apartment two months ago, leaving y/n alone in their tiny dorm more often than not. She didn’t blame her. Honestly, she envied her a little.

Y/N groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head just as someone knocked, loudly, on the door.

“Open up, zombie!” came her best friend, Wooyoung’s unmistakable voice, bright and mischievous as always.

“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow.

The door creaked open anyway, Wooyoung barging in like he owned the place. He wore ripped jeans, a too big hoodie, hair dyed a fading red and a grin that could probably get him out of murder charges if he ever needed to.

“Come on,” he said, flopping down at the foot of her bed. “You’ve been hiding like a gremlin all week. I’m taking you out.”

“I’m tired,” Y/N whined, shoving the blanket down enough to glare at him. “I just finished the worst essay of my life. I think my brain is broken. My body’s next.”

“You sound so dramatic,” Wooyoung teased, poking her ankle. “You just need some good food and like… a good joint or something.”

She blinked at him. “I’ve never even smoked before.”

“Exactly!” he said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “It’s time you live a little. C’mon, get dressed. We’ll grab lunch, and then…” he wiggled his eyebrows. “you’re coming with me to pick up.”

“Pick up…?” she repeated slowly, still too sleep drunk to follow.

“My dealer,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Cool guy. You’ll like him. He’ll probably corrupt you faster than I can.”

Y/N groaned again, but there was already a little tug deep inside her chest, a stupid, restless curiosity that made her sit up.

Maybe a little corruption wasn’t the worst thing right now.

Maybe it would even make her feel something again other than absolute exhaustion.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time they made it to the tiny Korean BBQ spot Wooyoung loved, y/n was a little more awake, but not by much. She sat slumped in the booth, poking listlessly at her bowl of rice while Wooyoung inhaled an embarrassing amount of meat across from her.

“You look like you’re about to pass out into your food,” he said around a mouthful, grinning.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Y/N muttered. She picked up a piece of bulgogi, stared at it for a second, then put it back down with a sigh. “I don’t know, Woo. I thought college would be different. Like, fun or exciting or… at least bearable.”

He set his chopsticks down, suddenly a little more serious. “Burnout’s a bitch,” he said, shrugging like he knew the feeling too well. “No one tells you that the dream gets heavy real fast.”

She leaned her head against the cool window beside their booth, closing her eyes. “It’s like I’m either exhausted or guilty that I’m not doing more. Even when I’m doing everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Wooyoung said firmly, kicking her gently under the table. “You just need to chill out for a bit. Reset your brain.”

She cracked one eye open. “With a joint, apparently?”

“Damn right,” he said, flashing her a shit eating grin. “I’m telling you, one hit and you’ll forget all about ancient history and essays and existential dread.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but she smiled weakly, the first real smile she’d managed in days.

They finished eating, and after Wooyoung paid , because “this one’s on me, stress girl” they headed out into the chilly afternoon. The sun was already starting to dip low, painting the sky in muted golds and blues.

“You sure it’s okay for me to come?” Y/N asked as they turned down a quieter street, tucked between a row of low, grungy apartment buildings.

“He won’t care,” Wooyoung said, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Mingi’s chill. Honestly, he’ll probably offer you something the second you walk through the door.”

“Mingi,” Y/N repeated under her breath, tasting the name. It already sounded like trouble.

Wooyoung led her up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor of a rundown building. He knocked twice, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

“Mingi!” he called out.

Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet, like vanilla and musk mixed together. It was cluttered but cozy, low lighting, worn in furniture, a beat up guitar leaning against the couch.

And then he appeared.

Mingi.

Tall, broad shouldered, moving with a lazy kind of confidence as he padded out from the kitchen, a blunt tucked between his fingers. His hair was short and bleached almost white, messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. His black painted nails tapped rhythmically against the lighter in his other hand. A glint of silver flashed when he licked his lips, a tongue piercing, and when he stretched, his thin black tank top pulled tight against his chest, revealing the faint outlines of piercings underneath.

Y/N mouth went dry.

Wooyoung clapped Mingi on the shoulder casually. “This is Y/N,” he said. “Freshman, never smoked before, tired of life.”

Mingi’s eyes, sharp, dark, unreadable, flicked over her slowly. Not in a creepy way, but like he was reading her, cataloguing her.

“First time, huh?” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

Y/N swallowed thickly and nodded.

Mingi smirked, slow and easy. “Lucky me.”

And in that moment, as he passed her the freshly rolled blunt with two fingers and a wicked glint in his eye, y/n knew deep in her gut she was standing at the edge of something she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.

Maybe she didn’t even want to.

Mingi dropped onto the couch like he had all the time in the world, legs spread wide, head tipped back lazily against the cushions. He patted the empty spot beside him without a word.

Y/N hesitated for half a second before Wooyoung nudged her forward with a grin. “Don’t be shy. He only bites if you ask nicely.”

She shot Wooyoung a look, but her legs moved on their own, carrying her to the couch. She sat gingerly beside Mingi, leaving a careful few inches of space between them. He smelled like smoke and something darker underneath, leather and salt and skin warmed by the sun.

Mingi lit the blunt with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face, his heavy lidded eyes, the silver glint on his tongue when he tucked it against his cheek, the piercings beneath his tank top catching just enough light to hint at more hidden things.

He took a slow drag, holding it in before exhaling in a thick ribbon of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Then he turned to her, blunt pinched between two black painted fingers, the polish chipping slightly.

“Here,” he said, voice dipping a little lower. “Nice and easy.”

Y/N heart hammered painfully in her chest. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, his skin was warm, calloused. She raised it to her mouth like she’d seen people do in movies, feeling Mingi’s gaze heavy on her face, and inhaled.

Bad idea.

The smoke burned her throat instantly, her lungs seizing in protest. She coughed, hard, covering her mouth as her eyes watered. Wooyoung barked out a laugh from where he was perched in a chair nearby.

Mingi just chuckled low in his chest, the sound sinking into her skin like heat. He plucked the blunt back from her fingers, tapping it out against the edge of an ashtray.

“Not bad for a first timer,” he said, flashing her a grin full of teeth.

Y/N wiped at her watering eyes, already feeling the faintest buzz starting to prickle at the edges of her brain. Everything felt just a little softer, a little slower. Her body didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“You good?” Wooyoung asked, still laughing.

She nodded, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

Mingi leaned in a little closer, close enough that she could see the silver stud glinting against his tongue when he spoke.

“You wanna try again?” he asked, voice a slow drawl. “I’ll help you.”

There was something in the way he said it, low and thick, curling at the edges of her spine, that made her pulse spike.

Before she could second guess herself, y/n nodded.

Mingi brought the blunt back to his lips, took a slow, deep drag, and then leaned toward her, closer, closer, until there was barely an inch between them. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up gently.

“Open,” he murmured.

And y/n, without even thinking, parted her lips.

Mingi exhaled the smoke into her mouth, warm and sweet and dizzying, and y/n inhaled it like a prayer, like a sin she already knew she’d beg forgiveness for later. His thumb stroked a lazy line across her jaw as he pulled back, watching her through heavy lidded eyes.

The world tilted a little on its axis.

Everything inside her, the stress, the exhaustion, the constant weight she carried, faded for a second under the heavy rush of heat pooling low in her belly.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath. “Damn. Should I leave you two alone?”

Mingi just smirked, slow and dangerous.

Y/N didn’t even know what to say. All she could do was sit there, lungs burning, heart hammering, feeling like she was slipping, falling straight into the kind of trouble she didn’t think she wanted to be saved from.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

They hung around for a little while longer, the conversation lazy and looping. Mingi had this easy way about him, he didn’t say much, but when he did, it was sharp, funny, a little wicked. Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in days, even if half the time she couldn’t tell if it was from the weed or the way he looked at her like he already knew exactly how much she was unraveling inside.

Wooyoung eventually slapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Alright, you know why I’m really here,” he said grinning.

Mingi snorted, pushing up from the couch and disappearing into the other room for a second. He came back with a small purple colored ziplock bag, tossing it lazily to Wooyoung, who caught it one handed.

“Same as usual,” Mingi said, settling back down with a grunt.

Wooyoung fished some crumpled bills out of his pocket and dropped them onto the cluttered coffee table. “Pleasure doing business as always, my good sir.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mingi said without heat.

Then, as Wooyoung tucked the bag away and moved to grab his jacket, Mingi leaned forward, snagging another rolling paper from a small tin on the table. His ringed fingers made quick work of it, the movements practiced and slow, like he had nothing but time.

Without being asked, without even really looking at her, Mingi rolled another blunt. This one he licked closed, sealing it with a flick of his tongue that had y/n stomach tightening sharply.

“For you,” he said, voice low and rough, that half smirk curling at the edges of his mouth again. “Your own.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Wooyoung, but he just shrugged, grinning like he knew exactly what was happening here.

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Mingi added, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as she took it.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should in her hand. She tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of her hoodie, heart thudding stupidly in her chest.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice a little too soft, a little too shaky.

Mingi just leaned back, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“See you around. ” he said, like a promise.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath as they stepped back out into the cold hallway. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, laughing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re so fucked.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just kept walking, the little weight of the blunt in her pocket like a brand against her side, Mingi’s rough voice still echoing in her head.

Maybe she was fucked.

And maybe, deep down, she didn’t even mind.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The cafe was its usual mid afternoon slow shift, a few students hunched over laptops, a couple regulars nursing cold coffees they’d been nursing for hours. The hum of soft indie music filled the air, blending with the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.

Y/N leaned against the counter, chin resting in her hand, fighting to keep her eyes open. She hadn’t been sleeping well, every time she closed her eyes, her mind spun with deadlines and half finished thoughts… and the lingering memory of rough fingers brushing hers, a deep voice rumbling….

see you around

The blunt still sat hidden in her desk drawer, untouched. She didn’t know why she hadn’t smoked it yet, maybe because part of her knew it wasn’t just a blunt. It was a line, and once she crossed it, she wasn’t sure she’d come back the same.

Wooyoung dropped a dirty rag on the counter in front of her with a grin. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I’m not getting stuck on closing shift because you faceplanted into the pastry case.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, flipping him off half heartedly.

He laughed, tossing the rag into the back sink, and then straightened suddenly, eyes flicking toward the door.

Y/N turned and her stomach flipped violently.

Mingi stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, bleached hair spiked and messy. He looked a little out of place in the soft, pastel washed cafe, all sharp edges and dark energy but he didn’t seem to care.

He met her eyes across the room, and that slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Uh oh,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. “Your little crush is here.” He teased.

Y/N glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved off the counter, smoothing her apron down nervously.

Mingi sauntered up to the register, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back a little to meet his gaze. “Told you I would see you around.” He said, low and easy.

Y/N tried to roll her eyes, tried to pretend her pulse didn’t trip over itself. “Hey,” she managed, voice only slightly breathless. “What can I get for you?”

Mingi leaned in, bracing his elbows casually on the counter. His eyes dragged over her face, lingering just a beat too long on her mouth before he spoke. “Coffee,” he said finally. “Black. Whatever’s strongest.”

“Coming right up,” she mumbled, turning quickly to pour it. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back the whole time.

When she slid the cup across the counter to him, their fingers brushed again, deliberate this time. A little spark zipped up her arm, sharp enough to make her breath hitch.

Mingi didn’t pull away. He held the cup steady, eyes dark and unreadable. “You smoke that yet?” he asked, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Y/N mouth went dry. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Mingi’s smile deepened, slow and wicked, like he knew exactly why. Like he knew exactly what she was afraid of.

“Good,” he murmured. “Wait until you got someone around who knows how to take care of you.”

He tapped two fingers lightly against the side of his cup, like a secret, like a warning and then turned, sauntering back out into the cold afternoon without a glance back.

Y/N stood frozen behind the counter, heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

Wooyoung let out a long, low whistle from behind her. “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “You are so fucked.”

She couldn’t even argue.

Not when every part of her was already aching for more.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

HIDE THE SCISSORS

He looks so good oh my😩

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

awwwwwhahahaAWWWWWYUTCHUY😭

can you make shy good boy Hoon x fem reader? The story is up to you. I like all<3

girl this was such an innocent request I couldn't say no😭 hope you enjoy it though❤

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Iceboy" — Park Sunghoon

[request] “iceboy” — park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school!au, shy!sunghoon, figure skater!sunghoon, fluff, one-shot

warnings: none, pure fluff

wc: ~3.1k

📝: i love fluff sm😭 also sunghoon has been bias wrecking me lately so idk if I should take it as a sign hello?

༉‧₊˚.♡₊˚.༄

"I skate better when I know you are watching."

You noticed him before anyone else did.

It wasn’t because he was loud. He wasn’t. He was the opposite, actually. Always slipping out of class before the bell fully rang, disappearing down the hallway in a blur of black backpack straps and messy hair. Park Sunghoon was the kind of person who seemed permanently on the edge of something else.

Most people didn’t talk to him. Not because he was rude, but because he didn’t invite it. He kept his eyes down, gave polite nods in passing, and always seemed half-elsewhere, like his body was at school but his mind had clocked out hours ago.

You only knew his name because of roll call.

And then one day in November, you saw him practicing jumps in the courtyard behind the gym, early morning when most kids were still stumbling into homeroom.

At first, you thought he was just messing around. But no. His feet moved in counts. He wasn’t dancing. He was skating. Mentally, at least. You could see it in how his hands moved, how his body arched into something invisible beneath his sneakers. Controlled. Graceful. Quietly devastating.

You leaned on the railing and watched for a minute too long.

That’s when he noticed you. He froze, eyes wide, caught mid-step. Then, without a word, he grabbed his bag and bolted.

After that, you were curious.

Everyone whispered about him. How he was training for some championship. How he competed on the weekends. How he sometimes left early for Seoul.

But none of them really knew him.

So when you got paired with him for a history project two weeks later, you took it as fate.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat beside him. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

He looked up from his notebook slowly, blinking like you were speaking a language he hadn’t heard in a while. “Oh. Uh. Yeah.”

You smiled. “You okay with working during free period?”

He nodded. “That’s fine.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” you said. “I’ve seen you around.”

His cheeks flushed slightly at that, and you pretended not to notice the way he scratched behind his ear like he didn’t know what to say next.

You worked in the library that week. Or, tried to. He kept his head down, answered your questions, but never said more than needed. Until the third day.

You caught him scribbling in the margins of your shared outline.

Not notes—movements. Arrows, numbers. It looked like choreography.

“Is that for skating?” you asked, curious.

He froze. “What?”

“That,” you said, pointing. “That’s how you count music, right?”

He looked like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t mean to—sorry, I—sometimes I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, smiling. “It’s cool. I didn’t realize how complicated it was.”

Sunghoon looked at you for a moment. Like he was trying to figure you out. Then, barely audible, he said:

“Do you know much about skating?”

You shook your head. “Just what I’ve seen in Olympics videos. You do it seriously though, right?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been doing it since I was five.”

You leaned in slightly. “So that’s where you vanish to every day after school.”

He gave a small laugh under his breath. “Yeah.”

It was the first time you saw his smile.

And something about it—how small, how soft, how unguarded it was—made you want to see it again.

You started noticing the little things.

How he always tapped his fingers in eights, even when he was distracted. How he scribbled rink layouts on napkins during lunch. How his duffel bag had a stitched snowflake patch peeling off the side, probably from a tournament or camp.

Sunghoon never bragged. Never brought it up first. But when he did talk about skating, just a little, it was the only time his voice didn’t trail off.

You’d catch glimpses of it when he thought you weren’t looking—a quiet, breathless kind of focus. Like the sport wasn’t just something he did. It was something he was.

And slowly, things shifted.

He started waiting for you outside class, even when you weren’t working on your project anymore. Started offering you sips from his thermos during study hall. He never said much about it, but he always sat close. His presence, quiet and steady, became familiar.

There was a moment—Tuesday after school, a week before finals—where you caught him watching you laugh with your friends. You turned and met his eyes across the hallway.

Instead of looking away, he held your gaze. Just a second too long.

You smiled.

He didn’t smile back, but his ears went pink, and that was something.

Then, on Friday, he handed you a folded note without looking up.

“If you’re free this weekend… come watch. 7pm. Ice Center.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You read it twice. Your heart thudded once, loud.

When you looked up, Sunghoon was already walking away.

The rink was colder than you expected. The kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and nipped at your ankles. You pulled your coat tighter and stepped into the near-empty stands.

He didn’t know you were there yet.

He was already on the ice, alone, warming up with small circles and glides. His black jacket hugged his frame. Every movement looked sharp and rehearsed—but relaxed, too. Like his body remembered it all.

You leaned forward, chin tucked into your scarf, and watched as the music started.

And just like that, he changed.

Park Sunghoon on the ice wasn’t shy. He wasn’t quiet. He was in it—every step fluid, every jump catching the light. His expression was focused, serious, but not cold.

He looked like someone chasing something he loved.

You forgot to breathe more than once.

When the music faded out and his skates slowed, you clapped softly, just once, from your seat in the back.

His head snapped up.

He spotted you instantly.

And the look on his face—stunned, open, soft—was worth everything.

He skated to the edge, still catching his breath. “You came.”

You grinned. “I didn’t think you could move like that.”

He flushed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said. “You’re kind of amazing.”

He blinked. The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

There was a beat of silence. The air between you felt warm, even with the cold.

Then he said, almost shyly, “I skate better when I know you’re watching.”

Your heart fluttered.

You stepped closer to the barrier. “Then get used to me being around.”

He smiled again—that rare, unguarded one. The one that made your stomach flip.

“I’d like that.”

You started going to the rink more often after that.

He never asked you to—not directly—but his eyes always lit up when you showed. He’d skate cleaner, land sharper. And when he stumbled (rarely), he’d glance at you sheepishly like your opinion mattered more than the coach’s.

You started doing your homework in the bleachers.

He’d bring you hot chocolate from the vending machine.

When he wasn’t practicing, he’d sit beside you in the cold, sharing one headphone, shoulder-to-shoulder, pretending you weren’t both trembling just a little.

You got used to the silence between you. It was never awkward. It was Sunghoon’s kind—soft, grounding. It felt like snow just beginning to fall. Still. Meaningful.

He told you about Nationals in January. How it was his last year as a junior skater. How everything rested on this one performance.

“I have to land the quad axel this time,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty rink.

“Have you landed it before?”

He hesitated. “Twice. But never under pressure.”

You nudged his arm. “You’ll do it.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, quietly, “It’s easier to believe that when you’re around.”

Your heart stuttered.

You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He froze.

But only for a second.

Then, carefully, like he’d been waiting for this moment, he let his head tip to yours.

Neither of you said anything else that night.

The shift was subtle after that.

More eye contact. More touches that lingered. Sunghoon would walk you to your bus stop now, even when it meant taking the long way home. His friends started teasing him, calling you his “good luck charm,” but he never corrected them.

And sometimes, when the world went quiet and you caught him looking at you—really looking—you swore he was about to say something more.

But he never did.

Until the night before he left for the championship.

You met behind the school, by the courtyard. The same spot where you first saw him “skating” in sneakers.

He was in his warm-up jacket, holding a paper cup of hot chocolate for you both.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip. “You’re gonna do great tomorrow.”

He looked at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t know if I am.”

You frowned. “Don’t say that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the jumps or the pressure. It’s just… sometimes I get scared. That it’s all I am.”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“That if I lose… I lose more than just points.”

You stepped closer. “You’re not just skating. You’re you. And that’s— that’s already enough.”

His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something else. His hand brushed against yours—barely touching, barely there.

“I—”

You waited.

He opened his mouth.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he whispered, “Will you be there?”

Your heart ached. “Of course.”

His breath hitched. “Okay.”

You both stood in the quiet.

The moonlight caught the edge of his profile, and you thought, for one fragile second, that he might kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He just held your gaze like it meant everything.

And somehow, that was enough.

The championship was louder than anything you were used to.

Banners waving, announcers echoing through the arena, photographers perched like vultures near the rink. You sat where he asked—Lane 4, back row—hands buried in your coat pockets, heart thumping like you were the one about to compete.

You spotted him at the edge of the rink, head down, hands flexing in his gloves. His coach was saying something, but he looked elsewhere. Searching.

Then his eyes found you.

You raised a hand. He didn’t smile.

But he nodded.

And then he stepped onto the ice.

The music started. A quiet, haunting piano. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just like him. He opened with a clean triple toe loop. Easy. His blades whispered against the ice like secrets only he could tell.

He was breathtaking.

You didn’t blink. Not even once.

And then—the quad axel.

The leap was there. Height, rotation. The landing—too tight.

He stumbled.

Not enough to fall, but enough to break rhythm. You felt the arena inhale. A collective wince.

You didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

He straightened, adjusted, took off again. And the rest of the routine? Perfect. Controlled. Elegant. The kind of skating that made you forget where you were.

When he hit his final pose, chest rising and falling, you clapped until your palms stung.

He didn’t win.

He placed third.

But when he stepped off the ice, jacket slung over one shoulder, medal tucked into his palm, you could see it—the disappointment in his eyes. Quiet. Heavy.

You waited near the exit. When he finally reached you, still breathless from the press and the coaches and the chaos, you asked, “Can I hug you?”

He nodded.

You did. Tight. All in.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

His voice cracked. “I messed up.”

“You didn’t,” you said. “You got back up. That’s what matters.”

He pulled back, eyes shining. “I saw you. During the skate. I looked for you.”

“I was always here.”

You didn’t think. You just reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead, gently.

And he—he leaned in.

No hesitation this time.

His lips were cold, a little chapped. But the kiss was soft. Careful. Like he was still afraid to break something between you.

You didn’t let him.

You kissed back. Steady. Certain. And felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

When you pulled away, he stared at you, dazed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, voice barely audible.

You smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

A pause.

“Does this mean I’m officially your good luck charm now?”

Sunghoon laughed, a real one, full and bright. “You always were.”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

love roulette | p1h hyung line

It's a casual uni party, and you meet three very different guys that night: Keeho, the chatty bartender; Jiung, the cute vocalist of the band that's playing that night; Taeyang, the guy who's there for the gig just like you.

Who ends up walking you home depends on your choice.

🎲 Are you ready for the love roulette? Spin it & see it!

♦️ Pairing: female!reader/you x p1h hyung line

♦️ Genre: fluff, romance, uni au

♦️ Warning: mentions of alcohol, a dude who doesn't understand no

♦️ Word count: overall 9.9k (each boy's own story is around 2.5k)

♦️ A/N: This series is like a 'choose your own ending' kind of series that starts out with a general setting, but you can decide which boy's story you would like to read further as each boy has their own seperate ending.

♦️ Dedicated to: @dat-town ❤️

♦️ P1Harmony taglist: @tranquilpetrichor, @laaylaazyy, @americanokisses, @kuleo26, @hyu-won, @bamboongi, @syrxiee2, @wccycc, @littlestartonightsposts, @sunooslover, @chang-ryul

🎲 READ FURTHER TO START THE GAME

You knew that this was a bad idea.

You knew the moment your friend slash roommate said that it would be a nice little university party. University parties were neither nice, nor little. Not that you had ever been to one. It's just what you had heard of. Someone always overestimated their drinking capabilities, girls were frequently hit on by rude guys who didn't understand no, and wild stories were going around campus even weeks after the little gatherings.

However, Gaeul's boyfriend, Intak, would be performing with his band at this music venue that was somewhere between a club and a bar. She didn't really beg you to come with her, but she also didn't want to go alone because a douchebag had tried to hit on her last time, and almost ganged up on her with his friends. If it hadn't been for Intak showing up right then, things might have gotten out of hand. So after that experience, you willed yourself to accompany her, at least until her boyfriend's band would finish, and you could go back to the dorms. That was the plan, at least. However, just like with everything at university parties, this didn't work out quite like you had imagined.

Not that the band was bad or anything. In fact, they were pretty good. At least, according to your standards, they were. You didn't really know a lot about music theory, but they were said to be a punk-rock band, and you had your punk-rock phase once.

"They don't really like to identify themselves as only one genre. Just like their name, Evergreen, they are trying out all genres that are well-loved by the people. Punk-rock, pop rock, British pop and so on," Gaeul had explained to you after you had arrived at the venue, and you had been standing by the stage, waiting for the band to start. She had sounded like their manager or PR person or something. She liked to pride herself in the fact that she had done their logo and helped out with their social media sites, so it was no wonder she was so up-to-date with such stuff.

The problem wasn't with them. What's more, standing so close to the stage meant that you had a good enough view of them. Intak was the bassist and rapper, Jiung was the guitarist and vocalist, Hyunsuk was on the drums and Doyum was on the synthesiser. Your eyes kept going back to Jiung with his fluffy, chestnut-brown hair, cute dimples that popped off whenever he was smiling (and he was smiling a lot!), velvety voice that seriously touched your heart when they played a ballad song, and his shy interactions with the audience. At one point, you felt like he was looking at you, right at you. They were singing a song called Lovestruck which was about a boy confessing to a girl that caught his eyes, but he was afraid to approach her as he had never done anything like this before. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, you told yourself, but matched with the lyrics, it felt oddly... fluttering?

Either way, when the band took a break, and Gaeul went backstage to meet up with Intak, you told her that you would go and get some drinks. There was a bit of a queue for the drinks, and you didn't want anything strong either way (one of the reasons you didn't go to parties was that you didn't necessarily indulge in alcoholic drinks).

No wonder the bartender looked a bit bewildered when you asked if they had plain water.

"Uhmm... I mean, yeah, we do have. But if you're bored of plain water, we have some non-alcoholic drinks, too. Not that I want you to have them, but you know, if you're here, it would be a shame to miss out on my very own Winter Wonderland cocktail," the bartender chattered gleefully, and he leaned closer on the counter as if he was telling you a secret when he continued. "Don't tell anyone, but I just call it the Elsa cocktail in my head," he admitted, donning a boyish grin, and you couldn't help but follow suit, your lips curling into a genuine smile.

"Okay, I guess I have to try that Elsa cocktail."

"Sshh, I've told you it's a secret name," the boy shushed you, but there was mischief in his eyes and childish excitement in his smile, so you knew that he was joking.

"What is in it though?" You asked before you would say your final call. You could only guess that the cocktail had such a name because it was white and maybe blue, too.

"Oh, there's some curaçao for the blue, and it also has elderflower syrup, sparkling water, some mint extract and coconut flakes.”

"Oh, okay, that sounds intriguing,” you noted, quite impressed that someone came up with the combination of these ingredients. While you were waiting for your cocktail to be ready, the chatty bartender introduced himself as Keeho, and shared with you how he had come up with the said cocktail himself. He and his friends had this chill sleepover at some campsite after their first semester where there was this do-it-yourself bar, and that's where he had made his Elsa cocktail for the first time.

"It's a good proof that you can have pretty good things when you least expect it," Keeho concluded after winding up his story and finishing your drink.

"Yeah, I agree," you nodded with a friendly smile, not even expecting to bump into such a fun stranger at this place. Even though Keeho seemed like the jokester type, he took his job seriously, and you saw it in the way he was ever so precise with his measurements. However, he couldn't miss the opportunity to do a little shake dance when he was mixing the ingredients in his cocktail shaker.

When you tried the drink, you were pleasantly surprised. It was a bit sour, a bit sweet, but it had such a nice aftertaste, you actually really enjoyed it. Even the blue stuff didn't throw off the balance.

"It's really good," you smiled at the bartender genuinely. He did a little courtesy, then laughed it off, telling you that he was glad to see you enjoying the drink, especially after your plain water request.

You did actually start feeling yourself at this point, but you knew that the break for the band was about to end and there was already a queue behind you too, so you paid and thanked the bartender for your drink. After manoeuvring between sweaty bodies for quite a while, you managed to get back to Gaeul.

"What's that? It looks super cool," your friend immediately beamed at the sight of your cocktail, and you shared both your drink and your funny encounter with the bartender with the girl. She got so pumped up that she asked you to remind her of ordering one for herself once the concert would be over.

As you looked at your watch, you noticed that you still had a bit of time until the break would be over, so you asked Gaeul to hold your cocktail for you because you needed to head to the restroom. There was a bit of a queue, but you managed to finish just in time for the first song. Or you thought so...

"Hey, honey. Are you lost?" A random guy by the wall asked as you were craning your neck to see above the heads of people around, to see if Gaeul was still around the same area of the dance floor or she moved closer. Given that your best friend was quite small (she would behead you if you said that she was adorably petite), you didn't have too much luck this way.

"No," you shook your head confidently, hoping that the guy would get the message. However, instead of doing so, he grabbed your wrist and made you turn towards him.

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I'm heading towards my friend, so if you excuse me..." You tried your best to stay composed, but the guy's grip didn't loosen around your wrist, and the noise around you with the band starting on their song heightened, so it was more difficult to gain anyone's attention around you.

You tried to yank your arm away from the stranger, but to no avail. You had all kinds of thoughts going through your head, one more frantic than the other. Should you scream for help despite the loud music around? Should you kick him? Should you bite his arm?

However, in the next second, a tall, similarly unfamiliar boy with clearly dyed, slightly longer burgundy hair stood by you, and peeled the other guy's fingers off your wrist. It was in such a swift moment that you didn’t even have time to think or to protest. Not that you would have protested, to be honest.

"Who the hell are you?" The first guy hollered, quite frustrated, but the burgundy-haired one stayed calm.

"I'm the friend she was heading towards, so if you don't want me to file a complaint for harassment, I advise you to leave," he suggested with a semi-warning tone, but before the other could speak up, he continued. "There are CCTVs operating in here, and you can bet that anyone seeing her clearly wanting to break free from your grip would take her side."

Despite the fact that he wasn’t the friend you had been referring to, his tone was so firm that it didn’t leave room for any doubt. You didn’t even know if there were CCTVs around, but given his unwavering confidence, you wouldn’t have dared to go against his words. Neither did the rude guy, it seemed, as he backed off without apologising, but at least, he was out of sight in the next minute. Your shoulders immediately easened, and you let out a long, long sigh that you had been suppressing so far.

You turned towards the stranger with the chin-length, burgundy hair. Under the neon lights of the club, and with the catchy beats of the love song that was blasting through the speakers as the background music, he seemed like a dream. A dream that came suddenly and a dream that would go away all too soon, slipping through your fingers before you could hold onto reality.

“Are you okay?” He exclaimed over the music around, and despite the stern edge to his voice from earlier, his voice was gentle this time. He also had surprisingly soft features when he didn’t throw daggers with his almond-shaped eyes and when his lips weren’t pressed into a thin line.

“Yes. Thank you so much. For both the question and for helping me out,” you justified after clearing your throat, looking up at him expectantly. You didn’t know why you just stood there still, but your body wouldn’t budge, and due to the loud music around, you needed to be close to each other to understand what the other was saying, so you should have felt a bit nervous so close to someone like him.

Yet, you weren’t nervous.

“It was nothing. Guys like him need to learn a lesson,” he huffed, semi-annoyed, and your heart did a little somersault. It was silly, you knew that all too well. He probably said so out of courtesy, but still, the fact that he had been willing to step in and help you out meant a lot to you. “Are you actually with a friend or alone?”

“Oh, I’m here with my best friend for real. She’s probably close to the stage because her boyfriend is playing in the band that’s on, I’ve just gone to the restroom, and I bumped into this guy when I came out,” you answered him, probably unnecessarily long-winded, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he bobbed his head rather seriously, looking around for a moment before his eyes settled on you again.

“I’ll help you find your friend. It’s best if we go together after this. The crowd is also pretty tight closer to the stage,” he offered nonchalantly, and if it hadn’t been for him helping out before, you might have thought that he had ulterior motives. Given the circumstances though, you merely nodded, and made your way to Gaeul while squeezing yourself between sweaty bodies and checking over your shoulder every once in a while to see if the boy was still following you.

When you arrived beside Gaeul, she was so into the current song that she barely realised you were there, so you tapped her shoulder to gain her attention.

“Oh hey, you’re back!” She shouted over the music, and gave you a wide, dazzling smile. Happiness indeed looked good on her, you thought, as you smiled back.

When Gaeul’s chocolate-brown eyes darted from you to the boy beside you who just looked back at her, probably noting the fact that she was the friend you had been referring to without saying anything, you felt like the beat pulsating through the room and sending waves under your feet was in stark comparison to the atmosphere that fell upon the three of you.

The thought crossed your mind that the stranger would definitely leave because he was done with what he had offered to do, so he probably had no reason to stay, and it was awkward either way. You meant you showing up with a total stranger, and coming up to Gaeul as if you had known each other. Yeah, it was for the better if he left…

“Oh hi, I’m Gaeul! I’m her friend and dorm roommate,” the bob-haired girl introduced herself, still shouting over the music to get her message across.

“I’m Taeyang,” the burgundy-haired boy replied in an instant, his voice coming out stronger and more hoarse now that he was also raising his voice to be heard. Your friend nodded, then directed a knowing glance in your direction. However, before you could ask what was that for, a roar of applause reverberated through the place as the song came to an end, the band halting to talk a bit about the next song.

If you thought that was it for the unexpected events happening that day, you were in for a surprise. The rest of the night was even more surprising.

🎲 NOW, CHOOSE YOUR OWN ENDING:

🍀THEO

🍀JIUNG

🍀KEEHO

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER TWO : : SILK TO STITCH

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.

genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

chapter warnings : : mention(s) of 'y/n', alcohol, wooyoung being a little shit but we been knew

word count : : 5.6k

[series masterlist]

—It might’ve been dawn. You couldn’t really tell.

The sky was caught in that gray in-between, where the stars had slipped away, but the sun hadn’t committed to rising yet. You stood at the very back of the ship, alone, leaning over the gunwale where the wood was cold and slick under your palms. No voices. No footsteps. Just the groan of the ship and the wind threading through your hair, undoing the work of the maids who had fussed over it hours ago.

The wind tugged at your gown, already wrinkled and stained. Crimson silk looked foolish now—too formal, too loud, too royal—on a ship where boots thudded, knives clinked against belts, and no one wore red unless it was blood.

Your hair had come undone hours ago. It whipped around your face, strands catching in your lips, your lashes. You didn’t fix it. You didn’t care. The chill clung to your skin like a second dress, biting under your collar, threading cold fingers through your spine.

The ocean stretched in all directions—endless, silent, godless. There was no shore in sight. No torchlit palace. No Jisoo. No Taeyang. Just the ache in your head and the bruises forming quietly beneath your skin.

You’d made a decision. And now you weren’t sure what kind.

At the time, it had felt like freedom. It had tasted like air after suffocation. One ring for one choice. A simple trade.

But now?

You’d begged to stay on a ship full of criminals. Men who kidnapped people for money. Who carried guns and blades and didn’t blink when they used them. Who tied you up without hesitation and laughed while doing it. You didn’t know their rules. You didn’t know what line you’d have to cross to lose their mercy. If they even had mercy.

What if they changed their minds? What if that captain—Hongjoong—got bored of playing your game and decided you weren’t worth the trouble?

You had no crown here. No guards. No brother to defend you. You were a girl with nothing, floating somewhere between life and death with people who knew how to throw bodies overboard without leaving a splash behind.

What had you done?

You tried to remind yourself: anything was better than being sent back. Anything was better than Chanwoo. That palace. That lie of a life.

But fear had a different voice. A quieter one. It whispered through your bones now, asking the question you hadn’t wanted to consider until the sky turned gray.

What if you made the wrong choice?

You gripped the edge of the ship harder, fingers aching, knuckles pale beneath the cold. The sea below rolled slow and dark, thick with quiet threat. The kind of quiet that pressed too close, like it was waiting to swallow you if you so much as leaned too far forward.

Footsteps approached behind you—soft, deliberate. Not the kind that stumbled. You didn’t turn right away.

Then came the shift in weight, the low creak of wood, and a figure leaned beside you on the gunwale—his posture easier than yours, arms folded, the picture of someone used to standing on a swaying deck without bracing against the motion.

You turned your head slowly.

He had platinum-blonde hair that looked silver in the early dawn light, wind-swept and effortlessly neat in the way only pirates and wolves could be. His face was sharp, elegant even—cheekbones that could cut, eyes narrowed slightly, the sort of man who didn’t need to speak often to be heard. There was no warmth in his gaze, but no cruelty either.

“Your Majesty,” he said, dry as the salt wind. “You’ve been standing here long enough to freeze the blood in your toes.”

You smiled faintly, despite yourself. “It’s Highness, actually.”

That made him turn to you, one brow raised. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No,” you replied, “Majesty is for kings and queens.”

He scoffed, mouth twitching into a snarky half-smile. “Right. Royalty and their rules.”

You paused, letting the wind play between the silence. “Do pirates have roles?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Of course we do.”

You glanced sideways at him. “What’s yours?”

“I’m the first mate,” he said simply. “The captain’s right hand.”

“And if someone called you by the wrong one,” you asked, glancing at him, “would you correct them?”

He looked at you, brow raised, caught in the question’s hook. “Yeah. I would.”

“Then why is it wrong for me to do the same?”

He didn’t answer. You turned back to the sea, its endless blue-black stretch far easier to talk to than the man beside you. But he didn’t leave.

“Why don’t you want to go back to your kingdom?” he asked finally.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

He leaned on his elbows beside you, patient in that pirate way that said he had time—time and nowhere better to be. “Try me.”

You looked at him, really looked this time, and said, “My parents want to marry me off to a prince, Lee Chanwoo.”

His nose wrinkled, and he actually winced. “Didn’t he…?”

“Kill his last two wives?” You smiled faintly, sadly. “Yes.”

“And they still want you to marry him?”

You nodded, voice low. “They want the alliance. It’s only possible if I marry him. My brother—he’s the crown prince, soon to be king—he’s the only one who’s on my side. But even he can’t stop it. In the end, our father’s word is final.”

“And when you go back?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “They’ll just marry you off again. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

You shook your head. “The Lee family, they’re superstitious. The marriage has to happen within a specific lunar cycle. A month from now, the window closes. After that, they’ll call the match cursed.”

He stared at you, lips parting slightly in disbelief. “That’s... complicated.”

You laughed. A soft, tired sound, bitter around the edges. “Welcome to royalty.”

For a while, the two of you just stood there, the creak of sails above, the whisper of sea spray, the distant calls of early gulls.

Then he asked, “What’s your name?”

You turned to him, surprised. He raised a brow. “Unless you’d prefer I keep calling you Your Highness,” he added, lips tugging into a teasing smile.

You laughed again, more real this time. “It’s Y/N.”

A small smile curled on his lips, rare and flickering. He extended a hand, firm and calloused. “Seonghwa.”

He let go first. “You should come inside. You’ll freeze standing out here.”

You shook your head. “I’ll stay a while longer.”

He nodded once, stepping back. You didn’t watch him walk away. But you heard his boots fade toward the upper deck, slow and even.

You knew he had come to see if your little plea to stay was sincere. To test the story, maybe repeat it to the captain. Maybe let the others laugh about the princess who ran from a wedding and thought the sea was safer.

You knew that.

—The sun had risen. Pale and gold, stretching across the endless water like it had nothing better to do than shine where it wasn’t needed.

You were still there.

Leaning against the gunwale, ankles stiff, the soles of your feet starting to ache inside shoes that weren’t made for wooden floors. Your dress had gone cold hours ago, and now it felt like wearing damp velvet armor—beautiful, useless, and heavy.

You didn’t exactly know what to do.

You’d never been on a pirate ship before. You didn’t know the rhythm of things, when you were allowed to move, when it was smart to speak. On royal ships, you were waited on. You never had to learn the parts or the process. Everything came with a bow and a silver tray.

Here? There was no tray. And no one bowed.

And after last night, it was obvious they didn’t like you. Not as a person. As a type.

So you stayed at the back of the ship, fingers toying with the few rings you still wore. Twisting them, turning them. The metal was warm from your skin, and playing with them gave your hands something to do, even if your mind stayed too loud.

“Morning.”

The man standing in front of you was tall—taller than anyone had a right to be, really—and broad-shouldered. His dark navy blue hair was tousled, the tips catching the light like ink brushed with silver. There was something open about him, something easy in the way he stood, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m Yunho,” he said, friendly but not too forward. “Figured I should say hi before we sail too far into awkward silence.”

You blinked once, surprised. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know.” He grinned. “You’re kind of a hot topic around here.”

You smiled, just barely. It wasn’t cruel, what he said. Just honest.

“You planning to stand here all day?” he asked, tilting his head. “You know, no food, no water, slowly turning into a very expensive statue?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” he said, already stepping forward like he didn’t believe you. “But if you faint and hit your head again, the crew’s going to blame me. And that’s bad for morale.”

You couldn’t help it—your lip twitched. “Is that how you treat your guests?”

“You’re not a guest,” Yunho replied easily. “You’re cargo we can’t sell. At least not anymore.”

Charming.

“Come on,” he added, motioning with a tilt of his head. “You should eat something. Worst case, you hate it and spit it out. Best case, you survive and we keep our investment breathing.”

With no better option and a stomach that had long stopped growling out of pure pride, you followed him.

The ship’s corridors were tight and low, the wood groaning beneath every step. You walked behind him, your skirt catching now and then on corners, one hand brushing the walls for balance. Overhead, you could hear the low rumble of voices and the steady thud of boots—crew, working above deck.

Yunho led you through a narrow passage and into a wider space where the air was warmer, laced with spice and something that smelled vaguely like bread.

The kitchen was small, cluttered in a way that felt lived-in rather than neglected. Metal pans hung from hooks. Herbs were tied up near the window to dry. A small table sat tucked near the far wall, barely big enough for three people.

Yunho clapped his hands once. “Woo!”

There was a long pause before, “Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” came a voice from somewhere behind the shelves.

You turned to see another man step out, wiping his hands on a towel. He was shorter than Yunho, with light blonde hair falling over his forehead, pushed back just enough to show a glint of a silver earring. His eyes were sharp—mischief lingering behind them like it had found a permanent home there—and his mouth was already curled into a smirk before he’d even said anything.

“Well,” he said, giving you a once-over that wasn’t impolite, just observant. “If it isn’t our royal stowaway.”

You raised an eyebrow at his tone, unimpressed, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Probably the latter.

He leaned against the counter, cocking his head. “So… what would Her Highness like today?”

You opened your mouth, half a reply already forming—

“Wooyoung,” Yunho cut in, rolling his eyes, “two plates. Please.”

Wooyoung smirked, not bothering to argue, and turned back toward the shelves.

Yunho gestured to the table. “Sit. Before you fall over.”

He dropped into his seat first, elbows on the wood, fingers tapping out some idle rhythm. You moved more slowly, settling in across from him, posture instinctively proper—straight back, shoulders poised, hands folded neatly in your lap.

A moment later, Wooyoung returned, balancing two chipped plates. He slid one in front of you and the other in front of Yunho, along with mismatched forks.

You looked down. There were mashed potatoes and a piece of fried chicken. You barely stopped yourself from frowning.

Mashed potatoes? For breakfast? You didn't say it aloud. You figured you were already on thin enough ice.

“Not palace cuisine, I know,” Wooyoung said, watching you with a grin. “No gold-plated cutlery or twelve-course meals. Tragic.”

You smiled at him tightly. “And no servants to taste it first. I suppose I’ll take my chances.”

His grin widened, and he walked back behind the shelves with a short laugh.

You picked up the fork, stabbing a cautious bite of the potatoes. They were a little cold, a little uneven, but not terrible. Certainly not the silky, butter-laced ones you were used to back home—but edible. And if you were going to survive here for the next month, you’d have to get used to food that didn’t come with garnishes and three sets of forks.

Wooyoung came back a minute later with three metal mugs, sloshing with something dark.

He passed one to Yunho, took one for himself, then offered the last to you.

“What is this?” you asked, peering into the cup like it might bite you.

“My homemade rum,” Wooyoung said proudly.

“Rum,” you repeated. “In the morning?”

Wooyoung chuckled, already sipping his. “Darling, you’re on a pirate ship. Rum’s drank like water here.”

You looked back into the cup again. You didn’t trust it. It didn’t even smell like proper rum—it smelled stronger, sharper, like it had no business being legal anywhere.

Wooyoung noticed your hesitation. He leaned forward slightly, hand reaching toward your mug.

“It’s fine,” he said, mockingly gentle. “I get it. Princesses like you are more into wine and champagne. Little sugared fruit on the rim, maybe a mint leaf—”

You snatched the mug back before he could touch it. “I’ll drink it.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Carefully, you took a sip, and immediately, your mouth twisted in disgust. You brought a hand up to cover your face, coughing once through clenched teeth.

Both Yunho and Wooyoung burst out laughing. “Can’t blame you,” Yunho said, raising his mug in solidarity. “We all had the same reaction the first time.”

Wooyoung leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “I remember San vomiting his insides for, like, an hour. Didn’t get up until the next afternoon.”

“Only Jongho handled it,” Yunho added. “Didn’t even blink. Just poured himself another.”

You set the mug down slowly, pushing it a safe distance away with two fingers.

“You people are insane,” you muttered.

Wooyoung raised his mug again. “Welcome to the crew.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could bite back a reply, his gaze shifted, narrowing slightly as he tilted his head. His smirk faded just a little.

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue. “San really clocked you, huh?”

Your hand went up on instinct, fingers brushing the dried edge of blood at your temple. It was crusted along your skin, a thin, flaky trail you hadn’t thought much about until now.

“It’s fine,” you said, a little too quick.

“Still,” Yunho said, pushing his plate away, “after this, I’ll take you to Yeosang. He’s the closest thing we have to a medic. He’ll clean it up properly.”

You nodded, not entirely thrilled about someone poking at your head, but you figured infection on a pirate ship probably wasn’t a great look either.

Once breakfast was over—plates cleared, mugs emptied (yours pushed as far away from you as possible)—Yunho stood and motioned for you to follow.

The two of you moved back through the narrow corridors, the wood underfoot uneven in places, the air carrying that familiar scent of sea salt and something faintly metallic.

He stopped in front of a plain wooden door, pushing it open with his shoulder. The room inside was small and smelled like clean linen and old rum. A few makeshift beds lined the walls—thin mattresses, some with folded blankets, a few more like worn cots than proper beds. Glass bottles were tucked into shelves, most unlabeled, though a few had scrawled notes tied around their necks with twine.

“Sit there,” Yunho said, pointing to one of the beds. “I’ll find Yeosang. He might be in the map room.”

You sat slowly, careful not to crush the side of your gown. The mattress dipped under your weight, softer than you expected, and you glanced around the room. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t neat either. A kind of organized chaos—like someone worked here often and knew exactly where everything was, even if no one else did.

The door creaked open again a few minutes later.

A man stepped in, closing it behind him with a quiet thud. He was lean, with wavy red hair that brushed just past his ears. There was a birthmark next to his left eye, subtle but noticeable, and his hands were stained with ink—faint smudges along his fingers and knuckles, the kind only someone who spent hours writing or drawing could have.

Yeosang, you assumed.

He gave you a once-over, quiet and efficient, before turning toward the shelf. “Anywhere else you’re hurt?”

You shook your head. “No. Just that.”

He nodded and soaked a piece of cotton in a clear solution before dabbing it gently against your temple. The dried blood softened under his touch, wiped away in slow circles. The sting wasn’t bad, but it caught you off guard. You clenched your jaw, eyes flicking to the wall in front of you as he worked.

Your thoughts drifted. By now, the palace would be in chaos. Your absence wouldn’t have gone unnoticed for long. Not with the wedding looming and your name attached to half the kingdom’s trade agreements. You could imagine the closed-door meetings. The soldiers were dispatched. The quiet fear behind your mother’s eyes, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud.

But it was your brother who came to mind.

He’d be the first to move. The first to tear down cities if it meant finding you. Taeyang wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t rest. And the longer you stayed gone without word, the more dangerous it became—for everyone.

You needed him to know you were okay. Not safe—but alive and willingly gone.

You needed him to stop. Not because you didn’t want to see him, but because if he kept looking, he would find you. And if he found you… It would all be over.

You turned slightly toward Yeosang. “Will you be docking anywhere soon?”

He nodded without hesitation. “Sakaris. In a few hours, maybe.”

Your chest lifted. Sakaris. Jihoon lived there. One of your brother’s closest friends since they were boys. Trusted. Loyal. If you could just get word to him...

“Would I be able to meet someone there? Just for a moment. I want to send a letter to my brother.”

Yeosang frowned slightly, finishing up the bandage and stepping back. “You’d have to ask the captain for that.”

You sank back a little. Of course.

The captain.

The same one who’d pinned you to the edge of the ship with a gun pressed to your head, whose entire body had bristled with disdain the moment he found out who you were.

Not exactly someone you were dying to have another conversation with.

Still. If this letter didn’t go out, your brother would find you. With ships. And questions. And maybe worse.

“Can you take me to him?” you asked.

Yeosang stood, returning the bottle to the shelf. “I’ll walk you there.”

You followed him without a word, your steps light but your stomach heavy. The ship groaned around you as it swayed, and every few feet, you passed a crewmember or heard a snatch of conversation echoing from the deck above. But no one looked twice. Maybe they were getting used to your presence. Or maybe they just didn’t care.

The captain’s cabin sat at the far end of the corridor, behind a door that looked heavier than the rest—dark wood with the paint scratched around the handle, like it had seen its fair share of slams and fists. Yeosang knocked once.

“Come in,” said a voice, too soft to match the man it belonged to.

Yeosang opened the door and stepped aside, holding it for you.

he room smelled like ink, old wood, and rum. The desk was a mess—parchments, maps, scribbled notes, a few gold coins scattered like he hadn’t bothered to care where they landed. And behind it sat the captain, leaned back in his chair with one leg hooked over the other, a mug dangling from his hand.

His hair looked like it had been neat once. Half-black, half-blonde, tousled now from too many frustrated fingers raking through it. He hadn’t shaved recently, and the stubble along his jaw made him look a little more human than you expected. But the moment his eyes found you, any softness vanished.

He didn’t bother hiding the irritation, not in his stare, not in the slow exhale through his nose, not in the faint tightening of his mouth.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you felt Yeosang move to your side, silent as ever.

“What does our princess want now?” Hongjoong said, lifting the mug to his mouth without breaking eye contact.

You kept your chin high. “I want to send a letter.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A letter.”

“To my brother,” you added. “He’ll be looking for me. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to.”

Hongjoong set the mug down with more force than necessary, the sound sharp against the desk.

“No.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something twisted in your chest. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” he said, plainly. “And I’m not about to hand over the location of this ship to the royal family. We’re not playing house, princess. This isn’t some little game where you get to mail letters from the sea.”

“If I don’t send it,” you said, stepping forward slightly, “he’ll find me. My brother will tear the ports apart. He’ll hurt your crew if he thinks I’m in danger—”

Hongjoong slammed his palm against the table and stood in one motion, the chair screeching behind him. “This is exactly why I hate royals,” he spat, voice rising. “You walk into rooms thinking you’re more important than everyone else. That your problems should be our problems. That your blood means we should bend.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “I’m not saying that.”

“You are,” he snapped.

“I’m telling you the reality.”

The two of you locked eyes, the space between you crackling with the kind of energy that made people either kiss or kill each other.

And right now, you wanted nothing more than to bury him alive.

He leaned forward over the table, jaw tense. “And how do you plan on sending this letter, Your Highness?”

You lifted your chin. “I know someone in Sakaris. A merchant. Jihoon. I’ll give the letter to him, he’ll pass it along.”

Hongjoong let out a short, sharp laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “You mean you want to leave the ship. Walk around Sakaris. In that little ball gown?” He gestured vaguely in your direction, scoffing. “You’ll be spotted before you blink. You’ll have the whole damn city on us in an hour.”

You resisted the urge to throw something at his head.

Your jaw locked, and you glared at him, hard enough to imagine it might burn. God, you hated him. His smugness. His condescension. The fact that you had to ask him for anything at all.

Before you could snap something you’d regret, Yeosang spoke quietly beside you. “Perhaps… we could give her some normal clothes. So she could blend in.”

Your eyes snapped to him, hopeful. “Yes. That would work.”

Hope sparked low in your chest as you looked between Yeosang and the captain. He was glaring at Yeosang now, clearly rethinking his entire crew structure.

Then he looked back at you. His head dropped forward, chin touching his chest. A long breath escaped him, like this entire conversation had aged him.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice low with reluctance.

He reached to the side of his desk, grabbed something, and tossed it to Yeosang—your ring. Yeosang caught it one-handed without blinking.

“Turn it into coin,” Hongjoong said flatly. “You and Jongho. Stock the ship while you’re at it.”

He looked at you, his mouth curling into a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

“And me and Mingi will go shopping for our princess.”

The sarcasm in his tone was thick enough to drown in. You said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But you did shoot him one last glare as you turned and followed Yeosang out.

—The streets of Sakaris pulsed with life. Stalls brimmed with produce, cloth, and cheap jewelry, merchants barked out deals, and the air carried a mix of salt, spice, and the smoke of open grills. The sun sat just past its peak, casting long shadows between the crooked buildings and glowing off the sea in the distance.

Hongjoong walked ahead, sharp-eyed, coat catching the breeze behind him. Mingi strolled a few steps behind, hands stuffed in his pockets, chewing on a toothpick and bobbing his head to a beat no one else could hear. His bright yellow-orange hair caught the light like a torch, impossible to miss. Hongjoong had told him not to dye it that color. Loud. Obvious. Idiotic, if you asked him.

But then again, when did Mingi ever listen?

“Wild,” Mingi said casually, catching up, “out of everything we’ve done, I never thought we’d end up shopping for a princess.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes without turning his head. “Let’s just make this quick.”

They passed several crowded booths, most displaying flashy garments—glittering dresses with too much fabric, frilly corsets, impractical heels. Things better suited for a ballroom than a pirate deck.

Eventually, they found a smaller stall wedged between a food cart and a fishing vendor. This one was simpler. Worn linen, thick cottons, rough leathers. Real clothes.

Mingi immediately grabbed the first set he saw—a pair of fitted trousers and a loose white blouse—and held them up like he’d struck gold.

“She’s gonna hate this,” Hongjoong muttered.

“What? It’s clean. Looks comfortable.” Mingi turned it toward him. “Functional.”

Hongjoong gave it one glance. Then gave Mingi a look that said you’ve clearly never met a princess in your life.

“She’s a royal. She’d rather get eaten by sharks than wear trousers.”

Mingi frowned, looking at the clothes again. “I think women look hot in trousers.”

“Good for you,” Hongjoong muttered, already ignoring him.

He pulled out a long dress—not frilly, not soft. It was deep charcoal gray with faded red stitching along the sleeves and neckline. The material was sturdy, almost military in feel, but it flowed enough not to restrict movement. The skirt hit around the ankles, and the high neckline dipped just slightly into a lace-up front. Modest enough to pass, but practical—something that wouldn’t trip her while walking the deck or raise suspicion in town. It had the look of something someone not royalty might wear.

He paired it with a simple leather belt and a pair of worn brown boots with decent soles.

Tossing it all on the counter, he said, “Price?”

The vendor—a stocky woman with sun-worn skin and a sharp gaze—named a number. Hongjoong handed her coins without haggling.

Mingi leaned on the table, watching the transaction. Then, casually, “So… why’d you let her stay?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer at first. He collected the bundle, tucking it under his arm. “She offered double what we would’ve gotten from ransom. Just to stay on board for a month.”

“And you hate her,” Mingi added helpfully.

“Yes,” Hongjoong said flatly.

“So… why agree?”

He finally looked at Mingi. “Because I’m not an idiot. She stays quiet, we get paid, and I don’t have to see her unless something catches fire. It’s a business arrangement, not a charity.”

Mingi nodded like he understood. Then added, “Still. I think you did the right thing.”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Well,” Mingi said, voice softer now, “she’s supposed to marry Prince Chanwoo. And anyone marrying him is basically signing their death sentence. You didn’t just keep her on board, hyung—you probably saved her life.”

Hongjoong frowned deeply, like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “You mean I saved a royal?”

Mingi’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not—wait, that’s not what I meant—”

—You didn’t know what exactly you were expecting when Hongjoong returned.

But it wasn’t this.

He stepped into the room without knocking, as if the ship were his—as if every room aboard it bowed to him. Which, unfortunately, it did. His coat was dusted with the scent of the Sakaris marketplace—spices, sweat, and sea air—and under his arm was a folded bundle of dark fabric and worn leather. He dropped it unceremoniously onto the nearest chair.

“There,” he said. “Your royal wardrobe.”

You stepped forward slowly, eyebrows already drawing together. The dress looked like something a barmaid in a dockside inn might wear—dark, practical, and worse, plain. The boots were heavy, clearly secondhand, the leather soft with wear and cracked at the toes. The entire outfit was a far cry from the velvet and embroidery still clinging to your frame.

Your lips parted, appalled. “That’s it?”

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You were expecting pearls?”

“I was expecting something with a lining,” you muttered, lifting the dress between two fingers like it might bite you.

He smirked, slow and irritating. “You don’t get to pick and choose, darling. You wanted to blend in. This is what blending in looks like.”

You turned your glare on him fully now. “It looks like something dragged off a fishing boat.”

“It’s clean,” he shrugged. “You’ll live.”

“I’ve worn mourning clothes fancier than this.”

“Great,” he said. “Then consider this your grieving period for your old life.”

He was so… smug. Always three steps ahead in his own head, never out of clever little quips. You wondered if he was ever serious or if sarcasm was just the only language he knew.

“I could stab you,” you said sweetly.

His smile widened. “You could try.”

The air between you sat thick—taunting, daring. You weren’t sure which of you would break first, or if the ship itself would give out before one of you actually snapped. You hated how unbothered he looked. How little you rattled him.

You scooped up the dress and the boots, careful not to drag the hem on the floor. “I’m not changing in here.”

“Why not?” he asked, mock-innocent. “I’ll turn around.”

You didn’t answer. You just turned and walked past him, brushing his shoulder on the way out—purposefully.

“I’ll find another room,” you said over your shoulder. “One that doesn’t reek of ego and rum.”

“You're welcome, princess,” he called after you, voice trailing with a laugh.

You just kept walking, dress in hand, boots under your arm, and dignity hanging by a thread—but still intact.

—The sun sat high now, casting harsh light across the deck. Sails snapped against the wind, ropes stretched and creaked, and Yunho was going on about the new batch of weaponry Jongho and Yeosang had hauled from port.

Hongjoong wasn’t really listening. Not fully. He was halfway through nodding at something when he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

He glanced up. And there you were—stepping up from below deck, climbing slowly like the ship might tip at any moment, one hand holding onto the railing as if the wind might throw you into the sea.

You looked awkward in the boots. Too stiff in the legs, trying not to trip on the hem of the long dress he’d chosen. The belt sat a little too loose on your waist, the sleeves rolled halfway up your forearms like you didn’t quite know what to do with them. You weren’t graceful now. You weren’t gliding across polished floors with servants in your shadow. You looked like a girl in borrowed clothes, walking on splintered wood, squinting in the sunlight like it was too loud.

You didn’t look like a princess.

And that’s what made his jaw tighten.

It was easier when you were draped in red silk. Easier to hate you when you stood out—when you looked like the thing he resented. But now? With the wind tugging loose strands of hair from your braid, with your lips pressed together like you didn’t want anyone to see you struggling to adjust to this new life—you looked... ordinary.

And he hated that more.

You didn’t belong here, but you weren’t soft anymore either. Not in that dress. Not with dirt smudged on the edge of your skirt and the faint crease between your brows from concentration.

And Hongjoong hated it.

He hated you.

He hated the sound of your voice, the weight of your name, the fact that somehow, despite every reason not to, you were still here. He hated that he had to see you. Had to account for you. Had to care, in some logistical sense, if you lived or died on his ship. And more than that—he hated that when you stepped into the light just now, something in his chest paused before the irritation caught up.

Yunho said something else, still talking beside him.

Hongjoong didn’t hear it because his eyes stayed on you.

He hoped you tripped on your own damn boots.

© kysstar

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[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER ONE : : PLAN GONE SOUTH

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.

genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

chapter warnings : : mentions of death, marriage talk, a little bit of violence

word count : : 3.8k

[series masterlist]

—“Merchant’s daughter,” Hongjoong said, kicking his boots up on the table, eyes flicking between the crew. “In and out. No blood, no mess, no drama.”

“Boring,” Wooyoung drawled, already peeling an orange he’d stolen off some dock vendor. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun doesn’t pay,” Seonghwa replied smoothly from where he leaned against the map wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Gold does.”

Yunho snorted. “I’ll take boring if it means a warm meal and dry socks for a week.”

The ship creaked beneath them, anchored just far enough off the coast to stay unnoticed. Moonlight cut across the war table, highlighting inked maps, a list of docking schedules, and a crude sketch of the merchant’s estate. The target: Hyeon Jisoo, daughter of the East Trade Baron. Young, pampered, used to saying yes and hearing nothing but yes in return.

Easy snatch. Quiet ransom. No one dies.

“We hit the estate during the shift change. Guards rotate at midnight,” Yeosang said, tapping a finger on the paper. His tone was flat, focused. “North entrance is least guarded. Servants come and go there. We wear house colors, sneak in quiet.”

“And sneak out quieter,” Mingi added, chewing the end of a pencil. “You sure the girl’s worth it?”

“She’s worth a vault of it,” Jongho replied, arms folded, steady as ever. “Her father’s been flaunting coin for years. Time someone took a slice.”

Hongjoong nodded. “We don’t need the whole vault. Just a taste. We hold her for a week, send the note, get paid. Then we drop her off at some quiet beach with her fancy shoes and let her cry into silk.”

The crew chuckled. Except Seonghwa, who just gave Hongjoong a look. “You sure this won’t cause waves?”

“We don’t need to cause waves, Hwa. We need to disappear before the tide turns.”

A beat of silence, and then Hongjoong leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“Wooyoung, Yeosang, San—you’re in.”

San perked up immediately. “Finally.”

“Why me?” Yeosang asked, not protesting, just curious.

“You’re quiet. You don’t get cocky. You think.”

“What about me?” Wooyoung grinned, teeth flashing.

“You never think, but people like your face.” Hongjoong smirked. “You’ll charm the guards, flash a coin, ask for directions to the wine cellar. Get their attention somewhere else.”

“And San?”

“Muscle,” Hongjoong said simply. “And backup when charm fails.”

San beamed like he’d just been knighted. Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got until nightfall to prep. Masks, clothes, weapons—discreet ones,” Seonghwa added, side-eyeing Mingi who already looked too excited.

Hongjoong stood. “Remember: we want the merchant’s daughter. Not a scene, not a body count.”

“Easy job,” San repeated.

Hongjoong didn’t smile. “There’s no such thing.”

—"You can't be serious."

Your voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. The silence that follows is heavy, strained. Across the room, your mother’s expression is tight, and your father doesn’t even look at you—he simply stares at the glass of wine in his hand as though it might answer for him.

But you’re already walking forward, heat in your chest, voice rising. “Prince Chanwoo? You expect me to marry him?”

“He is a respected ruler,” your mother says sharply, lips thinning. “And this marriage secures peace.”

“Peace built on fear,” you shoot back. “You know what happened to his last two wives—queens, not common girls. They couldn’t bear him sons and ended up hanging from the palace walls.”

“Rumors,” your father says finally. “You’d do well not to repeat them.”

“They’re not rumors.” You take a step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They're warnings.”

"Enough," your mother snaps. "You will not raise your voice to your father. You will do your duty."

“Duty?” you echo, bitterness curling around the word. “Is that what you call throwing me to a man who smiles like a snake and kills his wives in secret?”

“He won’t hurt you,” your father says, though he sounds tired rather than convinced. “You are different. You are royal.”

“So were they,” you say coldly.

“I won't do it.” The finality in your voice cracks through the air like thunder. “I won’t marry him.”

“You will,” your father says, rising to his feet now, towering with the weight of the crown behind him. “You will marry him and protect this kingdom.”

“I would rather be stolen by pirates,” you snap. “At least they don’t hide their knives behind crowns.”

“Enough!” Your mother slams her hand on the table, trembling with fury. “You are acting like a child—”

“You are treating me like property!”

That’s when you hear him—your brother’s voice, sharp and steady as ever. “She’s right.”

Taeyang steps into the hall, standing beside you with his chin high and his eyes locked on your parents. “She’s not a bargaining chip. And Chanwoo—he’s dangerous. We all know it.”

“Taeyang, stay out of this,” your father warns.

“I won’t,” he says, and there’s steel beneath his calm. “If she dies in that castle, it’ll be your names they chant in the streets.”

Your father glares. “She is a princess. She will marry where we decide.”

You stare at him, your blood turning to ice. “No. You may hold the crown—but you don’t own me.”

Then you turn and walk away. The corridor is quiet compared to the storm you just left behind. You don’t stop until you reach your chambers, heart pounding. Two maids rush forward, startled, but you say nothing, only sit at the vanity, fists clenched in your lap.

Moments later, Taeyang steps in. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he says, but his voice is soft.

“I meant every word.” Your voice cracks. The maids begin brushing your hair in silence, knowing better than to interrupt. “They’re sending me to die, brother.”

He sighs and crouches beside you, watching your reflection in the mirror. “I’ll talk to them again. There has to be a way out.”

“There isn’t,” you say quietly. “Father’s made up his mind. You know how he is.”

Taeyang presses his lips into a line. He does know.

“I just need to get out,” you murmur. “Clear my head. Jisoo’s hosting a small gathering. Nothing grand. I’ll go there.”

He nods. “You should. But take guards.”

You smile weakly. “Always the responsible one.”

Taeyang chuckles and ruffles your hair, undoing the maid’s hard work. She huffs under her breath, but you laugh.

“You’re the only reason I haven’t lost my mind,” you tell him.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t burn down the palace.”

—Jisoo greets you with a grin the second you step into the courtyard. The space is warm with low lantern light, scattered laughter drifting between stone columns and silk curtains. A few familiar faces linger near the fountain, sipping wine and speaking in hushed tones.

“You made it,” she says, linking her arm through yours without waiting. “I was beginning to think your parents had locked you in the west tower.”

“They nearly did,” you mutter, earning a snort from her.

You walk slowly beside her, the fabric of your gown brushing against the tiled floor. It’s a deep wine-red, cinched at the waist. Your hair is twisted up, pinned with pearls, and the only pieces of jewelry you're wearing are a few rings and a ruby necklace.

Jisoo pulls you toward a small table tucked beneath a tree blooming with night jasmine. “Sit. Eat something. Complain. I’m here for all of it.”

—The party hummed with low music and soft conversation, the kind that filled spaces with comfort and masked intentions. No one noticed the three new arrivals—why would they? They looked the part. Rich silks, clean boots, smiles just wide enough to be trusted. They moved through the crowd like shadows dipped in gold.

Wooyoung was already flirting with a girl by the fountain, wine glass in hand, his coat perfectly tailored, his grin sharper than any blade he carried.

“I give it five minutes before someone offers him a marriage proposal,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, leaning against a column, eyes scanning every window, every guard, every possible exit.

San adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, the only one of the three who actually looked uncomfortable in noblewear. He tugged at the collar, eyes flicking to the second floor balcony.

“She’s supposed to be up there. Third door on the left. Servants say she doesn’t like parties. Stays out of sight.”

“Relatable,” Yeosang said.

San snorted. “Let’s move before someone recognizes you from a wanted poster.”

They slipped away from the light, Wooyoung breaking off with a wink and a whispered promise he had no intention of keeping. They met near the staircase.

“North wing,” Yeosang murmured. “Rooms upstairs. One of them has to be hers.”

“She’s not out here,” San added. “I’ve checked twice.”

“Then she’s inside,” Wooyoung said. “Let’s move before some duke starts trying to make small talk again.”

They split off again, slipping into the villa like they belonged. Servants didn’t stop them. Nobles glanced and looked away. No one questioned three handsome men in fine clothing.

—The window is open. You’re leaning against the frame, one hand curled around the stem of a half-empty wine glass, the other clutching a small tin of sweets you swiped from the kitchens when no one was looking. The air is easier to breathe out here—cool night breeze brushing your skin, jasmine blooming somewhere below. Inside, the party still hums, low and dull, like voices through thick velvet.

Jisoo had gone to fetch something—probably more wine, or maybe the pearl hair comb she’d been gushing about earlier. You told her you’d wait. You weren’t expecting her to take this long.

You take a slow sip, eyes drifting toward the stars, when something shifts behind you.

It’s small. A breath, maybe. A whisper of movement. But it pulls every nerve in your body taut.

You turn—and that’s the last thing you manage to do.

There’s a blur of movement and a sharp crack of air. Pain blossoms behind your eyes, sudden and white-hot, and the world spins. You don’t even have time to scream.

Yeosang lunges forward just in time to catch you before your head hits the floor. His arms close around your waist, steadying the dead weight of your body with a grunt as he eases you down gently.

“Shit,” he mutters, checking your pulse, brushing your hair away from your face. You’re breathing—shallow and even—but your brow is already furrowed like you’re dreaming something terrible.

“She moved,” San says, still braced like he’s expecting a second wave. “Could’ve called for help.”

“You didn’t have to hit her that hard,” Wooyoung snaps, pulling a thick cloak from his pack and kneeling beside the two of them. “She’s half your size. Are you trying to kill the ransom?”

“She’ll wake up,” San mutters, avoiding Wooyoung’s glare.

“That’s not the point—”

“Enough,” Yeosang says quietly. He’s still watching your face, frowning slightly. “Are you sure this is the girl?”

Wooyoung shrugs, already pulling the cloak over your dress to hide the deep crimson silk. “Matches the description. Right place, right time. Rich, young, pretty.”

Yeosang doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick down to the details—the way your hair’s been pinned, the rings on your fingers, the kind of fabric that shimmers when it moves. It doesn’t scream ‘merchant’s daughter.’ It screams something else. Something heavier. Costlier.

“She’s dressed too fine,” he says, low.

“It’s a party,” Wooyoung replies, tying the cloak. “Baron’s daughter wants to peacock, so she does. Doesn’t change the job.”

Yeosang hesitates, then nods slowly. “Let’s just move before anyone notices she’s missing.”

San’s already at the door, checking the hallway. “Clear.”

“Good. Grab her,” Wooyoung says, rising to his feet. “And this time, maybe don’t knock anyone else unconscious unless they swing first.”

Yeosang scoops you up, careful but fast, adjusting his grip so your head rests against his shoulder. You don’t stir. Just a soft, pained sound, barely audible.

They disappear into the night without another word.

—Below deck, the room was dim and swaying with the gentle lull of the sea. Lanterns swung from beams overhead, casting low golden arcs across the ship’s worn interior. The air was thick with salt, wood, and the faint trace of dried blood that clung no matter how often they scrubbed.

You were still unconscious—tied to a chair with thick rope, wrists bound, head slumped slightly to the side. Your cloak had fallen open during the rush, revealing a flash of silk beneath. The only sound from you was the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.

The crew gathered in a loose half-circle around you, talking low among themselves.

“She went down faster than I thought,” San said, arms crossed. “Didn’t even make a sound.”

Wooyoung leaned against a crate, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you she was the one. Clean job, no fuss.”

Mingi crouched beside the chair, eyeing you curiously. “Looks... a little different than I expected.”

“Maybe she’s just dressed nice for the party,” Jongho offered.

“Merchant’s kids always look expensive,” Yunho muttered, but there was a faint line between his brows now. He wasn’t entirely convinced.

Footsteps echoed from above—the unmistakable sound of boots against the stairs.

Seonghwa descended first, cool and composed as always. Behind him came Hongjoong, coat swinging behind him, hair wind-tossed from the deck. He looked tired, but alert. Captain mode.

“Let’s see the prize, then,” Seonghwa said, stepping into the lantern light.

Wooyoung straightened up. “Got her clean,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t even have to chase her.”

Seonghwa gave a short nod, eyes flicking over your form, scanning for any signs of resistance or damage.

Hongjoong approached slowly, gaze narrowing. “Nice work,” he said absently, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth. “Maybe you aren’t as useless as you look, Woo.”

Then he crouched down in front of you. The smirk faded.

His eyes locked on the necklace around your neck—a thin, delicate chain of gold, holding a ruby the size of a tear. His hand moved before he spoke, fingers brushing the pendant gently, almost thoughtfully. He held it for a beat, then let it go, and reached up instead to tilt your chin toward him.

Your head lolled slightly. The light caught your face full on now—cheekbones, long lashes, the faintest frown still resting in your unconscious expression.

San stepped forward slightly. “Captain? Something wrong?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He just stared at your face for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he stood.

His sigh was sharp, tired, edged with frustration. His voice, though, was calm. Too calm.

“What necklace,” he said, “is she wearing?”

Seonghwa stepped in and bent down, lifting the ruby gently with two fingers. His breath hitched. “Ruby,” he said under his breath.

The air shifted. Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang, eyes widening.

“Ruby,” Hongjoong echoed, with a dry chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the wall. “And who wears rubies?”

The silence stretched. Jongho, voice quieter than usual, answered. “The royal family.”

There was a pause—half a heartbeat—and then Hongjoong slammed a vase off the nearby shelf. It shattered against the wood with a crack that echoed through the whole hull, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

“You three idiots,” Hongjoong seethed, not yelling, just loud enough to cut. “You kidnapped a member of the royal family!”

No one spoke. They all knew better.

There were times on this ship when you joked, when you laughed at your captain’s strange moods, when you nudged at the line for fun. This wasn’t one of them.

This was where you zipped your mouth and hoped the storm passed.

Hongjoong’s boots hit the wooden floor hard as he stomped up the steps, the tension in his shoulders visible even from behind. Seonghwa followed a pace behind, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression unreadable. One by one, the rest of the crew moved after them, heads lowered, glances thrown, but no one speaking just yet.

They spilled out onto the main deck where the moon hung fat over the sea, and the wind tugged at their coats and hair like the ocean itself was eavesdropping.

Wooyoung was the first to speak, tentatively. “Couldn’t we just ask for ransom?” he said, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “She’s a princess. They’ll pay more than we could ever dream of.”

Seonghwa scoffed, loud and short. “They wouldn’t send gold, Wooyoung. They’d send ships. And soldiers. And cannons with our names carved into the damn balls.”

“She’s not just a royal,” Yeosang muttered, glancing out at the dark horizon. “She’s the kind of royal they hang people for touching. All eight of us, strung up before we make landfall.”

“So we dump her,” Mingi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right now. Overboard. Cut our losses, vanish before the tide turns.”

“And when they find her body floating?” Jongho asked, frowning. “You think they’ll just shrug and say ‘oh well’?”

“I say we drop her back where we got her,” Jongho added, voice low. “Slip her back into the courtyard and pretend we never saw her.”

“We knocked her out and dragged her across a harbor,” San cut in. “You think no one noticed the princess is missing by now? Going back would be suicide.”

The group fell into silence. Hongjoong stood near the helm, staring into the night like it might offer him something he could work with. A way out. But all it gave him was the sound of ropes snapping against sails and his own rising pulse.

He hated royals. Hated everything about them. Their smug faces, their soft hands, their twisted power disguised as charm. And now one of them was tied to a chair on his ship.

His lips curled back in frustration. And then—noise. Muffled at first, then louder. A scuff. A thud. The creak of ropes moving when they shouldn’t be, from below deck.

Hongjoong groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he muttered. “Our princess is awake.”

He didn’t turn around. Just waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “Get her. Before she breaks something.”

Yunho and Mingi immediately moved, boots thudding as they headed down the steps and into the dim lower deck.

They reached the room where they left you. The chair was empty, only thing on it were ropes and the cloak.

“Mingi—” Yunho started.

But Mingi had already turned—just in time to catch the heel of your foot directly to his face. He staggered back with a grunt, blood blooming from his nose.

You bolted through the narrow corridor, gown bunched in your fists, heels clacking like gunshots against the floorboards. The ship was a maze of doors and passageways, and you had no idea where you were or where the exit was—but forward was better than trapped.

Your breath came in sharp bursts, the ache in your head dulling with every rush of adrenaline. Panic clawed at your throat, but you pushed it down. Run now. Breathe later.

One second you were turning a corner, and the next you were being yanked back into a chest, a cold ring of metal pressing hard against your temple. Your body froze instantly.

“Make a move, princess,” a voice hissed against your ear. Low. Dangerous. Calm in the way that promised nothing good. “And, I’ll blow your brains out.”

Hongjoong’s arm stayed locked across your ribs, anchoring you against him with unshakable grip. The cold kiss of the gun never left your temple. Not even when he raised his voice, directing it toward the deck where his crew had gathered like guilty schoolboys caught in a mistake no one dared name yet.

“Because someone had their heads up their asses,” Hongjoong said, voice steady but biting, “we kidnapped the wrong girl.”

No one moved. Not a single shift of boot or breath.

“I don’t want a stuck-up royal bleeding on my ship,” he continued, tone razor-sharp. “So we’re going to sail close to shore, drop her off at her golden palace, and pretend this never happened. She won’t say a word. Right, princess?”

Your breath caught. Your mouth parted. He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t even glance at you when he said it—he’d already decided.

The idea of returning tightened something in your throat. The palace gates flashing before your eyes. Your mother’s pinched look. Your father’s barely-concealed disgust. The stiff silence they would demand while attendants wiped blood from your brow and powdered the bruises under your eyes.

And then the ceremony. The binding. Prince Chanwoo.

You saw his face in your mind, that soft practiced smile that never reached his eyes, that always left your skin cold. You saw the last queens, portraits now—painted high and pale, hidden in shadowed corners of the palace where no one spoke their names.

No.

Your body twisted suddenly in Hongjoong’s grip. “You can’t send me back.”

That made him look at you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “What did you say?”

“Don’t send me back,” you said again, louder this time. “Keep me here. I’ll pay you. Whatever you want—just name your price.”

He shoved you then—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to turn you—pinning you against the gunwale. The sea roared below, black and endless. You looked down and your breath hitched. One wrong move and you’d be part of it.

“What game are you playing?” he growled.

You lifted your chin. “I’ll pay anything. Just let me stay on this ship. Keep me away from the kingdom.”

There was a beat of silence, long and heavy. Then, he tilted his head, lips curling with dry amusement. “And why would a princess want to stay with a bunch of pirates?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Neither of you moved. Somewhere above, the crew waited, pretending they weren’t listening. The ship creaked, low and slow. Every second felt like it dragged along the edge of a blade.

Finally, Hongjoong pulled back. He stepped away from you in one smooth, practiced motion. But his eyes never left your face.

You reached for your hand, pulling off the ring you’d worn since you were sixteen. Thick-banded gold, three flawless diamonds, wrapped in a loop of white-gold filigree. A gift from the Queen Mother. Worth more than most small ships.

You held it out. Hongjoong went to take it—but you pulled it back an inch.

“This,” you said clearly, “is the price. For not telling anyone who I am. For letting me stay.”

The air shifted. Again. The crew watched, quiet and stunned. The fire behind Hongjoong's eyes flared again. A long pause. His hand curled into a fist.

Then he closed his eyes. “Fine,” The word landed like a stone.

You placed the ring in his palm. He turned it in his fingers, inspecting it with a slow, careful look, like it might burn him. Then that familiar twist of his mouth returned, cynical and sharp. He gave you a shallow, sarcastic bow.

“Welcome aboard, princess.”

© kysstar

taglists : : @lcvejjoong @cheolright @yeon103 @m00njinnie @sheadoreswalls @asweetblueberry2 @ateezswonderland @chanscappuccino @mis4marz @desi2go @torkorpse @jayyourbabe @napipope-ta @boredlol914 @itsmyterriblewonderfullife @peachyyunhoe @lover-ofallthingspretty @monsta-x-jagi @d3kstar @tunafishyfishylike @mountiiny @zzenkha

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

YUPP THIS ATE I NEED MORE<3!!🤯

SALT ON YOUR CROWN | KIM HONGJOONG

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

genre/trope : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

warnings : : cursing, blood, violence, torture, forced marriage etc.

author's note : : another series *sigh* someone needs to strap me down istg. anygays, ateez, and pirate aus? a classic. pirate x princess? nothing new. im a basic bitch alright? also, you'll have to imagine you have an older brother here!! for plot purposes. comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

OOO. SYNOPSIS

Captain Hongjoong didn’t mean to kidnap a princess.

They were after a merchant’s daughter—an easy snatch-and-sail job. Hold her for ransom, get paid, vanish with gold in their pockets. What they dragged aboard instead was a princess. A real one. Draped in silk, sharp in the eyes, and far too calm for someone who’d just been kidnapped.

Captain Hongjoong wants nothing to do with her. He hates crowns, hates what they stand for, hates the smug tilt of her chin. He’s ready to toss her back into the sea or straight onto a palace doorstep.

But then she offers him a bargain: one month of hiding, until the wedding she never asked for is over, and she’ll pay double what she’s worth.

He agrees—for the gold. Not for her.

She’s meant to be lying low, staying quiet. Instead, she lingers at the edges of their heists, learning the ropes, laughing with the crew, slipping out of her royal skin day by day. It should bother him. It does.

She’s fire in velvet. Trouble in disguise. And she doesn’t belong on his ship.

But the sea doesn’t care for rules. And some mistakes are harder to throw overboard than others.

OOO. CHAPTERS

chapter one : : plan gone south

chapter two : : not a pirate [coming soon!]

© kysstar

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

THE LAST SENTENCE OMGGGGG😭😼

LONGING FOR YOU.

You were Hongjoong’s new personal assistant and it was really hard to get along with him. His behaviour was cold and he always brought up every mistake you made, but when he found that you have a child he suddenly changed his behaviour towards you... Overtime you became friends and he was like a father figure to your son. But one night has changed your whole relationship and your desires floated to the surface.

PAIRINGS: softdom!kimhongjoong x fem!reader

GENRE: ceo x personal assistant, smut, strangers to friends to lovers

TAGS: 18+, unprotected sex (don’t!), p in v, teasing, pet names (good girl, momma, honey…), swearing, dirty talk, alcohol, cum swallowing, slight choking, little age gap (Hongjoong is around 28 and reader 24!), alcohol, blow job (f receiving), breeding kink (lmao Hongjoong is wild for that.), mention of parent issues and custody, not proof read!!, lmk if I missed anything

WC: 14k

A/N: Hi!!! :) so I had this one shot with Hongjoong in my mind since forever.. so here I am.

!reminder English is not my first language!

With quick steps you walked along the sidewalk, your lips slightly parted, your breathing irregular and heavy. The winter breeze blew and you wrapped your scarf around your neck even closer. People around you were in hurry and so were you. You raised your hand and looked at your watch, which showed 7:55AM. You had five minutes to get to the building that was right in front of you. At that moment, someone bumped into you, or rather you bumped into someone. The coffee that the person was holding in his hand immediately spilled on your coat.

“Watch where are you going, asshole.” You stopped and looked up from your coat. A man stood in front of you, a scarf around his neck and a surprised expression on his face. He was wearing a long black coat, which gave him charisma. You shook your head at that, but when the man was about to say something, you immediately turned around and started walking away, disappearing from his sight.

A small sigh escaped your lips, you were stressed. This day didn't start out the best. You got up late, so you didn't have much time to properly prepare for the job interview. Even now, the man spilled coffee on you, which it was now spilled on your freshly washed coat. This day couldn't have started any worse.

You entered the building with a firm step, immediately warm breeze hugging your body. Your eyes scanned the hallway, looking for the receptionist and when your eyes fell on a nice woman who was wearing a smile, you approached her.

“Good morning.” With a nice smile you let out. “I came for the interview to Mr. Kim…” The woman gave you a little smile.

“5th floor, right down the hall.” Her words were brief because she knew you were probably going to be late and you didn't hesitate for a second. You immediately turned on your heel and stepped into the elevator. Your hands were sweating profusely and your blood pressure was rising, you were stressed. You looked at yourself in the mirror in the elevator and took off your coat, which had a small coffee stain on it, with a small sigh. You fixed your hair, which was little messy from the strong, unpleasant wind, and when the elevator rang, saying you were on the 5th floor, you sighed nervously.

This is after 5 years of going for an interview. You were actually quite surprised that you heard so suddenly, since it was from one of the companies that were really good. But you didn't resist, you were actually glad for it. You looked around the hallway with your eyes and directed your steps to where the woman told you. When you came into contact with another woman who was sitting at a computer and writing something there, you approached her with a nervous voice.

“Excuse me, I am here for the job interview.” The woman from the computer redirected her gaze to you and looked you up and down. But then she suddenly stood up from her chair and walked to the white door, which she opened.

“Wait for him here. He should arrive in a while.” She announced to you with an annoyed voice and you nodded at her words, at first you hesitated, but then you entered his office. The woman slammed the door behind you, which made you flinch a little, but then you started to look around the room. Everything was perfectly tidy, in front of you was a white table, on which only a few pens and a few papers were placed. Right behind that table were large windows that allowed you to see the city.

You bit the inside of your cheek and walked over to the leather couch and sat down. You placed your purse on your thighs and squeezed it tightly, hoping to calm down a little. But the nervousness in you was rising more and more when the room was quiet. You would have liked to get up and leave now, but then the door opened and you immediately stood up and turned around.

“Sorry I’m late but someone-” When the man in front of him saw you, he stopped talking. Your jaw almost fell when you saw the man standing in front of you who spilled coffee on you. “spilled my coffee.” He finished and you swallowed loudly and put your lips in a thin line, feeling stupid. But when you realized that you had called him an asshole, you knew it was all over. You didn’t even bother to sit down again, you just picked up your purse but his words stopped you.

“Sit down.” He pointed to the chair you were sitting on earlier and you were surprised by his reaction, but you sat down. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips and he walked over to his desk, he took off his coat and hung it on a chair and then sat down across from you. He took a deep breath and rested his head on his arm and looked at you with an expression you couldn't read. For a moment he looked at you as if he was thinking, but then he straightened his body and started rummaging through the papers.

Your eyes scanned the room nervously but then you looked at him. Only now you noticed how really handsome and young he was. He looked five years older than you, his black hair was neat, and his eyes were fixed on the papers, you saw how his chest slowly rose with each breath. The sun was hitting his soft skin and the outlines of his figure were a little more visible, his lips were in a thin line and he looked concentrated. Then he suddenly looked up from the papers at you. “So… miss y/n.” He let out a breath and you swallowed, expecting a lot of questions from him.

“It says that you speak…” He took the paper in his hand and his eyes ran through all the necessary information again. “3 languages?” He then looked up at you and looked at your face. You nodded your head at his question.

“Yeah, I speak English, Spanish and German.” If he was telling the truth, he was quite surprised and so he nodded at that. When there was silence between you, you bit your lip nervously and looked down at your hands, which were sweating profusely.

“I am sorry about spilling your coffee.” You said and swallowed loudly, he just raised an eyebrow at your words. “and for calling you an asshole, sir.” When you finished, you cleared your throat and he chuckled a little at your words.

“Tomorrow, 7AM. Don’t be late.” He let out a breath and you looked up at him, surprised. You really didn’t expect this, you expected him to not take it easy and not for him to accept you right away without any more complicated questions.

“I-I won’t! Thank you, sir.” You suddenly stood up and immediately bowed your head in a sign of gratitude and respect, but he didn’t say anything. You turned around with a smile on your face, and before you left his office you looked at him and bowed your head again.

When you left his office, a small sigh escaped his lips and he leaned his body deeper into the chair. He rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers and looked at the papers again. You were young and quite experienced, the fact that you spoke 3 languages ​​was a bonus for him, since you were applying for the position of his assistant.

-

“So when are you starting?” Your friend asked, leaning against the dining table while you took off your coat.

“Tomorrow., 7AM.” You answered her with a small nervous sigh and her eyes widened. She had no idea it would be so soon.

“Tomorrow?” She repeated to make sure she heard correctly, and when you nodded at her question, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t know who will take care of Eun…” Your friend’s gaze shifted to the little boy who was playing on the carpet, but he became attentive when he heard your words.

“I will take care of him.” Your friend offered and you gave her a sweet smile. You were really glad that she was so willing to help you, but sometimes you felt bad. You didn’t want to take advantage of her like that, but it was quite difficult since it was just you and Eun. No one else. His father, sometimes took him on weekends, but he had a different life and he wasn’t really interested in Eun, but whenever you needed financial help, he helped you. At that, Eun immediately ran after you and grabbed your hand tightly.

“Are you leaving again tomorrow?” He said in a sad, soft voice and you gave your friend a look but then you looked at him. You bent down to his level and gently stroked his cheek and gave him a smile.

“Yeah, mommy needs to go to work, honey.” You explained to him sweetly and he immediately hung around your neck. Eun was truly everything you had, even though you were practically alone with him, you would give your life for him. “Auntie Annie will take care of you when I will be at work.” He pulled away from the hug and looked at your friend Annie, who was smiling from ear to ear. Annie gently stroked his hair and Eun looked at her with a huge smile, but then he went back to playing with his toys.

A sigh escaped your lips and you hung your coat on a chair and then sat down. Annie saw that you were stressed and so she took your hand and squeezed it gently. You were glad that she was really there for you.

“I feel embarrassed.” You confessed to Annie and she raised her eyebrows at your words, not understanding where you were going with that. “I bumped into someone this morning and his coffee spilled on my coat, but that wasn’t the worst part.” You took a deep breath and continued. “I called that guy an asshole, but then I figured out that he is my new boss.” You described the whole situation to her and at first Annie couldn't believe what you were saying, but when she saw your serious and scared expression, she laughed.

“Well, nothing new from someone like you, y/n.” She said with a laugh and you immediately slapped her on the shoulder.

“It’s not funny, Annie and besides he looks so young! It feels weird.” When you remembered how young he looked, you furrowed your eyebrows. Many people said that the owner of Ateez was incredibly young, but that he was like this… You really didn’t expect that.

“Is he handsome?” Annie leaned her head closer to you and looked at you with a smile. He really was. He was really very charming, his face was symmetrical and he was, he was handsome he even looked like he was ripped out of some k-pop idol catalog. “So he is!” Annie declared when she noticed how you were frozen by her question and didn’t know what to say. You glared at her, but then you both burst into laughter again.

-

Weeks have passed since your first day and even though you tried your best, your boss Hongjoong always found a mistake that he blamed you for. He didn’t raise his voice, but his words were sharp. He never thanked you for anything, he always just watched you with that stupid serious look of his. To be honest, it was hard to concentrate and act natural when he was only a little older than you, and when he was so handsome... You always pushed those thoughts aside and tried to act normal.

It got worse every single day, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were constantly working, solving problems with Eun’s father, trying to find a balance between work and normal life, but it was too hard and almost impossible, since you were constantly working. Today was no different, it was quite late and it was just you and him in the office. But today you really had enough and you snapped.

“This formatting is a mess. Fix it.” He said sharply and gave you back the papers you gave him.

“You could say please, you know.” You glared at him and he looked at you and blinked, he was surprised. But you didn’t stop and continued on. “I do my job. I stay late. I don’t complain. The least you could do is treat me like a human being.” He thought about your words and something changed in his expression. Something deeper.

“Come to my office.” You hesitated for a moment, then followed him into his office. Even though you were probably alone on this floor, he called you into his office. Inside, he leaned against his desk and looked at you as if trying to figure you out.

“I’m not good at people.” His words shocked you, but you let him continue. “I expect perfection because that’s the only thing that ever kept my life from falling apart.” He admitted and looked at you, searching for something in you that would give him a hint that you understood.

“That’s not an excuse.” You replied.

“No,” he swallowed loudly, as if he realized it. “It’s an explanation.” You nodded at his words, and then a sigh escaped your lips. He didn't even understand why he told you all this, but he was starting to feel really stupid for putting so much pressure on you. He was really used to it because he needed everything to be perfect, just the way it should be.

“You should go home, It’s late.” He broke the silence between you and without further hesitation you left his office, grabbed your things and got out of the building. You needed to go home, lie down on the couch and relax a bit. You were glad that it was finally the weekend, because at least then you had some time off and could spend more time with Eun.

When you got home, Eun was already asleep when you went to look in his room. His favorite stuffed animal cuddled up to his chest, you leaned over and left a gentle kiss on his forehead. As you left his room, you looked at him one last time and directed your steps to the kitchen, where your friend was sitting.

“Sleeping?” She asked quietly and you nodded at her question and sat down on the chair next to her, but your gaze then fell on the bottle of wine and two glasses that were placed right next to the bottle.

“What’s this for?” You gave her a confused look and she immediately reached for the bottle of wine and opened it.

“Well, I thought you should relax a little so…” As she spoke, she poured wine into both of your glasses and you laughed at her gesture.

“Thank you, Annie.” You didn’t even know how to thank her. She always took care of Eun as if he were her own and was always there for you in difficult times. You and Annie had known each other since high school, and she was your only friend. I mean, you had a lot of friends but she stuck by you despite it all. “I don’t even know how should I thank you for all of this.” You finished with a nervous sigh.

“Don’t thank me y/n, drink.” Annie gave you a smile and handed you a glass of wine, which you smiled at. You took the glass in your hand and together with Annie you made a small toast. Then you both drank and the taste of alcohol passed through your throat. You didn’t drink very often, but today you needed it. You were exhausted and Annie could see it in you a lot. Work was draining you more and more, and maybe that’s why you got so drunk today. You and Annie drank a whole bottle of wine and talked, reminiscing about old times and laughing at various silly things.

“So, tell me about that handsome boss of yours.” Annie asked from over the glass and you froze at her words.

“He is such an ass.” It came out of your mouth in annoyance and you leaned back against the chair more, while Annie leaned closer to you, curious.

“Why? Is he giving you a hard time?” Annie saw how tired you were walking home from work and it was getting worse and worse every day.

“Yeah, today I snapped at him because he finds every one stupid mistake, never thanks for everything and most of that look he gives me everytime…”

“Look? What look?” She didn’t understand your words and so she asked.

“I don’t know he just looks at me with so serious look and it just pisses me off. Most of all he is so handsome and it’s hard to concentrate on things-“

“So you find him attractive?” She interrupted you and you froze at her question. Do you find him attractive? No, definitely not. He's your boss, for God's sake, but he is really very handsome, but his behavior is probably the worst you've ever seen. He is arrogant and ungrateful.

“No, I don’t. He is my boss, Annie!” You said with a disgusted expression, but Annie chuckled at you. She didn't believe a word you said.

“Come on, admit it! You were just talking about how handsome he is. It’s not anything bad, y/n.” Annie shook her head at you, she knew you found him handsome but you didn’t want to admit it because you took it as something terrifying. Why would you find your boss attractive?

“I-…” You froze because she was right. It’s true that you said he was really handsome but there was something about him that didn’t sit right with you. He was too withdrawn but his charisma was felt from a distance. “Okay, fine I admit.” you admitted but stuck out a defiant finger. “But! I am not like me colleagues who say inappropriate stuff about him.” Your words were serious, as if you were scolding them for it and Annie laughed too loudly at your words.

“Oh don’t tell me you wouldn’t.” She raised an eyebrow and gave you a small smile. You immediately slapped her on the shoulder and took a sip from your wine, trying to move on to another topic.

“Well, I wouldn’t… let’s just not talk about my fucking boss.” Annie pursed her lips at your comment and then leaned closer to you, as if trying to accuse you of something. At that moment, you heard small footsteps and a soft voice that threw you off balance.

“Mommy…” You immediately put down your wine glass and stood up. Eun walked over to you and rubbed his tired eyes.

“Sorry, honey. Did we wake you up?” You asked fearfully, while Eun crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Annie.

“Yeah, auntie Annie is laughing so loud.” He remarked and you chuckled at his words, Annie dramatically clutched her heart and said, “That was offensive.” Eun laughed at her words and her dramatic act as you gently stroked his head.

“Let’s go to bed, alright?” You announced and grabbed his hand, but he immediately flinched and pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed.

“No. I am not tired anymore.” Eun shook his head angrily and you let out a tired sigh as Annie sipped her wine and watched the situation.

“Well…” You started to think about how to convince him to go to bed again. “What if we go on a shopping tomorrow, I will buy you some lego or anything you want. What do you say about that?” His eyes immediately widened and a huge smile appeared on his face.

“Yeah, okay!” He said with an excited tone of voice and immediately turned around and walked back to his room with an excited step. When Eun disappeared from your sight, you sat down tiredly on the chair again and rested your head on your hand.

“You know that you will have to go tomorrow or he won’t leave you alone.” Annie said and blinked a few times, as if she wasn’t sure if you knew what you had promised the little boy.

“Yeah, I know.”

-

“Eun, put that down.” You said threateningly while Eun was playing with some glass. He ignored your words and looked at the glass, and you already saw the worst scenario.

“Whyy?” He asked incomprehensibly, eyebrows furrowed. A tired sigh escaped your lips and you nervously ran a hand through your hair. You were tired. You really weren’t in the mood to go anywhere today, but Eun pulled you out with the fact that you promised him last night and oh, how you cursed yourself. Although it’s probably a good thing, because you needed to go shopping anyway but you didn’t expect Eun to show up in your room at 8AM.

“Because I said so.” You said and Eun pursed his lips, but he still didn’t listen to you. “Eun, if you-“

“You should listen to your mom, buddy.” A familiar male voice called out, taking Eun’s glass and returning it to its original place. Eun blinked at him confused and stared at him without a word. You swallowed loudly when you saw a familiar person standing in front of you. It was strange to see him in something other than a suit. He seemed different. So casual… He was wearing black sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt, his hair was a little messy and one corner of his mouth was slightly raised.

When Hongjoong turned around and saw you standing there, he was surprised. He had no idea you had a son. He blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly, but then he cleared his throat.

“Morning, miss y/l/n.” He greeted you and Eun immediately ran over to you and grabbed your hand, since he didn’t recognize the man at all.

“Morning, sir.” You nodded your head at his greeting and bit the inside of your cheek. Eun watched as you looked at each other without a word and found it quite strange.

“Mommy, is that the guy you called a handsome but he is also such an ass-“ Your eyes widened at Eun’s words and you immediately interrupted him with a fake smile.

“No, no, honey. That’s um…” You wondered what to say, but Hongjoong chuckled at the situation. You were surprised because you were expecting any reaction but not this one…

“What’s your name buddy?” He bent down to be at his level and gave him a sweet smile.

“Eun…” Eun nervously let out and held your hand tighter. This whole situation was surprising to you because you didn’t expect it at all. You didn’t expect to meet him completely out of the blue in a store and for him to be so… nice?

“Well, Eun you should listen to your mom.” Hongjoong shifted his gaze from Eun to you and you blinked a few times. He fixed his hair, which was falling into his face and then stood up, but before that he stroked Eun's hair, which made Eun smile a little.

“Have a nice day, miss y/n.” With those words he left and you stood there like a stone, expecting anything but this. You found it strange that he was acting so nice, but honestly not even Hongjoong himself knew why he had changed his behavior towards you.

Well, when you snapped at him so angrily that day, he began to realize that maybe he really had overdone it. That maybe he really shouldn't have put so much pressure on you right from the start and should have taken it easier on you. But now that he found out you had a child, he realized it even more. He realized why you were so incredibly exhausted and that sometimes you needed to leave work earlier than you should have. But still, you always came on time, you tried your best and he just teased you and always looked for the biggest flaws in you. Hongjoong thought about it all evening, even the whole weekend. His thoughts were always running to you and how you were coping. You didn't look like you had a husband, because if you did, you wouldn't be walking around so exhausted and nervous, right?

The weekend went by so fast and you were back here. You were sitting in your chair, your attention focused on your computer. Right after the weekend, you expected your boss to come in with a lot of things he needed you to do, but the opposite was true. He only came in with words, saying that he only needed to do a few documents and files for tomorrow's conference. If you were to tell the truth, you were surprised because right from the morning he was nice for some strange reason. Like, not that he smiled, but you could feel a different energy from him and he started to notice the things you do more, to thank you for them. He even thanked you for the coffee you made him this morning, which he never did before. Maybe he really came to his senses and realized that he was wrong.

It was late and you were still sitting on your chair, your eyes fixed on the computer trying to get things done for tomorrow so that you would have less work. It was just you in the building, and probably him, since you didn’t see him coming out. A small sigh escaped your lips and you rested your head on your hand tiredly, just then the door to his office opened and his eyes fell on you. He stopped, standing in the doorway and looked at you, at first without saying a word but then he spoke.

“I thought you went home, y/l/n.” He said as he put on his long black coat, it was strange to see him in a suit and dressed so formally now when you had seen him dressed so normally on Saturday…

“Well, I wanted to finish these files for tomorrow.” You announced to him with a small sigh and he nodded at your words. Hongjoong saw that you were tired, he saw the small circles under your eyes and he also saw how your eyes were almost closing.

“I didn’t know you had a son.” It came out of his lips and you looked at him from the computer. “How old is he?” He added and at first you stared at him incomprehensibly. Why was he suddenly asking so much and becoming interested. It didn’t sit well with you at all but you answered him anyway.

“He turns 5 this year.” You couldn’t help but notice how Hongjoong smiled softly.

“He seems like a good kid.” He admitted, and you nodded your head in agreement but a small, vague sigh escaped your lips.

“Yeah, he is. Well most of the time.” You laughed a little and Hongjoong moved closer to your desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“How so?”

“Sometimes he’s full of energy, always asking why about everything and I can’t handle him, but that’s how all kids are.” Hongjoong got a little serious because his predispositions were confirmed, that it was just you and Eun, no one else.

“He doesn’t have a father?” You were taken aback by his question and your lips made a thin line. His expression was serious… too serious, more serious than ever before.

"He has, but his father is just..." You began to wonder how to properly express what he really is like.

“Asshole, like me?”

“Yes, I mean like- no, not you! You are not a complete asshole.” He laughed at your words because he saw how you took his words seriously. But then you laughed too. It was strange because the atmosphere between you was more pleasant than ever before and Hongjoong felt like he was enjoying your company. After so many years, he felt better again, relaxed.

“I was just messing with you.” He admitted and then redirected his gaze from you to the watch on his wrist. “It’s late, your son must be waiting for you.” You nodded at his words because he was right, Eun had already called you from Annie’s cell phone an hour ago to ask when you would be home.

“Go home, y/l/n.”

When you got home, Eun immediately greeted you in his dinosaur pajamas. He wrapped his arms around your neck and hugged you tightly.

“I missed you!” He murmured into your shoulder and you pulled him closer and closed your eyes. The smell of baby shampoo and cream that smelled like honey immediately hit your nose.

“I missed you too, honey.” Eun pulled away from you and you stroked his hair, while Annie leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, watching both of you

“Annie bought me a dinosaur nuggets!” His eyes lit up when he told you and you giggled at him.

“Yeah, he ate all of it. Even mine!” Annie said sarcastically and touched her forehead dramatically, but Eun wrinkled his nose at her remark and said: “You said that you were full!” He folded his arms across his chest and you shook your head at the whole thing. Oh, how you loved him. Eun was truly your happiness, you couldn't really imagine life without him. Even though you always had a hard time with Eun, you tried your best. But you weren't always a good mother to him…

“Rough day?” Annie asked when you left Eun's room, you sat down on a chair tiredly and sighed. You crossed your legs and tried to relax a little.

“It had been worse.” You admitted and Annie nodded at your words.

“Eun told me about how you met your handsome boss in the store.” You suddenly froze at her words, she was really starting to do it again. You didn't know why Annie kept talking about your boss at every opportunity.

“Yeah? What did he say?” You asked her curiously.

“Well…” She pursed her lips and started thinking about how Eun had said it exactly. "He told me and I quote we saw that handsome man, you and mommy were talking about and she was blushing reallyyyy ha-."

“Annie!” Immediately, you slapped her on the shoulder as she started to make fun of it.

“Just kidding.” Annie laughed at your exaggerated scared reaction. “He said that he patted his head and that he looked kind.” She admitted and you let out a sigh and started to think about if you should say to Annie about how he had changed his behavior towards you. As you were thinking deeply, Annie noticed and tilted her head to the side, curious.

“He acted weird today, he thanked me for his coffee this morning.” She raised an eyebrow at your words. What does it mean that he thanked you for his coffee? Isn’t that what a normal person does? “Stop looking at me like that! He never thanks for anything so it seemed weird to me…” Annie grabbed her forehead and started to laugh at you. It was funny to watch you get nervous for nothing.

“Right, y/n.” She said and you just rolled your eyes at her.

“And he asked about Eun, which is even weirder, don’t you think?” She added and Annie shrugged at that, she found it strange, but in a good way.

“Maybe he just wanted to know more or he wanted to show you that he cares a little?” Annie suggested and you shook your head. Of course not. You don't even really know each other, so why should he show you that he cares a little? You didn't understand where Annie was going with those words... But when you were about to say something, your phone rang. Your phone was lying on the table in front of you, so you picked it up and stared at the screen in surprise.

“Evening miss. Y/l/n, this is Mr. Kim. Sorry to bother so late, but I would like for you to go to that conference tomorrow if you have time. I know you probably have to be with your son, but I would really appreciate it if you would be able to come, besides you are my personal assistant...”

You were surprised by his message, because you expected everything, but not this.

“What?” Annie asked incomprehensibly, when she saw your surprised expression. You grabbed your phone and showed it to her, her eyes immediately widened in surprise and one corner of her mouth slightly lifted.

“Text him that you have time.” She announced for you and you shook your head at her.

“No, I promised Eun-“

“Oh come on! You are going, no excuses.” You didn’t even get to finish because Annie interrupted you, a small sigh escaping your lips. It was really useless to protest because if Annie announced something, then so be it.

“Good Evening, mr. Kim. Thank you for this kind offer, you are not bothering at all. We will see each other there :).”

You arrived at the conference in a black tight dress that hugged every curve of yours. When you entered the room, Hongjoong was already standing there. His eyes widened when he saw you, you were really pretty, he had no doubt about that, but when he saw you in that dress, something woke up in him. You walked towards him slowly, your heels bouncing off the floor and his eyes looking you up and down.

“Glad you accepted the offer.” He said when you found yourself in front of him. He was wearing a black suit as usual, his hair was styled back and he had a neutral expression on his face as usual. You smiled at his words and nodded, you gripped the bag you were holding tighter and the nervousness in you increased a bit. Why did you feel so strange and nervous around him? You didn’t understand what was happening.

To lighten the mood, you started looking around the room. There were too many people at the conference, which you had expected, but you didn't expect to meet Eun's father there. You made eye contact with him, but you immediately broke it and turned back towards Hongjoong, who had noticed your strange expression. He also started looking around the room and when he noticed a man who was slightly younger than him, with similar features to Eun, he knew who it was. His brown hair was styled to the side and a strange fake smile played on his features.

“Long time no see.” He spoke and you rolled your eyes at his presence, turning around and giving him a fake smile.

“Hi, Min-jun.” You replied back and Hongjoong crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes measuring Min-jun as if he was evaluating him. He had a hunch that it was Eun’s father one hundred percent, and it was confirmed.

“Where is Eun? Did you leave him alone again?” He spoke teasingly, putting his hands in his pants pockets and tilting his head to the side. You glared at his words and furrowed your eyebrows.

“No, I would never let Eun home alone. He is with Annie.” Min-jun nodded and opened his mouth slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his gaze fell on the blond man who stood next to you like some kind of bodyguard.

“Your new boyfriend?” You didn’t understand his question and so you raised your eyebrows.

“What?” You didn’t understand what he meant, but when Min-jun was about to repeat the question, Hongjoong placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer. Your eyes widened at his gesture, and heat entered your cheeks. Your back was gently touching his chest and you could feel his breath on your neck.

“Problem?” Hongjoong said in a sharp warning voice and Min-jun put his hands in a defensive gesture and chuckled.

“I am Min-jun, her ex-boyfriend and father of-“

“I know.” He interrupted him and looked at him and then at his hand, which was stuck out with a hint of shaking. Hongjoong rejected his hand and Min-jun just nodded and pulled his hand away and crossed both his arms over his chest. You swallowed loudly at this situation and felt the intensity between them rise, so you eased it up a bit.

“Well, have a great night.” You let out with a sigh and then left with Hongjoong. Min-jun watched as you walked over to the waitress together and both of you took the champagne from her. You put the champagne to your lips and leaned your body against the bar, watching Min-jun walk after the unknown woman.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Out of nowhere, Hongjoong spoke and you shifted your gaze from Min-jun to him, your cheeks still slightly red.

“W-what?” You asked in a nervous voice, as if you weren’t sure if you heard what he said correctly.

“About grabbing you by your waist and pulling you closer…” He hinted at the previous situation and you shook your head.

“It’s fine… thank you.” You gave him a sweet smile, and he took a sip of his champagne and leaned right next to you. His gaze was fixed infront of him beforehand, but then he shifted it to you. He could see from your expression that you were stressed and angry at the same time, he couldn’t help it and that’s why he asked.

“Is everything alright?” His voice was quiet as if he was afraid to ask, but his curiosity was greater.

“Yes, It’s just…” you let out a nervous sigh. “We’re just arguing with Min-jun about the custody of Eun.” Hongjoong could hear the worry in your voice, so he put his hand on your shoulder and gently stroked you.

“Don’t worry about it…” Hongjoong’s words were sincere and it felt quite strange to you. He was kind, attentive and everything he wasn’t before. It felt unreal to you.

“Why are you so nice all of sudden?” You couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer, so you asked him, and he was taken aback. He expected you to ask something else or to continue discussing you and Min-jun, but he was wrong. He looked ahead and took a deep breath, and began to think. He didn’t really know, but he felt guilty for pushing you so hard. As he had told you before, but it didn’t seem like you were willing to believe him, even though his words were sincere.

“As I said, Miss y/n. I am not good at people… and since I was young I was taught that everything must be perfect but I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.” A small sigh escaped his lips, your gaze was fixed on him, observing him. You could see from his features that he was really sorry, but you didn't say anything and he continued. “I mean… you are doing great. In everything. You are taking care of your son, you do everything on time and many other things so…” He shifted his gaze to you and for the first time in your life he gave you a kind smile. “Thank you and I am sorry again.”

Your cheeks blushed at his words and you blinked a few times, but then you immediately looked away. You weren't used to such kind words, and not from him like him. Hongjoong was really attractive and his charisma was something you didn't see often, and that was why it was too much to ignore him. You took his words from him differently than when Annie said them to you. You were flattered and that was the worst part.

“It’s my job to do everything you ask for.” You honestly said because it was true, you were his assistant and your job was to do whatever he needed. Hongjoong nodded and took a sip of champagne, then his gaze shifted to the watch on his wrist and he let out a small sigh.

“It should start in 5 minutes.” He announced to you, and he placed the champagne glass he had drunk on the bar and put his hands in his pants pockets. You, who still had a bit of champagne, finished it and placed your glass next to his. Your hands were sweating profusely and you didn’t know why, but you felt nervous. For some strange reason, Hongjoong’s words stuck in your head and you couldn’t get rid of that feeling inside. Your heart was pounding, and your cheeks were probably still slightly red.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you to this conference. I am extremely pleased that you have come in such large numbers…” You didn't really register the words the man was saying, the only thing you noticed was him. His gaze was fixed in front of him and he was listening intently to the man who was talking about business and today's problems that could affect companies. You should listen, you knew that, but it was impossible.

His hair was slicked back, with every breath and exhale his chest rose and fell, every time he swallowed his adam’s apple bobbed. Hongjoong felt your gaze, he was aware that you were trying to secretly look at him, but honestly it didn't bother him. He was flattered by it, it was clear that most women flirted with him, they looked at him like you did. Well, it was different from you, it felt different. Hongjoong had never focused on you, you were pretty, there was no doubt about that, but he had never paid attention to details like he did today. It was strange because he hadn't felt this way in years. He had had a girlfriend a few years ago, but his heart wasn't pounding as hard as it was right now.

You looked away after a long time, realizing that you were probably looking at him for too long. You took another glass of champagne from the waitress who passed by again and took a sip from it. You weren't planning on getting drunk, but you wanted to relax a little, because when you had at least a little alcohol flowing in your blood, you relaxed. Hongjoong watched you drink glass after glass of champagne out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't say anything until it got to the point where your eyes started to get tired.

“You will be sick tomorrow, miss y/n.” He said warningly, and you waved his hand at him. You didn't like the way he was saying miss to you, it felt strange since you were almost in the same age category. Although actually, he's your superior and it's polite to say miss, sir to each other, right?

“When you call me miss, I feel old.” You admitted, he raised an eyebrow at your announcement.

“Then how should I call you?” He asked curiously, crossing his arms over his chest while you rested your head tiredly on your hands.

“Only y/n, would be nice.” You answered him with a sigh and he chuckled at you. He liked it when you said that.

“Fine, y/n. But you will need to call me by my name too.” Hongjoong would find it strange if he only called you by your name and you called him sir. You shook your head at his words and looked at him.

“No, I can’t… you are my superior.” You pointed your finger as if stating a fact and he laughed, a genuine laugh that pleased you.

“And? Is that a problem?” He asked normally, as if it didn’t matter at all. And honestly, Hongjoong really didn’t care…

“Well…” you started to think and turned towards him more. “Yeah. I mean what would colleges think when I would call you Hongjoong.” You said his name for the first time and it warmed his heart.

“What would you like them to think?” You were taken aback by his question and you opened your mouth but then you closed it immediately. Hongjoong noticed how you suddenly became quiet and how your cheeks turned red, he wanted to tease you a little but when you said this he remained silent and just followed you; “It’s late, we should go.”

With those words, you both left the building and got in the car. Hongjoong offered to drive you home, since he was here by car and didn’t want to let you go home alone so late at night. The drive to your house wasn’t too long, but you were both silent the whole time. You, who was still thinking about his question, let out a small sigh. You didn’t understand where he was going with that, but his expression was strange, something you didn’t often see in him. Hongjoong, like a proper and helpful guy, walked you to the front door. You opened it, but you stopped before you stepped inside completely and turned towards him.

“Honestly, I would like them to think that we are friends.” He raised an eyebrow at your words, because he didn’t understand why you’d just blurted that out of nowhere. But then it hit him. “But that would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it?” You swallowed loudly and Hongjoong put his hands in his pants pockets.

“I thought that we were already friends?” He asked you and you chuckled at his question.

“Well, technically I would say that you are my superior? And I am your assistant…?” You laughed to yourself and leaned against the door frame. Hongjoong lifted one corner of his mouth, and watched you with his eyes.

“Well, then let’s be friends, y/n.” He let out with a sigh and you nodded at his words.

“Okay, sir.” He furrowed his eyebrows at your nickname.

“Hongjoong.”

“What?”

“Only Hongjoong.” You laughed at his serious expression and he started laughing too. His eyes then started to run over your features, as if he wanted to remember every little detail. He noticed a small strand of hair sticking out of your face and so he leaned down and tucked it behind your ear. His finger gently touched your cheek, which your body immediately reacted to and a slight chill ran down your spine. His eyes stared into yours, as if making sure you were okay with it, that you didn’t mind his finger brushing your cheek.

Hongjoong didn’t even know why he was doing it and why he took a small step forward to be a little closer to you, but something deep down inside him was telling him to take one more step forward. And so he did, until your bodies were almost touching against each other. His close presence made your breath catch and your body tremble a bit. His eyes slid to your pink lips, which were slightly parted, he placed his hand on your cheek and you swallowed loudly. Hongjoong leaned in a little closer, your lips almost touching. You both knew it was wrong but the strange thing was that you both wanted it just as much.

And so he pressed his lips to yours and you didn’t protest. You wrapped both your arms around his neck, and he redirected his hands to your hips, and started to guide you inwards. He closed the front door behind him with his foot and pinned you against the wall, the kiss was gentle at first, but then it started to become more dominant and chaotic. He rested one hand on the wall right next to your head, while he left the other on your hip. A small sigh escaped your lips and Hongjoong took it as a good opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth.

His tongue broke inside your mouth and you didn't mind, your tongues touched each other and the intensity between you increased. He pressed his body closer to yours, as if that wasn't enough for him. He wanted to be closer, as close to you as he could. You knew that you might regret it tomorrow and that this whole thing was wrong, but your desire for him was greater than usual.

"Mom?" A boy's voice called out, and you stopped there, but his hand remained on your hip. The light came on and Eun stood in the hallway, with sleepy eyes, messy hair, and his favorite pajamas. Hongjoong pulled away from you at that moment and cleared his throat, nervously.

The next day, when you came to work, you didn't talk about it, or rather, you didn't even look at each other. Your head was like in another dimension, a cruel pain accompanied you almost the whole day, until he appeared at your desk, with a pill in his hand and a glass of water. You were surprised by his gesture, but you didn't protest and accepted it. Then, without another word, he left and you felt strange and uncomfortable. You felt like he was doing the same thing again, ignoring you, but his gestures and the occasional glance at you said something different.

And so, when everyone on your floor had left, you headed for his office. You didn't even bother to knock, you just burst in with the door open, and he immediately shifted his gaze from the papers to you. His eyebrows were slightly raised, his hair fixed back, and he had a puzzled expression on his face.

“Can we talk?” You asked him urgently, fiddling with your fingers nervously.

“I am listening.” He put the papers aside and rested his head thoughtfully on his hands, his eyebrows still raised. You closed the door behind you and walked over to him to be a little closer.

“What happened last night was wrong and inappropriate.” You started to speak and then something seemed to stab Hongjoong right in the heart. He had known you would come up with something like this but he hadn’t expected it to shock him so much. He didn’t want to hear it, he really didn’t. It was wrong, but he wanted it. He wanted you. “and It shouldn’t have happened because…” you took a deep breath and your eyes met and all the words seemed to get stuck in your throat.

“Do you really think that?” When he saw that you had stopped talking and remained silent, as if you weren’t even sure what you were saying, he asked.

“What?” You didn’t quite understand his question, so you asked him, while he stood up from his chair and walked to the other side of the table, right across from you. He leaned his body against the table and tilted his head to the right, curious how you would answer him.

“Do you really think that it shouldn’t have happened?” He expanded the sentence further and you were shocked. You didn’t expect him to ask such a question, at first you remained silent because you didn’t even think about it the first time. Do you really think so? Was it really a mistake? If yes, then why couldn’t you stop thinking about his lips brushing against yours. How gentle his touch had been.

“Yes. I think it was inappropriate because you are my boss and I am your assistant. We should keep things professional.” He nodded at your words and put his hands in his pockets, his lips in a thin line and you swallowed nervously.

“Professional, right.” He repeated it quietly, as if he was saying it to himself. But then your words from yesterday hit him in the head. “So we aren’t even friends?”

“Friends?” You asked him incomprehensibly, but then it dawned on you. “Well, I-…” You were kind of stuck, not even knowing what you wanted. You were lost in your own words and Hongjoong saw it in you. “We can be friends, but only outside of work.” You emphasized and he nodded, pushed himself away from the table and sat back down on the chair, without another word he turned his attention back to the papers, while you stood in front of him, thinking. You saw something strange in his expression.

He looked surprised, angry at the same time. Maybe he was angry about that kiss that you said it was wrong? You thought for a moment, but then you immediately put the thoughts aside. No, that can't be true, you thought, and then you turned and walked to the door. You grabbed the door handle and opened the door, you looked at Hongjoong one last time who was still staring at his papers and then you stepped out of his office and closed the door behind you.

As soon as you disappeared behind the door, Hongjoong let out a long sigh. He chuckled and shook his head at your words, while the scene from yesterday kept replaying in his head. He realized that you were right, but he didn't like how lightly you said it to him, as if it really didn't mean anything. But honestly, for him, it was something special. After so many years, he felt that it was different. Your lips felt different, your body pressed against his felt different. Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair and leaned deeper into the chair to feel more comfortable.

“Fuck…” He let out a nervous sigh, trying to push away thoughts of yesterday. He really didn't want to forget. The concept of friends wasn't enough for him, he wanted more. He needed more.

On the other side, when you slammed the door shut behind you, you ran a hand through your hair and closed your eyes for a brief moment. Damn it. This whole thing is weird. Friends? You realized it was your idea, but it was more like the alcohol last night talking for you. You've known each other not too long to deepen your relationship. Shit, he's your boss, you shouldn't even be thinking about it. God, you shouldn't even be thinking about something like this. Kissing your boss? His gaze on you at every opportunity and the other way around? It was wrong and you both knew it, but still you stared at each other.

You had been watching each other from a distance for a few weeks. Every time your eyes met, you would immediately look away, but he didn't. Hongjoong continued to look at you and observe you. He watched you work at the computer, laugh with your colleagues while drinking your morning coffee. He watched some colleague try to get your attention but you always just brushed him off, which made Hongjoong's lips twitch into a small smile, even though he actually ended up almost the same…

On the one hand, Hongjoong understood you, and even understood that it was unprofessional. But the desire for you and your touch, for your lips, grew every day when you passed him. Your black skirt to mid-thighs and the white blouse you always usually wear. Your vanilla scent that always hit his nose every time you passed by him…

“Ms. y/n.” He opened the door from his office and started to look around the room, but his eyes immediately fell on the familiar little boy who was running around the tables with a toy. “Hey, Hey, slow down.” Hongjoong put his hand on his shoulder to stop him from running and Eun raised an eyebrow. At first he glanced at him, because he didn’t recognize the man in front of him, but then it dawned on him. He stared at him without a word, while Hongjoong tried to find you in the room, but in vain.

“You can’t run around like that, you could hurt yourself.” He warned him and Eun put his lips in a thin line and looked down at the ground. Hongjoong could tell from his expression that he was sad about something.

“Where is your mom?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly raised, his hand still resting on Eun’s shoulder.

“She went to the bathroom… she doesn’t want to play with me.” Eun admitted in a sad voice and Hongjoong sighed at that. He bent down to his level and gave him a sweet smile.

“What if I played with you?” Eun looked up at him and his eyes widened.

“You would do that?” He asked him back excitedly and Hongjoong chuckled. When Eun smiled, he saw you in him.

“Yeah, of course.” Eun jumped into the air excitedly and immediately grabbed his hand.

When you came back from the bathroom and Eun was nowhere to be found, you started to panic. Yes, it was wrong to bring him here, but you had no choice. Annie was busy today and you had no choice but to take him with you. Your nervousness rose, you walked the entire floor above and below you and Eun was still nowhere to be found. Your only option was that he might be in your boss's office, but that would be strange. Besides, if he found out, you'd probably get fired...

At first you nervously gripped the doorknob, but you took a deep breath and opened the door. As soon as your eyes caught sight of Eun sitting on the carpet playing with dinosaurs with Hongjoong, you blinked a few times to make sure you were seeing correctly. Hongjoong had a big smile on his face, the kind you had never seen before and Eun laughed at the stupid things Hongjoong was doing, but then his eyes fell on you. He immediately put the toy on the ground and quickly ran after you.

“Mommy!” Came out of his lips and he immediately gave you a deep hug. Hongjoong stood up and cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the two of you.

“You scared me, Eun. What did I tell you?” You bent down to be on his level as he pulled away from you and you pointed a threatening finger at him.

“I’m sorry mommy, but Hongjoong offered to play with me.” Eun pointed his finger at Hongjoong, who had his hands folded in his pants pockets and his expression neutral as usual, but when Eun smiled at him, he smiled too.

“He did?” You asked with a surprised expression and Eun nodded with a huge smile. You stood up and cleared your throat, placing one hand on Eun's shoulder and swallowing loudly.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have brought him here, but I couldn’t have let him home alone…” you admitted your mistake and Hongjoong leaned against his desk, hands still in his pockets. “And I understand if you want to fire-“

“No, I don’t want to fire you, ms. Y/n, but next time let me know that Eun is here.” He interrupted you immediately and you opened your mouth as if you were going to say something, but then you immediately closed it. You were surprised by his pleasant reaction, but it didn't bother you. You were very grateful that he didn't react differently, because most people would have reacted badly to this situation.

A week passed since this incident and Eun came to work with you more and more often because he liked to play with Hongjoong. Hongjoong didn't mind at all, he liked to spend time with Eun. Eun started to treat him like his own father, he felt safe with him and he was like his father figure. When you sometimes ran into the office to look at them, the corners of your mouth always twitched into a small smile. It was very nice, but over time your colleagues started to think strange things that you talked them out of, saying that they weren't true. Sentences like, he's his son, you're using him, you're sleeping with him and the like.

Hongjoong knew about this situation and also what was being said about him and about you. But he didn't think it was very important because he himself knew how it really was and didn't need to prove it to anyone. One day, Eun had a performance at the kindergarten and Hongjoong came because Eun wanted to. At first, you didn't really agree with it, but when you saw how Eun was begging and how much Hongjoong cared about him, you agreed. During the performance, Hongjoong watched Eun with a smile on his face, he didn't even know why the little boy had grown so close to his heart. In fact, you didn't understand why he treated him like he was his own son, but if you were to tell the truth, you felt relieved.

Eun's father had never been interested in him, even when you fought for custody, so over time, Eun's father realized that he didn't have time for him and that it was useless. You kept glancing from your son to Hongjoong throughout the entire performance. You could tell from his expression that he was happy and feeling relaxed. He was wearing a suit as usual, his hair slicked back. The corners of your mouth were breaking from the way he looked at Eun, your heart skipped a beat every time he gave him a thumbs up during the performance. But then your thoughts had gone where they shouldn’t have… your heart had skipped a beat for more often when you saw him, your hands sweating profusely and you felt more and more nervous around him.

At first you blamed it on that kiss after the conference, but after a while you realized that it wasn’t just that kiss. He could only make you smile by when he always asked, do you need anything? Or when he said dumb thank you with a sweet smile. What you two said about being friends was true. Outside of work, he usually came to your place and spent most of his time with Eun. Your friend Annie found it very strange, and to be honest, you too, but you couldn't resist seeing how happy Eun was.

You and Hongjoong always had the usual conversation, you talked about anything, you felt good around him even though sometimes you got quite nervous when you started to realize your feelings for him. And that's how you felt right now, sitting next to him during the performance… So as soon as the performance ended, you went to the small table where there were snacks and drinks for the parents after the performance. You immediately took a glass of water in your hand and hoped that you would at least relax a little.

“Y/n!” A familiar female voice came from behind you, which you hated so much. You took a deep breath and turned around. In front of you stood a blonde woman, a little older than you with a fake smile on her face. You hated her from your heart, because she always had some kind of problem with you. Even her son was very mean to Eun.

“Haneul!” You also gave her a fake smile and she also took a glass of water.

“Glad to see you here. How are you doing?” She asked and you raised an eyebrow at her behavior. Haneul was always so annoying.

“I am good thank you.” You answered her briefly, hoping that your conversation would end immediately, but Haneul kept asking.

“I heard that you are working as an assistant for the ATEEZ company.” She took a sip from her glass and you let out a deep sigh. That woman really knows every little detail about you, to the point that you found it creepy.

“Yes, I am.” Haneul nodded at your words and hoped that you would say something more, but when you remained silent, she asked again.

“Do you like it there?” You put the glass of water you finished down on the table, while she watched you with her eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah, It’s kind of tiring but I like it so… can’t complain much.” Haneul fake smiled at your words and started looking around the room as if she was looking for someone. When her eyes fell on the blond man, she flinched.

“Who is that handsome guy you came with? Is he your boyfriend?” You were taken aback by her question and looked back to where she was looking. As soon as you saw Hongjoong talking to Eun and laughing about something, it hit you. So that’s why she came over there and gave you fake smiles.

“He is my…” you cleared your throat and looked back at her, thinking. As you were about to finish saying something, you suddenly felt someone place a hand on your waist, a familiar cologne hit your nose, and you swallowed loudly.

“Can we go honey?” His words surprised you and so did his close presence, a blush immediately entered your cheeks.

“We were just talking about you! I’m Haneul.” She stuck out her hand and Hongjoong just looked at her with his eyes and replied coldly, without interest. When he ignored her, she cleared her throat and immediately put her hand back, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m Hongjoong, y/n’s boyfriend.” Haneul was surprised by what he said, she didn’t expect that you would find someone as charming and handsome as him. “Can we go now? Eun wants to get ice cream.” He whispered in your ear, which immediately sent a chill down your spine. Hongjoong saw how your body reacted to him, but he just smiled, his hand still resting on your waist.

“Well, we need to go. It was nice seeing you Haneul.” You announced to her and gave her a fake smile and she gave you the same. Then, without another word, you left together.

You spent the rest of the day together and when it was getting close to the night you were sitting on the couch. Eun was already asleep leaning against Hongjoong’s shoulder, which made you both smile.

“I’ll move him to bed.” Hongjoong told you and you nodded at his words and smiled at him. Hongjoong picked Eun up and carried him to his room, laid him down and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. Then he went back to the living room and sat down next to you again, your knees gently brushing against each other, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Did I make you uncomfortable today again?” He broke the awkward silence between you and you shifted your gaze from the TV to him, eyebrows slightly raised. He watched your confused expression with his eyes, his hair was a little messy, which you found very pretty , but then you put those thoughts aside.

“W-what?”

“About saying that I’m your boyfriend.” You opened your mouth slightly and nodded, but then you laughed.

“No It’s fine. It was funny to watch Haneul’s face when you told her that.” You let out a laugh and Hongjoong laughed too. He wanted this moment to last, he felt comfortable and happy with you. He had never felt like this before, he felt like all the bad thoughts would subside with you and that he didn’t feel as alone as usual.

“Yeah it was.” He agreed with you and watched you laugh with his eyes, your eyes slightly closed and you ran a hand through your hair. You turned your head and looked at him, your eye contact intense. For a brief moment, it was as if time stood still around you and all that mattered was him. Hongjoong’s gaze slid from your eyes to your lips, which you noticed. You both leaned a little closer to each other, your lips almost touching. But then Hongjoong pulled away and cleared his throat.

“I should probably go…” You nodded at his announcement and he stood up from the couch. Loudly, you swallowed and closed your eyes for a moment and let out something that made him stop in his tracks.

“Don’t.” You stood up from the couch and he turned to you, while you bit your lower lip nervously. You didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay. “Stay.” You muttered to yourself shyly, as if you were afraid of his reaction. Your words surprised him, but he remained silent and then quickly ran towards you, grabbed both of your cheeks and pressed his lips to yours with the words:

“Fuck it.” You were startled by what he did and you froze, but then you kissed him back. Your lips moved in sync, but then he pulled away from you, his hands still resting on your cheeks. He looked deep into your eyes, as if searching for something in them that would tell him to stop.

“Tell me to stop.” He let out a breathless sigh, your chest heaving at an extreme pace and your lips slightly parted. “Tell me to fucking stop, and I will.” You swallowed at his words, but then you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your lips to his again.

“Don’t stop.” You murmured into the kiss and he didn’t need to hear anything more. He moved his hands to your hips and held you tightly. He began to lead you to your bedroom between kisses, your bodies pressed against each other. At first it was a gentle kiss, lovely, but then it started to become more sloppy, dominant. Before he stuck his tongue into your mouth, he ran his tongue over your lower lip, which made you let out a small sigh.

Your hands traveled over his body and so did his too. From your hips, his hands slid to your ass and squeezed it, while you ran your hands over the muscles on his arms. He broke the kiss briefly to pull your shirt off over your head, then quickly returned to kissing you as he unhooked your bra. When his hand touched your back gently a shiver run down your spine which he noticed. He knew what effect he had on you and he enjoyed it. To get a better look he took a step back and admired you.

His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone before moving down to your chest. He looked up at you through his lashes, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you nervous, momma?” The nickname he gave you surprised you, and he noticed that. You knew that he was only repeating Eun’s nickname but it had awakened something in you.

“Yes.” His smirk widens as you admitted it. Gently he started to press soft kisses on your skin. At first he started at your collarbone, then slowly he moved to your chest and lastly to your belly. Your breath hitched when he pulled your shorts down with his fingers, his movements recalculated and precise as if he knew what kind of effect it had on you.

Hongjoong guided you to bed slowly pushing you down, his body towering over yours. You felt nervous, so you pulled him closer and kissed him deeply, while he pulled your panties down too, leaving you full naked.

Then, he pulled away from your lips and again started to kiss your stomach, your hips and with a slow movements he moved his lips lower, his hot breath touching your bare pussy. "You're so fucking pretty," he murmured, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. His hands gripped your hips possessively as you let out a little sigh of a pleasure. You moved your hands to his hairs and pulled him by it slightly which made him let out a moan.

When you suddenly felt him bury his face between your legs, inhaling deeply before placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your most intimate area, your breath hitched again and it sent shivers down your spine. “Spread your legs wider," He murmured, and you did what he said, opening your legs wider for him, giving him more space. His eyes flashed with satisfaction when you listened to his order and he wasted no time, his tongue immediately finding your sensitive bud and circling it slowly. Gently, he sucked, his hands holding your thighs apart to keep you open for him.

"Fuck, you taste so good. " At his words you let out a load moan which made him smirk against your pussy, and you pulled him more closer by his hair. Feeling you pull his hair only encouraged him, spurring him to lap at your sensitive bud more firmly. His tongue flicked and circled, alternating between quick flicks and slow, deliberate licks.

“Hongjoong~” When his name left from your lips it was like a music to his ears. He felt himself harden even more at the sound, his tongue pressing flat against your clit and moving in a side-to-side motion. “You are doing so good, momma.” The nickname sent shivers down your spine once again and he chuckled at that as he also felt you press your pussy between his face more.

“You like that nickname, don't you?" He murmured, before sucking your clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

“Y-yes…” As the pleasure was too much for you, you threw your head back and he in an instant stopped.

“Look at me honey, while I eat you out. Come on.” Hongjoong mumbled against your clit and without another thought you looked at him, his eyes locking into yours hungrily. He smirked slightly, his tongue slowly licking up your slit again.

“Joong~” His eyes flashed with heat as he heard the nickname, his tongue sliding deeper inside you. “P-please.” The pleasure was just too much for you, you couldn’t even get out a proper sentence out of you. But Hongjoong only laughed softly against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through your system.

"Too much?" Teasingly he asked, his tongue flicking out to tap against your clit repeatedly. "Poor y/n can't handle dirty talk while getting eaten out." He mocked softly, while you moaned again and again.

“S-shut up.” That’s the only thing you managed to get out and he chuckled again, the sound low and husky. "Make me," he teased, his tongue flattening against your clit and moving in quick, deliberate circles. "Or should I keep talking dirty while I eat this pretty pussy?" He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. You were desperate, the dirty talk making you moan more and more and he knew that. And fuck how he enjoyed every bit of it.

“Fuck just shut up and eat me out.” His eyes flashed with heat at your desperate plea, and without another word, he buried his face between your legs once again. His tongue moved with expert precision, licking, sucking, and circling your clit until your legs were shaking and your hands were fisted in his hair. In the room only moan could be heard and the smell of sweat. You were close to the edge and Hongjoong could feel your inner muscles tensing, your moans growing louder. He spread your legs wider apart, feasting on you like a starving man. His tongue moved faster, swirling around your clit before sucking it hard.

Your legs started to shake, your inner thighs squeezing his head tightly. Without another second you came hard on his tongue, trying to catch your breath. Fuck how he loved the taste of you, the sound of your moans.

When he pulled away, he immediately pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and sticky, and your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pulling his shirt off, revealing his toned abs. For a brief moment you pulled away from the kiss, taking a good look at him. Softly you touched his abs and guided your hands lower, which made his breath stop for a slight moment, his abs tightening.

When he felt how you slowly touched the buttons of his jeans he swallowed loudly, his cock twitching. “Fuck, y/n stop teasing me.” His voice was low and desperate, he just wanted you to unbutton his jeans and spread his cock free. “Just fucking pull out my cock and ride me like a good girl you are.” His words were warning which made you swallow loudly and for a while you stopped but then you unbuttoned his jeans and in one swift movement you pulled his jeans and his boxers down, his cock immediately spreading free.

His cock was long and thick, his tip red begging to be touched. Hongjoong saw how you hesitated for a brief moment but then you slowly lifted your hips up and positioned your pussy against his hard cock. First you only let his tip slide inside you and both of you let out a moan in sync, then you pulled yourself down fully, his full cock sliding inside you. His hands immediately found your hips and he grabbed you by them firmly, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“F-fuck, momma. Feels so good.” At his words a loud moan escaped from your lips once again, you both made eye contact and for a while you just stared at each without a word, both of you remained in your place, then you slowly started to move up and down, trying do adjust to his size. With every move Hongjoong let out a moan, his cock feeling every bit of you. To silent his moans a little you brought your lips to his and kissed him, deeply. Each slow thrust had him seeing stars, your tight pussy gripping him like a vice.

“Faster.” He moaned against your lips and you did what he said, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Feeling your body pressing urgently against him, Hongjoong tilted his head back, letting out a choked groan as you increased your pace. The wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with his strained moans and your muffled gasps against his neck. As the tears starts to well up in your because the pleasure was just too much, you slowed down a little. Hongjoong looked at you confused, grabbing you by your hair gently, making you look right into his eyes.

“Did I tell you to stop?” His voice was low and husky, which made you swallow.

“N-no.”

“Then you better start moving, honey or I swear to god… ” Hongjoong bucked his hips a little to feel you more and you gasped at the feeling.

“What? You will fuck me so good that the only thing I will remember is your name?” Even though you were out of breath, his cock still inside you, you leaned closer to his ear, whispering. “Hm, Hongjoong?” Without another second he grabbed you by your hair again but more firmly.

“Oh, darling. I will do so much worse so don’t tempt me.” He gritted through his teeth, making you swallow your lips opening slightly.

“Then I guess you will have to show me.” Hongjoong let out a laugh and then he flipped you over, pressing your back against the mattress hard, his cock still pulsing inside you. He loomed over you, his eyes blazing with intense desire and something almost possessive. Then he grabbed your legs, hooking them over his shoulders as he thrust into you hard and deep, silencing any further teasing remarks.

“Is this what you wanted?” When he heard your moans louder he asked, a playful smirk on his face. You couldn’t even answer to him, you were just enjoying the pleasure, closing your eyes at the feeling.

“Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes, y/n.” Firmly he grabbed you by your jaw, pulling you closer to his face, your eyes opening immediately. Your eyes met his in an instant and you saw something dark in them. The lust in them and hunger increased with every powerful thrust.

“You know what I want to do?” He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Fuck… I want to fill up this pussy and make you fucking pregnant with my own child.” His thrusts became more forceful, more demanding, each one punctuated by a low growl. Hongjoong even didn’t know what gotten into him, but fuck he enjoyed time with Eun and he enjoyed watching you take care of him. He wanted his own kid. With you.

At his words your eyes widened, but you couldn’t even let out a single word. Only moans came out of you, your body shivering. He watched your face contort with pleasure, his own face flushed with exertion and desire. He reached down, his hand wrapping around your throat gently as he continued his relentless pace.

"Would you like that? Walking around with my child? Letting know everyone that I fucked you so good.” You moaned, his hand still wrapped around your throat slightly as he leaned down and kissed you deeply once again. The pleasure was too much once again, and he himself knew that when he noticed a small tears running down your cheek. He moved his hand from your throat to your cheek and he caressed it gently, wiping the tears away.

“Say it.” he demanded against your mouth, his voice thick with emotion and desire.

“I-…” You opened your mouth but closed it once again when he thrusted more deeper into you. “Please, Hongjoong…” For a brief moment you squeezed your eyes but then you opened them, meeting his. “Fuck, yes I would like that…” A shuddering groan tore from his throat as you spoke those eagerly awaited words. His thrusts became erratic, chasing his impending release.

“I’m-I’m close, Hongjoong.” He could tell, he felt your inner walls tightening once again around his cock.

“I-I know, fuck you feel so good, y/n.” Your legs started to shake as you felt being closer to the edge, you felt his cock hitting every right spot inside you, which made you roll your eyes back every time.

“Hongjoong~.” His name falling from your lips pushed him over the edge. With a final deep thrust, he came undone, emptying himself inside you. Right after that you came too, both of you moaning loudly. You were out of your breath and so was Hongjoong, he gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking deeply into your eyes as if he was searching for something in them.

“I love you, y/n.” His words surprised you greatly, but you kissed him and gave him a small smile.

“I love you too.”

-

The next morning you woke up early, you were in the kitchen making breakfast that filled the whole house with a delicious aroma. Eun appeared right after, in his pajamas, his eyes still sleepy but a smile on his face.

“What’s for breakfast, mommy?” He asked you and as you were about to answer him, a man’s arms wrapped around your waist, his hot breath touching your ear, whispering words that sent shivers down your spine and reminded you of last night.

“Yeah, what’s for breakfast, mommy?”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

Chasing your shadows

𓍼 Cherry Blossom, March Event 𓍼

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Outlaw!Kim Hongjoong x Bounty hunter!reader

𓍼 Warning: cursing, violence, guns, mentions of past abuse, slight sexism and misogyny 𓍼 Word count: 11k 𓍼 Rating: nc-17 𓍼 Genre: fluff, soulmates: each day on your arm is a particular event your soulmate will face today (ex. promotion, family death, new pet etc.), outlaw x bounty hunter, Wild West AU, enemies to lovers 𓍼 Summary: What was supposed to be a wild chase after a bounty you had your eyes set on for years now, turns into a life changing event. You had always known your soulmate was never up to any good thanks to the words inked on your inner forearm ever since you were five years old, but you hadn't expected him to be the biggest menace known to the state...or the man you had been relentlessly chasing, trying to catch for the hefty reward promised.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies!! The first drabble of the series is here, ack, I'm so excited to hear your thoughts about all of the drabbles. I'd like to think we had pretty original ideas and tried to write as fluffy stories as possible lol. I don't think I have much to yap about right now, but I'll let you know that I'm obsessed with cowboy/wild west AUs (especially Bouncy era, how can one be over that?? I even went to the concert as a Sheriff(-ish) lol). I hope you enjoy the story and let me know what you thought of it, feedback always feels really nice! Enjoy! ^^ (as a second thought, based on the characters in this story...should I write a Yungi spin-off?? lol, I cannot be helped at this point...) divider @cromernet

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                        The earth was still scorching hot even with the merciless sun finally taking its departure for the day, soon to be replaced by the moon, which had more mercy for us mere humans. The nights weren’t cool, but at least the breeze managed to move the otherwise choking hot air that persisted during the day, forcing everyone to sweat immensely. Your thighs were burning, and your hands were sweaty despite you rubbing them off on your pants every now and then, and your stomach growled at the first sight of buildings. You had finally reached the next bigger town. You knew you could do it, but Sheriff Jeong had tried talking you out of it earlier this morning. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in your skills; it’s that he saw you as his little sister and was worried about you. You’ve known each other for many years now, and if it weren’t for his trust and respect for you, you most probably wouldn’t be here now.

Your horse slowed to a strut, no doubt just as thirsty and hungry as you were. You had given him your last three apples hours ago when you had stopped for a little breather under the shade of a lonely tree, not a soul in sight. That’s how most of your adventures went like, it was you and Carlos, your most trusted ally. He was a gorgeous horse, standing taller than any other horse you had known, its ears long and sharp, eyes round and observant, and its feet strong and quick. He was still young, so he was in good shape, and while you could say that about Carlos, your own bones couldn’t relate to that statement. You’d soon be hitting thirty, a prime age for people in these times, and if it wasn’t your body asking you to be kinder to it, then it was Sheriff Jeong reminding you of it continuously. He had it easy, though; he had a loving woman waiting for him at home at the end of each day, cooking him his favourite dishes and running a bath for him. You…you had no one waiting for you in the small cabin you had claimed as yours years ago once you’ve had enough of your father’s abuse. He didn’t let you have anything, not even the little money you saved up by working ungodly hours at the Inn, cleaning up piss and vomit, smiling to sleazy men while delivering their beers to their dirty tables. And then your mother got sick, and you realised she wouldn’t make it if you didn’t make enough money.

In the end, it didn’t matter how much money you had earned for her to get the best treatment, she was gone in under three months. It was then that you decided you didn’t want to live in a house where your father didn’t bother to do anything for himself, taking whatever he could that you had claimed as yours. He was a homeless man now; you’ve seen him around the Townsquare at times, begging for change or a loaf of bread. You didn’t pity him, you just hoped your mother wasn’t disappointed that you had left him behind with nothing but the disgrace that he was. Your eyes surveyed the quiet town as Carlos took the two of you further inside. Older men stood on their porches smoking tobacco they could barely afford. You’ve always found it pathetic when the poor flaunted the wealth they never had, hence why there was nothing to you that you could brag about. Carlos neighed loudly and abruptly stopped, yanking its head low and making you lean over since your fingers were tightly twisted into the reign.

“What is it, handsome?” You whispered as you leaned towards your horse's ear, smiling fondly as you patted its cheek, “Tired? Come on, just a bit more.”

But Carlos just neighed loudly again, turning the heads of those walking past you. The lady had a basket filled with goods, a young boy latched onto her ragged skirt, curious round eyes looking up at you. You paid them no mind as you tried to get Carlos moving again, but your horse was even more stubborn than you and wouldn’t budge. You groaned and threw a leg over the saddle, jumping down with practised ease. The young boy was still looking at you as you patted your horse's rear, tutting your tongue as you tried to get Carlos moving again. Maybe if he saw you walking, he’d get to it too.

“Missy!” A high-pitched voice called out, making your head turn, “Are you new in town?”

“Indeed, I am.” You answered the boy as he and the lady had stopped walking now, both of their eyes filled with curiosity, “Tell me, boy, is any Inn close by?”

It was the lady speaking up, her eyes looking past you, her free hand pointing forward, “See that grand building? Go past it, and you’ll find one half its size; they might have a few free rooms.”

“Many newcomers?” You quirked an eyebrow, prodding without being too obvious. You were here with a purpose, after all, but you couldn’t let anyone know your true intentions just yet.

“Heard some men galloping in last night.” The lady shrugged, grabbing the boy’s hand into hers, “Didn’t look too nice or kind, keep safe, Missy.”

“You too.” You grabbed the front of your cowboy hat and gently lowered it in a respectful greeting. The boy grinned and waved before he was ushered forward, the lady tugging him after herself since he was still gazing at your gorgeous horse. You smiled and walked in front of Carlos, throwing him an amused look, “You heard that, princess? Think you can walk for another five minutes?”

As if you were understood by the horse, it neighed and surged forward, walking ahead of you as you chuckled and shook your head, playfully slapping its rear and making it huff as you decided to follow your horse on feet; you needed the movement. Your lower back and thighs were stiff, neck aching from the rigid position you’ve had to keep while riding all day long. Your throat was parched, and you couldn’t wait to wolf down a jug of water—or beer—but what you wanted the most was to throw yourself in a bathtub filled with lukewarm water and let your muscles melt into it.

As the lady had said, the Inn was half the size of the grand house—a mansion, you came to realise, looking unoccupied at the moment—and it was just like any other Inn you’ve had the pleasure of staying in. The structure looked old and was not in the best condition as you walked around it, trying to find a stable. A boy, around fifteen, seemed to be dozed off as he sat on a hay, a long string of grass falling out of his mouth as he was leaning against the stable door. You chuckled and then cleared your throat, making the boy jump up with heavy eyes.

“Yes?! I am on it!” You raised an eyebrow as you watched the boy fumble around himself without doing anything, and then he froze, slowly looking up at you, “Oh, I didn’t—that’s a gorgeous horse!”

“Think you can keep him safe for me?” You quirked an eyebrow with a grin on your lips, patting Carlos’ cheek. The boy’s eyes went wide as he nodded eagerly, righting his posture and tapping his dirty clothes down.

“Yes, ma’am!” He called loudly, holding his chin high. You smirked, holding the reins out to him.

“Is the Inn full? Got many people in town?” Perhaps the stable boy knew more than the previous lady and child.

“Seven men came in hours ago, ma’am, but the Inn still has some rooms available.” Seven men, he’d said, perhaps you really were in the right place. You smirked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Perfect, I’ll pay you tomorrow, sound good?” You untied your bag from the backside of the saddle, throwing it around your shoulder, “And not a word to anyone that I’m here, am I clear?”

“Can I ride him?” The stable boy asked as he opened the door, staring with yearning eyes at Carlos.

“Keep my secret, and we’ll see.” You winked, grabbing a slightly melted lollipop from your pocket to toss it at the boy. His eyes glinted as he caught it, veering Carlos inside the stable after him, “Feed him well, my boy is famished and thirsty!”

“Yes, ma’am!” And then you were off to the Inn, smirking to yourself at the presence of six horses inside the stable. So, the gang was here…all you had to do was find them. The town wasn’t as big as the last one you had trailed the outlaws in, you had a feeling you’d finally find him here. It was a feeling you couldn’t explain, but you felt it deep in your stomach like when you were famished.

The Inn had yet to be filled with patrons, but the early birds were already here, downing their beer like it was water, talking loudly for no reason. The woman behind the counter looked sickly and tired, but she still smiled at you when she saw you. You sauntered over, tipping your cowboy hat in a greeting before you took it off, the air feeling cool against your heated hair, “Got a room for me, pretty?”

The girl’s smile widened as she turned, grabbed a key off the wall, and then faced you again, “Ten pennies.”

You laughed, but you were already undoing your satchel tied to your waist, “Isn’t that too much, sweetheart?”

“Aren’t you staying for three days?” She quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the counter and exposing her already visible cleavage. You huffed down another laugh, enjoying the banter as you leaned in just for the fun of it.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” The woman giggled then, letting you take the keys as ten pennies landed on the counter. You wouldn’t try and bargain your way for a lower price since Sheriff Jeong was gracious with the payment before you left on your little hunt. Your satchel was filled with pennies, and you’d have even more by the time you reached your good old town again, “Get me a drink too, I’m thirsty. On the house?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at your playfulness as you took a seat on a stool, feeling eyes on your back. It wasn’t often that people encountered a woman dressed as a cowboy, the silver pistol with black engravings strapped to your outer thigh rather visible to anyone. What was also rare was a female bounty hunter. Sheriff Jeong took plenty of convincing to finally accept your pleas to send you out on a wild chase, then shocked, but pleased, at your return with the criminal in your hands. The officers had been trying to catch the man for years, and you managed to do it in merely two days. You were a prideful woman, proud of your accomplishments and unafraid to boast about them to men who look at you with little regard and respect. You’d spit in their face and then take them in a gunfight anytime, you knew who’d come out as the winner. There is a reason why Sheriff Jeong places so much trust in you. You’ve never failed him before, and you wouldn’t start now. You smiled as the woman pushed a pint of cold beer towards you, winking as she said, ‘on the house’. With a chuckle, you grabbed the handle of the pint and raised the heavy glass to your lips to finally quench your thirst. You didn’t stop until you had drunk half of it, your throat burning in a good way, the cold extinguishing the fire you felt inside your body. A shiver ran down your back as you slammed the pint back onto the wooden counter, letting out a satisfied sound as you nodded in appreciation. The beer was delicious, or maybe you were just too thirsty.

You hadn’t noticed the man who had taken the stool to your right, leaving one empty between the two of you, but you now felt his sharp gaze on the side of your face, “I’ve never seen a woman wolf down beer that fast.”

You huffed, turning your head to give the man a look. You hadn’t expected him to be so tall with short dark hair and sharp features, his heavily lidded eyes dark and staring sharply at you. His nose was long and his lips were plump, his skin tan, and his face covered by little blemishes and scars. His dark brown leather vest clung to his toned torso like a second skin, showing off his bare arms, his biceps bulging, his shoulders wide and menacing. Much like you, he had a pistol sheathed at the waist, which was small with his leather pants clinging to it tightly, his thighs thick. You wondered how he survived the heat in a full leather-clad outfit, but you weren’t here to find out.

“Intimidated?” You smirked, throwing back the rest of the beer and barely suppressing a loud burp. It was good, you deserved it after the long day you’d had under the hot sun burning your skin, the dust making your lungs ache since you hadn’t worn your scarf for protection. The man laughed, its sound rich and amused, deep like his voice.

“Maybe if you down two more of those, yeah.” His cowboy hat was placed on the dirty counter much like yours, and you hummed, standing up.

“Gotta pass on this one, cowboy. I’ve had a long day.” You winked at him as you grabbed your hat, setting it back on your head with ease. It had been worn for way too long, and it was visible, but you didn’t want to part with it until it hadn’t disintegrated into nothing.

“You a newcomer?” He questioned as he nursed his drink, something darker than your beer, most probably Whiskey. He didn’t look rich, but if his leather gear didn’t scream money, then the expensive drink did.

“And you?” Answering a question with a question was always the way to go when you hoped to pry out information from others. If this pretty man was just a dumb boy, he’d fall for it easily. But maybe you had underestimated him as he smirked, chuckling behind his glass of alcohol.

“Had a long day, too.” Then he tipped his drink back, rasping his knuckles against the counter to ask for a refill, “Rest easy tonight.”

“You too, cowboy.” The man seemed to like being called that as he bit his bottom lip, his eyes taking your form in. You weren’t here for him or to have fun that could potentially distract you, so you took your leave before he could try and hold you back with more useless chit-chat. But your eyes strayed towards his inner forearm as he raised his hand to wave you away jokingly, the bold letters exposed and looking like he had tried tempering with them. He wouldn’t be the first person to do that. Sheriff Jeong’s supposed soulmate refused to look at the words on her inner forearm after finding him, cutting into her skin, and refusing to admit that perhaps something was amiss. But who were you to judge since you knew your soulmate was far from being a good man? You’ve been reading the events inked under your skin that would occur to him ever since you could read, and he’s never once been up to anything good. You found it peculiar what the words on the cowboy’s forearm said, seeing the bounty hunter off on a day like today. You didn’t mean to think of Sheriff Jeong, but that’s exactly what he had done earlier this morning…seeing you off and wishing you luck for your long and dangerous journey.

The stairs felt a bit uneasy underneath your boots as you made your way upstairs, the Inn filling out with more patrons now that the sky had significantly darkened outside. Your room was towards the end of the hallway, and as you pushed the door open to step inside, the one across from yours opened. The man stepping outside wasn’t too tall, his hat tipped so low you could only see his red lips. You paid him no mind as you slammed your door shut and locked it, making sure to keep out any unwanted guests. It wouldn’t be the first time a man felt entitled enough to try and let himself into your room without your permission, promising you foolishly sweet nothings that ended in a beating he’d never forget.

The room was dingy and small, just like any other room at any Inn, and you let your things fall to the wooden floor as you walked towards the windows to push them open, closing your eyes as you were met with the cooling temperature of the evening. You leaned over the windowsill and inhaled deeply, relishing in the moment of quietness and allowing your muscles to ease up, your mind silent for the first time today. Then, you slowly stepped out of your boots and walked towards your bed, peeling off your clothing one by one until you stood naked, groaning at the feeling of nothingness on your skin. It felt like heaven peeling off the sweat-clad clothes, untying your long hair and massaging your scalp as you walked towards the bathroom attached to the room. You were lucky you didn’t have to share it with the others staying at the Inn. You let the water run as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring down at your inner forearm. The ink was black and thick, bold letters not too large, staring back up at you. Bar fight was carved under your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel unimpressed. Your soulmate could do something more impressive. Not even three months ago, he hijacked a train and robbed the rich. Coincidentally, days later, it was discovered that it was the outlaw gang you’ve been following for years now, the seven men who had been terrorising the Southern parts of your state.

Knowing you could run out of water anytime now, you quickly got into the bathtub and stood under the spray of lukewarm water, sighing in relief as all the grime was finally washed off your body. The first loud noise got your eyebrows furrowing, but then shouts followed until you could hear glass breaking and manly voices shouting intangible things. You chuckled as you washed your hair out, feeling the need to refresh it. Drunk men were so simple, one wrong look would result in a stand-off, and you could only hope the pretty woman behind the counter wouldn’t get injured in the bar fight downstairs.

            There was nothing better than waking up to complete silence, with the occasional rooster crowing and horses neighing in the distance. But that was back in your town, where you could sleep in unless Sheriff Jeong needed you. The wicked didn’t rest, therefore, you were up before the sun could even rise, sauntering down to the bar. The pretty lady was gone from behind the counter, now replaced by a tall and muscular man, his eyes sharp like knives and rather judgemental. He had given you a one-over before rolling his eyes and knocking on the small window you’d failed to notice last night. Ten minutes later, a sloppy breakfast was pushed in front of you. Some sunny side-ups paired with a rather sad-looking salad—which you were sure was slowly starting to rot away—but food was food. If they didn’t charge you extra, you’d try your luck and ask for a cup of coffee too…if they served fancy stuff like that here. As you ate your breakfast, you subtly surveyed the place, looking for the handsome man from last night. He wasn’t here, not that you had expected him to be, and the bar looked like it went through a rough night. But given the fact that there was a bar fight just a few hours ago, you figured nobody bothered to clean it up since it would end up looking like that again soon.

Having finished your breakfast, you were ready to scoop out the town to get to know the way things worked here and get some intel on the residents and newcomers. Getting information like that was always easy if you played the confused and lost little damsel in distress; men were pathetically desperate to help out any woman who looked at them for long enough. It was hilarious, you tried to keep your grin off your face as the man leaning against the Bank’s wall spoke slowly on purpose, his expression feigning fake worry for your safety.

“Missy, excuse my prodding, you’ve been saying you’re here alone?” An eyebrow arched in your direction, and you smirked, tilting your head.

“Why, sir? Would you like to accompany me?” A trick question, but it always worked getting them off your back.

“Well, since missy seems so lonely and scared—”

You didn’t care for what he had to say, so you didn’t let him finish, “I’m afraid the handsome fella who travels with me wouldn’t be too keen on me bringing a stranger inside our shared room…”

The man paused, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as he looked at you with a new glint in his eyes. Anger. Your smirk grew as you pulled your shoulders back, slapping your cowboy hat back on. Your job here was done with this man.

“Have a lovely day, sir, may we never meet again.” You chuckled under your breath as you tipped your hat in his direction, then quickly left the narrow alleyway before he got any idea on how to make you stay there with him for longer. He wouldn’t be the last nor the first one; men around these towns were desperate for something ‘fresh’. They couldn’t wait to cheat on their wives with whoever rolled into town, even if for a remotely short period. You found your feet taking you further inside the city. Carlos would rest today and hopefully tomorrow, too, if you deemed this town useful of any sort.

You couldn’t tell whether you were in the right place just yet…but there it was that gut feeling again, still persistent to the point there was a buzzing too in your ears. It felt like your inner forearm was suddenly on fire; the words were hidden underneath a scarf you had purposefully wrapped around your naked skin to hide the words petty theft. It was unsurprising that your soulmate was trying his luck yet another time at something that could land him behind bars. The words thrown in prison were yet to be marked underneath your skin, so whoever this criminal was, he was good at whatever he did. You wondered if he’d soon run out of luck, your mind taking you places. How amusing it would be if you were the one to catch him, the thought that he was on the wanted list you were hunting through has crossed your mind more than once before. You couldn’t help but laugh it off every time, especially if Sheriff Jeong was entertaining that thought. Not that he was so much better off…the sole reason why you knew his pretty partner was not his soulmate was because whatever the ink on Jeong Yunho’s forearm said had never been the one his girl was up to that day. Sheriff Jeong and you were in a rather similar position, but he wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

The marketplace was loud as you walked through the open wooden gates; the place was filled with people despite it being the early morning. In small towns, everyone rose with the sun and went to bed at the first sighting of the moon, living a healthier and perhaps even longer life than those in the bustling towns, greedy for more than they could ever handle. You surveyed the place, your eyes taking in all the people, the eager vendors standing behind their stands, shouting to gather more attention and more buyers. You recognised a few faces already, people who were kind enough to open their doors for you this morning and have a chit-chat. The lady from yesterday with the little boy stood behind a stall filled with freshly baked goods, and you made a mental note to buy a loaf of bread from her on your way home. Maybe you could take her son to ride Carlos later in the day, it was rather obvious that the little boy badly wished to at least touch your gorgeous companion.

Asking around was never the hardest part of your mission, yet there was one downside to it. People would grow suspicious of you if you didn’t do it smartly, so you decided to ask around the elderly instead of the youth, who could easily accuse you of planning a heist or perhaps even an attack on their otherwise serene town. The old lady you had set your eyes on had a wrinkly face and trembling hands as she sat on a small chair, knitting quietly as she hummed a melody. There weren’t many products on display, but the clothing items she handmade looked rather useful for the hot days these regions faced daily. If the price was good, you’d be walking away with a hand-knitted flowy vest and perhaps even more information that would be highly useful right now. You smiled as you approached the stall, letting your fingers run over the soft fabric of the vest you had set your eyes on.

“Mornin’!” You called cheerily, smiling widely at the old lady as she jumped at your sudden arrival.

“Oh, Saints, that scared me.” She chuckled, letting her handiwork rest in her lap as she returned your wide smile, “Mornin’, dear, you’re new in town. Welcome, what brings you around here?”

Leaning your hip against the wooden table, you decided to slip in a bit of truth, “I’m chasing after someone. I have a hunch they might be right here, but other than that, it’s nice to travel to new parts of the state from time to time.”

The woman hummed, a faraway look crossing her features, “I once had the chance to travel the whole world…but then I fell in love.”

You watched the lady rub her covered forearm, turning her head to look at you with sadness in her eyes, “Did you settle down here?”

The old lady hummed, picking up her handiwork to continue it, “Love can be a beautiful but painful feeling. Are you here on your own? Perhaps you’re chasing your soulmate?”

You scoffed but suddenly felt a weird pang in your gut. Could you be chasing your soulmate? It was possible, but what were the chances…here you were again, entertaining that thought. You shook your head and shrugged, keen on changing the topic of the conversation, “I’m just looking for someone. I doubt they are my soulmate. He’s out there somewhere, wreaking havoc in his wake.”

“Those damn outlaws…” The old lady muttered, and your eyes widened slightly, making you chuckle under your breath. There was something about her demeanour that screamed calmness, her hands looked like they’d been through a lot as they were decorated with scars. You were here to find out more about any suspicious movement, though, so you couldn’t focus on small insignificant details about the people living in this town. It’s not like you’d see them ever again, so what was the point of forming bonds that would dwindle out once you left?

“You know anything about them?” You tried to make your voice sound casual, your bottom lip between your teeth as you averted your eyes when the old lady snorted under her breath.

“Who doesn’t, dear?” The old lady huffed, the look in her eyes fiery as she looked up at you, “They always ruin everything, cause carnage and leave suffering behind. If I could, I would still be catching them, but my old joints barely let me walk, let alone run.”

You couldn’t mask your surprise as your eyes widened a little bit, “Were you a bounty hunter?”

“Not quite,” The lady grinned, averting her eyes as her hands worked diligently on the sleeves of the blouse in her lap, “I helped the Sheriff catch felons a few times, but I was never brave enough to become a bounty hunter. It seemed like too much effort and danger, plus I couldn’t deal with all the mocking that already came due to me working with the Sheriff…”

“Right,” You hissed, venom slipping into your tone, “People are like that, stupid cunts.”

The old lady started laughing loudly, her lips pulled into an amused grin as she looked up at you, shaking her head, “You must hate a lot of people, then.”

You huffed with a nod, not bothering to confirm what she already knew, “Did you notice anyone suspicious coming into town these past days?”

“So, you’re a bounty hunter, then.” The old lady hummed to herself, resting her handiwork in her lap once again, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked off into the distance, “I can’t say, I don’t walk around much, but my nephew told me he’d seen men riding around just by the border as if they were scooping out the place, or something of the likes. There’s nothing much by the borders, so I wouldn’t know why they were there specifically.”

“To check the exits and set up any traps for those who would try and follow.” You smirked, mentally jotting down this new piece of information. This old lady had been more useful in just a few minutes than all the cocky men you had to listen to this morning, trying to woo their way into your pants instead of sharing valuable information.

“Brilliant,” The lady huffed, shaking her head in disdain, “Tell you what, dear…but you didn’t hear it from me, alrigh’?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and then you moved closer as the woman beckoned you to her height with a wave of her hand. Your toes curled, and your heart raced in excitement at the prospect of finding out even more about the possible outlaws residing in the town, and you couldn’t help but quickly crouch down and stare at the lady with sparkling eyes full of curiosity. The old lady chuckled at your behaviour, and you almost flinched when she patted your cheek, her grey eyes running over your features.

“You’re a gorgeous one, dear, take care of yourself,” She hummed, then looked around before she leaned in too, her voice low, “Two days ago, around midnight, I couldn’t sleep, so I went to smoke on the veranda. I live close to the border, and there are few houses around, yet I heard voices coming from the abandoned stable on my property. It wasn’t anyone I knew and not someone from the town. I swear on what I have most precious! There were two men, based on the different tones in voice, and they were talking about a hit—more like arguing—I couldn’t tell what the fight was about, they heavily disagreed if staying in this town was smart or not. The one with a sharper tone kept denying that they were being chased, and the other one kept pressing they’d get caught if they didn’t lay low for a bit…do what you will with this, darlin’, I don’t know more.”

The lady could only stare at your wide smirk, your body almost vibrating as your suspicions were now one hundred percent confirmed. The outlaws were in this town, you’d finally catch Kim Hongjoong, and he had no idea you were so close to putting him behind bars, taking the hefty payment you deserved after all these years of chasing after him and his band of baboons. You grabbed the lady’s hand and pressed an appreciative kiss against her knuckles before standing, grabbing the vest you had set your eyes on, “Could you hold on to this for me for a bit longer? I’ll come back for it in a few hours.”

“I leave before noon, darlin’; you better return before that!” You chuckled and tipped your cowboy hat in her direction before turning around and walking off, trying to remember where you had seen the store that looked like they had supplies you could use rather soon. You were passing just by the stall where the lady from yesterday was, and you stopped to buy some fresh bread, but your eyes caught something peculiar. There were more people around her stall, amongst them the tall and handsome man from the Inn, so she couldn’t pay attention to everyone at once. That wasn’t the issue, however; it was the shorter man sneaking pastries into his satchel bag, moving slowly yet somehow lithe at the same time. You chuckled to yourself and found yourself walking towards him, stopping right behind him, your hand shooting out to wrap around his warm wrist. The man froze, his whole body tensing up as he whipped his head around, but you couldn’t see his face well due to the cowboy hat he was also wearing. He didn’t seem much taller than you, though. You wondered for a second if you had seen him somewhere before.

“Did you think no one would notice?” You wouldn’t have meddled, but you figured the young lady needed to fend for herself and her son somehow. And if some petty thief stole some precious buns, she wouldn’t make as much as on a regular day. You couldn’t let that happen.

“Not many cares around here.” The man hissed back, his tone on the shrill side, but it was raspy as he tried to yank his wrist free. Your fingers only tightened around his skin, making you smirk when the man couldn’t exactly break free.

“Well, I do. If you don’t cause a scene, I’ll be more lenient with you.” The man scoffed, his voice filled with amusement as you saw him glancing to the side, making you look too, only to find the handsome man turning away. Your eyes narrowed as you wondered whether the two knew each other, but before you could dwell more on it, your foot was being stomped on, and you jumped back with a shout of pain. People looked your way, startled, and as if to mock you, the thief grabbed another hot bun before booking it, his laughter loud and amused as your teeth gritted, taking off after him before anyone could react. The lady’s calls sounded confused, and those who realised it was a thief you were chasing tried to help by jumping in front of the criminal, but he was fast. He was way too fast and way too light on his feet as he twisted his body almost in an enchanting way whenever someone went to grab him from the side. He was cackling still; you could hear it louder now that you were gaining on him, and he jumped over the wooden fence and turned sharply to the left, scurrying down an empty, muddy street.

You hissed under your breath and jumped the fence too, your feet almost tangling when you landed again, your pace thrown off. You weren’t too athletic despite chasing criminals for a living, and you cursed the petty thief as he pushed barrels over to make it harder for you to chase after him. But you weren’t giving up; your quick thinking got you jumping on crates and over the rolling barrels, and your eyes locked in on the chain hanging from a building. You didn’t even consider whether it could hold your weight as you lunged for it, your hands tangling into the hot chains, your body swinging in the air as you kicked your legs back and sent yourself forward. The man had glanced back while you were in the air, completely missing that you were mostly above his head now, and slowed his run into more of a strut. You grinned in triumph as you timed your jump smartly, the chains rattling loudly as you released them and kicked forward, making the criminal raise his head jerkily. You had just a few seconds to take in his features, at least what was visible since the lower half of his face was covered by a bandana, his cowboy hat disguising the upper half of his head. His eyes, however, somehow managed to burn into the back of your mind despite the brief glance into them.

They were sharp, small, attentive, and so much cat-like that it made you wonder whether the man had grown up with cats and bizarrely started taking after them. They were pretty eyes, a dark brown that felt like it burned your own ones before the man twisted around and tried to make a run for it again, but your feet were already colliding with his back, sending him harshly to the ground as you tumbled just a little to the side of him, your groan matching his. Your right elbow throbbed as you landed on it funny, but when the man tried to get up, you kicked into action again and got onto his back, straddling him and pinning him to the dirty ground by the hips. He hissed and tried to throw you off, but you knew how to distribute your weight, so he was rendered motionless. It was hilarious to watch him try to fight you off until, suddenly, he went stiff.

“What? Is that it all?” You mocked, your tone laced with amusement, “You looked like you had more fight in you.”

The man didn’t answer much to your dismay, it wasn’t fun if your hostage wasn’t a bit sassy. You noticed the man didn’t have a weapon on him, at least not visible, and his dark blue shirt’s sleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms due to the heat. His vest was old, much like yours, and it hugged around his pretty waist, his trousers a dark brown and soft under your fingertips as you found yourself lightly grazing the fabric. You stopped when you realised you were being a creep, but there was a sudden pull to the man that made you want to touch him. It was peculiar…you mostly liked staying away from male specimens, unless it was Sheriff Jeong, but this one got your interest piqued for an unexplainable reason. You gulped and grabbed the strap of his satchel bag, yanking it a bit and making the man groan. His hands were pressed to the ground, and he was motionless still, his head turned to the side, but you couldn’t see his profile due to his cowboy hat.

“You’ve got something here that you’ll be returning.” You said as you yanked on the strap again, making the man gruff out something under his breath. Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes narrowed, and you leaned just a bit closer, “What was that?”

The man said something lowly again, and you were getting irritated by his lack of answer…at least one that you could hear, “Speak up, cowboy, or did you bite your tongue during your fall?”

“I said, I’d like to see you try, skivvy.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the blatant insult, your anger exploding inside you out of nowhere. You were good at controlling yourself, but this just felt absolutely uncalled for and way too derogatory, coming from a criminal. You huffed, loudly and clearly offended, clenching and unclenching the fingers of your right hand, debating whether you should punch the man to teach him a lesson. But he spoke up before you could make a choice, “What? No more mocking?”

And as you sucked in air through your teeth, deciding to punch the man, indeed, his head suddenly flew backwards while his hips kicked up strongly, and you were thrown off balance as the back of his head collided with your forehead. It didn’t hurt since he was wearing the hat, and you weren’t too close to his head, but it was enough to jostle you off the man. Suddenly, your whole world was spinning as your back hit the ground hard, weight settling over your hips as the sharp eyes were now staring down at you, obscuring the blistering sun. You realised your cowboy hat was knocked off in the ordeal, the man’s fingers twisted into the hair on the back of your head, not tugging, but warning enough. His other hand had your collarbones pressing down, and you grabbed his wrist, glaring up at him.

“You must be so proud of yourself right now.” Your tone was sarcastic as the man chuckled under the bandana covering his face, and you could see the blatant amusement dancing in his eyes. You would bet on your cowboy hat that he was smirking, too.

“You aren’t the smartest pea in the pond.” Another low blow that got your blood pumping faster, nostrils flaring from anger.

“What makes you smarter? You literally needed a distraction to free yourself.” You fired back, your jaw clenching. For some reason, freeing yourself was a distant thought in your mind, even though it would’ve been comically easy. He didn’t restrict your hands, you could punch him, scratch him, even try and push him off.

“Right, and all you needed to free me was a distraction.” Well, that spurred you into action, your fist rising, but he caught your flying hand before it could fully raise. He tsked under his bandana, and you felt your cheeks heat up from both annoyance and embarrassment. This hadn’t happened before; men rarely managed to outsmart you or even overpower you, and what was most embarrassing was the fact that the criminal wasn’t even attempting to keep you subdued. It was your body that suddenly didn’t want to fight back, your heart racing while your muscles relaxed. To be fair, the man wasn’t making it difficult either; it was as if he found this fight amusing and was holding you still because he took pleasure in it.

“Well then, there’s nothing to brag about to your pals.” And suddenly, it felt like you were both just measuring dicks as to who was better at this and that, it was downright humiliating, but your mouth wouldn’t shut up, “You went down embarrassingly easily, I could headbutt you right now and you’d pass out instantly.”

The man laughed, his cat-like eyes scrunching up in amusement, “Well then? What are you waiting for?”

“A distraction.” You smirked and watched as the man’s eyes narrowed at you. You bucked your hips and twisted to the side, easily throwing the man off yourself. It wasn’t even hilarious anymore, just how easy it was to get him off, but it felt as if he wasn’t really trying to fight you. And why was that? You threatened to hand him to the Sheriff of the town, did he think he could get away with it? But he recovered quickly; he was up on his feet in a blink, and you were moving too, not about to let him go. You caught his arm and twisted it around, pinning it to his back as you held the man’s chin from behind, his back pressed to your chest.

“I have to admit,” The man’s voice was lower, filled with amusement and poorly timed seduction, “I’ve never been manhandled by a woman before. It’s kinda hot.”

“Shut up,” You hissed, looking for the rope usually around your waist to tie criminals up in situations like this one.

“Looking for this?” The man sing-songed, and your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up again, his left hand holding the exact rope that should’ve been on your waist. That, however, wasn’t exactly what got your heart racing while your ears rang loudly, blood going cold. Chasing a criminal was inked under the man’s fair skin on his forearm, as clear as day, glaring back at your gaping expression, “See? You shouldn’t discredit me so much, darlin’.”

“Shut up.” You hissed, snapping yourself out of your delusional thoughts as you wondered whether it was him. But there was no way this man right in front of you was your soulmate. Jostled by the thought, you pushed him forward and watched as he braced himself before he could fall into the building’s stone wall, quick on his feet as he turned around. You were about to say something, you should’ve said something, but you were instead gaping at him, plotting how to rip his bandana off. The man wasn’t moving either, for some reason, he was closely watching your expression, his eyes landing on your covered forearm. You were smarter than him with that, at least. An explosion resounded in the distance, and you both jumped, your eyes wide when you realised it had come from the market.

“Would you look at that?” The man laughed, tipping his cowboy hat forward before he winked, “That’s my cue to go.”

And before you could lunge for him, he was already sprinting back down the way you had come, and for some reason, you didn’t chase after him. You looked down at the ground and bent down to grab your cowboy hat and rope, wondering whether the man you had just caught might have been your soulmate. Your gut twisted oddly, and you gulped, your jaw clenching as you took the way you had come, going back to the market to find out what the explosion was all about. At least you could’ve snatched his satchel bag to return all those hot buns.

           Your heart raced as you sprung up from the bed, eyes falling on the open window. You had forgotten to close it last night, and now your skin was covered in goosebumps as a chilly breeze blew inside. It had gotten significantly colder yesterday evening, making you cosy up underneath the blanket, your body tired from the day you’ve had. Your forehead was covered in a sheen layer of sweat, and you tapped it down with your arm, slowly realising that your forearm was burning. You lowered your arm and turned it around, staring at the inked words unblinking. Bank robbery. You gulped, suddenly feeling a hollowness in your chest as your eyebrows furrowed. The outlaws that were in this town…so was it one of them? Your soulmate—was it one of the outlaws? You gulped, your heart suddenly racing as you threw the blanket over your feet and sat on the edge of your bed, caressing your skin gently. In moments like this one, you wished your soulmate was a country boy, a farmer, a simple mine worker, anything but a criminal. What you did for a living didn’t mesh well with your soulmate’s profession, and you knew Sheriff Jeong would never understand you.

His soulmate was an outlaw too, judging based on the inked words on his inner forearm, and he had loathed his partner before even meeting them. You, on the other hand, couldn’t share the sentiment. You were displeased, of course, you were, but you’ve spent your whole life lonely and watching couples from afar, wondering what it felt like to finally find your soulmate, to reunite with them for an eternity. Nobody would’ve guessed, but deep down, you dreamed of a romance like in the old folk tales. You wished to be madly in love, blinded by it to the point that you couldn’t breathe if your soulmate wasn’t next to you. You winced as the ink felt like it was splitting your skin in two, making you wonder what was causing such a reaction since it’d never happened before. You knew today would be a long day, and you also knew you had to face the consequences of your soulmate’s actions. You knew you had a hard decision ahead of yourself, but you prayed to any existent deity that your soulmate wouldn’t be the worst of the worst. Maybe he was part of the outlaw gang you’ve been chasing, maybe he was just a local from this town, trying to make amends. Committing so many crimes wasn’t an excuse, but if he was doing it to fend for himself and his poor family, you’d let it slide. With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself off the bed and went inside the bathroom, well aware of your next step.

The market had been a mess of panicked people by the time you had reached it yesterday, but you were glad to hear nobody was injured. Someone had set fire to an unoccupied table before the first small granite had gone off, making a store’s windows explode since it was ignited right underneath it. The old lady was shaken when you had checked in with her, and you decided to accompany her home after you bought more bread than was necessary from the lady with the little boy. You had searched for the handsome stranger’s face in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen, much like the thief you’ve had the chance to catch but hesitated. You weren’t pleased with yourself, but your body had refused to cooperate when you needed it most. Now, however, you knew what was the right thing to do. You didn’t want to draw even more attention to yourself, so after a quick trip to the stable to make sure Carlos was still there, healthy and safe, you took off on foot towards the Bank. It was rather close since it was in the heart of the town, and you had decided to stake out in front of it, sitting at a cafeteria.

Their coffee was overpriced and not as good as back in your town, but it would do for now. You weren’t here to enjoy a cup of coffee, after all, but to keep your eyes on the Bank and observe who came and went. You had an eye for telling the locals and newcomers apart; it was their way of dressing and conversing, of looking at ease, versus the gorgeous man with red hair who looked fidgety as he walked towards the Bank. He was wearing rather hand-me-down robes, trying a bit too hard to fit in with the crowd. It made him look even more obvious, and you smiled as you realised you had caught the first suspicious person. He walked inside the Bank, and you wondered whether it was him or not, subconsciously rubbing your forearm. You wore no sleeves today, and you made no effort to cover your arm up. It was time you faced whatever the Universe had in store for you if you came across your soulmate.

You took a sip of your coffee just as a large horse galloped right into the middle of the square, coming to a stop in front of the Bank. You realised with elation that it was the handsome man from the Inn, his sharp eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place. You quickly lowered your head and pretended to be interested in the newspaper by your cup of coffee, having forgone your cowboy hat today as you knew it would attract unwanted attention. You kept your leather pants, however, and borrowed a sleeveless shirt from the pretty girl behind the bar. She was rather eager to lend it to you after you offered her a soaring kiss, one she certainly wouldn’t forget. When you deemed it safe to look up again, you realised the handsome man was moving on, the redhead having just left the building. Your eyes narrowed, and you watched as a short-haired buff man approached your target, throwing an arm around him and casually walking off with him. You were determined to sit there all day long if it meant catching the outlaws red-handed, but that thought was quickly changed when a motorcar pulled up in front of the Bank, its engine running loudly.

A rather tall man with gorgeous long black hair stepped out, keeping the door open for someone…and your eyes widened. It was the same man from the market, the thief, the one you had chased! Your heart lurched, and your hand shook as you loudly placed your porcelain cup on the small plate, leaning forward in your seat as if that would help you see the two men better. They didn’t seem to exchange any words between each other, just a nod of a head before the long-haired man confidently walked up to the Bank’s entrance, smiling gratuitously as the door was opened for him, the other one sneaking off to the side of the building. Something in your gut told you to get up and go after the shorter one, his outfit almost the same as yesterday except that his vest was missing and an obvious pistol was lodged in his pants against his lower back. You stood and left your unfinished cup of coffee behind, making sure the road was safe as you crossed it in a run, keeping your eyes on the thief. He walked down the narrow alleyway, his gloved fingers tracing the wall before he turned the corner, making you hurry up since you didn’t know what the back of the building hid.

You made sure your steps were light and silent, and you found your fingers tracing the same spots the criminal had too, your cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. You yanked your hands away and let them lay limply by your sides as you pressed up against the building to peek around the corner. The man was smoking, a tobacco dangling from his lips, but you couldn’t see his face since his cowboy hat was pulled down low again. Much like you, he hadn’t bothered hiding his forearm, and you had a burning curiosity to know what the ink said. You flinched as a door you hadn’t noticed was there was thrown open, the hiss of a voice beckoning your target inside. The man chuckled and didn’t bother putting out his tobacco, and you were quick on your feet as the door started shutting quickly behind the man. You managed to wadge your foot inside before it could close, and realising you probably didn’t have much time to act, you flung the door open as you took a deep breath. Almost as if the man sensed he was being followed, he was leaning against a table facing the door, tobacco put out and a smirk on his red lips. You froze, your heart nervously skipping a beat, and the man chuckled.

“You are not as sleek as you think you are, bounty hunter.” You gulped, watching the man as he chuckled under his breath. You felt like you couldn’t speak, too focused on the burning sensation of your arm and the racing of your heart, “Mingi saw you leaving this morning and figured something wasn’t right. You have a pretty pistol, but it screams Sheriff.”

And he was right, Sheriff Jeong had gifted it to you many years ago. It was custom-made and expensive, resembling the one most officers used. You gulped, suddenly not as brave as you used to be. The criminal, however, seemed to have more to say, “We met yesterday too, thanks for not turning me in. Those buns were delicious, by the way. Did you get some for yourself?”

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, “No, because you stole them all.”

The outlaw chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, “What can I say…I have six mouths to feed.”

“Is the food at the Inn not good enough?” You quirked an eyebrow, suddenly realising why he had seemed familiar yesterday. The day you had arrived in town and had gone up to your room, the man leaving the one across from yours had been this man, the outlaw. All this time, he was right under your nose. You felt your heart rate rise in anger, your fists clenching by your sides.

“Meh, I’ve certainly had worse.” The man pushed off the table, fearlessly stalking towards you, “But what’s the fun in following the rules? I love a little chaos.”

“I know.” The words slipped out your mouth before you could catch yourself. Did you know? Something in your gut told you that yes, you did know, you’ve known your whole life.

“You do?” The man raised an eyebrow, stopping a few inches in front of you. Tackling him to the ground would be easy, but your body refused to move just yet, “How come?”

“How do you know I’m a bounty hunter?” You answered his question with a question, your heart racing as you could see the man’s lips pull into an amused smirk. You were itching to see his whole face, your fingers trembled at the thought of knocking his cowboy hat back to see his face. You gulped, waiting for his answer as the man shrugged, tilting his head slightly.

“I’ll call it a hunch, I guess.” And then, you gasped as he jumped forward all of a sudden, pressing you up against the door. You hadn’t expected him to attack you, but you finally snapped out of your frozen state and took action. You yanked your head to the side as his fist came towards your face, slightly thrown off guard that he could so easily punch a woman. Perhaps he saw it on your face because he chuckled, his left hand tightening around your bicep, “My apologies, sugar, did you think I didn’t hit women?”

“My mistake for considering you a gentleman.” You hissed under your breath and took a left swing at his face, which he easily dodged. It felt just like yesterday, with pointless punches thrown at each other with no intention of harming the other. Your body had never acted on its own like this before, and you wondered why it was happening now of all times.

“Never mistake an outlaw for a gentleman, sugar.” The man chuckled as you managed to free your left arm and elbowed him in the neck, the man making a choked-up sound. You shook him off yourself and went to kick his legs out of underneath him, but he managed to avoid your kick even as he clutched at his neck. Your next punch, however, he couldn’t deflect as he was busy getting his breath back, and his head flew to the side, knocking his cowboy hat off. You didn’t wait for him to recover as you got behind him and pushed him, throwing your arm around his neck once he was hunched over, putting him in a headlock. The man’s eyes were wide as he grabbed your arm, his nails digging painfully into your exposed skin. You turned your head, needing to see the face of the man, only to freeze in shock.

“Kim Hongjoong?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but your faces were so close next to each other that he heard you. He chuckled, gulping hard as his eyes fell on your face, a satisfied smirk still on his lips.

“Surprise, sugar, no bounty hunter’s managed to catch me before.” You felt speechless as you felt all of your hard work finally come to fruition. You had Kim Hongjoong in your arms, at your mercy, your pockets full of coins that would last you and the next generation if you spent it wisely once you handed the criminal over to the Sheriff, “Close your mouth before a fly flies inside.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt your arm lightly soften against his neck, but then you quickly snapped out of it and willed yourself to focus. The man was gorgeous; none of those sketches did his beauty justice. His sharp features weren’t as intimidating as the handsome stranger’s from the Inn—who was part of his outlaw band, now you realised—but his eyes held danger, a promise of pain and unforgiveness. You gulped, tracing his nose and red lips, your eyes lingering on them, and you felt your tongue poking out to wet your own lips. The outlaw, Hongjoong, hummed to himself and touched your cheek with his left hand, making you jump.

“Bank robbery.” You heard him whispering, his eyes glancing down at the forearm exposed to him since you had him in a headlock with your left hand, “Peculiar, isn’t it?”

You gulped nervously, your heart racing even faster as you allowed your eyes to fall onto his own exposed forearm now that his arm was outstretched, his fingers grazing your cheek. Finally catching the outlaw. You gasped and pushed Hongjoong away, a coldness seeping deep into your bones despite the scorching hot air inside the dimly lit room. Hongjoong looked at you apprehensively, watching you as if you were a rabid animal, analysing your features and body language. You didn’t know what to do or how to react; it all felt too much, too overwhelming. Why did you have to be right? Where was Sheriff Jeong to make fun of your fate and tell you it was just a joke all along? Why was Kim Hongjoong your soulmate, and why did your body yearn so desperately for his touch again? It felt hard to breathe as your eyes filled with tears, and you didn’t want to break down, but it suddenly felt like you weren’t so alone anymore.

“Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart.” And when you felt arms around your body, you started crying hard, your body shaking with sobs as your fingers curled into his shirt, squeezing Hongjoong to yourself, “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

“You’re a terrible person.” You managed to get out as you were still crying, blinded by the tears in your eyes as you tried to look at his face, “You steal from people, you hurt others, you’ve killed too, I—and I had to sit through all of that, wondering all this time why was I fated to a man like you. Why is it you, Kim Hongjoong? I was supposed to bring you back to the Sheriff, I was supposed to get rich off of you—I—I’ve been chasing you for so long, it’s unfair!”

Your tears subsided as your anger won over, and you pushed Hongjoong away, staring at him with a glare as his jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’ve been wondering too why I was fated with someone who wanted to catch me, harm me perhaps, hand me over to live a miserable life.”

A deafening silence fell over the two of you as the realisation settled in that Hongjoong might’ve been feeling the same conflicting emotions as you were. Your heart raced in the excitement that you had finally found your soulmate, finally feeling complete, but your brain told you that you could still come out of this victoriously, that you could hand him in and live a life alone…it’s what you were used to after all.

“It’s not too late to walk away,” Hongjoong muttered quietly, caressing the ink on his skin, his gulp loud, “We won’t harm you if you leave us alone, I promise—”

“Are you telling your own soulmate to walk away? To leave you alone after I finally found you?!” Your voice was rising in anger, and Hongjoong flinched, glancing behind you.

“Let’s keep it down or else we’ll be discovered,” He suggested and took a step closer, his eyes analysing your face once again. You gulped when he didn’t stop approaching you and almost flinched when he reached out, his warm fingers grazing your cheek again, “Don’t you hate me?”

“I hate what you are and that you’ve made me chase you for so long that I was forced to be alone for thirty years.” You whispered, eyebrows furrowing as Hongjoong’s fingers traced your eyebrows down to your nose, under your eyes and then your lips, his gulp loud.

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered with a smile, stepping even closer to you, your faces just a breath away, “Come with me, learn my world, let me show you the brighter side of it.”

“That’s not who I am, Hongjoong.”

“No? Then who are you?”

You gulped, letting the question settle in your mind. Who were you? What did you have besides Sheriff Jeong and a house you had forcefully claimed as yours? You were nothing but a lonely woman hunting down criminals because it filled your time and distracted you from the void in your chest, a void that was no longer eating away at your heart.

“Promise you’ll never leave me. Promise you’ll keep me safe,” You gulped, already dreading the sudden twist of your future. Were you doing the right thing right now? Was this the smart choice? “Promise you’ll never hurt Sheriff Jeong.”

“I promise to keep you safe and never leave you, not now that I’ve found you.” Hongjoong chuckled then, cupping your jaw gently as shouts came from behind the door. You tensed, but Hongjoong didn’t seem phased by it, “And I won’t hurt Sheriff Jeong, even though I wonder who that is…”

“Not just you, your whole gang.” Your eyebrows furrowed as Hongjoong traced your bottom lip with his thumb, smirking at himself.

“Okay, fine, no one will hurt the Sheriff.” You hummed, eyes widening when Hongjoong closed the distance and pressed his warm lips against yours, tasting like the homemade meal your mother used to make that you loved so much. Hongjoong felt like home, like coming home after a long day and falling into your bed, knowing it always had your back, always would be there for you. These comparisons felt silly as you kissed him back, fingers tangling in his black hair, but they were everything you’d always wished for.

A sudden explosion outside made you yelp, and Hongjoong smirked, letting go of you to grab his cowboy hat, extending his hand for you to take, “Well, that’s our cue, sweetheart. We better get going before the Sheriffs get here.”

You knew Sheriff Jeong would hate you for an eternity for accepting the outlaw’s extended hand, but there was nothing you could do when your soulmate was grinning at you with mischief and wickedness in his eyes, so confident and proud as your fingers intertwined.

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