wyngigi

[wyngigi]

cannot wait for part 2 omg

who's your worm guy? - wjh | part 1 of 2

٠࣪⭑ pairing: wen junhui x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: your final project is due far too soon and you’re stumped for ideas. that is until you pick up a part time job in the ticket booth at your local water park and you meet the most– uh– interesting employees. this includes a wen junhui, food and beverage supervisor, whose creativity sparks most when he’s hazy and slacking off. ٠࣪⭑ genre: coworkers au. smut (eventual), fluff, crack ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: stoner junhui, drinking, swearing, possible violations of health and safety regulations ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: catch 'em at it in part 2 (posting asap) if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 11.3k ٠࣪⭑ a/n: thank u to my loves @100vern and @starlightkyeom who always chat with me about my silly little guys and read my shit before u see it. and thank you again to jewel who made the banner! ily both always ٠࣪⭑ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me join in! please look out for the rest of the fics 💕

edit to add: my italics have disappeared after posting?? but it’s 1:40am so i’ll fix that tomorrow night because i’m picking up my puppy tomorrow morning 😭

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · You’re going to kill Mingyu for dropping you off a whole hour early.

“I’m going to kill Mingyu,” you complain.

“It’s not his fault he has a meeting,” murmurs Soonyoung, trying not to yawn.

“You should drive us,” you say.

“Pay for my car to be fixed and I’ll think about it.”

Soonyoung said he’d introduce you to everyone this morning, but apparently you two are the first staff on site today, save for the one elderly security guy who grumbled about unlocking the gates for you on arrival, so now it’s your job to take over the staff sign-ins. Soonyoung is sitting on your desk, legs swinging below him, and grumbling about not having had time for breakfast.

“I’m gonna waste away,” he whines. “Can I have some of your banana?”

You shovel the remaining half in your mouth and Soonyoung scowls. “Sowee.”

“Dickhead.”

You grin around the banana mush and Soonyoung pushes himself off the desk.

“I’m gonna raid the snackbar– oh no, do not look at me like that. You’re not getting a thing.”

You swallow thickly, it makes a gross sound. “We get to raid the snackbar? There’s a snackbar?”

“Are you an idiot? Of course there’s a snackbar. And officially, no we don’t get to raid it, but unofficially Junhui doesn’t care.”

“What do they have?“

“Snackbar stuff, I don’t know.” Soonyoung shrugs. “Leave me alone now, I’m leaving.”

You grab at him. “Please please please can I have something bready. I need carbs or I’ll die. I need coffee. Please Soonyoung, please.”

“Ew oh my God, get off me, freak.”

Thirty minutes later, he still isn’t back, and you’ve got your head in your arms on your desk. You’re famished. You’re wasting away. You’re–

“Hi.”

You lift your head to see there’s a blonde man outside your booth. You’re stunned, is what you are. He’s maybe the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You blink, still sleepy, and say, “Sorry, we’re not open yet.”

He blinks comically slow. “Uh– no. I work here.”

He points to the little visor with Carat Bay’s logo printed on the front, perched atop his head. Red and white. Makes him look like a Pokemon trainer.

“Oh. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jun– Junhui.” He goes to shake your hand but stops when he seemingly remembers there’s a pane of glass separating you. Oh my God, he’s cute.

You make your eyes go big. “No fucking way, dude,” you exclaim. “That’s my name too.”

You have no words to describe his expression, but you have to work hard to keep your face straight.

“Really?”

“Really. You wanna see my birth certificate?”

His eyes narrow. “Your name isn’t Jun.”

“No, it’s Jun Junhui.” The corners of your lips twitch.

“Are you new?”

“Yup,” you say. “Started yesterday.”

It’s April, and the water park adjoining the area’s most popular resort is just opening up again for the season. The only reason you got this job is because you were bullied into it by your roommates, Soonyoung and Minghyu, who would really really like it if you didn’t go into debt this time to make your share of the rent (they never listen when you tell them that’s what your student loan is there for) and both of whom have been working here for years.

Your place is supposed to be (strictly) a student let, but Soonyoung dropped out within the first two months of university, and has since worked two jobs most of the year, and somehow fits in a lifeguarding position at Carat Bay April through October. Mingyu worked the hotel reception for a while, graduated two years ago, and now he works as the resorts’ LFTS Coordinator. Whatever that means. He’s well paid and could move into somewhere much nicer, but he says he likes the company (for some reason) and he’s saving to buy a house in a nicer part of the city, so he’ll stay so long as your landlord keeps avoiding all contact. Anyway, what’s crucial here is that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to live as a poverty stricken film student. (You’re fine, just a little broke.)

The turn of winter into spring has been marred by your lack of 1) funds, 2) social life, and 3) inspiration. You’ve got a few months before your final project is due but it’s supposed to be half done by now, and you’re struggling to find a drop of creativity. Your last attempt fell through as you were two thirds into filming thanks to your useless fuck of a partner, and you spent weeks trying to work through it by yourself before giving up entirely. There were too many plates for one person to keep spinning. Your notebooks are a mess of scratched out ideas and fragmented thoughts. It doesn’t need to be long– in fact, shorter is probably better. Quality over quantity and all that. You thumb through Mingyu’s books, love letters your grandparents wrote, Soonyoung’s softcore porn collection (why does he have them in magazine format anyway? Is he from the 80s?) and the old photographs tucked away in your parents garage for inspiration– but it doesn’t come. You had wanted something romantic, something sweet and full of feeling, but everything came to a standstill. Maybe you’re just bitter that you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of a failed start.

Maybe you’re bitter about Jiho. It was fun while it lasted, but he is precisely the reason you had your preference for crushes over relationships in the first place. It’s not your fault he slipped in during the night. It’s not that your feelings are hurt, per se. It’s more that the chance for something real wasn’t there for the taking like you’d come to think. It’s more that you’d rather have just kept it light like always, and he didn’t, and then you didn’t, and the safety net wasn’t there when you needed it. It’s something of a relief that he got himself kicked off the course when he did. You haven’t spoken since.

Back to the point– item 1 is how you end up working (just part time, you’re not as ambitious (read: insane) as your roommates) in the ticket booth at Carat Bay. You didn’t get to meet many of your coworkers yesterday, since the morning was eaten up by induction (not much to induct, you think, since all there is to do is take the money, push a few buttons, give customers their wristbands, and make sure to upsell the goggles.) and lunch was taken in a break room that was completely empty, save for a few harvest spiders and one dead wasp.

You learned quickly (from Joshua, the other ticket staff who sits across the entryway) that the shifts are long and boring, since you’ll be sitting in a single occupancy booth for four to eight hours. Apparently it’s a rush of people at opening, having barely-there interactions with most of the patrons, and they come in dribs and drabs throughout the day. Occasionally a lost kid will wander over, and you’ll get to make a call for their adult over the tannoy. Before you knew it, Mingyu was scolding Soonyoung for leaving handprints and kiss marks on your window (someone has to clean that, Soonyoung!), and it was time to go home.

“What’s your real name?” says Jun Not Junhui, leaning in through your open window to look for the name badge that you’ve forgotten to put on. He smells like your type- good weed and expensive soap.

You tell him the truth this time, since he’ll find out soon enough anyway, and he repeats it for confirmation. Twice. You roll your lips between your teeth in effort not to laugh.

“Soonyoung’s talked about you a lot,” he says, looking you over. “You don’t seem evil.”

“You should’ve seen me an hour ago,” you grin. “You run the snackbar?”

Jun blinks, surprised. “Food and Beverage Manager. Did I say that already? I didn’t feel my mouth move.”

“No,” you say. “Soonyoung mentioned you. He’s gone to the snack bar to get us breakfast.”

His eyes blow wide. Panicked, he says, “Kwon Soonyoung is in my kitchen?”

“Uh–”

“He’s using my kitchen?”

“Um–”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“Why would I say that?”

He doesn’t reply. He takes off sprinting into the park, yelling Soonyoung’s name, and as he disappears around the corner of the locker rooms, you remember that you’re supposed to check everyones’ staff ID cards. Oops.

Soonyoung walks back over a minute later, one to-go coffee stacked precariously on top of the other, and a couple of paper bags clutched in his other hand.

“I just met Jun,” you say, taking the balanced cup from him as soon as he gets to your booth. You take a sip– it tastes burned, but it’s caffeine. Anything will do.

“Yeah, I figured. I heard him screaming like a banshee and had to hide in the log flume so he didn’t see me,” he grumbles. He tosses a paper bag at you. Inside is an egg and cheese bagel. “My ass is wet.”

“You’re a lifeguard in a water park. You’re wearing board shorts. Isn’t getting wet part of the job description?”

“Not before nine AM.”

“Thought you said he didn’t mind people raiding the kitchen?” You take a bite of your bagel. It’s– uh. It’s edible.

Soonyoung smiles mischievously. “Well yeah, so long as he’s there to supervise. He doesn’t like anyone touching his precious fridge magnets.”

“He didn’t seem like a manager.”

“He’s full of surprises, that one.”

You’re interrupted by the sound of slammed car doors and a rev of the engine as it pulls away, and a moment later, in trudge a bunch of guys in a uniform similar to Soonyoung’s. White polo shirt, pink board shorts, comically small pink visor. You want one too, why haven’t you got a visor? Soonyoung wears a white shirt too, but his has ‘LIFEGUARD’ emboldened on both sides in red. You just get the white polo, three sizes too large because it was either this or one that was clearly from unsold children’s merch stock. Nothing cute in pink, or blue like Joshua.

“Who are they?”

Soonyoung points them out left to right. “Chan, mat racing. Minghao, kiddie slide. Vernon, wave pool. Seungcheol, hot springs.” You’ve heard a lot about these guys at home.

When they get to your booth and Soonyoung starts introductions, Chan hangs back a little.

“Oh my God,” he says, wide eyed. “A woman.”

You stare at him.

“Sorry about him.” Minghao grimaces as he presses his ID against your window. “He didn’t mean that in a weird way.”

“Is there a not-weird way?” you ask, tapping his name on the ipad to mark him signed in.

“There hasn’t been a woman hire in like, eight years,” explains Seungcheol, showing his ID too. “There was a little scandal with the HR guy last season. Turns out he ran some incel subreddit and it bled into his hiring practice.”

There’s a long pause while you wait for someone– anyone– to laugh. No one does.

“You’re joking?”

“He’s been sacked. Don’t worry.”

You rag a hand over your face. “You’re telling me I’m the only woman who’s worked here in nearly a decade?”

The four men stare at you. If this were a sitcom you’d be hearing crickets.

You turn on Soonyoung, who’s trying to escape out of your booth unnoticed. Too slow.

“AH! Let go!”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that, Soonyoung?” You tighten your grip on his hair. He yelps. “Doesn’t that seem like crucial information your best friend should know before taking a job here? It does, doesn’t it?”

“I forgot, you psychopath! Best friends don’t hurt each other!”

You twist and Soonyoung falls into a squat in an effort to break free, smacking at your hand. “Men best friends tell their women best friends when they’re stepping into a testosterone fuelled snake pit.”

“Little harsh,” whistles Minghao. “The snakes are standing right here.”

“There was that one woman,” says Vernon, tongue pushed into the fat of his cheek, eyes up in thought. “The elderly one. What was her name? Jun’s cook from a few years ago?”

“The one he killed?” asks Chan.

“What?” you sputter, releasing Soonyoung, who falls backwards out the door.

“He didn’t kill her,” insists Minghao.

“She’s not even dead,” says Vernon, brow furrowed. “Jun visited her two weeks ago.”

“She had a stroke, didn’t she?” questions Seungcheol.

Minghao rolls his eyes. “It was never proven that it was Jun’s fault though.”

Is everyone working here insane?

You can hear flip flops smacking the pavement and you turn to look– Soonyoung is running away. Fearing premature hair loss, probably. You and the guys watch him go.

“He’ll suffer later,” you reassure yourself.

“So– uh– you live with Soonyoung?” asks Seungcheol. “And the events guy?”

“Events guy?”

“Mingyu,” confirms Vernon.

Events– is that what Mingyu does? What the fuck does FSHL stand for then?

“That’s me.”

“We’re not all incels,” says Chan. “We only had one.”

Everyone turns to look at him. Minghao’s mouth is hanging open and Vernon is wide eyed and tight-lipped, trying not to laugh.

“Okaaay?”

“Well. Only one that we know of,” he blurts. “Although–”

He’s cut off as Minghao elbows him hard in the ribs.

“We’ll be seeing you then!” Seungcheol smiles. “What time is your lunch?”

“Twelve–thirty.”

“Same as me,” Vernon pipes up. “Wanna meet some of us at Sharkbait?”

“Where?”

“Jun’s place–” Vernon taps the spot on the map taped to your window. “Next to the log flume. It’s where we all take our breaks.”

Explains the empty break room. You’re not sure how safe you’ll be in Jun Not Junhui’s territory, given recent revelations, but you’re curious.

“Sure, see you then.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sharkbait is pretty small. The exterior is pastel blue, serves what can only be described as beige food, and there’s a huge plastic shark in sunglasses and bermuda shorts riding a surfboard attached to the roof. It’s nestled amongst a bunch of other themed eateries, and the tables on the veranda outside are spilling over with people. There’s a long line of people queuing, and one bored teenager behind the counter on the left. Soonyoung is at the other end of the bar, pouring himself a drink and chewing on a peperami. He waves you over when he spots you.

“Hey,” he says, as you reach the bar. “We’re friends right?”

“I guess,” you say, shrugging. It’s been eight years, you’re stuck like glue. “Why?”

“Will you settle something for us?”

“Us?” you ask, peering over the counter, because save for the kid working the till, he’s the only one there.

Soonyoung ignores your question. “Is a waffle just a grilled pancake?”

“What?” you say, leaning on the counter and unboxing your sandwich. It’s gone all soggy and gross next to your salad.

Vernon pops his head through a hatch behind Soonyoung. He’s eating a hard-boiled egg.

“Pancakes are waffles– same ingredients, same thing, right?” says Vernon.

Your eyebrows furrow. “By that logic ice cream is just frozen flavoured butter.”

“Yeah!” shouts Vernon, pointing his egg at you. “See, she gets it.”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t her getting it,” says Soonyoung. “Pretty sure she was saying butter and ice cream are distinctly different things.”

Vernon scoffs and his eyes slide over to you. “Is that what you meant?”

You shrug, too busy inspecting your wet bread, looking for a bit that isn’t mushy. Your stomach rumbles so loud that the guys stare at you quietly for a moment.

“Agree with me and I’ll get Jun to make you a grilled cheese.”

Two cheese heavy meals in a day? Your guts might complain but your mouth certainly won't. “Sold.”

“That’s bribery,” argues Soonyoung. He turns on you. “I’ll remember this, traitor.”

Vernon laughs. “Wanna come hang out back here?”

You nod, and Vernon disappears out of view. You make your way around the bar, and follow Soonyoung through the door to the kitchen.

Jun is already starting on your grilled cheese. He’s slicing the bread and offering you a smile as you walk in and copy Vernon and Soonyoung, pulling yourself up to sit on the only counter not being used for prepping food. Jun is wearing his visor backwards, and there’s flour (powdered sugar?) dusting his nose. Cute.

“Hi Jun Junhui.”

He blinks, confused. “Sorry, it’s just Jun– not Junhui.”

Oh, so he’s easy to fuck with.

“Junnot Junhui?”

He stares at you blankly. “Call me Jun.”

“I’ll try to remember,” you say, with mock-earnest. “But Junnot is pretty cemented in there now.” You rap your knuckles on your head. “Ow.”

Jun glances at Soonyoung. “Is she always like this?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, dramatically. “She’s even worse when you get to know her. Problem is she’s actually pretty useful so you end up keeping her around.”

You grin. “I’m like a bedbug.”

Vernon frowns. “What’s great about bedbugs?”

“Huh,” you say, thinking hard. He’s got a point. You click your fingers– “A rat!”

“If I found a rat in my kitchen I’d get the traps out,” says Jun flatly, and then clarifies– “The no-kill ones. I’m not a monster.”

“Type two diabetes?” offers Vernon.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “She’s not sweet enough.”

“Dandelions,” cuts in a voice behind you, making you jump. Mingyu’s face is peeking through the hatch, he looks so out of place here, in his crisp shirt and expensive blue tie. The others go a little quiet in his presence, so you wonder how often he spends time out of his office in the resort.

“For fuck’s sake,” you groan, scowling. “Could you breathe louder so we in the land of the living know you’re coming?”

“Dandelions are perfect,” Soonyoung agrees, clicking his fingers. “Annoying, everywhere-“

“Can’t get rid of them-“ Mingyu chimes in.

“Suck a dick and die, assholes.”

A wicked grin spreads across Soonyoung’s face. “Kind of ugly until the sun comes up-“

“I’m not ugly,” you say with a petulant pout. “I’m an easy eight, nine on a good hair day.”

“Ten,” says Jun quickly. You give him a thumbs up and he smiles, casting his eyes down to focus very hard on grating cheese. You’re making him your new favourite.

“We’ve seen you drunk with your head in a toilet,” says Mingyu simply. “We’ve seen you when pneumonia bit your ass so hard you didn’t shower for nearly two weeks.”

“You smelled so baaaaad, dude,” nods Soonyoung emphatically.

You pull an affronted face. “I feel like looking like shit while having a life-threatening illness shouldn’t count against me, actually.”

“Every time you coughed you almost peed yourse–”

“Key word being almost–” you interrupt, nearly yelling. You turn to face the people you met just a few hours ago to insist– “I’ve never peed myself.”

Soonyoung laughs, delighted.

“Say something nice about dandelions or I’ll cry.”

Mingyu looks up into his big empty brain to think. “Good for bees…” he trails off.

Jun cuts in- “and for making wishes on.”

“Thanks so much, guys. Way to make a girl feel good.” You roll your eyes. “What are you here for, anyway?” you say to Mingyu. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “No,” he says, reaching through the hatch and holding out a sheet of paper for Vernon to take. “We’ve got a crew on site in two weeks, they’re filming the ads for the summer. They’ll want to–”

“Uhh, hello?” you interject. Mingyu looks at you expectantly. “Why are you paying a film crew when you literally have an in-house filmography student?”

“No offence,” he starts gently, and he does actually look like he means it. “But this might be above your pay grade. You know this is a multi-million dollar resort, right?”

“Damn. Fair enough,” you say. You didn’t realise that, actually. You knew it was nice, sure, but Jesus Christ. “Out of curiosity, what’s the budget for the filming?”

“Just the film crew?” he asks. You nod. “Sixty thousand, ish.”

You whistle, low. “Could’ve paid my rent with that.”

Mingyu laughs in a fake way.

“I’ll keep you in mind next time,” he says. “Haven’t they given you your proper uniform yet?”

You glance down at your much too-big polo shirt. “Should I be in something different?”

“You should be in blue. White means you’re first aid trained.”

“Oh shit, yeah,” you say, eyes widening. “No one wants me doing mouth to mouth, I’d be more likely to kill them.”

Vernon cackles and kicks at Jun, who ignores him.

“Yup,” agrees Mingyu. “Call in at reception at closing and we'll get Seokmin to find you the right kit.”

You nod, and with a wave to the group, he’s gone.

“Any allergies? Is there anything you don’t like?” Jun asks.

“No allergies. But a big no to beans. Texture’s weird.”

“Got it.”

Soonyoung makes to leave, his break’s over. As the door shuts behind him, the remaining three of you settle into comfortable conversation. You ask Jun and Vernon how long they’ve worked here– five and three years respectively. Vernon grew up here, like you and Soonyoung, just a different part of the city. Tutors English via Zoom as his main job, but he works the wave pool every year just for the plot, apparently. Jun got a job here during a summer trip and never left. He works in the resort kitchen during the off-season, but he prefers it out here in the park.

“Less eyes on you,” he says, drizzling something red and sticky over your sandwich. He presses the pieces together, and moves it over to the grill.

“How ominous.”

Jun smiles but doesn’t elaborate. “You’re a film student?”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing dramatically. “Until I get kicked out for failing.”

“Why are you failing?” asks Vernon, around a mouthful of fries.

Two months, three weeks, and one day left. You have nothing, nada, zilch. Stumped for ideas, inspiration, and manpower. Fuck Jiho and his absent manpower.

“Got a project due soon that I haven’t even started– well, I did start, but then my partner got kicked out of school and it was too big to keep going by myself. So now I need something new.”

“What’s the brief?”

“We’ve got a lot of creative freedom to be honest. Fiction, non-fiction– doesn’t matter. Just needs to be between twenty and thirty minutes and have a quote-unquote nostalgic feel.”

“Sounds simple enough,” says Vernon, casually.

“Uh huh,” you deadpan. “You come up with something for me then, Mr Spielberg.”

He’s biting his lip, embarrassed, while Jun laughs, plating your grilled cheese next to a much more appealing salad.

“Order up.”

“Ooh thank you, this looks way better than what I had.”

Jun eyes the box sitting next to you. “Not a difficult challenge to beat.”

“Hm, I’m not much of a cook,” you say, pausing to take a bite. Oh God. It’s spicy and sweet and cheesy. It’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten. The best thing you’ve ever eaten from a place called Sharkbait and made by a guy who smells like weed. How tragic. “This is– uh– it’s pretty good.”

Jun scoffs. “It’s really good. They won’t let me put it on the menu though.”

“Fuck those guys,” says Vernon.

Jun smiles. “Yeah. Fuck ‘em.”

You devour your lunch in record time. Jun looks pleased with himself as he rushes out the rest of the orders coming through from out front, and Vernon says his goodbyes as he heads back to the wave pool.

And then it’s just the two of you. Jun works fast and methodically. He doesn’t talk so much as listens to you yap away, but answers a question here and there, laughs at your jokes.

“Hey, how come you’re the manager if you don’t have anyone here to like– manage?”

“It’s usually just me in the kitchen ever since Marnie had an aneurysm, and Jay out front. I can handle it until high-season, and then they’ll hire a temp to see us through.”

You mull this over. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Jun shakes his head. “Everyone comes to visit me, I could use a little more alone time, actually.”

You pout. “So I shouldn’t come back for lunch tomorrow?”

Pink creeps up his neck, and he turns to busy himself tossing the fries in seasoning. “I didn’t say that.”

“Cool,” you say. “Cause I’m gonna need one of those off-menu grilled cheeses for every single shift I pick up.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It turns out everyone who works here is a comedian and/or an idiot, as evidenced when you meet Seokmin, Front Office Manager, and the most sunshine personified dude you’ve ever met.

You turn up at the resort’s reception at closing hours, and now you know why your parents never brought you to the restaurant here for your birthday dinner all these years, because God is it expensive. It’s all marble floors, and gilded details, but in that elegant way that doesn’t throw the money in your face.

Seokmin brings you into the office and motions for you to have a seat while he calls the uniform company.

He smiles brightly as he asks them for your size, then falters.

“You only do unisex clothes?” Seokmin says into the receiver. “Don’t you do unisex for women?”

You poorly disguise your snort as a sneeze as he doesn’t appear to understand whatever the sales rep is telling him.

“Unisex is fine,” you whisper, and Seokmin smiles at you with relief.

He’s still on the phone a minute later, when Mingyu pops his head in the open door.

“Soonyoung’s got a date, I’ve had a day from hell, and you’re my only irresponsible friend,” he whispers. “Wanna come get high with me?”

“Hell yeah,” you say, jumping up as Seokmin waves you off. Wait– “Fuck you, man, who are you calling irresponsible?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your plug’s place isn’t far, a ten minute walk at most. On the way you talk about work, you ask questions about the people you’ve met so far, but Mingyu doesn’t know them as well as he’d like. He’s always shut in the office. You ask what his job title is again, he levels you with a look, and he tells you– LTPS. Or something. He’s in charge of like, resort events and some other really boring shit like– uh– whatever, you’ve already forgotten.

Mingyu concedes he’s buying, since he has been extra snappy lately, but that’s just on account of the extra pressure that comes with the busy season. Once he’s into the swing of summer, he settles down and he’s back to his usual loveable self.

Not long later, you’re standing in Mark’s kitchen, staring at him in disbelief.

Mingyu isn’t sure either. He tugs at your hand holding the bag, sniffs, and immediately recoils. “This smells like shit, man. Don’t you have what we usually get?”

“Frosty Flurkle is so goooood, dude,” Mark insists. “My buddy grew that!”

“Tell your buddy that the people don’t want to smoke lavender and cat vomit. Not for twenty-five a gram.”

He snatches the bag out of your hands. “Well I dunno what to tell you, this is what I’ve got.” Mark puffs out his chest. “I’m his sole dealer.”

“Hmmm.” You draw out the sound. “Maybe you should have a little think about why that is.”

Mark scoffs. “Do you want it or not?”

You look at Mingyu. He looks at you. Your last dealer moved across the country, and you can’t be bothered searching out anyone else at this time of night. Might as well take one gram, you say with your eyes, see if it’s better once it’s in your system. Would be silly to go home empty handed, you assume Mingyu says with his.

“One gram,” you say. “And we’re only paying fifteen.”

“Twenty tw–”

“Sevente–“

One hour and twenty dollars later, you feel sick to your stomach, Mingyu is clutching his head, and you set a reminder to hire an Etsy witch to curse Mark’s entire bloodline. Then you order cheese fries and fall into a restless sleep before they even arrive.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sunday is probably the worst day to be at work. Why would you pick up a shift on a Sunday when you have so many assignments to procrastinate on? Especially this Sunday, when you’re feeling the fuzzy effects of a crappy high, an empty stomach, and a bad night’s rest.

“Woah,” says Jun upon arrival. He smells much nicer than the Foisty Flumple you had last night. Good weed and nice perfume. And pretty. God, he looks amazing. On a better day you’d flirt outrageously with him, but today is one of those days where it was an effort to wash your face, let alone put on makeup. What a cruel, awful world. “You look–”

“If you don’t say some variation of stunning, beautiful, and/or captivating, Jun Junhui, I will eat you alive.”

He grins. “Ravishing.”

Your brows pinch together and a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“Interesting choice.”

“Uh huh.” Jun rubs the back of his neck. “Hungover?”

You shake your head. “Bad high.”

“Want breakfast?” he asks. You perk up at that. Literally– your face immediately feels less grey. He laughs. “Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet please,” you say, leaning closer to the window. “Just like you.”

You’ve never seen a grown man blush harder. Cute.

He’s back a little later with an iced americano and a warm croissant, filled with raspberry jam, and dusted with sugar.

“Junnot Junhui, you’re the best,” you mumble around a bite. “I could kiss you.”

“Hahahaha,” says Jun, not casually at all. “I– uh– I’d–”

“I’m joking, Romeo.” You wipe the jam from the corner of your mouth. “Settle down, I can smell your adrenaline spiking from over here.”

“Oh, yeah I knew that,” he says, running a hand through his hair in what he must think seems nonchalant and chill. It isn’t. Your grin is akin to the Cheshire Cat.

“I don’t kiss people at work,” you say. And then, meeting his eyes, “You’ll have to take me on a date if you’d like one from me.”

Jun’s adams apple bobs in his throat.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re having lunch at the snackbar again, and this time it’s so rammed full with staff on their breaks, it takes Jun a little while to get around to handing over your sandwich. He goes silent when he works, only stopping to break the chaos with a sharp yell, anytime someone messes with the cat magnets on his fridge. You like watching him– his arms while he chops vegetables, the way his little muscles flex when he’s carrying a heavy box, the movement of his fingers when he’s sprinkling seasoning over a pan.

Jeonghan, who works the big slide, grins at you with sparkling eyes. You can sense his evil nature bubbling beneath that angelic facade– that’s best friend material. “You know you’re practically drooling, right?”

You pat your stomach. “Really hungry.”

“For the food or for Jun?”

You push your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Both.”

Jun makes his way through the people crowding his station, plate held high above his head. He’s smiling lovely when he reaches you, and pushes the plate into your hands.

“Thanks, Junhui, you’re so sexy.” He’s immediately bright red, and Soonyoung throws a wet cloth at you. It smacks off your collar and drips dishwater down your shirt. “AH! Soonyoung, what the FUCK?”

“Don’t flirt with him!”

You wave at him dismissively. “I flirt with everyone.”

“You’ll corrupt my sweet, innocent, Junnot Junhui!”

Jun makes a frustrated sound. “Not you, too? How did I get this nickname?”

“You did it to yourself, sweetheart,” you say, fondly stroking his arm. It’s a feeble excuse to touch.

“You haven’t flirted with me yet,” complains Seungcheol.

You play your part and bat your eyelashes. “Oh, darling, would you like me to?”

He nods, making puppy-dog eyes and pouting. You squeeze his bicep and gasp for the drama of it. “Cheollie, have you been working out?”

Soonyoung gags, and you smirk. Jun looks down at his arms.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Despite the last experience, you are back at Mark’s. Mingyu had a particularly bad day in the office, you will do anything for the bit, and Mark has assured you that his supplier has something better.

You have your reservations, but surely nothing could be as bad as Foisty Farmyard. Surely?

It’s whatever. Mark cuts you a deal on account of your bad experience last time, and that should’ve been your first red flag. The second should’ve been that you met his supplier, Johnny, who apparently wears the jeans low enough to hang off his kneecaps and a huge, gold chain with a dollar sign unironically. But what a deal Mark cuts! Two grams for the price of one can’t be that bad.

Dear reader: it is that bad.

Mingyu greens out within ten minutes. You’re not far behind. Soonyoung comes home from his date and finds you both on the bathroom floor, rolls his eyes, and leaves you both to sort yourselves out.

In the morning, Soonyoung says that if you don’t find a witch to curse Mark, he certainly will.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

All of your new colleagues are easy to like (they’re loud, funny, sweet in their own ways), but it’s Jun who quickly becomes your favourite. Your shifts start with a sweet pastry and an iced americano, sometimes left in your booth with a note, sometimes hand delivered with a sleepy smile. You thought he was quiet, and he is, but he’s also sharp, and playful, and funny in that really cool, witty way. He shines brighter in quieter spaces, when fewer staff crowd his kitchen, and when he forgets his shyness. On the days he’s in early enough to deliver your breakfast, he’ll squeeze into your booth and take your chair while you sit on the counter, and he’ll try very hard to ignore the way you flirt with him.

You’ve been thinking about the vanilla danish he left on your desk all day, and with the way you had to skip lunch, you haven’t had a chance to thank him yet. Two minutes before your break starts is precisely when the film crew arrived on site and for some reason the office radioed through to make it your job to organise their visitor passes. There were so many of them it took up most of your break, and Joshua ended up having to bring you a neatly packaged panini from Jun to speed-eat on the floor of your booth. So with Mingyu’s meeting running over, and Soonyoung heading over to the lazy river to persuade Jihoon to come over for drinks, you rush through the park to catch Jun before he heads home.

The park is deathly quiet at this time– no patrons, no staff, no overplayed feel-good pop music playing from the speakers. From outside the snackbar looks spotless and empty, the hatch window firmly closed. It stinks, though. Jun is here, somewhere. Pushing open the door, the kitchen is just as clean as the front, but with a haze of smoke filling the room. You round the corner and find Jun laying on the floor– joint in hand, staring, unblinking, at the ceiling.

You kick his foot and he doesn’t move. “Dude, are you dead?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “Hey, did you know the camels in Petra have wifi?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s true,” he insists, laughing so hard tears stream from his bloodshot eyes. “It’s shav– it’s shaved into their neck hair.”

You laugh. “That can’t be right.”

Jun pats the floor. “Sit with me, I wanna ask you stuff.”

You roll your lips between your teeth to stop your smile spreading further, and you sink cross-legged on the floor next to him. Jun rests his hand on your shoe, little finger tracing the edge of your sock.

“Can’t stay long, Mingyu’s driving us home,” you say, plucking the joint from his hand and taking a drag. “Holy shit, this is good. You wouldn’t believe the crap we picked up last.”

“Mhm, yeah it’s pretty nice.” Jun looks pleased with himself. “You live far?”

“That’s your question? Borrrrring.”

Jun turns to smile up at you, lazy and slow, with dark half-lidded eyes. God, he’s hot.

“No. I know where Soonyoung lives. And you live with Soonyoung.”

“You’ve been to our place?”

“Just once. You weren’t there. I’d have remembered.”

There are butterflies in your stomach. You let them swirl.

“Ask me something better, then.”

Jun stares at you. Quietly, he says, “I can’t think straight.”

His little finger brushes your ankle, pretty mouth parted, and looking like there are too many thoughts behind his eyes. Can’t sort through them, probably, on account of the weed fogging his brain, but it’s nicer to imagine it’s because of you. The silence hangs, so quiet you can almost hear the cogs turning.

You take another drag before offering up the joint above his mouth– your fingers brush his lips as you place the joint between them as he takes a hit. The softness of them is really fucking with you. Boys' lips shouldn’t be that soft. You should ask him what lip balm he uses.

It’s like this, quiet, and soft, and hazy for a little while, the joint getting shorter and shorter as you pass it back and forth. Your body goes liquid and heavy and Jun laughs along with you when you get the giggles over the feeling of his lips brushing your fingertips again. Feels weirdly intimate for sitting on the floor of an industrial kitchen.

“Question.”

“Hit me.”

“Have you–” A long pause. If he weren't looking directly at you you’d think he’d fallen asleep. “You ever been to the Galapagos Islands?”

“Uh,” you cough. “No.”

“Damn. I wanna know what the big heads feel like.”

“Probably really hard.”

Jun chews on his lip. “Yeah.”

Your phone is ringing. Feels like a million miles away. Mingyu’s name is on the screen, and you know you need to answer, but you’re high as shit and he’ll only give you grief for smoking at work. Something something unprofessional. Something something irresponsible. Something something hypocritical. You don’t want to hear it. You let it ring off, wait for a moment, and send him a text.

Me: hanging out with jun. i’ll get the bus

Gyu: You sure?

Me: yeah, won’t be long <3

Before you forget you look up the time for the bus– there aren’t many at this time of day– and set an alarm so you’ll make it to the bus stop in time.

Gyu: Be good. Don’t kill the guy

Me: would never kill the guy i have a big fat crush on

Gyu: 🙄 you have big fat crushes on everyone

“I’ve got one,” you say, leaning back against the dishwasher. Jun turns on his side to look at you properly. “What did you wanna be when you were a kid?”

The corners of his lips twitch. “Promise not to laugh at me?” You smile and shake your head, you’d never promise such a thing. Jun laughs, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. “I wanted– oh God. I wanted to be Jackie Chan.”

“An actor?”

“No, like actually him.” Jun is the first to start laughing, full body shakes, his hands fly up to cover his face, and you’re near silent with laughter just watching him. It’s not even that funny, but he is. “I wanted– I wanted to like.. morph into his body or something. I wanted become actual Jackie Chan.”

The silence you fall into is easy. There’s nothing left to smoke and the feeling sets in, a soft buzz in your body, heavy arms, heavy eyes. This is so nice.

“Got ‘nother one,” Jun says, after a little while. “What was your project about? The one you dropped.”

It’s hard to explain. “S’about how, like– like how crushes are better than the real thing, y’know?” Just looking at him, you can tell he doesn’t get it. “Like when you get a crush, and it’s fuzzy and silly and exciting, and everything about them feels electric. And you think they’re the best person you’ve ever met, and your stomach is in knots wondering what they think about you. And your imagination runs wild wondering how they like to kiss.”

Jun is staring at your lips. Your breath hitches. There are flashes of Jiho in your mind’s eye. It’s not like you loved him or anything, it was just turning into something a little more than like. Him in the morning, sleepy and soft, texting other girls. Him fresh out of the shower– water in his hair and running down his neck, snapping a selfie in the mirror to use on Tinder– then slipping back into bed just to get annoyed that he couldn’t make you come. More likely that you wouldn’t fake it for him. Whatever. A ‘red-flag’, your friends had called him. It’s okay. A walking reminder of why crushes reign supreme. It’s really okay, you weren’t in deep enough for it to matter.

“But six months later it’s real, and you can touch, but they don’t get you off like you’d hoped, you know? And you don’t like the way they kiss as much as you did in your imagination. And they don’t always say the right thing. They’re always competing with the imaginary version you made up of them, and you’re fighting something invisible to be seen as enough.”

“You keep saying ‘you know’,” he says carefully. “But this sounds like a unique experience.”

The silence hangs between you.

“Was it about you? You prefer limerence over the real thing?”

Yes and no. It’s not that you prefer limerence as such, but nothing you’ve experienced yet has been better than the feeling of almost. If the real thing ever lived up to the make believe in your head you’d snatch it up in a heartbeat. The trouble is that it feels rare, only meant for a few and not the many.

“Crushes are easier to come by,” you say. “It isn’t like that for you?”

Jun shakes his head. “I hardly ever like anyone. No projections when I do, though.”

You gawk at him. “Wah, what a life. What’s that like?”

“Pretty good,” Jun says, smile spreading crooked across his lovely face. His hand isn’t draped across your ankle anymore, it rests by his side on the tile floor, and you miss the weight of it. “Easier than whatever the fuck you’re doing. Your way would give me anxiety.”

You nudge him in the side. “Oh, is your way going well for you, then?”

Jun stretches his arms out, pushes himself up to sit, and says, “I’m still single; so not that well, no.”

Your alarm goes off, and when you say you’ve got to get going, he almost looks a little disappointed. You push yourself off the ground and turn.

“Are my shorts covered in dirt?”

Jun eyes you with suspicion. “Are you trying to get me to look at your ass?”

“Obviously.” You peek at him over your shoulder. “Is it working?”

“You’re not slick,” Jun scoffs lightly, and tips his head back against the cupboard, exposing the long line of his neck. It’d be nice to kiss him there. You pout at him, make moments like these light so you can play pretend in this crush a little longer. He laughs, and his eyes flicker down. “Dust yourself off a little– there, now you’re good.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“You’re welcome, amigo.”

“See you later, alligator.”

“In a while, crocodile.”

“Wait–” Jun grabs your wrist on your way out. The tips of his ears are tinged red. “Gimme your number. In case– y’know, in case you can’t find any good shit again.”

God, he’s cute.

Later, when you get home and find yourself raiding all the snacks in the cupboard, Mingyu catches you in the act, immediately clocks your bloodshot eyes and the stench of weed, and chews you out on the spot for 1) getting stoned in the workplace, and 2) not sharing the good stuff with him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“I met Weird Al Yankovic once,” Jun says, when you ask if he’s ever met any celebrities. “We made eye contact through the hatch and told me to be careful not to chop a finger off. That’s probably when my fear of knives kicked in.”

“Dude, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re like the strangest person I’ve ever known.”

Jun plucks the joint from your lips and puts it to his own. You like when he does that. When the smallest brush of skin can be felt all over.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Getting stoned with Jun after work is fast becoming a semi-regular thing. Never anywhere but his kitchen, never organised but it becomes expected. At lunch, if he’s planning on staying late, he’ll ask if you’re riding with Mingyu or getting the bus, and that’s the decider. Sometimes Vernon is there, sometimes Seungcheol.

After the third session you start offering to buy, because you’re smoking all his shit and it seems unfair that you’re probably putting his kitchen at a deficit too. Jun waves you off. He likes to do things for people, apparently. After the sixth, you start asking who his dealer is (mostly on account of Mingyu, who is vehemently against getting dummy high at work, but is just as bitter he’s been left with Mark With The Bad Stash as a supplier.) but Jun won’t say. No amount of flirting will make him fold.

Trading ridiculous questions on the floor of Sharkbait’s kitchen is becoming a semi-regular thing too. The questions are silly, always surface level, could be one of those scripted five minute mock-interviews you see online sometimes, and you know it’s because you hardly know each other to ask the real stuff yet, but you like it. It’s easy. It’s simple.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu is positively grey when you get home from visiting your parents on Thursday evening.

“Do not tell me you went to fuckass Mark again?”

“I went to fuckass Mark,” he wails.

“Whyyyyyyy, Mingyu? Why fuckass Mark?” You start to shake his shoulders but stop short when it looks like he’s about to empty his stomach over your shoes. “Get yourself to bed.”

“Can’t,” he says, ashen face knotted up into a frown. “You’re gonna have to take me.”

“You’re the size of an ostrich, Mingyu, be serious.”

“I’m not an ostrich,” he cries. “Please please please help me.”

Jesus Christ. “You’re a baby.”

He pouts. “A sick baby.”

“Soonyoung—” you yell down the hall. “Come help me drag the baby to bed!”

“Will you curse him this time?”

“Soonyoung? Did he melt a chopping board on the stove again?”

“No,” says Mingyu, screwing his eyes shut. “Mark.”

“Sure, why not.”

Finding the right kind of Etsy witch proves difficult. It’s not the scams you care about as such, but more so one that isn’t too scary looking. You don’t actually want anything serious to happen to Mark, you’ll settle for something like a bad case of halitosis– but all of these Bad Luck spell reviews cite awful occurrences that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, let alone some doofus who overcharged you for shitty weed.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, freshly showered and drinking leftover wine, while Soonyoung lays across the sofa and peers at your laptop screen over your shoulder. You’re waiting on your food to arrive before starting your show, and figured you’d better find a witch sooner rather than later.

“What about this one?” says Soonyoung, pointing at a listing.

“You want me to buy a curse from someone called LadyEviliansCoven?” you say, incredulous. “The one who literally has Evil Ian in her name?”

Your phone goes off.

Jun: Will you be my guinea pig tomorrow?

Me: depends. what’ve you got in mind for me ;)

Jun: Lol. It’s a surprise.

Me: okaaaaaaay fine

Me: just so long as it’s not cheese again, i fear i’m going to turn into a block of cheddar

Soonyoung reads over your shoulder. “You’re talking to Jun?”

“Yeah, we swapped numbers last week.”

Jun: I like cheddar :)

Me: omg you’re so smooth :)

Soonyoung tuts.

“What’s with you lately,” you ask. “Why are you being so weird?”

He sighs heavy. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way–” and it immediately gets your back up because he’s about to say something offensive and– “but could you not be a– um– a flirt at work?”

You spin around to pull a face at him. “I thought you were going to call me a whore for a second.”

Soonyoung smirks. “I considered it.”

“I’m not flirting with everyone.” Not seriously, anyway. Soonyoung levels you with a look. “I’m not.”

Jun: Wanna come get high with me? I have better shit than your weed guy.

“All I’m saying is don’t toy with Jun for the bit. He’s too soft-hearted.” It’s so rare that Soonyoung goes serious that it’s hard to counter it. He’s right. You have a tendency to take a joke too far, to flirt your way into and out of too many crushes. People get attached quicker than you do and it’s easy to forget when you move like the wind. Maybe it’s the other way around? Move like the wind so it’s easier to forget.

Me: can’t, sorry. it’s gilmore girls night. raincheck?

Jun: I’ll hold you to it :)

“She’s so fucking hot,” drools Soonyoung, reaching across your shoulder to jab at your screen. “Pick her.”

You scoff. “Who chooses an Etsy witch based on her level of hotness–” You stop short as you peer closer to inspect the sellers’ profile picture. “Soonyoung, that’s an AI photo, you fucking imbecile.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sharkbait has been off limits for the last three days for recording. Mingyu said on no account can Jun or anyone else (i.e. you) get high in there until filming has wrapped, and you’re quietly convinced it’s because he wants to be invited to your smoke sessions. You don’t blame him.

This is how you end up sitting on the living room floor with everything feeling pink and golden, and off balance in that really cool, roller coaster moving in slow motion type of way. Mingyu is laying face down on the sofa, fast asleep and drooling. The bowl lays as spent as him on the table, embers fading out. Vernon and Soonyoung are chatting away and you can hardly focus on the words. Jun catches your eye, and he makes this funny expression like he’s making fun of you, and though you’re not quite following it makes you laugh anyway.

You’ve become hyper-aware of his body next to you. The long line of his legs, how he stretches out like a cat, and how you could fit your finger between the part in his lips. Soonyoung is saying something about how hungry he is, and you are too but you can’t get up from the floor as fast as Jun.

“Come help me,” Jun says. “Show me around your kitchen.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groan. But he’s pulling you up by the wrist and you’re thinking how unfair it is that someone so wiry is as strong as he is. Not just unfair but hot. Crushes are evil, you think. He’s tugging you into the kitchen by the hand, and it’s all clammy and warm but not so bad you want to let go.

You’re too high to be of much help, but you direct Jun to where you keep whatever he asks for, hold the ingredients he pulls from the fridge, chop whatever he tells you to chop, and stir whatever he tells you to stir.

“That’s a lot of garlic,” you muse.

“Yeah,” says Jun. “I know how to party.”

You’re not much of a cook, but Jun is, and he’s here with his soft voice and his soft heart, and very occasional soft touches keeping you steady. He doesn’t look at you often, but when he does his smile near breaks his face. God, it’s so nice.

Time moves strange and fluid, and the laughter from your friends filters faintly down the hallway. They sound so much further away. And then Jun is in front of you, holding a spoon up to your lips and telling you to open wide. Hard not to hear the implication behind the words, hard not to look him in the eye as you open your mouth for him and take what he offers. You’re too high for this.

There are butterflies in your stomach, in your eyes, in your mouth. You let them fly.

You swallow, thick. Lick your upper lip, slow. Under his breath, Jun swears.

“This is so good, I’d let it get me pregnant.”

Jun startles. “Uh– I’m not ready to be a dad.”

“The food, Junhui.”

A long pause. Jun stares. “Right. Hahaha.”

Mingyu is in the doorway, white-knuckling the frame. “OhmyfuckingGod, guys,” he says. “I got this vision you were kissing. I think I’m telescopic.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Monday morning rolls around far too quickly and you’re wondering who decided an eight o’clock lecture would be appropriate for the start of the week. Professor Lee talks of how the progress of technology affects aesthetics in her usual soft way of speaking, and you make an attempt at concentrating enough to take notes while ignoring the incessant buzzing in your pocket. At the end of the session, Professor Lee calls your name as you’re packing up your bag. Your friends hang back, but knowing the line for coffee will be miles long if they don’t hustle you tell them not to wait and to grab you a coffee, and you make your way to the front.

Professor Lee greets you warmly. She’s felt sorry for you ever since Jiho left you in the lurch. When it all came to light she’d tried to get you to join another group, but your peers were so far into their projects you’d only disrupt their rhythm if they had to find something for you to do, and your contribution would be next to nothing. You’ve never liked being a burden, but with the deadline edging closer you’re starting to regret not taking Professor Lee’s advice.

“I wanted to check in with you,” she says gently. Bless her. “How’s your assignment coming along?”

One month, two weeks, and five days left. You still have nothing, nada, zilch. Unfortunately, your first instinct is to lie out of your arsehole.

“Good, thank you!” you say brightly.

“I didn’t see your name on the equipment rentals list?”

Fuck. Fucking shitballs.

“Oh, that’s because I’m filming on my dad’s Super 8.” Shit shit shit shit. He does have a Super 8 but there’s not a chance in hell he’ll let you use enough film to make up twenty minutes worth of footage. “Thought it’d give it that authentic nostalgic feel.”

Professor Lee’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Super 8? Audio film is hard to get hold of these days. What are you doing for sound?”

“Tascam. I’ll edit it together in post.”

“Are you having someone slate for you? It’s tricky to sync if you don’t.”

“Yeah, one of my friends.”

This lie is already getting too big. You have no time– since for all the days you’re not in lectures, you’re at work, and it’s not like there’s anything to film there. People on animal floaties bobbing down the lazy river? Bored lifeguards messing around by the wave pool? Jun, high as fuck, making you sandwiches and pretending not to have a big fat crush on you and pointedly ignoring how you flirt with him?

Wait.

Wait.

It’s a moment not unlike all those old cartoons, in which the light bulb flashes above the characters head.

“I’ve got to say– I’m really concerned you’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” Professor Lee says, her voice low and serious. But you’re not paying it mind, because now– now you finally have an idea. And the guys will help, they’re all born entertainers. The trouble will be convincing your dad. The trouble will also be not telling Mingyu and convincing Soonyoung to not give the game away.

“I’m okay, really.”

Professor Lee is unconvinced, but you’re resolute now. You can turn this around.

Out in the hallway, you pull out your phone to see a slew of messages.

Gyu: I need your help

Gyu: I’m FUCKED

Gyu: I also need to get catastrophically drunk and/or stoned tonight, please beg Jun to give up his dealer because I sure as shit am not going back to motherfucking Mark

Jun: guinea pig duties tomorrow? new pancake recipe

Gyu: I’m so fucked CALL ME

Soonsoon: u will never guess what’s happened

Gyu: Never forgetting that you abandoned me in my time of need

Gyu: If I pay you a lot of money will you call me????

Soonsoon: btw mingyu’s about to have a heart attack please call him so he stops crying

Gyu: I think I’m dying, please make sure my family know it was your fault

You call Mingyu back. It’s hard to hear through all the tears and the wailing but eventually Soonyoung snatches the phone from his hand and walks you through the drama of the day. The long and short of it is Mingyu has been scammed out of fifty percent of the filming allowance, a whole thirty-thousand dollars and the biggest budget he’s been tasked with managing so far. The film crew has disappeared into thin air. The deadline for rolling out the summer ad is looming over his head, and now he’s begging you to help him fix it before he loses face, and/or his job.

Well.

Shit.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okay. The plan is you’ve got the green light for a mockumentary, of sorts– in exchange for a thirty-second ad for television. And you’re being paid. Not the same amount as the scammy crew, of course, but way more than you could’ve hoped for as a filmography student. Sure, you’re good, but this is unheard of. Unbelievable. You’re taking it as a compliment, even though Mingyu was unnecessarily clear about only asking you because it’s too late in the game to ask anyone else.

Truth be told, you had no idea Mingyu had so much power. He’s talked your manager into giving you a half shift off ticket booth duty until filming is complete, and wrangled you an intern from the office to assist.

Seungkwan the intern is apparently grateful to be ‘let out of the dungeon’ and although he doesn’t have the first clue about what he’ll be doing for you, he’s a quick learner and very eager to avoid hot desking and spending his day fetching coffee. You’ve roped in a bunch of your coworkers to act as your characters. Some extreme version of themselves will do, you’d said, but some of them want to bring something new to the table. Seokmin in particular was rather excited.

You’ve settled on using Super 8 for both projects. You figure you could recycle some of the footage if necessary, and it saves switching between two different styles and sets of equipment. With the payment Mingyu has approved for you, you can afford to buy your own film instead of attempting to persuade your dad to use his, so for all intents and purposes– it’s all systems go.

Except it’s closing hours, and tomorrow will be your first half-day of filming, and you’re laying down in the log flume, not knowing where you’ll start. This is where Jun finds you, legs flopped over the edge of the plastic log, picking at your cuticles and fretting over the enormity of the work you have before you.

“Bad day?” he says. He’s wearing his visor backwards, hair falling in his soft eyes, looking like sugar and all things nice.

“Weird day.” You heave a sigh. “I think I’m not good enough for this.” Jun doesn’t reply, just waits for you to carry on. How could he know what you’re good for? “I think I peaked when I was fourteen, and now it’s all downhill.”

“Fourteen was a nightmare for me, who peaks at that age?” says an unconvinced Jun.

“I could do, like, fuckloads of backflips. Like ten.”

Jun’s eyes bug out. “In a row?”

“Yeah.”

“Woah,” says Jun, under his breath. “So does that make you up-down dizzy instead of circle dizzy?”

You furrow your brow. “I never really thought about it.”

“This isn’t helping?”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Wanna come over and I’ll make you dinner?”

It takes all of 0.3 seconds to mull it over. “Yeah, okay,” you say, stretching out an arm for Jun to pull you up from the log. He wraps his long fingers around your wrist and tugs, setting you on your feet, and as you start to walk he slings his arm, familiar and friendly, to rest across your shoulders.

“Can we have literally anything that isn’t cheese based?”

Jun sucks air between his teeth. “Well– I had planned on lasagne.”

“Jun, please no,” you beg, clutching at his waist. “My heart is two grams of saturated fat away from sending in its resignation letter.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His place is bigger than you expected. But whatever, his finances aren’t your business. Much bigger than you’d thought would be manageable for a guy on a cook’s salary. He gives you the tour. There’s three bedrooms. Two of which are devoid of any character, and his, which is full of it. Very him.

“Are your roommates at work?”

“I don’t have any,” he says. “Just me.”

Oh. His finances aren’t your business.

“I like your cat painting,” you say, pointing to the wiry black kitten sitting in a bodega fridge, hanging above his bedside table.

“Thanks,” he says.

He shows you out the bedroom and back downstairs, for quote unquote the rest– there’s more?

There is more. In the entryway is a door you’d assumed a cupboard, but no– it leads downstairs through to a fucking cinema room.

“Dude are you, like, rich?”

Jun laughs, rubs the back of his neck, goes a little red. Very cute.

“This place belonged to my uncle.”

“Woah,” you marvel. “All I ever inherited was the foot in mouth gene and my granddad’s Hi-Fi system.”

“What’s that?”

“Exactly.”

Much like at Sharkbait, you sit on the counter and yap while Jun cooks. He makes hot pot (thank god, because your body has been crying out for vegetables for too long) and keeps having you taste the stock, and when it’s finally done, he asks you to choose something to drink– “beer, wine, liquor, choose whatever,” he says. “It’s all there.”

You chew on the corner of your mouth as you stare at the selection. There’s too much of it and everything looks expensive. The wine bottles have real corks, for Christ’s sake. It’s starting to feel like you’ve been standing there too long, confirmed when Jun comes to stand beside you and asks if you like red. You do, so he picks up something with a worn label. Pomerol, or something. 1952.

“Do you collect this stuff?” you ask, as Jun pours two glasses, and slides one over to you.

Jun laughs for real this time.

“Nah, it was my uncle’s hobby,” he says. “Feels weird to get rid of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say softly, resting your hand on his arm.

Jun blinks at you, confused. You take a sip of wine. It tastes old.

“Were you close?”

“Oh– no, he’s not dead. He’s in prison for tax fraud.”

You nearly choke.

Jun slaps your back so hard you’re sure it’ll leave prints that’ll last long enough for Soonyoung to drag you for, and when you finally get your breath back you leap into scolding him.

“Why’d you make it sound like he died?”

Jun gapes. “Hey, you just assume! I didn’t make it sound like anything!”

“You should’ve led with the prison thing, fucknut! People get the wrong idea.”

Jun’s lips twitch. “You’re right, I should introduce myself like that,” he scoffs. “Hi, I’m Jun– by the way, my uncle is a felon and I live in his obnoxiously large house.”

You laugh. “Solid intro.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, rolling his eyes but he’s smiling. “Want me to top up your glass.”

“Fuck no, it tastes like shit.”

“Oh, thank God. I hate it too.”

“Have you got anything stronger?”

Jun grins like the devil.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your head is throbbing. So sick to your stomach that you can’t stand the smell of the breakfast sandwich Jun had slipped into your bag this morning, before you’d run out the door to get to work early. But now Soonyoung is here being a bother– initially concerned but now delighted.

“Where’d you sleep last night?” he sing-songs.

“Fuck off.”

“Not Jun’s place, surely?” He’s putting on his gross cutesy voice.

“Fuck off, Soonyoung.”

“Did you get dicked down?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Oooooh! You wanna tell me the dirty details so bad!”

“I wanna ram this fucking boom mic up your asshole,” you snap, waving it at him menacingly, and it’s enough to make Soonyoung to take a step back and cover his backside with his hands.

“I hate when you’re hungover,” he mutters. “You’re mean.”

“You and me both, sunshine,” you grumble. “But you’re annoying.”

“Yup,” he says. “Can I have your breakfast? I didn’t eat yet.”

“Go nuts.”

Soonyoung inhales your food, and it doesn’t do much to settle your stomach. Seungkwan, Seokmin, Mingyu, Joshua, and Chan show up– and you try very hard to concentrate on explaining the shots you want for the advert. A walk-through of the entrance, Joshua handing over their tickets, and following them walking into the park. And later, when it’s busier with actual customers, focusing on them on the rides, eating lunch, hanging out on the lazy river. Splashes of water from the slides, etcetera etcetera. Some of this might do for an intro to your mockumentary, too.

You ready the camera, Seungkwan stands there waiting with the slate, Soonyoung is on mic duty, the others are in their positions.

And you try to focus, you really do, but your mind just keeps slipping back to last night– going over the conversations you had on the floor of Jun’s living room, after a bottle of something you can’t begin to pronounce and the shittiest rolled joint you’ve had since you were a teenager. You’d played twenty questions, Jun hesitated, and like an idiot you pushed.

“I really wanted to ask if you flirt with me ‘cause you like me or if it’s the same for everyone.” He sucked in a breath. “But I chickened out. Don’t wanna have my dreams crushed yet.”

“Uh-huh,” you’d said, as you passed the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours. “Ask me again when you wanna know.”

You’re chicken too.

“Sound?”

Soonyoung nods.

“Camera rolling.”

Seungkwan claps the slate.

“Action.”

[wyngigi]

study buddies

member — junhui x f reader genre — smut, college au word count — 1.6k synopsis — with finals right around the corner it's important that you know the vocab for the exam, and your boyfriend has the perfect study method to help you. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy (not super detailed this time), choking, marking, hair pulling, fingers in mouth, dry humping, teasing/very light degradation?, he's a little bit subby in this one (m receiving for all the above warnings) notes — requested by @pinkhwacherries & also by @tigerhoshi25 — thanks to @onlymingyus for making sure i don't sound insane !! this is feral and wildly self indulgent i hope yall like it. also very sorry to bio/med readers i'm an english major so if the anatomy terms i used are wrong plsplspls ignore it i am but a humble incompetent smut writer. if you liked this and want to see more, be sure reblog with comments or send me an ask! <3

"baby, you're never gonna pass your exam if you don't stop staring at me and start studying," jun giggles, pointing at your textbook from where he sits at the edge of your bed.

you pout and cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. you had been zoning out, watching jun play games on his phone while you're supposed to be studying. "it's not my fault you're prettier to look at."

he blushes and hides his face, leaning over your desk. "are you sure you wouldn't rather look at—" he pauses to read from your textbook, horribly mispronouncing the vocabulary, "—the sternohyoid muscle?”

"i give up," you say with a groan, leaning your head back against the chair. "it's so boring, i hate this class. why did i even take anatomy?"

he shrugs. "well, boring or not, you'll feel worse if you fail the class and have to retake credits.”

you turn to glare at him, but you know he's right. with a sigh you lean over your textbook, your head in your hands as you stare down at the words.

jun clears his throat, and you glance up at him to see what he wants now. "would it help you remember if you had… a real life example?" he says, almost shyly.

"and where exactly am i gonna find one?" you ask, cocking your eyebrow at him.

gently he takes your hand and brings it up to his neck, pressing your palm against his adam's apple. automatically you wrap your fingers around his neck, like you've done so many times before but never in this context. it catches you off-guard, your stomach beginning to warm at the feeling of his throat moving beneath your hand.

"does that feel better?" he asks, his voice suddenly a little more rough than it usually is.

you blink, trying to remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now. “better, as opposed to…?”

you can see the warmth creeping into his cheeks, but he doesn’t take back his offer. “is it helping you focus more, i mean?”

you pause, your eyes flitting over his face. exams are the absolute last thing on your mind right now. “yes—no. yes?”

he slides your textbook off the desk and onto his lap, never breaking eye contact until he looks down at the page. “submandibular triangle,” he reads.

“huh?”

he repeats the words, covering the diagram with his hand to block your view. “i’m quizzing you.”

“right.” your mind goes blank. “um… here.”

you reposition your hand, pressing your thumb gently underneath his chin. he lets out a quiet gasp, and your fingers tighten ever so slightly at the sound. 

“larynx?” you move your fingers lower, and he quickly glances down at the page again, picking out another. “external jugular vein.”

“you’re giving me easy ones,” you say, lowering your hand a few centimeters. you run your thumb along the side of his throat, gently tracing the vein that bulges out. “here.”

he doesn’t have another word prepared, so you take it upon yourself to shift your hand, putting pressure on a section of his neck with your fingers.

his eyes flutter shut with a soft sigh, and the sudden urge to bite him overtakes you. ever so slowly you lean closer, your lips hovering next to him. you can hear his breath catch in his throat, feel his pulse quickening under your fingertips.

“i thought you were helping me study,” you say in a low voice, almost a whisper. your warm breath so close against his neck makes his skin prickle as his face flushes a deep shade of red.

suddenly he opens his eyes, looking down at you through his lashes. “fine. soft palate.” there’s a hint of mischief in his gaze that you recognize far too well.

you narrow your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “i can’t reach that one, jun. it’s inside your mouth.”

“and?”

“and i don’t think shoving my fingers in your mouth is going to help me remember all these for my exam.”

he shrugs and you can feel the muscles in his neck move, your grip still tight around him. “i think it’s worth a try.”

“you’re being difficult, junnie.” your fingers tighten again, a barely audible whimper escaping from his throat.

“maybe that’s on purpose.”

“and why would you be doing that? seems like that would make you a bad study partner.”

“maybe because i want you to kiss me instead.”

you shift your hand, cupping his neck with your palm. “well, how do you expect me to do that if my fingers are in your mouth?”

he pushes your textbook off his lap and onto the floor, giggling like it's the stupidest question he's ever heard and the answer should be obvious. “take them out first.”

you groan and pull him closer to you by the neck, crashing your lips against his. you can feel him smiling against your mouth and you know he's pleased with himself for this, so you squeeze your fingers just a little bit more until he moans.

you pull away from his mouth and start kissing his throat instead, starting at his jaw just beneath his chin and moving your lips downward. he groans and you feel his pulse jump under your tongue as you reposition your hand to press your thumb against his adam's apple. 

your tongue swipes at the soft, pretty skin of his neck as you dig your fingers in and tilt his head to the side, giving you a better angle to begin sucking. he leans his head back, easily complying.

you shift from your chair and onto his lap, straddling him with your legs on either side of his thighs. you can feel his bulge pressing against your tummy as you sit down, and it gives your ego a boost knowing he's already rock hard.

the thought crosses your mind suddenly that it's a good thing you're wearing your thick fuzzy pajama pants instead of shorts like you normally do; otherwise he'd definitely be able to feel your pussy throbbing against his lap, and you're fighting not to give in to the desire so easily. you're practically dripping onto his lap, your panties sticking to you with wetness, but he doesn't need to know that just yet. right now, all you want him to focus on is how good your fingers feel on him and how much you're gonna make him regret teasing you.

his hands immediately grip your waist when you sit down, pulling you closer against his body. you start to suck harder on his neck, determined to make sure the marks you leave on him will stay for days afterwards. god, you better pass this fucking test. 

you bite down on a little patch of skin and he bucks his hips up into you, fingertips squeezing your hips until his knuckles turn white. he groans loudly, a stream of barely comprehensible words flowing from his lips.

“will you be quiet?” you say, a little exasperated, but really you like the way he can't control his mouth. “you're supposed to be helping me focus.”

“i am he—” he starts, but you cut him off by sticking two fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“now, shut up.”

he moans in surprise but quickly accepts the intrusion, and you feel the electricity in your fingertips as he purses his lips and swirls his tongue around them. you have to hold back a moan yourself at the feeling, his spit coating your fingers and his tongue tickling your skin.

you let out a short, breathy laugh at his eagerness, rewarding him with a grind of your hips against his bulge. “good boy.”

you can see the lust flashing across his eyes at your words and it only makes you want to mark him more, finally removing your hand from around his neck and moving your fingers up to tug on the hair at the base of his scalp.

you shift your head from the side of his neck to the front, kissing up and down the column of his throat and delighting in the way he whimpers so prettily at your touch.

your exam is at the furthest back of your mind by now, but still you can't help but recall the vocab words and diagrams as you grip him. each muscle that contracts when he tries to moan around your fingers, each bone in his throat that you run your hand over, trying to ingrain it in your memory.

finally you pull your fingers out from between his lips, and he lets out a choked exhale when you wipe the spit off on his cheek, running the back of your hand along his chin to brush away his drool. 

you pat his jaw gently, grinning at how out of breath he is. “you changed my mind. you're not a bad study partner, after all.”

and later that night he proves himself again, fucking you into your tiny twin mattress, his hand pressed against the back of your neck so you can feel the same pressure points as he did. and again the next morning before you leave, letting you kiss him until your mouth goes dry and trace every inch of him with your fingers.

after all that studying, needless to say, you ace your exam.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

taglist will be in the comments under this fic since tumblr is having problems with mentions, i can't add them as i usually do. if you'd like to join and be notified when i post a new fic, you can fill out this short form here! :)

[wyngigi]

midnight joyride (things that can’t be and still are) | joshua drabble

synopsis: blinded by the moonlight Joshua lets himself pretend you’re his, in the daylight you pretend you aren’t

warnings: gn!reader x joshua, cheating but its not rly talked ab (reader is in relationship w unnamed man, just assume he's not a nice guy if u need to justify the cheating idk </3), morally grey but its more like they're just human okay, brief desc of reader n shua kissing, annoying amount of yearning, light angst, horrible communication skills, ambiguous ending, once again my characters always smoke cigarettes that's my trademark now, fallen angels 1995 vibes watch it if u havent!!

wc: 785

“You only call me when it’s dark,” Joshua murmurs, lying against the headrest. 

A joyride, by definition is a fast and dangerous ride in a stolen vehicle. While the car Joshua and you are currently sitting in does in fact belong to him, you are the one thing that does not. Joshua loves a good joyride. That’s why he doesn’t see you during the day, because that’s when you’re at your job, that earns you money to help pay for the apartment he won’t share with you, or with friends to tell them about the man that isn’t him, or god forbid in the arms of the lucky bastard who was at the right place at the right time. He doesn’t share any of these thoughts with you out loud, you don’t share how you already know what he’s thinking.

All you can give him are a couple hours every night of your time, of your body, of your touch. And because he’s a selfish man, he’ll take all of what you can offer to him, and because he’s a man in love he’ll let himself wish for more. He’ll wish for more during the mornings when the sun reaches his closed eyes through his window, where he’ll pretend, with an arm reaching beside him for a touch he knows he won’t find. Joshua will hope and wish pathetically, that is, that one day as his eyes, fatigued by sleep will slowly open and he’ll get to find you in his arms. Yet because of all the things that can’t be, Joshua instead chooses to settle for what can.

The night starts the same, Joshua’s in his own apartment after work, or seeing his friends or whatever it is he does to pass the time, he’s freshly showered with hair no longer sopping wet and just barely damp, in clothes he knows you like with cologne on that you seem to enjoy the most. When he hears his phone ping he knows who it is, he answers your call to let you know he’s on his way and to ask if you need anything before he gets to your place. Your answer is always the same without fail, that no, you don’t need anything and to get there safely

The beginning of the night is routine to the both of you, he opens the passenger door from the driver’s side and you let yourself sink into the seat without a single word uttered. Once he’s managed to drive far enough from the main part of the city and away from your place, you finally turn to him. You tell him thank you, for picking you up and his answer is always the same without fail, that you don’t need to thank him.

There’s a hill that Joshua parks his car at every night, you like parking there because it overlooks the city and the stars are more visible the further off the ground. Joshua likes it because when he lays next to you, on damp grass that still smells like the rain, your eyes light up when you look at the stars and the moon shines back down onto you in appreciation. It’s the same time every night that you reach into his pocket and find his cigarette pack. He always wonders why you bring your own lighter, you know he has one in his pocket too. Nonetheless he cups a hand around the white stick while the other lights the end of it for you.

On the hill, the two of you lie together for however long you both deem necessary. The back of his jacket is eventually dampened by the leftover rain in the grass and you, who laid your head on his chest with his arm underneath you, remained dry and unaffected. The two of you lay there and talk about nothing, Joshua thinks about everything.

It’s by midnight when your cigarette is fully burnt out and you’re both tangled in his backseat. His arms are wrapped around your waist and your hands are in his hair with your knees on either side of his legs. It’s after midnight, that you kiss him like he’s yours to treasure and he holds you like your his to keep. It’s when the sun comes up that you leave his car and avoid his gaze like you don’t know him, it’s when the sunlight reaches his fatigued eyes he’s reminded you’re already gone.

You reply, quieter than him, “It’s the only time you pick up.”

hi :P

[wyngigi]

“a man?” you scrunched your face in disapproval as mingi nodded. ME TOO KI ME TOO I FEEL THE DISAPPOINTMENT JUST AS MUCH

sighhhh my hongjoongggg my nana</33333 also mingi and ki HELL YEAH go at it my weird little controversial freaks!!! tace ily this was everything i needed this chapter to be and so MUCH more

one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

SEVEN ➺ the trip

t says: hehehehe. hehehehehehehe

across the country on a work trip, it seems your heartbreak has crossed borders with you. weirdly enough, the last person you expect is hell bent on not letting you let it get in the way.

sad, drinking, smut mdni wc 9.8k

you reached for wooyoung over the bed, craving his warmth, his touch, his presence– you were already used to it after only five days. when your hand hit the sheet covered mattress, one eye peeled open, your stomach dropped and reality quickly settled in. you weren’t home, in the comfort of your own apartment with your best friend beside you, keeping you company, filling the void that was only created just mere days ago– you were across the country on a fucking work trip. 

you turned over with a frown on your face, squinted eyes searching for yunjin who was in the bed beside yours, a lump of sheets and deep blue hair scattered across white pillows. it eased your worries knowing you weren’t alone, even if the other person in the room had blue hair instead of black. you let out a yawn as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, checking the time— 5:52 am. you sighed and rubbed your eyes, at home it would be almost nine, after waking up in a panic there was no way you’d be able to fall back asleep with the amount of adrenaline in your veins. 

5:03 am wooyo: just checking in wooyo: keep me updated today wooyo: imy why am i kinda sad i slept at home

you smiled, wondering if he woke up the same way you did, confused when you weren’t beside him, arm reaching for a body that wasn’t there.

5:53 am ki: me too i just woke up stressing lol i wish u were here ki: big day today will try to keep u updated

5:54 am wooyo: girl isn't it 6 am there wooyo: go back to sleep

5:54 am ki: on it !

you scrolled through social media for thirty minutes before you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to get out of bed. you were grateful you unpacked your toiletries yesterday and didn’t save it for yourself this morning, hopefully you wouldn’t wake up yunjin by taking a shower. you shut the bathroom door before you turned on the light, saving her the shock of the blinding LED lights that surrounded the mirror in her eyes, the sun had barely risen yet, your hotel room was still pitch dark even with the curtains slightly open.

tattooed fingers skimmed across your skin as you stripped, unpainted nails a contrast to inked skin. you paused in the mirror, analyzing yourself, taking in your reflection as you would watch a tv show– with your new eyes that picked apart detail upon detail. your skin looks dry and dull, you had bags under your eyes, they were puffy, dragging you down, much like your shoulders that wouldn’t stay back if you begged them to. you looked defeated, you felt terrible and your reflection confirmed it.

you rubbed your eyes again, the tightness you expected in your throat didn’t come to the surface, maybe you had no tears left to cry. you turned on the shower and waited outside the glass doors, waiting for the steam to fill the room, for the warmth to comfort you, to wrap around your body much like arms you’d never feel again. you missed him. 

your eyes found your thighs, eyes zeroing in on the violet that tangled with an iris on your skin, vines and flowers alike surrounding them. it was a tattoo for your mother who was born in february, one you got a month or two after moving to the city. your right leg is meaningful, each piece that inked your skin had a purpose, there was great significance to the garden that grew from your ankle to hip. after a few nights spent tangled in sheets with jeongin, his long fingers tracing every single inked shape on your body, you made the connection that he was born in february, too. after a million kisses to the tangled bouquet on your thigh, that tattoo became as much of a piece for jeongin as it was for your mother. 

a droplet fell onto the iris, darkening the ink on your dry skin, you didn’t feel the tightening of your throat or the pressure in your head, you don’t think you would’ve even known you shed tears if one didn’t fall right in front of your eyes. you quickly wiped your eyes, sniffing back your feelings, and stepped into the shower. 

it was healing to let your mind fall blank – to push it all away. you couldn’t afford to do this here, you needed to be on your A game. whatever happened in the city needed to stay there, locked in a box in your apartment, maybe even in the line of TSA. the second you left the new york state border your feelings should’ve been gone. better late than never, you supposed.  

“do you always take showers that long?” was the first thing yunjin asked when you stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around your body and the other twisted on your head. 

“what do you mean? i was in there long?” you asked, doing a double take from the bathroom you just left back to her. your eyebrows furrowed together, one hand laid in the tuck of your towel. 

“had to have been over an hour,” yunjin hopped up from the bed, a matching pajama set clung to her body, the soft fabric moving with her. she didn’t sound annoyed, more curious if anything, you were glad you didn’t cry cry while you were in there– that would’ve been more mortifying.

“i’m sorry,” you shook your head, “i usually don’t,” your ears ran hot as you moved to your side of the bedroom, pulling your suitcase on top of the bed. you may have unpacked your toiletries last night, but your clothes were an entirely different story.

“are you okay?” she stood at the doorway to the bathroom, shoulder leaning against the frame. her eyes were big, awake, a confused, yet concerned look on her face– “you’ve been off.”

you shot her a smile that didn’t meet your eyes, nodding quickly, “yeah! totally fine!” you looked back down at your suitcase, ripping through the clothes riley threw at you two nights ago, trying to make sense of what you had to make an outfit out of.

“we have a long day today, if you need a break or need anything don’t be afraid to come to me,” she continued from that same spot in the doorframe, her voice lighter now, “it’s you and me against three men until tuesday.”

“right,” you forced out a chuckle as your knees hit the edge of the mattress, shaking your head as you looked at yunjin, “don’t worry about me, i’ll be fine.”

she gave you a tight lipped smile – you knew that smile, every single one of your friends have looked at you with that same face for days now. it was a face of pity, one that said i know you’re going through it – you needed to get better at hiding your feelings.

☆ ☆ ☆

the LA branch of republic records wasn’t much different from the new york location— warm lighting, even warmer toned walls, oak brown doors, it was just as cozy, almost like you never left. 

their conference rooms were bigger, with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked mountains, the view was almost distracting as you sat at the long black table, lined with employees and managers and heads of departments you didn’t pay attention to. 

three boys sat across from you, their manager to their left, and a more important person sitting across from jag. then there was hongjoong, mingi, yunjin, and you— you were clouded from the moment you walked in, hands in your lap, fingers twisting in discomfort. at any other time you’d be excited, listening to every word that came out of the mouths of people with names you would’ve learned, yet you were distracted. 

what was he doing right now? was he thinking of you? did he miss you, too? was he wondering what you were doing, here, across the country? you wished you could shake the thoughts. 

“our newest intern, ki, she’s the one who sent me the demo, she’s working under yunjin in A&R,” your head lifted as your name left hongjoong’s lips, just as everyone’s eyes turned to you. 

you smiled with tight lips, giving a small nod to the room— fuck, you should say something, give them anything to remember you by— your brain was blank, not a word on your tongue, heat spreading through your body as your nails dug into your palms. 

the topic changed smoothly, attention off of you as soon as it landed. you loosed a breath, letting it out slowly between your lips, your eyes finding the mountains again. you needed to get it together, you were starting to not feel like yourself anymore; instead a shell of who you were just a week ago, a husk that was once filled with motivation, passion, determination, all the progress you made in the past seven days seemed to be missing. 

the meeting was quick, a fast discussion before you were being guided out of the conference room to instead pile in another that the three boys were brought to earlier. a practice room with beige walls, black soundproof panels lining the length of them— yeosang, seonghwa and jongho stood in the center, microphones in front of each of them, guitars strapped to the chests of everyone but jongho. 

they radiated confidence, each one of them having their own vibe, yet somehow molded together as a unit. seonghwa and yeosang both had an androgynous vibe where jongho brought nothing but masculinity, it offset the other two in a harmonious way. it was hard to make boy bands succeed if they didn’t have a certain appeal, most of which is usually directed to fourteen year old girls, you wondered if the label would turn them into something completely different than what they appeared to you as now. 

you felt small in a room full of people more successful than you— further in their career. usually it wouldn’t make you feel any form of discomfort, rather you’d be watching every single move made in the room, but you kept yourself on the back end of the group instead, silent and invisible, hoping to keep the attention on anything but you. 

mingi’s barely spoken to you since you met at the airport, he’s barely looked in your general direction. you don’t blame him with how it went at the label the other day, you hoped that he kept to himself, you didn’t have the energy to entertain him or to explain yourself. you’d keep everything light, small talk when necessary, niceties when the situation called for it, but you didn’t need to be his friend. you were never friends in the first place. 

he watched you, though, when your eyes were glued to your lap or when you were so deep in thought your eyes glazed over, a part of mingi was worried for you. as much as he didn’t really care, you were single now, he’d call that a win if anything, he just wasn’t expecting a switch to flip and you turn out like this. you and your boyfriend had problems, you seemed unhappy even if you didn’t outwardly admit it, mingi believed everything he said, everything hongjoong said. you needed someone who understood, even if it wasn’t mingi.

he stood close to you, behind you, not next to you but still in your bubble. he was doing his job– what he came here for, unlike you, but mingi guessed that you had a lot on your mind. you’d come to regret floating through this trip if he didn’t do something. a part of him wondered if you caught up on schoolwork yet. 

“are you paying attention?” he whispered into your ear from behind, and the way you jumped five feet in the air told him you were not. you turned to him, eyes wide, and gave him the smallest nod. his lips lifted in a smile, “listen, and watch how everyone reacts, it’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“this is everything, the demo we sent in,” jongho said to the group, and the two beside him began playing their guitars. you listened, you watched, wishing the man behind you, helping you, wasn’t the one who aided in upturning your entire life.

“when just one word would've been enough, it was on the tip of my tongue, i'm using this song to say it now,” jongho’s voice was breathtaking, he’s an astounding vocalist– it made everything feel worse, more powerful, more devastating. “you're my everything. if only i could turn back time, if i could see you once more… if only i could.”

fuck, fuck fuck fuck. it was devastating, the feeling the song invokes, your throat felt tight– you willed the tears to stay locked in, using sheer strength to hold them back, eyes staring up at the ceiling so they wouldn’t cloud over. his voice was full of emotion, as if he plucked them from your chest and was using them for himself, he was so incredibly talented– you blinked rapidly as you stared upward, arms that were already gripping a stack of folders folding tighter, holding them closer. 

“told myself that i'd be fine and turned away, only to be wounded by the thorns of regret,” god, could this get any worse? you didn’t think it was possible. “since losing you, why is it that not once, have i been able to face mysеlf, only trying to run away…”

you sniffed, you had to– yunjin turned to you, shooting you that same fucking look she gave you this morning. pity, sorrow, you were sick of that look. your heartbeat quickened, thumping against your chest, you could feel sweat forming on your skin. you could not cry here, you wouldn’t allow it, it’d be not only an embarrassment on your part but you’d also be embarrassing jag, hongjoong– you wouldn’t do it. you bit into your bottom lip, hard, tapping your fingernails against the folders in your arms, praying to a god you didn’t believe in that you’d stop.

a finger brushed against your bare bicep, callused and warm, and your chin jerked to the right, to the perpetrator now touching your skin. you couldn’t see him without fully turning around, but you could see the soft smile on his face, the attempt to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve sunken into. the worst part was that it worked– the tears stopped at a line of silver in your lash line, but the sadness was replaced with frustration, a touch from him was a reminder. 

in addition to the lyrics, the beautiful, pained voice singing the most gut wrenching song, you needed to get the fuck out of this room. 

on silent feet, you slipped right out, not sparing yunjin or mingi a glance before you were walking down the hallway, trying to calm your breathing and your heart rate that spiked the moment you escaped important eyes. you ripped open the door to the bathroom just down the hall, thank fuck it was empty, and set your folders down on the counter, bracing your arms on the ledge. you closed your eyes, let your chin drop to your chest, and exhaled as if the heavy bathroom air would cure you. 

you cannot do this. not here. 

the door opened with a force, a gush of air whipping strands of your hair out of place, an oreo-haired hindrance entering the women’s bathroom with a determined look on his face. 

“what the hell is going on with you?” 

“mingi! this is the women’s–”

“i don’t care,” he took a step closer, eyeing you through the mirror, his gaze piercing your soul. “you’re only here because of hongjoong, you know that right?”

you blinked, back straightening. you opened your mouth to speak, to counter-attack, but he continued. “no intern that’s been at republic for a month has ever been put on a flight across the country, it’s unheard of. he believes in you, your ear, your determination, are you really gonna fuck this up for yourself? because you’re sad over something that won’t matter in a year?”

“i’m not just fucking sad, mingi,” you whipped around, ice glittering your veins, a cool, calm rage sliding into your bones, “i’m heartbroken. you don’t know anything.”

“well, how am i supposed to know? you’ve been icing me out for over a week now,” he was in front of you now, his eyebrows knitted together, irritation sitting in every harsh angle of his face. “you haven’t told me a thing.”

“i don’t owe you an explanation,” a dry laugh slipped from your lips, “you’re the last person i’d tell anything to.”

“okay,” the corner of his lips lifted, “don’t tell me anything, then. just remember who followed you outside of that room, who tried to get you to open up, who cares about your future.”

“why do you care?” you barked out, “there’s no reason for you to be in here, to follow me, there is nothing between us. we kissed once, that’s it.”

his teeth exposed in a wide grin, he shook his head once before he said, “if that’s what you want to believe, go ahead, ki, i’m not gonna get in the way of whatever lies you’re telling yourself to ease the guilt. i’m not gonna let you fuck this opportunity up, though, you’re here for a reason.”

you clenched your jaw, trying to keep the tightness in your throat at bay. how quick you were becoming to tears was really starting to piss you off, but mingi being right again seemed to piss you off even more. 

“wipe your tears, get your shit together,” he stood a bit straighter, then peered at himself in the mirror, over your head. he fixed his hair, moving it back into place to where it hadn't even moved, “we’re both going back in there and you’re gonna act normal.”

it was weird, following behind mingi who shifted into his cool, professional demeanor, back into the practice room after chastising you in the bathroom. he was right, though, as much as you hated to admit it, you felt as pathetic as you probably looked, and you couldn’t let your personal feelings get in the way of your professionalism. 

for the rest of your time at republic you felt clearer– you were paying attention, writing notes, listening to every word that came out of everyone’s mouths. but when your brain did drift, it wasn’t to the loss of jeongin, or the hole it left in your heart, but the man who you thought didn’t give two fucks about you actually seeming to care. 

every time you locked eyes with him he fed you a small nod and a smile full of pride, as if he knew he did that. he said what needed to be said for you to snap out of it, for you to pay attention and do what you came here to do. it was a weird feeling now sitting in your gut, a feeling that had you rethinking everything you thought of song mingi: a selfish bastard who always gets what he wants, a pretty face and a brain for music, but only for music. the person who ripped your entire life apart. 

you supposed you couldn’t really blame him for that, though. only yourself. maybe choi san. 

☆ ☆ ☆

before your internship acceptance, you’d never once in your life experienced bottle service – but now, after experiencing it twice? you wondered how you’d ever go back to walking around a crowded nightclub with your mini purse on your shoulder or your wallet in your armpit, how you’d survive not being able to sit down for hours on end. 

the club in LA was similar to the ones you’ve been to in the city yet entirely different. the people here are different, the vibe is different, the air itself feels more… judgemental. everybody looks the same, acts the same, one of your favorite things about your city is how unique it is, its originality, how nobody gives a fuck what anyone else is doing– on the opposite side of the country, it seemed everybody was trying to live up to the same platinum blonde, micro skirt and kitten heel standard.  

you were clearly from the city – other than lacking a valley girl accent, your vibe was much darker, more abrasive almost, clearly lacking the california standard in your appearance. riley had packed you a mini dress and a pair of platform boots, ones you were sure would have your calves sweating in their leather by the end of the night. she was packing for december in new york, not december in california, and you couldn’t blame her – you didn’t think about the difference in weather, either.

it was clear yunjin had been here many, many times, her deep blue hair cascaded down her back in waves, a sparkly mini skirt on her hips, a summery top that ended right at her belly button. heels sat on her feet, not necessarily kitten heels, but short enough to where you knew her feet wouldn’t hurt her at all tonight. her makeup was sultry in contrast to her bright, summer girl outfit, she looked edible – you had to look away.

you had your own table, courtesy of the label, yet you all stood around your section with drinks in your hands, talking as if the club wasn’t filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of people. your eyes racked the crowd, peeled for anyone with somewhat of a status for you to sink your claws into. your body radiated with excitement, you loved this, being around famous people and having the opportunity to make friends out of them might be the coolest thing about all of this to you. it was an excitement only jag knew about, unless he shared it with hongjoong, he was the only person to see you in a state of literal fangirling. at least he didn’t make fun of you, he more so scolded you for ‘harassing’ clients instead of doing your job – you thought harassing was a stretch. 

“oh shit, is that noa? the drummer from clotho?” it came out of your mouth before you could stop it and hongjoong’s neck snapped, eyes searching in the direction of your own. he moved closer to you, stood shoulder to shoulder as he scanned every faceless person that surrounded you. his body language changed, more rigid, less of the cool calm and collected you usually saw on him. 

“you know them?” you asked and he didn’t even spare you a glance, he nodded silently as he sipped his whiskey, eyebrows low, his face so cool it was the opposite of the behavior he just admitted. you raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any questions – whatever was between hongjoong and the green haired drummer, you didn’t want to know. 

your eyes kept searching the crowd until they fell on nana herself, with her edgy haircut and tattoos that littered her skin. platform boots that lace up past her knees, a pair of shorts so small they could be confused with underwear, and a top that had so many rips you could see more of her tattoos than the fabric, she looked incredible, so herself. you looked up to her and have since the night you saw clotho’s underground show in brooklyn years ago, a night of fun between just you and riley, roomie night out when you were just freshmen. it would take more than two hands to count how many times you begged jag to let you listen in on their recording, answered with a curt fuck no every time. 

hongjoong was on the move without a word, walking straight in her direction. you watched from your spot at your section, her face when he approached, how all of her features went slack. oh. there was nothing between him and the green haired drummer, but the tattooed singer instead. 

your eyes were glued to them – hongjoong’s hands as he spoke, how stiff he stood even if his face remained stoic, how her eyebrows furrowed with his words. then a small smile graced nana’s face, her white teeth just peeking out of her lips, her mouth pulling up to one side. you lifted a brow – it was intriguing, like watching a silent movie as you watched the exchange unfold, you wondered just how well they knew each other. that didn’t seem like a conversation between a producer and a client, or two people that barely knew each other… it seemed personal. 

“don’t ask any questions,” jag said from behind you and you jumped, letting out a small noise of surprise. “that’s been going on since before i knew hongjoong, i don’t even ask any questions.”

your ears went hot, feeling like you were caught red handed staring at them, the embarrassment quickly left when you realized it was just jag. “i kinda thought joong was emotionless when it came to women.” 

“he is,” jag nodded, sipping his drink, stepping forward to stand next to you. “except when it comes to her.”

you tilted your head, watching nana after hongjoong walked away, she searched the crowd in front of her and linked arms with noa when she found him. they found the rest of their band— yasu, noya and asa— the bassist, rhythm guitarist and lead singer. excitement coursed through you again, they were all right there, you could easily go talk to them if you wanted to. after seeing hongjoong interact with nana you assumed that it’s better if you didn’t. 

instead you let your eyes roam again from behind the barrier of your section, sipping your drink casually, letting your head nod along to whatever song was playing. yunjin found you before you saw her, she stuck herself to your side after bumping your hip, a light smile dancing on her pink cheeks. “havin’ fun?” 

you smiled, looking down at the leather of your boots. so much excitement sat in your bones, thrumming beneath your skin, yet a fat cloud of fucking melancholy loomed over you— you couldn’t say that what you were feeling was fun. you faced her, plastering a smile on your face, “so much fun, i can’t believe i’m here right now.” 

yunjin’s face dropped, her eyebrows flattened, staring at you as if she could see right through you. she scoffs, “come here, jesus christ. you need to wipe that sad puppy look off of your face immediately.” 

she walked back to the table that was surrounded by employees of republic you were given quick introductions to when you first arrived. it took you a moment to process that she meant to follow her before you moved an inch. you slightly stumbled over your feet as your body willed you forward to yunjin who was already pouring two shots of tequila, a gloss-lipped smile on her face, pouring the clear liquid to the very top of the glass. 

you loosed a breath, stomach doing flips as you approached her, at this point maybe you needed this. you were at a club for god’s sake, don toliver was performing, not only a huge artist at the label but also a huge presence in several of your own playlists. not for nothing, yunjin was pouring tequila– your top choice in liquor. 

“bottoms up, baby,” she smiled as she handed you the glass, and you clinked your glass against hers and shot it back without a second thought. 

you smiled, thinking maybe it might be a genuine one, despite the burn in your throat. you lifted your eyebrows, “what about a second one?”

“that’s what i’m talking about!” she yelled dramatically, her grin spreading to occupy all her features, “kiki finally letting go.”

you laughed, “i wouldn’t say letting go.”

she held up a hand in defiance, “you’re letting the fuck go.”

“yes ma’am,” you nodded, making her giggle as she refilled your glasses once more. the second one went down easier than the first, warmth filled you, expanding from your throat to every limb, every vein, every nerve ending. 

yes, you definitely needed this. 

“should we go dance?” she asked with a lopsided smile, pink on her cheeks, telling you those were not her first shots of the night. you laughed at her face, too cute, and let her fingers lace through yours as she pulled you out of your section. 

“i thought we were supposed to be, like, networking and shit,” you called after her, voice growing louder as she brought you into the crowd, her small frame slipping through sweaty bodies and pulling you along for the ride.

“that’s what the men are for,” she called back, turning to you and winking, you could not be near this woman with another shot in your system. it’d make you far too bold, and she’s your boss. “you need this, and i love to party. let them do the hard part.”

you let your head tip back in a laugh, you didn’t have it in you to object. you needed the experience, but another opportunity would come again. after all that happened today, you needed something to take the edge off. 

once she found a spot she found acceptable, she let go of your hand and started dancing. only two shots in you still felt somewhat… shy, but yunjin grabbed your hand and pulled you right along with her. you let the music seep into your veins, ease you, comfort you, melt your bones down to liquid like it always has. no matter what kind of music, it was always healing, always moving in more ways than one. 

tonight, you let it physically move you. 

arms above your head and a smile on your face you swayed your hips, hair twisting behind you, shoulders knocking into some else every few seconds. those around you were doing the same, lost in themselves, in the music, this was why you got into music in the first place. to make people feel, move, lose themselves to it, become someone else entirely. 

yunjin stayed close to you, that pretty smile never left her face once, she was just as lost as you were. she grabbed your hand every few seconds, her hips brushing against yours, her head thrown back, the opening act’s music moving her to her very soul. god, you loved this, you loved every second of it. 

you needed another drink. 

“i want a drink!” you yelled over the music and yunjin nodded, giving you a thumbs up, not moving an inch to accompany you. you giggled to yourself, leaving her in the crowd, shimmying your way through bodies to your table which you’re lucky was separated from the crowd. 

you poured a shot and ordered sour mix, go big or go home, you told yourself. after the burn of tequila slid down your throat you turned back to the crowd, letting your hips sway as you stood in place, letting your mind drift. you hadn’t seen mingi since you departed from the label, not even in your section, you wondered if he already found someone else with a relationship to wreck. shaking your head, you exiled the thoughts from your head. that wasn’t his fault. 

everything he said earlier… you didn’t know what to make of it. just remember who followed you outside of that room, who tried to get you to open up, who cares about your future… what the hell did he mean by that? if he cared, which you were positive he did not, what the hell did that mean? did he actually like you? you knew he liked you as a person, maybe even more than that back then, but now?

the thought was laughable. you saw him with someone else just a week after you’d kissed, and he didn’t make another move on you after that one night. that’s all he wanted you for, maybe it was a game to him, to get the taken girl to cheat. the evil part of you wondered if he would be interested again now that you were single, but if he was when you weren’t, what difference would it make now?

you shook off the thoughts, it didn’t matter, because you didn’t want him. just because he talked you down after you were scarily close to a meltdown didn’t mean he was forgiven of being an accomplice in your crime, helping to completely gut your life. song mingi wasn’t anything to you but a coworker, and he was barely that, either. 

screams erupted in the crowd, ripping your thoughts from your head and grabbing your attention– the stage had gone completely black, meaning the opener’s set had finished and don toliver was coming out. your blood thrummed beneath your sweat kissed skin, you felt your very soul being tugged forward, towards the crowd, to the music that was so close to starting. 

you had to literally fight for your life through sweaty bodies that had pushed inward to be as close to the stage as they could. you kept yelling sorry! and my friend is up there! as you slipped between people who were too drunk to care. you tried to keep an eye out for navy hair and a sparkly skirt, but in the darkness, the act deemed itself nearly impossible. 

your head was cloudy now, vision fuzzy at the edges in the best way, you could feel the heat in your boots that were now accidentally stepping on toes. approaching drunk, you let your body fall to the pockets between people, relying on the shoulders of others to keep you afloat, not that you couldn’t stand but you needed more than a little help to keep you from drowning in the tight, pushing crowd.

an arm hooked around your waist, holding you flush to their body which had you tapping into fight or flight on command. you twisted in their tight grip, shouting ‘what the fuck!’ before you turned your head, being met with a lazy grin, rose colored cheeks and a head of oreo colored hair. you let out a breath of relief, head tipping forward, for once you were actually grateful to see mingi. 

“oh, it’s just you,” you said with a breathy laugh as he loosened his grip on your waist, letting his palm linger. “i thought you were a creepy guy.”

“not a creepy guy,” he shook his head, seeming loose and happy, “just a guy who doesn’t want to see you get trampled.”

“i was not–” you started to defend yourself, but you were literally falling between bodies, “thank you. i’m looking for yunjin.”

“she’s with her favorite hookup from atlantic,” he flashed you a grin, which had your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. 

“a man?” you scrunched your face in disapproval as mingi nodded. 

he lifted a brow, “didn’t know you swung that way.” 

“lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrugged, tilting your head to the side, momentarily forgetting the man in front of you was mingi. 

he lifted both brows when you didn’t correct him, leaning in close enough to feel the heat emitting from your skin, “maybe both of us have had too many drinks tonight.”

“that’s what a club is for,” you said as if it was a fact, “getting drunk, listening to music and not giving a fuck.” 

you turned back around when the screams got louder, just in time to see don toliver finally walking onstage, this time you could actually see. you sipped your drink which was significantly less than when you left the bar, from drinking it or spilling it you weren’t sure. even if you were here for work, this wasn’t a random show in brooklyn you had to pay attention to, analyze the crowd or the performance. you could just enjoy it.

you let your head start nodding to the beat, letting your hips sway to the music, mouthing the lyrics as you watched, barely paying attention to the heavy palm that still sat on your waist. it was a comforting weight, keeping you steady and grounded, safe in the still-moving crowd. everyone jumped, phones were up, people screaming at the top of their lungs. you couldn’t wait to tell wooyoung all about it. 

mingi bent down from behind you, lips coming close to your ear, “do you like don toliver?” 

you nod in response, barely glancing at him when you add, “his album love sick went triple platinum in my headphones.” 

mingi laughed, deep and husky, a vibration against your ear. “i much prefer heaven or hell.” 

“of course you do,” you teased, for really no reason at all. maybe you were just feeling the liquor, but you couldn’t feel a shred of that hatred you swore went deep. 

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, and you just laughed, your head tipping back in bliss. confusion laced through the knit of his brows, his lips pursed in a slight pout, no, maybe you didn’t really hate him that much after all. 

he really did help you today, getting your shit squared out. this moment was reminding you too much of that godforsaken night, hours talking on that couch in the NYU studio, or all the times you’ve bickered in your cubicle, how easily the two of you get along when there aren’t threats laying over you like a blanket. mingi had the potential to be a friend, and even if it hurt to say it, there was really no reason not to consider it. 

by the third song your drink was empty again and you were fluid once more, body moving and eyes nearly closed, feeling borderline euphoric in the crowd. you let your head tip back, mingi’s back a steady wall behind you, you didn’t even care that it was him. at least you weren’t alone. 

you opened your eyes to mingi’s gaze on the stage, lips singing along to the song, head bobbing along with the beat. cheeks rosy and full, each sharp line of his face seemed to have softened in the few short hours between the label and here. he was comfortable, too, enjoying himself. it made you smile, a soft giggle leaving your lips, and he looked down at the noise. 

a toothless grin sat on his cheeks in the glance he gave you, making you feel warm all over again. you snapped your head forward, redirecting your eyes to the stage, lifting your head off his chest. mingi had the potential to be a friend, and even in your drunk mind you knew this was not a friendly feeling in your gut. you didn’t want him, your drunk goggles were on tight, you could have any other person in the building. not him. 

that same heavy palm trailed down to your hip, keeping you swaying on beat, the heat on your hip seeping through your skin, stretching to the other side of your body. you let your eyes fall down to his hand, watched how his fingers flexed over your skin, giving your hip a squeeze. it felt nice, good, even, that wasn’t a friendly gesture at all. but before your brain could think, your body moved, taking a step back, your backside pressed against him, his fingers tightened on you again. 

you lifted your gaze, feeling your back against him, your shoulders pressed to his chest, his chin beside your head. his hand traveled back up your waist, he swayed with you, your bodies moving as one. god, you hated that you felt like this, even knowing he was no good everything about him felt perfect. you hated yourself for enjoying it, you just opened your mind to the idea of mingi being a friend, and now alcohol and the heat of the room and the bass of the song were turning all your thoughts to mush. 

it’s just dancing, you tell yourself… you’re at a concert, you’re supposed to dance. 

if anyone touched you like that right now you’d react the same way. 

he leaned down to your ear, his bottom lip just brushing the shell, “you look so fucking good in that dress.” his voice layered and deep, that fucking rasp you swore was a drug, mingi must of made a pact with an incubus in a past life to have every ounce of blood in your body begging you to fold. 

he looked just as good, if not better. in all black, as per usual, his clothes were more fitted, pants stuck to every inch of his thighs, shirt clinging to his abdomen. same chain around his neck, rings on his fingers, you’d believe him if he said he’s never had a bad day appearance wise. 

no, it was mingi ripping this heat from your gut, this pressure between your thighs, and every fucking inch of you begged to let go. you may have had a bad week, and mingi may have been your counterpart in why it was so bad, but that was for a reason, too. his aura, how he bled sex appeal, how he knew you so stupidly well from that stupid beautiful fucking night you spent together. it was no secret you wanted him at one point, you have the scars to prove it, but maybe the want you thought had vanished was really just you suppressing it.

you let your head fall back to his chest, looking up at him again, your eyelashes batting against your will, “you think so?” 

one side of his lips lifted in that sexy smirk you missed being able to feel anything towards, his eyes shifting down to glance at your lips. his voice deepened even further, husky and conscious, “i miss those pretty lips, too.” 

like a moth to a flame, you turned, facing him, eyes dancing around every inch of his face, looking for something to tell you to not kiss him. that it wouldn’t be worth it, it’d just add fuel to the fire, it wouldn’t do you any good. you lost your boyfriend of two years to those pretty, plump lips. 

but that’s it, isn’t it? you lost your boyfriend– you’re single. nothing you do matters. jeongin hates you, and he’ll never forgive you for what you did. you felt like you had yunho on your shoulder, whispering encouraging words in your ear, if he’ll never forgive you, then there’s no reason not to. 

“then kiss me,” you nearly whispered, only half-believing the words that left your mouth. 

mingi wasted no time, pulling you in by the waist, letting his lips crash onto yours like he’d been starving these months without them. you braced your hands on his chest, tilting your head to deepen it immediately, letting his lips warp your mind into forgetting every single thought that just went through your head. 

it didn’t have to be your dirty little secret anymore, this was pure, raw attraction, lust between two people that were doomed from the moment they met. you had no option in the matter, mingi’s lips against yours felt so damning but so fucking right, just like the first time. wet and messy as if you couldn’t indulge one another quick enough, your tongues danced, spit swapping from your mouths as the whole room disappeared. 

your blood thrummed under your skin for an entirely different purpose, the bass went flat, the lights had dimmed, you and mingi were the only people alive. your body heated from head to toe, even more so when his hand slipped under your jaw, other hand tightening at your waist. you missed this, and you couldn’t hate yourself for it if you tried. it was worth it, it was all fucking worth it for this feeling. 

your arms hooked around his neck, your bodies pressed together so tightly you thought maybe you were trying to merge. he tasted of whiskey and himself, sweet and promising, so dirty and enamoring all at once. life changing, just as much the second time, twisting your mind until it was empty, until all you could think about was more. picking up where you left off, finishing what you’d started. 

“do you want to go back to the hotel?” he asked into your mouth, your eyes still closed and lips still trailing after his, “you can stay in my room. joong went with nana, he’ll be out all night.”

you peeled your face from his, eyes wide, “nana like clotho nana?!”

mingi’s lips twisted in a smile, a laugh leaving his lips, “yes, like clotho nana.” his hand fell, squeezing the plush of your ass, pulling you closer towards him. he leaned closer to your ear, using that voice on you again, “let me finally have you.”

you nearly whimpered, lips searching for his again, pulling him into another heavy kiss, your hands traveling down his abdomen. he groaned at the touch, he wanted you just as bad, “i don’t want to fuck you in the bathroom of a club, ki.” 

“it’s right there,” you said through a breath, inhibitions running rampant, your mind and ability to form full thoughts gone. you licked his spit off your lip, “why not?”

“want you somewhere i can have all of you,” he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your jaw, “need to see all of you, every inch of art on your skin.” 

your thighs pressed together, fuck, you couldn’t say no if it was the only word you could say.

“let’s go.” 

within twenty minutes you were in the elevator of the hotel, lip locked once more, your leg hooked around the back of his thigh, grinding yourself onto the fabric of his pants. you were a whimpering mess, sounds muffled by his lips on yours, his hand traveling up your thigh, under your dress to feel the skin, squeeze your ass. your back arched into him, your shoulders the only part of you touching the elevator wall. 

he lifted you as the elevator dinged, your legs wrapping around his waist, lips kissing at his jaw, tongue sliding down his neck. he opened the door to the room with ease, kicking it shut and pressing you against it, your back hitting the wood with a thud. his hands squeezed your thighs, dress ridden up far too high, his tongue slipping into your mouth again, fighting a one sided war as he took dominance with ease. 

“more,” you whined, your arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers digging into his hair and tugging at his roots. 

he hissed, letting his head fall back at your strength, and you used the opportunity to attach your lips to his jaw. heavy and restless, you couldn’t get enough of him, you could finally have him, so many times you’ve had your fingers between your thighs dreaming of this moment. 

he walked you towards the bed, the far one, the first one must be hongjoong’s, a quick thought had you nervous he could walk in at any moment. when your back hit the mattress and mingi crawled on top of you all thoughts were gone, you didn’t care, you’d let joong watch if it meant you could have mingi uninterrupted. 

“so fucking sexy,” he sat on his calves, pulling you towards him by your thighs, legs spread and resting on either side of him. “been wanting this for so long.” 

“me too,” you say unabashedly through a relieved sigh, it was true, you’d been imagining what it was like to have him on top of you, inside of you for too fucking long. 

his smile was devious, outright wicked at what you admitted, and the truth that lay between you was another reason to hurry up. with arousal taking over you’d admit anything, any thought you kept locked inside, hidden from everyone, from yourself. he leaned over you, lips attacking yours again, hands sliding up your thighs, pulling your dress over your hips. 

“need to see all of you,” he mumbled into your lips and reached beneath, you arched your back so he could unzip you, unhook your bra.  

you sat up, taking everything off, ripping your boots off your feet. he groaned at the sight, a pair of black panties left on your hips, “you’re nothing but fucking trouble, ki.” 

“not anymore,” your response was short as you sat up on your knees, kissing him again, pulling his shirt up by the hem. he ripped it off with ease and unzipped his jeans, letting you help him tug them off, and your hand immediately reached for the outline of him through his briefs, the specks of precum bleeding through the fabric. 

and you’re trouble? with the size of him, how your mouth watered at the sight you think you might be addicted already. you ripped your gaze away from his briefs to glance up at him through your lashes, “i need you inside me now.” 

“not yet,” he said too quickly, “i won't last.” 

“i don’t care,” you laid back, shimmying your panties down your legs, making his breath catch in his throat. “i need you.” 

you watched how his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, how his lips parted, how he absent mindedly gripped the base of his cock through his briefs at the sight of you. “i need to taste you,  need you to cum on my tongue first.” 

you smiled, “come here.” he crawled atop you again, a hand flat on the mattress next to your head, you grabbed his hand and pulled it directly to your core, “feel that?” 

he groaned as his fingers dipped into your center, feeling the wetness accumulated from months of wanting him, from not even an hour of kissing him, you whispered, “i can take it.” 

“i need to stretch you, baby,” he bent a knee on the mattress, “gonna split you open if i don’t.” 

“then do it, i don’t care,” he was probably right, mingi was bigger than jeongin in every way, but you think you might die if you didn’t feel the full length of him inside you now. 

“don’t say i didn’t warn you,” his briefs were off in a moment, thick cock in his hand, heavy and red and sweating small beads of precum from his tip. if you weren’t so desperate you’d beg to taste him, savor every drop of him. 

he lined himself up with your center and you took a breath, preparing yourself for the stretch, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of every thick inch sliding into you. the pain muddled into pleasure immediately, eyes squeezed shut and small moans leaving your lips, mingi kept his head down in focus, slowly sheathing himself inch by inch. 

“you okay?” he asked when his hips were finally flushed against yours, the feeling was indescribable. so full, so stretched, but so fucking hungry for more. 

your nails clawed at his biceps, “move, please.” 

he rocked into you once and you moaned simultaneously, the sounds guttural and relieving and lewd, you needed this, needed him. it was better than any wet dream you’ve had, any scenario you’d thought up, it was mind blowing and deafening and hot. so fucking hot. 

you wrapped your legs around his hips as he he picked up his pace, rocking into you with a steady, calculated rhythm, “fuck, pussy’s so tight. squeezin’ me.” 

“feels so good,” you breathed out, head thrown back, mind twisting in pleasure and disbelief and greed. 

“i know, gonna fuck you so good,” he sat up, his hands wrapping around your hips, fingers pressing into the bone as he picked up his speed, his force. 

your moans grew louder, more high pitched, coming out like cries of pleasure, and mingi took them all with a proud smile. “yeah? feels so good, right baby?”

you opened your eyes, nodding, eyebrows twisted and jaw slack, you couldn’t believe how good it felt. all consuming, you never wanted it to end, you couldn’t believe sex could feel like this. then he lifted your hips with his hands and let his cock hit a different angle, you swore you saw stars. 

curses flew from your lips, hands grasping at anything, everything, the bed sheets, his hands on your skin, a mantra of fuck fuck fuck could be heard three rooms down. 

you felt steady pressure in your core building at the angle, the slight ache of his grip on you, your eyes fluttering shut, head digging into the mattress, a hand flying to your core to rub at your clit. 

he pulled out, catching your wrist with his hand and your eyes shot open, head shooting forward at the loss. “if you’re gonna cum it’s because i made you.” 

you didn’t have the opportunity to respond before he was flipping you over, manhandling you on your knees, your cheek flat on the mattress. “pretty pussy taking me so well, so open for me.” 

you’d probably be embarrassed at the position if you were sober. instead you moaned, begging, “please fuck me again, mingi.” 

“i like you begging like this.” you weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a taunt, but you moaned anyway. he lined himself up, cock spreading through your wet folds, “you wanna cum, right, baby?” 

“yes,” you whined, legs spreading a little further, center aching and much too empty. 

“keep begging for it,” he said just as he slipped inside, easier this time, the sound of him inside you was a testament to just how badly you wanted to cum. 

“please,” you moaned out, hands coming up on either side of you, grasping at the sheets. “please make me cum, please please please.” 

his pace was brutal, it rocked you forward with every thrust, loud slapping sounds and noises of wetness filling your ears, warming your skin, your brain clouded and muddled with thoughts of him and only him. 

“gonna show you,” his voice was layered now, husky with arousal and pride, “how you should be fucked. you act like this for anyone else?” 

“no,” you tried to shake your head but your cheek was glued to the bed, “just you, just you.” 

he angled his hips again, knocking your legs further apart, hitting that spot that made you see stars before. your toes curled, back arching, limbs going rigid as the pressure picked up right where it left off before. worried, you whimpered his name, it was too much, too fast, too heavy—

“holy shit,” he groaned out from behind you, pulling out slowly just as you felt the release, body shuddering and jerking at the feeling, not quite an orgasm but somewhere in between. “baby, you didn’t tell me you could squirt.” 

you tried to look back, feeling the exhaustion in your bones, still yearning for more. “i didn’t know, either.” 

“fuck,” he groaned again, grabbing you by the waist to flip you onto your back again. he grabbed a pillow, shoving it beneath your hips, “can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” 

you hummed in response as he slipped right back in, the sounds cruel to hear now, but you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed, it felt too good. he fucked into you again, harder this time, with purpose, wild and unwavering. as if your release sparked something in him, his eyes were clearer, wider, sparkling as they stared down at where you met. 

he brought his thumb to your clit and your abdomen clenched, lurching forward, bringing your elbows beneath you to hold you up. you followed where his gaze was locked, letting the pressure build, your breath staggered, “don’t fucking stop.” 

his eyes met yours and he smiled, wide and wicked, his thumb circling at the same pace with more pressure, your legs began to shake around his thighs, your head falling to the side, “i’m— gonna cum.” 

“yes, ki, give it to me baby,” his hips began to stutter just as your orgasm ripped through you, your hips jerking and legs stiffening, bending, locking, taking you for everything you’re worth. he talked you through it, “yes, good girl, cum on this cock.” 

a soundless scream ripped through you, your mouth hung open through the length of your orgasm, mingi’s rhythm faltering as he rode you through it, finally stilling at the end of your orgasm, emptying himself inside, ropes of white painting your insides. 

your arms gave out, back flattening on the bed, chest heaving. “jesus christ.” 

mingi chuckled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on your lips. “everything you dreamed of?” 

you rolled your eyes as you pulled the pillow from beneath you, cringing at the wet spot you now laid on. mingi smirked, “didn’t know you could do that?” 

“no idea,” you breathed, looking up at him, his features soft, eyes staring at you with a gaze that you weren’t expecting, nor could you place. 

he glanced down as he pulled out slowly, leaving you empty and cold before he plopped down beside you. “we can sleep in joong’s bed.” 

“am i staying over?” you turned your head just as he turned his, and he stared at you for a second before responding. 

“if you want to,” his words held something… soft, much like his gaze just a moment ago. 

“i’ll stay,” you said quickly, not knowing if it’s because you wanted to or if it was because you felt obligated to, his eyes were sparkling, telling you they wanted you to say yes. 

something sat in your gut, you realized, as you stared up at the ceiling. mingi mumbled something about a shower as he got up from beside you, and you kept your eyes on the beige wall above you, trying to pick apart what the feeling could be. heavy and odd, you didn’t feel a rush, only a strange disconnection to everything that just conspired. 

he wasn’t anything like jeongin, he wasn’t similar to anything you’ve experienced before. as much as it was a good thing, it was scary— especially it being mingi, of all people, so intertwined with different aspects of your life. 

you forbade the thoughts, welcoming strong arms as they scooped you off the mattress, as callused hands washed your body, your hair. it was foreign. different. 

you just hoped it was the good kind of different. 

citeez masterlist | main masterlist

perm tags @chimivx | reg tags @dawn-iscozy

[wyngigi]

mornings after | vernon drabble/w.i.p???

notes: vernon x reader, no warnings but him n reader smoke bc i somehow always write ab that, sneaky link/fwb to ???, happy-ish ending, this is so ass im trying to get out of writers block, if i change lust for life into a seventeen au will yall kill me.. be honest

word count: 630

Vernon doesn’t like to smoke; he thinks the aftertaste is awful and doesn’t enjoy the harsh feeling that makes its way to his lungs. The smell kind of bothers him, always lingering on his hands, clothes and breath as well. Vernon thinks smoking is stupid.

The cigarette in his hand is half-smoked, still warm and burning slowly. The orange embers at the end light up as he taps the stick, watching ash fall onto the pavement. He lets out a dry cough into his fist, an attempt to rid of the scratchy feeling that’s building in his throat. Additionally, it’s a not-so-subtle attempt to cut through the silence between him and the figure next to him. He hears you chuckle under your breath.

Vernon doesn’t like to fall in in love; he thinks relationships are awful because of the harsh feeling that makes its way to his heart when they reach their untimely end. Falling in love kind of bothers him, because once it starts there’s always room for falling out of love. Reminders of the person also seem to linger, their touch on his body, their scent on his clothes, taste of them on his tongue. Vernon thinks falling in love is stupid.

He moves his hand out to his right, a cigarette box splayed out across his palm with the lid already flung open. While Vernon isn’t looking at you directly, he feels the movement of the box when you take a cigarette out, so he closes the lid and shoves the cardboard back into his pocket. With sweaty palms, he pushes against the bench till he feels himself hit the backboard; legs lightly spread as he stretches them out further. When he inhales it’s a little shaky and the morning air that hits his face is cold. He wonders if you’re cold too. From the corner of his eye he sees you rummage through your pockets, sighing before facing him and leaning into the backboard. He hears you calling his name quietly. Your voice is different in the early hours of the day. It’s raspy and just slightly deeper. You’ve never allowed him a real chance to savour the morning version of you before today, he likes it.

You signal towards the lighter laid on his left thigh, waiting for him to hand it to you while his cigarette dangles between your lips. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek when he feels the warmth of your hand graze his palm as you take the cold metal into your own loose grip. After your first drag, you turn your head to the side to exhale, body still facing him. He takes the chance to look at you, to really look at you. Your hair’s slightly unkempt with strands falling out of place and your eyes are shut more than usual, still adjusting to being fully awake or maybe just enjoying the buzz. There’s mascara smudged under your eyes too, or possibly eyeliner. He can’t really tell. His eyes fall to your lips, they’re a little plumper, and your face is kind of swollen, but still he finds no flaws.

He’s usually awoken to the sight of your back facing him as you finish putting your clothes back on, heading towards his bedroom door. It’s terribly new yet not unnerving for him to see you up close in this state. When he snaps out of his daydreaming to find you looking back at him, a warmth spreads across his chest. He finds that he likes today’s morning far better, so he calls out to you shortly after.

“There’s a carnival or something, this weekend. Come with me?”

You hum in agreement, “Sure, it’s a date.”

Vernon thinks carnivals are stupid, the grin on his face says otherwise.

[wyngigi]

absolutely loved this u have an amazing way with words and the relationships between all of three of them are to die for. u are awesome🤞

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose.  Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[wyngigi]

theres this ateez fic i read on here ages ago when i did not understand how tumblr worked and i never liked or reblogged it and i miss it so bad oooo i need to die

[wyngigi]

miss tace get me onto perm tags a.s.a.p or else

ANYWAYS!! ki as a character has me honestly so puzzled because of how shes handling her feelings w mingi!! i feel like we typically see a much faster progression in the sort of cheating tropes but i like how we get to see ki sit with her pain and grief even if its her own fault, very humanising ! very excited to see how the la trip is going to gooo also HONGJOONG BABY IF UR READING THIS COME BACK!!!!! THREE FATES PT 2 SUPPORT OVER HERE

one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

SIX ➺ the ache

masterlist

t says: damn yall im caught up im gonna have to actually write this again soon💔💔💔 send help my way pls

after an eventful friendsgiving, you’re left with three friends and the consequences of your own actions. with a trip to LA coming up… will you be able to pull yourself together before you cross the country?

wc 6.3k | ki is sad

sleeping next to wooyoung for four days straight wasn’t ideal, but it did have its perks – you weren’t sleeping alone (he simply wouldn’t let you) and he smelled like jeongin (he wore all of the clothes jeongin kept at your place since he refused to go home).

wooyoung was livid at san. san called him at least three times a day and wooyoung clicked the little red circle every single time with a loud puff of angry air and a shake of his head, black hair dancing along the tips of his shoulders. everything jeongin kept here wooyoung had been using, from clothes and body wash to even a spare cologne, wooyoung simply had no reason to go home— at least he made the trip to the corner store for deodorant and a toothbrush. 

every single morning started the same exact way. the first morning you rolled over, arm swung over wooyoung’s middle, head cradled in his chest that smelled just like jeongin. you found so much comfort in your half awake, dazed brain, inhaling and exhaling with a soft smile on your face. it was almost like the day before didn’t even happen – jeongin was right next to you, safe and sound, sleeping on his side of your bed. then you realized his middle didn’t quite feel the same as jeongin’s, his chest didn’t have that same hardness that jeongin’s been working up to for years now… it was devastating. you shot up in bed and realized it was not jeongin, but wooyoung next to you – the tears flowed for too long.

you spent that day talking. a sunday, the day you should be dedicating to rest, to resetting yourself and your energy to take on the week that followed. instead you were ripping yourself apart, reliving that night in september, telling riley, wooyoung and yunho everything – every single detail. 

in return, riley also told you everything – you had finally gotten that conversation, all truths, that you’d been waiting ages to have. she was brutally honest, from how things started with chan to how she treated the two men up until the night before. she was brutal on herself, as you were on yourself, but yunho reminded the two of you that you’re only human so many times it started to feel like an excuse – yunho didn’t have much ground to stand on, anyways. aera hadn’t reacted the way san expected her to, yunho was still happily in a relationship.

the days that followed went the same way: the smell of jeongin, realization, tears. go to class, tears, go to the label, come home, yunho force feeding you meals and wooyoung breathing down your neck to get your homework done, tears. enough homework, tv time, tears. shower, brush your teeth, tears, bedtime. more tears. the tears seemed never ending, you couldn’t comprehend how your body could produce so much fucking water. 

when wednesday came, you didn’t cry when your head was buried in wooyoung’s chest at seven in the morning, you didn’t cry when you left class. you didn’t cry when you were on your way home from the label, either. you cried when you got home, when you were in the comfort of your bedroom, when wooyoung, yunho and riley were out in the living room watching criminal minds. the tears felt different, they weren’t of anger and frustration, they were of grief, loss, pain.

you missed him, you took him for granted. you never considered what living here would be like without him, what that would feel like, what it’d do to you – you hadn’t lived your life without him in two years. your tears turned into sobs as you tried to change out of your outfit into something more comfortable, you couldn’t get past taking off your pants without sitting on your bed and burying your face in your hands. 

“hey,” yunho said after a singular knock on your door, his voice soft as he opened it slowly, then glanced around your room. his eyes went wide when he found you, his cadence slipping into something more comforting, protective, “hey hey, come here.”

his long arms wrapped around you, tight enough to be comforting, soft enough to still give you air. he sat next to you, one leg bent on the bed, your entire upper half pulled into him. he said nothing as you sobbed into his shirt, he kept his hand on your hair, patting it, brushing it with his fingers, tangling them in your roots. the other hand rubbed at your back, but he still didn’t say a word. 

“i can’t,” you hiccupped through your sobs, “believe i did something so fucking stupid.”

“you made a mistake,” he said plainly as if it was no big deal, “you’ll get through this, ki, i promise.”

you shook your head, pulling yourself out of his hold, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “they all probably fucking hate me, yunho. they’ve been my best friends since i got here.”

“first of all, ouch,” a small smile appeared on his lips and you rolled your eyes. “you’ve been one of their best friends, too, you don’t know that. they’re probably giving you time, giving the whole situation time to settle down before they reach out.”

you let out another sob, bringing your hands up to your face, “i miss him.”

“i know,” he grabbed your wrists, pulling you into him again, that same warm, tight embrace that usually helped you feel better. today, it wasn’t working as much. he sighed, “you don’t know what’s gonna happen, ki, he doesn’t even know the extent of what happened, he might not be as upset if he knew you only kissed once.”

your words were muffled by his shirt, “you don’t know him like that, he’s going to fucking hate me forever.”

he pulled you away from him by your shoulders, keeping his large palms planted on them as he spoke, eyes boring into yours. “if it’s worth it, go there and apologize. tell him everything, how you feel, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

you nodded, tears still pouring down your face, sniffing your snot back up your nose. 

“but if you do that, you have to stay away from mingi. i’ve known mingi for a long time, and i know he has no intentions of staying away from you, especially once he finds out you’re single,” chocolate brown eyes were pouring into your own, his tone ever so honest, “you need to make a choice – especially because you’re about to spend four days with him across the country.”

the tears picked up again, a sob ripping from your throat, “this could not be worse timing for a trip of a fucking lifetime.”

“everything happens for a reason, my friend,” yunho’s lips are sealed tight and pulled to the side, “i’m gonna go back out to the living room, our show is getting good, i’ll make you some food – after you put on some pants, please.”

far past eleven, you and wooyoung were cuddled up on the couch, a singular blanket wrapped around the both of you. riley was in the recliner, and yunho sat beside you and wooyoung, his arm laid behind you on the couch. he was right, criminal minds was getting good – your swollen eyes had been glued to the tv for hours now. wooyoung had given you a break from homework tonight, you supposed yunho had talked to him about your breakdown in your room and he’d decided to go easy on you. 

the pair had made themselves responsible for your entire life since sunday. where yunho was keeping you in line with eating and getting proper sleep, wooyoung had been knocking you back into shape with your studies. you’d sat with the three of them in your living room every day so far, all on your laptops, lofi music flooding the apartment, wooyoung had named it group study time. you knew what it really was, though – wooyoung knew you were behind and was doing everything in his power to fix it. it’d take longer than four days of group study time, you don’t know if you’ve spent this much time with wooyoung in your years of friendship in total. you’d have to buy him a lot of alcohol once all of this was over. 

a knock at your door ripped you from your gaze on the tv, eyes immediately darting to riley. she wore a tired face, her eyes heavy, glasses on, hair up in a bun. she looked at you with eyebrows furrowed, then you both turned to yunho, who happened to sit closest to the door. you bid him a smile and he looked between the two of you then huffed, standing from his spot on the couch and made his way to the door. 

you peered over the best you could from the couch, but the person at the door didn’t make it past yunho’s shoulders. you couldn’t hear his voice even after riley paused the tv, until yunho turned to the side, showing the visitor.

chan stood at the door, and he looked distraught. his curls were a mess, he had bags living under his eyes, his skin looked pale and dull. he looked like he was doing just as well of the two of you. something you couldn’t comprehend sat in your stomach – jealousy maybe? just plain sadness? you wished it was jeongin at the door, even if you knew it wouldn’t be, even if chan was on the list of people you also wouldn’t expect to see at your front door. 

riley shot up from her spot on the recliner, “chan?”

her voice was scratchy, hoarse, along with the exhaustion you were all feeling from staring at the tv for hours, she’d definitely been crying, too. 

“can i come in?” he asked from the door, hands hanging loosely at his sides, he looked utterly defeated. 

“of course, oh my god get in here,” she said quickly, her legs bringing her towards the door, hands motioning for him to come in. “we can go out on the balcony if you want, or in my room?”

“i’m fucking freezing from walking here,” he said through a broken laugh, he wasn’t even wearing a jacket– sweatpants and a tee shirt with a pair of sneakers, he must’ve decided to come here after little to no thought at all, december after eleven in the city was brutal. 

as riley guided him to her bedroom, a sour feeling sat in your stomach. you hoped from the bottom of your heart they’d make up, get back together, and riley would cut off san for real this time – but the thought sits at the back of your head that this won’t happen for you. jeongin won’t show up at your front door like he hadn’t slept in days begging to talk to you, his neutral attitude throughout the entire breakup was still fucking with your head.

it was as if he was waiting for the confession, waiting for you to say the words he’d known this entire time, waiting for you to be an adult and admit it. that theory didn’t make any sense either, though – you knew jeongin, if he sensed anything was off he’d be asking you what was up in that exact moment. 

“you think she’ll be okay?” yunho had a thumb pointed in the direction of riley’s bedroom as he stood before the couch, eyes glancing to her door after it closed. 

you shrugged, “i hope so.”

“i think i’m gonna stay here tonight,” yunho said as he sat down beside you, closer than he was before. you were sandwiched between them now – two big men that refused to leave your side. you shifted, placing yourself more comfortably between them instead of cuddled up to wooyoung. 

“i don’t think the bed will fit the three of us,” wooyoung said, peering over to yunho from his spot on the couch. “it barely fits the two of us.”

“it fits us just fine, me and jeongin have slept in that bed for the past two years, you guys are the same height,” you raised an eyebrow to wooyoung, and he looked at you as if you were made of glass for even mentioning jeongin’s name. 

“i’ll sleep on the couch, no biggie,” yunho shrugged, leaning his head on the back of the couch, “just wanna make sure everybody’s okay.” 

an hour later you’d left yunho on the couch to sleep, giving him sheets to make the couch one big bed, blankets, better pillows than the throw pillows you’d bought from home goods when you and riley first moved in. 

you and wooyoung laid on your backs, your arms touching at your sides. you looked over to him, the slope of his nose visible in the dark of the room, his chest rising and lowering with each breath he took. you turned your head back to the ceiling, your mind wandering. he was in one of jeongin’s hoodies, a pair of his pajama pants, you hadn’t told him why you cried that morning, what set you off. he had thought it was because of the breakup in general, not because of what he wore, who he smelled like – you kept that to yourself. it was comforting in a way, to smell him, to close your eyes and pretend to be next to him even if the nose you were just staring at looked nothing like his. 

“you have to go home soon,” you finally said, staring at the ceiling, ripping your eyes away from the man beside you who you so badly wished was another.

“and leave you all alone?” you felt his eyes on you, heard the humor in his voice, “never.”

“you can’t live here forever, everyone will start to think you only own four shirts,” you smiled weakly, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling. you’d need to be alone soon – as much as you didn’t want to.

“as much as it’s for you, i don’t want to go home and face him. i’m scared i might kill him,” he sighed, his voice low, an edge to it. 

“i can’t wrap my head around why he even did that in the first place,” your lip quivered, fighting the tears that begged to rise to the surface. 

“do you want my theory?” you heard his head turn on the pillow and you faced him in return, not that either of you could see each other’s faces in the dark. 

“i think he’s jealous,” he said it so simply, like it was the only answer, “he started to come to the rooftop through minho, never got close enough to anyone to be considered in the group. even when he was sleeping with ri it wasn’t like she was showing him off loud and proud, when she got with chan i think it embarrassed him, or made him so insecure he blew up. i think the only way he’d be satisfied with himself is if he broke up the entire group, if there was no group for him to wish he was a part of in the first place.”

you let out a huff of air, taking a second to take everything in – it made sense, in a twisted, fucked up way. a part of you felt bad for him, you could understand san’s motive even if it ruined such a big part of your life, you were almost impressed his big plan actually worked, if it was the truth. 

“wow,” you breathed, “wish he talked it out with ri instead of fucking everything up for me.”

“they did talk, but he always went back, he didn’t do himself any favors either. riley was never fully honest but san knew that, which is the part that confuses me, he was aware the entire time but he always went back. self destruction, i guess,” wooyoung shrugged through a sigh. “he didn’t need to take everyone down with him, but disbanding the whole damn friend group probably felt better than working through his own issues.”

you choked out a laugh, “that’s so fucked up it’s almost impressive. he had a full fledged plan and succeeded.”

wooyoung laughed, “it’s why i’m so fucking angry! i wish i at least knew about his plan so i could’ve talked him down, could’ve guided him in a different direction.”

you took a pause, staring up at your ceiling again, eyes starting to feel heavier. “do you think it’ll get better for me?” your voice was small, you nearly spoke under your breath. where yunho was supportive, wooyoung was honest – you wanted his honesty, needed it. 

“if you let it,” his answer was simple, quick. it came right off of his head, his first thought. you sat with the answer for a second before he spoke again, “you’re one of the smartest people i know, keeks. headstrong, determined, motivated. you don’t need anyone by your side to succeed.”

your lip quivered again, hot tears falling silently down the sides of your face. “i can’t stop thinking that i’ll end up alone, like no one will ever understand me like he did. chan said to riley that night ‘i thought we were it’ and i keep thinking that me and jeongin were it, yanno?”

wooyoung sighed, flipping on his side, burying his hands under his face, “you’re not hard to understand, ki. what you and jeongin had was special, but what’s waiting for you in the next few years will be even more special, even more exciting, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to do.”

you turned your head, lips pursed, fighting the sob that was crawling up your throat. he continued, “you’ll only end up alone if that’s what you want, look at where i am right now, i’m right next to you.”

a huff of amusement fought it’s way past your lips instead, “you really do have to go home at some point, you know.”

“not really fond of the idea of getting charged with homicide,” you could hear his smile, “he hurt someone i love, he can’t be forgiven for that.”

“if you stay here forever then we’ll both end up alone,” you stared at the ceiling again, your tears settled, your breath evening out. 

“i don’t think that’s so bad, keeks, your bed is pretty comfortable. yunho making our meals is also a plus, i say we drag this out for as long as we can.”

from all the times you’d delivered coffees to the conference room in republic records, you thought it’d be a long time before you’d be sitting at a chair at the table with someone else delivering coffees to the room. 

a dark oak table, leather chairs with silver hardware, floor to ceiling windows, the conference room seemed so different when you were the one seated at the table, so much smaller. so many times you’d made your way in a circle, dropping off coffee cups to directors, managers, producers, assistants, random employees that had a hand in whatever was being discussed. you always listened with one ear, the other trained on whoever you were giving the coffee to, hoping for at least a thank you from the recipients’ lips. 

the director of artist relations and the head of A&R were at the front of the table, with their computers and a white board behind them, projecting the itinerary of your trip to the group sitting around you. when hongjoong pulled you into his studio almost a week ago and said he wanted to go to los angeles to see the three guys who sent in that demo, you almost didn’t believe him. when he said he wanted you to come on the trip, your eyes almost bulged out of your fucking head. 

you had only been interning at republic for a month – you couldn’t believe you’d be included in something so big so soon, your head was so taken over by all the drama in your life you felt like you hadn’t had a moment to really process it. since hongjoong told you about the trip, you hadn’t seen him, jag or mingi once – you assumed they had their own preparations to make, their own work to finish before they up and left new york for four days. 

you hadn’t had the mental capacity to visit jag in his studio either, especially since mingi was now his assistant – jag probably assumed you were busy, too, not that he’d complain about you not sneaking out of your cubicle to visit him. you had yunjin and hongjoong to your left with mingi and jag across from you, everyone’s eyes trained on the board, on the two people of higher status at the head of the room. 

you hadn’t really thought about who would be coming to LA with you yet, but as you looked around the room and truly processed the four people seated around you, your heart picked up a beat. four days across the country with these people could either go really well, or really fucking terribly. 

“the boys will be in the LA office saturday morning, they have a practice room set up so you can listen to their demo in person, and they blocked out an hour in the conference room afterwards so you can meet with them,” the head of A&R, ashley, pointed to the board she projected from her macbook on the table. 

“who are these guys again?” jag asked, adjusting the glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. he sat leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over his knee, totally casual in the professional, massive conference room  — being jag in his very jag manor. it made a small smile creep up on your cheeks.

“park seonghwa, choi jongho, kang yeosang. they’re a group of three, their sound is more on the pop side, they sent in a demo about a month ago, we just processed it through A&R and it was sent to hongjoong, he’s interested and brought them on our radar,” the woman beside ashley, you think her name was reina, spoke up. 

your smile grew, knowing you were the one who sent the demo to hongjoong in the first place. you glanced to mingi who was the one who told you to send it and he was already looking at you, a pleased look on his face, as soon as he caught your eye he looked back up to the directors. it was weird, up until a few days ago, staring at him filled your stomach with butterflies, every time you thought about him all you could think about was that night months ago – you craved it for so long, you wanted him, craved him, and now there was nothing. you only felt regret looking at him across the table, with his arms crossed over his chest, sitting slouched in the chair. 

jag shook his head, eyes pointed to hongjoong as he spoke, “you never rest.”

hongjoong flashed his million dollar smile in return, “resting means losing time and money.”

“the CEO of atlantic records reached out to us and told us they were hosting an event at dire in LA, a nightclub that their clients perform at regularly, they invited us to attend the event, no doubt to show off their success,” ashley scrunched up her nose as she spoke, “since we’re a competing label and already flying you guys out there, it worked out that we have people to show face, to hold our own in LA, so network like crazy and speak up on republic’s name. other sub-labels will be there, clotho will also be there, post, metro, nav, you know the deal.”

you fought the gasp that threatened to sneak out of your lips, your eyes widening a bit instead. you should’ve expected something like this, celebrities like this  – you wondered if jag would even let you go, if he’d tell yunjin how you are with the celebrities that already walk the halls of this building. 

“who’s performing?” hongjoong asked, squinting his eyes at the board that stood behind ashley. 

“don toliver,” ashley nodded, looking down at the papers that laid across the oak table. your heart started beating a bit faster – you loved his music, you were listening to him while you got ready to go to baby’s all right just last week. 

“other than that,” ashley picked up another piece of paper, “the other three days we have meetings lined up for jag, hongjoong, and yunjin. on sunday the directors at the LA office will want to discuss…”

jag, hongjoong, and yunjin would be in meetings… for three days straight? leaving you and mingi to do what? you couldn’t hear the rest of the meeting, your mind running a mile a minute. you were…single now, it didn’t exactly matter that you were going on a trip with mingi, spending time with him, possibly spending days with him running around the streets of los angeles, yet it still felt wrong. like you were still betraying someone, cheating on someone, doing something you absolutely should not. if only you had been thinking this way a couple months ago, felt this regret the minute after you kissed him in the first place. maybe you wouldn’t be in the position you are now.

“what’s wrong with you?” he was quick at your side once the meeting was over, his large frame towering over yours, easily keeping up with your speed when you attempted to basically run away after the meeting ended. 

“nothing,” your voice was high pitched, not convincing at all. you had led jeongin to believe you’d done nothing wrong for two months, and now you were bad at lying? the papers you carried filled with your itinerary felt a lot heavier than they did a moment ago.

he gave you an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowed and mouth lopsided in a way that meant what the fuck was that? you shook your head and kept your gaze forward, picking up a speed that he easily kept up with again. 

“you can tell me what’s wrong with you, ki, you weren’t right that whole meeting,” you ignored him, keeping your eyes locked on the elevator at the end of the hallway. if you had any luck the elevator would open right as you walked up to it, and it’d be full of people. maybe then he’d just leave it alone. 

“oh, i get the silent treatment now? what happened, the husband found out about us and now you can’t talk to me anymore?” you stopped dead in your tracks, mingi tripping over his feet to stop with you. you glanced up to him with wide eyes, husband didn’t feel right coming out of his lips – it felt wrong, it felt sour, it felt like an insult. jeongin shouldn’t be insulted, if anything it should be you, you were the one that did something wrong. with him. 

you couldn’t fight the heat that spread across your chest, the tightness in your throat, the tears you were desperate to keep below the surface. mingi’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but he didn’t speak. you kept walking. 

he didn’t follow you up to your cubicle, where you sat facing your desk, headphones on and hot tears sliding silently down your cheeks. you haven’t cried here – you told yourself you wouldn’t cry here. maybe all you were good at was breaking promises. 

swollen eyes and exhaustion were not a good combination for packing for four days across the country, but you luckily had not one but three roommates that were currently helping you rip apart your shoebox bedroom. 

“tell us what you’re doing again?” riley asked from in front of your closet, her hands on her hips as she stared at the rack, eyes raking over the different shades of black that took over the space.

“i fly there tomorrow, saturday we’re meeting the guys at the LA office, we’re going to a nightclub saturday night for an event, sunday, monday are free days, tuesday i leave,” you counted on your fingers as you spoke from your floor, rearranging everything you already had packed for the fifth time. it’d get rearranged another five times before it was ready. 

“a nightclub? for what?” wooyoung asked from the bed, laid on his back with his phone in his hands, in his own clothes for once. 

“atlantic records is holding an event they invited us to, something about showing face and networking and talking about republic, i don’t know,” you shrugged, refolding a tee shirt. 

riley counted on her fingers now, definitely counting how many outfits you need. “i think you’ll need outfits for daytime and night time, you guys will probably be out on the town every night.”

your head shot back and you whined, “i don’t want to.”

“a million other people would kill to be in your place, shut up,” yunho said from your vanity, organizing your makeup products that you set aside into your bag you used for travel. 

you rolled your eyes, unfolding the shirt just to refold it again. you stretched your neck to look on top of your bed from the floor, “now that we’re all here, can you tell us what happened today? i don’t think you got charged with homicide, unless you have something to tell us.”

“i did not get charged with homicide,” wooyoung locked his phone, sitting up on your mattress, “but i am surprised we didn’t get a noise complaint.”

you laughed, as did riley, and wooyoung cracked a smile before he continued, “it was just as i predicted, he said exactly what i thought he would. 

riley turned around with an eyebrow raised, “and what exactly did you predict?” 

“that he was jealous,” wooyoung shrugged, “he said he was so fucking sick that you were all happy together, pretending everything was just fine like a big happy family. it made him physically ill, his words, to watch everyone interact like no one did anything wrong.” 

riley’s eyebrows raised and her bottom lip flipped outward as she shrugged with a nod of her head, “he has a point there.” 

“that’s what i said, like, why does it kind of make sense?” you shot your hand out in riley’s direction, nodding towards her in agreement. 

riley sighed, “it’s whatever now, his outburst kind of worked out in my favor. sorry ki,” riley’s hand flew over her mouth, “that was insensitive.” 

you shook your head, “it is what it is, at least i have a four day vacation so i can get away for a little while. i’m shocked my professors were cool with me missing class.”

“i heard that lee was a prick, he was actually okay with it?” yunho turned on your chair, pausing from his organization to face you. 

“he said he was used to it, he’s had students in his class before go on trips similar to this. as long as i get my assignments done,” you went back to folding as two different tops were thrown on top of your luggage. you thought you could fit four days of clothes, accessories and toiletries into a carry on— you thought terribly wrong after the first four outfits riley threw at you. 

“oh, you’re getting that work done,” wooyoung said with a knowing laugh, laying on his stomach now, his head right above yours on the bed. you rolled your eyes.

“how did everything with chan go, ri? you said it worked out in your favor after all?” yunho was turned back to your vanity now, looking at riley through the mirror. 

riley walked over to the bed and plopped down next to wooyoung, back against the mattress with her left arm flung over wooyoung’s middle. she sighed, “chan said that he made a mistake when he said he wasn’t ready to date and that he was partially responsible for me still sleeping with san.”

yunho turned around in his chair, his jaw nearly on the floor, “what the hell?”

“i told him that wasn’t true, obviously,” riley sat up her elbows, “it was obviously all me and my inability to let go of san, who i’ve been using as a crutch to get over chan for however long now. we decided we both have some shit to work through but we’d rather do it together then separately.” 

your gut twisted. you wish you could show how happy for her you truly are but the flat out jealousy you felt for her happy ending reigned over any happiness you could show her right now. you wore a weak smile toward your best friend, but you didn’t say a word. 

“surprising and slightly weird outcome, but that’s good, i guess,” wooyoung said to riley, shrugging. “didn’t expect that if i’m being real.” 

“me either,” yunho added from the vanity, finally zipping up your makeup bag. he turned and threw it towards your luggage.

“hey! some of those bottles are glass,” you said as you fit it in your luggage, tucking it wherever it fit.

“surprising, weird and unexpected, i’ll agree,” riley nodded then stood up, walking over to your dresser, opening up your drawers. “he made it sound a lot more elegant than i did, it had me agreeing and pulling down his pants in record time.” 

you cringed, “gross, ri!” 

“ew, i was on the couch!” yunho’s expression matched yours, shaking his head in riley’s direction. 

“don’t say gross like that won’t be you for the next four days, keeks,” riley turned toward you, a hand on her hip, “mingi is the perfect distraction, a little unethical but it’ll get the job done.” 

“i am not even going to entertain that idea,” you sat back on your hands, stretching your arms behind you, “i can’t even look at him without thinking he’s why me and ayen broke up, i actually started to feel remorse when i looked at him today.” 

“why do you say that as if you hadn’t felt remorse before today?” wooyoung lifted an eyebrow, his eyes staring you down from his spot on the bed. 

your lips pulled into a line, “it was just very clear today what i had done and who i did it with.” 

“you’re gonna have to let that go, i think,” yunho said, “if you start treating him weird now it’s just gonna be weird the entire trip. didn’t you say you were gonna be alone with him on your free days?” 

“i don’t have to be,” you argued, “although it’s very probable that i will be, unfortunately.” 

talking so freely, so openly, even though your day fucking sucked it felt good to sit here like this, talking about everything without your friends being scared you were going to break. riley being so open about chan, even if it hurt, you were glad she felt comfortable enough to say it out loud — that they weren’t treating you as if you were made of glass. it almost convinced you that everything was gonna be okay. 

you zipped up your luggage, figuring you’d pack all of your bathroom toiletries after you showered in the morning. you had absolutely no fucking idea what was just packed inside, riley had fully dressed you for the next four days. 

“hey, i wasn’t done,” riley pouted from her spot by your dresser, one of your drawers half open, a random tee in her hand. you squinted at the scrap of cotton in her hands, immediately recognizing the massive green tee. 

it was jeongin’s, one you didn’t keep in his designated drawer, but one you wore often. it was a sleep shirt, or an oversized tee you tucked into any pair of oversized pants, one of your favorites of his — you wondered if all of his clothes would stay yours. if you’d ever have the chance to give them back.

you stood up, your legs cracking as you did, “i’m ready for bed, big day tomorrow.” you made your way over to where she stood, reaching for the shirt she had in her hand. 

you immediately peeled off your shirt, pulling the green one over your head in its place. you wanted to hug yourself, wallow in the green cotton that laid over your skin, sulk in the memory of how it fit on him. you missed him. 

you crawled onto your bed, laying directly next to wooyoung, wrapping your arm around his back. “are you staying over again?” you asked, body grateful to be on your mattress, body sinking into the plush. 

“i can if you want me to,” he said, tucking his arms beneath his head and laying on them. you nodded into his side, closing your eyes, sleep far away from you yet.

“are you sure you’re gonna be okay this weekend?,” yunho asked from his spot at your vanity, his voice coming closer, your mattress dipping next to you. 

it dipped again behind you, meaning riley sat down, her head no doubt laying on the pillows behind you. “all jokes aside, are you actually comfortable with all of this? him being there?” 

you didn’t open your eyes, instead you spoke with your head buried in wooyoung’s side, “i don’t have a choice.” 

there was a pause before yunho spoke, “if you need anything i can get you on a flight home at any time, just say the word, okay?” 

your throat tightened, tears welling up for the nth time this week. you didn’t deserve to have such good people around you. 

“i’ll be okay, i promise,” you responded, your choked voice blanketed by wooyoung’s shirt. 

yunho went back home to aera and chan ended up coming over, wooyoung stayed right beside you, you slept closer to him that night than you had the previous four nights. whether it was nerves for the weekend to come or how strenuous your day was, you held onto him a little tighter that night, your head buried a little further into his chest. he let you, he welcomed it, with one hand under your head and the other over your back, he held you however you needed him to. you really owed him a lot of alcohol.

 

perm tags @chimivx 😙 | regular tags! @dawn-iscozy

[wyngigi]

the amount of oh shits i yelled out and their increasing volume everytime.. t my love u know how to write some good tension

san wanted all the fucking smoke.. n how mad can u even be if it wasnt his place to say it goddamn

my little ayen,,, ki and him both have their flaws but honestly their breakup needed to happen!!! she does need to be single!! so she can be available for mingi!!!

wooyoung baby mouth zipped next time i beg

one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

FIVE ➺ the friendsgiving

masterlist

thanksgiving is about expressing gratitude for what you have, who you love, all of the blessings in your life that make it worth living. friendsgiving was a tradition to your group, a time to be together, to celebrate one another and cherish the bond you’d made over the years — does choi san want to be included, or change the meaning of friendsgiving for the rest of your lives?

w. angst, shit show below the cut good luck! also weed lol 7.3k

jeongin’s apartment was spacious, that much was clear — but fitting fourteen people in one place for a sit down dinner deemed itself near impossible. you’d done it last year, but you only had ten compared to this year’s addition, four extra people that you had invited. 

yunho, his girlfriend and wooyoung who insisted he bring san, despite your argument. he yelled he’s so miserable he needs to be surrounded by people over the phone and you argued, saying he didn’t look too miserable in my apartment the other day, but wooyoung insisted, fuck the logic of it all. you agreed after a moment of silence — everyone could act like adults for a couple hours, right?

the tree lighting ceremony which you attended after dinner was the real celebration anyways, friendsgiving was just the pregame. being on november twenty ninth, it was after thanksgiving yet far before christmas, a night that held the beloved tradition you’d created amongst the ten of you. for you and jeongin especially, but also for you, riley, and the other seven boys you’d grown to look at like siblings over the past three years. 

last year it was hectic, especially trying to get anyone to try and cook in the massive kitchen of the loft. you and riley attempted a turkey even though the two of you had never cooked one – riley just helped her dad who reigned the kitchen all her life and your mother had kept herself in the kitchen for hours ignoring anyone’s attempt to help your whole life — just like she did with everything. always to herself, worried only about herself, not a single care for anyone around her, even her family. 

you had no idea what it took to roast a turkey. you’d read tons of recipes, watched youtube videos, last year you really thought you had it in the bag. that was until you realized you hadn’t thawed the turkey properly… it did not cook in time for dinner, and you were not missing the tree lighting ceremony. you all feasted on side dishes instead, store bought and handmade (thanks to hyunjin and changbin), you had a plethora of options spread out across the entire kitchen and living room. 

the tradition of the tree lighting ceremony was a big deal for your group. riley and chan hated the entire idea when it was initially discussed, the crowd, the volume, just being in manhattan in general — with the rest of you besides felix begging the two to go the next year, for the ceremony to be the one thing they bend their rules for, they agreed. they found it heartwarming after some thought to have something so special, an entire event just for your friend group, to celebrate your years of friendship despite the discomfort of it all. plus… yours and jeongin’s anniversary, the place where you’d started dating, the event that he asked you to be his girlfriend at two years ago.

you should be ecstatic, filled to the brim with excitement to spend today with your closest friends, your boyfriend. there was christmas music playing throughout the apartment, the four roommates had decorated the space with snowmen and fairy lights and mistletoe, the apartment was filled with every holiday-induced feeling: joy, love, laughter filling the air. this holiday was huge for you and your friend group, the most special one of them all, yet one issue stood tall for you. there was a massive elephant in the room and it was not the lifesize reindeer chan bought from an estate sale months ago. 

you and jeongin weren’t exactly on good terms but you weren’t necessarily on bad terms, either. you hated gray, you hated in between, you hated whatever the fuck was between you right now. when you arrived, you’d received a happy two years with a kiss on the cheek, but no longer than a second of eye contact, no hug, no smile. you’d left last night after hours spent groveling damn near at his feet, begging for forgiveness for not putting him first, swearing to him that you’d change. he forgave you, but how much can be done with any actual proof of your efforts – any action?

only time would tell, and the real issue still stood – the one place where you couldn’t agree. in hindsight, it really was simple – but mingi’s words sat heavily in the back of your head. 

you deserve better – more. if he doesn’t get it now, he never will.

the words rang in your head like a catchy commercial, a sing-song of dread that wrapped around your head like the soundtrack to a carousel. you agreed with him, it made sense – if jeongin doesn’t understand your schedule now, it will only get worse, if he can’t put himself in your shoes then why would you give him any more pieces of you? why are you beating around the bush if he’s not in it until the end, he said he wanted to marry you – but he can’t handle your schedule? the schedule that will just only get worse? mingi said it, hongjoong said it, it had to be the truth, coming from two people who have experienced this already. 

does he listen to your songs, give you advice, tell you how good he thinks you are? did he push you to get an internship? does he give you advice about your schoolwork? does he even know you’re falling behind in school?

you still couldn’t see it clearly, this wasn’t black and white. the gray area you hated so much was how much you love him, how you know every single part of jeongin that makes him himself, every trait you’ve spent the past two years falling in love with. he knows the same about you, he’s your other half – and you’re arguing about a fucking schedule change? mingi said it himself, you spent too much time at the label already, you need to create boundaries. these people are your life, your best friends, your family… how are you going to give that up? it was fucking war in your mind. 

“girl, you haven’t stirred the potatoes in at least three minutes, what’s good with you?” han came up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, putting his hands over yours that held the wooden spoon and the bowl, beckoning you to relax.

“jesus, ki, it’s not going to run away from you,” he continued, loosening up your fingers’ grip on the spoon. you let go of both the bowl and the spoon, then quickly wiped your hands on the bright pink apron you found in the pantry – felix’s.

“i’m sorry, i was distracted,” you shook your head, shaking him off of you, letting a controlled breath out from deep in your lungs. you didn’t know how long you were standing there, staring straight ahead, tight grip on the utensil. 

“you okay?” he asked as you both turned to face each other, he moved to your side with his eyebrows furrowed, big doe eyes staring at you with concern. 

“i’m fine,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, definitely not a convincing one, you hoped he didn’t notice. you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, letting out a forced chuckle, “no biggie, don’t worry. i’m just in my head.”

“i heard about you and jeongin,” han frowns, leaning his hip against the counter – there was fortunately no one else in the kitchen, everyone dispersed throughout the apartment, maybe out smoking on the rooftop. 

“word travels fast, huh?” you gave another forced smile, turning your attention back to the potatoes, grabbing the spoon to keep stirring. it was a clear display of disinterest in the topic at hand, you hoped he’d drop it, but knowing him – he did not. 

“with us? yeah,” he paused, racking his brain to figure out how to articulate himself properly, “i don’t think you guys have ever fought like this, but me and minho went through something similar the first time he had intensives – he was so exhausted he barely had time for me for a month, i nearly lost my fucking mind.”

you watched as tattooed fingers grip around the spoon a little harder, white knuckles a hard contrast against the deep wood, the digits not seeming much like yours anymore. “hanji, no offense but this is the last thing i want to hear–”

“you didn’t let me finish,” he put a hand on your shoulder, and your neck craned to see him, keeping your body facing the bowl. he had a weak smile, his eyes still filled with uncertainty, maybe a bit of apprehension as he spoke. “i expressed my concern and he changed. he made the time, when intensives were over he made sure to spend almost an entire week with me, nearly uninterrupted.”

a pit grew in your stomach, white hot rage bubbling up inside of you, “isn’t that beautiful? how kind he is to you, jisung.” sarcasm dripped from your words, a fake smile sitting on your cheeks, you could feel your ears turning red – somehow you gripped the spoon harder, wood threatening to snap under your grip. 

“he fucking loves you, dude, he’s told us too many times, too many drunken nights spent up there saying i love ki i’m going to marry her,” han shrugged, turning away from you, walking around the marble island with his eyes trained on yours. last christmas flowed through the kitchen, the sweet melody of the song a harsh contradiction to the rage that consumed you, the song somehow making you angrier. 

you continued stirring the side dish again, whipping the potatoes a little too aggressively as your blood pumped in your ears, “did he send you here to talk to me or something?”

“no, god no,” han shook his head, standing across from you, both of his arms stretched out across the island, leveling him as he stood at the counter that came just above his hips. 

you snapped – you think it would’ve been better if jeongin had sent him. “so you’re just sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” your tone was just as harsh as your words – you could see han’s face twinge, his eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting to speak. you cut him off. “did he tell you he threatened to break up with me because i’m not sleeping with him enough?”

han stayed silent, shaking his head back and forth, those big doe eyes full of shock – you’ve never snapped at any of them before, never spoken with such anger. you needed air. 

you took a breath before you spoke, calming your tone to ease both han and yourself, “i’m glad minho made you feel better and made more time for you after his intensives but my job is a little bit different,” you made a pinching motion with your fingers on your free hand, “i’m in a transitional period, that’s all. trying to figure out time for school and myself and jeongin, it’ll get better, we won’t break up. don’t worry.”

han nodded, not giving you much of a verbal answer, his eyes still full of worry and surprise. your head sank with your eyes shut tight, your patience was running thin – you were tired of talking about this, with jeongin, with riley, with mingi – now han? you dropped the spoon, let go of the bowl, then wiped your hands on your apron again. 

“i’m sorry for snapping, hanji, i’m just stressed,” your words were choked, hands reaching to cup your makeup-covered cheeks, praying your cold palms would cool down the heat in your face. you left the kitchen in a hurry, not waiting for his answer, ignoring everyone in the living room, making a beeline for the back door. you raced up the steps to the rooftop, the cold november air slapping you across the face, pulling your anger from deep in your core right to the surface. 

“you alright?” riley was quick to approach you, feet skipping in your direction from where she stood along the rooftop with chan, hyunjin and changbin. the white in her eyes had turned red, they were smaller, glossed over — they were definitely smoking. 

you let the door shut behind you, letting your head fall back against the metal, letting a breath out from deep in your lungs. you were tired of this topic of conversation – jeongin wasn’t even around and you were still discussing the status of your relationship. tears quickly stemmed, traveling to the front of your face with a passion, dancing along your waterline. 

“oh shit, what the hell happened? jeongin?” she asked, hands on your biceps with a concerned look, small eyes wide, searching yours for an answer. you lifted your index fingers under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from ruining your makeup, you didn’t need everyone to know what you were doing up here. you didn’t answer, you focused on steadying your breathing, trying to stop the breakdown before it really started. 

you took another deep breath before answering, “i just snapped at hanji  in the kitchen, he was talking to me about jeongin.” 

the confession only made the tears fall quicker, they piled over your waterline, over your fingers, skipping over your digits and onto the ground beneath you. you tried not to cry cry, letting the tears fall but you kept your breathing steady, fighting not to break into a full out sob. 

“why was he giving his two cents on your relationship?” riley scrunched up her face, rubbing your arms, “that’s not his place, your snap was valid.”

you bent forward, hands braced on your knees, keeping your face level to the ground – if tears were going to fall, better they fall directly to the ground. 

“fuck,” you cursed under your breath, “i’m so over it, ri.”

riley moved to your side, her back against the door, rubbing small circles on your back. “you’re under a lot of stress dude, that’s perfectly understandable. you talked to jeongin at all today?”

you shook your head, “he kissed my cheek when i got here and said happy anniversary, but he’s been drinking with san and minho and the rest of them in the living room since.”

riley sucked in a breath through her teeth. “we’re both in trouble today,” her words were quiet, almost under her breath, no doubt so chan couldn’t hear. you took a pause, thinking about her words, then a laugh escaped your lips. 

you both paused for a moment and you turned your head to look up to her, the both of you falling into giggles. you were in this together, in more ways than she knew. 

christmas music continued to fill the air of the apartment, the lingering stench of skunk from your clothes mixed with the smell of the stuffed turkey cooking in the oven, you were feeling a million times better. chan approached you apprehensively on the rooftop, the joint in his hand, a peace offering to show you he wasn’t on either side nor in the middle. no, chan was a friend, and you needed as many of those as you could get right now. you took a hit to relax you, the weed filling your lungs was much better than the breaths you were forcing, the brief high grounded you. 

you were able to head back to the kitchen, tears long gone, apron still tied with hyunjin following you around like a lost puppy. he didn’t approach you on the rooftop until you were smiling, your eyes red and slightly smaller, he let riley and chan whip you back into shape until he felt it was okay for him to take his turn to cheer you up. he stood with you at the stove, a pan full of vegetables in front of you, handing you each ingredient you asked for with a hushed giggle because the appearance of oregano was similar to what you’d just been smoking – “do you think seungmin keeps his stash here to hide it from the others?”

it was just oregano, that you knew, but you bursted into a fit of giggles anyway at the silliness of his question. if anyone could help your mind drift somewhere else, it was hyunjin.

riley and chan joined you in the kitchen, riley had picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and finished what you had started, mixing the bowl while her and chan giggled to themselves. changbin, yunho and aera lingered in the kitchen looking for snacks but ended up in a deep discussion about the history of EDM music. yunho glanced at you with a weary eye every few minutes, knowing exactly what was up even if you didn’t explicitly say it. knowing han, he probably told everyone in the apartment the second you ran up the stairs. 

and still, jeongin has not spoken to you – hadn’t even glanced up from his spot on the couch when you returned from the rooftop. 

“are there more millers in the fridge?” you turned around at the easily recognizable voice, riley looking up at the same time you turned. san stood in the empty space that was the entrance to the kitchen, empty bottle in his hand, looking around the room with raised eyebrows.

“yeah, man, in here,” yunho said from his spot next to changbin, the pair stood next to the stainless steel. yours and riley’s eyes both seemed to follow him from his spot all the way to the fridge, you cringed, the hairs on your arms threatening to stand tall. 

it was so… uncomfortable. riley and chan have been harmonious all day, you’ve always known chan is a perfect gentleman but seeing him with riley was something else entirely. holding doors open, drinking from her straw, finishing her sentences, moving a stray hair from her face, it was so domestic – like they’d been together for years. to put yourself in san’s shoes, to watch her with someone else after he’d spent so much time with her was painful. 

to make it all worse – san knew every single detail, but chan did not. riley probably felt how you did whenever mingi was on the rooftop – that feeling you knew all too well. 

“don’t forget to stir, princess,” hyunjin said from beside you and it snapped you back into reality, you quickly moved the vegetables around on the pan, scooping the liquid from the pan and draping it over the vegetables. by the time they were done, you were tired of standing and your mouth was dry – the weed had done more than just calm you down. you quickly walked over to the fridge, past yunho, aera and changbin to crack open a beer for yourself. 

“keeks,” changbin wandered over to the fridge, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him. in a brown sweater that hugged every single muscle on his broad chest, he looked delectable. he put one arm up on the fridge, using it as leverage as he crossed one leg over the other, standing tall against the height of the fridge.

you raised your eyebrows, sipping your beer, prompting him to continue without a verbal response. 

“about jeongin…” he started, looking everywhere but in your eyes, his voice soft but uneasy. your eyes shot wide – this cannot be fucking happening again. 

“ah!” was yelled across the kitchen, a sound of annoyance, a sound that meant shut the fuck up. riley had a finger up in front of her, wiggling it back and forth – her eyes just as wide as yours but full of assertion. “we will not be doing that anymore tonight, get over here and cut up some butter.”

a wide smile racked across your face, your cheeks feeling sore at this point. god, you fucking loved that girl. you shot her a grateful look, nodding with a tight lipped smile, and made your way right back to hyunjin. 

“...and that’s why i told you to keep your mouth shut about it, it’s none of our business,” minho said, his voice coming clearer as he walked into the kitchen right behind han. 

everyone’s heads turned to look at the pair who stopped in their tracks, everyone’s expression utterly fucking blank. a laugh bubbled in your throat, one you couldn’t help from spilling out, one that filled the open space of the room that was just so uncomfortably silent. everyone’s heads turned to you, all sixteen eyes wide.

“should we sit in a circle and discuss it as a group at this point? someone call jeongin in here, too,” the words slipped from your lips so carelessly, irritation clear in your words, your entire body vibrating as you spoke. if everyone was going to talk about it amongst themselves, without the two people the situation was even about, fuck it – why not talk about it with everyone instead?

you couldn’t stub your toe without everyone knowing, it was the only negative part of your friend group, an aspect that wasn’t inherently negative all the time. here, today, on the most important day for everyone… it felt like your friends really fucking sucked. 

jeongin’s head popped right around minho’s, copper curls a stark contrast to minho’s dark ones. his eyebrows were raised at the mention of his name, clearly not knowing at all what you guys were talking about. 

“call me for what?” he asked as he made his way through the kitchen, no one moved an inch, eight pairs of eyes trained on his red tee as he made it to the fridge. “just need a beer,” he still had an eyebrow raised, and yet no one spoke a word. “why are you guys acting so fucking weird?”

everyone went back to what they were doing moments prior, as if nothing happened at all. you turned around, facing hyunjin again, hands immediately going to cool down your cheeks again. you whispered what the fuck under your breath about six times, then ran a hand through your hair. 

hyunjin put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it before he whispered, “he’s gone now.” he looked around the kitchen before his eyes settled on changbin, then his eyes went wide, “oh shit, bin, please tell me you remembered the apple pie, i think we forgot it on the table.”

the turkey was ready on time this year – you were shocked. the air smelled so delicious, it was as if martha stewart herself came to this apartment and cooked you all a gourmet thanksgiving dinner. from all the barefoot contessa episodes of food network you’d been watching before bed the last week, you felt as if you really learned something, you couldn’t believe you planned out everything perfectly with ingredients, timing, the amount of food, everything. this had to be your and riley’s best work yet. 

it wasn’t just you and riley in the kitchen all day — there was also felix, seungmin, yunho and aera when they arrived, changbin, hyunjin, wooyoung even came in the kitchen to whip up the cranberry sauce. from stuffing to sweet potato casserole, you felt like you were doing the true american thanksgiving, not only participating in it but you actually cooked a lot of it from scratch. if your parents knew, they’d be shocked, too, maybe even proud of you. 

one more problem still remained: fitting fourteen people to sit down and eat it all. the apartment was massive, there was an incredible amount of space, the roommates fit tons of people on the rooftop every other weekend – but fitting them inside? 

there was one dining table that seats six, eight if you brought over the lawn chairs from the rooftop, but that still left six people standing or in a whole other room. the open floor plan of the apartment made it so there weren’t really rooms, but the living room was still far enough from the dining room that it was awkward. last year, you all ended up standing, only seungmin and han sat down at the table – with just appetizers it didn’t give off the sit-down vibe. this year you had a display of food, the plates themselves took up most of the table space. 

seungmin, felix, yunho, aera, han and minho were already seated – you left the other two seats up to hyunjin and changbin. that left riley, chan, san, wooyoung, jeongin and you in the kitchen, a terrible combination, probably the worst mix of people that could’ve ended up together. 

wooyoung’s cheeks were bright red and his chest matched, his button down shirt that had three buttons left open exposed the amount of beers he had already consumed – also the fact that he was the only other person in the room that knew everything. he kept catching your eye, trying not to smile, but you could tell he was about to burst. you just prayed he kept it in. 

“are we just gonna stand awkwardly around the table, or eat in here?” riley asked, her eyes continuously darting around the room. you could see in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks that matched wooyoung’s, she was feeling the same way as you were, discomfort, uneasy about what comes next. she kept shifting her weight from leg to leg, bouncing back and forth from each side of the island, cleaning up the area that had already been cleaned as best it could.

“it’s like the kid’s table,” wooyoung giggled to himself, “but instead of the kid’s table it’s the outcast island.”

you raised an eyebrow toward him, you were sure everyone did, your heart picking up a beat. maybe you were being paranoid – he wouldn’t expose anything, not here, not now.

“what do you mean?” jeongin asked from across the island – you hadn’t even pulled out plates for yourselves yet. 

“this is a crazy group of people,” wooyoung shrugged, sipping the beer he held in his hands, chipped nail polish perfectly matching the frayed label of the bottle. san laughed from his side, turning around to face the fridge so no one caught his chuckle – everyone did. your heartbeat quickened, widening your eyes in a please shut up kind of way, and wooyoung just laughed as he caught your eye.

“why is it crazy?” chan asked, looking around the room before he bent down to riley’s ear and whispered way too fucking loud, “is he talking about jeongin and ki? i thought that topic was off limits for the rest of the night?”

your head went into your palm, eyes shut tight, muttering a jesus fucking christ under your breath.

riley looked around the room, completely ignoring chan, “you guys should go get some food.” she nudged chan’s side, her eyes saying that means you, too. she looked to you with wide eyes and used her head to nod toward the hallway leading towards jeongin and chan’s bedrooms, you gave one nod of your chin back in understanding, following her through the space of the apartment as the others left for the dining room.

“i can’t do this,” her voice was hushed, shaky and stressed. her eyes were wide, her hands sat on the sides of her head pushing her hair back, “chan and san both in the same room, i can’t do it. then wooyoung made that comment and san laughed? i’m freaking out, ki.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry, breathe,” you kept your eye contact strong as you breathed with her, taking a soothing breath from all the way in your stomach before you continued, “i’ll tell wooyoung to shut the fuck up and stop being so obvious. i don’t know what’s going on, i’m sorry.”

“chan isn’t ready to date yet and i know that, i–” she shut her eyes, taking another deep breath, “this is the last place i want him to find out i’m still sleeping with san.”

“he doesn’t want to date yet?” your eyes were wide with surprise, you didn’t know this, you and riley still haven’t discussed the whole thing. she whined, a high pitched noise slipping from her lips, her hands immediately going back in her hair.

“he’s still freaked out about that eden girl who cheated on him,” she answered quickly, “but i’m not even mad because i can’t exactly let go of san, either.”

“oh shit, ri,” a laugh escaped your throat, “we really need to talk this shit out.” 

“i know, but now isn’t the time or place,” she sighed, “now i’m panicking that his plan was to expose me or something by coming here.”

“i really don’t think san would do that,” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing. you couldn’t begin to understand how san felt, but knowing san, he wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone – it’s not in his character.

“then why would wooyoung say that? they’re playing with fire, ki, you heard them,” she was whisper-yelling now, her hand shooting out in the direction of the living room outside of the hallway. 

“i do not think wooyoung and san would come here just to expose you to chan, ri,” you put your hands on her shoulders, “wooyoung wouldn’t do that to me and san wouldn’t do that to you.”

“i hope you’re right,” her eyes closed, a hand going through her hair again, “i can’t handle losing chan for this stupid of a fucking reason, i think if chan found out it would push him over the edge and he’d never trust a woman again. i need to end things with san – again.”

“i don’t think i was supposed to hear any of that.”

your heads whipped behind you, a figure stood at the end of the dim hallway, and the whole world went silent. chan stood with his jaw locked, his hands in fists at his sides, his eyes unreadable – you’d never seen chan anything but happy, maybe stressed during midterm and finals season, but never this. never anger. 

“chan,” riley choked out, a hand clasping over her mouth, “i–”

he took a step closer, you felt so fucking small between them. you took a step back toward the wall, giving them space, removing yourself from their eyeview, from the situation entirely. 

“i came over here to see if you were okay,” he hissed out with furrowed eyebrows, “did not expect to find out you’re fucking the guy that was just snickering in the fucking kitchen.”

“chan, i did not want you to find out this way,” riley started, and you side stepped, wanting to get out of the hallway – this was between them now. her eyes panned to you, wide and full of shock, fear, something else you couldn’t decipher. it meant please don’t go. 

“you didn’t want me to find out at all,” he laughed, a sarcastic chuckle so dark you’d never heard anything like it leave his lips before. 

“that’s not true,” riley shook her head, her voice small, “i’m so sorry.”

“i spent hours telling you how terrible she made me feel, how fucking awful it was finding out she cheated on me, i went in detail on what that did to me, ri,” his voice cracked, his shoulders slumped. chan wasn’t just angry – chan was sad. 

his words stuck with you – your eyes couldn’t leave him. his words hit directly in your gut, your soul – chan and eden were together for something like six months? and her cheating on him affected him this much… guilt sat in your stomach. 

“i know, i should’ve been honest from the start, i’m so sorry,” tears welled up in riley’s eyes, “i should’ve told you.”

“what goes on?” seungmin’s head peeked around the corner, eyeing the three of you, his eyes curious. you all turned to look at him and his eyes widened, “oh shit, what the hell happened?”

“riley’s been fucking san,” chan didn’t look at seungmin as he said it, he kept his eyes trained on riley as he spoke, his jaw locked again. 

“come on, chan,” you interjected, “gonna let the whole house know?”

they both turned to you, riley’s eyes full of tears, chan’s pained expression told you that you should’ve kept your mouth shut. 

“why not? she did it,” he looked at you as if that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, his words still coming out choked. how could you forget? if one of them knows something, they all know it. seungmin, like a messenger pigeon, was gone from the hallway the second the words left chan’s lips. 

you shut your eyes tight – this was so fucking bad. you didn’t know how you were going to go out there and face everyone after this, were you even going to make it to the tree lighting? you wouldn’t do it without riley, it was too important, she was the one who introduced you to them in the first place. 

“i really thought you were it, ri. thought we were it,” chan shook his head, snapping you back into focus, and a sob left riley’s lips, her tears free falling now. 

“you don’t even want to date me, chan, how were we it?” she asked through her sobs, a fire of her own starting to burn, her face increasingly more red as the conversation continued. 

“i want to, i’m just not ready, it doesn��t mean it won’t ever happen,” his voice got louder, it was strained, full of frustration, the veins in his neck becoming more visible. he was trying to keep his own emotions to a minimum.

“and what, i’m just supposed to wait for you to get over it? wait for you to be sure about me?” the volume of her voice matched his, a sharp edge to it, she was getting pissed. a smile threatened to break on your face, that’s your riley.

“no, riley, what? there was no waiting, i– we’re together every fucking day. i just wasn’t ready for a title,” he was talking with his hands now, stumbling over his words. she caught him, she hit checkmate.

“if we’re together every day then we should’ve had a title, chan. if there’s no title then i’m single,” her smile was victorious through her tears, “if i’m single i can do as i please, right now i just want to eat the dinner i just spent hours making.”

with that, she maneuvered past him, grabbing your wrist to pull you through the end of the hallway. you stayed quiet – you didn’t know what to say other than what the fuck just happened? a sadness sat in your stomach, a mixture of the thought of riley going through all of this alone and the pain chan was feeling from not only eden but also riley sleeping with someone else. 

you made your plates in silence, the dinner table eerily quiet as riley slammed food on her plate, not at all careful about hitting the metal spoons against the ceramic. makeup stained her cheeks in lines of tears, her sniffles the loudest thing in the room. you followed along quietly, your face blank, santa claus is coming to town by justin bieber lingering in the background, tension so painfully thick in the air the situation was almost laughable. almost. chan followed momentarily after, standing to the side with his jaw locked again, his eyes red and glossy. everyone already knew, but even if they didn’t, it was so fucking obvious what had just happened – you wanted to grab riley and make a run for it. 

as she put a biscuit on her plate, she turned to the table and smiled, “should we all say what we’re thankful for?”

everyone stared at her for a moment before they nodded in agreement, small mumbles of ‘yes’ and ‘totally’ slipping through. you were on edge, you didn’t know how to handle her right now, didn’t know what she was thinking and that made you panic.

“i’ll go first,” she smiled, standing at the head of the table, the warm, dim lighting catching the streaks on her face that were still wet, “i’m thankful for being alive, being healthy, and especially thankful for choi san’s stroke game.”

you gasped, everyone fucking gasped, a snort left your nose. her face was blank, she was so serious, you glanced to chan whose gaze was so pointed at san you were grateful looks couldn’t kill. 

“i’ll go next, then,” chan declared from his spot to the side of her, behind han, and everyone’s eyes moved together – this was so not good. “i’m thankful for my friends, my family, the meal, and i’m thankful to be single, not dating another fucking cheater.” 

“cheater?” a laugh escaped riley’s lips, “we were never fucking dating!”

“ki, do something,” jeongin quietly said from beside you, when he got there you weren’t exactly sure. your face grew hot under his gaze, you hadn’t looked at him in the eyes in so long.

“ki can’t do anything,” san said from across the table, stood behind hyunjin and changbin, then sipped his beer casually. all of the blood drained from your face, you stayed quiet.

“can’t call out your friend for cheating when you’re a cheater yourself, right?” your world fucking stopped when the words left san’s lips. wooyoung turned to him with wide eyes, yunho’s head snapped up from the table. everyone else gasped again. 

“i– what the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, your eyebrows furrowed. you looked to jeongin beside you who’s eyes wouldn’t leave san, the blood drained from your face, you couldn’t breathe. you needed to stay calm.

“continue,” jeongin’s chin jutted up to san, his voice entirely too natural. he didn’t seem stressed or upset at all. you glanced to riley who stared at you with wide eyes, her lips parted. you couldn’t read her.

“wooyoung and i are roommates, ki, you think i don’t know?” san laughed to himself, sipping his beer again. his stance was casual, one hand in his pocket and one hand wrapped around his beer as if he wasn’t ruining your life. riley was right about san coming here to expose, but she wasn’t right in who he was exposing. 

“i didn’t tell him anything, whatever he’s about to say is a lie,” wooyoung’s words came out fast, rushed, shaky – a lie no one would believe. 

“that night you spent in the studio with mingi? you know, your coworker?” san raised his eyebrows, his head cocked to the side, “come on, ki, i know you know what i’m talking about. you just told wooyoung on thursday.”

your breathing quickened, your face probably beat red with how much heat you were feeling. your reply came out just like wooyoung’s rebuttal, too quick, too shaky to be true, “you’re a liar.”

“no he’s not,” jeongin sipped his beer, “makes sense why you’re at the label so much then, huh? spending time with your other boyfriend?”

he finally looked at you – his eyes were cold as ice. so detached, so far away, there was no anger – there was just a wall. you could throw up everywhere. 

“jeongin, he’s fucking lying–”

“you and yunho both, actually, i guess riley, too. bunch of cheaters,” san shook his head with a tsk, “aera, if you didn’t know, yunho cheated on his girlfriend of four years to be with you.”

aera turned to yunho with an eyebrow raised, “i knew it, that’s why we went to a hotel? you never had roommates, did you?”

you turned back to jeongin who’d already begun walking toward his bedroom, too much leisure in his step, too much calm compared to what you felt – you were going to be sick. mingi’s words hang in your head again. 

you deserve better – more. if he doesn’t get it now, he never will.

“jeongin, please listen to me,” you pleaded, stomach hot, “san doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“then what is he talking about?” jeongin asked, his voice too casual, too cool. he stood in his doorway, the light of his bedroom dim behind him, the hallway even darker, he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. maybe he believed you, maybe he wouldn’t believe san at all. 

“i don’t know, nothing happened with me and mingi,” your shoulders were slumped, your face stoic. you placed the end of a piece of hair between your fingers, jeongin’s eyes immediately catching the action. a laugh escaped his lips. 

“i knew it was some shit like this,” he ran a hand through his hair then shook his head, “please get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

“jeongin, wait,” you moved closer, hand reaching to grab his forearm. he snatched it back, looking up to you with those cold, icy eyes once more. 

“you don’t want to fucking be with me, ki. you don’t want a boyfriend. you want to be a producer, you want to go to shows, hangout with your record label friends, drink at bars in brooklyn on weeknights when you should be doing your fucking homework that i know you haven’t done in weeks, you want to be single. you need to be single.”

you stared at him, your lips parting to speak, but you had nothing to say. no words would come out, even after you willed them to, begged them to. there was nothing you could say to fix this – no words to use as a bandage, a splint, a cast, nothing to hold up a relationship that had already been utterly destroyed. there was no coming back from this. 

you whimpered, a sound of despair, a sound that came from so deep in your chest you didn’t really know if it came from yourself. “i’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears welling up in your waterline, “i’m so fucking sorry.”

“have fun in LA, safe travels. delete my fucking number please,” he stepped back into his room, a fingers wrapped around his door. he paused, icy eyes meeting yours again, “i would’ve given you everything, you know that right? would’ve made you happy, done anything for you. i hope he can do that for you.”

he shut his bedroom door, his voice didn’t waiver once. you stood, facing his closed door, the dark wood staring at you, mocking you. the walls closed of the hallway closed in on you as you stared back, so many nights you’d spent behind that same door, in bed with him, playing games on his computer, watching tv, so much of your life you’d spent enclosed in the four walls of his bedroom. you’d miss it. 

your eyes were trained on the floor as you walked back towards the living room, you thought maybe you were in shock – two years today. you really weren’t going to the tree lighting after all. 

“ki,” riley whispered, immediately approaching you, wooyoung at her side. 

“i didn’t know he was going to say all of that, i’m so fucking sorry. i thought we were just messing around in the kitchen, i didn’t know that would happen, i’m so sorry,” wooyoung was speaking fast and hushed, words only you and riley could hear. you looked up at him, then realizing your face was wet, tears you didn’t know you had spilled. 

“we have to go,” you choked out, your eyes trained on the floor in front of you again. riley had gotten your bags from the living room, and you were on the sidewalk before you could process how you got there.

two years. he’s a middle child, he can sing, his favorite food is chicken, he hates beans. he was a child model, he’d be a preschool teacher if he wasn’t in school to write musicals. he loves ASMR, he loves watching mukbangs, his favorite color is pink, he loves quality time. he hates being touched by anyone else that isn’t you. you’d spent two years learning all of this, loving all of this – you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. you fucked up.

your phone was ringing, buzzing in your purse, you couldn’t answer it. you couldn’t even reach for it. 

“hey yun, yeah we’re taking her home, i don’t know she hasn’t said a word. okay, meet us there,” wooyoung’s voice felt so far away, you could’ve sworn he was right next to you.

you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up. 

i would’ve given you everything, you know that right? would’ve made you happy, done anything for you. i hope he can do that for you.

perm tags @chimivx 😙

[wyngigi]

todays food for thought:

wooyoung cannot catch a break him n his two morally grey best friends i swear

yunho…. gosh reading luck and knowing his pov and seeing how hes acting/justifying ab the cheating💔 i cant support this omfg

hongjoong no #1 in avoiding relationships for love of the game.. i wonder why COUGH three fates COUGH i miss him still idc if hes a little bit horrible for that and jag clocking him💟💟💟

mingi is so shameless i cant even be mad at it

thanks for the lovely chapter as always

one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

FOUR ➺ the show masterlist after your fight with jeongin, you're left with unresolved feelings, clear frustration, and an option that comes with opportunity you can't say no to. a conversation with your two best friends does help make you feel a bit better, though.

if anyone wants luck closure, i have a present for u!

cheating, drinking, college kids doing college kid shit wc. 8k

“i have something to tell you guys,” yunho averted eye contact, deciding to peel at the label of his beer bottle rather than look up to you and wooyoung. thursday night at prince, a week after your argument with jeongin, you needed your two best friends. before you went over to his place to talk over your argument again, you needed the two that were solely yours – not connected to any of the others, unbiased, the two people you don’t have to worry about anything with. 

“do not tell me ivy’s pregnant,” wooyoung gasped, eyes wide, “wait, if she is, am i congratulating you or are we scared right now?”

“i think we’re congratulating, they’ve been together long enough,” you said to wooyoung who smiled, nodding in return.

“and yun’s a senior, that’s old enough to have a kid i think,” wooyoung used his index finger to point out his statement, his eyebrows raised.

“what do you mean? imagine having a kid next year,” your eyebrows furrowed, hands moving as the words left your lips, wanting to take back your statement as soon as the words left wooyoung’s mouth.

“not me, that’s all you. you’re the one who said they’ve been together long enough,” wooyoung pointed out, easily falling into a bickering match. 

yunho let go of his beer bottle, running his hands over his face before he interrupted. “ivy and i aren’t together anymore.”

“what?” you and wooyoung nearly shouted at the same time, both of your attention moving back to yunho, leaning forward across the wooden table in shock. 

“what the hell do you mean ‘not together anymore’?”

“you guys have been together longer than me and jeongin, yun. no fucking way!”

yunho sighs, dropping his hands from his face. you take a moment to look at him, really study him. he had a slight red hue to his usual clear, chocolate eyes, bags hanging dark underneath them. at first you thought it was exhaustion, figuring he probably stayed up too late reading, but this is not the kind of physical reaction from a night of reading meet me in the bathroom: rebirth and rock and roll in new york city. these were features of pain, nights spent stressed, whatever happened was clearly taking a toll on him. 

“yun, what happened?” you changed the tone of your voice, evading your shock, deciding he needs to be soothed more than anything. your heart ripped from your chest. 

“if i tell you guys the truth, i need to know you’re not going to judge me and you’re still going to be my friends. i’ve been so torn up about telling you but i have to now,” his eyes looked glassy, his voice sounding strained. you and wooyoung both nodded profusely, still leaned over the table, both focused only on yunho. 

he closed his eyes before he spoke, keeping his voice hushed, speaking way too fast, “i cheated on her. i’ve been cheating on her for a long time.”

your heart lurched, a pit in your stomach. you immediately thought of the night at the club, yunho standing inches away from the bartender. you couldn’t believe it. yunho and ivy were made for each other, she was perfect for him, the sweetest little thing you’d ever met. every time you spoke to her she was nice, you never saw her without a smile on her face, she treated yunho like he was the only person that mattered – how could he do something like that? you sat straight up, a frown on your face, bile rising up in your throat as the realization hit you that you weren’t any better.

“that night we went to the club, there was a bottle girl, i– um,” he ran a hand through his hair, “i’d slept with her awhile before that night, but i saw her again– i needed to see her again. i’m seeing her now,” he rambled, speaking far too quickly for either you or wooyoung to get a word in. “i broke things off with ivy a week ago.”

“yunho,” wooyoung said in a low tone, his eyes locked in on a disappointed stare pointed at his best friend, looking over yunho’s face searching for dishonesty, begging there to be some sick joke behind his confession. there wasn’t any. 

“okay,” you decided, letting a breath out through your lips, “it’s okay.”

“it’s okay?!” wooyoung’s eyes were wide as he stared between you and yunho, disbelief coating his features, “nothing about this is okay.”

“we agreed not to judge,” you didn’t look at wooyoung, only nodding in yunho’s direction, “i’m your friend, even if i don’t support your choices i’m not going to grill you about them. it’s your life.”

“what the fuck,” wooyoung says through a sigh, tipping his head back, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before he spoke again, “i’m your friend, yes, but i can’t sit here and pretend like that isn’t wrong. i love ivy, you guys were really good together, i can’t wrap my head around why you’d do something like that, yun.”

yunho shrugs, “i’ve been doing it for a long time, i don’t know. kinda thrilling as fucked up as it sounds, as it is, i guess, i don’t know.”

a laugh slipped out of your mouth, one you quickly covered up with your hand, eyes going wide. “it’s not funny, i’m sorry.”

“you should not be laughing, ki, what if you were ivy? and jeongin did that to you?” wooyoung slaps your arm, a light smack but it’s purpose was clear. 

your lips pursed, that’s something you did not want to think about. your guilt sat in your stomach again, begging you to tell them, to make yunho feel better about what he did because you did it, too. 

“valid point,” was all you said with a nod, “i don’t think jeongin has it in him to do that, though.”

“i didn’t think you had it in you to do it, either, motherfucker,” wooyoung cursed, lifting his beer bottle to his lips and taking a sip before he kept going, “god, yunho. what the fuck? how did she take it? is she okay?”

“i don’t really know, she moved out and is staying with her parents in staten island,” yunho says, playing with the label of his beer bottle again, “she called me a couple times crying, didn’t say much other than ‘fuck you’.”

wooyoung groaned, “and what about this bottle girl? who is she?”

yunho immediately smiled, “her name’s aera, she works at the club to put herself through med school, she goes to icahn. ridiculously smart, really funny. ki, you guys would get along really well.”

“does she know you cheated on your girlfriend of almost four years to be with her?” wooyoung immediately cuts in, not giving you time to respond. you just smiled and nodded to yunho. 

“yes and no, i told her i was seeing someone so i had to break things off with ivy before i could date her,” yunho took a sip from his beer, his limbs relaxing, the tension leaving his shoulders with each confession. 

“you’re dating already?!” you asked, shock now slipping out, “it’s been days!”

“to be fair it has been two months since i slept with her,” yunho pointed out, lips straightening to a thin line, eyebrows raised, an amusing look. wooyoung seemed to be taking this far more seriously than the two of you were.

“nothing about that is fair, yunho,” wooyoung countered after a sigh, “i want to meet her.”

“i don’t know if i want you to meet her,” yunho admits, “this is not how i expected this conversation to go.”

“can i meet her?” you ask, a hopeful look on your face.

“yeah, you can meet her keeks, you guys would get along.”

“hello?!” wooyoung near shouts, “ki can meet her but i can’t?”

you laugh, an approving chuckle that you hope helps yunho feel better. it almost makes you feel better, knowing that you weren’t the only person to go through this, to do this. it takes the shadow of guilt off of your shoulder, makes you feel a little more at ease, like you and yunho share more than you realize. it makes you feel closer to him without him even knowing, even if what he did is still worse than what you did; although you felt bad letting yunho take the heat from wooyoung as you sat there feigning innocence, it made the guilt come back just as quick as it left. 

“ki isn’t the one patronizing me,” yunho argues, a hand jutting out from his lap to refer to you, and wooyoung laughs in disbelief. 

“you should be patronized! you cheated on your girlfriend of 4 years and have apparently been doing it for a long time,” wooyoung is whisper-shouting, leaning as close as he can over the table without jumping out of his chair. 

you take a breath and swallow, deciding it’s now or never to admit it to your friends, “i did it too.”

a weight is lifted off your chest, immediately you feel ten pounds lighter even when both of the boys’ necks snap to stare at you in disbelief, wooyoung’s eyes nearly jumping out of his head.

“...what?” wooyoung’s voice is barely above a whisper, smaller than you’d ever heard it.

“i kissed mingi two months ago.” you said it quickly, your own voice unsteady as if your body was fighting the confession, begging you to keep it inside even if it also yearned to get the words out.

yunho’s head tips back in laughter, clutching his stomach as wooyoung stands and takes a lap around your table. wooyoung’s hands are on his hips, then they’re on his head, clearly in a fight with himself over what the hell to do. 

“i didn’t realize two of my closest friends were pieces of shit,” wooyoung says, and he meant it, even if his for the two of you outweighed what he’d just found out. “have you told jeongin?”

“fuck no,” you shake your head, eyes wide as if wooyoung was insane for even asking that question. “it was a one time thing, he was helping me in the studio and we started talking and i ended up on his lap. it’s not a big deal and it won’t happen again, just a heat of the moment kind of thing.”

“are you telling yourself that or us?” yunho asks, a smirk growing on his face. 

“okay, king cheater, i don’t need to hear that from you,” you huff, crossing your arms. 

“you guys are going to hell,” wooyoung whispers, sitting back in his stool. “cannot believe i’m friends with you. is there no one loyal left in the world?”

“you,” you shrug.

“jeongin,” yunho also shrugs. 

“yunho!” you scold, fighting a laugh that threatened to slip out, hand slapping over your mouth again.

“this is not funny!” wooyoung throws his arms up before sighing, “you know what, i’m not even going to say anything anymore. you’re lucky i’m so fucking loyal or else i’d be exposing the fuck out of you both.”

“thank you,” you and yunho say in unison as if you’d rehearsed it, which only makes the two of you laugh again. 

“god, what am i gonna do at friendsgiving?” wooyoung asks, raising a hand to his forehead, “first i have to keep quiet about riley and san, now i have to look jeongin in the eye and pretend i don’t know anything?”

“what do you mean keep quiet about riley and san?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow. wooyoung’s eyes shoot wide, a hand slapping over his mouth, shaking his head.

“no sir, what do you mean? tell me,” you fully turned to him, cocking your head to the side, “you can’t say that then choose to shut your mouth.”

“riley texted san the night of the club–”

your phone vibrated on the wooden table before you, loud against the smooth surface. you quickly picked it up, hongjoong’s name appearing on the screen. you muttered out a fuck before pressing the answer button. 

“hey joong!” you said, holding the phone up to your ear and pressing your free palm over the other ear. you hopped up from your stool and made your way through the crowd of prince, slipping through the front door to step outside where it was quieter. 

“hey ki, sorry for calling so late i was just reading through my emails and i realized you sent me a demo,” his voice sounded like velvet through the phone, it made you shiver. 

“yeah! did you listen to it?” you asked, picking up a piece of your hair, twirling it around your finger.

“a few times, i really liked it, i was wondering if you could send over the form with it? i want their information, i’m definitely interested,” your eyebrows perked up at that, standing a little straighter. 

“i can absolutely do that, i’ll do it now,” you nodded, even if he couldn’t see it. 

“cool, head over to my studio when you get in tomorrow, i’ll let yunjin know i’m borrowing you for a bit,” he said and you almost squealed from excitement, nodding again, but this time without a verbal answer. 

you realized you didn’t say anything after a pause, “oh, yeah i will absolutely do that, thank you!” you smiled, pride settling in, knowing you did something right even if the idea came from mingi’s mind. 

“actually, wait, what are you doing?” his voice is inquisitive, as if the idea just came to him, you could see the lift of his eyebrow in your head as if he was standing before you. 

“i’m at prince with two of my friends,” you looked behind you at the glass door as if you could see yunho and wooyoung who sat deep inside the building. 

“me and mingi are going to a show at baby’s all right in brooklyn if you want to come, i think jag is meeting us there, maybe yunjin too. there’s a band i want to check out,” he says, and your eyes widen. finally, a show for you to check out and use your new analyzing eyes, not going to a show just for the fun of it. 

“i’ll absolutely come, yes, for sure,” you nod as you spoke again, something you can’t seem to stop doing, “thanks for inviting me.”

he lets you know when to meet and you hang up, tilting your head back to stare up at the city’s night sky, letting a breath pass through your lips as you closed your eyes for a moment. you smiled at the void, letting the adrenaline run through your veins, feeling your heart rate pick up as reality sets in. you’re about to go see a show in brooklyn. you turn around and rip open the glass door to prince, passing through bodies crowded at the bar as you zipped through the space, eager to find your table. you immediately spill the details of your phone call as soon as you have eyes on your two friends, heart thumping in your throat as you spoke at a speed you’d never reached before. 

“ki,” wooyoung’s eyes are wide, his lips in a tight line, “aren’t you supposed to go over jeongin’s later to talk?”

your blood runs cold, the smile immediately dropping from your face, excitement fully depleted in mere seconds. you slowly sat on your stool again, immediately burying your head in your hands, you couldn’t help that it felt like a sign. “he’s absolutely going to break up with me.”

“he might’ve already been doing that anyway,” wooyoung says from beside you and you could see his shrug without even looking at him, it made you groan.

“but on the bright side, if he does, mingi will be there tonight,” yunho steps in, wearing a warm smile on his face when you pick your head up. “i mean, even if he doesn’t, mingi’s still there.”

“don’t encourage her yunho!”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“i’m sorry. it’s for the label, they’re finally letting me go see a show,” somewhat a lie, but one that could possibly get you out of the situation you’re in, that was if he cared at all about your career in any capacity. 

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you can hear him laugh through the speaker as you pull a stocking up your thigh, securing the elastic band around your skin. “you’re canceling a chance to talk this out, to talk about us. and for what – to go to a bar? a show?”

“jeongin, please try to understand. i’ve been trying to go see a show since i started, this just fell in my lap an hour ago,” you lean against the back of your desk chair with a sigh, head tipping back. your phone sat on your desk amongst the makeup products cluttering the area.

“real funny timing,” he paused, “whatever, ki. i’ll see you saturday.”

“jeongin i’m sor–” 

he hung up on you, deserved, you admit. you know what your priorities should be right now, jeongin should be at the top of the list, he is at the top of the list. right after how much you needed to go see a show, to prove to everyone you’re seeing tonight that you can do this, to prove to yourself that you came all the way here for a purpose, that you’re moving forward. 

you faced the mirror, quickly deciding not to call him back. you’d give yourself tonight, call him in the morning, beg him to see you after work, you’ll even leave early if you can manage it. he’ll forgive you, he has to, you have friendsgiving on saturday, after all, he wouldn’t drag out your argument and act like this in front of all your friends. 

you push your worries to the back of your head and reach for your lipliner, a mahogany color, and reapply it to your lips. you listen to the music playing through your speakers, an rnb song with elements of trap beat filling the air of your room. you put your focus into that, to the beat, to the track behind the words. a moody song, tight drum programming, spacious synth work, ethereal vocal processing. the vocals guide the track without them being overbearing, it was beautiful work, another song that made you wish you produced it – that you created it. you hummed along as you unscrewed your tube of lip gloss, applying it to your lips quickly, smacking your lips together once it was perfectly applied.

the ride to baby’s all right would take about thirty minutes on the subway – you checked the time as you slipped on your heels. you needed to leave now to make it to the station on time yet instead you sped to the kitchen, quickly pouring a shot to take the edge off of your nerves.

“where are you going, dressed like the hottest woman i’ve ever seen?” riley peeks her head around the wall of the kitchen, another head above hers beside the wall that split your kitchen from the living room. your jaw dropped as you gaped at the man above her, quickly reminded that wooyoung never explained earlier. 

“what the fuck?” is all you could say, bottle of vodka in your left hand and shot glass in your right, gaping at the two of them now. 

riley immediately looked above her and her eyes widened, she turned around and yelled at him, “san, i told you to stay over there!”

“she was going to see me either way,” he shrugged, moving around riley and fully coming into view, a small smirk spread across his lips accompanied by a pair of dimples. 

your eyebrows furrowed, still holding two things that were glass, they could not be dropped – you didn’t have time to sweep. “what are you doing here? what are you doing?”

your second question was to riley, eyes thinning as you stared her down, you could not believe the scene before you. maybe you should be more surprised, shouting in dismay, but a part of you immediately understood. agreed even, especially as san’s dimples made serious eye contact with you.

“actually, i don’t have time to listen to more adultery today. i’m going to see a show with some people from the label,” you set down the bottle and take the shot quickly, hissing at the burn as you pour another for good luck. 

“adultery?” one of san’s eyebrows shot up, looking beside himself to riley who completely ignored him.

“i thought you were gonna talk to jeongin tonight?” riley asked, leaning into san now, her head resting on his bicep. she knew that you wouldn’t share what you were seeing with anyone, not even as you glanced between the two of them with disbelief before shaking your head, taking the other shot back. 

“work called,” you screwed the lid back on the vodka bottle and put it back next to the refrigerator, turning to grab your phone and purse. the song that played from your room changed to a trap song, playing through the speakers of the living room, the kitchen. you nodded your head to the beat as you walked toward the door, trying to shake the blatant discomfort off with the last remaining seconds of hearing the song before you left.

“ki,” riley calls after you, disappointment clear in her voice as you face the front door. you told her about your argument, you told everyone close to you, you’re sure jeongin did the same – his version. frustration taps you on the shoulder and you crane your head to greet it, jaw locked.

“you have no room to talk about anything relationship related anymore,” you snapped over your shoulder, making sure you made eye contact with her before stepping outside of your apartment door and into the stairwell. you knew that you were taking it out on the wrong person, riley was just thinking of your best interest, jeongin’s best interest. it pissed you off, you knew you should be on your way to jeongin’s instead of the bar, that you should be talking things out with your boyfriend, you told yourself all of that already. even if guilt and disgust for yourself sat in the base of your spine, you needed to do what was right for yourself and your future. 

hopefully the right decision was in the middle of brooklyn, you hoped deep in your gut that tonight would have a positive outcome, that you skipped out on your talk with jeongin for good reason. you let your mind drift to riley and san – why the hell was he in your apartment? for the last two months riley had only talked about chan chan chan, never once has she brought up san or if she even missed him. you never brought up mingi with her either, never told her the truth, even if riley did know there was something between the two of you before you did. even after seeing san with her, you knew you couldn’t risk it – she’s known jeongin longer than you, who knows who she’d side with if you told her the truth? riley has been your other half since your first day at NYU, you’d gotten so close with your friend group… how could you risk losing all of them?

your skin was hot the entire ride to brooklyn, leg bouncing underneath your short skirt, sweat threatening to drip down your spine. as you made your way to the bar thanks to your phone’s maps app, you took in your surroundings, the stress about your outfit slipping back into the front of your mind as the city’s night air cooled you down. you hoped you dressed appropriately as you walked along broadway, trying to take notice of everyone’s outfits. you remembered very shortly after your first glance at a group of people your age that there was no such thing as appropriate in the city. 

everyone in new york dresses so uniquely, the fashion scene was effortlessly linked to originality. it’s been your biggest inspiration for every article of clothing you’d bought in your years of living here. you’d never been one for fashion, back in missouri the fashion scene was completely different. department stores were always stocked on the basics: denim, cotton tees, tank tops, leggings, hoodies… there wasn’t much experimenting going on in the midwest, nor were there many stores to choose from. in the city it seemed everyone experimented, from wearing loud prints to different pieces you’d never expect to go together, funky shoes and accessories you’d only see in a thrift shop back home that every one of your friends would make fun of. 

you loved the individuality of the city, how everyone expressed themselves only for themselves, not a care about how they were perceived. that’s been your biggest hump to get over so far – understanding how small you really were in a city this big. you found your confidence in clothes before you built it up yourself, blossoming into what it is now. 

you found a tall head of oreo hair in line, next to a white shack looking building that lived under a massive, green ALL RIGHT sign. you turned the maps off on your phone and took a breath, mentally giving yourself a prep talk as you wiggled your way through the line. they were quick to find with mingi’s height, he stood with hongjoong and jag, all who had their arms crossed, already in conversation. 

“you made it!” jag smiles at you first as you finally make your way through the last few people. he stood with his hair pulled back into a bun and a cigarette between his lips, his weight on one leg with the other bent outward. baggy jeans and a dark hoodie, a pair of sunglasses on his head, he was the epitome of chill, relaxed. you would think he was going to a laid back hangout with friends before a busy bar in the middle of brooklyn.

“is yunjin here?” is the first thing you ask, looking around the three men, hoping you wouldn’t be the only woman among your group. 

“boo,” hongjoong complains as he shamelessly gives you a one over, “not even a hello?”

you rolled your eyes, “hi joong, hi jag, hi mingi,” you glanced at each man in greeting before you directed your gaze back to hongjoong, “is yunjin here?” 

he showed off his perfectly straight, white teeth in a smile as he said, “she’s coming, i think, i don’t really know.” 

you pout, “i hope she comes, i wanna hangout with her outside of the label.” 

“god, how long have we been standing here?” he scoffed, looking ahead of the line, shagged haircut hugging the sides of his neck as he turned his head. in all black, an oversized tee tucked into jeans so massively shredded you wondered if they could even be considered pants anymore, he kept his rockstar persona alive. his shagged haircut hugged his neck, so long some pieces covered the piercings along his ears, he looked delectable. he stood with his arms crossed, hands tucked into his armpits, it was clear he didn’t like to wait for anything.

the four of you move up in line as if on cue and jag turns to you as you step ahead instead of answering hongjoong, “she’s fun, real piece of work. have to watch how much she drinks, though.” 

your eyebrows furrow before hongjoong laughs beside you, “remember when she came into work after going to check out that singer? the one we didn’t sign, where were we, tribeca?” 

jag laughs too, a husky sound, deep but still inviting, “man, she looked like she just came off a four day bender, never seen her look like that in my life.” 

hongjoong shook his head, still smiling as he said, “rookie mistake.” 

you had a smile on your face as you listened, not knowing what they were talking about but knowing you were still present for the conversation. you let your mind drift for a moment, picturing yourself here again in the future, in this exact position but instead an actual employee of republic records with your producer coworkers, spending a thursday night across the city to check out a possible artist to sign. excitement shot through you, outweighing everything you felt before you came. you made the right decision. 

you looked up to mingi who’s been quiet this whole time, he caught your eye quickly with a tight lipped smile. he spoke first, beating you to the punch, “you look really good, ki.” 

you fought the heat that spread across your chest, not inconspicuous in the slightest when your eyes dragged over mingi’s height. he’s gorgeous, that you already knew, but when he was in all black, every article of clothing clinging to him a little too well… you had to push your thoughts to the back of your head. you were here to work.

“so do you,” you replied with a nod, letting the exchange die there. a compliment for a compliment, that’s all it was. 

you moved through the rest of the line before you finally got inside, hongjoong making a beeline for the bar. you followed behind, your heels clicking against the floor, loud for the rock music that played through the speakers. the band wasn’t on yet, the music that played through was familiar, you knew this song. 

hongjoong ordered a round of shots before asking what you wanted to drink, you settled on a tequila cocktail, deciding to go with something safe. you told yourself you could only have two so you weren’t completely hammered, you still had a job to do.

“how are you doing in A&R?” hongjoong asks after you all took your shots, handing you your cocktail. he looked you up and down shamelessly once again, letting his eyes linger on your legs, tattoos blanketed by your stockings.

“good! listening to a lot of demos,” you nod with a smile, then sip your drink through the straw. you remind yourself to stand straight, keep your shoulders back — even though hongjoong knows you from before the label, he’s seen you at the rooftop, at prince, he’s never seen you so put together, especially not in a setting like this. you want to impress him, to make him think of you whenever he goes to check out an artist so you could be the person from the A&R department he calls. 

“how’s the husband?” he asks and you could hear the smile in his voice before you snapped your head up to look at him, eyes wide, that was the last question you’d expect him to ask.

“husband?!” jag nearly yells, immediately grabbing your left hand to inspect your fingers, looking for a ring.

“he’s not my husband,” you say quickly, snatching your hand back from jag’s grip, the action much too hasty for hongjoong not to of taken notice.

hongjoong shoots you an eyebrow, “that doesn’t sound good.”

“it’s fine! we’re fine, he’s great,” you laugh nervously, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with the hand you stole back from jag. your eyes glance to mingi who’s still quiet, his face is unreadable. humor in his eyes, yet the rest of his face is stoic.

“being in a long term relationship as a junior in college is fucking pointless, especially if you’re serious about getting into this industry,” hongjoong shakes his head, taking a sip from his beer. 

“i think it’s sweet, just because you have commitment issues doesn’t mean everyone else has to,” jag smacks his chest, shaking his head.

“if you think about it logistically, it makes sense,” hongjoong starts, “as an intern you’re flooded with shit to do, and it’s not even your own shit. once you get your own shit, it becomes your baby, all you think about, all you want to do. there’s no time for anything else.”

“speak for yourself,” mingi finally speaks, “you make it that way, not everyone is like that. although, i do see a lot of you in ki, so maybe he is kinda right.”

hongjoong makes a concerned face, baring his bottom row of teeth as his eyebrows raise, “if you’re anything like me then good luck and get out of that relationship quick.”

“do whatever you want, ki, don’t listen to them,” jag puts his hand on your shoulder, shaking his head, “i’m sure you and your husband are great for each other.”

you give him a timid nod with a small smile, the words sinking deep in your gut like an anchor. what hongjoong just said was basically what you said to jeongin verbatim during your argument, he was right. if you were ever going to make this work with jeongin, you were going to need to purposely make time for him; although his point might have been the exact opposite, you knew what you had to do from today going forward. you just hoped you had the willpower to actually follow through.

as you made your way over to the crowd, hongjoong kept himself close to you, ready to explain what exactly you were there for. you came to a still on the outskirts of the crowd, the four of you in a line, hongjoong’s chin tilted upward towards the stage.

“you know what we’re listening for, right?” he asked, tilting his head towards you so you could hear him better, the smell of his cologne so clear over the smell of the sweaty crowd. 

you shook your head, “i’ve never scouted anyone before.”

“i’m looking for a consistent sound – i know they’re a rock group, their sound is exciting, riveting, makes you want to join the crowd and start a mosh pit or some shit. i want you to pay attention to stage presence, make sure they hit every note, pay attention to the crowd. i want everything lively, i want the crowd obsessed, like they’ve never seen anything like this in their life,” hongjoong explains, talking with his free hand, beer in his other hand swirling in the bottle as it tries to follow the actions of the free one. 

you nodded, “so i’m analyzing the band, the crowd, the performance as a whole?” 

“pretty much, just keep your eyes and ears open,” he sips from his beer again, gaze set on the stage. the lights dimmed lower than what they were before, you could barely see the people in front of you but you could see their heads blocking your view of the stage, shutting you out from any visibility of the performers. you gave up, settling for your spot at the back just as the stage’s spotlights turned on, and everyone pushed up. 

from the drinks you’d consumed you stumbled a bit, the feet trapped in your heels pushing you into the person in front of you. a strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close, your back pressed to his front. your head tilted back in shock, chin jutted up to see above you, and the culprit was no other than mingi standing behind you, beer pressed up to his lips as if he’d never touched you in the first place. 

“thank you,” you mumbled, probably too low for him to hear through the crowd that was already cheering. adrenaline was still coursing through you, a heat that spread across your chest, you didn’t even know who you were here to see, you just knew to watch, listen, analyze. 

when the first note was played through the electric guitar, an exciting riff that had you on your tippy toes, desperately trying to get taller to see what your ears were guiding you to. it was magical, a group stood onstage, three women and a man, a heavier rock tune playing from their instruments. you leaned back instead, neck craned up, the back of your head hitting a wall – a hard, muscular chest that felt too much like a wall – mingi hadn’t moved.

“stop touching me, i have a boyfriend,” mingi teased, lopsided teeth protruding from his lips, making a small one immediately break out on your face. it was too easy to mimic him, his smile was so contagious, everything about him is contagious. 

“shut up, i wanna see,” you complained, turning so you could face him better instead of looking up at him from his chest. you pouted, bringing your straw to your lips to fight off the smile.

“i can just put you on my shoulders,” mingi shrugged, leaning down so he didn’t have to yell, his breath warm against your skin. you shuddered, the warmth coursing through you, from alcohol and adrenaline combined, sweat threatened to come back, daring to appear where his hand laid on your lower back. 

“we aren’t at a music festival,” you shook your head, finishing off your drink, “stop talking to me, i’m trying to pay attention.”

he stood up tall again, eyes focused on the band, and you directed your focus to the crowd instead. everyone was jumping, dancing, phones out recording, taking pictures, everyone was mesmerized. you let your eyes flicker up to the band again, their stage presence was incredible, leaning into the crowd with their instruments, passing their mic to the crowd that sang along, they were incredible. it might’ve only been the opener song, but the crowd was entranced – the crowd wasn’t just here because this was a good bar in brooklyn, they were here for the show. 

you kept your eyes bouncing back and forth between the band and the crowd their entire set, paying attention to everything hongjoong told to you: the band’s sound was consistent, they never missed a note, the crowd knew every word of their set. you couldn’t believe you were on the outside, not in the crowd, instead watching with an eye that no one here knew you were using. it was special, you couldn’t believe hongjoong did this whenever he wanted – you couldn’t wait until this was your life, too. 

“not mad at that,” hongjoong said to your group as the lights turned off, signaling the end of their performance, even the end of their encore. 

“their energy was lagging by the end of the set,” jag immediately noted, “and the guitarist missed four notes in his solo from the fourth song.” 

your mouth parted, you had completely missed that – you thought their performance went flawlessly. that’s the difference between you and jag, the man who’s been a producer for almost a decade now.

mingi nodded, “things that can be fixed – i’m into their originality, there isn’t a sound like theirs in the mix right now, feel like i haven’t heard a band like that since i was a kid.”

“the crowd seemed hype about them, too,” you added, keeping your voice smaller, “not at all lackluster, i liked it.”

you didn’t want to criticize – you didn’t have much critique, anyway – but what if you were wrong? 

“the crowd started losing stamina, too,” jag shrugged, “just like their performance.”

“harsh for what?” hongjoong interjected, “they’re young, unlike you. i’m gonna see if i can go talk to them backstage, i’ll be back.”

“i’ll come with you,” jag says to hongjoong, then turns to you and mingi and speaks in a hushed voice, “gonna make sure he doesn’t offer them a contract.”

“i heard that?” hongjoong stood a step away from jag, a hand coming to his hip, his eyebrows raised, “if you’re coming, let’s go.”

that left you and mingi, both quiet, holding empty drinks in the middle of a too packed bar. the crowd remained in front of the stage, only breaking up slightly, everyone seemed to be awaiting the DJ who was supposed to play after the band.

“so, what happened with the husband?” he asked as soon as jag and hongjoong were out of earshot, as if he was waiting all night to pop the question. he had an eyebrow raised as he looked down to you, both hands wrapped around his empty beer, fingers tangled, rings blending into a blur of silver around the glass. 

“what do you mean?” his question took you off guard, the last person you expected him to bring up was jeongin, “nothing happened.”

“you’re too quick to defend it, something must’ve happened,” he shrugs, walking closer to the pillar separating the bar area from the crowd. your heart moves itself to your throat – he doesn’t know you enough to be able to read you like this. 

“nothing happened,” your voice was edged, “how’s the brunette you were seeing?”

his eyebrows furrowed, head cocking to the side, confusion clear on his face, “what brunette?”

“the one i saw you with in the hallway of steinhardt awhile ago, when me and jeongin were leaving?” you pushed your weight to one leg, hip pushed out, your free hand coming to your hip. his eyebrows stay furrowed for a moment before his entire expression changes – a smile spreading across his face, eyes slimming as he stares down at you. you raised your eyebrows, clearly awaiting an answer as he chuckled to himself. 

“first of all, she’s blonde,” he says and his smile warped into a cocky one, the corner of his lips lifted as he spoke, “that was like two months ago. i wasn’t seeing her, we were just hanging out.”

you nodded slowly, your lips pursed, “so you bring all of your hangouts to the studio?”

he leaned into the pillar, head tilted against the structure, one leg bent across the other, “what i do with my hangouts matters to you?”

your ears run hot, standing up a little straighter, “you asked about jeongin first, i thought we were going question for question.”

he pushes off the pillar, coming a step closer to you. “sometimes, yeah, but i’m not seeing anyone, i’m not in a relationship, i’m just as single as i was the night we kissed.”

your breath hitched in your throat, staring up at him through your lashes, begging your body to take a step back, create some distance between the two of you. it didn’t listen, it urged you to step forward, press your chest against him, kiss him again. flashbacks ran through your head, his lips pressed to yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hands gripping your ass – you almost gasped as you felt sheer need shoot through your entire body, he should not of brought that up.

“tell me what actually happened between you and jeongin,” mingi said, his voice lowered, the rasp coming through more now than before – that fucking rasp, you could feel it in your fingertips, his voice was so god damn enticing, it made your body burn.

“w-we’re fighting because i don’t make enough time to see him,” you stuttered over your words, your breath shallow, heart pounding against your chest at how fucking close he was to you. the words came out too quick, as if he picked them out of your head, forcing them out of your mouth with some kind of spell. 

his eyebrows furrow, his lips scrunching as he asked, “why not? you have more than enough time, you stay late at the label for no reason.”

you shrug, “it’s not for no reason, i just want to impress yunjin, everyone, really.”

mingi shakes his head, “joong was right, you know. if you don’t make time now you never will, he’s not in our industry, he doesn’t understand.”

you shake your head, fingers gripping your empty glass a little harder, “he already doesn’t understand, he threatened to break up with me because we don’t hangout enough, don’t… sleep together enough.” 

your body went cold as ice, you couldn’t believe you just admitted that out loud, so openly and to mingi of all people. the information wasn’t for him to know, it came out of you so quickly, so easily. your body began to feel like jelly – the conversation gave you a sour feeling in your stomach. mingi is the last person who should be giving you relationship advice, he shouldn’t know anything about you and jeongin other than that you were still together. 

mingi’s eyebrows raise, he takes a pause before backing away a step, standing up straight. “haven’t you been together for two years?”

“our two year anniversary is saturday,” your lips pull into a tight line, wanting to change the topic, end the conversation as quickly as you started it. it was like word vomit.

his chuckle was sarcastic, disbelieving, “i didn’t think it was fair to talk about it in a group earlier, but you deserve better – more. if he doesn’t get it now, he never will.”

“what makes you think you know him so well?” the ice went right back to heat, the need to defend jeongin rising like bile in your throat, anger flooding you. it gave you whiplash, wanting mingi to wanting to choke him out for speaking on your relationship – he shouldn’t know any of this, but you can’t stop talking – maybe the tequila is to blame. 

“he’s a man, a twenty one year old man,” mingi shrugged, “every girl i’ve fucked outside of this industry, every relationship has ended the same exact way.”

“jeongin is different,” you spat, “it’s just a rough patch.”

“were you in a rough patch a couple months ago?” he got closer again, his voice dipping an octave, your neck craned upwards to see him as he spoke with a calculated smirk, “when you spent a night on my lap, instead of being at home with him?”

your eyebrows furrowed, his face too close to yours, wooyoung’s words ringing in your mind – jeongin might be breaking up with you, anyway. 

your breath hitches in your throat as he keeps going, “was he complaining then about not seeing you? has he ever been in your studio late at night, talking to you about everything i did? does he listen to your songs, give you advice, tell you how good he thinks you are? did he push you to get an internship? does he give you advice about your schoolwork? does he even know you’re falling behind in school? tell me.”

your eyes are wide, heart in your throat, the whiplash threatening to make you sick. you wish your drink was full, you needed a shot, you needed something to take the edge off of this conversation, to change the topic. with every word his face got closer, with every breath on your face the feeling in your gut only got worse, you couldn’t begin to decipher what this feeling was. 

you couldn’t answer him, your silence was answer enough. it was like a game of tug of war, you love jeongin, but mingi couldn’t be any closer to the truth. you felt entranced, just like you did that night on the couch of your studio, being in mingi’s presence was so fucking confusing – it was if you were in your own bubble. no one else was in the bar, there was no crowd awaiting the DJ, there was just you and mingi and his brutally honest words. 

“i thought so,” mingi nodded, his face mere centimeters from yours. if you leaned forward just a little…

“mingi,” jag’s voice was threatening – a warning. “leave the intern alone, you and hongjoong both, man. i’m seriously going to talk to the CEO and issue a mandatory STD test for everyone who works at republic.”

you and mingi both jump backward, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. you glanced to jag with wide eyes, simultaneously frustrated and pissed he broke that up – you were so close to feeling his lips against yours again, so close to selfishly fulfilling every desire that just ran through you. 

your face was hot, your ears burning at the feeling of being caught. you shook your head to jag, “that wasn’t what it looks like, mingi and i are just friends, we go to school together.”

“whatever that was is between you and god, i don’t care,” jag shook his head, taking a swig from his beer, “i need a cigarette, you horny kids are fucking aging me.”

hongjoong follows close behind, bouncing as he walked with a wide smile on his face, “guess what band is about to be signed with republic records?”

[wyngigi]

wooyoung as your boyfriend texts

warnings: weirdo wooyoung, weirdo fem!reader, wooyoung calls reader babe/baby, light violence, biting, suggestive, NSFW, implied sex (😱), minors do not interact!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[wyngigi]

Girly pop (or broski) , please make a masterlist cuz i want to read all of your work. And scrolling through your page kinda not helping 😭🫵🏾

hi babe!! i actually only have my lust for life au published 💔 so yes that is the masterlist of all my work available!!!!!

[wyngigi]

been awhile since i came on here but thank u sending much love😁😁 stay tuned!

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ an ateez series

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x ateez , ateez x female reader ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 13.5k┆ongoing ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through, references of a character's parent passing is included (specific warnings that may be particularly uncomfortable for readers will be found in each chapter in this section)

PROLOGUE » jung wooyoung x f!reader 00⌇be the air i breathe┆1.7k

ACT I » THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY 01 ⌇even if just for a little bit┆2.7k 02⌇relationships, fuck buddies, heartbreaks┆3.5k 03⌇the absolute fucking irony┆3.3k 04⌇memories of summer bring you┆2.3k 05⌇coming soon┆

ACT II » TO BE CONTINUED

[wyngigi]

I hope you are doing well 🙏

doing better💕💕

[wyngigi]

user wyngigi pls return to us🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼😔😔😔

tace calls n therefore i answer🥴🥴

[wyngigi]

hi guys…. im back !!! kind of

cannot promise updates anytime soon but yippee i redownloaded tumblr

[wyngigi]

notice for anyone who follows this blog <3

not sure if i will come back here ever but if i do it will be in the very far future , anyone who i have on any other social media platforms feel free to stay in contact there

thank u to anyone who read lust for life !! unfortunately it will be discontinued until further notice :(