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so i never forget this masterpiece🖤🖤

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɢᴇɴᴄʏ 𝆬 𓏸

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ 𝆬 𓏸

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ᴅᴇᴄᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴɢᴇʟꜱ 𝆬 𓏸

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɢꜱ 𝆬 𓏸

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ 𝆬 𓏸

just saving this for later because gosh your fics and drabbles always slay

note. if you don't see some of my works on here then it's probably because they're really old and I hate them <3 you can search for em tho, they're still on my page but just not on my mlist.

🍰-smut // 🍡- fluff // 🥀 ˚｡ - angst // 🍙 - crack // 🌷- thirsts/brainrots

Multiple character fics . . .

Seething envy [dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Ass tits or thighs? [poe, ango, lovecraft, akutagawa x fem reader] 🍰

What a tease! [dazai, chuuya, fyodor x fem reader] 🍰

Oh, darling! [dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍡

Baby makin' [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, sigma, fukuzawa, oda x fem reader] 🍰

Prettiest when you cry [dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Drunk-dazed [dazai, chuuya, atsushi, ranpo, sigma, tetchou x fem reader] 🍰

bsd men with a tall reader [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bsd men with a short reader [dazai & chuuya x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bsd men x reader with thick thighs [dazai, chuuya, fyodor & nikolai x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bad timing? [dazai, chuuya, fukuzawa & fyodor x fem!reader] 🍰

using the safeword [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & jouno x fem!reader] 🍰 🥀 🍡

my pride and joy, my everything [dad!dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & oda X fem!reader] 🍡

embarrassing moments during sex [dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa, tetchou x fem!reader] 🍰🍡🍙

fait avec amour [dazai, chuuya & fyodor x gn reader] 🍡

who'd be the best at dirty talking 🍰🌷

eat it like you mean it [dazai, chuuya, jouno & ranpo x fem!reader] 🍰

"what'cha readin'?" [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Single character fics. . .

dazai ꔛ܀⊹

"wrap your legs around my waist" 🍰

soft sex with dazai 🍰🍡

fyozai 3some 🍰

dazai worshipping your pussy 🍰

skk 3some 🍰

fucking you in a club bathroom 🍰🌷

his hands 🍰🌷

gettin' messy 🍰

dazai with a choking kink 🍰

when the tables are turned 🍰

hair pulling 🍰🌷

balcony 🍰🌷

shibari 🍰🌷

sleepover 🍰🌷

jealousy 🍰🌷

dream 🍰

"too much for ya?" 🍰

chuuya ꔛ܀⊹

"open your legs for me, baby.." 🍰

brat tamer!chuuya 🍰

morning sweetness 🍰🍡

sugar daddy!chuuya 🍰

skk 3some 🍰

fucking the insecurities away 🥀 🍰

calling him bro 🍡 🍙🌷

pussydrunk!chuuya 🍰🌷

soft!chuuya 🍰🌷

goth 🍰🌷

good bitch 🍰🌷

knotting 🍰🌷

19 + 21 🍰🌷

"he's the best big brother ever !"

his first bj 🍰🌷

first time 🍰🌷🍡

'riding' on his bike 🍰🌷

fyodor ꔛ܀⊹

purity 🍡🍰

fyozai 3some 🍰 fyodor x bimbo!reader 🍰🌷

sugar daddy!fyodor 🍰

tying his hair up before going down on you 🍰🌷

taking pics of u 🍰🌷

obsessing over your thighs 🍰🌷

girl dad!fedya 🍡🌷

sub!fedya 🍰🌷

making you read something while fingering you 🍰🌷

brat tamer!fedya 🍰 🌷

fucking his cum back into you 🍰 🌷

fyodor x chubby reader 🍰 🍡

nikolai ꔛ܀⊹

special trick 🍰

biting his thighs 🍰

making you squirt 🍰

sigma ꔛ܀⊹

biting his thighs 🍰

pussydrunk!sigma 🍰🌷

bending you over his desk 🍰🌷

I am so late, but plot-heavy Fyodor fics 🤩🤩🤩🙏👌❤️💋

♜ ❛ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐘 ❜ — FROM EDEN

content. f!reader. kidnapping, canon compliant, mutual pining, enemies and lovers, explicit language, canon-typical violence, murder, and references to suicide. not proofread. 6.2k+ words.

author's note. i'm super excited for the first entry to this series! i wanted to release this days ago, but i wasn't satisfied with it, so it's gone through a couple drafts, and i stayed up way too late to finish it, so i hope you enjoy!

feel free to fill out the separate taglist if you want to be notified about updates!

“They are the only ones capable of defeating him,” you finally met his hostile stare. “Tell me—in a game of cards, what would be the benefit of showing your deck to someone who isn’t your ally?”

Dust twirled and twisted in the air, sparkling in the shine of a sunset that threatened to bleach essential documents with its powerful rays. People restlessly muttered to themselves, filling in the quiet as they tried to finish their last bits of work so they could retire into their nightly routines. There were the outliers, of course. Dazai hardly ever touched paperwork when asked and leaned back in his chair without a care in the world. Ranpo was always in a similar state, though he took the time to devour a new lollipop every couple of minutes, having been gifted a couple of bagfuls courtesy of Minoura and his subordinates.

"We're back!" you exclaimed, propping the office door open with your hip as you adjusted a flimsy tray of caffeinated drinks in your arms, letting Atsushi in with the rest of them. Everyone perked up as if they were rescued from peril, most wandering over in the hopes of snatching theirs before returning to their excruciating endeavors.

You craned your head back towards your newest recruit. "Could you set those down in there?"

"Sure," Atsushi replied, distracted as he labored to balance his tray onto the table without spilling anything. In the end, he relented and decided to remove each individual drink and set them down. You tried not to make fun of his relieved expression—he was probably traumatized from the time he had spilled them all. Despite reassurances from most people that it was okay, everyone had been in a cranky mood for the rest of that day, so you decided to assist him with the task ever since.

While Atsushi deliberated with his task, you decided to deliver drinks to those who had chosen not to leave their work. "One espresso for Kunikida." The man merely waved in thanks with his non-dominant hand, too engrossed in drafting an incident report. "And one abomination for Dazai." The suicide enthusiast scoffed as he snatched the drink from your hands, cradling it like it was his malformed baby. It was a miracle he didn't burn his hands.

"I'll have you know that this is the secret concoction for my beauty."

"Certain it's not another suicide attempt?" And despite his concentration, Kunikida always had time to comment on his partner's less-than-stellar preferences, especially when they always seemed to find a way to obstruct his work.

"Even if it's not one," you covered your nose as a rancid smell started to waft from the cup, "the smell alone makes me want to jump."

"I'm wounded!"

You left Kunikida to handle Dazai, knowing he was likely seconds away from throttling him, and your hands cramped as you balanced not only a drink but a collection of pastries sent from the café manager's wife herself. The drink wasn't much better than Dazai's, though it luckily didn't have a distinct smell. It was just the massive amounts of sugar that made you nauseous as you tried not to imagine the taste of such a sweet drink.

How the master detective didn't have any cavities was beyond you.

"Only the finest drink for the world's greatest detective," you said, amused as you settled it down in front of him. He remained stretched back, legs propped over the desk as he swung them back and forth.

Without an ability, you were often chained to office work—but it was no secret that you thrived out on the field, regardless of whether you had an ability or not. You became the unspoken assistant to Ranpo whenever he was needed outside of the office, functioning as both an equal and interpreter for his blunt and childlike mannerisms. It had created a kinship between you both as the only two "ability-less" agents allowed to solve cases by themselves.

"It's about time," he groaned.

But that didn't stop him from having an attitude with you or anyone else.

"Glad you didn't forget the creamer—unlike someone here."

Ranpo and the resident weretiger locked eyes, with the latter returning the gaze with an unamused glare. There was another unspoken fact about the staff at the Agency—Ranpo was notorious for taunting new recruits, especially ones as reactive as Atsushi. In fact, Kunikida's first months had to have been your favorite time. Despite his inherent respect for his senior, even he had a difficult time and questioned the methods and attitude of the super-deduction genius, but like everyone else, he learned Ranpo was simply that way.

"(Name)-san!" your train of thought was broken, spinning on your heel to meet the brunette woman calling your name, pausing as she pointed at her computer screen. "Can you take a look at this for me?"

She shrunk back from the stern tilt of your head. "You're not asking me to do it for you again, are you?" Her reaction told you everything you needed to know; scrunching back in her seat as sweat started to drip from her forehead. "I told you I can't do your work for you anymore. It's not my fault you're too busy obsessing over your cat."

She fiddled with her thumbs like a scorned child. You sighed. "Fine, I'll check it, but nothing more! Capeesh?"

Her relief sprung forth like a rushing waterfall, uttering 'thank you's' and 'I owe you one's'—as if she ever returned the favor. You rolled your chair beside her, scanning over the documents on her screen, which consisted primarily of the office's activities and expenditures from the past two weeks. From the ambush by the Black Lizard to the serial disappearances of travelers, both the minds and pockets of the staff had run rampant without constraint.

"These dates need to match with the ones on these papers, not those. You've also swapped two of the addresses," you said, pointing to them on the screen, "here and here."

She groaned, throwing her head back as she massaged the corners of her screen-strained eyes. "Thank you. I'd have my head on backward if you weren't here."

You elbowed her, offering her a comforting but cheeky smile. "That's what I'm here for."

RING! RING!

You picked up the phone as you shooed Haruno back to her work. These phones sucked, the speaker crackling to life with the ambient sounds of static. Most of them had been donated or were bought used, obviously on their last life. It made the constant back-and-forth with clients a guaranteed path to a headache, but there wasn't much else you could do about it. Despite the government's proclamations that the agency was a well-regarded and heroic organization worthy of praise, they rarely invested their resources so that it could flourish to its truest potential—that wasn't a surprise, given how Yokohama's Special Division treated abilities that weren't under its thumb.

"You've reached the Armed Detective Agency—this is Kurihara (Name) speaking. How can I help you?"

The voice on the other end of the line was muffled, but it was difficult to tell if that was a fault of the phone or if it was an intentional endeavor on the speaker's part. "Hallo, Ms. Kurihara. Such a charming voice." You pressed your ear closer to the receiver in spite of the pain. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that the man on the other line had an accent—German, you thought.

That was unusual, to say the least. Most people who knew about the detective agency were domestic, or at the very least from Japan if they weren't from the city itself. Contact from anyone outside of that demographic was abnormal, at least if it was in association with an everyday case.

Your reaction seemed to at least catch the attention of one person. "Is something wrong?" Naomi mouthed from across the desks, but you brushed her off as you tried to refocus.

"Thank you, sir. What can I do for you?"

"Straight to the point, hm?" he clicked his tongue. "I'll be quick. You're the agency's liaison, yes?"

"I am," you replied, fiddling with the coils of the phone cord, knotting it around your index finger before squishing it with your thumb.

"Marvelous! I have a message for you to deliver."

The normal part of you wanted to snap back at the man, stating he could have easily placed this message of his into an email, maybe added a GIF or two if he wanted to be theatrical, but the atypical set-up of the conversation left your normal wit at the front door. This man was odd if you had been asked to describe him, and it wasn't because of his accent—no, you had met plenty of people who spoke the same with an assortment of personalities, both good and bad. It was the lilt of his tone that threw you for a loop, like a snake trying to act as the charmer, luring in a mouse with cheese as it waited at the end of a trap. Perhaps that was the reason you decided to take a pen and some paper from Haruno's stationery, fidgeting with the clicker as he continued to speak, an anxious action that did little to appease your watchful juniors.

"You have two hours to hand over your master detective."

You peered over at the aforementioned sleuth out of the corner of your eye, who sat none-the-wiser to his newfound predicament, downing his candied drink as he grouched to himself about his boredom despite the piles of cases on his desk. He certainly wouldn't be bored after this. It wasn't rare for someone to threaten Ranpo—he was incredibly polarizing—but more often than not, it was a prank. This wasn't the same.

"Failure to do so," the man over the phone stopped himself, attempting to contain his amusement as his laughter almost slipped into cartoonish joy, forcing you to swallow the impulse to insult the unseen bastard from head-to-toe, "will result in the premature slumber of the clerks and clients of Chuoshijo Bank. That will be where the handover will occur."

You almost broke the phone as its thinner bridge started to crush in your hand. "I'm assuming you won't say why you're doing this?"

He left off with a chuckle. "That's all part of the fun, no?"

The line dropped, and you were only left with the same static. You were silent and contemplative as you reconnected the phone and stared at the piece of paper in your hand. The next step would be to check if this threat was as legitimate as the man made it out to be and you had your suspicions. Three of your juniors eyed you as you walked over to the agency's beacon of ideals, which only drew the attention of everyone else.

"Kunikida."

No response.

"I think he's a little preoccupied," Atsushi replied for him, though you didn't need a reply as you watched the blonde's hand move back and forth in a rhythm, his focus honestly admirable.

"He won't be for long."

The slap reverberated throughout the office, and if your co-workers weren't paying attention before, they certainly were now. Kunikida took a moment to pause his work, eyes drifting to look at the paper that had assaulted his face, which innocently floated onto the surface of his desk. He scowled at the message scrawled across the page, though it was only noticeable through the subtle twitch of his eye.

"Is this threat legitimate?" He adjusted his glasses with the edge of his finger as if the words on the paper would morph into something else, but they didn't.

"A threat?" Kenji leaned his body to peer around you, trying to take a curious look at the message.

"Whoever this was claims they'll kill the people at Chuoshijo Bank if we don't hand over Ranpo."

It only took a couple of moments before almost the entire office gathered around, staring at the paper with both intrigue and worry. No one had ever attempted to place an actual threat toward the lead detective, at least not since most of the members had joined. Even senior members were a bit confused by it, and it felt like a bad omen.

"It wasn't from a local," you piped up. "The man had an accent. German, if I'm not mistaken."

Dazai was one of the members who didn't bother to rise from his chair, though he had no issue inserting his two cents into the discussion. "He could be a member of the Kanagawa Insurance Agency. It's a front for the Port Mafia, but some of its associates were hired from a German reconnaissance platoon after the war."

It astounded you that people never realized his previous profession, even with the numerous times he had delved into information only a Port Mafia member would know. Kunikida was still left in the dark, but he went with his words without question, which was both admirable since he trusted his partner so much and worrisome since he never seemed to pick up on that detail. There was a secret bet for how long it would take for him to realize it.

"We probably won't receive answers from them directly," Kunikida grumbled, the weariness in his tone palpable. He reflected the temperament of the entire agency, wanting a break from the chaos. "We'll have to conduct an investigation."

"The important question is—what could they want with Ranpo?" you asked, and everyone turned to the detective for the answer, only to find him asleep in his chair, hat awkwardly covering his face with his emptied cup still in hand.

"Dazai, (Name)," Kunikida's sternness drew your attention away, "head down to the bank to scope out the situation and try to make contact with the enemy. I'll inform the Boss of the situation while Atsushi and Tanizaki investigate their headquarters. Everyone else is to remain here and protect Ranpo."

The look in his eyes was similar to that of a hawk as he stared at Dazai. "We don't know if they've released the threat publicly, so watch what you say."

"Aye, Aye!" Dazai exclaimed with a salute. "You heard him, (Name)."

"I was referring to you, Dazai!"

"Kurihara-san!" a voice called from the midst of reporters. "What's the reason for the Armed Detective Agency's involvement?"

"We are strictly here to advise the police. Please disperse from this area."

You grimaced as you and Dazai tried to maneuver through a throng of news crews swarming around the outer reaches of the bank. On a normal day, the neighborhood was tranquil, a scenic location near the harbor with an occasional cluster of families or tourists, but the frenzy of flashing cameras and insistent voices shattered that panoramic atmosphere. The organization that man belonged to likely tipped them off, since there were rarely reporters so early in the case.

"Is the Port Mafia involved in this incident?" one reporter hollered, driving a microphone alarmingly close to your face.

"Can you confirm if this is connected to the string of robberies in Gumyoji-cho?" another piped in, several cameramen competing with each other for the best view. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Dazai tried to place himself in every frame.

This was the aspect of your position that irritated you the most, though you were considered the most adept at handling it out of any of your co-workers—but these people so easily ignored the fact that real lives could possibly be on the line, simply because they wanted their next big break. Luckily for you and unluckily for them, this was one of the few occasions when you were permitted to summon a little attitude.

You held up your hand, shoving the microphone back in the opposite direction. "When the police have prepared a statement, they'll let you know." Like Moses with the Red Sea, the news crews parted at the hint of your obvious irritation. Many of them had become familiar with your infamous intolerance for the media's bullshit from several other incidents, and none of them wanted to be the victim of one of your notorious letters to their bosses. The liaison of the Armed Detective Agency was not to be tested.

"Remind me never to cover for you."

You chuckled at the comment from your companion, bumping his shoulder. "You'd have to get out of bed on days you *are* scheduled for that to ever happen.

Dazai gaped at your scathing dissertation of his character, inclined to make chase as he rushed to catch you through the crowd, only to tumble over the police tape, which astonishingly remained secure as he landed on his face. If he hadn't received enough attention before, he certainly was now as cameras turned to him in not-so-subtle attempts to capture the dashing detective, now a pile of bandages on the sidewalk.

Despite your amusement, you had mercy on him, tugging him by the tails of his trench coat as he wept into your arms. "I can't believe this. My reputation—ruined!"

"I'm certain you'll find some girl who doesn't watch the news," you replied, patting his shoulder in a mock attempt to comfort him.

"Detectives!" a voice hollered from further in the taped-off zone. On further inspection, it was Deputy Minoura who waved the both of you over. It allowed for a momentary respite as the crews turned their cameras away from your faces and onto the building itself, but no one seemed to have greater relief than Minoura, though he raised a brow at your unlikely duo. "Where's your master detective? Is he really too busy to get his ass down here? Should've bribed him with more of those damn sweets."

Despite the severity of the situation, you had to try hard not to laugh. "Actually, he's under watch at the office. The same people who've orchestrated this mess are after him, too."

"Shit," he mumbled, and you felt an instant wave of pity for the poor man. He had a lot of shit on his plate already, if you knew anything about his superiors, and was handed a mostly incompetent task force of barely qualified cadets that depended on Ranpo to solve their problems. Minoura gnawed at the inside of his lip, a hand brushing against the small patch of stubble on his chin. "I'll be frank with you: things aren't looking great. The entire place is on lockdown, and no one's be able to make contact with anyone inside."

You and Dazai eyed each other, not wanting to verbally recognize the unspoken aspect of the situation—the possible chance that everyone inside could already be a bunch of corpses. Neither of you wanted to jump to that conclusion, and while it was within the realm of possibility, it would do more harm than good to assume that was the case right out of the gate. However, the two-hour time constraint remained a further pressure as the clock ticked by.

Dazai hummed. "When's the last time your men swept the perimeter?"

"It's been a bit," Minoura replied. "They've been focused around the main entrance and the roof, so I'll leave the rest to you two for now."

You started your search on the side of the building that faced the harbor, pushing on doors and peeking through windows for the chance there was a crack in their defenses. It took a few minutes of investigating, but it was as Minoura had stated—everything was locked and covered. No loose doors and no cracked windows. Banks were always the worst when it came to any sort of terror situation due to their structure, made like a prison under the perfect circumstances.

"There should be another exit connected to the second floor," you said, pointing back to a staircase you both had yet to look into. "I'll check there while you start on the other side."

His eyes followed you as you ran out of sight, and he hated the abnormal inkling that was itching at the back of his mind, refusing to bubble to the surface. It was aggravating for the genius to be left in the dark by his own thoughts, typically a master of his mind, but the situation itself eluded him. The total lockdown of the bank, the lack of contact from hostages, the tip-off of the media—something wasn't adding up.

It took him another minute before a part of his realization set in.

It shouldn't take you that long to check a fire escape.

Your eyes fluttered open, the thump of your heartbeat deafening your ears like an alarm clock. It took careful deliberations to breathe, the air as thick and warm as molasses on a summer day. The dusky radiance of the moon did little to aid your search as you tried to piece together your location.

It was an abandoned warehouse—a cavernous expanse of shadows and echoed sound. Steel beams crisscrossed above, reinforcing the high-vaulted ceiling that was laden with cobwebs in every corner. Wooden crates scattered about, some sealed with others wide open, stacked haphazardly across slick concrete, shaping into a labyrinth of unknown objects. It would've been the place of nightmares if not for your splintering headache, which placed your fearful reaction on hold as you muttered to yourself, tussling with the restraints that threatened to cut off your blood flow.

"Good morning, Dornröschen."

A man sauntered out from behind a crate, and you shuddered to think he had stood there watching the entire time. He was middle-aged and stoutly built, with tufts of sandy, peppered hair that slicked back to touch his crown, not a strand out of place. In other circumstances, you'd assume he was a foreign dignitary—a walking advertisement for the heights of western-European fashion, dawning a Brioni wool suit and Austrian Oxfords. He repositioned his golden cufflinks, the room thickening with the stench of an oud-scented cologne.

"Nice to finally meet face-to-face, Ms. Kurihara."

The blurred edges of your vision cleared away, and your face shined with clarity. "You're the caller."

He oozed with a cartoonesque delight, clasping his hands. "Correct! And I must admit, you are even lovelier than you sound over the phone, herzchen."

You scowled as he attempted to cup your face with those same grubby hands, leaning away. "Don't touch me."

"A feisty one, hm?"

He jerked a stainless steel flask out of his pocket, monogrammed with initials—E.K. You eyed it before you swallowed a groan, having arrived at a worrisome conclusion. Dazai had been correct. The leader of that aforementioned German reconnaissance platoon, as he had informed you en route to the bank, was a man named Eduard Knopf—and it seemed you had the honor and displeasure of meeting him face-to-face. He had a reputation for being a seedy individual, luring people into deals that always fell through on the other end, leaving the poor soul in debt to both the mafia and their front company.

You hissed when he yanked on your ear, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It's fortunate our efforts didn't go to waste. For all their discernment, your co-workers aren't too vigilant when it comes to guarding their most precious asset, no?" Your nose shriveled in disgust as the smell of whiskey was blown against your face. "Left defenseless without an ability."

You blinked, trying to process everything. "Precious?" you muttered as he released his hold on your ear to take another sip from his flask. "I'm just a liaison. They could easily find a replacement for my position if they needed to. And what about Ranpo?"

Eduard spat out his drink, hacking as he punched his chest to cough it onto the floor. You stared with disbelief and disdain as he went from choking to laughing, almost hysterically.

"What's so funny?"

"This isn't about that infantile detective," he said, wiping a tear—if you knew anything about Ranpo, you knew he had probably detected that insult from miles away. "We have our ways of learning about him and every one of your co-workers. No, that's not why we brought you here."

Your lips pressed together in a tight line. "Then why am I here?"

"Do you not know?" he pressed, tilting his head as if you were supposed to ascertain his thoughts from the sky. "That's possible, certainly, but I'd hate for you to disappoint me. You've been so charming up until now."

"Can I have a hint?" you urged, trying to hold back your obvious irritation as your legs pulled against the restraints.

"Your name was at the top of a list."

Thousands of questions swarmed in your mind, but the one at the forefront was exactly who created this list. It wasn't likely the government—out of all your co-workers, you were the least likely to be put under watch. That honor went to Dazai, with Atsushi barely placing as a runner-up. And it certainly wasn't the Port Mafia; they had no interest in an ability-less woman unless it was for a ransom.

"Who made the—"

"It was found in a database that belongs to the Demon from the North."

Oh. Oh.

"Damn it," you muttered, head leaned back as you resigned to your inevitable fate. "Of course, it's him."

"So you do know! Marvelous, simply marvelous."

But with your newfound clarity, you looked at Eduard with an altered point of view. The revelation shattered your initial assumptions, and your ass kicked back into gear, racking over every detail as you sunk back into an older perspective, careful not to fall too far in. Otherwise, you'd be left to crawl out without a lifeline to hold on to.

"How did you gain access to his servers?"

"We had several spies infiltrate the Rats—some professional hackers that breached into his operating system within a week." His pride was palpable as it spilled over. He adjusted the lapels of his suit with the confidence of a man who had not spattered a concoction of alcohol and saliva across the dirty floor. "So I can assure you that your secrets are in capable hands. We both want the same thing, and my men are prepared to squash these pests once and for all."

"Hm, really?" you hummed noncommittally.

"Of course! All you need to do is tell us what you know. I'm certain the agency will understand the mutual benefit."

He drew his phone out from another pocket, fingers aimlessly mashing at buttons as he tried to search for something. Only a few moments passed before his foot began to tap, the heel of his shoe echoing inside this metal tin of a structure as he became antsier by the second. Fortunately, he found what he wanted and turned the screen in your direction. You squinted, your eyes adjusting to the glaring light of a blurred list. The picture was almost indecipherable, as if a high-schooler had taken it—though even the teens in the agency were likely ten times as capable as Eduard's spies.

"Do you recognize any of these names?"

You deciphered the unintelligible text the best you could manage, but after the first name, it didn't matter. The trend was obvious to anyone featured on it, and a part of you didn't want to say anything, but that would probably cause more problems than necessary.

"I do."

"Perfect!" he exclaimed. "Can you remember any addresses? Cities would work, too."

"It wouldn't matter, even if I did." You eyed him, and the next words you uttered drained the life out of you. "They're all dead."

He paused, stumbling over his gestures. "Are you certain? Everyone on this list—"

"Is dead and buried. Six-feet-under."

He bore into his phone, staring at the list with morbid fascination. "So this is a hit list?" The look he made left little room for comfort. You had to resist the impulse to scooch back in your seat. "You must have some important information, then. Anything you wish to share? I have no doubt we could come up with a little arrangement for your release."

"What do you have to lose?" he chuckled, his phone clicking with each stroke as he preemptively started to draft a message.

"No."

.

.

.

"Excuse me?"

Silence filled the warehouse, the wind of the harbor acting as the only sound. He turned on his heel, his phone limp in a loosened hand. You had no reason or desire to meet his eyes; you were merely looking beyond him.

"He's your enemy," Eduard griped, his brow twitching as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. "Why keep his secrets to yourself? Is it 'cause you're not aligned with our methods? You can't pretend the agency is the epitome of morality."

"It isn't that," you replied, watching the moon as it made its ascent above the window line. "It's just that you're incapable of defeating him."

His voice dwindled to a murmur, dripping with the venom of a snake oil salesman. "My organization has ten times the manpower of that pathetic agency of yours. What could they do, hm?"

"They are the only ones capable of defeating him," you finally met his hostile stare. "Tell me—in a game of cards, what would be the benefit of showing your deck to someone who isn't your ally? And what's the chance that they'd rat you out the moment they were inevitably backed into a corner?"

His mouth outstretched into a vicious snarl, and he toyed with his pocket. "Oh, herzchen. And here I thought you were smart." A flash of metal lustered in the moon's brilliance as Eduard fiddled with the safety of an old Luger pistol—not that you seemed that interested, your eyes distant once more. He smacked the muzzle against your forehead in a vain attempt to allure a reaction but was only met with silence.

"I'll make sure to return you in one piece."

BANG!

The sound deafened the warehouse. Hardened eyes subsided into shock before they glazed over as Eduard sunk to the floor, his head hitting the concrete with a hard smack. Blood trickled into a stream out of the wound in his forehead from the bullet that had pierced straight through his skull.

"You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament."

You acknowledged the speckles of blood on your skin with a wince, a familiar silhouette approaching from the darkness. It had been a minute since you had seen his face, but you knew those intense eyes, only veiled by the thin strands of hair that fell between them. He raised a curious brow as you noted the pistol in his right hand, which he turned to conceal back into his pocket. A hush filled the space once more, the depth of your stare only amusing him.

"You don't look too pleased to see me."

"I can't say I am," you replied. "You're bound to bring destruction wherever you trail."

He smirked, fingers smoothing against the scrape on your forehead. "Is that any way to speak to your savior?"

"You mean my actual kidnapper?" your lip quirked up. "You didn't expect me to believe this was all some sort of coincidence, did you? Don't tell me you think I'm an idiot."

"You, моя милая? Never," he replied, his devilish smile flickering into a softer expression before reverting once more. "It was predictable to partner with the Armed Detective Agency, любимая. It's no surprise they've drawn you in."

"Predictable actions can have unprecedented results. You'll just have to wait for my next move."

He lifted your chin with the edge of his finger, swiping his thumb underneath your jawline. "As anticipated. I'd only expect the best from you."

His fingers danced across the surface of an old switchblade's handle, severing the rotted restraints around your wrists and ankles until you were unbound. He braced your shoulders as you attempted to stand on your own two feet, body unused to your weight from the hours of sitting—it was no surprise that he took the opportunity to snake an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly against his chest.

"It's been too long," he drawled, a satisfied smile pressed against the heated skin of your neck as you tried in vain not to melt at his touch. You found yourself subconsciously returning the gesture, a hand drawing circles up his spine in a manner that always made him fold.

"What're you playing at?"

"It's as you said." He raised the palm of your hand to his lips, kisses intricately placed into every wrinkle before they carefully decorated the marks on your wrists. "It's foolish to show your cards to an enemy. And you, моя милая, are the worst person to show my hand."

You hummed as he left a kiss on your forehead, careful not to disturb the bruise that started to blossom. "So cold you are," he whispered. "To take my heart and wield it against me."

And you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, eased by the subtle beat of his heart. "I could say the same to you, Федя."

The warmth of his hands rendered you motionless, a reminder of balsam smoke in the altars of churches that had been ebbed over the years. For the first time in forever, you indulged in his presence and allowed his soft words to soothe your doubts with every caress. He was temptation itself, and he knew what he was doing. It would be so easy to succumb to his sweet delusions. Your chin was lifted once more, and you knew you wouldn't be able to resist him if he kissed you. But as your lips were about to meet, voices could be heard from further in the warehouse.

"What if she's hurt?"

"I'm sure she's fine, Atsushi," a sardonic voice responded. "(Name)'s a tough woman. She can handle herself."

You looked away from Fyodor, smiling fondly at the racket created by your co-workers. He stared for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh, drawing your attention back in his direction.

"It seems our time has been cut shorter than I anticipated." He left one last kiss against your knuckles. "Until we meet again." He left in the opposite direction, his black coat shielding him from sight as your co-workers round the corner.

"(Name)-san!" Atsushi exclaimed, the stomp of his boots echoing until they came to a halt, split-colored eyes widening at the sight of Eduard's body. "What happened to him?"

Your brow puckered as you racked your mind for an excuse—it was obvious you hadn't done this, but could you possibly tell them the truth? And how would you even start?

Dazai knelt beside the corpse, careful not to displace any vital evidence as he moved disheveled hair away to assess the wound. Clean entrance in the back, messy exit in the front—a shot from behind. His face bowed in contemplation, lines of deep thought etching along his face before he perked back into his normal guise, practically bouncing on one foot in mirth.

"Oh, thank goodness!" he cried, practically bouncing as he took your hands into his in an all-too-familiar manner. "I was so worried something had happened to you. 'Such a waste of beauty,' I said!"

Your response was to flick his forehead, chuckling as he shrank down to the floor with his head in his hands, whining about your 'cruelty' and that he'd 'make you pay for such heartlessness.' Atsushi, on the other hand, was left with more questions than answers.

"Weren't these the same men after Ranpo?" he pressed, scratching his chin. "They never appeared at the agency. What'd they want with you?"

"It seems they believed I had some top-secret information on someone," you replied, messing with the fabric of your sleeves. "They used Ranpo as a decoy to bait me before knocking me out when we were investigating the bank."

"What kind of info did they want?"

You would be foolish not to notice the minute tilt in Dazai's head, an indicator for whenever he was attempting to probe someone. But you weren't a fool, and you stood your ground.

"We didn't have much time to delve into details."

You acknowledged him by returning his gesture, and he stared for a moment before relenting for the time being. It wasn't likely that he'd let the subject go completely, but you needed that precious time in order to think about the endless questions you'd be answering—along with which ones to answer truthfully and which ones to cover up. It was a dangerous game to play with the former mafia executive, but what fun would it be if it wasn't?

The two escorted you outside, and a foul order made you increasingly aware of the reason Atsushi had sounded so worried. Bodies lined the outside of the warehouse; armored men piled in clumps like dead flies as they rotted in the summer heat, their weapons unused as they sat, long dead. Had Eduard sat inside the entire time without realizing his men had all perished?

You looked at them with a solemn expression and tried not to think about it too much. "What happened with the bank? How did you manage to find me?"

"As it turns out, no one was in the bank at all."

You turned back to Atsushi, stupefied. "Huh?"

"Apparently, someone pulled the fire alarm." Dazai stared at the corpses with a similar soberness, eyes distant. "Once everyone was out, they managed to lock down the building. There was no proper way to get a headcount, so it took some time for police to realize that the threat was false."

You sighed, feeling ten times lighter. "At least no one was hurt."

"Ranpo-san was the one who pointed us here," Atsushi interjected, seeming equally as surprised as you were. "He said something about sensing someone underestimating him?"

You laughed. "Yeah, that tracks."

"We'll have to report this back to the Boss." Dazai's face twisted into a malicious expression as he wriggled his fingers. You were very aware of Fukuzawa's responses whenever one of his subordinates was targeted, and Dazai was gleeful in reminding you of that fact. "You'll be in kiddy jail for weeks. Think of how light our paperwork will be—!"

"That man."

You and Atsushi shrieked as Kyouka emerged from the shadows. It seemed that she had followed behind, which hadn't been an uncommon habit in the weeks following her unofficial introduction to the agency, but you and Atsushi seemed to have both forgotten about it. You clutched your heart, taking a deep breath.

"I think I might have an aneurysm."

"That man with the weird hat." You froze. "Who was he?"

"A man with a weird hat?" Atsushi asked, mostly in a rhetorical sense that was a product of his own amused confusion. You wanted to smack yourself—she must've been able to watch from the rafters, a skill the small girl had depended on from her days in the Port Mafia.

You looked back at the warehouse with a wistful expression. "He's...just an old friend."

"Was he the one that saved you?"

The words felt difficult to swallow. "It's usually the opposite."

Before Atsushi could question your weird choice of words, you started to make your way back to the office. He yelled after you for you to slow down, but the sinking feeling in your stomach only forced you to pick up speed. Dazai was abnormally silent throughout the entire exchange, hands dipping into the pockets of his trench coat as he followed where your eyes had been, scanning the exterior of the warehouse. He frowned before deciding to follow the rest.

He'd be sure to interrogate you later.

Fyodor stood on top of the warehouse, obscured from the ground level, as he watched you drift further and further away from him. He took off his hat, letting the winds of the harbor overshadow his rueful expression.

"Let the games begin, моя любовь."

hallo = hello dornröschen = sleeping beauty herzchen = sweetheart любимая = beloved (моя) Милая = (my) dear федя = fedya (моя) любовь = (my) love

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @aureatchi @betweensinners @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @crayonssz @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @number1morihater @fyorina @yonseibananamilk @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @vnk91t

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

ahhh, this was so soft and so cute!! it kinda sucks you into this realistic-but-dream-like mood or maybe i've just been too out of it lately, but either way, it was so well-written, expressed emotions on a relatable level, and gave us some rare soft minho, so i'm all for it! kudos to @tasteleeknow fr fr, making the best fics as always!

ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ

LIVING IN THE RUINS

minho x fem!reader. 2k words. minors dni. best friends to lovers. soft!minho. angst. fluff. jealousy. emotional hurt/comfort. smut with feelings, in a tent.

“Excuse me?”

You blink at the stranger in front of you. She seems to materialise before your eyes. You’d zoned out again and missed the attention your best friend had clearly been receiving from strangers in the crowded room. “I was wondering if I could get your number?” she asks, eyes fixed on Minho’s. She blinks quickly a few times, her long dark lashes fluttering much like your heart in your chest. 

She hasn’t looked at you once despite your close proximity. You’re so close to the object of her attention in fact, your thigh brushes against Minho’s jeans under the table. 

He shifts beside you, sitting up straighter in the booth. “Oh,” he says, clearly taken off guard as well. “Thank you. I mean that’s — I don’t—” 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks with a small tilt of her head. 

“No,” Minho answers quickly, incapable of lying. His discomfort radiates off him. You’d spent years learning his emotional tells. “I mean—” 

“He’s not into women,” you interrupt, finally drawing her attention to you. She blinks before her eyes drop down to your chest and back to your eyes, like she’s completely taken aback by your presence. It’s impossible, you know that logically. Still, she puts on a good performance. “Sorry,” you add. 

Her lips curve into an unconvincing smile. “No worries,” she says. “The hot ones never are.” 

The whole exchange is as short as it is ordinary. How many tipsy girls work up the courage to ask the pretty man across the bar for his number? You would bet money on it happening multiple times over somewhere across the planet at any given moment. It’s normal. Mundane. Still, you know it’ll chip a little more of your carefully built wall away. A chisel to stone, slow and steady. The only problem is that it’s been chipped at for years. You can feel the fragility of it these days, each chisel etch feels alot like when you’re down to the end of a game of jenga. 

Any move now will cause it to crash and fall. 

She hadn’t considered for a moment you might have been together — not when she’d spotted him across the room, clearly with you — and not when she’d gotten close and blatantly ignored your comfortable proximity to each other. Her question about his relationship status had been an afterthought, a possibility she hadn’t considered until faced with a response other than ‘yes’. She’d been expecting a yes.

The thought that he might be with you, might be attracted to you, was unconsidered. You wonder if she’d discussed it with her friends. ‘No,’ they might have said. ‘There’s no way he’s with her.’

Minho is quiet as the petite brunette turns on her heels and disappears back into the mass of people. His red ears give his embarrassment away. 

You nudge his shoulder, rocking him out of his trance. “Hey,” you prod. “Alright?” 

The smile he offers you is a little lopsided — very Minho. “Always,” he says. 

—

Your annual camping trip is just like the year before. Your small group of friends sets up camp in your usual spot. Everyone climbs into their usual tents. Everyone assumes you and Minho will be sharing, as always. 

You’re not sure why it hurts so much. They assume that nothing would ever happen between you. None of the other girls share a tent with a guy they aren’t dating. You’re the exception. Because Minho would never want you. 

He notices your low mood later that night. The group separates in the dark to play flashlight tag and as you find yourself wandering a secluded patch of the campsite, you know he knows. His attention is on you instead of where he’s walking. You almost scream when he falls into apparent nothingness. 

“I’m fine,” he quickly reassures you, pulling himself up from the ground. “Just dropped my glasses.” 

“God, you scared me.” 

It takes you both at least ten minutes to find them, relying purely on touch alone. It's too dark to see much at all without a light and using your phones would give your position away. 

You’re grateful for the darkness when you reach up and place his frames gently on his face. It hides the heat in your cheeks when you brush chocolate brown hair behind his ears, ensuring you’ve placed them properly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, close enough that his breath warms your lips. 

You’re also grateful just to be near him, you realise. Just to know him. You love him. 

You love him. 

It’s an earth shattering realisation to have while playing flashlight tag in the middle of nowhere. You need to escape. You can’t. You’re sharing a tent with him. 

The situation isn’t helped when later in the night one of the girls with big bright eyes and a gentle smile makes a very clear move on him. You were used to it. People loved him. 

You loved him. 

It’s a stupid thing to cause the wall to finally crumble. It’s humiliating really. But when he laughs at something she whispers in his ear: it happens. 

It falls. 

You’re pathetic without it. 

All you can do is hide from him, escape to the tent and pretend to be so tired you’ve fallen asleep before he can investigate. It’s not something you do. Not with Minho. He knows you so well hiding from him is just as stupid as it is pathetic. He’ll know. 

Still, you can pretend. He won’t know as long as you’re unconscious. You can put it off until morning. 

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. You lie there staring at the canvas of the tent for what feels like hours, the sounds of him tossing and turning continuing for so long you almost give up. 

But then he’s still. His breathing seems to even out. He’s asleep. 

That’s when you let yourself cry. Quietly at first; silent aching sobs. 

What a time for the wall to crumble. You wonder if you have the energy to rebuild. You’ll have to find it. The alternative is letting Minho go entirely, removing him from your life and letting the ruins erode away over a long, long time. 

Not an option. 

“Hey,” Minho’s soft voice calls. Shit. You wipe clumsily at your eyes and sodden cheeks. “Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” he questions as his palm rests gently against your shoulder. 

You should face him. You can’t hide. You know it. 

“No-thing,” you whimper, breath catching between each syllable. It’s that awful breathless kind of sobbing, the type that leaves you unable to inhale fully, let alone speak. 

He rolls you over onto your back. He isn’t rough — but it’s with enough strength you’re completely unable to resist him. 

“What is it?” he says again, tone much more forceful now. He isn’t letting it go. He looks down at you with wide eyes, like he’d never been asleep at all. 

You shake your head. 

His gentle thumbs move to your cheeks to attempt to wipe away the mess you’d left behind. He rests on one arm, leaning over you so he can give each cheek the same treatment. It’s a curious instinct, to wipe away someone's tears — like it has any effect on the person’s pain at all. It’s the best we can often do, you suppose. 

“Just focus on breathing,” he says. “Just breathe.” His hand stays against your cheek, fingers resting on your neck by your ear — featherlight. 

Breathing is easy, in theory. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. His lips part to join you, guide you. His lips are still a little red from his bedtime routine, his tinted vaseline usually lasting him the entire night. 

“That’s it,” he soothes when you finally manage a few steady breaths in a row. “That’s good. You’re okay.” 

They’re simple words of comfort. The kind of thing anyone would say to a person in distress, but they settle something in your chest. You were okay. He was yours in a way that was more than nothing. He cared in a way that felt so genuine it was hard to be dissatisfied with the nature of it at all. 

“Did something happen today?” he asks, still leaning over you. It’s a vulnerable position to be in. It mirrors how you know this conversation will go. Your wall is a crumbled mess. You have no defences against him. 

“Not really.” 

His eyebrows pull together. 

“Nothing worth this,” you clarify. 

“Tell me.” 

“It’s not… It’s embarrassing.” 

His lips curve in a tiny lopsided smile, just a hint of amusement. “Friends are for sharing embarrassing things with. And I’m your friend,” he says. “Aren’t I?” 

You blink quickly a few times, desperate to keep your tears at bay. Then you nod weakly. 

“Why do you look so miserable about it?” he says, tone light and teasing. 

Your lips wobble a little as you struggle with the words attempting to burst forth. They pound and burn and demand to be set free. You lose the battle. “I love you.” 

He blinks, eyes flicking across your face. 

The gates are open now. You’re turned loose. “I love you so much,” you sob. “It hurts. It hurts everyday and it just keeps getting worse and I can’t—” 

His lips cut you off, a warm, heart-stopping, and very much welcome interruption. He’s kissing you. He’s—

“Stop,” he mumbles against your wet, salty lips. “Stop hurting. Please.” His next kiss is unbearably soft, a brush against your upper lip. “Please,” he whispers. 

You nod dumbly.

He rewards you with a collection of gentle kisses across your cheeks, replacing the remnants of your tears with the sticky wetness of his moisturised lips. You imagine the slight red marks he must leave behind. 

He settles over you properly at some point. You’re too distracted by the path of his lips to notice exactly when. But then his arms are by your head, caging you under him in a way that makes you hope for the universe to halt all progression forward. This was enough; everything. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips finally. “I’m… sorry for letting you think I don’t. I’m a coward.” 

“No,” you chastise quickly as you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Don’t say shit like that.” 

“I—” 

“It hurts me… and you told me to stop hurting.” 

His head drops to your neck… then, with a soft press of his lips to your skin, “Then I’ll never do it again.” 

Every move he makes is gentle when the slow, indulgent kisses turn into exploring hands and whispered pleas for more. Each of his whisper-soft words of affection sweeps away a crumbled section of your wall, clearing the space to build something entirely new. He’s warm, so warm as his bare torso rests on yours — as he finally presses inside you and sucks a mark into your neck to join the rest he’s left. “Doesn’t hurt?” he asks, stilling as he fills you completely. 

“No,” you gasp. “No, you’re… it’s—” His lips take the words from your mouth, a little messier than he’s been before. When his hips roll into yours you can’t help grasping at him like he might suddenly get up and leave — fingers tangling in his hair desperately.

“I got you,” he mumbles against your lips, heavy breaths mingling with your own. “I got you…” 

When he eventually spills inside you, flooding you with more of his warmth, you’re crying again. But this time it doesn’t hurt; this time it’s a release. The tears that he kisses from your face afterwards — they wash away the rest of the rubble.

I don't know your timezones or when you celebrate but I am already in 2024, so Happy New Year ⭐⭐⭐

just going through notifications and just saw it, thanks for the tagg

and here are my 5 things that make me immeasurably happy:

listening to music in the car (especially if somebody else is driving so i don't need to pay attention to the road and i'm choosing the music)

finding time to sit down and just read in complete silence (''the master and margarita'' i promise to finish you when i have the timee)

my cat felix because he is the best black cat to have ever blessed this planet

that realization from time to time that life is as unpredictable as it gets and it gives you this joy that nothing is set in stone

when you're at school but you have no work and so you, the teachers and other students are just talking about the most random shit ever (good times)

i may be a homebody but it is what it is

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals, followers and all the wonderful people on here! (no pressure ofc <3)

Awww this is so sweet ! 🥹 Lo siento que me tarde mucho para contestar 😭😭

5 things that make me happy:

Gojo Satoru (my beloved) 🩵

Seeing the people I love and my dog happy TT

Going to new places I've never been to.

Watching the clouds ☁️ and taking pics of the sky ( I have a whole bunch lol )

Food (esp. homemade food, yummy! <3)

Tagging ( just for today 😊):

@gojosatorubrainrot @sugutoad @driaswrld @baepsays @pupkashi @bluespring-love @black-nirvanna @gojocp

@maeby-cursed @yunymphs + Anyone can join ☆

why do i always see things so late

ahh, thank you so much, you deserve all the supporttt★★

list your moots as skz songs, go!!

waaait hehe i wanna do this

@planetkiimchi is sooo secret, secret coded! you're so sweet and your blog's aesthetic is so soft ughh this song is so you i feel like

@insertsomethingaboutanimehere for sure airplane. always so kind and supportive of everything I write!

@seo--changbin sage we fr don't talk as much as we should but you're so damn talented and your work is so sexy, definitely taste or red lights

@kyrjnie i'm giving you blueprint because it's such a nice, happy song and you give me like the most positive vibes ever <33

@chillseo and i really wanna get to know you better too ivy 😭😭 but i'm saying you're collision because some of your writing is so so hot lol i look up to you sm

@143hyunes miellee we haven't talked in a while but girlll imy and you are comflex because you're so pretty and im jealous

@itgirlgyu you are 100% hoodie season so groovy, funny, and creative with everything that you post! your txt crack hcs 🔛🔝

@haechanhues i admire you so so much and i think you are so cover me coded because your angst is the BEST and cover me has made me cry so many times

@chansburgah lizz ilysm you were my very first friend on here and i will never forget how much confidence and encouragement you gave me 💗💗 you are definitely astronaut :))

i invite anyone else to join this cute little trend haha 💕

NO, BRO, HOW AM I SEEING THIS JUST NOW?!

A fucking masterpiece. I have no words, literally. Been following this series from the beginning, it's been a ride. Just the way you write, all the fancy words you use to push us into the narrative. I love the little details and mentions of expensive brands and stuff that you use to highlight Hyunjin's wealth and the setting in general. Every sentence is so well-worded, literally reminds me of Gustave Flaubert. And the fact that you understand the human psyche well enough to make this so real is unbelievable. The growth of their feelings, the hesitation and the mood swings that we all experience.

And the ending, bro, the ending. You set up pretty high expectations for the ending with all that build-up and you did not disappoint. I am a fan of the sad endings usually but with this fic, I would have been heartbroken if the characters didn't end up together and happy like they deserve.

And how tf is your vocabulary so good?! Like English is not my first language but I speak it pretty well and yet every time I open your account, you surprise me with another dozen words I have yet to learn. You are the reason for all of my advanced English vocab and I couldn't be more grateful. I'm usually not the most self-assured but it gives me confidence in my speaking to know all these words, fucking thank you.

Yeah sorry for the long rant, love ya

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER THREE | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

DRUNK IN LOVE

“I haven’t been the same since we met.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, switch!Hyunjin, switch!reader, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, sexual fantasy sequence (dom!reader, sub!Hyunjin), cumeating/cumplay, masturbation (f), heavy insecurity and self deprecation, oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, titfucking, pussy slapping, edging/orgasm denial, creampie, unprotected sex, misuse of alcohol (reader is a very sad drunk), both of them are actual idiots that will make you want to to scream ⚠️not beta-read yet, but will be updated with the edits soon⚠️ Word Count: 20.5k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

The first thing Hyunjin understands when he comes to is how disgusting his mouth tastes. The faint, bitter taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue brings the memory of the night prior’s bad decisions; he’s never gone a single day in his life without brushing his teeth at night, in addition to the rest of his extensive pre-bedtime routine. The lack of moisture that pulls at his skin like a scratchy draft has him reaching for his nightstand, from where he’s burrowed in blankets like a corn dog. For a few embarrassing minutes, Hyunjin puts up a valiant effort trying to locate his special night repair face lotion solely with his flailing palm, before he’s rudely interrupted.

“Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty.” 

The strangely familiar, feminine yet husky voice brings him hurtling back into reality. Cautiously, Hyunjin retracts his arm and opens his eyes; the blinding light that meets them does not help his splitting headache that rivals the shaking faultlines of San Andreas. 

When he finally adjusts to the brightness, he realizes that he’s in a room that’s definitely not his. The vast SolarSmart windows that would have already dimmed to match his sleepy blinking have been replaced by an antique bay window. Instead of the aristocratic fragrance of his favorite Le Labo candle, the air is thick with the smell of maple syrup. And his beloved Egyptian cotton sheets are gone in favor of a sherpa set that has him sweating in the year-round heat, which isn’t helped by the fact that this place isn’t humidity controlled.

“I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Rapunzel,” Hyunjin groans, stretching and tilting his head up to meet Lisa’s eyes. “You know, great hair and all.”

“Ha ha.” Lisa rolls her eyes, trying to maintain her expression of annoyance, but Hyunjin catches the hint of a smile on her lips; it’s inevitable, trying to fight the effect of his charms, especially when he’s just woken up all adorable and rumpled by sleep. “It’s almost noon, I thought I’d wake you up.”

“Noon?!” Hyunjin flies into a sitting position, frozen in an unfamiliar panic and unable to think of what to do next. By this time in his usual daily routine, he would have been enjoying a light lunch in his office while journaling in his gratitude notebook. Fuck, his stomach calls out for a nice balsamic arugula salad, maybe with a freshly-squeezed orange juice on the side to help with the regrettable effects of alcohol.

Lisa coughs lightly, bending down to pick up a discarded collection of clothing strewn on the floor, before handing it over to Hyunjin. The nausea rises up in Hyunjin’s stomach as he sifts through the clothes that he recognizes as his own. And then, as if in sudden remembrance, he looks down at himself and realizes that he’s completely naked except for his Gucci boxers. Horrified, he looks over at Lisa, but before he can say anything, she cuts him off.

“No. We didn’t have sex.” Lisa avoids Hyunjin’s eyes, picking at one of her burgundy-painted nails. She seems strangely skittish, in stark comparison to her confident, nearly feline-like mannerisms last night.

“Then what happened last night?” Hyunjin slips on his shirt and slides out of bed to pull his pants on, resolving to get dressed already right there; at this point, there is no more mortifying himself.

Lisa shrugs, an embarrassed blush overtaking her features. “We did some shots at the bar, before I suggested you come over for better drinks, so we could, well, you know. Hook-up. But you really did drink more. A lot more. And just as you took off your clothes, you blacked-out.”

“Blacked-out?” Hyunjin’s whole body feels racked with disbelief. And yet, the memories come fading back in: the botched matchmaking event, him retreating to drink away his sorrows, the handsy taxi ride back to Lisa’s place. “I barely even get tipsy.”

“It seemed like there was a lot on your mind last night. I don’t know what to say to you right now.” Lisa scratches her wrist lightly, as if trying to occupy herself while waiting for Hyunjin to get the hell out of her home. But the movement draws Hyunjin’s attention to her hand, where a fat, glimmering diamond rests on her ring finger, one that wasn’t there the previous night.

Realization flows in, ghastly and unwarranted. He clears his throat, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. “And you’re fucking married.”

Lisa freezes, the blood completely draining out of her face as her lips go paper thin. “I can explain.”

Hyunjin tilts his head with fresh resolve, taking his phone and wallet from where they’re fortunately perched on top of the nightstand. “Nope. I’m getting out of here. Looks like you’ve got some personal things going—” 

“Hyunjin, I’m not married. Please, just—” Lisa quickly crosses in front of him, blocking the doorway, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I’m engaged.”

“Big difference that makes,” Hyunjin mutters, crossing his arms. Nevertheless, he waits for her to speak, softening when he catches the glimpse of pain flash in her eyes.

“My fiancé. He’s… I- I know he’s not working late all those nights, like he says he is.” Lisa exhales shakily, closing her eyes. “I know who you are. The Love Doctor. Initially, I thought I would talk to Hoseok, maybe book us an appointment with you. But then I saw you at the bar, and I don’t know, it felt like a sign.”

“And you wanted to make him hurt like he hurt you,” Hyunjin finishes for her. He’d had clients like Lisa, the vengeful wives looking to bite back at the ones who wronged them— he just never imagined that he would have almost been a part of such a plot. 

She nods guiltily. “And I also just wanted to forget everything, even if it was going to be temporary. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so when you fell asleep, I was kind of relieved.”

Hyunjin snorts and snaps back with no real malice in his words, just a hint of mirth. “Glad me blacking out worked well for you.”

Lisa shoots him a tiny, sheepish grin. “To be fair, I don’t think you really wanted to go through with it. When you were drunk, you kept repeating the same name over and over again.”

He stills at her response, remembering no such event. But of course it makes sense; there’s a certain someone lingering in his thoughts 24/7, and she has no plan of leaving him anytime soon. “I guess.”

If she notices the immediate color in Hyunjin’s cheeks, Lisa says nothing. She just shuffles to the side, letting Hyunjin exit the bedroom before leading him to the main entrance of her apartment. “Again, I’m sorry about everything, Hyunjin. I shouldn’t have tried to use you like that. I really am sorry.”

Hyunjin accepts her apology, a strange mix of sympathy and understanding unfurling in his stomach. After all, he tried doing the same thing, to find someone else to warm his bed and take his mind off of the one person he really wanted. It was a bad night for both of them. “You’re still welcome to find me anytime.”

“Thanks a lot.” Lisa gives him a smile, before it fades into something more playful, one that fits her better than any expression he’s seen on her so far. “If I’m being honest, though, you're not really my type.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Call my secretary and book an appointment if you ever want one. With or without your fiancé.” Hyunjin scoffs, glaring at Lisa over his shoulder as he walks away. “And I’m everyone’s type.”

When his Uber finally pulls up in front of Oasis, Hyunjin hurries up to his penthouse and tries to make the most out of the rest of the cruelly shortened day— after a quick shower to wash off the stench of alcohol and pine air freshener.

Hunched over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at his kitchen island, Hyunjin swipes through all of the pop-ups on his laptop, going through everything that he’s missed in the time during which he’d dissociated from all common sense. Everyday, Wonyoung makes sure Hyunjin stays up-to-date on all of his engagements by adding all of his event invitations to his Google calendar; Hyunjin spends a good few minutes clicking through everything, accepting all of his upcoming meetings. He’s been slacking off at work lately, skipping team lunches and sitting out on evening debriefs— but that’s all about to change, because Hyunjin needs to get his life back together again. And that includes making things right with you. 

“Want to pull up for a quick afternoon appointment?” Hyunjin mouths out loud. He then makes a face and deletes the letter, groaning out loud. “This isn’t a high school date…”

After a few more failed attempts at trying to write a breezy but appropriate check-in email to you, Hyunjin resolves to call his no-nonsense secretary, knowing that the Velma to his Daphne would help him rediscover his suavity again. Maybe she could even catch him up on today’s SeoulSpark gossip that he’d missed, if they had time. But he underestimates her temper when she finally picks up after the fourth ring:

“Where the fuck were you?” Wonyoung screeches into the phone, making Hyunjin wince and pull his iPhone away from his ear. “Do you know how worried sick I was? How many times have I called you? You didn’t even show up to the brunch you had with the Carters! I had to practically beg Beyoncé not to drop us, only after promising her and Jay-Z five free sessions! I hope you’re ready to deal with the company's losses!”

“I’m sorry, I know, I know.” Hyunjin whines. “I know I’ve been really sidetracked, but I promise I’m making things right.”

“You’d better, Hyunjin.” Wonyoung bites, before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. “I want you over at SeoulSpark on Monday at 6 AM, sharp. We will be going over each and every single client, and then making a game plan for the next five months. You have a meeting with Dr. Jeon, and then Mr. Jung. And Ms. Y/L/N requested an appointment last night, and you can most certainly afford it right now, so you’ll also be meeting with her. Respectfully, I suggest you get your ass over here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes— wait.” Hyunjin perks up, dropping his spoon into the soggy bowl of cereal, not minding the tiny droplets of milk that splash up at him. “Did you say Y/N?”

“What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head, dumping the remnants of his meal into the sink. “Nothing. I’ll see you!”

The slow drag of the days until the next week turns into a blur on Monday morning. Hyunjin pulls on a crisp white Celine t-shirt to go with a flowy pair of pleated trousers from the back of his closet, the kind of casual, chic outfit tailored that can always uplift any day. As a final touch, Hyunjin shrugs on a simple yet effective cardigan and dabs some cologne onto his wrists. 

During the drive over to SeoulSpark, Hyunjin reflects on the fact that he’d be seeing you in just a few hours, even though he just saw you a few days ago. When you could barely look Hyunjin in the eye after his colossal blunder. When you’d run away to be far, far away from him, somewhere he couldn’t hurt you again. But he wouldn’t let that happen again, ever. You’re far too precious, and he doesn’t plan on losing you anytime soon, even if you’ll never know what you truly mean to him.

He sighs, parking Cami in her specially reserved spot in the SeoulSpark garage, before taking off his shades and heading inside. As soon as he steps through the sliding glass doors, he can barely muster up a ‘hello’ to his receptionist, Felix, before Wonyoung pounces on him. In the blink of an eye, Wonyoung has dragged him up to his office, where she sits him down at his desk and begins to ferociously rattle off his to-do list for the day.

Luckily, he’s saved by Dr. Jeon, who raps on the open door with a wry smile on his face. “Can I come in, Wonyoung, or are you still busy disciplining Hyunjin?”

Wonyoung huffs at him, before picking up her tablet and making her way out. “He’s all yours. Make it snappy, though. He has a full schedule.”

“Yes, Ms. Jang.” Dr. Jeon says with mock seriousness that makes Wonyoung shoot him a murderous glare, before making himself comfortable on the sofa and turning to Hyunjin. “Damn, where’d you buy this thing? I could take a fat nap here.”

“West Elm.” Hyunjin is unable to keep the smile off of his face. “What’s up, Jungkook?”

“Well, this is kind of an awkward question, if you don’t mind…” Jungkook shoots him a hopeful look, and Hyunjin gives him a nod to continue. “I was just wondering about the company policy about dating clients? It isn’t clear whether we’re allowed to or not, but I know it’s a little iffy.”

Hyunjin sits up in surprise, mind immediately going to you. The SeoulSpark guidelines on dating clients were never explicit to begin with, but it was kind of unsaid that dating clients is out of the question, especially when it could jeopardize business. Of course he’d thought about this before, on the nights when he had been feeling extra delusional over the thought of having you all to himself. But it could never be real.

“What’s this all about, Jungkook?” Hyunjin shifts in his seat warily. “We generally advise against it, even after clients decide to end their memberships. It’s messy territory, one that we try to avoid.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “I mean, she’s not even my client. I think she’s one of yours, actually. She caught my eye at the matchmaking event yesterday— she was wearing this sexy blue sundress. Y/N was her name, I think? I thought, I don't know, that I could maybe ask her out or something? If she didn’t have any matches?”

Oh, hell no.

Hyunjin’s blood immediately goes cold. He likes Jungkook— a lot, actually. He’s a good colleague and friend, and a great drinking buddy when he feels up to it. Jungkook has tagged along with him and Seungmin quite often, whenever they decide to go out to find someone to warm their beds for the night. The topic of women has never been foreign between them, especially in a setting like SeoulSpark. But his woman? Absolutely not. 

Even if you aren’t actually his, Hyunjin would rather break Jungkook’s annoyingly perfect nose than see his hands all over you, and that’s saying something, because Hyunjin hates killing even mosquitos. Jungkook watching you laugh over a plate of pasta. Jungkook helping you into his car. Jungkook kissing you while he brings heaven to you in his bed. All of the things that Hyunjin should get to do.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for SeoulSpark if Jungkook dated you, especially since you aren’t his client— but it would be for Hyunjin. Hell if Jeon Jungkook, the notorious player of SeoulSpark, would have you in his stead.

“No.”

Jungkook frowns. “But—”

“I said no, Dr. Jeon. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Hyunjin snaps coldly, barely fazed by that uncharacteristic iciness in his own tone. “Please see yourself out, and come to me when you have something actually useful to discuss.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “You seem to be in a mood today, Hyunjin. But whatever, I’ll back off. See you later, I guess.”

Hyunjin knows he should feel bad as he watches Jungkook shrink out his view, but all he has is a vicious sense of satisfaction. That’ll teach him— Christ, is he jealous? Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous. The world is an oyster, and you, his shimmering pearl. He really is so screwed.

The next few hours are a blur, as Hyunjin does his best to be attentive as he sits through meetings with his executive team, including the one with his Chief Marketing Officer, Jung Hoseok, to discuss potential brand partnerships that would be good for SeoulSpark. He deserves an award for not falling asleep during the very essential Zoom call to confirm whether he should allow his face to be stamped onto a cat food brand (the answer was no, he’s forever a dog person).

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, Hyunjin has finished meeting with his second-to-last client of the day, Yang Jeongin, that brazen college student who had talked back to him during his TED talk. Poor guy had been through so much, really, with a history of being dumped, the latest offender being a cheating girlfriend who had effectively ruined his outlook on life. But over the past few months, Hyunjin had been able to chip through that broken exterior to find a brilliant young man in need of just a push in the right direction. He reminds Hyunjin of you so much.

“Thanks, Hyun. I’ll see you next week.” Jeongin waves goodbye at Hyunjin, who’s already rifling through his desk drawer for his compact mirror and breath mints.

Hyunjin flashes him a quick smile. “You too, Jeongin.”

As quick as Jeongin has left, the feeling of being alone washes away when you step into the room, knocking the wind out of Hyunjin’s lungs, as always. Today, you’ve foregone those usual pinks, a constant that Hyunjin had loved so much about your outfits. Nevertheless, you’re stunning; the sea-green floral maxi dress floats delicately around your ankles, and Hyunjin has to mentally kick himself to stop staring at the dainty line of buttons crossed along the ruched bust of the bodice.

“There you are!” Hyunjin beams like the sun, the stress of the day’s burdens melting away.

But instead of getting all cute and flustered at his theatrics like you always do, you give him a thin smile and sit down on the couch. “Hey, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin tries not to let the concern flood into his logic, but it’s impossible, when it comes to you. However, he makes a valiant effort in crossing his legs and trying to hide the turbulence of emotions beneath his skin by plastering a placid expression onto his face. “So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug and avoid Hyunjin’s gaze, looking out the window with a forlorn glint in your eyes. 

“Darling, please.” Hyunjin breaks. He gets up from behind his desk and folds himself into the space next to you, failing to maintain his impartiality. He hates to see you like this, like you so steadfastly believe that you’re alone, when he’s been here for you the entire time. “Open up to me.”

You look directly into Hyunjin’s eyes, prompting a shiver to run down his spine. He wishes you could look at him like that while forcing him down onto his knees. “I had sex with Han Jisung.” 

Of everything, hearing that was not on Hyunjin’s 2023 bingo card. For a moment, he just gapes at you in shock. As your dating coach, he never thought you’d be ready to become intimate with someone so soon, especially the guy who made you run off in horror just a few days prior. And as the person who is secretly in love with you, he could never actually imagine you with anyone except for him. Yet, he now has the wonderful, vivid image of you and Han Jisung getting it on. How nice. 

And then comes the complete fury. But before he can act upon it, throwing aside his zen policy to bestow you with an aggressive line of questioning— that he is absolutely not entitled to, at all— you hold up your hand, shutting him up.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

In that moment, nothing but utter horror slashes through every fiber of Hyunjin’s being. Of all of the scenarios he’d gone through in his mind, the worst case is actually happening— goddamnit, universe. What would the point of life be if you weren’t in his, anymore? “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

You give Hyunjin a pitiful smile that makes him want to go crawl into a hole somewhere and die. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. But I’m your client. This is a good sign.”

That’s not all you are. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This can’t be real. 

“You know what I mean!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy for me?” You purse your lips. “I guess I’ve finally moved on from Jisung, now that I’ve slept with someone else. I can finally go forth in the world without his shadow holding me back. I’m completely over it.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes, lightly massaging his temples using the stress-prevention technique that his old masseuse taught him before she moved back to Thailand. It doesn’t work. Fuck, is he sweating? “Well, I think you’re not completely over it. This is a step, not the destination. Having sex with a guy you just met is definitely not what we programmed into your love life GPS— we’re still driving! Besides, you still have a month of sessions left on your contract!”

“Uhhh, okay.” You give Hyunjin a puzzled look that makes him cringe inwardly— fuck his fruity metaphors. “Either way, I just don’t think I need your help anymore, to be honest. But I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head stubbornly, resolve set deep inside of him. If you wanted him to get all technical and make himself sound like a pretentious prick, then fine. Anything to keep you from leaving. “As the person who you have entrusted to provide you with a professional opinion, I do not accept your rationale for ending our contract. It’s sudden, and you’d just be wasting your own money because everything was prepaid. It doesn’t make sense for you to go like this, don’t you think? Talk to me.”

And Hyunjin sees you pause, the doubt written across your gorgeous features. You put on a little eyeliner today, and when your eyes crinkle in doubt, the winged ends of the liner downturn, making you look impossibly cute. Hyunjin wants nothing more than to kiss that pout on your lips— not smooth it away, but make it his, somehow, to watch you look down at him with that same expression when he’s on his knees for you.

He waits with bated breath, until you finally throw your hands up, relenting. “Okay. Alright. But only because I have a month left. After that, I won’t be renewing the contract.”

You grumpily sit back down on the sofa, and Hyunjin has to clench his jaw to keep from grinning like an idiot. “So, tell me. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You sigh, looking away from Hyunjin as you toy with one of the beads on the skirt of your dress. You take your time thinking, and Hyunjin doesn’t rush you, wanting you to be as authentic as possible when providing him with an answer. “There’s this guy…”

Hyunjin then feels all of the blood drain out of face right then. If the abrupt announcement of your departure from SeoulSpark’s services had not sent him into a panic, then this definitely did. He sees that unsure yet determined look in your eye, the kind he’s observed appearing whenever you have a strong opinion to share, the thoughts of other people be damned.

“Who… who is it?” He manages to spit out, thinking back to his go-to metaphoric fork and stabbing himself in the thigh with it, over and over again, to keep himself in place. “Someone from the matchmaking event?”

“It’s not any of those guys, no. You probably don’t even know him. Some guy from work,” you explain quickly, prompting a fresh wave of confusion to wash over Hyunjin. “But that’s not the point. He’s, um, always on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much I don’t want to. Because, for obvious reasons, I can’t be with him. And I don’t want to hurt him, because the pain from the past— from Jisung— is still there, even if I don’t love him anymore. I don’t trust myself with love.”

Love? Is that what this is? Do you love whoever this useless idiot is? 

Hyunjin’s thoughts cower in betrayal, even though you owe him absolutely nothing. He shakes them away, focusing on everything else you’ve just confided in him with. “It’s okay to not be completely over the past. You might never be, and that’s okay, because what you went through was traumatic. That kind of hurt sticks, and you’re strong for trying to move forward. But you can’t let the fear of the unknown stop you.”

You shake your head. “But it’s too significant to ignore, that fear. My worst nightmare is hurting him like Jisung did to me. What if I end up doing that, Hyunjin? What if I leave him, like Jisung left me?”

“Don’t compare yourself to that piece of shit,” Hyunjin says sharply, making you jump a little. Normally, he’d apologize for coming on too strong, but he couldn’t. Not when you talk about yourself like that. “And it’s just a risk you’re going to have to take. And if he’s really worth it, then he’ll stay by your side no matter what.” 

I would. I wouldn’t ever fucking leave you. 

Before you can say anything, Hyunjin keeps going, unable to restrain himself from asking this next question, because he has to know. He has to know if you truly mean it. “So, the question is, do you think he is? Is he worth it?”

“I love who I am because of him,” you state, and with the way your voice doesn’t even waver, Hyunjin knows it to be completely true. “I’m ten times less pessimistic than I usually am. He makes me feel like a morning person, even though I’m not. And I actually want to do more with my life, see everything it has to offer. He makes me a better person, but I never feel forced to do anything for his attention, for the way he cares.”

“He- he sounds wonderful,” Hyunjin responds, and he’s trying— he really is— but he just doesn’t believe he can be genuine, not now. Not when he feels his heart breaking inside, not when he knows he’s a selfish bastard who should be celebrating you. And what did he fucking expect? That someone wouldn’t see a diamond and pick it up, keeping it for themselves? He’s so, so stupid. 

“He is.” You give him a meaningful look that makes his head spin. Now, what does that mean? Hyunjin doesn’t have it in him to be an interpreter today, strolling across the shoreline rocks of your mind, trying to decipher what today’s tides bring. It’s his literal job to know what you’re thinking, and yet, today his mind is completely clear of any sense of logic.

“He makes me feel seen, even if he may never feel the same,” you continue, biting your lip. “He’s the most beautiful person I know.”

“I’m not supposed to say this, but anyone who wouldn’t return your feelings is a total idiot.” Hyunjin smiles at the way you shoot him a skeptical look. He wants to at least try to convey even a single sign that tells you that he’s glad you’ve found someone good, someone that could make you happy— what he could never do for you himself. “And I’m glad, Y/N. It’s a good thing we still have a month, because I can tell that there’s still some unease on your end, because you’re clearly holding yourself back. I just want the best for you.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry if I was making a scene. I just so want to be done with all of this fixing. I just want to be ready to let go of all of that baggage, and I guess I was in a rush to do so.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. Trust me, I get the feeling, more than you know.” Hyunjin reaches across and places his hand on yours, trying to relax you. “It’s okay to want to move on. It’s okay to be frustrated. And it’s okay to want someone. Let yourself be happy, because ultimately, you’re the only one who can control that, no one else.”

For the first time during your meeting today, you break out into a smile, and Hyunjin has to blink to readjust him to the sight. It’s like a rainbow has cut through a stormy sky, joining in a perfect Yin and Yang. Hyunjin loves all of you, both the color and the tempest, because together, they make you who you are. He wouldn’t change you for the world; all he’s ever done for you was try to make you realize that yourself.

“You are such a gift, Hyunjin,” you say fondly, and Hyunjin has to remind himself that it’s because you see him as a friend, as a confidante. It would never be in the way he completely wants it to be, and he’ll have to make his peace with that, for you.

“I know. All I’m missing is a big pink bow,” Hyunjin jokes, plastering a smile onto his face. For the first time ever, he wishes you would walk out of his office, taking with you your infectious laugh and incandescent gaze. You can’t be here when he falls apart like he so badly needs to. 

You laugh, thankfully not sensing his internal turmoil. “Alright, Hyunjin. I have to get going. But I’ll see you next week?”

He nods, rising as you stand and turn for the door. “Of course. Have a good one, darling.”

“Same goes for you.” You reach up and give his shoulder a little squeeze, before you’re walking away, too soon and yet, not fast enough.

From where you touched him over his cardigan, Hyunjin’s skin burns with desire. But it isn’t enough to keep him from clumsily shutting the door closed behind him as he stumbles back inside of his office. He screws his eyes shut and tries to rapidly think of a list of his favorite things. Pink roses. Sequined Versace blazers. Puppies. Monet paintings.

But he should know by now that such sorrow is inevitable. It was written in his fate, the moment he set his eyes and heart upon you, knowing he would never get that happy ending. After all, he’s the Love Doctor, not a miracle worker. He knows this to be true especially when he feels a dampness on his cheeks and thinks it to be some kind of bewitched rain that’s able to fall inside his office. It’s only when he looks into his compact mirror that he realizes that he’s crying, broken and hopelessly gone for you.

That did not go well. You walked into SeoulSpark with a plan and had promptly failed, when Hyunjin decided to persuade you into staying. But you gave in to his pretty eyes and assuaging words, conveniently forgetting about the half-hour long promises you made with yourself in the morning. 

You were supposed to end your contract, regardless of whether you would be wasting your money or not. That would have been a small price to pay for the pain of love. And you know you’re right, because you start to cry during your shameful walk through the parking lot.

You don’t know what it is that made you open up so profoundly to Hyunjin, past the point where it was safe to conceal your feelings for him. But you just had to keep speaking, going so far as to describe Hyunjin as the object of all of your agitation and pretending like it was someone else that he had no idea of. You’re a fraud, and your only consolation is that Hyunjin sees you so platonically that he probably would never catch onto your feelings. After all, in what world would someone like you being with someone of his caliber ever make any sense? And it’s ironic, really, that you’ve fallen for him, the person who is there to help you find someone else to spend lonely nights with.

After unlocking your car, you collapse into the front seat, letting all of your emotions out for a good few minutes into the night. When the sides of your face finally begin to dry, you open your eyes with a groan, turning the key in the ignition and driving back home. 

You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, because that godforsaken networking party was looming sooner in the future than you’d like, and you still had to buy something to wear. Your current wardrobe was much more vibrant than it had been just a few months ago, the jeans and plaid blazers hidden behind fluttery sundresses and silky skirts. However, it was all far too casual for the heightened class that you knew the event would require, and therefore, you’d recruited Yeonjun to help you shop, with the promise of all of his meals being paid for the next day.

As soon as you get home, you toss your keys onto the little side table next to the doorway with a huff, knocking your heels off and not bothering to arrange them neatly back onto your shoe stand. With the efficiency of a carpenter ant on a mission, you march into your bathroom and slip out of that god-awful dress, changing into a pair of soft pink pajamas with a magenta heart pattern printed all over them. The set had caught your eye as you were strolling through Costco the other day, a little more expensive than you’d like, but they reminded you of Hyunjin, so into the cart they went. You could allow yourself this comfort, you tell yourself.

Once freshened up, you head into the kitchen, dumping some leftover pasta into a bowl to heat it up, glowering at the microwave as the seconds tick by far too slowly. And as always, you eat at your crappy dining table, alone. Just this morning, you had been sitting in this same place, brainstorming ways to secure project funding, navigating the path to reviving your old startup, ITEM.

Before Hyunjin, you had ditched the excitement of indulging in work, your passion, for more self-destructive, wasteful behavior. In the past few months, after meeting him, there was this renewed sense of productivity in you— he inspired you, made you ache to find your own success in the world. So even though Mark denied you the opportunity to participate in the upcoming function, you disobeyed him and secretly went through with your own idea anyway, especially after hearing through the office grapevine that a lot of big-name investors would be attending. Somehow, you decided, you would figure out a way to present to them and achieve your dream. It was optimistic, maybe a little foolishly so, but that hadn’t bothered you. 

Today, however, you felt this sense of loss that hadn’t touched you in a while. It was nothing related to work, fortunately, but still, you couldn’t focus, mind wandering to your meeting with Hyunjin at the end of the day. For the first time, the thought of him was hurting you, not motivating you. And it still hurts you, with the way you disinterestedly poke at your fettuccine. 

So when you go to bed that night, touching yourself to the thought of him doesn’t have the same velvety allure to it. No, it’s more of a physiological need that forces its way into your hand that glides down your body. It’s the rabic, animalistic desire that drives the tips of your fingers under the waistband of your shorts. It’s the anguish, the longing, that makes you spread your legs, hips bucking up against the mattress.

You had smiled at him, earlier today, after that short drama you’d exerted, when he calmed you down and placated you with a soft, but commanding tone. You had poured your heart out to him, holding back just his name on the tip of your tongue, and he had listened. And you had feigned being amiable, and he accepted it, when in reality, you were so fucking furious with Hyunjin.

After you paraded into his office like a brat, demanding to end the contract as if you cared nothing as to what he might think, he had still treated you with so much understanding, with a quiet concern. You haven’t lost your temper in a long time now, but Hyunjin never failed to respond so well, so kindly to you. In every way that you were irked, he remained calm and gracious. It makes you inexplicably angry, so much that you just want to scream into the cool Angeles night air, letting the sound reverberate off the crumbling buildings of your shitty neighborhood. You hate how good is to you almost as much as you despise yourself in your absolute lowest moments, moments like these. You don’t want the sensuality of his gaze washing over you, worshiping you. You don’t want to melt into his touch, let him take care of you. You don’t want to fuck him like a lover would— no, you want his tears, you want to ruin him like he has done so easily to you.

You think of Hyunjin and his lovely, lovely mouth. A lip pulled in between his teeth in thought, slightly slick with spit when he licks them before speaking. You want to feel the stretch of them around your fingers as you force them into his mouth, choking him and chasing away his breathy complaints. 

You close your eyes, the image of you working yourself with your fingers fading in favor of imagining Hyunjin doing it for you instead. You, gripping his wrist harshly, pumping Hyunjin’s own fingers into yourself, berating him for not being able to do it well enough on his own. 

Then you’d slap his hands away, pushing him onto your bed and straddle his narrow hips, grinding your dripping pussy onto his thighs while getting off both in the friction and Hyunjin’s pleas for you to ride his cock instead. 

But when you decide to put an end to his torture, it wouldn’t be for his pleasure. You want to fuck Hyunjin hard, fuck him sore, the minuscule gap between your bodies clogged and messy with sweat and a mixture of arousal and saliva, from where you’d spit onto his cock. You want him on his back, staring up at you hopefully as he falls apart, begging you to let him come. You want to refuse him, snap at him and make it mean, but he’ll come anyway, guilt and arousal on his beautiful face. Of course he’ll have to clean up his own mess, sucking obediently on your fingers covered with the come you had retrieved from where it was splattered between your legs. 

And then you’d kiss him, slow and deep, nothing like how you took him apart under the sheets. You’d cup his face and whisper praises, running your hands down his body. Declarations of love would fall from your lips, because no matter how much he worked you up, the truth would never change. 

You finish to that final thought, barely hearing the shameful, wet sounds of you abusing your cunt with your fingers that thrust in and out of yourself wildly. But even though you have already come, you cup your pussy again and run your finger, feather-light, through your folds, imagining it was Hyunjin’s lips placing a kiss there, instead. Imagining that no matter how many spiteful words you spat at him during the time you fucked him, he knew that you would never hate him. You understand, that no matter how enraged you have the potential to be, you will never, ever hate Hyunjin. Because you love him— so much that it hurts.

“You’d think that my body was made for Gucci, but there’s something about Privé that turns me on so bad.”

You fight the urge to gag as Yeonjun brings the ugly sweatshirt up to his chest, holding it up in front of the mirror in an attempt to model it on his scrawny frame. You briskly snatch it out of his hands and shove it back onto its hanger, grasping your cousin’s hand like a mother and her toddler. 

“Stop talking about brands like you want to fuck them,” you scold him. Yeonjun rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation, but doesn’t try to wriggle out of your hold when you drag him to the women’s section. Sometimes, you feel like you’re an exasperated single parent, toting him around and snapping at him to behave, even though he is barely three years younger than you.

As you enter the evening wear end of the department store, you let go of Yeonjun to sift through the variety of fabrics available. He gleefully bounces around, swishing through the dresses you’re both drowning in and nearly knocking a couple of them off of their racks. But you can’t find it in yourself to chide him again, not when he looks so happy to be here with you. Not that you would ever let him know that you have the capacity to be soft when it comes to him.

“This beats working on job applications,” Yeonjun sighs, sticking his arm through an armhole on a particularly gaudy tea gown. You snicker at how the satin pools beneath his underarms, making him look like a child cosplaying in their mother’s old outfits.

“How’s senior year? I haven’t even been asking you about school, lately.” The last part is less of a rationale for your question to him, and more of a surprised self-proclamation on your end. You can’t remember the last time you ever listened to Yeonjun complain about his ancient professors and weird roommate. The thought fills you with a certain sense of regret; you might not have a lot, but Yeonjun has always been there for you. Most of the time, he annoys you to no end, but his constant presence reminds you that you’re never alone.

The playfulness melts out of Yeonjun’s demeanor, a sight to see with someone who is always so easy-going, never taking life seriously. But you see the somber look in his eyes as he turns to gaze at you critically. “You’ve got a lot going on, I know that.”

You flush, mind automatically going to Hyunjin. Outside of the slice of your day in which you are truly focused on work, the rest of your time goes into dreaming about the attainable object of your fantasies. Eat, sleep, work, and think about Hyunjin. “I— yeah. Work’s been crazy. And reopening ITEM, as well. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Yeonjun gives you a wry little smile, foxy and sly. “Work. Sure. Definitely not a certain sexy ass dating coach, right?”

For a guy that presents himself to be so unendingly superficial, Yeonjun has the ability to read people in the snap of a finger. You don’t understand why he tries to act so vapid when he has such a capacity— if you had such a power, you’d use it to no end. 

Your cheeks flush, embarrassingly evident. “Got me there, but I’ve already reached a resolution about him. I’ll go through with the rest of the contract, pull away gradually, and then stop seeing him. Easy.”

Except it is not easy, and both of you know it. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “I just don’t get it. Why are you so down bad for him? He’s pretty, don’t get me wrong, but there are a lot of pretty people. He’s the guy who’s supposed to be setting you up with other people. Like, you’re not supposed to be falling for him.”

“I know, Jun,” you sigh. “But I think we’re more alike than outward perceptions allow. I feel like he never really lets his guard down around other people. I just wish I could have the chance to make him feel as seen as he does for me. He’s like no one I’ve ever met.”

Yeonjun stays quiet for a long moment, scrutinizing the way you lower your eyes and resume haphazardly shuffling through the dresses. “I think you should tell him how you feel.”

You would burst into laughter at how ridiculous his proposition is, except it’s not funny at all. “Now that would be crossing the line. Our relationship is completely platonic. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be, to find out that the client you’re trying to help connect with others falls for you instead? I couldn’t do that to Hyunjin.”

“I think Hyunjin still deserves to know. He’s your dating coach, Y/N. If there’s anyone who can understand you, it’s him, because if he really cares about you, nothing about your relationship will change. And who knows, maybe he reciprocates. You never know.”

Listening to your cousin give you such advice makes you feel strange, but not in an unpleasant way. You truly are thankful for it, even if you might not completely trust in it. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jun.”

Yeonjun looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to notice the note of finality in your voice and decides to move on. “Back to me. Ask me again, about how school’s going, and I’ll tell you all of the tea.”

“How is school going?” 

“Oh, thank God you asked. Beomgyu is still trying to get me to feature on his OnlyFans, but even though he’s a little creepy with it, he’s the only one who agrees to come thrift shopping with me. And he’s a pretty chill roommate overall, so I can’t really complain. Ugh, and it turns out, my evil ex is still obsessed with me…”

You grin and listen to Yeonjun ramble on about his very animated life at UCLA, thankful for the distraction as you comb through the racks. After a few minutes of tuning into Yeonjun’s story about how he walked in on Beomgyu hooking up with some guy named Jeongin, you freeze, because you meet eyes with the one person you wished you would never see again. Yeonjun’s babbling comes to a jarring stop, and you both just stare at the monster who tried to ruin your life.

“Y/N! Is that you?” 

He saunters forward as you stay rooted to where you are, and it’s like he has walked right out of an old photo album carrying the bitter memories of your past. You recognize those round, sparkling doe eyes, the ones that reminded you of the dark pearls in the milk tea drinks you both would always share at night markets. The same choppy, boyish haircut streaked with caramel, the locks you would quietly run your fingers through after every time you forgave him. That delicate, nearly fairy-like face, the one that you could never bring yourself to hate, no matter how much he pushed you. Park Jisung has not changed one bit, except for the space you used to clutch on his arms has now been occupied by someone new. 

The girl is stunning, you can admit, but on closer look, you realize that it’s Kazuha Nakamura, the last girl he cheated on you with, the one that severed the final threads of your relationship. She, on the other hand, looks completely different, with her blonde curls chopped into a dark Brazilian-permed lob that swishes when she tilts her head down derisively, surveying you from head-to-toe. She looks like the epitome of the girl that Jisung was always trying to get you to be, stuck into the mold of a life predetermined for her. And for the first time in a long time, you’re glad you didn’t fit.

You regain your bearings a moment later after the initial shock wears off, when Park Jisung laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that contrasts with the way Kazuha titters next to him. But instead of acknowledging Jisung, you turn to Kazuha first instead.

“Kazuha! What a surprise!” You smile sweetly at her while she just gapes at you blankly, clearly surprised by your absence of hostility. In the periphery of your eye, you can see Jisung ball his fists at his side, ever the narcissist to be irked by even a slight dearth of attention. “You look great, girl!”

“And you look exactly the same, Jisung,” Yeonjun says flatly in a way that obviously conveys insult, before slinging a protective arm around your shoulder. You stifle a snort, and watch the way Jisung rolls his eyes.

“Ever a delight, aren’t you, Yeonjun?” Jisung shoots him a venomous smile, that Yeonjun responds to with a cheesy little salute. This time, you can’t contain the chuckle that escapes your lips. 

Before anyone can say more, you pipe up, determined to have the last word in the conversation you have no intention of repeating. “It was wonderful to see you, Jisung. You and Kazuha make a lovely pair— hope it works out!”

With one last gracious nod of your head, you loop your arm through Yeonjun’s and move past where Jisung and Kazuha stand rooted to the spot, speechless. As you and Yeonjun flounce away, you feel Jisung’s gaze burning into the back of your neck, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“Damn, and I thought I’d get to watch a fight today. I really would have liked to see that dickwad get his just desserts,” Yeonjun grumbles, but you see the impressed look on his face.

You feel an unfamiliar rush of both adrenaline and triumph coursing through your veins; you saved your anger, and yet, you know you’ve won. For months, you told yourself that if you ever got the chance to tell Jisung off, you would use it. But the thought didn’t bring you as much satisfaction as it did before, and besides, you have someone more worth your tears now. Seeing Jisung again didn’t affect you as much as it once would have, because you finally, truly have moved on. And comparably, your current predicament seems much more daunting than some loser who never deserved you. 

“They looked like morons when we didn’t give them the reaction they wanted. Besides, I’m taking the high road.”

“You’re boring when you’re not a bitch.”

“Thanks.” You grin, pausing your gait when you see it. The giddiness drains into something more mournful as you take in the dress, delicate folds of pink chiffon that dissolve into a painstakingly threaded gold-beaded skirt. “This is the one, Jun.”

Yeonjun doesn’t miss the beat of sadness in your voice, the thickness of your words. “Seriously though, you don’t have to talk about Jisung, but I feel like that’s not who you’re upset about. You don’t seem okay.”

“I’ve found my peace with Jisung, but there’s still something else.” You inhale sharply. “I’m in love with Hyunjin.”

He stays quiet for a moment, before taking the dress off of the rack for you. “This is on me.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to—”

“I want to. And if you’re not busy tonight, I have somewhere to be, and I’d like it if you came with me. What do you say?”

You’re not oblivious— you recognize the sympathy, Yeonjun’s clear attempt to cheer you up, a switch-up from the banter you usually trade. Before, you would refuse, retreating home to bury yourself deeper into a hole. But for once, you don’t want to push away the people who care about you. So you accept and look forward, accepting the poignance of it all.

“Hwang Hyunjin, you’d better get your ass over here on time, or else I’ll—”

Hyunjin bursts into a dramatic fit of coughing, cutting off Seungmin’s nagging. “Remind me to take you to one of my yoga sessions. Your chakras are seriously off, but there’s nothing that Dr. Sachet can’t fix.”

“Hyunjin.” 

“I know! I just got here, Seungmin.” Hyunjin sighs, ending the call before Seungmin has the chance to say anything further. He slides his phone into his pocket, already regretting his choice to accept Seungmin’s request— which was actually more of a demand— to be his plus-one at his college reunion. 

Any other day, he would have loved to ditch his introverted activities to accompany his best friend to get tipsy and gossip about everyone’s glow ups. Today, however, all he really wants to do is curl up in his bed with Princess Diana and binge-watch Friends. But alas, his loyalty— and fear— for Seungmin won out, and now here he is, standing in a rounded glass elevator on his way up to Highlight, the upscale rooftop bar venue of the event. 

When the elevator finally reaches the top floor, the telltale bell dings, opening the door into what can only be described as high-end chaos: people decked out in crisp suits and cocktail dresses and jewels, as they crowd around the lighted bar counters, shouting out their drink orders to harried bartenders while trying to brag about how successful they’ve become over the past few years. Waiters walk around, serving hors d'oeuvres to the guests that promptly ignore them, and the orchestral jazz, courtesy of the live band crowded into the corner, is drowned out by the raucous laughter of a group of men situated at a section of tables next to the windows. The whole effect is ridiculously ostentatious, and even Hyunjin has to restrain himself from letting his lip curl with disgust.

“Fuck, there you are.” Hyunjin feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Seungmin staring at him with an overwhelmed look in his eye.

Hyunjin takes in his friend for a moment, admiring his black and white silk polka dot shirt that’s tucked into a pair of belted navy slacks. At least someone at this place had style, and it’s always a pleasure for it to be Seungmin, as by now, Hyunjin has gotten used to seeing him wearing bloodied scrubs. “You look good, man. But why in the world would you want to come here and see all of these jerks?”

Seungmin shrugs, and Hyunjin is surprised to see a slight blush overtake his features. He traces Seungmin’s wandering gaze over to the edge of the open balcony, where a devastatingly handsome man strangely stands on his own, sipping on his cocktail while observing the view of skyscrapers stretching out around the building. Ah. 

“He’s Seungcheol, isn’t he? Your old crush that you never talked to? That’s why we’re here?” Hyunjin teases, remembering those nights when he got Seungmin tipsy enough to confess his unrequited feelings for Choi Seungcheol, the resident heartbreaker of the pre-med student body at UCLA. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Seungmin grumbles, but his complexion betrays him, turning as red as a tomato. 

Hyunjin laughs heartily, thanking a passing waitress before accepting a mango and vanilla parfait from her tray. “Alright.”

And then it’s Seungmin’s turn to check out Hyunjin, who strikes a little pose and preens at the attention. “I don’t know how, but even with all of your designer shit, you never seem like a dick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hyunjin grins. Hyunjin never dresses to appease the dress code— instead, he makes it his bitch, and does it in a way that’s classy, not ostentatious. It’s clear in today’s sophisticated yet roguish ensemble: a crisp white Givenchy suit paired with Nike Air Forces to deflate the grandiose of the former brand. And the sheer black tank top and silver chain-link necklace under his oversized blazer was just enough to add a touch of gender-bending sexiness. 

The corner of Seungmin’s mouth quirks up, and he hooks his arm into Hyunjin’s, steering him towards a high table tucked into a more quiet section of the bar. “Having fun, Hyun?”

Hyunjin fights a smile. “Moresoe now that you’re here with me, babe.”

That is Seungmin’s cue to shove Hyunjin away, who continues to bat his lashes prettily. “I hate you. I should’ve asked Nicholas the hot nurse to be my date instead.”

“But then you couldn’t flirt with our Seungcheol!”

Seungmin groans, head falling onto the table, lolling to the side hopelessly. “I don’t even know how to approach him, though. I mean, did you see him? He just managed to get even more gorgeous! His hair? His height? He’s totally out of my league.”

Hyunjin immediately morphs into wingman mode. “Trust me, I can just tell he has a thing for cute nerds. And, not to be crass, but his body language screams brat tamer.”

“I am not a brat,” Seungmin scowls. 

“Touché.” 

After a few more minutes of hyping Seungmin up, Hyunjin triumphantly sits back and watches his friend slink off in the direction of Seungcheol; he snickers to himself when Seungmin tentatively taps on Seungcheol’s shoulder, shaking like a fangirl about to ask a celebrity for a picture. Seungcheol turns, a friendly beam cutting across his stern features. Seungmin says something indiscernible to Seungcheol that makes him laugh, and that’s Hyunjin’s sign to leave the rest to his friend. 

By this time, the company around him has eased slightly, with everyone digging into the buffet-style dinner that the caterers have set out. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, thinking back to the flimsy cup of ramyun that he had scarfed down earlier. He picks up a plate from one of the long tables and gets in line, mouth already watering at the spread of food. After loading his plate with copious helpings of every dish of carbs in sight, he also makes sure to secure dessert, snagging a couple pastries and slices of cake. The gaggle of ladies behind him shoot him pointed looks, but he ignores them, walking away to find seating; he’s needed this, after the week he’s had.

He winds up sitting next to a giddy couple that just cannot keep their hands off of each other. Most of the time, when he winds up somewhere with people who exhibit excessive public displays of affection, he tries to discreetly slip away or make himself as unknown as possible, the hopeless romantic in him quietly cheering them on. Now, however, he unceremoniously plops onto the farthest end of the loveseat opposite of them, all alone and just grateful that the food is good.

“Earth to Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin looks up, mouth stuffed embarrassingly full of a caprese salad sandwich. “Mrph?”

Seungmin stands there, hands on his knees while he pants a little to catch his breath. “You will not believe what just happened.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Seungcheol and I are going out to dinner tomorrow!” Seungmin huffs, cheeks flushed a bright red as he looks over at Seungcheol where he’s standing by the elevator. Seungcheol gives him a shy smile before quickly looking away. Seungmin smirks and leans down to speak into Hyunjin’s ear. “And he just asked me if I have any plans for the rest of the night.”

He leans back to gauge Hyunjin’s reaction, which, in Hyunjin’s knowledge of his friend, does not disappoint. Hyunjin gasps theatrically and nearly drops his plate in trying to clap him on the back in congratulations. “That’s my man!”

“That’s right!” 

Hyunjin grins. “Even your ship name would be cute. 2Seung. Meant to be.”

“You’re such a dork.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his blush. “Now, I’m gonna go get railed by the man of my dreams.”

Hyunjin bids Seungmin goodbye, remaining enthusiastic up until the moment he sees Seungmin and Seuncheol take their leave. As soon as they do, he lets his smile fall. He’s happy for Seungmin, really. He just wishes it could be him disappearing into that glass elevator with his lover. He would press you up against that heavy gold railing that rounds the inside, kissing you as you begin your descent down the building. Kissing you as fireworks go off in the distance, brighter than the Los Angeles skyline. Kissing you even when the elevator door opens, an irked crowd of people waiting to get in. He wishes he could flaunt you off to everyone in the world, show everyone how perfect you are for him. 

Hyunjin is so lost in his muddled, wistful thoughts that he doesn’t notice the couch dip, someone just as miserable as him occupying the tiny space next to him. 

“Hyunjin?”

He turns his head, slowly, to see you, of all people, glaring at him with a bewildered expression on your face. He remains in a momentary stunned silence, taking in the slight redness of your nose, how watery your eyes are. The space in between your eyebrows that’s painfully scrunched. The way your lips are pressed together tightly. You’ve been crying. Still gorgeous, no matter what.

“Darling?”

For the second time today, you are caught off guard. You have been stewing in your loneliness all evening, ruminating over your hopelessly unrequited love. It surprised you, a little bit, how you were barely affected by the run-in with Jisung, but that faded away when you took your first sip at the absurdly lavish open bar. For others, alcohol can be liquid courage— for you, it’s a depressant that brings out the sad drunk in you.

You shake your head, trying not to let the immediate horror seep into you. But how can it not, when the gorgeous man you are in love with has just become witness to your ugly tears for the second time? And from where did he just appear out of, when you thought you were going to be able to spend your time wallowing in your sorrows alone? Life is truly unfair.

“What- what are you doing here?” You sputter. 

You imagine that Hyunjin looks stunned, for a moment, but his face lights up when he realizes that it is you who is the mess curled up next to him. If he seems put off by the remnants of your crying, he does not show it. “I was here as my friend’s date, but it seems as though he’s ditched me for a better one.”

He gives you a furtive smile that makes you feel like you’re in on a joke, and in spite of your pitiful state, you immediately feel the warmth spread through you. “The Love Doctor always works, doesn’t he?”

“It’s my nine-to-five, as well as my five-to-nine,” Hyunjin jokes, chuckling. “So, you’re a UCLA alum? You didn’t strike me as the sort, I didn’t think.”

You scoff playfully. “Absolutely not. Proud Case Western grad here. Where else would I get my inherent computer geek complex?”

Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle. “Then what brings you here?”

“My cousin.” You jerk your chin in the direction of Yeonjun, who’s currently trying to break up a fight between two men who seem to be arguing about something related to stocks. “He’s trying to fulfill his senior undergraduate community service requirement by volunteering at this thing. But this is barely community service— I think the UCLA Alumni Association just wanted some free labor.”

Hyunjin laughs at your shitty joke, and you nearly feel like your attitude just turns up at that sound, unfurling like petals when touched by sunshine. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Too kitsch.” You tilt your head towards the dizzying display of debauchery currently swarming your little bubble: most of the guests have separated into their own cliques by now, and the one closest to you has set up an uproarious gambling circle on their table. This is a bit much, even if for a swanky college reunion.

“Agreed.” Hyunjin stays quiet for a moment, and you watch him curiously, wondering what he’s thinking of. He relieves you a moment later. “Darling, I don’t want to intrude, but I just wanted to ask if everything’s okay?”

You hesitate to answer, because although you know he genuinely wants to check up on you, given the astronomically considerate person he is, you don’t want to burden him with your problems— especially if the problem is him. So you do what any sensible person would do and deflect. “It’s a long story. How about we check out the bar?”

You expect him to turn you down, but maybe you’re not the only one who needs a drink, because he accepts. “I feel like I’ll regret it, but alright.”

Hyunjin helps you up from where you sit, grabbing your purse for you and handing it to you as you stand, making your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. But you both make your way over to the open bar, snagging two seats at the very end of the counter on one side. 

The teariness made your intoxication a bit more discreet, so you’re openly able to ask for a beer without raising Hyunjin’s eyebrows. Hyunjin, on the other hand, orders a pink champagne on the rocks. He really is so sophisticated. After you both finish speaking with the bartender, he turns to you, placing his elbow on the counter and propping up his chin in his arm. The soft smile on his face fits perfectly as his eyes lock onto yours, and it feels… flirtatious. 

You’re suddenly transported into all of those times you were alone at a bar, men approaching you with a similar demeanor, but with very much different intentions. Therein, with Hyunjin, the aura of respect and boundaries still hangs in the air, so it doesn’t linger, no matter how much you wish it would stay. 

The bartender sets your choices in front of you, and you try to enjoy the drink, but the overwhelming bitterness of it just makes everything come crashing down. You sniffle, and then immediately hope that Hyunjin has not noticed that you are beginning to cry pathetically— again— into your mug of beer.

Hyunjin looks concerned, leaning forward as if to put his arm around you, but after a moment’s hesitation, he retracts his arm and instead, focuses on your face. "Y/N?"

Shit. You try to laugh it off as an extremely severe case of allergies, but even besides the fact that there's barely any pollen in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, you suck at acting. Too bad Hollywood is only a ten-minute commute from your apartment.

"I’m… I’m okay. I'm totally okay." You try to laugh it off, but instead, it sounds like a strange, very unattractive quack. The thick tears that begin to roll down your cheeks are not even necessary for Hyunjin to call you out. He is not buying any of it.

"Darling, please. Don’t lie to me.”

"Hyunjin, I'm fine! God!"

At this point, you're full on sobbing in the middle of the room, and people are shooting you weird looks. Hyunjin should leave. Being seen with a mess like you could taint his spotless, perfect image, and outside of his office, he has absolutely no obligation to you. Fuck, you don’t even know why you’re being such a crybaby— before Hyunjin, you could actually down booze without losing it on the spot, especially surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

But as if he couldn’t tug at you anymore, he doesn’t think this time to cross the miniscule space between you both and pull you into a tight hug. You feel like utter crap, and it’s been so long since someone just held you, assuring you that everything is going to be fine. But you can’t help notice one insignificant detail: Hyunjin smells fucking amazing and expensive and elegant— perhaps Chanel or Tom Ford? And in that glorious suit too, he’s like the real-life, less embarrassing embodiment of the mafia overlords that dominated your questionable high school fanfiction phase. Fuck. This isn’t helping the situation.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, rubs soothing circles on your back, definitely unaware of your inappropriate intrusive thoughts. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay. Do you wanna get out of here?”

You blink up at him tearily, mind frazzled but remembering your engagement. “But, Yeonjun…”

And as if the devil whispers in his ears, your cousin manifests out of thin air, collapsing onto the empty stool next to you. “My dear cuz, smack some sense into me if I ever volunteer again with— wait. Bro, are you crying?”

The shame piles up on you again, heating up your skin in a way that’s too obvious. But before you can muster up a lie, Hyunjin speaks for you, taking the mug away from your hands. “I think it’s best if Y/N gets some rest, she isn’t feeling too well.”

Yeonjun just stares dumbly at Hyunjin for a second, jaw hanging open a little, as it does for anyone when they are first in the presence of Hwang Hyunjin. “I, uh. Yeah. That’s good. You’re Hwang Hyunjin, right? Her dating coach?”

Even through your intoxication, you feel like you see something flicker in Hyunjin’s eyes, but as always, it doesn’t last. “Yes, it’s wonderful to meet you, Yeonjun. Y/N has spoken a lot about you.”

“Same to you.” Yeonjun snickers, before clearing his throat and turning serious. “Listen, man, I hate to ask you this. But can you please help her home? I can text you the address? I really can’t leave this stupid shindig until it’s over, but I don’t wanna leave her alone—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of her.” Hyunjin states firmly, motioning to the bartender to bring you a large class of water. The way he’s looking out for you brings up something hot, aroused in your stomach. 

Yeonjun nods, and to his credit, he really does look as apologetic as you can discern in your drunk haze. Hyunjin helps you finish your water, before buying a water bottle for you to sip from, as he slides his arm around your shoulders and helps you out of that terrible room. In most cases, when sober and thinking straight, you would be as rigid as a bar, humiliated and unsure of what to do with yourself. But you let yourself have this, just once, melting into his side and enjoying your misery more than you should.

Sometimes, Hyunjin really can be such a piece of shit. Like the time he promised Princess Diana extra cuddles before bedtime, but forgot because he had been working late at SeoulSpark on some overdue reports; he had felt like such a horrible father to his baby. Or the time he mentioned a Gucci product during an interview, inadvertently advertising for Versace’s biggest competitor; Donatella wouldn’t reply to his texts for nearly a week. But all of that seems tame in comparison to today.

You’ve had too much to drink and can’t stop crying, and here Hyunjin is, thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. In his defense, you look so adorable, with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, eyes drooping with drowsiness and lips pouted preciously. But it’s still highly inappropriate of Hyunjin to be thinking of you in such a way, so he shoves those treacherous thoughts into the back of his mind and focuses on staring at anything but you.

After a few swipes on the Uber app, your ride pulls up in front of the hotel in which Highlight is located inside. At this point, you’ve become pliant in Hyunjin’s arms, cuddling into his side and clutching at his waist. Hyunjin can barely breathe, and is vastly thankful for the distraction of the car's arrival.

He helps you into the backseat of the car, before getting in from the other side. The drive back to your place is quiet, save for the breezy orchestra music that the driver plays on the low and the soft sounds of your sniffling. Hyunjin clenches his jaw and stares out the window, trying to focus on the green highway signs whizzing by and not the fact that you’re barely centimeters away from him, humming sadly along to the radio. 

Twenty minutes pass, and suddenly, you’re both standing in front of your apartment building, an old but dreamy housing complex tucked away in one of the quieter sectors of the city. Hyunjin walks you up to your door, telling himself that he’ll leave as soon as you’re safe inside. He watches you sway on your feet a little while you take a few extra minutes to fumble with the door lock. Hyunjin wants you to go inside and slam the door in his face, bringing him back to his senses. Instead, you look over at him, a lilt to your voice.

“Wanna come inside?” You slightly slur over your words, giving him a small glance. It’s innocent enough that Hyunjin knows your motives are pure, even if a tiny part of him wishes they weren’t. 

He hesitates, the logical side of his mind screaming at him to politely refuse and bid you a goodnight. But then again, he hasn’t been very logical whenever it comes to you. He now promises himself that this is just a little post-party hangout. You can be friends, can’t you? And besides, you need someone to look after you. And friends look after each other, don’t they?

Hyunjin steps inside, instantly in awe of your apartment. The open floor concept allows him to explore the entire layout with his eyes, from the soft throw blanket lying on your very comfortable-looking couch to the bellowing linen curtains hanging over your windows. The mismatched furniture and nearly overflowing book cases are incredibly charming, the artful dissonance of your decor coming together in a harmony that just makes everything feel so cozy. 

In Hyunjin’s mind, your apartment is so quintessentially you, a feeling of home that his own place never quite felt like. Yes, he loves Oasis more than anything, but there’s this slightly pretentious air to it, this urge to keep it constantly pristine. It feeds into Hyunjin’s obsession over perfection, instead of being the one place where he can truly be himself. Here, however, Hyunjin feels comfortable, secure in his own skin, even when in reality, he probably looks ridiculously out of place in his over-the-top outfit.

“Hm,” you mumble, prompting Hyunjin to whirl around and rush forward to steady you when you lean a little too forward. “Do you wanna drink?”

Hyunjin frowns at you while you just giggle nonsensically. You’re nowhere near sober, but at the very least, at least you’re not distressed anymore. Hyunjin hates to see you upset; your face was made for smiling.

“Absolutely not. We have done enough drinking for today.” Hyunjin chides you sternly. “You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach, though.”

You prop yourself on one of the chairs at your dining table, giving him an anticipating look that Hyunjin takes as permission to rummage through your cupboards. After looking through the fridge as well, Hyunjin settles on cooking you his comfort grilled cheese recipe. He pours you a glass of water and gives you a little pat on your head when you obediently finish the entire thing and accept another.

You quietly watch Hyunjin while he putters around the kitchen; the sheer domesticity of it all makes him yearn for this to be a regular occurrence. He’d cook for you everyday, filling you to the brim with all of the affection you deserve. But that’s not going to happen, so he keeps his head down and concentrates. Hyunjin flips the sourdough bread on the griddle until it’s golden brown, spreading liberal amounts of butter on each side. And the pièce de résistance, he adds one-third white cheddar, one-third yellow cheddar, and one-third American cheese, his favorite combination of cheeses for a rainy day. 

“This is so yummy,” you declare after your first bite, eyes full of delight. “Here, have some. You’re such a good cook, Hyunnie.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know whether to be more shocked at the fact that you’re holding out your own sandwich for Hyunjin to try, or how you just called him such an endearing nickname. “I– it’s okay, darling. I’m not hungry.”

But you don’t accept it, because it looks like you’re just as stubborn even when inebriated. “You need to taste, or else I’ll be sad.”

You flash him a heartbroken set of puppy dog eyes that makes him melt and give in. He reaches across the rickety little table and tries to take the sandwich in his own hands, but you pull away slightly and hold it out to him expectantly. Oh. 

Hyunjin gingerly leans forward and lets you feed him a bite of the grilled cheese. He chews quickly, trying not to blush under the intensity of your gaze. Once he swallows, he watches you finish off the rest of the sandwich, satisfied with his compliance. When you’re done, you look up at him proudly, and he just can’t help but be endeared by you. 

Hyunjin clears the table and washes the dishes, wiping his hands on the fluffy towel hanging from the oven handle. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out to brush a few stray crumbs off of the corner of your mouth, trying not to revel in the sensation of how soft your lips are under his thumb.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a guileless smile while you bite down on an orange-colored candy from the small bowl on the counter. “Let’s do something fun, that party was so boring.”

Hyunjin lets you wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him to the living room and onto the couch. He huffs out a laugh as you clumsily fall onto the sofa, moving to get comfortable. “What are you thinking?”

You tap your chin dramatically, making a show of trying to decide what to do. “How about… karaoke?”

Hyunjin grins and takes the TV remote that you hand him, hopping onto YouTube and flipping through the list of lyrical videos. “Any preference for a song?”

You shake your head vigorously. “Surprise me.”

He settles on “Gone Away,” a ballad by one of his favorite underground rock bands. The slow notes of a love song float out through the speaker, the lovely voice of the lead singer, J.One, filling his ears. He nervously glances over at you, but you give him an encouraging nod, and Hyunjin lets himself go.

“Inside collapsed time, even my hopes for us to be together, no longer matter,” Hyunjin sings along to the lyrics, the song resonating within him more than he wishes it did. “My love, tangled up while looking for you, is gone, gone away, gone away.”

“I don’t think I can stop you from leaving anymore,” you join in softly, and Hyunjin looks over at you in surprise, but you’re staring straight ahead at the TV. He tamps down his nerves and gets through the rest of the song with you, both of you somehow harmonizing together in tune. At some point in the middle, the tears start pouring down his cheeks slowly, in the way he can never control. He just hopes that you don’t notice every time he reaches up to swipe at them, before inevitably fall.

The song doesn’t finish quick enough, and an advertisement begins to run on autoplay, but Hyunjin can’t bring himself to look at you again, terrified of the way his heart beats so deafeningly in his chest.

“Hyunjin.”

Serious, without a single hint of playfulness. Hyunjin clears his throat and lifts his head to see your indecipherable expression. He notices the traces of haziness in your eyes, but there’s undeniable determination written across your face. “Yes?”

“Don’t cry,” You nearly sob out, breath catching in your throat. “It doesn’t suit such a beautiful person to be filled with so much grief.”

Hyunjin covers up his astonishment at your words with denial, trying to push them off as an emotional reaction to the song. But you’ve just called him beautiful, and that cannot be covered up. “I’m sorry, that was a bit much.”

You swallow harshly, the dry sound of it audible. Maybe Hyunjin should excuse himself to bring you some water and escape this conversation. But— “You can never be too much. I want you, all the time. I think of you, all the time.”

This time, Hyunjin is effectively rendered gone. Frozen to the couch, time stopped and his train of rational thought put on hold. He reruns the sentence in his brain, trying to piece them together. You want him. You think of him? You want him? His confused, frantic contemplation is interrupted when you crawl over the couch and lift your palm to cup his jaw, so close that he can nearly feel the soft puff of your breathing against his face. Fuck, you’re still drunk.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you murmur. Hyunjin is sure he has died and gone to some otherworldly dimension— maybe heaven, or hell, depending on how the higher powers have judged his situation to be— when he feels your lips slot against his, reeling him in like a needle through thread. So what else can he do, but accept what you give him and circle his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer so you’re on his lap.

You taste like the mango candy you popped earlier, sweet with a hint of tanginess, and it’s driving Hyunjin absolute nuts. Your eyes flutter shut and so do Hyunjin’s, both of you melting into each other, diving into the dangerous waters that Hyunjin swore that he wouldn’t tread. But he can’t stop, he just can’t, not when you lick into his mouth with a passion to rival the one he’s felt for you since day one. 

“Hyunjin…” You whisper, a long, obscenely drawn-out syllable that’s reminiscent of the noises that Hyunjin imagined eliciting from you. That one sound snaps him out of it. You’re drunk, you’re drunk, and this means nothing. This means nothing to you, and he’s just been here, the unfortunate sap to receive your sweet, empty words just because he’s been here for you once. He doesn’t deserve any of it. You’re not going to remember any of it. You are so fucking drunk.

Before he knows it, he’s shoving you off, and with the way you heavily land on the cushion next to him, he wasn’t gentle at all, in his panic. You just stare at him with a half-dazed, half-dismayed look on your face that makes him cringe away. 

“I am so sorry,” Hyunjin croaks, grabbing his phone and scrambling to stand up. He will pull himself together, eventually, in time to see you for the next appointment. And then he will remind himself that he is a mere service to you, and nothing more. As it should be, and as it always was.

Hyunjin doesn’t even wait for your response before he’s running out the door and into the night.

You come to at around noon, groggily blinking a few times before the memories come flooding back in. You drinking yourself stupid at the bar. Hyunjin leading the way back home. Karaoke while relaxed on your shitty couch from Craig’s List. Kissing like in a movie before the atomic bomb dropped. You kissed Hyunjin. Your drunk, sentimental ass was lucid enough to remember your feelings, but not sober enough to remember to conceal them. You kissed Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin, and you have colossally fucked up. 

You scream about it for a good half hour, ripping at your hair and keeling over on the couch, dry heaving in a failed attempt to let out your guilt. It sticks. You’re mortified. Scared. Disgusted. How, how could you do that to him? Taking advantage of him when he was in your own home? You didn’t even get proper consent from him! You are such a damn asshole, and now, Hyunjin is probably never going to want to see you again. 

All you want to do is jump under your covers and cry yourself to a sleep that you’ll never have to wake up from. But you love Hyunjin too much to do that to him. You owe him an apology and the entire world, which you have no qualms about bringing to him if he asked you.

And that’s why you’re at SeoulSpark, ignoring the fear pulsing in your body as you push open the door, closing your eyes as the cool gust of the air conditioning washes over your skin. But the drop in temperature does nothing to tamp down the nerves boiling under your skin. 

All of the composure that you have carefully curated in the past few minutes shrivels up— charred to a crisp and punted out of Hyunjin’s ridiculously extravagant floor-to-ceiling windows— when you lay eyes on him. Because that’s the effect he’s always had on you, and you feel like an idiot for not already anticipating that familiar cyclone of emotions that hits you whenever he’s in vicinity. 

There he stands, gazing out at the view leisurely spread out at his feet, lax hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers like he has no worries at all. In the perfect world, you could have just an ounce of his self-command, of how assuredly he carries himself. You envy him almost as much as you want him. Almost. 

When he turns away from the glass at the sound of entrance, the sharp angle of his side profile is shadowed by the light pouring in from behind him, portraying him as some magnificent sort of Greek god. And he might as well be, with the way he has directed both torrents of lightning and spelled arrows through your heart. 

You just stand there awkwardly as he steps out of the sun and completely into your vision; you don’t trust that there will ever be a day when you are not so devastatingly floored by his beauty. The buttons of his shirt are haphazardly hooked in a way that seems not so careless, but more effortless, and you have to fight everything in yourself to not stare at the smooth expanse of skin revealed at the top. 

The moment Hyunjin recognizes the intruder of his office as you, his lips erupt into a smile that seems too genuine given the stunt you pulled just a few hours prior. If he carries any disgust towards you as a result of last night’s events, he doesn’t show it. Warmth pools in his eyes like honey, and you find yourself swimming in it, insatiable and begging for more of that lovely taste. You wish you knew how it would feel to have him look at you so sweetly while he harshly fucks into you, a complete juxtaposition to the adoration painting his expression.

“Hey,” you wave your hand lamely, and then immediately mentally punch yourself in the face; you really missed your calling as the awkward main character of a Disney original show. 

“Good morning, darling. I wasn’t expecting you today.” Hyunjin gestures towards the sofa and you hastily sit down on it, whereas Hyunjin elegantly settles himself across from you. 

“I know.” You avert your gaze, feeling the blush creeping up your neck and onto your face. “Last night was, uh, something.”

That’s one fucking way to put it.

Hyunjin lets out a surprised little chuckle, a sound so cute that you have to ponder ways to inconspicuously pinch your arm. “Well, I was talking about how you didn’t have an appointment. But I’m glad that you’re using the walk-in hours.”

“Yeah… so I thought we should maybe talk about what happened,” you stutter out, shifting under Hyunjin’s steady gaze. “I don’t even know where to begin though.”

Hyunjin hums encouragingly. “It’s okay. What do you want to tell me?”

You take a deep breath, thinking back to the previous night. “I’m sorry. I crossed so many lines yesterday and I was too drunk out of my mind to even tell. I must have made you feel so uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”

And you mean every word. You would rather hurtle yourself into the Grand Canyon than hurt Hyunjin, Hyunjin who has been so good to you even when you never deserved it, Hyunjin who you’re hopelessly and utterly in love with. Hyunjin, who you can never have.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything during that miniscule gap in which you pause, so you take it as a sign to keep going. You’d rather get it off your chest all in one go anyway, as you fear you may not be able to finish if you stop. “I get it if this changes things. If you don’t want to see me anymore.” 

You shut your eyes as soon as you finish speaking, too apprehensive to see his reaction. This is it. This is the part where he agrees and so very politely asks you to leave his office and never come back again. It’ll probably take Wonyoung all of five seconds to boot you out of Hyunjin’s Google calendar, and then Hyunjin will go back to charming the next poor sucker to walk into his office. Gosh, you want to continue being that poor sucker, as pathetic as it is.

“Did you mean any of it?”

Against every fiber of your being telling you not to, to stay in blissful ignorance, you pry your eyes open to see Hyunjin waiting with his arms folded. Something about the intensity of his gaze, coupled with the unexpected potency in his usually soft voice, makes you shift uneasily. 

“I know it was inappropriate. I’m sorry—”

Hyunjin cuts you off, shaking his head in exasperation. “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you mean what you said to me last night?”

You tilt your head down so that you get an eyeful of the plush rug spread under the sofa. Of course you meant everything. You might have been drunk, but the intoxication only brought out the deepest, most hidden parts of yourself; it gave you the courage to manifest what you want the most. But to admit anything to Hyunjin— again— when he clearly did not want any part in it would hurt even more, because this time, you didn’t have alcohol in you to numb the pain of rejection. 

“Why did you leave?”

For a moment, you think that Hyunjin will ignore your question and insist on you giving him a hard answer. Instead, he tentatively reaches his hand out and hooks his thumb and index finger under your chin, carefully angling your head up to meet your eyes. That familiar gentleness once again radiates from him, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from melting into it. In spite of how utterly miserable you feel right now, the telltale flutter of your heart betrays you. God, you want to be his. 

“I left because I didn’t know how much of it was real,” Hyunjin rasps. His words are hushed, but you feel the weight of them, soaked and dripping with both tenderness and hesitation. “I didn’t want you holding my heart when you couldn’t fully feel it in your hands.”

You exhale slowly, trying to ignore the false hope rising like bile in your throat. The way his eyes brighten whenever he sees you. The stolen glances you thought you were imagining all this time. Darling. It can’t be. “Hyunjin… what are you saying?” 

“Do you have feelings for me? Because I do.” Hyunjin purses his lips and slides his palm up to caress your cheek. “I have feelings for you, and I’m so tired of pretending that I don’t.”

“You what?” You search his eyes wildly for any sign of a joke, because you’re unwilling to believe that this is really, truly happening. All of your reasoning feels tightened by this nostalgic lavender haze, a dizzying sense of deja vu pulled from your thoughts. The ones in which you get to call Hyunjin yours. They cannot be real, not in this universe.

He nods bashfully, a pretty new color in his cheeks— a shade that both astounds and confounds you. The cherry lips that you’ve endlessly fantasized about shine red and swollen with how he has so anxiously bitten into them. Hyunjin’s eyes shine in the hazy glow of his sunset lamp, full of feeling and twinkling brighter than any high rise. You’ve never seen him like this, vulnerable and laid bare in front of you. You’ve always been the one to fall apart in front of him, and yet, here he is, surprising you once again. And that’s something that will never change, how he remains the warlock of your wildest dreams and unraveling sanity. 

“I haven’t been the same since we met.” Hyunjin murmurs, softly stroking the side of your face. “And- and after last night, I think I actually might be going crazy. Because maybe it’s not all in my head. Maybe you want me as much as I do. Do you?”

You shake your head, heart fluctuating with every emotion that has ever been registered in your mind. Exhilaration. Doubt. Fear. Devotion. You are so overwhelmingly in love with the man in front of you that it hurts, even when he stands in front of you with his heart in his hands. It hurts, because you know that no matter what, there’s no going back now. You know you can’t leave him alone now; you are completely and utterly his. 

“Hyunjin—”

“Y/N.” Hyunjin pleads, and all you can feel is disappointment at the address. Not darling. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Just please—”

“Hyunjin.” You cut him off harshly, and he freezes, his arms dropping back to his side. You immediately feel the magnitude of losing his touch on your skin, and it does nothing to tamp down the mix of frustration and arousal inside of you. “Hwang Hyunjin. You drive me absolutely insane.”

There’s a moment of charged silence, before his lips are on yours. When you were younger, you’d spend hours hunched over romance novels and rereading the parts when the leads finally kissed, their repressed emotions finally amalgamating in one stunning, golden moment. But nothing about kissing Hyunjin feels golden; it never did. 

No, it’s an ardent, burning red, a fire blooming in the hands that you use to yank him closer to you, a distance that will always feel unending whenever it’s him. It’s sin, pouring over hot coals and shimmering ore, enchanting yet raw. It’s so perfectly imperfect, wet and frantic, shameless and desperate. It’s rose vines creeping up crumbling brick and the roll of thunder in the middle of the night. It’s you and him and no inhibitions whatsoever, until… 

“Wait, wait, wait.” To your disappointment, Hyunjin pulls back. Even though he was the one who kissed you, you don’t fail to recognize the uncertainty written on his reddened lips. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to block out the nagging thoughts in which Hyunjin has already regretted you. Moving out of his hold, you give him space by backing away. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to make sure that you are one-hundred percent okay with this. Like, I drive you insane in a good way, right? Not a bad way? Just checking. Consent is key and all,” Hyunjin breathlessly, letting out a nervous giggle. It’s a display that is shockingly similar to how you act whenever you’re agitated, and you never expected it to be put on by Hyunjin, of all people. It’s… cute. 

You give him a small smile, letting your handbag carelessly slip off your shoulder and onto the rug. You take a tiny step towards him, wrapping your arms around Hyunjin’s slender waist and reveling in how Hyunjin’s breathing quickens, pulse jumping with your touch. Drawing him close to you, just until your lips are barely touching, you look up at him through your eyelashes, focusing on that gorgeous beauty mark under his eye. 

“Hyunjin, is the door locked?”

He just stares at you for a good moment, and you let him, enjoying the way his lips part at your husky tone. “No. I didn’t lock it.”

“Good.” You lift your hand and trace the outline of Hyunjin’s bottom lip with your finger, observing the way he shivers at your touch. “Pay attention, because I’m about to prove to you just how much I like you.”

A blush speckled across his features is all that is needed to induce that familiar urge in you, the one that makes you unreasonably aroused. You want to make him yours, to take care of him and demonstrate to him specifically how insane you are for him. You want to make his wildest dreams come alive, just like he has done for you.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter shut, a movement so delicate that it almost makes you cry. “Please… just touch me.”

Talking will come, eventually. Both of you will sit down tomorrow morning and establish what exactly this is, what you have done by that point— what you plan to do to Hyunjin now. You’ll find out what this is for Hyunjin— whether this is lust, a brazen act committed in the heat of the moment, or the complete opposite, what you’re too afraid to even think of. Your heart wishes for the latter to be true, for Hyunjin to want you not only as much as you want him, but in the same way as well. Maybe you can’t put it in words, what you feel for him, but you can show him your sincerity in other ways. It’s all you can imagine doing, after Hyunjin has currently rendered you with no other form of thought. Right now, it’s just you and him and a novel of proofs to be written on each other. 

And so you cup his cheek and draw his body closer to yours; this time, you move slowly, every action deliberate, exploring Hyunjin and his depths. Your lips touch his softly, a ghost of longing on skin. In turn, Hyunjin’s hands clutch at yours, silently asking you for more, and you indulge your prince, because there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

Hwang Hyunjin tastes like a sunrise, if dawn’s dainty fingertips blessing the sky with a brilliant, fiery spectrum of light could be encapsulated in that sense. Coffee ice cream, spearmint, unadulterated eroticism. Finally, you’ve found the end of your questions. You shut your eyes as Hyunjin slips his hands into your hair, pulling it out of its tight hold and deftly sliding the tiny pink elastic around his wrist. You mirror his actions, carding your fingers through his soft, silky strands and holding onto him as he deepens the kiss. Instinctively, almost, you part your lips, allowing for him to slip his tongue inside and have his own answers.

Hyunjin pulls back from you to look at you directly when he starts to run his trembling hands down over the curve of your hips, the way he regards you full of attention and lust. You are sure that the confidence that you might have projected earlier has diffused into something more unfocused, with the way you already feel so high off of Hyunjin. Taking control has always been something that has come to you easily, until Park Jisung subjugated that part of you. But you don’t mind it right now, Hyunjin taking all of you and turning you into a mess, because this is the very comfort that you’ve been craving for so long.

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin whispers, even though there’s no secret to be kept. He leans down so that his forehead touches your own, in a way that feels too intimate, but at the same time, it makes you want it and more. It’s a genuine question ringing with the slightest hint of hesitation, and yet, you can’t believe he has to ask you; you love him, even though you may not be able to say it, yet. 

“This. This is what you do to me.” You take Hyunjin’s hand into yours and lead it to the place between your legs that’s been begging for his touch since you first laid eyes on him, second to only your heart. Hyunjin’s eyes widen in surprise when you guide his hand under your skirt, pupils dilating in want when he realizes how drenched you are just for him. But his reaction is nothing compared to you, to how you suck in a sharp breath and try not to fall apart with just one touch.

That one sound is enough for his gaze to darken, before he’s gripping your hips like a vice and pushing you against his desk. You let out a small gasp at the roughness of the movement, and even more so at how Hyunjin is finally taking what has always belonged to him, and him only. In response, he captures your bottom lip with his teeth, nipping at you slightly, not enough to cause pain but just enough to have your back arching at the sting of it.

“Did that hurt?” Hyunjin asks you, a smirk painting his features as he drags his lips across your cupid bow ever-so-softly.

You try to hide your blush by rolling your eyes defiantly, fisting the collar of his shirt in your hands. “No, it didn’t.”

Hyunjin laughs as he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, before he’s moving to your neck, attentively peppering kisses along it just to garner more proof of the utter pleasure that has pervaded your senses— and he has barely even touched you yet.  

Your hands slide down to the bottom of his shirt and to tug at it, the desperation of the movement mirroring the pulse of your heart. Hyunjin lets you unhook the top few buttons before hastily tearing off the rest of it, the tiny silver knobs scattering across the floor. But you can’t think about the mess now, not when Hyunjin takes your hands in his and runs them down smooth, toned places of his torso. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, easily untying your blouse with just his right hand, something that shouldn’t be as attractive to you as it is. He pushes it off of your body, the material now a nuisance to the way he begins to explore every inch of skin his lips can find purchase on. 

You decide to help him out, unzipping your skirt to step out of it, kicking it away along with your heels to some forgotten corner of the office. Seeing no point in prolonging your mutual misery, you also reach behind your back and unhook your bra to free your breasts to him, shrugging it off with a smile as you meet Hyunjin’s eyes.

“Do you want to touch me?” You give him a teasing grin, loving the way he audibly gulps when taking in how you’re nearly bare, all for him. 

“I want to fucking ravish you.”

You tense with his words and how his gaze hardens with the challenge, trying to maintain your cocky front. “Let’s see how you do, Dr. Hwang.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t reply immediately, the corner of his lips just barely tipping up. His fingers find the band of your panties, hooking under to pull you forward to him as he guides you to sit on the desk. “I can literally smell how wet you are for me, you know.”

And you nearly come to his words, but he doesn’t give you the chance, hands coyly smoothing up your stomach before gripping your panties on either side and ripping them off your body. Before the lace has even touched the floor, his mouth is on your cunt, blazing hot and wet. 

You gasp, sucking in a shattering breath as his lips move against your pussy as if spelling out letters in the filthiest language known to man. He envelops your clit with his lips in a slight kiss before you feel his tongue delve out, adventuring between your folds and getting his first, full taste of you. Hyunjin moans as he dips into you, blessing your ears with the prettiest sound to grace them, and it seems as if eating you out pleases him just as much as it does for you, if not more.

Hyunjin pulls away momentarily to look at your center, hands wrapping around your thighs and encouraging them even farther apart. Trailing kisses along your shin, he lifts your right leg to place it comfortably on the desk, caging himself between your legs. The sight makes you clench and grasp onto his hair, bringing him right back into you. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out as he pressed his mouth against you once more, relentlessly starving and savouring the taste of you at the same time. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You moan, taking fistfuls of his soft, soft hair as he fulfills his sinful promises. You can’t think of any good comeback like you would prefer to do, but this position, while compromising, isn’t anything but ideal at this moment. The worlds have coiled in your throat, coming out as broken sobs, and you have effectively gone crazy for Hyunjin.

“So pretty,” he compliments, eyes drinking in your core before softening as they glance up at you. He slides a lone finger inside of you, and you immediately tighten around it, making him chuckle. “You like that? Like my mouth on your cunt? Like how I’m fucking you like this, so slow yet not enough?”

You just whimper in answer, but Hyunjin remains unbothered by your lack of coherent response. “You taste fucking heavenly, by the way.”

And then he pulls his hand away harshly, leaving a stinging slap directly on your aching pussy, immediately rubbing your clit after to lessen the harshness of it. 

“Oh my God—”

He hooks two of fingers inside of you this time, thrusting in and walking the tips of them along your g-spot, making your head go hazy with pleasure. Your breathing hitches as a pressure starts to build in your lower stomach, your walls shamelessly sucking at Hyunjin’s fingers. 

“Mm, you’re going to drench me, aren’t you? You talk up a big storm, but you’re dripping down my hand already.”

Hyunjin’s talk is almost as dangerous as his touch, and he knows it, with how he grins knowingly at you while he so sweetly puts you in your place. He attaches his mouth to your clit, sucks deftly, and moves his entire arm against that one beautiful place, making your legs give out beneath you. 

“Hyunjin, please,” you sob, amazed with how you were even able to form that sorry excuse for a sentence. “I need—”

“Need what?” Hyunjin mocks you, knowing exactly what you want, but he takes his time, playing with you and drawing out this sublime form of torture on your body. “Can’t wait for me to fill you up, yes? So greedy.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks. Measured and polite when fully clothed, but uninhibited and dirty behind closed doors. Your spine straightens as he starts to pump you so hard that you begin to see stars, or maybe just the lights from the buildings outside. You can’t be sure. You begin to arch your back, trying to lessen the intensity of his movements, but he wraps his arm around your hips to hold you down.

He flicks your clit mercilessly, his tongue winding you close to your climax. You mewl his name softly, rolling your hips up towards his face and on his fingers, clenching impossibly tight around him, but he only responds by fucking you harder. Faster. 

You can feel your orgasm approaching in addition to his heightened attention in your blissful facial expressions, watching the way your brows turn up in the middle. 

“Close, aren’t you?” He murmurs against your clit, and you concentrate on his voice, the sole thing you can comprehend past the obliterating pleasure you’re suspended in. You swear he smiles, before he pulls away from you. 

You cry out pathetically at the loss of contact, feeling that tsunami of ecstasy fail to crest and eventually fade back into the shallows, leaving just an unbearable ripple of disturbance behind. You can feel the tears form in your eyes at your interrupted orgasm that was so cruelly taken from you, and you narrow your gaze at Hyunjin. 

“And you’re such a brat, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Hyunjin responds cheekily, tracing his middle finger slightly against your folds, and you have to grind your teeth to keep from shuddering. “I want you to come on my cock instead.”

You’ve had enough of his games. This is something that you started, and you completely intend to finish it, even if it means not playing by Hyunjin’s twisted rules and making your own board. You dig your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulders, feeling him wince under your touch, and push him back roughly. He collapses onto the couch, looking up at you in wide-eyed surprise. 

“Did you have fun, Hyunjin? I hope you did.” It’s your turn to smirk down at him, all of the explicit thoughts of what you would love to do to him running through your head. “Because we’re going to be doing things my way now.”

Before he can even muster up a retort, you are already straddling him, shifting back to unzip his trousers and shove them down his legs, while he just obediently lifts up his hips to help. All in one go, you get both his pants and boxers off, freeing his length. And he really is so pretty— all of him, down to his cock that’s perfectly hardened for you to use. 

Hyunjin shivers as you experimentally palm his cock, testing how sensitive he is, and you’re pleased with what you discover. “What are you going to do to me?” 

“What do you want me to do to you?” You question him right back, pretending to actually listen to him. Hyunjin takes the bait, relief and desire evident in his features.

“I want you to fuck me with that sweet little pussy,” he responds, the urgency filling his throat making you smile.

“I see.” 

You shrug nonchalantly, gripping him and enjoying the way he gets even harder in your hands. Slowly, you begin to pump him, spitting into your palm and spreading it down his length for better friction. It works, with the way he curses under his breath and looks at you pleadingly. 

“Darling, stop… stop doing that,” he pleads, eyes involuntarily rolling back as you lean forward, pressing your tits together and sliding his dick between them teasingly. 

You cock your head to the side and let your hair fall slightly over your eyes, smiling innocently at him. “Stop doing what, baby?”

“Stop fucking teasing me!” He gasps out, watching you lift yourself just barely onto his cock, holding him at the base and rubbing his tip between your slick folds. Both of you let out soft sighs at the sensation of him nudging your entrance, but you still don’t relent. 

“I don’t know… I kinda like the position we’re in. Think I could get myself off just watching you like this,” you say, lightly circling your hips as you grind your clit on his cock. “Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for months,” he whines— in any other situation, you’d laugh at how adorable he is if you weren’t so damn turned on right now. He places his arms around your waist, squeezing lightly. “I have to have you.”

You take Hyunjin’s hands and bring them up to rest over your breasts, keeping eye contact with him. As if a trying to placate you by seduction, he traces his fingers over your nipples, sending a jolt through your body; he need not know that you have been wrapped around his finger ever since he pushed you against that desk, and that you’re this close to surrendering to his pleas. You need him.

“Say ‘please’,” you giggle, your cocky façade cracking. After all, you’re endlessly weak for him. 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but obliges you anyway. “Please, fuck me.”

You want to have one last word with his attitude, but then his palm cracks hard against your thigh, and your legs give up. Your hips sink fully down onto his lap, and you both cry out at the feeling of being sated in the best possible way. Hyunjin is so deep inside you that you feel like you can barely breathe; yet, your chest rises and falls rapidly, as Hyunjin anchors his hands on your ass, assisting you in riding him.

Hyunjin tilts his head back, the veins along the graceful arch of his neck prominent as your walls pulse around him. Meanwhile, you’re practically shaking at how full he makes you feel, pressed up so deliciously inside of you. You’ll lose your mind if it means you can’t have him like this in every moment for the rest of your life, but it’s an unfortunate truth you’ll have to confront later. For now, you know he’s going to make an absolute mess of you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Use me, take all of what you want from me.” Hyunjin just whispers, guiding the roll of your hips while staring up at you in a way you can’t believe is reserved just for you. Enamored, raptured, and completely captivated. It’s so similar to the way you know you always look at him, that you nearly want to cry at the sight.

You’re breathless, gazing down at the man you love through hazy eyes. Hyunjin always looks beautiful no matter what, but right now, he’s simply breathtaking, with how his hair is so artfully mussed, and how his cheeks are tinged with the blush of pleasure. He’s especially exquisite, knowing that he’s like this just for you.

“F-feel so good, Hyunjin,” you manage, both of you fucking each other at this point— you bouncing on top of him while he fucks into from below with equal energy.

Hyunjin smirks, control coming back to him as you give it up. He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you both to rub slow, firm circles on your clit. “Fuck, are you going to come already?” 

In spite of yourself, you shoot him a look that isn’t nearly as sharp as you intended it to be. “You already got me halfway there.”

“Definitely more than halfway— eighty-percent’s more accurate,” Hyunjin responds with haphazardly feigned indignance, before shaking his head and kissing you. He bows his head down to encase your nipple with his lips, gently sucking at the bud while his hand trails over across your chest to grasp and squeeze at your other breast, eliciting a strangled moan from you. “It’s that nice, right? I know, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. Shattering, fierce, red-hot. You can’t handle the way he’s looking at you, touching you, talking to you. Your toes are numb from how harshly they curl, and your fingers sting from how you dragged them down Hyunjin’s back, hopefully leaving marks for him to smile at later.

“Hyun—” You can’t finish even calling out his name, the attempt fading into something nonsensical. Your eyes water from the intensity of your climax, before nestling into his neck.

But he pulls away to look you in the eye when you come, whimpering hopelessly. “That’s it, let go for me, darling.”

Your vision blurs as your orgasm finally crashes into you, overwhelming and so earth-shatteringly beautiful. Hyunjin’s voice soothes you as he guides you through your high, whispering hushed praises against your skin and doing dangerous things to your heart. A wave of unmatchable euphoria washes over you, but it never passes, like his body is an expert in prolonging the pleasure so intricately. You cannot believe that Hyunjin is real, with the way each time he thrusts into you tips you closer and closer into a never-ending free fall into absolute ecstasy. 

With a soft, drawn out sigh, you finally come, and Hyunjin swears under his breath as you clench around him, your pussy gripping his cock so hard that it almost draws the climax from his body. You find a single ounce of strength in the aftermath, wrapping your arm around Hyunjin’s neck and turning his chin to make him look at you.

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin,” you say, lips quivering against his.

He groans into your mouth, kissing you deeply. “Where, baby? Tell me where.”

“Inside of me.”

Hyunjin throws his head back, moaning desperately before capturing your mouth in a messy kiss. When he breaks away, a string of saliva connects your lips, and it feels so treacherously erotic. Hyunjin comes while calling your name over and over again, pressing your ass down on his lap as his thrusts become shallower, and more erratic. He rolls his hips a final time, pumping his come as deep as he can into you. And then he slumps against you, panting heavily as he gently lays you back down on the couch to fit you comfortably under the crook of his arm.

You hold each other just like that for a long time, hands clasped together while simply existing in the universe that feels like it is all your own. Hyunjin sighs, kissing you deeply in a way that makes your heart flip. He then pulls back to look down and inspect you, both concern and care written deep in his expression. 

“Are you okay, darling? Was that too much?”

You give him a fucked-out grin, cupping his beautiful face with your palms and reveling in how warm his skin is. “No. That was perfect. You are perfect.”

“I… I’m glad.” Hyunjin blushes and looks away like he’s suddenly tongue-tied, as if he wasn’t moaning the dirtiest things into your mouth just minutes earlier. “I don’t even have the words to describe how I feel about you. You’re… everything, and I won’t ever be able to convey that to you completely.”

Something tells you that he isn’t lying, that he means every word, that this isn’t just some kind of lust-filled one-night stand that’ll merit those awkward, unwanted conversations in the future. Maybe it’s the earnesty in his voice, the pure devotion in his eyes, or maybe, you’ll allow this for yourself, just once. You’ll let yourself be happy, let yourself fall and be caught in his arms. 

“I feel the same way,” you say, feeling the tears of something bittersweet form. “You’re gorgeous, Hyunjin. You know that? I just need you to know that.”

Hyunjin wipes the fresh dampness on your cheeks away with his lips, placing a kiss on your forehead when he’s finished. “We have so much time for you to tell me. We’ll talk tomorrow, baby, I promise. Just rest, for now.”

You sniffle, swiping the backs of your hands over your eyes. “I just wish I was completely sober for our first kiss. I remember it perfectly, but it just had to happen when I was a drunk mess.”

He shakes his head, blinking at you like you make no sense to him. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“Hyunjin,” you start, heart aching and wistful for his thoughts. It seems like you would want to know everything going on in his mind, but perhaps, the challenge of not knowing and being vulnerable to the mystery, that’s what makes it truly so special.

“I wouldn’t change our first kiss for anything. You were so cute, I should have taken a picture.” Hyunjin smiles down at you fondly, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger. “But if you really want, we can say our first kiss was today.”

You give him a doubtful but adoring look. “That wouldn’t be real.”

Hyunjin shrugs carelessly, nothing but adoration in his tone. “No one has to know except for us. Our lives. Our rules. Our secret. Don’t you trust me?”

Our. You can’t help but feel giddy at that word, the very one that joins you two in the harmony that you’ve yearned for so long. 

“Always.”

Long after the sun has dipped far below the horizon, after every other SeoulSpark employee has gone home for the day, you and Hyunjin lie together on his sofa in a tangle of sated exhaustion. The many hours of finally acting on long pent-up desires have rightfully ended with you drawn close against his chest as you both silently gaze out at the twinkling cityscape. 

For the years that he has been settled in this office, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge of sadness whenever he looked out at the stretch of towering skyscrapers. After all, he spent all of his time helping others find love, but there he was, left with a great view that he would never be able to share. He told himself that he didn’t mind it, not when his dreams lay solely in working. He would be happy to be the one to bring love to others, if it was never meant to be his. And he repeated it to himself everyday like it was just another mundane step in his cherished daily routine, until he truly started to believe it. 

But how could any of that be true, when he can feel your heartbeat against his own? When the scent of your gardenia shampoo has so gracefully invaded all of his senses? When the moon so delicately traces every single one of your curves, bathing your smooth skin in a silver glow? How could he ever be meant to be alone, when the void in both his heart and arms have finally been filled?

It’s too soon to tell, and it scares the hell out of him to even think about it. But when you look up at him with those starry, radiant eyes, it all seems so worth it, so justified. You are simply the aurora to his night sky— you light him up beyond his own flimsy understanding. Therein lay the words that haven’t strayed from the tip of his tongue ever since he laid his eyes on you. The words he so fervently spelled earlier into your core, joining them with your essence. The words he’ll bite back for as long as he can because he doesn’t want you to leave.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE (& IMPORTANT WRITING UPDATE) Announcement: Jisungsdaydreamer™ has risen from the dead after, like, four months. I apologize, once again, for the terrible wait time. This was my longest gap in posting yet, because it took a while for me to make the adjustment to college. I'm trying to get back to regularly writing, but even when I don't respond/post on here for a while, I just want you to know that I'm still here, and I see you, and I appreciate you! Anyway, I hope you liked the turning point this chapter was (i.e. THEY FINALLY CONFESSED!!!). Cue the fireworks and doves and wedding music!! Also, I just want to mention Yeonjun being a UCLA student- he is sooo Los Angeles coded, and I could totally see him being one of the most popular students at a school like UCLA. And did anyone get my Jane the Virgin reference (hint: it has to do with the grilled cheese recipe)? I used to be obsessed with that show and I have re-watched to the point that I remember almost all of the dialogue... Another thing- for Hyunjin's outfit at the reunion party, I totally was going for what Jungkook was wearing in the 3D music video. I would actually die if Hyunjin dressed up like that IRL. If you know, you know! You can expect the next chapter to come in mid-to-late December, right after my finals (pray for me) finish. Right now, I anticipate finishing Anti-Romantic by the New Year, so I can move onto finishing my other WIPs. Ideally, I'd like to also make a dent on Love Playlist before 2023 is up, but I'm getting ahead of myself! Here's to Dr. Hwang and designer obsessions and being on that sigma grindset. For the next two weeks, I'll be crying over my textbooks in the library while blasting Rock-Star in my headphones. Here's to getting through what I believe is the worst time of year for students! Stay strong and 樂 on 🎸💫 -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna @writingkills @boomfrogg @tyongyuta @levislifeline @hyunzerolv @starlost-andfound @browniebearr @hanniemylovelyquokka @ardef38 @loveemmy08 @anyhow-everything @liillii @sweetpickledjins @insertsomethingaboutanimehere @kylielovesu @moon0fthenight

💕Special mention to @hyunsvngs. You're really cool, and it means a lot to me that you read this series too. I hope you like this chapter 💕

***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

NETWORK TAG @k-films

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

Guys, one of the best authors out there is back, I'm sorry if I'm hyperventilating

As You Wish was super good, the way the atmosphere and the setting were described really put you in the story and gave this sort of an eerie feeling. I loved loved loved how the story isn't rushed and has a steady pace but also builds up the characters' personalities. The plotline is exceptional as expected, I swear to God your stories are better than most of the published books out there.

All in all, a 10/10 as always but are we even surprised

As You Wish | Yoongi x Reader

Pairing: Werewolf Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 21k

Warnings: 18+, Spice but no Smut, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Kissing, Grieving, Passive Suicidality, MC experiences major depression, Non-Consensual Touching, Breaking and Entering, Stalking, Depictions of Gore, Blood, Technically Cannibalism? Loss of Spouse, Loss of Child, Forced Found Family, Hunting, Mass Death, Attempted Burning and the stake, MC is hit by a man (not Yoongi)

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals. 

Preview: You couldn’t even scream when the door was ripped from its hinges, the beast breaking through it like it was wet parchment. You were petrified in place, hyperventilating and trembling at the sight of it. 

It was a giant wolf. It was covered from head to toe in midnight black fur although there were spots that seemed thinner than others that were littered in scars - slashes and bite wounds from what you could only imagine were others of its kind. It was larger than a horse with a head so huge it could bite your own clean off in one impressive snap. And then there were the eyes. They were glowing an ice cold silver in the dark with a glare that felt sharp enough to slice through you while a gnarled scar marred the fur and skin of its right eye.

A/N: I’m exhausted and grad school sucks but I really wanted to get this out for your guys. I hope you enjoy it, I spent way more time on it than I wanted to. I really thought it was only going to be 8k yet here we are…21k. Anyway, I miss all of you - sorry this is so long lol, this is SUPER UNEDITED. As usual, I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and comments, I love you and hope you enjoy 

The sweet scent of flowers greeted your nose as you cracked open the window for the first time in months. 

Despite the warmth of sunshine and the bright green strokes of grass outside, it very well could have still been winter. It felt as if no time had passed since that fateful day. In your heart, winter still raged on. There were gnarled, ice-coated branches there and a torrent of never-ending snow. It had frozen over since then. 

You carried this sense of numbness you had never thought you would be capable of, it was as if your very soul had been corroded by frostbite. Any love or passion or warmth had been snuffed out like a match in the dark. 

That was the thing about grief, it could change a person into something that was beyond recognition. And your grief was immeasurable. 

When you got married, you never imagined your husband would die within the first year. 

It truly had been a cruel winter that year. The two of you were making do with what food you had. He had always been so smart, planning out what you could have each day so that it would last until spring. The only problem was the fire wood. No one could have anticipated how cold it was going to be and if you hadn’t burned as much kindling as you did you were certain you would have frozen to death. 

You could still remember that gentle look he had given you before he left. The soft touch of his fingers to your cheek, the gentle kiss he left you with. He still had every ounce of charm he had had as a boy. He had always been kind and sweet to you. He was the gentlest man you had ever known. That was why his death hurt even more. 

You had been worried the minute he left, but as minutes bled into hours and the winter sun quickly disappeared behind the mountains you were frightened to the bone. He had only an ax and a knife with him. He brought no food and no more clothing than what was on his back. He was planning on making a short trip and if he didn’t come back right away the chances of him surviving the night were slim to none. 

His body was found the next day. 

Honestly, you didn’t remember that day all too well. Everything was a blur, you could faintly remember hearing the voices of a few men from the village, the feeling of your raw throat after screaming senselessly, and the surplus of food and supplies that were sent your way with small slips of paper that read: “Our condolences.” 

They wouldn’t let you see his body and that was something you would never forgive them for. You didn’t care how bad it was, you wanted to see him with your own eyes and you were never afforded that closure. But you had heard enough from hushed whispers outside. 

“Pieces,” they had said. 

He had been mauled to pieces. They couldn’t even find all of him and what was left of him had huge teeth marks raked through flesh. It was an animal attack. Just like you and your husband, they were hungry. 

And now you were all alone. You were a pariah, one that people pitied, but a pariah nonetheless. You would never be able to marry again, not that you wanted to, but no one would want a widow as their wife. That was the way of things, you were meant to live out the rest of your days in solitude. Nothing more than a sad story mother’s would tell their children as you passed through the markets in silence. Your story would become a warning for children not to wander off into the woods. Your tragedy would become a lesson. 

The only lesson that you had learned was that love meant pain. You had given yourself to someone entirely, and when they had parted from you, you were left with nothing. That was the danger of love, losing yourself. 

After months of wishing you had followed him out of this world, you were hit with the sudden clarity that you were being selfish. He had left to try and save the both of you, but here you were wasting the life he had given you. He had sacrificed himself in order for you to keep living for the both of you. 

Choosing to live was so much harder than choosing to die. 

You shoved those horrendous thoughts to the back of your mind as you traveled through your small cottage, prying open every stiff window that you passed by. Living meant starting with the little things, like getting your home in order. It didn’t feel the same without him, but at least now that it was warmer out you wouldn’t have to stay inside and constantly be reminded of his absence. 

You stripped your bed, gathered up the used linens, and scooped up piles of worn clothes from the floor before depositing them in the basket. You were distracting yourself, that much you were certain of. But any distraction was welcome, you couldn’t bear the silence filled thoughts of him any longer. 

You heaved the basket up onto your hip and made for the door, pausing as you were faced with the blooming greenery beyond the threshold. The breeze was cool, the air was fresh. The world was starting over once again, why was it so hard for you? 

You shook the troubling thought from your head, squared your shoulders, and took a deep breath. You could at least try. And so, you stepped outside for the first time in months and faced the world. It was almost like nothing changed. The birds still chirped, the insects sang, and the rush of the river called from a distance. 

That was the other thing about grief. While it felt like your world ended, in reality, it still rushed onward. 

The soft grass sunk beneath your feet and sprung back to life as you walked, your body tense as you approached the forest. You weren’t going in too far, it was just the edge where the trees were still spread out and not too thick. You just needed to get to the river. But you couldn’t deny the sense of paranoia that was set in your bones. This was where he died, where he was mauled and consumed by whatever inhabited the forest. It would make sense that whatever animal that had ended his life was still prowling in the shadows, waiting for its next meal. 

“Stop it,” You snapped at yourself, your voice hoarse from lack of use and louder in the soft sounds of nature. 

You weren’t going far, you were going to be safe. There was no reason to be so anxious when you wouldn’t be putting yourself in danger. You weren’t walking into the lion's den, you were doing laundry. 

Despite your scolding, you still snapped your head in every direction when you finally reached the river. You were unsettled by every little noise, hyper aware of everything that was going on around you. For a task that was so mundane, you felt so on edge. 

The rush of icy water against your hands was enough to help you focus on the task at hand. The river had finally unfrozen. While your husband and yourself frequently bathed in the river during the warmer months, you had no plans on doing that anytime soon lest you be chilled to the bone and catch your death. Maybe when you were younger you would have risked it all for a moment of fun. But you were older now, matured by time and tragedy. It was harder to have fun now. 

You threw the shirt you were washing on a rock beside you, the force of the toss resulting in a loud, wet slap. Your body bent forward under an oppressive imaginary weight as your icy fingers braced your face, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips causing your body to sink even further. 

Living for two people was going to be even harder than you thought. Even these simple, menial tasks felt exhausting. It had been a miracle you had been able to drag yourself out of bed, that you had made it outside, that you had even journeyed to the river. But those things should be easy, so why did they feel so hard? 

You felt weak.

Useless. 

Helpless. 

You couldn’t help but think had the roles been reversed, he would have been stronger than you. He would have mourned but he would have been able to survive. He would have been able to find another wife, he would have had the children he always wanted, and he could have been happy. It was hard to not feel like it should have been you, like you were just wasting the life he had given you. It was hard to not crumble beneath the crashing waves of grief that eroded your resolve. 

It was too hard. 

A high pitched whimper broke you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hands dropping to your lap and your head snapping to attention. You held your breath and pursed your lips, listening closely to try and hear the sound again. 

And there it was again. Although this time it was much louder and much longer. It sounded like something was in pain. And your curiosity got the better of you. 

You shifted your basket to the side and stood, gathering your skirts in one hand as you carefully lept from stone to stone as you crossed the river. Your heart raced as you slipped once then twice, the stones slick from the rushing water, but the cries were becoming louder and closer and you felt as if you had no other choice but to find out what they were coming from. 

Once you crossed the river, you moved slowly through the grass so as to not startle whatever it was that was frightened. Every now and then you would pause and hold your breath, listening intently for the creature's cries before following them once more. You could just barely make out the shape of the animal, its body concealed by a thick underbrush of branches, leaves, and thorns. 

You dropped down to your knees with abandon and blindly reached into the shrubbery. The cries were much louder now as the creature was startled by your invading hands. Thorns raked through your flesh as you grabbed hold of the small furry body and pulled, trying your hardest to gently remove the little animal. A loud cry made you stop, halting all of your progress. It looked like it was tangled up in something. 

You quickly moved on to your second plan and softly placed the animal back down before grabbing thorn laced branches and snapping them with your bare hands. You hissed in pain as blood beaded up from the small cuts that now decorated your palms. You couldn’t fathom where this sudden rush of determination came from or why you felt like you so desperately needed to do this. That same rush that came over you to find the animal was present and even stronger with the desire to free it. You felt it on some deeper level, that you just couldn’t leave it behind. 

There was a generous pile of branches beside you now and you could very clearly see what you were dealing with. It looked like a puppy. It was very small with soft chocolate brown fur, a short nose, and the cutest pointed ears. Its big brown eyes were welled up with tears, its tail tucked between its legs, and its entire body shook in fright. 

Your horror stricken gasp was muffled as you involuntarily covered your mouth in surprise. The poor pup was tangled up in a snare. The wire was cinched tightly around its hind leg, chest, and foreleg, cutting in so tightly that blood was visible on the metal. The poor thing had run right into the trap and was stuck. You could only hope that it wasn’t intended for the puppy, that it had run into some hunter’s trap purely by accident. 

Your already lacerated hands went straight back to work trying as you attempted to untangle the snare as gently as you could. You hissed as it sliced your palms but paused only a moment to wipe the blood off on your pinafore before continuing your work. By the time you had finally managed to undo the trap, beads of sweat clung to your neck and the sun had moved a decent way across the sky. 

“There you go,” You murmured, “you’re free.” 

The puppy, although now free, didn’t move. Its deep brown eyes stared up at you as it continued to whine, its entire body still shaking with unadulterated fright. 

“Can you walk?” You asked, sitting back on your calves to get a better look at the animal.

You were shocked when it responded, in a way. The puppy attempted to stand and then walk, but it only made it two steps with a clear limp before it collapsed flat on its belly with a yipe. 

“Of course you can’t, I’m sorry,” You cooed as you reached out. Your hand paused in midair, hesitating before trying to touch the puppy. It was probably a wild dog, so it was not a good idea to go touching an animal that very well could bite you, no matter how cute it was. 

The puppy, as if it had read your mind, answered for you by leaning forward and sniffing your fingers with a cold, wet nose, before lapping at them with its little tongue. It was like any other puppy then, it wasn’t aggressive yet. 

You chewed your lip in thought as you watched the pup. It wasn’t a good idea to take in stray animals, but it was injured and leaving it in the forest would be like ringing a dinner bell for all the predators in the area. All of the blood the pup and yourself had shed was certainly not helping. And then there was the crippling loneliness of your cottage. A dog would be good for that. It would be something to share the space with, something to break up the cacophonous silence. And, when it grows older, it would be good for protection as well. The benefits outweigh the negatives you selfishly refused to think of. 

With the pup’s approval, you lifted it up and cradled it into your side much like a mother would her child. You giggled in delight from the feeling of a wet nose burrowing its way into your shoulder and neck, sniffing the cloth of your dress and your skin like it was trying to become accustomed to you. 

You crossed the river even slower now on your way back, very aware of the precious animal you were protecting. When you stopped at the river bank, you gathered your abandoned laundry and placed the puppy in the basket. You didn’t really care about the dirt, grass, and blood that would inevitably stain the fabrics - afterall, they still needed to be cleaned and you had much more pressing issues to attend to. 

You walked back with a sudden urgency in your steps, a small trill of excitement buzzing in your being. After months of isolation and misery, something so small had brought you joy, something that had been unimaginable a few hours before. 

The pup was much calmer now, softly panting instead of crying as it laid in your basket of sheets, eyeing the world that passed by as you brought the two of you back to your cottage. When you made it inside, you shut the bottom half of the door, leaving the top half open to allow fresh air in without the risk of the pup wandering out and falling down the stone steps. When you placed the basket on the ground it nosed at the sheets for a moment before limping out of the basket. 

“No, no, no, stay right there,” You chided, gently scooting it back into the sheets, “you’ll hurt yourself worse if you do that.” 

You stayed a moment, locking eyes with the pup to ensure that it would stay and understand. When you were certain that it was calmed you finally turned your back and headed into the kitchen. You rummaged through the cabinets, searching for the healing salves and creams you knew had been there months before along with the strips of makeshift bandages. 

Within mere moments of turning your back on the puppy you were alerted once more by its cries. It had tried following you again but was now laying in a heap on the floor, tangled up in the sheet and crying from the pressure it applied on its wounds. 

You dropped the bandages and rushed to the pup, cooing as you picked it up and cradled it against your chest. The little thing was an escape artist, that was certain. 

You let out a deep sigh as an uncomfortable thought brewed in your mind. It was the only option that you could think of, even though it was terribly unpleasant. Before you could dwell too much you headed towards the back of the cottage where a single door was fixed into the frame. It stuck at your first pull but relented on the second, the hinges creaking in defeat as you entered the room. 

Any furniture that was in the room was coated with a thin layer of dust having gone undisturbed for months. That old wound in your heart was bleeding around the edges now, the pain of avoided thoughts bubbling back up to the surface. 

There was a crib against the far wall of the bedroom. 

You swiftly moved to the back of the room and gently placed the pup inside the crib. The sides were high enough that the injured dog would be unable to climb over and you were confident that this was the safest place for the poor thing. 

But even that knowledge couldn’t stop tears from pricking at the corner of your eyes as your hands subconsciously cradled your belly. Your pregnancy had been short lived. Losing your husband had been the catalyst to losing your child, but you couldn’t help but blame yourself. Even though the midwife had promised you it wasn’t your fault you couldn’t see how that could be true. If you had been stronger, if you had taken better care of yourself, you would have been able to save that last piece of him. 

If you hadn’t been pregnant, maybe things would have been different. Your husband would have stayed and you would have figured out how to make it through the rest of the winter. But you had been pregnant, he had left to find more resources because of that, and even though he sacrificed his life for you and your unborn child you hadn’t been able to save them. 

You couldn’t see how any of this wasn’t your fault when you were at the center of it all. 

The feeling of cool tears rolling down your cheeks shocked you back to reality. You weakly wiped the tears away, sniffed, and shook your head. You needed to clean yourself and the pup up, you had priorities. 

You rushed around the cottage, busying yourself with what needed to be done. You ran to the water pump and wet some rags, retrieved the salves and bandages, and grabbed a bowl of poultry meat for the dog. This was a welcome distraction. 

You were greeted by excited, squeaky barks when you returned to the abandoned nursery. The pup eagerly paced back and forth, its little tail wagging so hard its entire backside wiggled. You let out a gentle giggle before releasing it from the crib and sitting the two of you on the floor, pulling the pup into your lap and distracting it with a strip of meat while you assessed its injuries once more. 

You blinked once and then twice in confusion. You could have sworn the wounds had been much worse not more than half an hour ago. The slashes were still bloody and in need of tending to, but they were not the deep, gnarled gashes that had once needed stitching. You were either still out of your mind or this animal had the fastest healing time you had ever seen. 

It was much easier to believe that your mind was failing you. And so, you got to cleaning and wrapping the wounds. The pup was surprisingly well behaved, only whimpering every now and then as you touched a tender spot but it didn’t jerk away and did its best to stay still as it ate. The more time you spent with it, the more you realized it was much smarter and more aware than you had once thought. Everything about the little creature seemed eerily human when you thought about it too much. It was better to not think about it too hard. 

Trapped in your own mind, you hadn’t realized that you had finished your work. Not until you felt the gentle lap of a little tongue against the wounds that decorated your palms, jolting you back into the real world. 

You pulled your hands away with a pained hiss before reprimanding the puppy, “No, no, no, I don’t know where that mouth of yours has been. The last thing we need is an infection.”

The puppy whined in earnest and nosed at your palm once more before you pulled your hands away again and scooped the little thing back up into your arms. This way, it wouldn’t be able to mess with the cuts. 

After you tended to your palms, applying salve and wrapping them securely, you couldn’t help but notice the odd tingling you felt emanating from them. It was warm and fuzzy and completely unexplainable - your salves had never caused that sensation before. 

As time passed and the sun crossed over the sky before dipping beneath the horizon, the feeling became stronger until it was a pulse-like thrum causing your hands to tremble before steadily declining until it was nothing more than a memory. And an odd one at that. 

It was when you began to turn in for the night, that everything fell apart. 

You didn’t notice that the crickets had fallen silent nor that the wildlife of the forest had completely disappeared. You hadn’t noticed the hollow ringing that came from the wind slipping between the trees. It was the calm before the storm, and you had no idea what was coming. 

The candlelight was dim, casting soft ochre colored shadows over the wood and stone of the cottage. The puppy slept soundly in your arms. Everything was calm. 

That was of course until a howl fractured the peace. It was so loud you could have sworn you felt the floorboards shake as a rush of fright went down your spine. The soft lull of sleep was suddenly long forgotten. 

The pup in your arms stirred at the noise, its ears perking up and its head frozen in place as it recognized the sound. It was on high alert. It knew what was out there. 

You shakily stood and approached the door, the top portion of it still unlatched and swung outward.  Outside of the lamp affixed to the stone above the door, the forest was pitch black. You could barely make out the twisted shape of the trees and the brooke that had once been in sight was obscured. But, what was even stranger, was that you were certain that the shadows were moving. 

You tilted your head to the side, squinting your eyes as you tried to make out what exactly you were looking at. And then, it was close enough that the light bounced off of it and you were met with the horrifying sight of a set of bright silver eyes staring back at you from the dark. 

You were frozen in an instant. But once you realized those eyes were steadily coming closer with a hulking form attached, you acted on instinct, slamming the door shut and latching it closed. You could only hope that the door would hold against whatever that thing was. 

Your chest rose and fell with heavy pants as you became more and more unsettled. Why was it so quiet? Why couldn’t you hear something so big moving? Where was it? What direction was it coming from? Your back met the wall and your weak knees had you sliding down to the ground. 

Your entire body was shaking in pure terror. There was something out there, something massive and monstrous. You held the pup in your arms tighter, bringing it to your chest for comfort as well as protection. 

You yelped as a loud bang popped the eerie silence. Whatever it was, it was slamming its body alongside the cottage. But it wasn’t doing it mindlessly, like it thought it could break through the walls. It was purposeful, it was an attempt to frighten you and determine where you were. It was smart. 

You curled into yourself as it came closer. You could hear heavy, sharp pants in between the vicious snarls that it was making. It sounded wild, primal, and predatory. It was hunting. 

The pup in your arms began whining and wriggling around as it tried to escape your grasp and all it was doing for you was frightening you even more. All it was doing was making more noise, drawing more attention to itself. And you knew it had, the creature outside had gone silent. It was listening. 

And then chaos unraveled in seconds. 

You couldn’t even scream when the door was ripped from its hinges, the beast breaking through it like it was wet parchment. You were petrified in place, hyperventilating and trembling at the sight of it. 

It was a giant wolf. It was covered from head to toe in midnight black fur although there were spots that seemed thinner than others that were littered in scars - slashes and bite wounds from what you could only imagine were others of its kind. It was larger than a horse with a head so huge it could bite your own clean off in one impressive snap. And then there were the eyes. They were glowing an ice cold silver in the dark with a glare that felt sharp enough to slice through you while a gnarled scar marred the fur and skin of its right eye. 

Your body slowly began to slump to the ground, falling weak before the wolf. You looked like the perfect prey, like a rabbit that was so frightened its own heart had stopped. It seemed that the wolf thought similarly. It approached you slowly like it was still on the prowl as angry snarls left its gaping maw. You could feel your blood run cold as you caught sight of its enormous teeth, each one long enough that they could be made into daggers. Whatever this creature was, it was no mere wolf, it was something else entirely. 

Your hold on the pup was weakened as your chest and forehead met the ground, bending beneath the invisible weight of the wolf’s presence. From beneath the cover of your hair you could make out its large paws and hooked nails mere inches away from you. It was so close now that you could feel puffs of its hot breath disturb your hair and ghost over your neck. You were breaths away from death. 

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to flee or embrace it as you had once desired. 

A soft whimper involuntarily escaped you as you waited, feeling the tip of its nose brush over your head as its snarls grew louder. A sudden loud yapping broke the tension. 

The pup was frantically barking at the wolf and lunging at it in a playful manner all the while standing in front of you like it was trying to protect you. The sight would have been comical had you not been on the brink of passing out. This tiny puppy was fiercely defending you against this monster. 

And, to your surprise, it was working. 

Once you gained the courage to raise your head you were met with the sight of the wolf’s intense gaze trained on the puppy. More specifically, its gaze was trained on the bandages covering its wounds. The wolf looked back at you, its hauntingly silver eyes making you flinch. It continued to stare at you for a long moment like it was contemplating something, that of which you were unaware of. But then its gaze hardened and its predatory stance relaxed. It had made its decision. 

Without another snarl or howl it nipped the pup by its scruff and began to carry it out of the cottage. It stopped for a moment once it had successfully squeezed out of the broken door frame and looked back at you, this too was a look that you were unable to decipher. It gave you a slow blink and then turned, carrying the pup back to the forest and disappearing into the darkness. 

It was in that moment that you finally realized that it had not been a dog you had rescued, but that wolf’s pup. 

And with that realization you completely collapsed to the floor and were dragged into a dark, dreamless, restless sleep. 

~~~~~~~

Yoongi had come to realize that there wasn’t much that you could do to discipline a two year old, especially a two year old that was a shifter. 

His daughter, Binna, had little control over her form and had a knack for slipping away and getting into trouble. That was something he could blame on his other pack members, specifically the youngest three. 

He huffed out a sigh as he carefully extracted twigs and leaves from her messy hair, flinging them back into the underbrush. She was the very definition of a wild child. And while it wasn’t uncommon for pups her age to be curious and adventurous, it was uncommon that she so readily welcomed and followed humans. 

Humans were dangerous, that was something he had tried his best to get her to understand but she simply couldn’t. She was too young to understand how they could hunt her and hurt her, far too young to realize what that meant, and far too young to understand that it was a human that had taken her mother away from them. 

Then again, she hadn’t known her mother all too well. That was evidenced by her clinging to any female shifter she had found and babbling out “mama” to the wrong mothers. She knew her mother was missing, but she couldn’t match the face to the name. He couldn’t really blame her all that much. Her mother had been amongst the best hunters and was oftentimes absent as she hunted for the pack’s survival. Yoongi was a defender, he was there to ensure the safety of everyone that resided within their territory. He was at the front lines. And because of that, his wife was often gone and he was almost always home. To his daughter, her mother was a faceless being. 

“Let me see,” He demanded firmly, trying to unwind the bandages that were already slipping from her skin. 

She nipped at his fingers playfully, her serrated canines gleaming as she giggled. Yoongi tried his best to suppress his smile, he was supposed to be upset with her. He sighed once more and grabbed the edge of the bandage and began to unwind it. 

“No,” She cried in a drawn out whine, “Mama gave me! Mama gave me!” 

Yoongi froze, startled as he registered her fractured speech. She thought that human in the cottage was her mother. 

He could see why she would think that, you had taken care of her after all. From what he had seen from the wounds he knew they came from a hunter's trap, snares made from silver that were so small they had clearly been designed for pups as no adult shifter would ever be able to be caught in that small a snare. It was clear that you had rescued his daughter and taken care of her in his absence. 

And for some reason, Yoongi could only press his lips together in a firm line and failed to correct his daughter. At the end of the day, she wasn’t necessarily wrong. 

Yoongi knew you.

He had known you for a while now. He had watched you the day you and your husband had moved in. The two of you had chosen a location that was incredibly close to their territory and so he scouted you out for days to ensure that you wouldn’t stumble too far from your home, to ensure that you weren’t a threat. 

He had thought you two were safe, and that was his biggest mistake. 

Yoongi would not say that he was enamored with you, but he was definitely interested in you. He had gone his entire life knowing to never trust a human, but as he observed he couldn’t help but be enthralled by your little human quirks. 

You were so blissfully unaware of his presence as he silently stalked you. Your husband, like his wife, was often gone during the day and you were left to amuse yourself. For someone of your age, you had this odd youthful aura about you. He would watch as you would jump into the brooke, spinning around and splashing with abandon not unlike his child would. 

That version of you that he knew though, that was long gone. Loss has aged you, hardened you. Even though you were completely ensnared by fright he could see the hollowness in your eyes when he had ripped your door from its hinges. 

The both of you had been irreparably changed by loss. 

And then there was the other problem. He was indebted to you and you were now in his care. While he refused to acknowledge any attachment he felt for you, he couldn’t deny the attraction. It was incredibly wrong considering his own disdain for humans, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something else there, this odd discomfort in his chest that demanded to be felt, a sour feeling in his stomach at the thought of your frightened face. 

This was not good. 

Contrary to popular belief, wolves do not mate for life. And as a shifter that was even more true. While many chose to bond to one another, it was not horribly uncommon to find a new mate if one were to leave or die. And, very rarely, there were intense bonds that made it so that you did mate for life. In the case of his wife, it was not that type of bond. Of course he was hurt, of course he missed her, but it was not the debilitating grief that you experienced. It was natural for his kind, evolutionary even.  

The attachment, this bond he felt for you paired with his daughter’s stubborn belief that you could be her mother made him make a decision far faster than he should have. 

You lost a husband, he lost a wife. An even trade. Why could you not fill those roles for each other? 

~~~~~~~

The following days were ones where you lived in a state of fright and confusion. 

When you awoke the next morning you were greeted by the feeling of the floor against your cheek and a stiff ache in your joints. Apparently, you had spent the night collapsed on the floor. 

When you finally mustered up the strength to stand there were several things that were brought to your attention. Firstly, that there was now a gaping hole in the wall from where your door had once stood. Secondly, the events that occurred the night before had not been a grief conjured hallucination. And thirdly, the pain in your hands had completely disappeared. 

Upon unwinding the bandages you were met with completely closed wounds and thin scars that looked years old. Your suspicions had been proven correct, that wolf and its pup were certainly not just animals not with the way a few stray licks had healed your palms. Your fingers trembled in fright at the realization before you grabbed another roll of bandages and wrapped them tightly in a panic. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

You followed the same thought as you gathered up sheets, a cord, and pins with the intention to cover up the missing door to your cottage. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, that was not possible for you. Before you could even attempt to hang the sheets you were frozen in place a foot away from what was once the threshold. On the cobblestone porch was a carcass. You stared at it, dumb in shock as you tried to understand what you were looking at. It wasn’t a complete animal, it had been skinned and cleaned and left on your porch laying out on a thick piece of brown paper packaging. At first, you considered the possibility that it was another mourning gift from one of your neighbors in town but that was very quickly debunked. For one, they typically cooked the meat or met you at the door. And secondly, there were clear claw marks in the bone and large tooth impressions left behind. You had a sick feeling that you knew where this came from. But it didn’t make any sense, no wolf could clean a carcass like this - this was work done by human hands. 

Despite your conclusion, when you raised your head you were once more greeted by the sight of the wolf. He was much closer than he had been the first time you saw him the night before. He laid right by the end of the treeline - half of his body submerged in shade and the other half bathing in the golden glow of the early morning light. Those silver eyes were watching you intently, waiting to see what you would do next. 

That only confirmed your suspicions, he had brought it for you. It was a peace offering of sorts, a truce. In spite of that knowledge your hands still trembled when you grabbed a corner of the parchment and dragged the carcass past the threshold. The wolf’s alert and tense body almost immediately relaxed. It was like it was relieved. 

It stared after you for a moment longer, gave you a slow blink, and then rose and melted back into the forest - vanishing as if it hadn’t even been there in the first place. 

And so you hung your sheet, peeled the flesh from the bone of the carcass, and disposed of the remains. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

~~~~~~~

When you woke the next day, the makeshift curtain was pulled to the side and wrapped around a bent hinge that was still mounted to the wall. Another thing you were certain wolves were incapable of. 

And there, on the stoop, laid a pile of wild berries and fruit on a small, clean cloth. And, not far away, the wolf was there once more. Although this time it was much closer, so close in fact that you could visibly make out the twisted scar around its eye. It was laying down, much like a dog would, with its large head raised in alert. Those silver eyes flicked slowly from the present and back to you three times, a clear signal that it was waiting for you to take them. It only relaxed when you brought them inside just like the day before. 

This pattern between the two of you persisted for several days to follow. And, no matter how you tried to forget what had happened that night, this creature was making it virtually impossible. It was ironic how you had once longed for company and were willing to settle for it from a dog but now that you had someone, well something, watching over you you were incredibly unnerved by the ordeal. But you couldn’t exactly shoo the hulking creature away. 

And so each day passed and more presents followed. One day it was bunches of wildflowers, another it was game of varying sizes, and another was a thick pelt that had been handcrafted into a blanket for the cold spring nights. You didn’t know how to exactly decline a gift from a mythical creature. Wouldn’t there be horrible repercussions for that? 

The urgency to put a stop to this odd arrangement became even more apparent when a gold pendant was left at your door and the wolf had crept so close that it was less than fifteen feet away. It was beginning to make your home its territory and now it was somehow stealing items you had only dreamed of affording when you were young. It was all too much. 

You wound the chain of the pendant around your fingers as you hesitantly crept down the stone steps. The creature perked up in interest, elevating its head again as you slowly approached it, your body shaking in fright in spite of your attempts to school yourself into a false confidence. 

“I-” You paused to clear your throat, “I can’t accept this. You’ve done more than enough for me, you’re forgiven.” 

It only cocked its head to the side in response. You were just a crazy woman talking to an animal, weren’t you?

“Here, take it,” You tried again, reaching out your palm to it as the chain caught the sun and glistened in the morning light. 

It was looking at you like you were dumb. 

“Fine,” You sighed, “I’ll just leave it here then and you can take it back to wherever you got it from.” 

You lightly tossed it onto the grass and turned your back on the creature before briskly walking back to your cottage. And, despite the haste in which you walked, you were no match for the massive wolf. 

A startled shriek left your lips as you felt a large, warm body bump against your side and thick fur rub up against your skin. Another shriek was forced past your lips when its tail wacked you on the backside like it had a mind of its own. 

Gold glinted in its teeth before the pendant was unceremoniously dropped on your stone steps, the placement much more haphazard than it had been that morning.

If this had happened a few days before, you were certain you would have been more frightened, but now your patience was far too thin and you were in desperate need for your privacy and a sense of normalcy. 

“If you’re going to keep bringing me things, at least let them be useful! Like a door, for instance. You know, that thing you ripped off of my home!” 

The wolf huffed in what almost sounded like an amused chuckle before rising and stalking towards you, crowding you up against the side of the cottage. Your heart pounded as you realized you had made a grave error, you were not the one in charge here. 

You clenched your eyes shut as you felt a warm puff of air over your face and a wet nose prod your cheek. You shook as you remembered the creature's giant fangs and huge body. You were certain now that it was going to eat you now that you had denied it, these were the repercussions that you feared.

What you hadn’t anticipated though, was the feeling of it pressing its head on top of yours and whining like an overgrown puppy. It was acting like you had hurt its feelings. You hesitantly cracked an eye open only to see this huge, scarred, wolf nuzzling your head and then your hands like it was begging for affection. 

A surprised laugh came straight from your chest as you shakily began to pet the wolf. The wolf that had previously been ready to kill you after you had accidentally kidnapped its child. 

“Alright, alright, cut it out!” You squealed, laughing hysterically as it began to lick you. You quickly froze when you realized that that was the first time you had laughed in months. It was the first time you had laughed since your husband had died. 

You gently pushed against the wolf’s large head as you side stepped around it, a frown now tugging down the corners of your mouth. It felt so wrong to be happy. 

Your companion noticed your swift shift in behavior. It ducked its head down and nosed at your back not all that gently as you stumbled forward. 

“Don’t you have a child you need to get back to?” You hissed, a sudden wave of irritation rushing over you. 

This wasn’t all that uncommon for you. The rapid changes in your emotions. It was easy to feel joy wither away to apathy, to frustration, to anger. Oftentimes you felt like you had no control over how you felt and it left you grasping at straws as you tried to hold yourself together. It was just so hard. 

“Go on, go home,” You sighed, flicking your hand in the general direction of the trees, “I don’t doubt that you’ll be back tomorrow anyways.” 

The wolf stared at you again, as it tended to, before purposefully bumping its large body against you once more and making for the forest. It hesitated for a moment, looking back over its shoulder to give you one last look, and then it was gone again. 

That was what you wanted, wasn't it? But if that were true then why did you hate the loneliness that you were left with so much? 

~~~~~~~

That morning, early in the morning, you were awoken by the sound of a hacksaw. 

For a brief moment, in the hazy grasp of sleep, you allowed yourself to settle back down when you realized it was just your husband getting an early start on the daily chores. 

But your husband was dead. 

With that sobering thought you jolted fully awake, gripping your blanket tightly in your hands and pulling it up over your mouth as you struggled to control your breathing. Your neighbors were out of the way and they rarely came to visit anymore outside of the kind supply drops they had provided you with throughout the rest of the winter. So, if it wasn’t them, then who was it? 

You rose and with the blanket still wrapped around you, you made for the door as quietly as you could. Once again, the curtain was pulled and fixed to the side like it usually was whenever your companion came to visit you. But the person that stood outside, mere steps away, was very clearly not the massive wolf you had come to know. 

You could only see him from the back, but he was very clearly a man. He was a decent height with longer, thick, raven hair that began to curl at the ends. From what you could see of him, you could make out stretches of porcelain skin. He was wearing a loose fit white top and he had rolled the sleeves up past his elbows exposing pale forearms with impressive veins and hands that looked like they had been carved from marble. 

Your cheeks grew warm as you realized you were spending far too much time appreciating his appearance rather than worrying about what this stranger's intentions with you and your home were. “What are you doing here?”

The man continued his work, sawing at the wood until the cut was complete before he responded. You then realized that he had been very aware of your presence the entire time, he had not been startled at all. 

“You asked for a door, did you not?” He replied, sarcasm tainting his words, as he brushed the sawdust from his hands and turned to look at you. 

His face was just as lovely as the rest of him. Dark brows, doll-like lips, and deep brown eyes that had the gentlest slope to them. He was beautiful, that was undeniable. 

But what was most apparent and most worrying, was the long scar that ran over his right eye. A scar that you had most definitely seen before. Your body stumbled backwards on instinct, trying its hardest to create more distance between the two of you. 

The man raised an eyebrow, a look of pure amusement etched into his features, “You weren’t afraid of me yesterday but you are now? You are a confusing little human, you know that?”

“You - that’s, that’s not possible!” You gasped, tightening your hold on your blanket. “What you’re insinuating is not possible!” 

He chuckled to himself, leaning his weight back on his hands as he dropped his chin down, “You want me to prove it to you? I could if you really wanted me to, I do like these clothes though so I’ll only do it if you give me a reason.” 

The thought of watching this man, creature, wolf, whatever he was burst out of his flesh and take on a different form was horrifying enough that you were certain you would faint at the very sight. Already you were shaken by the thought of this being possible, you didn’t know if you would be able to handle the sight. Not to mention that subtle innuendo that whenever he decided to take the form of a man again he would be as bare as the day he was born. It was all too much. 

“Please don’t!” You cried, “Don’t do that!”

“As you wish,” He nodded with a teasing smile as he turned back to the door in progress. “Perhaps some other time.”

“What is it exactly that you want from me, if you are who you say you are?” You asked. 

“I am responsible for you.” He said with a shrug, picking up the saw once more and continuing his work as if what he said made any sense at all. 

“No, you are not. No one is responsible for me, you owe me nothing.”

“I don’t? I would think I at least owe you a door, that is what you said after all, remember?” 

Heat rushed to your face in pure frustration and embarrassment. He was just as infuriating and insufferable as he was when he was an overgrown dog…that is of course if you were truly willing to believe in that sort of thing.  But how else could he have known about your request for the door? Why else would he believe he was responsible for you had you not saved his child’s life? Unless he were some creepy, stalking stranger, he would have no knowledge of these events. This man was the very thing your town hunted and was frightened of. 

“Just the door then? That’s all? You will leave after you’ve finished it and your debt will be repaid. You will leave me alone?” You asked. 

He paused for a moment, a confused expression taking over his face. He looked at you as if he realized he couldn’t comprehend what you were asking of him. “You confuse me.”

“I confuse you?” You laughed, “I woke up this morning to a strange man outside my home claiming to be something that up until this morning I didn’t believe in, who claims he is responsible for me and owes me when all I want is peace and privacy!”

“That, that confuses me.” He admitted. 

“What?!” You cried in exasperation. 

“How can someone who so clearly hates being alone also want to keep it that way?”

You wrapped your blanket around yourself tighter, as if that would somehow shield you from the sudden sense of exposure that washed over you. You were feeling vulnerable. You were feeling seen. 

“You humans are social creatures, not unlike my kind, yet when you need help, when you’re in distress, you push your pack away. It goes against every natural instinct that you have, it doesn’t make any sense.” He laughed with a shake of his head. 

“You are alone here, you have no one to protect you. I can keep you safe in every meaning of the word. Whether that means building you a door, forgive me by the way, or guarding your land. I want to protect you.” 

There was a gentle flutter in your heart, one that you desperately wanted to stomp out but were failing to do so. You hadn’t been affected by someone like this since your husband and you didn’t know if you should feel guilty about that. He was supposed to be the one allowed to move on, not you. These feelings weren’t supposed to be for you, they were supposed to pass. It was your job to mourn his loss; he was supposed to be your one and only love. These feelings were supposed to be wrong. So why, deep down, did you enjoy them? 

Instead of telling him to leave, to abandon his work and yourself, you made the mistake of giving him a chance. You made the mistake of entertaining him. 

“I don’t even know who you are,” You said with a laugh of disbelief. 

“Yoongi,” He smiled, a wolfish smile, “And you do know me, I’ve been here longer than you know.” 

That wasn’t the comforting sentiment that he was trying to make it be. Just how long had he been watching you? You were reluctant to linger on that thought much longer, so you moved on. 

“How long will this take you?” You asked, shuffling closer to his work. 

“Not long. Lucky you, you happened to pick a shifter whose trade is in woodworking.”

“A shifter? So, that’s what you are?” 

Yoongi pursed his lips, his brows furrowed, he was thinking. It was like he was still deciding if he could trust you or not. He was deciding just how much information he was willing to give up to you despite the fact that you had seen him in his other form. 

He nodded. 

“Are there…are there more of you?”

“Yes,” He reluctantly admitted, you had already seen his daughter after all. 

“Why is it that I have only met one of your kind now?”

“Because, we’re discreet. We have to be. You found my daughter in that hunter’s snare, remember?”

“Your daughter,” You echoed, “is she alright?” 

Yoongi practically preened at your concern. All you were doing was giving him validation, you could and would be a good mother to her. You could be a good mate for him. 

“Our kind heals fast, she’s already running around causing more trouble,” He chuckled, “but don’t be mistaken, I am grateful for what you did for her. You saved her life and you helped heal her. I owe you much more than you know.”

“I saved her life? You couldn’t mean…”

A grim look descended over his pretty features, a dark gaze settling in his eyes as he paused his work once more, his hands tightly gripping the tools they were holding. “That’s exactly what I mean. We have been hunted since the dawn of time. Woman, man, child, it makes no difference to them. Their entire goal is to eradicate us, they think we are abominations. It wasn’t enough that they took my wife, they tried to take my daughter as well.” 

Your heart ached in sympathy for him. You knew that feeling, the overwhelming wave of grief and pain that attempted to drown you in your suffering. You had lost your husband and a child, Yoongi was just as familiar with loss as you were. 

You crept closer to him, so close that you could feel the warmth that radiated off of his body like a stove. Hesitantly, you reached out to him and rested your hand on top of his. You could feel his grip go lax, his hand relaxing beneath your touch. 

“I know how terrible it can be to hear someone apologize and tell you that they know what you're going through, but I think this is one of those rare moments where it’s true.” You said. 

You could feel his gaze on you and the scarred skin of his hands beneath yours. He felt so incredibly close, this was the closest you had been to anyone in a while. You swallowed uncomfortably as you felt his hand turn over and the skin of his palm meet yours as his fingers laced their way in between yours. 

“My husband…he was killed this winter. I’ll never know what happened to him, or why it happened, but knowing that he’ll never be here again is the most painful thing I have ever felt. It’s indescribable.”

Yoongi tried his best to suppress the inappropriate smile that wanted to make its appearance known on his lips. You two truly did complete one another. You were two pieces of a puzzle that had not been intended to fit together, but had been carved up and forced together. You were altered, created for one another. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, stroking his thumb down the curve where your palm met your finger in rhythmic swipes. 

“I know that feeling, I understand it well.”

I understand you, he wanted to say. 

“People like us, we should stick together. We can trust one another like no one else can.” He murmured, gently brushing up against your side. 

That was enough to wake you up from the dreamlike haze he had put you in. You stepped back, breaking your fingers away from his and holding your hand up to your chest. 

It was too soon, too much, you couldn’t be that close to someone, to a man nonetheless. You couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. 

Yoongi took a step forward and you took three back, retreating from the momentary comfort you had felt. But instead of looking dejected like you assumed he would, he looked determined, he looked sure of himself. And that only made you stumble back even more, stepping up your stone steps and into the house.

“I’ll leave you to your work.” 

This is what you did. Despite the entrapment you felt by your loneliness, it was familiar, it was right. The loneliness was easier. 

It was the only thing you knew you could hold on to for certain. 

~~~~~~~

In the days that followed, you became antsy to get out from beneath your visitor’s presence. 

You hurried past your uninvited guest, hoping that he wouldn’t notice you with his back turned to you. Your hopes were quickly dashed. 

“Where are you going?” He called over his shoulder. 

You came to a halt with an exasperated sigh, “Am I answering to you now?”

He only hummed in response and for a reason that you could not conceive, it lit you alight with agitation. “Where I go, is none of your concern!”

That caught his attention, his head slightly jerking to the side as he watched you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not safe out there, not when you’re alone.” 

“I was fully capable of finding my way through the forest before you got here, I seriously doubt that I have lost all sense of direction.”

“It’s not your sense of direction I’m worried about,” He sighed, “There’s more of my kind out there and more of your hunters - both of which would not bat an eye at a human getting caught in the crossfire.”

“It’s never been a problem before,”

“No, but it is now.” He said with a stern glare, his eyes not meeting your curious gaze, but instead staring into the distance. His shoulders were tense, his forearms flexed, he looked as if he was burdened with knowledge that he could not share. 

“Yoongi, what is that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t wander off too far,” He deflected. 

You stayed for a moment, suddenly unsure as to what you should do. Moments before you were ready to get out from underneath his oppressive stare, but now you were intrigued. Yoongi had told you about the shared hatred between your species. The humans hunted the shifters and the shifters were reactionary killers. They followed an honor code closely and truly believed in an eye for an eye. So what had happened that now made it unsafe for you to traverse the woods when before it had never been a problem. Why would Yoongi’s kind attack you unprovoked?

Despite your stare, Yoongi was blatantly ignoring you, pretending that he didn’t notice you hadn’t left. That was enough to let you know that the conversation was over no matter how much you poked and prodded. 

Without another word, you left. Contrary to what Yoongi had believed, you wouldn’t be traveling too far. Your cottage and the shifter would not be in view, but you knew the way like the back of your hand. It was past the brook, and a good walk through the evergreens. What you were searching for was a small clearing. 

The trees lined the space in almost a perfect circle, something that appeared somewhat unnatural amidst the organic shapes of the woods. In the middle, there stood one weeping willow - completely out of place and the only one of its kind. And at the base of its gnarled roots was a simple stone with your husband's name carved into it. The earth was still turned, a reminder of just how fresh his death and the wounds they left behind on your heart were. 

You gently lowered yourself to the ground, your skirts folding beneath your knees as your fingers pressed into the dirt. You had often thought about crawling back to him, you had dreamed of being wrapped up in his warm embrace again, the two of you entwined and buried beneath a comforter of soil and flowers. In your dreams you were intertwined so tightly that years from now if anyone were to find you they wouldn’t be able to tell where you began and he ended. 

“Hello my love,” You whispered despite no one else being in the clearing. And of course, you were met with the silence, the ever present reminder that he had left you and that he was never coming back. 

You sniffled as your fingers smoothed down the fluffed dirt before digging into your basket and pulling out the prettiest wildflowers you could find with which you then began to arrange around the stone. You knew it wasn’t right to spend so much time here, you were holding on so dearly to someone that was gone and no matter how much love you held for him it would never be enough to revive him. 

When you were satisfied with your arrangement you allowed yourself to empty your eyes of the last of their tears before patting your cheeks dry with the edge of your pinafore. With clear eyes, you were now able to see a few things that you had missed before. 

Hanging from the boughs of the tree were several things. There were colored glass stars and moons that were strung up on several branches all of which varied in color and reflected the sun through them, casting brilliant shards of light over the earth. And, amongst those, were small wolves carved masterfully from wood. You slowly stood, your brows furrowed in confusion as you tapped one of the stars with a shaky finger. It swung back and an ethereal ringing sounded from within it. 

What were these doing here? At your husband’s grave? 

You looked back at the wooden wolves before you began to piece it together. Yoongi, he had a wife. Was this for her? Was this their version of funeral rites? But if that were true then she would have died recently, but why would she be buried here, where your husband had been killed and laid to rest? 

Your heart thumped, your palms began to sweat. 

No. No, you refused to believe it. 

Their words began to rush back to the forefront of your mind, “pieces,” and “consumed.” Your husband had been ripped apart and eaten, there was barely anything of him left behind. 

It was her, it had to have been her, she had been the one to kill him. But if that were true, then who had killed her? 

“I am responsible for you,” Yoongi’s words echoed through your mind. 

They had a code of honor, they believed in an eye for an eye. Or, a spouse for a spouse. 

You turned your back on the burial sight and balled your fists up before pressing them against your eyes. Out of sight out of mind. Out of sight out of mind. Out of sight out of mind.

Yoongi wouldn’t, Yoongi couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you, he wouldn’t take someone’s spouse from them, he wouldn’t make you feel the same pain that he did.

A rumble pulled you from your panicked thoughts, your breaths still fast and shallow. But what you thought had been the earth shaking, was something far more menacing. Across the clearing stood a wolf, a wolf that was not Yoongi. It was too small to be him and the fur was the wrong color. But the size alone told you that it was clearly a shifter and by the way it was looking at you, you were certain that you were in danger. 

You stood still, hoping that if you didn’t make any sudden movements he wouldn’t be provoked but you were sorely mistaken. You could see its muscles tensing up as it crouched low and shifted its weight back towards its hind legs like it was preparing to lunge. No matter what you did, it had already made its decision to kill you right where you stood. 

You hadn’t realized you were screaming until you felt the raw pain in your throat, your body acting on its own will to survive as you reeled backwards and hastily began to climb up the tree. If you were lucky, it couldn’t climb, but there was still a human inside of that creature - it was smart, you had seen Yoongi hunt you down before, after all. 

You shrieked in fright as you heard the mangy wolf approach, its large paws ripping through the ground as it raced towards you while all you could do was try and climb higher. Unfortunately, you weren’t fast enough. The wolf leaped and its massive teeth tore into your skirt and ripped you from the tree. For a moment, you were completely weightless - you were airborne. And in that brief moment of freedom, you were quickly grounded by reality when you came crashing down to the ground, your forehead just clipping the top of your husband’s headstone as you went rolling down into the grass. 

You knew what would come next. This time, the embrace of death would wrap around you. There was no getting around this. But what confused your shock ridden body even more was the pure dread you felt from the realization that you were going to die. You had once welcomed death, begged for her, prayed for her even, but now when you felt her looming over you you realized that you weren’t ready. 

You missed your husband, but you weren’t ready to join him. 

And, just as you felt the hot breath of the shifter mist over the back of your neck, it was just as quickly ripped away. 

There was a symphony of snarls that followed, the sound of flesh being torn, booming growls, then a pitiful whimper, and a loud snap. And then, all fell quiet. 

You were still dazed as you felt warm arms slip beneath your own, pulling you up into someone’s lap and pressing your body back against an even warmer, bare chest. Long fingers prodded at the warm blood that slid down your temple and a deep, frantic voice echoed in your ears - the words were unintelligible. 

“I told you not to wander off,” Yoongi said, his lips just beside the shell of your ear, the first words he had said that you could finally understand. 

“I told you,” He repeated, his voice wavering and full of emotion as he trailed off. 

You looked at him wearily, your head feeling much heavier than it had earlier. His eyes were wide, his pupils blown. The look on his face could only be described as haunting. He was cradling your face with both hands. His thumb stroked your cheek, but his eyes were trained on the weeping willow. He looked just as shaken as you had been before. 

That sinking feeling was back in your gut. The suspicions you had were coming back to your rattled brain. But still, you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck, collapsing your body against his completely as you felt yourself slipping away. 

He was calling your name, his voice panicked as he held you against him even tighter. You rested your chin on the pale stretch of skin of his shoulder and started back into the treeline. You were finding comfort in the man that you were almost certain was involved in your husband’s death. You were embracing the suspected killer of your husband. 

And in your delirium you caught sight of something out there, something you weren’t sure was even real. It looked like one of the clerics from town, his white robes reflecting the sun as he hastily retreated back into the cover of the trees. 

A bloodied, naked corpse laid where the mangy wolf once stood. 

You found comfort in a killer as a man of god ran away from the sight of the worst sin, murder. 

~~~~~~~

Yoongi’s watchful gaze never left you, even when you thought that you were away from prying eyes. When he said he wanted to protect you, that you were his responsibility, he meant it. 

It wasn’t safe for you to be alone this close to the woods and this far from town. Even though you chose to ignore this, he knew that he was right. He was oftentimes put on edge when he would think about the possibility of someone wandering through the woods and stumbling upon your cottage. And, even worse, he could imagine what someone would do when they found a beautiful woman, alone, in the middle of nowhere with help miles away. His paranoid suspicions had proven to be true with what happened days before. 

“Who was he?” You had asked when you had woken up. 

When you had slipped into unconsciousness he shifted once more, swinging you onto his back and racing back to your cottage. It would have been comical to try and watch his massive wolf form squeeze into your home while dragging your body inside, but in that moment Yoongi had trouble finding anything remotely amusing. He had been too frantic to switch back into his human skin and it took him several moments of concentration before he was able to do it. 

“He was no one,” He plainly said, his brows drawing together as he dabbed at the wound that split open your forehead. 

“You didn’t know him?”

“No,” He sighed, “He was just a nomad, a packless wolf. He must have caught your scent and tracked you down.”

“Was he going to eat me?”

You were met with a sickening silence as Yoongi pursed his lips and bandaged your cut. His silence was a clear answer. 

“But, I’m not an animal. There’s plenty of deer and rabbits…” You trailed off. 

Yoongi set down the roll of gauze and leaned towards you, cradling your face once more in his hands. “Humans and animals are not all that different, you eat, you sleep, you mate, and you both give chase. Many of my kind see yours and animals as one in the same. What only matters is the hunt.” 

Human, shifter, or hunter it didn’t matter, he had grown to trust no one outside of his pack. There were nefarious creatures at every corner, whether he was one of them was still to be decided. His behavior certainly appeared to be nefarious, to an outsider. 

He could hear the thrum of your heart in your chest and the quickening of your pulse as you digested his words. 

“Don’t be afraid of me, I would never hurt you. I just want to take care of you.” He murmured as he leaned in closer to you and pressed his lips to your forehead is a soft kiss that pulled a sharp breath into your chest. 

Since that day, Yoongi’s behavior has drastically changed. 

During the day he worked, far slower than what was normal or necessary, and he watched you fulfill your mundane tasks for the day. While they should have bored him, they did quite the opposite. Everything you did seemed so curious, enthralling even. He couldn’t explain this odd tether he had to you. The only thing that he did know, was that he had to be near you. Whatever this was, it had become far more than just a sense of duty he felt towards you. 

During the night, when the moon emerged, he would shift and watch from the shadows. He would watch you pull your curtain closed and float from room to room. He would sit as still as he possibly could and listen to your heart beat slow and your breathing even out as you fell asleep. He would sit in front of the gaping hole where your door once sat and he would keep watch, pride stirring in his chest as he protected you. 

It was during the night when his daughter would come to visit. Some nights he could hear four paws ripping through the earth as she excitedly ran up to him, other nights he would be greeted by the sound of two little human feet running through the grass. And sometimes, she would morph between the two forms, flickering between the two states like the unsteady wave of a flame. 

But, there was one constant with her. 

“Mama,” She would whisper, crawling on all fours up the steps. 

And every time he would nip her by her clothes and settle her back down in between his massive paws. 

It was a silent “not yet.” 

You were his responsibility, but his daughter wasn’t yours. Not yet at least. 

The three of you had unknowingly settled into a routine. And on the day that the door was finished, that pattern was finally disrupted. 

You had grown accustomed to Yoongi’s presence. If you were being truly honest, you would admit that you had grown to like him. You would never admit it to anyone but his presence had filled that hole in your heart that your husband had left behind. You knew that his saving you had caused this pivot in your emotions and in all honesty you were incredibly confused by them. 

Yoongi was kind and incredibly gentle in spite of how your initial meeting had gone. His voice was soft when he spoke to you, his smile reassuring, and the gentle touches calming. It was hard not to like him, and it was even harder to remember that he wasn’t human. 

But the reminders were there. The odd glow in the depths of his eyes, the wolfish smile, the predatory gaze you had caught sight of whenever he thought you weren’t looking and the looming suspicions you had about his implications in your husband’s untimely death. He was still a wolf, there was no denying that. But you approached it all with the same logic you tended to fall back on: out of sight, out of mind. It was simply easier to not think about it. That, as well as your traitorous feelings for him. 

The clouds came out of nowhere the day the door was finished. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” You cried as you frantically ran outside and towards your clothesline where you had hung all of your linens. 

Yoongi watched you dart in between the fluttering clothes and sheets as the rain slowly began to descend and the wind threatened to whip everything away. 

“Yoongi!” You called. 

The shiver that sent down his spine was strong. That was all it took for you to rattle him, just the mere sound of his name on your lips was world shattering. You didn’t know just how easily you could ruin him. 

“Yoongi, help me!” You called again, your voice stern this time. He thought it was cute when you tried to be in charge. 

There had been a definite shift in your relationship after he had killed that wolf for you. You had started inviting him inside for dinner, watching him work, and even spending the evenings with him outside, leaning up against the warm side of his wolf form. And in turn he would accompany you wherever you needed to go, keeping a close eye on you, and a firm hand on the small of your back. 

You had grown impossibly closer than you had ever thought you would be capable of. Hell, you hadn’t even questioned why he was wearing your husband’s clothes when you woke up - you weren’t even upset. You were beginning to feel alive again. 

The two of your hurriedly gathered the linens. Yoongi had turned it into a game, ripping items off of the line right before you could touch it like it was a race. In all honesty, he made you feel like a kid again. The both of you were laughing, stumbling over the laundry and bumping into each other as you raced inside. 

“You were supposed to help me, not compete with me!” You scolded him, dropping the sopping wet pile of laundry into your basket. 

“I can do both, dearest.”

Dearest. That had been a recent occurrence. It slipped from his lips one day, it had caused your heart to stutter and your blood to rush and ever since then he had not gone a single day without letting the term of endearment grace your ears. He loved seeing how flustered it would make you, the way he practically purred around the word. 

“Or, you could just be kind to me for once.”

“I’m always kind to you, have you not enjoyed the gifts I’ve brought you?” He asked, a faux pout on his pretty lips as he slowly stalked towards you. You could almost see the wolf in him when he did that, you could visualize the swing of his tail and the way his massive head would tip down as his glowing eyes locked in on you. It was there, in the swing of his walk and the taunt muscle of his shoulders. It was an ever present reminder that he was not like you. 

You backed up, almost coyly, as he approached. His broader steps quickly gain on your short, shuffled ones. The cold, spring breeze rushed over the exposed skin of your neck, the open doorway was now behind you. But, before you could rush outside and back into the rain and allow him to give chase, he reached behind you and jerked his arm back. In that instant you felt solid wood press against your back, the new door settling perfectly into the once empty frame and blocking off your exit. 

You let out a shaky breath as he leaned into you, his chest against yours as he raised his arm above your head. With one swift movement there was a click and then his arm settled by your waist and another click followed. He had locked the door behind you. You were trapped in your own home with the wolf. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Short breaths were passed between the two of you, both of you waiting for the other to make a move. Your lashes fluttered as your gaze traced the contours of his face. You often wondered if he knew just how lovely he was, scar and all. 

You swallowed harshly as you raised your hand to his face, your fingers trembling with desire before softly grazing the bottom of the scar. Yoongi’s eyes slipped shut as he moved forward allowing his face to lean into your touch, his body pressing impossibly closer to yours. 

“Yoongi,” You whispered. 

And with that one simple call of his name, he lunged and went in for the kill. His pretty lips collided with your own as his hand moved to cradle your jaw and tilt your head back with the force of his kiss. With your back against the door there was nowhere for you to go, but there was nowhere else that you wanted to be. 

You gasped as you felt his free hand slowly trail up your leg and over your hip before settling on your lower back and sharply pulling your hips against his. A pitiful whimper was passed from your lips to his from the sudden desire that was pooling in your lower abdomen. 

A moment of clarity came to you, your mind pushing past the haze of desire when you felt your feet leave the ground. Yoongi buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, his lips and teeth making quick work of the skin there, as he walked. It was when you felt the soft cover of your bed beneath you that you realized what was happening. 

“Yoongi, wait -” You tried, but his movements did not falter. His fingers were making quick work of the laces at the back of your dress and he showed no sign of stopping any time soon. 

He looked desperate, like he was going to die if he could not have you and the only way to relieve himself of his pain was to unveil every inch of skin that you were concealing from him and each stretch that was exposed was just as quickly covered by kisses and nipped by sharp teeth. 

You couldn’t deny the attraction you had for him or the lust you were practically dripping with from his touch. But it felt like you were laying on a bed of needles when you were reminded of your late husband’s death as you were willingly laid down in your marriage bed with a man who was not your husband. 

“Please,” You gasped, gripping his shoulders, “not here.” 

That seemed to catch his attention as he finally stilled himself. From your position it looked like he was trying to gain some control over himself. His breathing was still heavy, but he had stopped touching you. He looked up at you slowly, his chin just barely brushing over your bare sternum. When he finally looked at you, you stopped breathing. His eyes were lit with moonlight, a silver glow emanating from their depths. 

He was more wolf than human in that moment, a creature that was acting purely on instinct. 

You cupped his cheek once more and while he flinched at first, he slowly relaxed beneath your touch. He was still eerily silent, and in that moment his behavior reminded you almost entirely of the first time you had met him when he was in his other skin, fully shifted into his wolf counterpart. It was those watchful eyes again, those eyes that held so much depth and awareness that it was startling. 

“I can’t, not here.” You repeated. 

He blinked slowly, once, twice, and then a third time as he cocked his head to the side. You felt a twinge of fear at that gaze and, shamefully, the rush of lust in your veins. Your body went lax as you allowed him to gather you in his arms once more. He was calmer now, his pace slower as he unlocked the front door and carried you into the night. You could see flickers of your Yoongi in him, his touch much softer as he laid you down in a bed of grass that has been permanently laid flat by the giant wolf that guarded your home. 

That night the sky was completely open, not a single cloud obscured the stars or the body of the full moon. It was utterly beautiful. Just as beautiful as the feeling of fresh dew on your back and just as beautiful as the sight of your breath crystalizing in the cold, spring air. But nothing was quite as beautiful as Yoongi. The way that his bitten lips parted with soft gasps and deep moans, the way that his porcelain skin shone beneath the moonlight, and the way that he struggled to part from your lips. It was the way that he would rather kiss you than breathe. Everything about him was beautiful. 

You had many regrets in your life, but this would never be one of them. Not when he held you like this, like you were the only person in the world that mattered. Everything about this was supposed to be wrong, unholy even, but that was what made it that more enjoyable. That was what made you tense your legs around his waist, curve your hips against his, and wrap your arms around the back of his neck - drawing him towards your pulse point where he had been nosing at, sucking, and kissing almost obsessively. 

When your body shook with pleasure, a rush of warmth and tingles spread beneath your skin, your back arched and your neck was bared. And before you could even realize what was to come, his teeth had already sunk into your neck and shoulder without hesitation accompanied by an almost animalistic growl. The pain was there, it forced a scream past your lips, but it mingled deliciously with the rush of pleasure that emanated from your very core. You gasped and shook, your vision blurring as you were assaulted by your senses, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

There it was again. 

There was a flash of white in the treeline. It was there for a moment before flickering out of sight as you felt yourself barely clinging to consciousness. 

You were being watched again, there was something or someone out there that was following you - watching you in your most vulnerable moments. 

You tried to get Yoongi’s attention but he was in a similar state, the both of you lazily holding onto one another and barely moving as you began to drift. Your lips moved but no words were spoken, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, unable to form words.

Yoongi’s lips were stained with your blood, his eyes heavy lidded but now returned to their dark color that you knew and loved. You tried again to speak but found yourself unable to as he pressed his forehead against your own, his fingers brushing back your messy hair. 

The heavy lure of sleep was steadily pulling you under. You supposed it could wait until tomorrow. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

~~~~~~~

When you woke up you were back in your bed and you were alone. 

The cottage was dark, the windows all closed and the curtains drawn tight. When your eyes fluttered open you had almost believed that it was still night, that you were still outside with Yoongi and you had only momentarily dozed off. But the familiar comfort of your blankets and pillows quickly dismissed those thoughts. 

Now wide awake with your sheets pooled around your waist, you could only wonder about where your wolf had gone. Had he left you already? Had he taken your words to heart when you told him that he was to leave when his service was finished? Had he abandoned you after you had shared your most intimate moments with him? What had you done?

You felt a sense of shame wash over you as you stumbled from your bed, dull aches throbbing at various points of your body that only reminded you of what had transpired the night before. Once you collected yourself you made your way to the door your wolf had crafted for you and when you grasped the handle and pulled, you were met with a locked door. 

Your face scrunched in confusion as you turned the lock the opposite way and moved the bar at the top of the door but when you tried it again it still would not budge. 

You had been locked in your own home like a canary in a cage. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach and your throat felt impossibly tight as tears began to brim in your eyes. You had trusted him and in turn he had trapped you. How foolish you were to think that you could trust another man and here you were, a betrayer of your husband’s memory.

You sat on the floor curled up by the foot of your bed with a weak grasp on your blanket around your shoulders. There was an unexpected heartbreak that demanded to be felt in your chest, how could you mourn someone who you never really truly knew? Yoongi wouldn’t even tell you about his family, where he came from, or his people. Your relationship, whatever it was, had been an uneven exchange and you had clung to him so quickly because you had been so lonely. It was unfair. 

You quickly swept away the tears from beneath your eyes when you heard a lock turn and light began to permeate the darkness as the door swung open. He came back. 

The gentle smile he had entered with melted away, a look of concern taking over his face. He crossed the room and you rushed to stand, your arms crossing over your chest to protect and soothe yourself. You flinched away from his touch as he attempted to cup your jaw, the look of hurt and confusion on his face only inspired anger. 

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to bridge the distance between the two of you as he moved closer while you took to stepping around the bed. You needed to keep him away, you couldn’t be swayed by those gentle touches and kind looks. 

“You locked me up, Yoongi. Why would you do that?” You sniffled as you attempted to keep your voice strong and firm. 

“I didn’t lock you up-”

“Then why was the door locked? Why couldn’t I get out?” You asked, before leaning forward and grasping a cord that was strung around his neck and nestled beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Why do you have this?”

When you pulled the necklace out his hand shot out to grip your wrist in warning, but the damage had already been done. There was a key on his necklace, the key to your cage. 

“I’m protecting you.” He whispered, his tone deadly and his gaze dark with warning. “You saw what happened, it’s dangerous out there - I can’t trust anyone with you.”

“No, you can’t trust me,” You corrected him before jerking your hand out of his hold, “This is my home, Yoongi, my home! You have no right!”

“I have every right, you are mine!” 

“I am not!” 

His eyes were burning again, he was having trouble keeping his anger in check and you weren’t helping in the slightest. His chest was heaving with every breath and his jaw was tense. You watched him take one long breath in and then out before his arm shot out as he grabbed you by the wound on your neck forcing a pained gasp from your throat. 

“I told you, I am responsible for you, I need to protect you. This means that you’re mine and that I’m yours, this is a bond that goes deeper than marriage, do you understand that?” 

Your lips trembled as emotion welled in your chest, that told you everything that you needed to know. 

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

The silence you were met with and the empty look in his eyes was more than enough to confirm. Yoongi had been your husband’s killer. You stumbled back and heaved, waving away his hands that tried to steady you as you felt sickness stir in your stomach. 

“How could you? Why? Why did you do it?!” You cried, your fingers shaking as they grazed your lips in pure shock. 

His hands were raised as he tried to step closer to you, it wasn’t a defensive position, it looked more like he was trying to calm a startled animal. 

“He killed my wife,” He said, his voice much gentler than you expected in your state. 

“He wouldn’t!”

“No, but he would kill an animal, wouldn’t he?” 

He stopped approaching you and you had stopped moving away, your body having locked up in a state of pure shock.Your silence was enough for him to continue. 

“By the time I got there he was already taking her pelt, she wasn’t even able to shift back.”

He had skinned her. He didn’t know there was a person inside of the wolf that he had killed, and he had skinned her. 

“I took what was owed to me, he killed her so I killed him and I don’t regret it. The only thing I regret is what that did to you and your child, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I tried my best to give back to you what was taken. I can protect you, I can take care of you, I can give you children, and I can love you.”

His pupils were blown out, there was a look of pure desperation in his eyes. It was a look that made your heart shudder in your chest. 

There was a horrible ache in behind your ribs, it felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. It was undeniable that you cared for him, but the sickness that churned in your stomach was rivaling those feelings. You had never felt so betrayed before by anyone. You thought that he would have been different. 

You couldn’t even bear the thought of looking at him in the moment, it hurt too much and you knew how powerful those eyes of his were. You refused to be swayed at that moment. 

You knew that no amount of words you could say would force him to leave, so you did the next best thing and sprinted for the door. You barely made it a few steps before he lunged and grabbed you by your waist, picking you up with ease as you writhed in his hold. You turned into a feral animal, throwing yourself around wildly and scratching at any available skin you could find as you cried in shrill screams. 

“Stop fighting me!” He grunted, throwing you down on the mattress and pinning your wrists down at your sides as he pressed his knees into your kicking legs. “Calm down.” 

A scream of frustration burned your throat as your muscles strained under his firm grip. There was no use in fighting him, he was far stronger than you could ever hope to be. And so your body eventually tired itself out, your limbs going limp as you shook from a mixture of fatigue, fright, and dimming embers of anger. The skin beneath your eyes felt tight from all the crying you had done and the skin around your nails throbbed from the scratches you had carved into Yoongi’s forearms. But of course, those flesh wounds had already healed. 

You flinched as he released one of your wrists and stroked your face, indirectly drying your cheeks of their lingering tears. 

“You’re scared, now. Confused. But that’s alright, you’ll learn that I am the only one who can take care of you.”

You stayed silent and stubbornly turned your head to the side when he leant in to kiss you, but your actions did not deter him, he only laid a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth with a contented hum. 

“I’ll prove it to you, I can give you everything that you want.” He whispered beside your ear before he finally stood and the blood rushed back to your arms and legs. 

You scuttled backwards up the bed as he gave you one last lingering gaze and then he slipped out of the cottage and locked the door shut behind him. 

He had trapped you once again. 

~~~~~~~

You had laid there for a long time, frozen after what had transpired. Everything you thought that you knew has been completely and utterly wrong. It had all been a lie.

You slowly sat up and slid your palms into your lap. Your nails were stained with dark blood, you had hurt Yoongi afterall, not that it had mattered. To him, it had probably been no more irritating than a kitten’s scratch. You were once again reminded of his incredible inhuman nature.  

You needed to leave, now was your chance to escape him. It was an odd feeling that stirred in the back of your mind. The night before, there was nowhere else that you would rather be, and now you wanted to get as far away as possible. You wanted to run. 

With that thought in your mind you lept to your feet and made for the window. You knew that Yoongi would be able to find you, tracking you would be more of a game than a challenge. But if you left now, you would give yourself a head start. You would make for town and when you entered its boundaries it would be too risky for him to come after you. He wouldn’t be able to get you in either skin, the hulking form of that wolf far too obvious and the flesh of his human skin far too vulnerable when outnumbered. 

You pried open the shutters and undid the latch. You hiked up the skirt of your night dress, baring your skin to the cool breeze, and swung your legs out of the window and allowed your body to drop down. You needed to go, there was no more time for hesitation. 

Your dress was held tight in each fist as you began to run, the light fabric brushing over your legs as you moved. In that moment you had wished for a pair of shears to shorten it. 

A pitched howl echoed through the trees and your heart thrummed even harder in your chest. Your limbs froze on instinct and your ears rang with the sound of your blood rushing. It was too high of a tone to be him, you had heard the sounds he had made when he tore that other shifter to shreds. It wasn’t him but it was someone else. 

A small, dark, furry form shot out from the cover of the trees and darted through the clearing. Its pace was sure yet frantic, like it still didn't have control of its four limbs nor its speed. As it came closer you began to take cautious steps backward. You knew who that was, it was the pup. 

You watched in horror as the creature’s gait became wild and the pup began to trip over itself before the fur exploded from its skin and in its place was a little girl sprinting through the grass. 

There was no denying the impossibility of what you had seen, after all you had seen it with your own eyes. There was no forgetting this. 

“Mama!” She cried as she collided with your legs and displayed an impressive strength that was disproportionate to the size of her body, sending the both of you to the ground. The world turned sideways for a moment, and there it was once more. That flash of white that you had been seeing for weeks now. But it was closer this time, close enough that you recognized what it was. From the shape of the clothes on the fleeing form, you knew it was one of the clerics from the town. Has he been watching you all this time? 

“I missed you, mama,” She said, pulling your attention to her as she stared down at you with a pair of dark brown eyes that sent chills through your veins. She looked so much like her father. 

“Binna,” His voice shot through the air, “Remember what I said? Be gentle, you don’t want to hurt your mother.”

“Sorry!” She giggled as she pressed her cheek against your collarbone, her eyes fluttering shut and her long lashes casting shadows over the skin beneath her eyes. She wrapped her arms around your neck and hummed, the warmth from her body seeping into your skin. 

“Sorry, mama.” She repeated. 

You gently laid your hand over her back, your breaths still uneven as you pulled the two of you into a sitting position. “Sweetheart, I’m not your-“

“Binna, do you want to go see your room?” Yoongi asked, dropping down into a squat behind his daughter, his eyes on you as he spoke. 

Binna let out an excited hum of agreement, scrambling up onto two legs that still wobbled unsurely beneath her weight. You noticed that she was never completely stable in either skin she wore, it was like she was still trying to figure out how four legs and two legs worked. 

“Come on, dearest,” He said, holding his hand out to you. You sat there for a moment, stubbornly, but his gaze was unwavering and his body was as still as a statue. You knew there was no fighting him and he had played dirty by bringing his daughter into the equation. He knew that you wouldn’t want to start anything in front of her, the last thing that you wanted to do was frighten her. 

You let out an angry huff and rushed to stand without his help, storming past him and walking a few paces behind his small daughter who would toddle every now and then before bending over and trying to walk on all fours instead. 

As frustrated, frightened, and irritated as you were, you couldn’t deny the tug at your heart when you watched Binna crawl up the front steps of your home and scamper inside. You could hear the sound of her bare feet tapping against the wood floors and you couldn’t stop the resulting burn in your eyes. You had always wanted to hear that sound, you had always wanted a daughter of your own. 

But Binna wasn’t yours. 

But it was hard to long for that when you watched her disappear into the once empty nursery. You didn’t like what Yoongi was doing, he was messing with your head. He knew how badly you had wanted your child, how you had tirelessly grieved your husband, and now he was trying to patch everything together and force your lives to fit with one another. 

You knew that he could understand your loss, he had lost a wife after all. He would do anything to avoid that happening again, and if that meant locking you up while he was gone, then he would do that. But that wasn’t what you wanted. You had locked yourself up for months on end, turning your home into a mausoleum as you grieved the loss of the life you had once had. You refused to do that again. 

The door shut and the lock clicked. 

You heard him approach and then you felt his warmth as your back and his breath disturb the hair on your head. It wasn’t all that different from the first time that you had met. 

His fingers grazed your own and your hand twitched in response but you didn’t move. He intertwined your hands and pressed his forehead against the back of your head, breathing in your scent. 

“You have to let me go, Yoongi.” You whispered. 

He froze and a low, warning growl thrummed in his chest causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise. It didn’t matter what skin he was in, your body recognized him as the predator that he was. 

“No.” He simply said. 

“You’re not being fair -”

“I’ve been nothing but fair. I broke your door so I fixed it, I killed your husband and I gave you myself, you lost your child and I gave you Binna. I have been more than fair, so much so that I even gave you my love when you did not want it.” 

You ignored that last part, the love you felt for him causing a stabbing pain of betrayal in your heart. It wasn’t fair that you still felt the way you did about him after everything that he had done. After he had tricked you. 

“I am not Binna’s mother.”

He quickly hushed you, spinning you around by your shoulders and staring into your eyes, “She can hear you, she has very sensitive ears and a gentle heart, you don’t want to hurt her do you?”

You bit your lip in frustration, “It’s not fair to her mother.”

“You are her mother.” 

And that conversation was over, he wouldn’t hear any of your protests and you feared hurting Binna too much to continue to broach the subject. You were caught in between a rock and a hard place. And the worst thing was that it was hard not to love Binna. 

She was curious, mischievous, and sweet. She had been the same way when you discovered her as a pup, but you adored her even more this way. All she wanted was your attention, she was a little girl that was desperate to be loved by a mother. 

“Why did you leave?” She stumbled over the words, her little fingers twisted in the fabric of your skirt as you had started dinner, the light of the sunset cast over her eyes and bursts of silver shined in their reflection. 

You didn’t know how to respond. 

“Mama’s back now, you don’t have to worry about that baby.” Yoongi answered for you with a gentle smile as he pulled her onto his lap. 

“Forever?” She asked, staring at him with wide eyes full of wonder that only a child could possess.

“Forever,” He repeated, his eyes tracing over the profile of your face. 

The questions didn’t stop there. It was a full moon that night and Binna demanded to be outside. Yoongi had briefly told you before about their connection with the moon. It was almost religious, but even that wasn’t a good comparison. It was a part of them. 

“Shift.” Binna had commanded, tugging at your skirt again as she had quickly grown accustomed to. 

“I can’t Binna,” You explained, lowering yourself into the grass so that you were more level with her height. “I’m not like you, or your daddy.” 

Yoongi had stayed close to you all day, keeping a watchful eye on you to make sure that you wouldn’t try to leave them. 

“But…” She said, her words trailing off as her face furrowed in confusion, “It was white.”

You were confused but a quick look at Yoongi cleared that up. His gaze was glassy like he was remembering something, something that he didn’t want to think about. Binna must have meant her mother, she must have seen her before she left. Her pelt must have been white. 

Yoongi cleared his throat after a moment, “I think it’s time for bed.” 

Binna, even though she was a shifter, was still a child. She whined in protest and went limp as Yoongi scooped her up in his arms and held onto your hand, guiding the two of you back into the house. 

The door shut, the lock clicked. 

The both of you cleaned Binna up together, her feet and hands dirty from struggling to crawl in her human form and her hair a mess of twigs and leaves. She had laughed as she watched the pile of leaves grow beside the basin and attempted to jump into it like it were a much bigger leaf pile than it really was. 

And when she was clean, fed, and tired, she crawled into the center of the bed and reached her arms out for you. Your heart ached again. As soon as you laid down she was curled into your side, her little arms curled into her chest as she pressed her nose against the bite mark on your shoulder, taking in deep breaths.

The lamps in the room were snuffed out one by one, the room becoming progressively darker until it was completely plunged in darkness and only the gleam of silver eyes at the foot of the bed were visible. The bed dipped beneath Yoongi’s weight as he climbed in, laying on the other side of the bed behind his daughter. When he laid down he rolled over, wrapping his arm around the two of you and pulling you in closer to him. 

Binna hummed a happy noise, burrowing deeper into your shoulder and burying herself beneath your blankets. 

“What is she doing?” You asked, the first time you had spoken a direct question to Yoongi since that morning. 

“You smell like me, it’s how we identify each other. She feels safe with you.” He explained. 

“So that’s why you did it.” You said, a bitter edge to your words as you smoothed your hand over Binna’s freshly washed hair. “She doesn’t know any better.”

“That’s not true. She chose you, and so did I. She knew you were safe, that’s why she let you take her that day. And this,” His fingers ghosted over the mark sending chills down your spine, “was purely for my own selfish benefit. I wanted everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

“You didn’t even give me the choice.”

“I love you, and I know that you love me.” 

You remained quiet, not willing to agree or disagree with him. It was hard to make sense of madness, whether that be Yoongi’s or your own. 

“You’ll see it eventually, this is what you wanted.”

~~~~~~~

When you woke the next morning, you immediately knew that something was wrong. 

Firstly, Yoongi was gone. The spot on the bed that used to be your husband’s was cold, he had been gone for a while. Secondly, Binna was curled into the corner of the room, hiding beneath a blanket as she shook. And when you looked closer, you could see the tip of a snout and a still tail peeking out from beneath the blanket. She was frightened. Thirdly, there was smoke in the air, something was burning. 

You stumbled out of bed when there was a pounding on the door. 

“Open the door!” A man yelled, the door knob shaking as he tried to open it himself. Your instincts were screaming at you that something was wrong. 

“Open up, and pay for your crimes!” He yelled again, this time throwing his weight against the door. 

That couldn’t be right? Crimes?

You crept closer to the front window, the wood shutters were pulled shut but there was a crack that you had peered through, unnoticed, many times before. This time, the sight that you were met with was horrific. There was a large, angry crowd with torches outside - illuminating the pitch black field around your home. 

You had heard of these events before, but never had you considered that you would become the victim of one, not when you were so isolated from the town. But it was happening now and you needed to act fast. 

You rushed to the corner where Binna hid and scooped her up into your arms blanket and all. Her snout sniffed at your bite wound before she began to settle down. You ran to the nursery and to the very back of the room where the crib sat. You gripped it with one hand and with a strength you didn’t know that you possessed you pulled it aside. Your heart pounded and your breath was coming in harsh pants as you moved to the window. 

“Binna,” You whispered, forcing yourself to make your voice as soft and soothing as you could. You had one priority right now and that was to get her safe. You had seen what those hunters were capable of before. “I need you to run as fast as you can, and I need you to find your daddy. Don’t stop running until you're safe, don’t stop no matter what you hear.”

Binna stared back at you, her ears perked up as her glossy silver eyes poured into your very soul. Binna was a little girl, but she was smarter than any human child. You trusted her. 

A loud thwack sounded from the front door, a sound that you weren’t all that unfamiliar with - it was the sound of an ax striking the door. Your motions became faster and more panicked than before, your nails ripping at the bottom of the window that groaned as you forced it open. You grunted and with one more hard push, it popped and raised and there was enough room that Binna could slide through. 

“Don’t stop running, be very brave.” You whispered before pressing a quick kiss to the space between her ears and lowering her as close to the ground as you could. And then, her body left your hand and her dark fur disappeared into the night. You could only hope that she could find help on time. 

You had a terrible feeling that you weren’t going to make it out of this. 

A loud crack and sharp splintering sounded from the front door and then the thud of boots entered the kitchen. You stayed as quiet as you could but you knew there was no hiding and you needed to buy Binna time. 

You slid an oil lamp off of the dresser and hid by the door, waiting for it to open. The boots approached quickly, they didn’t want to give you time to get away and they were hunting you down. This was nothing like the way Yoongi had hunted you, it was un-practiced, frantic, amateur. 

When the door to the nursery slammed open you brought the lamp down on the back of the man’s head and sent him crashing to the ground as blood pooled onto the wood. But when you darted out into the hallway, there was already someone else waiting for you. 

You swung the lamp towards him with a scream but he dodged, grabbing your wrists and bending them in such a way that a sharp scream echoed through the cottage as you lost your grip and the lamp shattered upon impact with the ground. 

The man from the nursery was up and moving and now he was behind you, pulling rope from his belt. 

“You fucking bitch!” He yelled, and before you could move he had punched you clean across your face, sending you sprawling on the ground. 

You could taste blood in your mouth as he straddled you from behind, wrapping the rope around your hands. 

“Get off of me!” You screamed, wriggling desperately but to no avail. All it earned you was another strike to your head that made your vision blurry and spotted. 

When you came to, you were being dragged out of your house. The door that Yoongi had painstakingly crafted was shattered. 

And, as soon as the three of you were outside, torches were thrown and the house was lit aflame. 

“No!” You screamed, guttural sounds that ripped through your throat. “No, no, no!”

Your husband had built that house. It was the only thing that you had left of him. It was yours, it was where you were supposed to make a family and grow old together. And now that dream, that life, was being burned to the ground. 

It was absolute chaos. 

The smell of smoke burned in your nose and made your eyes tear up on reflex. When you had thought of all the ways that you could possibly die, you had never considered this as an option. You wriggled violently in your bonds like a wild animal trapped in a snare. The rope was digging into your wrists leaving behind raw, bloody wounds. There was no escape, but you couldn’t help but try. If you didn’t free yourself, then this would be it. 

There had been a time where you craved nothing more than to be reunited with your deceased lover, but when faced with the frightening reality of death you wanted nothing more than to live. 

Violent, raw screams tore through your throat as you were held down to the ground. There were hands everywhere, gripping your shoulders, your legs, and one in particular that was knotted in your hair. 

“Silence, witch!” A man yelled, pressing down on your neck and forcing your face into the dirt. 

“Witch? Witch?!” You shrieked, another manic scream breaking up your words as you writhed against the ground. 

You could hear the murmurs of the crowd that surrounded you and with a strained eye you could see nearly the entire town gathered around you and the men that held you captive. It was clear what this was, but you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe that your own kind would turn on you like this. But that seemed to be your plight, those you tried to trust always turned out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

The hand that was wound in your hair tightened its grasp spurring a pained gasp from you as they began to drag you. You could only desperately writhe in the dirt as you were pulled closer to the crowd. You were certainly a sight, your hair a deranged mess, filled with leaves and twigs with dirt smeared down your cheeks and staining the tips of your fingers. Their rough treatment of you had only served to make you appear as the very thing they feared. The thing they were accusing you of being. 

You finally came to a stop in front of the town elder, the men behind you forcing you into an upright position on your knees, your arms still painfully stretched behind your back. 

The elder looked at you in what could only be described as disgust. 

“Behold, the witch who has brought a curse upon our village,” He spoke, his voice raspy and low, causing silence to descend over the group in order to hear him. 

“I am no witch-“

“Quiet!” The man behind you yelled before delivering a harsh smack to the side of your head, forcing it to snap to the side as you cried in pain. 

“The accused has brought death to all of your doors. She who murdered her unborn child in a covenant with the devil and brought those beasts to our home, and she who slayed her husband to feed those wretched demons and seal their bond to her will continue to slaughter us where we stand. What say you, shall we stand by and allow this to happen?” The elder said, opening his arms to the crowd who voiced their agreement.

This was the man who had known you since you were a child, the very man who had approved your courtship with your husband, the same man that married the both of you. This was the man that would ultimately kill you. 

Yoongi was right, humans were horrible creatures.

Your body had gone limp, your head rolling forward as if your neck could no longer bear the weight of it. Desperate, wounded cries burst from your lips. You had not killed your baby, you had not killed your husband, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. They had already made their decision. 

“The punishment for these crimes shall be paid by that of which you are familiar,” The elder said, gesturing to a horrifying sight looming behind him, “Hellfire.” 

You couldn’t hear the screams that burned your throat, you could only feel them. There was a loud ringing in your ears and the feeling of your feet and shoulders digging into the ground as you were dragged toward the stake and unlit pyre before you. 

They were going to burn you alive. 

Your cries for help were left unanswered, there was not a single look of empathy on anyone in the crowd. He had truly convinced them all that the deaths that had plagued the town were because of you. They believed you were the one that had brought the shifters upon them even though that didn’t make sense, they had been there long before you and longer than they realized. But there was no getting through to them. What the elder spoke was considered divine nature.

You sounded like a wounded animal, horrific sobs and screams shaking your body as you were tied to the stake. Nausea swirled in your stomach and your heart pounded, the fear that you felt was indescribable. 

Vaguely, you understood that you were mumbling something repeatedly under your breath which was not helping your perception with the crowd. It looked like you were trying to cast a curse upon them. And if you could, you would. 

But what you were saying was far from that. All you could brokenly whisper was, “I did not kill my baby.” 

The scent of smoke became even stronger and from in between layers of your hair, you could see a torch flickering. The flames wavered, almost teasingly in nature, like it was deciding whether or not it would engulf you in its fiery embrace. Ultimately, that would not be its decision. 

“Return from whence you came, witch,” The man before you spoke, and with the crook of the elder’s finger, he lit the pyre.

Heat licked at your feet and ankles as the fire slowly but surely crept up the logs and branches piled around you. This would be a long, slow, tortuous end to your life and that was what they wanted. They wanted to put all of their rage, pain, and hatred onto you and they would make certain you experienced the full extent of their wrath. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you accepted your fate. You cried as you watched the flames lap at the edges of your skirt - eating away at the hem. In a matter of seconds it would eat the fabric away and begin charing flesh and bone. 

But it was when you lost all hope, that fate decided to play yet another trick on you. 

Frantic cries were coming from the crowd and when you raised your head you were shocked by the sight of six massive wolves emerging from the trees. It took no time for you to realize that they were just like Yoongi. Binna had made it back to them, she had gotten them to come and help you and thankfully she was nowhere in sight. 

The crowd pressed in closer to the elder, who’s face had gone gray at the sight of the wolves, as the six shifters surrounded them, corralling them all into one place. 

In the midst of the madness, you hadn’t noticed the presence behind you until you felt your ropes loosening. 

It was Yoongi. 

The fire was searing both of your clothes yet he remained, slicing through your bonds with deft hands. He had come for you, he had saved you. 

The moment your bonds slid from your hands he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you from the stake and pyre, the two of you sinking down to the ground in each other’s embrace. 

“Yoongi,” You choked, your lungs thick with smoke and ash. 

“Shh,” he hushed you, “just breathe, breathe for me sweetheart, just like that.” 

His hand came to rest on your chest while he guided yours to his, taking in exaggerated breaths so that you could follow him. 

Yoongi was many things: your husband's killer, your captor, your protector, and lastly - your savior. It was impossible for you to describe what you felt for him as it was no longer black and white. If there was anything you did believe, it was that nothing was ever that simple. There are many truths and many lies, it all was dependent on what you wanted to believe. 

You coughed again, the force of it shaking your entire body as Yoongi pulled you into himself tighter. You were in his lap, chest to chest, with his nose buried in your hair. You could feel him breathing in your scent, a growl radiating through his chest when he realized it had been tainted by smoke and other men. 

“I thought I lost you too,” he sighed before pressing a desperate kiss to your temple and then your cheek. He treated you like you were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Help us!” That raspy voice called out to you again. 

You slowly turned your head to face the elder who had placed himself in the middle of the crowd, using the bodies of his people to shield him from the wolves that were steadily circling them.

Help them. 

Help them? 

Help them?!

You cocked your head to the side, a look of bewilderment and rage taking over your features. Why should you help them? After what they had done to you? After what they had accused you of? 

Humans were horrible. You didn’t need them, after all, you much preferred to be alone. 

You didn’t need other humans. 

“Yoongi?” You whispered, maintaining eye contact with the elder. 

“Yes?” He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“Kill them all.”

You felt his warm finger trace the curve of your jaw before turning your face in his direction. He looked down at you in a mix of adoration and excitement before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss. 

“As you wish,” He murmured before setting you down on the ground and joining his brothers. 

In a matter of seconds he burst free from his skin, a giant wolf in his place alongside the tattered remains of his clothes. The crowd screamed in fright from the sight of his transformation and then from the massive fangs of seven wolves. 

You sat there, knees drawn into your chest as you watched Yoongi carve his way through the crowd and toward the elder. And, with great ease, he forced the man to the ground and ripped his head clean from his shoulders. A large spurt of blood soared through the smoggy air, painting the grass a vibrant color. 

You watched on as several more people were felled by the shifters, their gruesome screams quieted by large jaws and hooked claws. 

You were numb, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about their lives that were swiftly ended - their souls ripped from their bodies.

You craned your neck back and stared up at the full moon, eyes dull, red, and finally dry as more gurgled screams were silenced. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

This is like 2 months old but why do you gotta make me cry at like 2AM? I can't take it anymore bro, stop writing so well or I might need another box of tissues..

Love Playlist #3: Make It Right (Lee Know)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"It hurts to love you."

Pairing: Lee Know x Fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, exes to lovers Warnings: swearing, messy break-up, mc has a fear of the dark, mild haunted house/Halloween descriptions Word Count: 18.3k

*Written for @skzwritingcafe's July/August event: Summertime Confessions ☀️

Special thanks to @baekhyyun & @simpforyongbokk for beta-reading!! 💘

“I love you.”

You roll your eyes and shove Minho away, trying to suppress the giggles that threaten to spill out. “Stop that. We need to concentrate, or we’ll never find an apartment.”

“I’m definitely concentrating.” Minho grins mischievously. “On you.”

Laughing at his antics, you shake your head, shutting your computer for a brief intermission to tend to Minho’s insatiable appetite for your attention. Your boyfriend never fails to make you smile, no matter what. 

“I love you too, you menace.”

Minho wakes up with a start. He groggily glances over at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. Nearly 3 a.m. Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, Minho just sits in that position for a good twenty minutes, marinating in the pitiful mixture of his sweat and tears.

The night before, he’d attempted to drown away his sorrows at some bar he stumbled upon while aimlessly wandering the city streets. It hadn’t worked, obviously, because his wallet wasn’t bottomless, and the pain was too great. But in true character, Minho had tried anyway, until his savior found him slumped over the counter and led him back to a safe place to sober up.

“Stay here as long as you need to,” Chan had said, tucking Minho’s drowsy form into a bundle of blankets on the couch, like he was a little kid.

Minho had tried to resist, mumbling complaints towards his friend’s retreating back, but fell into a troubled slumber before Chan even reached his own bedroom. Now he’s wide awake and unwilling to be so, praying he can just fall back asleep and forget about everything that had transpired in the previous twenty-four hours. But even sleep can’t save him from the memories of what you both once were: happy.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the rift growing between you two in the past few weeks. You didn’t have as much time for each other anymore, reducing your interactions to quick dinners and text messages. But you both have been together for nearly three years, and Minho had assumed that it was just the stress of senior year taking a toll on you both, nothing more. You both had been browsing apartments together just one month ago, finally planning to take the next big step in your relationship. He loves you more than anything in the world, and he so believed that you felt the same about him.

So when you sat him down yesterday at your favorite café, Morningstar Coffee House, and told him that you had doubts about your future together, he was shocked. Too fearful of what you were going to say next, Minho decided to take an abrupt exit out of the conversation, rushing out of the door by using class as an excuse. And now, he will be forced to confront a brutal reality, wishing he could have just gotten this over with yesterday.

A small chime alerts Minho to a new text message, and before he even reaches over to the coffee table to pick up his phone, he knows it’s you. 

bobaluvrr: we need to finish talking catservant98: do we really need to? bobaluvrr: morningstar at 8. i have class, pls don’t be late.

With an exasperated groan, Minho stands up, tossing his phone onto the couch. At the very least, he could use the coffee.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” Soyeon scrapes the bottom of the pint of ice cream in her hands, frowning when her spoon doesn’t recover as much as she’d like.

“Maybe,” Sunoo answers for you from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, lying on his stomach while scrolling through his cellphone. Soyeon chucks a pillow at him, making him yelp and lift his hands up in defeat.

“This is for the best, Soyeon,” you reply firmly, stabbing your spoon into your own pint of rocky road and digging out a generous chunk. As you lick the spoon, you note that you barely notice the creamy goodness that always succeeds in cheering you up. Not today.

Sunoo sits up and sets his phone aside. “Literally last month, you said you wanted to marry Minho as soon as you graduated.”

You swallow harshly, remembering the exact moment Sunoo is referencing. It’s true that you wanted to marry your boyfriend— no, you still want to marry him, even now. But you meant what you said; breaking up with Minho is necessary to prevent any more heartache. You’ve been feeling this indescribable longing seeping into your heart for weeks now, silently pressing through all of your warning bells. It was a whisper in the wind beneath your lofty wings, telling you that one day, Minho was going to leave you. The last few days had been the final straw, forcing you to grasp your courage and do what had to be done.

“I know.” You hold your tears back. “But the situation has obviously changed.”

Soyeon takes your hand in her own, softly rubbing your palm with her thumb to comfort you, while Sunoo just rolls his eyes. “I still blame that bitch Minju. It’s her fault you’re feeling like this, if anyone’s.”

At the mention of Minju, your expression hardens. After all, you don’t exactly have warm regards for a backstabber like her, especially when she had pretended to be your friend just to get close to Minho. When you found out about her ulterior motive, it made the betrayal hurt ten times worse.

You had befriended Minju nearing the end of the previous year, after she sat next to you at lunch when you were alone in the dining hall. All along your short-lived friendship, you had noticed that she would only ask you questions about Minho or your relationship with him, but you brushed it off as an attempt to just get along with your boyfriend. You had no idea that she wanted to do more than that. 

At the beginning of the next semester, Minho mentioned that he had one class with Minju. Ever the optimist, you were pleasantly surprised, thinking that Minju could become friends with Minho as well. After all, it always took Minho forever to really bond with new people, and this would make everything easier. But the little things you kept overlooking built upon each other, forming a whole dam of distrust. 

First, there were all of the times you hung out with both Minju and Minho. While Minho always engaged in conversation with the both of you, if not more with you, Minju would actively ignore you just to talk to Minho. Once, you three visited an arcade together, and there was a game that involved picking teams. Minju immediately declared that she would partner up with Minho, so you had no option but to team with a stranger. But maybe she just wanted to get to know him.

And then you ran into Heeseung, one of Minju’s old classmates. Heeseung had no malicious intentions; he used to have photography class with Minju before she switched out, and needed Minju’s number to ask her for the pen he had lent her. It looked like Minju had changed her course schedule to share a class with Minho. But maybe that was just a coincidence.

The final piece that made you put together Minju’s puzzle was when Minho was dropping you after a date one night. He had kissed you goodbye, and you went inside, wondering if you should invite Minju over to watch some movies. You called Minju and asked her if she wanted to come over, but she claimed that she was very sick and couldn’t even leave her house, down with a high fever in her bed. Feeling sorry for your friend, you decided to whip up a quick batch of soup for Minju and walk over to her loft. However, you saw two people standing right outside the building. Upon closer look, you realized it was Minju and Minho, talking about something you couldn’t hear. But the sight itself was enough— Minju looked perfectly healthy and fresh. You could give the benefit of doubt to your boyfriend, but Minju had obviously lied to you. You ran away before either of them spotted you.

You shake your head, knowing in your heart that even someone like Minju couldn’t really end one of the most important relationships in your life. “It’s not just her. I’m tired of watching every other couple on campus, wishing Minho and I were like that. Everyone calls us perfect, but really, we’re not. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who cares. I’m just tired of everything, Sunoo.”

And it’s true. You’ve had enough of wondering about whether you love him too much, if you were being naive about everything. You have always been a very bubbly, social person, wearing your heart on your sleeve. You know that Minho is more of an introvert, and that it’s hard for him to express himself to others. However, you believed that with time, he would open up, at least to you. You found it as easy to confide your fears within Minho as it was to laugh when he tickled you. But communicating with Minho about his own feelings remained a difficulty. He still seems like such a mystery to you, and even if he wasn’t entertaining Minju’s whole plot, you feel like he isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. You hadn’t even bothered telling Minho the truth about Minju, because in the end, you doubt Minju would have troubled you so much if your relationship really was so unbreakable. 

Sunoo’s face softens, as he gets up to envelope you in one of his hugs. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong. I just want the best for you.”

Soyeon joins your little huddle, wrapping her arms around the both of you. “You are our best friend, after all. We can’t have our favorite girl being sad.”

A tiny flicker of hope ignites in your stomach. Whatever happens, you know you’ll have Soyeon and Sunoo by your side. You tell yourself over and over again that you don’t need anyone else but them, until you start to believe it.

It hurts Minho’s heart to see that you look more beautiful than ever as you step into Morningstar, even with your downturned lips and the reddened sheen of your sleepless eyes. He busies himself with the menu as you approach the table he’s sitting at, as if he wasn’t just watching you a moment earlier.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Your words feel oddly formal, especially taking into account your usual greeting for Minho was an excited hug and an avalanche of kisses.

Minho shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant and not as scared as he really is. “Yeah, of course.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, clearing your throat. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Unable to help himself, Minho rolls his eyes. “How do you think I slept, Y/N?”

You immediately flush, realizing how obvious the answer must be. “I was just—”

“Checking on me,” Minho interrupts you, sounding more wounded than angry. “Right after you tell me that you think maybe we shouldn’t move-in together and that you aren’t feeling the same about us.”

You reach across the table to take Minho’s hands in yours. He can’t bring himself to wrench them free from your hold. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You did.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I just…” You trail off, gazing out the window. The campus is alive with the buzz of students waking up and going on about their days. It’s a gorgeous day for October, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky— Minho hates it.

He looks away, not wanting to showcase how truly vulnerable he feels right now. “Why? Why this all of a sudden? Did I do something wrong?”

You start. “No!”

“Are you still upset about yesterday? I know everything is stressful right now, but I promise—”

You take a deep breath. “I can no longer trust you. I don't know if I’ll always be the only one. But it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Of course you’re my only one, what are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, the desperation creeping in. “No. I promise I’ll try. I’ll be better. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this together.”

You slam your palms down on the table, making it shake. It shocks both you and Minho into a moment of charged silence. “We’ll only grow to hate each other at this rate. I need to end things with you now.”

“Y/N, please. I- I don’t want to break-up.”

You flash Minho a broken smile. “I don’t want it either. But I need to do this, for both our sakes.”

You stand up from your chair, and Minho finally breaks. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he fell into a ravine while hiking and broke his arm. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he was cut from the line-up for his dream internship in New York City. Minho, who never cries, sits in front of you now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his sweatshirt.

“Don’t go, please.” He makes one last attempt at getting you to stay, grabbing onto the arm of your jacket. 

You gently shake him free, taking your purse. You’re crying now too. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Min.”

Minho lets his arm fall limply to his side as he hopelessly watches you leave as quickly as you came. He always hated saying goodbye after every time you went out, but the thought of being able to see you the next day helped a little bit. Now, there wasn’t even that.

“One… two… three.” 

Minho grunts in effort, sweat slowly dripping down his neck at the arduous pace of each repetition.

“Keep going, Minho. You’re almost there,” Changbin says, leaning over Minho and supporting him on the bench press.

Minho barely hears him, flexing his biceps up and down, exhausted, yet determined to finish a set. He’s done nothing at all for the past few days, strangled with the inevitable grief of being broken up with. Minho sullenly welcomed trudging back and forth to classes. He went to bed early and slept in for as long as possible, and barely ate anything during the meals Chan forced him to have.

However, Chan finally became fed up with Minho’s mopiness, employing Changbin to drag him out to the gym and make him work out his feelings. And so, as he struggles under the backbreaking weight of the barbell, he yearns to feel a sense of accomplishment about something— anything.

“Ten! You’re done.” Changbin gently places a hand on Minho’s arm, willing him to stop, but Minho keeps going without toning down his pace.

Minho feels the excruciating ache burning in his muscles, the slow agony of pain rippling through him. Is this how you feel? Is this how much it hurts to love him? If so, he wants to live it over and over again, atoning for the reason you left him. He blames himself for letting you go, of course, but mostly for making you feel like you had to leave in the first place. He should have been a better man for you. 

“Minho, stop!” Changbin lifts up the weight in his own hands, racking it and staring down accusingly at his charge. “Are you crazy? You could have hurt yourself.”

“You lift more than that, and you’re fine. Give me that.” Minho reaches for the barbell once more, but Changbin places it on an even higher hook, forcing Minho to get off the bench.

“I’ve been doing this for years. You started after your girlfriend dumped you, four days ago.”

Minho rolls his eyes, picking up his towel and dabbing at his dampened skin. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You were already thinking about her anyway.” Changbin pats Minho’s shoulder, grabbing his bottle of green juice and walking over to the rowing machine to start his own workout.

Without further protest, Minho retreats to the locker rooms, wondering if he’s being that obvious. Minho gazes into the clouded mirror, inspecting himself for any signs of sadness, but all he receives is an eyeful of his general look, a guarded expression that reserves smiles only for those who deserve it. Weird. Maybe Changbin is just telepathic.

Minho shoves his belongings into his gym bag and heads out of the gym, back to nowhere else but Chan’s apartment, his temporary home until he finds a better place to stay. After all, he thought you both would be moving in together, but plans change. 

As Minho makes his way down the sidewalk that leads to the university off-campus housing complex, someone throws a soccer ball into his path. Great.

“Hey, can you pass that over here?” 

Clenching his jaw in annoyance, Minho kicks at the ball as hard as he can, not caring about where it lands. He ignores the person’s confused shouts and keeps walking until he reaches his destination, not acknowledging any of the strangers he passed by. What does it matter, anyway?

“Gym go well?” Chan looks up from the cutting board, setting down his knife and wiping his hands on a dishrag.

Minho sighs, neatly fixing his bag next to his current post, the sofa. “It was fine. I’ll go clean up and be right back.”

“Hurry! Dinner’s almost ready,” Chan calls as Minho heads inside the bathroom, locking the door and cranking on the shower. 

Minho feels his body relax as he steps under the steady stream of water, but his mind remains tense. He’d gone to the gym with Changbin today because he thought he’d be able to get some peace of mind and forget about everything, but evidently, that hadn’t worked. All he can think about is you, you, you. He’ll deny it to his friends for as long as he can, but he isn’t sure how long he can keep lying to himself.

As he finishes, Minho steps out of the steamy bathroom and into the bedroom, drying off and quickly changing into his clothes. He walks into the dining area, where Chan has set up two bowls and is ladling pasta into each of them. When he was younger, Minho’s mother used to tell them that a good meal could ease a troubled heart. For her sake and Chan’s, he decides to eat well today, just for living.

Enveloped in a comfortable silence, Minho and Chan dig in, enjoying the spicy, cheesy penne that serves as an instant comfort food. 

“Thanks, Chan,” Minho says, looking up from his bowl.

Chan swallows his bite and pauses, placing down his fork. “For what?”

Minho shrugs awkwardly, trying to find the right words. By now, he knows he’s no good at speaking his heart. “For being there for me. For feeding me. Everything, I guess.”

“And for making Changbin haul your ass to the gym.” Chan grins at Minho, nothing but warmth in his kind eyes. “What are friends for, brother?”

Even though he feels kind of crappy, Minho smiles. “Yeah, man.”

Chan reaches over and smacks Minho’s back, laughing the sentiment off. But deep inside, Minho knows that Chan understands him. Whatever happens, his brother will be by his side. He tells that to himself over and over again, through dinner and the TV show that Chan turns on, until he starts to believe it. 

The next morning, Minho wakes up after finally getting a good night’s sleep. The much needed rest spurs him on to message you, something he’s been putting off for a while now.

catservant98: did you wake up? catservant98: how are you doing? catservant98: ??

You don’t reply to any of his texts. Minho knows that you’re not much of a morning person, but you would never miss class, so you have to be up. Every Thursday and Friday, both of you have Writing Seminar together, a course that is mandatory for every senior student at the university you both attend. When he first received his schedule, he had been elated that he shared a class with his girlfriend. Well now you are his ex-girlfriend, and he doesn’t know that being in the same room and unable to speak with you is a great option.

Nevertheless, Minho tucks his phone into his pocket, opening the door to the lecture hall. The moment he enters, his eyes find yours. You’re sitting in your favorite spot in the middle of the fifth row, but the seat next to you that Minho usually takes is already occupied by some other girl who’s busy reading a book. You didn’t bother saving him a seat, for the very first time.

You tear your eyes away from Minho’s piercing gaze, looking at the grassy lawn beyond the window behind you, leaving Minho to find a new seat. He sets his backpack down in the very back row, where no one else is, and sits alone, a sad new reality setting in. Thankfully, the professor enters and starts talking about some upcoming project, leaving Minho ample leeway to observe you. 

Your head is tilted down and you're focused on the open notebook in front of you. Although he can’t see your hand properly, he knows it’s moving as you sketch a little doodle onto the paper. It’s a habit that he always found enormously endearing, and as you tuck your hair behind your ear, Minho feels another pang in his chest. He will never be able to brush back your hair for you, ever again.

The moment class is over, Minho quits pretending he’s actually paying attention and hurries over to you before you can leave. You’re midway through stuffing your books bag in your bag when you notice Minho hovering over you. With a resigned sigh, you look up at him expectantly.

“I- I just wanted to check on you,” Minho says quietly, looking down at his hands like he’s a kid again, guilty of stealing a candy instead of impinging on your time. “And see how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been better.” You look away and stand up, gesturing towards the door. “I should go. Soyeon’s probably waiting.”

“Okay then.” Minho steps aside, letting you pass. You both had a lot of mutual friends; surely every interaction between you both will not be this awkward, right? 

Before you leave, however, you turn and look at him. “Let’s try to be civil and move on, okay? We’ll still be seeing each other a lot, so.”

Minho just stares at you, for a moment, before remembering himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try.”

You curtly nod and walk out the door. Minho isn’t so sure that moving on is what he wants. Of course he wants to get along with you, because having you in his life and not being romantically involved is better than not being involved with you at all. But he wishes the world— time, you, and even himself— would understand that moving on meant this loss in his life. Shaking his head, Minho heads out of the classroom and towards a hopefully better day.

“Are you sure this isn’t a bad idea?” You worriedly scan the increasing mass of partygoers. Usually, you love a good party; spending time with friends and making new ones is one of your favorite things to do. Tonight, however, you can’t help the bad feeling building inside of you.

Sunoo loops your arm through yours, leading the way for you through the swanky flat, searching for a place to sit. “No, it isn’t. You deserve to have some fun.”

“What if I see Minho?” You ask him, but you already know the answer. Of course Minho is coming to Jihyo’s birthday party; unfortunately, both of you were in the same large friend group, an aspect of your relationship that you used to cherish. Now, not so much.

He looks over at you, a challenge in his eyes. “And so what if you do? You told him you wanted to be civil. So be civil.”

“Right.”

You both find a place by the food tables, where boxes of pizza have already been opened to entice guests and bottles of beer chill in the cooler. After congratulating Jihyo and helping yourself to a few slices, you sit down on the couch next to Sunoo, trying to enjoy your dinner. After boba, pizza is your most favorite food on the whole planet, but even that can’t seem to soothe your nerves. You wish Soyeon were here too, but she’s stuck studying for an exam.

Noticing your restlessness, Sunoo whistles to a few people mingling nearby. “Hey, who wants to play Truth or Dare!”

Although outdated, Truth or Dare is a certified party hit for stressed college students like you all, especially if there’s alcohol involved. You’re just thankful for the distraction. Everyone quickly huddles around, buzzing in anticipation of either a comedy show or secrets being revealed.

“I’ll go first.” Chan says, stepping forward. If he’s here, so must be Minho. “Truth.”

Sunoo rubs his hands together in thought before piping up. “What’s your beef with your Student Council co-president?”

Chan immediately tenses, his cheeks turning red. “Shit. I’ll drink on that.”

Everyone whoops with laughter and cheers as Chan downs his beer, setting the cup down with a sour expression on his face due to the bitterness of the drink. He must really hate his co-president. The game continues, before you’re the only person playing who hasn’t gone yet. Unfortunately, your questioner is Mark Lee, a junior that’s notorious for his nosiness. You brace yourself for whatever invasive question he’ll come up with, but you aren’t as quite prepared as you think.

“Why did you and Y/N break up?” 

“Huh?” You follow Mark’s gaze to see him looking at Minho, who joined the game without you realizing. The question was meant for him, not you.

Minho says nothing, giving Mark the opportunity to keep talking. “I mean, weren’t you guys the golden couple of campus or something?”

Everyone quiets down, zeroing in on you and Minho for all of the wrong reasons. Minho’s eyes dart over to where you sit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You feel your skin prickle and your body heat up, the stress clouding your senses once more.

“This is stupid. Game’s over,” Minho declares while getting up, and everyone disperses, not willing to argue with him.

You stare down at your lap as Sunoo places an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea Mark would ask that. What an asshole.”

“I’m fine.” You stand up, brushing off your skirt. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sunoo offers.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll come back.”

After getting some water, you wind through the impromptu dance floor that has now taken over the living space, everyone jamming to the raging music that thumps through the loud bass speakers that Jihyo had installed into her flat. You dodge a couple grinding up against each other and a pair of best friends swinging to the beat. Before you head back to Sunoo, you’re about to find temporary reprieve out on the balcony, but like a cruel universal joke, you see exactly what you fear most.

Minho leans against the railing, the evening breeze ruffling the chestnut hair that frames his handsome face. And next to him stands Minju, twirling her hair around her fingers while listening to what Minho is murmuring to her. Yours and Minju’s eyes meet, and she gives you the faintest hint of a satisfied smirk. Your heart drops and your feet want to give out right then and there, but you would rather die than fall apart in front of both of them. You turn on your heel and blindly march to wherever will rid you of the side of the person you love the most speaking to the person you hate the most. 

That destination turns out to be the kitchen, as you march in and huff out loud as your body hits the kitchen island. There’s no one else there except for one other person with his upper body hidden by the refrigerator, obviously raiding it. At the sound of someone else entering, he shuts the fridge door and looks over at you. Taking in his faded pink hair and beat-up converse sneakers, you vaguely recognize him from somewhere.

“I was just looking for some carrot juice, that’s all.” The guy shoots you a sheepish smile. “I don’t do booze past 9 p.m.”

“Carrot juice? Don’t tell me you’re a fitness freak.”

He raises his hands in faux surrender. “Guilty. But outside of the gym, I’m Kang Taehyun. Or Terry, if we’re acquainted, and hopefully you and I will be by the end of the night. So call me Terry.”

You’re intrigued by this carrot-loving stranger. “I’m—”

“Y/N, I know. We have Writing Seminar together.” Terry smiles as the recognition hits you.

You slap your palm against your forehead, wondering how you could have missed him. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was always too distracted in that class.”

He waves your apology off with a twist of his wrist. “No worries. Besides, you’re a lot more memorable than me.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

In the brief silence that follows, you gaze up at the pattern of the tiling on the countertops, toying with the hem of your skirt. Once again, your thoughts flit over to Minho, wondering if he’s still talking to Minju. Terry notices you spacing out and speaks up. “Hey, are you okay?”

You look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, everything feels like too much, and you’re overwhelmed with your own emotions. You feel yourself tear up, and you’re immediately mortified for breaking down in front of someone you just met. 

Unfazed, Terry crosses over to you in three quick strides and gently touches your arm, concerned. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You swipe at your eyes, trying to collect yourself. “No, it’s not you. I broke up with my boyfriend recently. And it’s been… bad. God, this is embarrassing.”

Terry dips his head in understanding. “I noticed you weren’t sitting next to him as usual in class earlier today. Minho— that's him, right?”

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Well…” Terry trails off, and you fear you’ve ruined the mood with your depressive recollection, but he smiles at you. “I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me. I have a fear of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

A giggle escapes your mouth at the absurdity of his confession. “What?”

Terry nods solemnly. “Yes. Technically, I have a fear of visiting the dentist, but mint choco is close enough to the taste of toothpaste to give me the chills.”

You grin at Terry, the down atmosphere slowly fading away. “What do you like, then?”

“Water slides. Pleasure reading. And caramel popcorn with extra caramel.” Terry flexes his bicep. “Even a fitness freak needs his sugar fix.”

You roll your eyes in good humor. “You’re really something, aren’t you, Kang Taehyun?”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.” Terry runs his hand through his bubblegum hair, carelessly mussing it up. You find the messiness of his bangs absolutely adorable.

“It is.” You tap your nails against your cup, trying to think of something to say next. Generally, you have no difficulty in keeping a conversation going, but Terry seems to be content with that role in this one.

“Are you an Apple or Android kind of person?” Terry inquires.

You take a sip of your water, raising your eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I was trying to think of a good way to ask you for your number.” Terry shrugs, that playful smile that you’ve now become familiar with coming back.

You return it. “You just did.”

Both of you exchange cell phones and type in each other’s contact information. When finished, Terry slides your phone back into your palm, and you don’t miss the light touch of his fingers against your own.

“I have to go find my friend now, Terry. But I’m glad I met you. Don’t forget to spam me with more weird facts about yourself.”

Terry laughs. “I won’t. Like I said, Y/N, you’re not easily forgettable.”

You hide your smile and leave the kitchen, lost in your own world, even as you run straight into Sunoo, who asks you what took you so long. When you finally get back to the warmth of your own room after the party, you sit down to get some homework done before bed. You notice your favorite keychain, a little cat charm, hanging off your ID card lanyard that’s strewn across your desk. Minho gifted it to you last year, stating that you needed something to remind you of him when he wasn’t there. After a moment’s hesitation, you unclip the charm from the lanyard and tuck it away inside your desk. You don’t need the reminder right now.

terrypotter: hey, good morning!! this is terry from yday btw bobaluvrr: hii!  bobaluvrr: omg ur user <3 i love harry potter too!  terrypotter: this friendship was meant to be.

You throw off your covers, hopping out of bed. Last night was proof that things could start out horrible and end well. You meant what you said to Terry; you’re happy you were able to meet someone like him. Even though you both only hung out for a few minutes, talking to him felt relaxing and uncomplicated, less of a puzzle and more like a game, unlike how it felt with Minho. You were tired of always guessing Minho’s thoughts, and so Terry’s habit of speaking his mind feels incredibly refreshing.

terrypotter: here’s a thought- coffee @ morningstar?  terrypotter: they make a mean breakfast bagel too, if ur up for it

You frown down at your phone, the lighthearted feeling fading into uncertainty. You are glad that Terry named this new acquaintance as a friendship, but still, he’s a boy— and a good looking one at that, too. You aren’t sure if getting coffee entails something potentially romantic down the lane, and if it does, it feels wrong, especially so soon after Minho. You definitely haven’t moved on, yet. After all, you once believed that Minho would be the man you would marry one day, and a tiny part of you still dreams of what could be.

bobaluvrr: i can’t :( promised my roommates breakfast terrypotter: aw that’s too bad

After a moment of thought, however, you text him again. 

bobaluvrr: but i’ll save you a seat in class today! terrypotter: see u then :) 

Strangely buzzed, you make your bed and get ready for the day, trying not to think of the fact that Minho is also in Writing Seminar with you and Terry. You don’t want him to give him the wrong idea, but then again, you both weren’t together anymore, so what does it matter? 

After showering and getting dressed, you stand in the kitchen so that the excuse you gave Terry won’t be a lie, scrambling a few eggs in the frying pan that Minho bought you last year. As the designated chef in your relationship, Minho used to cook for you all the time, whenever you came over to the apartment he shared with Chan and Jisung. Whenever he visited you, however, he complained that there weren’t enough proper cooking supplies for him to create a “proper culinary experience” for you, so he insisted on buying you some. 

When you nearly fainted, looking at the receipts for everything he bought you, he promised that you could make it up to him by bringing everything with you when you moved in with him. That’s how he very smoothly asked you to move in with him, and you accepted by attacking him with kisses. You both planned to find an apartment as soon as possible, since Jisung wanted to move-in with his best friend, and Chan was looking for his own place. The reminiscing smile on your face fades away when you remember that everyone’s plans came to fruition except for yours and Minho’s.

You don’t know if it’s the universe looping Minho into your life again and again, or if your treacherous heart just misses him so much that you can’t help but subconsciously cling to every last remnant you have of him. The sensible side of you knows it’s the latter scenario. 

“I smell food.” Sunoo ambles out of his room, looking like a lovable yet scruffy teddy bear. 

He tries to sneak a piece of fried egg from the pan, but you quickly push his hands away, wrinkling your nose. “Go brush your teeth first. I’m going to throw up.”

Sunoo rolls his eyes sleepily, but obeys, before Soyeon also comes out of her bedroom. Unlike Sunoo, however, she’s all dressed and ready for business, clad in her uniform of baggy jeans and a badass leather jacket that you adore. Soyeon pulls out three glasses and starts juicing a couple oranges to complete your meal, as you start plating the food.

“Thank you, my angel,” Soyeon blows you a kiss as you set the eggs and some slices of buttered toast on the table. You wink back at her as you both take your seats and Sunoo comes out to join you, still wearing his pajamas.

“And you, lazy ass? Wake up earlier so you can help out more. You never do anything.” Soyeon smacks Sunoo’s arm, hard, eliciting a cry out of him.

“Hey! I take on the emotional support role in this house,” Sunoo replies, aggressively biting into his toast.

“This is an apartment.”

Your two roommates trade their usual insults back and forth as you tune them out, picking at your own plate. Maybe it had been a bad idea, asking Terry to sit next to you. And it wasn’t even about how you could already envision your ex-boyfriend’s beautiful eyes full of betrayal, but more of how you’re coming off to Terry. What if he got the wrong idea, that you both were heading into something more than a friendship?

When you’ve escaped Sunoo and Soyeon’s bickering, you plug in your earbuds and walk to the lecture hall. The sound of your morning mix fills your ears as you enter your own world. While you cherish the people in your life more than anything, you treasure the times when you can slow down and just appreciate the fact that you’re alive and healthy. Gratitude isn’t something you feel a lot, especially taking into account recent happenings, but maybe you’ll start now. A new friend is always something to be thankful for—

You hear someone calling out and immediately pull out your headphones to see Terry next to you. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Terry falls into a synchronized step with you. “Did I interrupt any deep contemplation? The look on your face was pretty intense.”

You shake your head, accepting the coffee that Terry hands to you. “Thank you. And no, you didn’t. It’s nice to see you again, Terry.”

Terry smiles, sipping from his own cup. “Likewise. Ready for class?”

You’re about to naturally give him an affirmative answer, before you halt, remembering yet another moment with Minho.

“Who the hell is he?” Minho glowers threateningly at the guy next to you, pulling the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. The man quickly rushes out of the bar and into the rain, without even bothering to open the umbrella in his hands. 

You sigh loudly while Minho sits down on the stool the man was just perched on. “Was that necessary, Min? Poor guy just wanted to ask me about the book I’m reading.”

“That’s the pretense that all guys put up when they’re trying to hit on a girl.” Minho slides his arm around your shoulders, and despite your mild annoyance, you melt into his touch. He smells like a mix of cologne, rain, and fresh cotton sheets.

You look up at Minho through your eyelashes. “Is that what you did when you asked me out?”

Minho smiles lovingly at you. “I didn’t have to. You were down bad for me already.”

You shove him away in mock offense. “You were the down bad one! I remember your whole cheesy speech.”

“I don’t recall anything like that.” The smirk on Minho’s face fades in favor of a deep blush.

Laughing, you press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips, and he quickly reciprocates. The truth is, you both were impossibly down bad for each other. And to be even more honest, you enjoyed it when Minho got like this; the feeling of being Lee Minho’s girl will never not excite you, especially when he was the one keen on enforcing it.

You sigh to yourself. While that was a pleasant memory without the context, you aren’t so sure it’ll be cute this time, when Minho reacts to you and Terry.

Terry holds the door open to the lecture hall, letting you go in first before shutting the door behind him. Most of the class is already assembled there, setting up their desks before the professor starts. You see that Minho’s also sitting, perched in the back again, but he seems busy rifling through his bag, looking for something. As you take your own seat, you don’t know if you feel relief at Minho not saying anything, or disappointment that he didn’t notice you at all.

Throughout the duration of class, you and Terry giggle together over the professor’s infamous random rants, but your mind keeps flitting over to Minho. You can feel his gaze on you and Terry, but when you turn, you see him immersed in his notes like he wasn’t looking at you in the first place, and you end up feeling stupid. Fearful of what Minho— or really, you— might do, as soon as class ends, you grab Terry’s wrist and practically pull him out of the door, ready to get out of there. Terry doesn’t question it, understanding the rationale for your actions. You appreciate that about him.

To make it up to Terry, you take him out to lunch, choosing a restaurant downtown. You love the views of the riverfront there, as well as their renowned spicy food. You block out the memory of all of the times you and Minho walked over here, hand in hand. You are entitled to lunch at your favorite restaurant, you remind yourself. Once you’re seated, the waiter comes over to your table.

“Chef’s special soup, please. Level-three spice,” you tell the waiter.

The waiter writes down your orders and walks away, leaving Terry to look at you with an amused expression. “Level-three? The food here is already spicy.”

You cross your arms. “I have a very high spice tolerance.”

“Alright.”

In no time at all, your waiter is back, setting down the food in front of you both. Terry immediately digs in, shoveling liberal spoonfuls of his mild fried rice into his mouth, leaving you to stare at your soup. You can practically smell the red pepper in the steam rising out of the bowl.

“Here’s my last warning before destruction,” Terry says, squeezing a lemon onto his rice. “Try some rice.”

You sit up, trying to look self-assured. “Nonsense. I can do this.”

Of course, you wish you hadn’t bragged so much, barely a few seconds after your first sip of the spicy broth. Your eyes start to tear up involuntarily, and Terry fills a glass of water from the iced pitcher and hands it over to you. You accept it, clumsily tipping the cool water into your mouth, as Terry gives you a knowing smile.

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

The spoon in your hands nearly falls onto the floor in your shock at Terry’s words. “What did you just say?”

Terry gives you an odd look. “Um, I said, ‘aren’t you overdoing it?’”

You take a deep breath, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. But you know that they’re not completely due to the soup. “Wow.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Terry hands you a napkin, worry written on his face. He signals for the waiter to refill the water pitcher.

You smile ruefully. “Yeah, I will be.”

“I can handle it, Minho.” You give him a glare, placing the napkin on your lap and scooting closer to the table. It’s your first date with Minho, and you want to impress him so bad.

Minho nudges your leg with his own, and you try not to look flustered. “It’s okay if you want to order something else.”

You stubbornly dig your spoon into the bowl, gathering a large helping of broth and noodles onto it. “You like the soup here. So I want to eat it too.”

He just laughs, watching intently as the clear signs of regret manifest on your face. “Told you so.”

"What are you talking about?” You narrow your eyes, unwilling to admit defeat, even though you really, really want to. You drink the soup in careful spoonfuls, pretending it’s too hot, but you struggle to speak even in between tiny sips. “This… is.. so… delicious.”

Minho is now hysterical, losing his mind laughing at the look on your face when you bite straight into a whole jalapeno. “Aren’t you overdoing it?”

“Minho, you’re so mean!” You can’t bear it any longer, the tears gushing down your cheeks while you also laugh in both pain and genuine happiness at being here with Minho, at making him laugh. 

“Alright, alright.” Minho quickly goes and gets a large glass of chilled apple juice from the bar, handing it to you. 

When you’re finally calmed down, you wipe your mouth with your napkin and set the spoon down, metaphorically waving a white flag. You skip straight to dessert, opting to soothe your taste buds with cold ice cream, all while watching Minho in awe as he easily finishes his own bowl of soup. After paying for dinner, Minho takes you to a secluded section of the rocky beach bordering the river that runs straight through the city. You both walk in a comfortable silence, still at that point where your hands slightly touch as you walk, unsure of just holding each other like you so want them to. 

You look over at Minho, suddenly self-conscious. At this point, you see no point in faking anything; he’s seen you literally sob over a bowl of soup. “About the soup… I promise I’m not a braggy show-off. Honestly, I just wanted to impress you. Guess I did the opposite, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, all laughter from before gone. “I’ve never met someone who ate a bowl of soup here just because I like it. Not even Chan would try it, and he’s my best friend.”

You blush, illuminated by the combination of the moonlight and the glittering city surrounding. “Thank you.”

Minho stops walking, turning around to face you. “I know I told you this when I asked you to go out with me, but I suck at using my words, so I’m sorry.”

You copy his movement so you’re looking him directly in the eye. “I understand you, words or not.”

Minho looks down at the rocky ground, secretly fighting his own insecurities. “I’m trying, but I… I admit I’m not great at this.”

You try not to show how utterly charmed you are by his bashfulness. “To be honest, neither am I. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever gone out with. Nobody’s really been into me before.”

“Seriously?” Minho looks shocked. 

You now wonder if divulging that information in him was wise. Definitely not. “Yeah.”

Minho kicks a pebble into the river, watching it sink into the water. “Idiots.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

He scoffs, looking back at you. “I don’t know what kind of idiots you were hanging around before. How could no one be into you?”

You shrug, embarrassed. Your heart feels heavy, thinking of the things people used to say to you, thinking they were being funny but not realizing how much mere words were hurting you. “I’m kind of undateable, I guess. People tend to gravitate towards Soyeon. They say I’m more of the comedic relief. I don’t blame them, though. She’s perfect.”

Minho gives you an unreadable expression. “You have no idea.”

“Of what?”

He crosses that miniscule space between you both, answering you in a different way than you expect. His lips are full and sweet, and he tastes like your coffee ice cream that he stole a few bites from. The surprise you harbor quickly melts away when you shut your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his around your waist. If it took this long to find the right person, then so be it. And you don’t know if you can say that this— your first kiss ever— is like the movies; it feels even better. 

“I may not be good with words, but I can say this: you are perfect.”

“You look kind of stupid,” Hyunjin says, cackling at Minho’s struggle to look over the top of the box in his hands while coordinating his movements. 

Minho gives Hyunjin a sharp look in response. “And you look ready to go into the air fryer.”

Hyunjin immediately tosses his phone aside and scurries over to where Minho is, taking the box out of his hands and transporting it into Minho’s designated bedroom with ease, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he goes. Minho smiles to himself, satisfied. 

He follows Hyunjin into the room, finding the latter boy dramatically smoothing out the bedsheets and straightening the pillows. Hyunjin side-eyes Minho’s entrance, earning him a smack on the backside and a great reason to get out of the room, leaving Minho in peace.

Minho quickly unpacks, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them in the closet, before organizing the rest of his belongings around the room. When he finishes, he falls back onto his new bed, staring up at the ceiling fan and observing it whir. Out of everything that’s happened, he knows he should be thankful; although Hyunjin is the designated comedian of their friend group— along with Jisung, of course— he values his privacy incredibly. So when Hyunjin offered to rent out a room in his apartment to Minho, he couldn’t believe his luck. Then again, he wishes he wasn’t in this position to begin with.

Earlier today, Chan insisted on going out to catch the football game that their university hosted. Minho had agreed, with nothing better to do— besides, he noticed that Chan was also having a rough start to his day, after being locked in the campus library all night with his co-president that he always conflicted with. Chan had stayed quiet for the entire time, staring out the window on the ride to the home game, but at least he had a happy ending. By the end of the game, things had changed for Chan, and for the better: he’d amended things with his co-president, and of everything that could have happened, they even emerged from the stadium as a couple. For Minho, however, things had been quite different.

Namely, there’s a new replacement for Minho. He saw you walk into class with Kang Taehyun yesterday, and he’d been so anxious to not let you see his reaction that he immediately busied himself with his backpack. The entire time, however, he was watching you both whisper to each other during class. He darkly observed Taehyun scribble something onto the corner of your notebook, and it had made you laugh. That was what Minho used to do all the time. By the end of class, Minho considered confronting you right then and there, without caring about anyone else, but you ran out of class with Taehyun before he could even move.

And to make things even worse, he saw you and Taehyun together at the game. Minho had to resist the urge to march down to your section and slap the flirtatious smile off of Taehyun’s face. But more than anything, he wanted to ask you if it was true. Did you really already start to move on with a new man? Is Minho really that replaceable to you?

“Hey, what are you up to?” Hyunjin cautiously sticks his head into the room, snapping Minho out of his reverie.

“Nothing much. What’s up?”

Hyunjin steps into the room, his silky shirt and pressed trousers a stark contrast to Minho’s soft blue t-shirt and gym shorts. “Wanna go to the convenience store with me? I ran out of snacks.”

“You and your snacks,” Minho teases, chasing after Hyunjin when he sticks his tongue in retaliation.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin successfully drags Minho into the convenience store, disappearing into the junk food aisles to get his fix and leaving Minho to wander around the store. Following the twisting row of frozen foodstuffs, Minho turns and crashes straight into you.

“Minho?” Your eyes widen.

Minho clears your throat, trying not to gaze at you like you’re a returned long-lost love. You are indeed lost to him, but he had class with you merely the day before. He needs to get a grip on himself. “You dropped this.”

He kneels down, picking up the tub of ice cream, and hands it to you after inspecting the flavor label. “Strawberry? You hate strawberry.”

You take it back hastily. “Yeah. You always loved it, though.”

That doesn’t satisfy Minho’s rampant irritation. “You wouldn’t even touch strawberry ice cream with a ten-foot pole before. What changed?”

“I just wanted to try something new,” you say, with what Minho observes as guilt.

Before Minho can respond, the person he wants to see the least rounds the corner and interrupts you both. 

“I promise, the strawberry ice cream here is amazing and— oh.” Taehyun walks up to where you are, standing slightly between you and Minho, before he looks down at you, ignoring Minho. “Am I interrupting something? I can go away.”

You shake your head, flaring the rage in Minho. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

“So you’ll eat strawberry ice cream with him, but not me.” Minho rolls his eyes, the humiliation inside him swelling like a balloon.

“Hey man, it’s nothing like that. I know she doesn’t like strawberry ice cream that much, but I practically threatened her to try it. J'adore strawberries,” Taehyun says in a joking tone, but Minho doesn’t miss the protective glint in his eye.

Minho has never been a violent person, but he balls his fists. The nerve. “Who the fuck even are you? You don’t know anything about—”

“What is your problem, Minho?” You cut in angrily. “If you’re mad at me, then be mad at me. Don’t take your frustrations out on Terry.”

What you said is perfectly sensible, Minho knows that. He doesn’t have anything against Taehyun at all; he doesn’t even know the guy. But all logic is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

“Terry?” Minho scoffs at the nickname. “You know what, I am mad at you. Because seriously? Kang Taehyun? He isn’t even your type.”

Before Taehyun can say anything else, you respond to Minho’s jab, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Right, because you were so perfect for me.”

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, and Minho starts in surprise— you’ve never talked to him like that before, ever. And neither has he. The regret is evident on your face as you shake your head, frustrated, like that came out wrong.

“I got the snacks!” Hyunjin announces suddenly, waltzing into the aisle, before he notices you standing there with Taehyun. “What’s going on here?”

You and Taehyun stay quiet, adding onto Minho’s misery. He wants you to say something, anything. He doesn’t even want an apology; he knows he absolutely deserved that insult. Still, Minho can’t help that horrible feeling rising inside of him.

“Let’s just go.” Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the store, before waiting to finish the conversation, Hyunjin following closely behind. He doesn’t bother looking back.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything to Minho, falling silent in the rapidly approaching night. At times like this, Minho prefers to be left alone. But he isn’t, really. Not with the truth leaning over his shoulder, like an angelic superego. He tries not to think of it, however, or the fact that his heart is falling apart so violently in his chest. Although you and Minho are not together anymore, you’ve both now fulfilled a milestone: hurt each other beyond repair.

The convenience store encounter with Minho left you feeling guiltier than ever, even more than when you actually broke up with him. You should have been more understanding towards Minho; after suddenly ending things, you appear out with Terry. Even though you don’t see Terry like that, you are well aware of how it can look to Minho. After all, you’d react similarly if you found out that Minho and Minju are dating. But you hadn’t, because you know that Minho would never do that to you. 

You sigh, shutting the door to your room and collapsing onto your bed. After the whole incident, the air between you and Terry had been pretty awkward. While you still don’t know much about Terry, including his intentions, the topic of a romance had never been broached until Minho did it for you. He’d walked you back to your apartment, before wishing you a goodnight. 

Your phone sounds with a text, and you pick it up, curling into your pillow. It’s Terry.

terrypotter: just checking up on you terrypotter: how are you doing? bobaluvrr: better, thanks for asking terrypotter: glad to hear  terrypotter: and i also want to say that i’m sorry for any role i might have played in what happened today bobaluvrr: you’re good, terry. it wasn’t about you. i’m sorry for bringing you in

There is truth to this. No matter how much it feels like third parties have an avenue in furthering the split between you and Minho, the problem has always been internal. It’s truly between you both, hence, you’re not a couple anymore.

bobaluvrr: let’s change the subject? terrypotter: ofc terrypotter: wanna play would you rather?

You laugh in spite of yourself. It feels good to laugh, to distract yourself, but Minho stays like a stubborn mirage in your mind. Nevertheless—

bobaluvrr: game on. terrypotter: beaches or mountains? bobaluvrr: beaches terrypotter: sweet or salty? bobaluvrr: are u kidding? my username? boba?? terrypotter: LOL sweet then bobaluvrr: yes. terrypotter: spring or autumn? bobaluvrr: spring, duh terrypotter: and lastly, dogs or cats? bobaluvrr: DOGS terrypotter: u are 100% correct terrypotter: all of our answers are the exact same LMFAO

You think back to your first date with Minho. Before the whole soup fiasco, the atmosphere had been so awkward while waiting for the soup to arrive. This was months of tension and pining between you both, and now that the apex had arrived, neither of you were sure of what to say. Without thinking, Minho broke the silence by randomly asking you if you liked dogs or cats better. You were automatically enchanted by the bashful look on his face. From there on, for every single question he asked you, both of you had the exact opposite answers. For the longest time, your differences had felt charming, before they weren’t. 

Terry, on the other hand, shares so many similarities with you, beyond the strawberry ice cream betrayal. Both of you are outgoing, have a similar sense of humor, and like to be unabashedly yourselves. If a romance did ever blossom between you and Terry, if your friendship lasts your current heartbreak, you could be happy with him, maybe. You would never be insecure, worrying about what’s going on in his mind, because he would talk to you directly. You appreciate that so much about him. But whenever you look into his eyes, or whenever your hand accidentally brushes his, you don’t feel that electricity that had always coursed through you when you were with Minho. You’ve been searching for it everywhere since, but that spark just isn’t there; Taehyun’s just not Minho. Your heart calls out to Minho, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t, and you can’t deny it any longer.

If there’s one thing that Minho has learned in the duration of his college years, it’s that work has no tolerance for those special ailments of the heart. His professors don’t give a crap about the fact that his girlfriend dumped him, or that his girlfriend has now apparently moved on with some pink-haired stud. No matter how much he wants to slam his laptop screen down and fall asleep to the rhythm of his shattered heart, he knows he can’t. His term paper will not write itself, and it matters, especially since he’ll be graduating this year.

“What will you do when we graduate?” You set down your iPad, flexing your fingers.

“A job at a good company. And then one day, my own business.” That familiar, dreamy look mists Minho’s eyes. 

You smile at him. “My handsome CEO.”

Minho tapped your nose with his finger, following it with a soft kiss there. “You are so cute.”

“I know.” You peek down at his notebook that’s full of graphs and lengthy strings of numbers. “This looks complicated.”

“Welcome to the life of a business and economics double major,” Minho laughs. “But you’re literally a pre-med student. I’m not going to complain when you have to memorize human anatomy and random proteins.”

“Don’t remind me.” You dramatically shudder, giggling at Minho. “But I don’t care, as long as one day, you’re CEO Lee, and I’m Dr. Lee.”

Your words shock both you and Minho, invoking a moment of charged silence. You both have never talked about getting married before. But before you can backtrack, a slow smile spreads across Minho’s face. “Dr. Lee… has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

You turn a bright red, but lean into Minho, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Definitely.”

Minho clears his throat and shakes yet another memory of you away, trying to concentrate on the email open in front of him. Just minutes ago, he’d received notice that he’d been chosen for a position at Google, following graduation. Fucking Google. Every business major would kill for a job at Google. And not only that, but his employer noted in the message that they usually don’t even extend offers this early in the year, but made an exception for him because they wanted him so much. 

For a moment, he forgot all about the angst of the previous day, giddily jumping off his bed in a rare display of emotion, even if nobody else was around. And then he reached for his phone, opening up your contact and preparing to type in a text to you; for months, you knew Minho was anxious about his application to Google. But then he remembers himself; he’s now someone in your past.

Minho swallows roughly, staring at the blank space where his response accepting the offer should be. A moment later, he decides he’ll respond to the email later. But he doesn’t even have any time to chide himself before he notices someone standing in front of him. 

“Minju?” 

She looks down at him, either oblivious to his confusion or choosing to ignore it. “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Minho nods, waiting for Minju to sit down and get settled into her chair, trying not to let his bewilderment show.

At Jihyo’s party, he had needed some air after that stupid game of Truth or Dare, and even worse, your reaction to the question asked of him. Minho had escaped to the balcony, hoping for a moment alone, when Minju approached him. When she launched into a conversation with him about school, Minho realized that you probably never told Minju about the break-up. So he excused himself as politely as he could, explaining that you and him both broke up. He never really considered Minju as his own friend, and did not expect Minju to pursue a relationship with him any further.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Minho.” Minju exhales, looking him directly in the eye. “I like you.”

Minho sits up immediately, shocked. “What did you just say?”

Minju purses her lips. “I like you, and I always have. Go out with me.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, the confusion fading into anger. “You’re Y/N’s friend. How could you do this to her? How can you even look at yourself?”

“You’re not together anymore, it doesn’t matter,” Minju says, her voice wavering.

He scoffs, packing up his belongings and shoving them carelessly into his bag. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Minju grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket as he turns to leave, desperation in her eyes. “Be with me instead. I’ll make you forget her.”

Minho shakes her free, giving her a look of both pity and disgust. “I still love her, and I always will.”

And with that, Minho leaves without looking back, walking slowly and deliberately in thought. Was this what you meant when you told him that you weren’t sure if you were the only one? Was Minju the reason for the love of his life leaving him? A strange mix of both fury and hope washes over Minho as he exits the library and breaks into a run, barely eight out of his eight-thousand word essay written.

After you broke up with Minho, you forgot one very crucial detail: you didn’t unlink him from your Google calendar. One of the few things you both share in common is your organization, and when you were together, you both loved to plan things together and very ceremoniously add them to your shared online calendar. It became a game, trying to guess where the other was at random times, judging by their schedule. More often than not, the calendar proved to be a very useful tool in pinpointing each other’s locations. It’s why the brief surprise of seeing Minho standing outside your apartment door in the middle of the day on a weekday fades away quickly. You don’t have any classes scheduled today.

“Y/N,” he pants, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Minho. What are you doing here?” You cross your arms, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug him in all of his puffer coat glory. You used to make fun of him for that coat, all the time.

“I needed to see you. Minju told me,” Minho lowers his eyes, as if he’s nervous. “I need you to know that there was nothing going on with her. You have always been my only one. I promise. No one else. I miss you.”

Your heart wrenches in desire and nostalgia at the sincerity of his eyes. Of course you knew that he never cheated on you; this is Minho. But that’s not the reason why you have to remind yourself, once more, that you aren’t right for each other. Not in the long run. “I miss you too. And I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Minho’s eyes fill with what you recognize as a mix of despair and tears, because after all, you’ve felt it in you too, before. “Then why? Why end it?”

“I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you.”

The wheels turning inside of Minho’s mind and searching for possible reasons, immediately crash to a stop. “What?”

You shrug, drawing back your hands to tuck them into your lap, a habit that Minho has observed whenever you are nervous. “Remember when we were at that picnic with all of your friends? And Jisung and his girlfriend were also there? We were playing a question game.”

Minho nods slowly, still confused. “I do.”

“Felix had asked all the guys to think of why they love their girlfriends.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “Changbin had a whole list of reasons. But when it was your turn to speak, you had no answer.”

The recollection comes back to Minho like a tsunami. He hadn’t really ever thought much of that day; he always had trouble talking about personal things in front of other people, and he thought you already knew why he loved you. He didn’t know his inability to share something like that could hurt you so much, especially when he can write a whole book of reasons for why he loves you. Your smile. Your endless generosity. Your never ending patience for Minho’s antics. The way you always see the best in people, and how you light up the whole room when you walk in.

“Baby,” Minho starts, before realizing that he doesn’t have the right to call you that anymore. Reluctantly, he continues, using your name instead. “Y/N, I have trouble talking in front of other people. I love you so much, and if you know that, it’s all that really matters. A stupid game doesn’t change that.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But see, Minho, I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re feeling half the time. Felix’s question was just the icing on the cake. I’m exhausted from wondering. Wondering if you love me. Wondering if I really know you. Just wondering all the time. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

I’ll try harder to be more open. I’ll work on myself. I just— please believe me.”

“I do believe that you’ll try, Min. It’s who you are. But I can’t force you to be someone you’re not, and you can’t force me to want different things. We’ll only end up hurting each other more.” Your eyes fill with tears. “It hurts to love you.”

Minho flinches at your words, and he sees the sorrow in your eyes, but you say nothing to soothe the burn. Nevertheless, he keeps trying, as if he didn’t notice the determination written in your gaze as well. “I know I was senseless. But please— I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t leave, not again.”

You look away from him, a single tear sliding down your cheek, as Minho tries to hold back his own. The whole scene feels disturbingly like a few days ago, when you broke up with him in Morningstar. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. 

“I tried to understand you. I did. But don’t you think that being senseless about everything that was going on also means that you were that indifferent towards me?” You scrub at your face to keep from crying even more.

Minho cringes, hearing the truth in your words. Once upon a time, he cherished the silence you both could share comfortably, working independently in the happy company of each other. Now the quiet hangs in the air like smog, a heavy uneasiness that he never imagined around you. “I really thought I could change. I swear.”

You nod, a brisk movement that doesn’t match the tears glistening on your face. “You should go now. Please.”

And you turn your head, as if you can’t bear to watch him any longer. Minho turns, his head hanging down like he’s a sinner. A small, ugly voice in Minho whispers that he truly is one, for hurting you and letting you go. It implores him to fall at your feet and stay, insisting, breaking at you until you crumble into his arms, taking him back. But the part of him that carries the resolve is stronger by a thread, the one that fuels his despondent retreat from your heart.

Later, holed away in the place he would now have to call his home, Minho is left alone in the bed that he’d once believed to belong to you as much as it did to him. The nights cuddled together and the mornings after, when you woke up to each other in a halo of sunlight, all fade away into the prickling solitude that now constitutes his new reality. There is nothing left for him to do now, except looking out at the sky through his tiny bedroom window, wondering if you were both gazing at the same moon in the separate worlds you both now are in. He’d left you one last message before promising himself that he’d never text you again, and thankfully, you never responded. He didn’t think you would.

catservant98: I’ll always love you.

“The festival will end by the time we get there.” Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of checking the watch on his wrist.

“Shut up. I need to lock this place up properly or my parents will kill me,” Seungmin mutters grumpily, as he carefully turns the key in the lock to Morningstar, taking his time. “It’s not my fault that I’m the owner’s son.”

Jeongin, donned in a Harley Quinn outfit, bounces on his toes in uncontained anticipation. “Hurry up!”

Seungmin tugs at the lock for good measure, before turning and swatting at Jeongin, who yelps and jumps out of the way. His detective hat, which he wore as a part of his Sherlock Holmes costume, falls off, and Jeongin grabs it. Usually, Minho would have laughed at the way Seungmin has started to chase Jeongin around, but he just glumly stares down at his sneakers, having no energy to join in. 

“You okay?” Chan notices Minho’s downcast gaze, slinging his arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Minho shrugs with one shoulder, out of options. “I’m fine. I have nothing else to do anyway.”

Today is Halloween, your favorite holiday of the entire year. It seems especially cruel to him, to have to confront this day without you by his side. It was never much of his scene, and he’d always been reluctant to dress up, but one look from your pleading eyes and he’d fold, decking himself in a cheesy costume and feeding you all the candy you desired. The night would always end in you both binging horror movies together because you were too scared to watch alone. The memory of Minho getting distracted, just watching you hide behind your hands the entire time, used to bring a fond smile to his face. Today, it makes him want to smash something into bits.

“Let me know if you want to leave the festival early, though. Changbin can drive you home later.” Chan juts his chin out at Jeongin and Seungmin, who are now smacking at each other, while Changbin responsibly tries to pull them apart. “I have to make sure those two idiots don’t get in trouble.”

“Thanks. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Minho gives Chan a half-hearted smile. Chan looks hesitant, like he wants to keep talking with him, but he nods, focusing on the moonlit path in front of them. 

The roar of the annual Halloween festival that the university throws resonates throughout campus, drawing stressed students ready to throw aside their homework and party. But Minho is in anything but a celebratory mood; the last few weeks have been absolute agony. Ever since things fell apart. He just wants to go home and curl up into a ball under his covers, ready for this stupid night to be over. He didn’t even bother with a costume, choosing to stuff himself into his hoodie and make himself seem as small as possible. But he’s too tired to tell anyone, so he opts to stay quiet and gloomy on his own.

The gravel of the walkway crunches under their little group’s shoes, barely heard over the deafening sound of “Thriller” blasting on the DJ’s stereo. The entire main lawn of campus has been converted into a party space, crammed with different tents full of attractions, games, and souvenirs for students to indulge themselves in. There’s even a converted frat house that’s now a haunted house, as well as tables of snacks and lightsticks for people to wave around. Jeongin, Seungmin, and Changbin immediately zero in on the haunted house, running off to get tickets for it, leaving Minho and Chan alone. Two boys swaying together at the edge of the dance floor catch Minho’s eyes. He looks closer and notices that they both are dressed in an obvious couples costume, and it makes him think of you again— last year, he was Chucky and you were Tiffany Valentine, and you both won “Best Look” together, at the festival’s costume contest. Minho feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, she’s stunning.” Chan’s eyes are wide, and Minho follows his gaze to a very pretty girl dressed in a white gown that seemed to float above her knees, two trailing pieces of fabric sticking out daintily from the back of her dress. An angel. 

She approaches him with a shy smile on her face, as she not-so-subtly checks out Chan’s own dracula costume. “You look good.”

“I— you’re pretty,” Chan stutters, and they both blush. 

Seriously?

“Thanks, Chris.”

Chan smiles lovingly at her. “You don’t have to call me Chris, you know. My friends call me Chan.”

“Chan,” the girl tests with a beam, before quirking her brow at him. “So I’m just a friend now? Not your girlfriend?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

And then they both start kissing right then and there, which doesn’t seem to faze anyone else around them, considering the fact that they are surrounded by other couples. Minho, however, has to look away, his stomach turning. Is this how everyone else felt when he used to kiss you, whenever and wherever he wanted? 

“Hey guys, I’m going to go find a place to sit,” Minho calls out to Chan, who barely notices in the midst of his make-out session. “You know what? Never mind.”

Cringing to himself, Minho makes his way over to the food tables, dodging at least five witches, seven ghouls, and six zombies on his way. He collapses onto the bench of an empty table with a groan, letting his head rest on the table before lifting it up like he’s been stung; the thump of the DJ’s bass seems to vibrate through the wooden tabletop, worsening his already horrible headache. What was he thinking, coming here?

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Minho looks up, ready to lash out at the intruder, before he notices it’s Hyunjin. He is so out of it that he hadn’t even recognized his voice. “I thought you were staying home and painting tonight?”

“Thought about it, but I kept getting distracted by all of the noise outside, and thought I’d take a snack break.” Hyunjin plops down on the seat across from him, setting a plate loaded with brownies, potato chips, and cookies cut into pumpkin shapes. He’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt to fight the October chill, the only one besides Minho who hasn’t dressed up. “Want some?”

Minho shakes his head, watching Hyunjin dig in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Hyunjin nods, his cheeks stuffed with food. “Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Minho fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, feeling his face heat up. He was never one for sentiments like this, but even though he and Hyunjin have more of a seemingly lighthearted relationship, they’re more alike than they think in how deeply they care about each other. “I mean, you’ve never even had a serious relationship before, but you’re like the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met. How does that even work?”

Hyunjin looks surprised, at first, but quickly smooths it away in understanding. “I do get lonely sometimes. But I just occupy myself with the things I love. Painting, reading. Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I can’t be realistic. And I have been in a serious relationship before, remember?”

Minho frowns. “Oh. Right. What happened?”

He notices Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something— grief, maybe. But the emotion is quickly replaced with indifference. Hyunjin shrugs. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I love a good romance novel, but is it real life? No. I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

Minho stays quiet, unknowing of what to say. He never thought of himself as a huge relationship person either, but then again, that was before he met you. You changed his perspective on a lot of things, and most of the time, he thought it was for the better. Now, he feels empty, alone. He wants to match costumes with someone, and go bobbing for apples together. And he wants that someone to be you, only you.

Hyunjin must have noticed Minho’s melancholic contemplation, because he gives him a sympathetic look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Minho’s chest tightens at the mention of your name. “I don’t know, honestly. I just want to go home.”

“Same. I just came for the free food.” Hyunjin chews on a brownie, before swallowing. “Let’s go after I finish eating.”

Minho hums in response, pulling his hood over his head, as the rest of their group comes to join the table. Chan and his girlfriend, unsurprisingly, are discussing plans about some upcoming event for the Student Council. Jeongin and Seungmin, on the other hand, are immersed in a gleeful recollection about the haunted house with Changbin, who is dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. Everyone seems to have a role except him.

“That was actually wild,” Jeongin says. “If Jisung was with us, he would have fainted when he saw the chainsaw guy!”

Seungmin shudders, while Changbin glances around their table. “Hey, where is Jisung, anyway? And Felix?”

Chan breaks away from his own conversation as his girlfriend pauses to eat her slice of cake. “He’s handing out candy to kids at home. Meanwhile, Felix is Trick-or-Treating.”

Jeongin snickers. “Trick-or-Treating? What is he, ten?”

Seungmin grins evilly at Changbin. “At least he doesn’t have the height of a ten year old.”

Changbin rolls his eyes, but chooses to ignore Seungmin and Jeongin’s high-five at his expense, instead turning to Hyunjin. “Can I have a cookie? There are no more left.”

Hyunjin gives him a judgemental glare, but passes a cookie over anyway. “Where’s your girlfriend, by the way?”

Changbin stuffs half of the entire cookie into his mouth, licking the frosting on his lip. “She has work. But we’re going to meet up later tonight and watch movies. Wanna come?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m good. Minho and I are headed home soon anyway. Right, Minho?”

But Minho isn’t paying attention. His gaze is locked on none other than you and Taehyun, dressed in Hogwarts robes— you in Gryffindor, and Taehyun in Slytherin. He’s seen multiple people tonight sporting similar getups, and so both of you wearing Hogwarts robes doesn’t exactly entail a couples costume, but it makes his heart clench either way. Both of you are standing near the apple bobbing station, laughing and talking animatedly together. It hurts to see you enjoying yourself, while Minho has to struggle to keep himself together, to keep from breaking down on the spot. It hurts that he’s not the one matching with you right now, the one to be making you laugh, holding you on one of your favorite days of the year.

He watches as you and Taehyun walk closer to the haunted house. Your smile has now faded into an unsure expression, skeptical and tinged with fear. Taehyun puts his arm around your shoulders, evidently trying to assure you, before he leads you inside the house. Minho immediately springs up from the bench, fists balled up at his sides. You love everything about Halloween, except for one thing. You hate being in the dark, and so you had always avoided the haunted houses at every Halloween festival or any other event that you and Minho went to. Obviously, Taehyun doesn’t have a clue about your boundaries, and as always, you’re too kind to point them out.

Ignoring Hyunjin’s confused protests, Minho stalks after you and Taehyun, even though he knows that he should sit right back down. He told himself that he’d stay away from you if you didn’t want him, but if he even gets the slight sense that you are afraid, he’ll throw all reason out the window. He won’t let you go inside, not without him.

“Excuse me— you can’t go in right now. The haunted house is at full capacity.” The ticket collector stops Minho even though he shows her the ticket that Jeongin had passed out to everyone before. “Just wait for a few minutes for someone to come out.”

But he can’t. Not if you’re already inside. Minho steps back for a moment, and the collector glances back down at her phone. Before the collector can react, he rushes past her, running inside. She calls after him angrily, but he barely hears her. All he can register is the racing beat of his heart, and the faint screams deeper inside, wondering if one of them could be you. 

He whips past the ax-wielding maniacs and the corpse brides in tattered dresses, pushing past their horrible acting and all of the other props in his way to you. Minho feels his hoodie snagged against a cloud of fake cobwebs, and the fake blood on the walls is enough to make him gag, but he goes on. A desperate search in nearly every nook and corner yields nothing, and Minho curses the haphazard quality of the setup, nearly tripping over a loose wire. As he passes through a room decorated like a murderous hospital room, he hears a small whimper from behind the fake operating table. 

His senses perk up and there you are, sitting down with your knees drawn to your chest. With how his eyes have now adjusted to the dark, he can faintly make out your crouched body and the shine of your flowing tears. Immediately, he gets onto his knees, and envelopes you with his arms, firmly pulling you against his chest.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he murmurs, the scent of your coconut shampoo blocking out the stench of ammonia.

“Terry and I got chased by one of the ghosts and then got separated,” you mumble as you cry, shivering in his arms as he begins to rock you slowly. “I’m so scared, Minho.”

Minho looks at the tears still leaking down the sides of your face, and has to restrain himself from the instinct to kiss them away. Instead, he puts a steady hand to your skin, gently wiping them away. In this moment, you aren’t broken up. He isn’t your ex-boyfriend, and you aren’t his ex-girlfriend. You are the girl he loves, and him the very soul that has so vehemently devoted himself to even at such a ripe age, an inspiration and a shame to the vengeful spirits that govern your favorite holiday.

“I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.” Minho gazes down at you. “Are you still frightened?”

You shake your head no, wide eyes clinging to his comforting presence. Minho gives you a small smile, rubbing your jaw softly with his thumb, a movement that doesn’t feel as inherently romantic as it generally would be. “See? You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re just scared of being alone in it. And that goes away when you realize something. You’re never really alone.” 

Both of you just gaze at each other in the dark for a few minutes, saying both nothing and yet everything to each other. He carefully rests his palm against your heart, gaging the beat until it slows down to its usual calm. Wordlessly, he helps you onto your feet, his arms still wrapped around you as you both navigate the maze of the haunted house. You don’t encounter any other of the actors, but at one point, you jump in Minho’s hold, spooked by the amplified horror sound when passing by a speaker. Steadily, you both make your way out together.

The first thing Minho sees as he steps out of the exit is the array of blinding lights that shine on his face, in addition to the glow of the raging bonfire that has now been set up for students to roast marshmallows. Then he catches that shock of pink hair in the small crowd gathered outside of the haunted house; Taehyun, distress written all over his features as he speaks to the security guards.

You and Minho, however, stay frozen on the spot, just staring at each other with a fresh uncertainty. Realizing himself, Minho lets go of you. Contrary to how you felt, Minho could always read you like a book. He practically memorized all of your expressions, able to tell how you were feeling in an instant. But the indecipherable look you give him is baffling, but before you can open your mouth and say something, Taehyun notices your arrival.

“Y/N!” Taehyun immediately rushes over, his breathing labored from sprinting the distance to you. “I’m so, so sorry; I lost you and tried to come back inside to find you, but they wouldn’t let me!”

Minho steps to the side awkwardly as Taehyun hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Your tears are long gone, and you pat his back softly, giving him the comfort of your safety. “I’m alright, Terry. It’s all good.”

Taehyun pulls back to look at you, before turning to Minho, surprise and confusion on his features as if just registering Minho’s presence. You clear your throat, placing a hand on Taehyun’s arm. “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Of course,” Terry says, the stress on his face softening as he looks down at you. Minho recognizes it— it’s how he always imagined himself to look whenever he saw you.

You turn back to Minho as Terry walks away to a food stand, presumably to get you a warm drink. “Minho, I—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Minho interrupts, unable to bear any more. He chokes back a sob, his eyes trained on your pained expression. “I need to go.”

“Minho, wait!” You grab his arm, and it places you both in the uncomfortable déjà vu of when everything ended. 

He looks back at you, swallowing his dread and pushing away the angsty alert of his brain, the command to let everything go and just take you back, then and there. But he wouldn’t be the man you had always loved, then. Not if he takes advantage of you when you’re like this, vulnerable and exhausted. Not when there’s a perfectly good man standing at a distance, hesitantly holding a cup of hot chocolate for you. Not when he knows that he’s lost his chance of ever getting you back from the moment he gave up on you both. Minho realizes that he doesn’t have the right to call you his anymore, when you’ve finally found a man who prioritizes you over his pride and his insecurities— a man who will treat you right, and will never make you wonder if you’re his only one. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. That has to be enough for him. It will be.

Minho leans down before you can protest, kissing you on your forehead softly. You stay silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive eyes, the very ones he fell in love with. “Stay smiling, always.”

And with that, Minho finally walks away, willing himself not to cry as he tries not to think of his heart breaking.

You watch Minho, dazed, as he walks away for the second and last time. It feels worse, somehow, than when he left your apartment, weeks ago. Minho had spoken to you so gently, inside the haunted house, calming you down in spite of the fact that you had so cruelly broken up with him, and then he proceeded to wish you his best, before leaving. You didn’t miss that note of finality in his voice, the one that told you that he wasn’t going to go back on his word. He had let you go.

You barely notice Terry approaching you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

He hands you a cup of hot chocolate, as you stare at Minho’s retreating back before it finally disappears within the crowd of partygoers. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for this, Terry.”

Terry blinks at you, slightly unfocused. “Yeah of course. But… can I ask you something?”

You nod, sipping the hot chocolate. It’s so warm and sweet, and it feels wrong to be drinking it. It feels like you don’t deserve it. 

He hesitates for a moment, before speaking up. “What happened in there? In the haunted house?”

You bite your lip, still distracted by the thought of Minho; Terry’s question doesn’t pull at you as much as it probably should. “He just found me and helped me back. That’s all.”

Terry looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and you don’t question it. The rest of the night is clouded by an awkward rut that has originated from nowhere at all, one that you never guessed you’d experience with Terry. He walks you back to your apartment early, and waits next to you as you fumble with your keys. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he says softly, as you finally wrestle your door open. 

“Thanks,” you whisper back, too drained of energy to make one of the usual jokes traded when you both say goodbye. He tips his head at you like he always does, albeit in a less jaunty way, and steps into the apartment elevator at the end of the hall, flashing you one last little wave before the doors close. 

You turn back to your apartment, walking inside and locking the door behind you once again. This time, you don’t go straight to your bedroom and drop onto your bed, like you always do after a horrible day. Instead, you stalk over to the kitchen, which is illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb. You tug open the freezer, fishing out a box from your emergency stash of ice cream, the one thing bound to be on stock at all times. When you went grocery shopping some time ago, you didn’t think that a crisis would hit so soon. 

Cracking open the lid of the chocolate ice cream, you take your scooper and place a bowl on the counter. After a second thought, you take out your blender as well, and scrape the ice cream into there instead, throwing in some milk and peanut butter as well. Tonight is a milkshake kind of night, you think, the kind that necessitates butterscotch chips and whipped cream as well, you note, opening the cupboard to get said ingredients. When you finish blending, you pour your icy salvation into a large tumbler and collapse onto the living room couch. You turn on the television, blankly staring at the screen while barely registering the dialogue playing. 

“That’s not a milkshake— that’s diabetes in a glass.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.” You shoot Minho a pointed look as you chug down your shake, savoring the sound of Minho’s laughter even more than a hefty peanut butter and chocolate combo. 

It isn’t until you taste saltiness instead of the sweet milkshake that you realize you’re crying. 

callmeterry: can we meet? bobaluvrr: yes. see u @ morningstar

You stare into the bathroom mirror, checking your face one last time, inspecting it for bloodshot eyes and dry skin, the telltale signs of the tears that have now become a habit over the past few days. Ever since Halloween, things haven’t been the same since you and Terry. Although a fairly new friendship, you both spent a significant amount of time together after meeting at Jihyo’s birthday party. However, you haven’t seen each other at all outside of Writing Seminar nowadays— probably because during class, you’re too busy staring at Minho, who won’t even spare you a single glance. You’re determined to at least save your friendship with Terry, which is why you are so quick to agree to meet him.

“Catch you two later,” you call out to Sunoo and Soyeon, who both are slumped on the couch, watching One Piece over boxes of takeout butter chicken. 

The journey to Morningstar doesn’t take long, especially since the vastly approaching night has gotten you nearly jogging, regardless of how safe your college campus is. Although it’s been nearly a month and a half, you still can’t get used to not having the security and comfort of your boyfriend. Serves you right, you think.

You enter through the glass doorway of Morningstar, the door chime ringing and announcing your entrance to Terry. He stands up from the table he’s sitting at, walking over to you with the  genuine smile that you were fearful of not being able to see again. Terry looks heartbreakingly handsome, dressed in a long brown coat and wool scarf, an ode to the plaid shirt days and hot chocolate nights that you know you could have with him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing his gait when he’s a few feet away from you. Tentative, but still Terry. The bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands, however, isn’t. 

You can literally feel your face fall, as you stare at the certainly expensive arranged red roses and lilies. “I—”

“Don’t.” Terry’s smile doesn’t fade, but the slight sheen of moisture to his eyes is new. “ I know. I’d rather not hear you say it. Please.”

You’re speechless as he hands you the flowers, the refreshingly floral scent wafting up and screaming at you to wake up. You had a feeling, you knew how Terry felt about you. But you didn’t think he’d act on those feelings so soon.

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since August. You walked into the very first day of class late, wearing this gorgeous pink dress— and God, I was so whipped. I even dyed my hair the same color.” Terry laughs lightly, but you can see the heaviness in his eyes, the same thing that you feel in your chest. “I didn’t approach you, though, because I saw the way you were looking at Minho.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Terry…”

“And then you walked into the kitchen at that party; it felt like a sign. But that can’t have been true, because the way you looked at him didn’t change. It never will.” He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. “When you both broke up, I ignored my heart telling me not to dig myself deeper into this, to leave you alone. But I couldn’t, Y/N, because I thought that the risk would be worth it. And it was, you know. You are worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, at a loss for words. You don’t know what else to say, whether it’s a reaction to how your friend is pouring out his heart to you, or the fact that he’s always known that you’d never be his.

The smile on Terry’s face is now a sharp contrast to the strings of tears that mar it. “Don’t be. It’s Minho. It’s always been Minho for you.” 

He turns, but you rush forward and block him. You can’t lose someone else. Not again. “Terry, wait! Can’t we be friends?” 

“Of course we can be. I’d rather have you as a friend than not in my life at all. I’ll move on, eventually. But you have to go fix things with him now.” He flashes you another one of his signature beams. It doesn’t have the same joyful effect on you as it usually does, now that it’s tainted with sadness. “I’ll see you next class. Hold onto him, okay?”

Terry leaves, and you stare after him at the door, dumbfounded, haunting the entryway of the coffee shop nearing closing hours. You never saw this confrontation coming, not today. And you didn’t want it to happen any time soon, not like this. But no matter how much you want to deny Terry’s words, you know they are the truth. You know what you have to do. Because love works in strange ways, you realize, and now yours needs to be made right.

“We shouldn’t be here.” You say, shaking your head. “It’s dangerous.”

Minho just stares at you, his eyebrow skeptically quirked in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s literally just a bridge.”

You glare at him, before looking out at the arched walkway that connects the wooded expanse of the university library to the rest of campus. According to university lore, any pair of lovers that walks over Forsaken Bridge together is doomed to suffer an untimely separation; hence, its ominous name. And you would rather look stupid for believing in superstition rather than risk losing Minho. 

“It can’t be.” You cross your arms stubbornly. “I know so many couples that came here, and they ended up breaking up.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, just pondering your words, and you think he’s about to step back, allowing you to cross the bridge first, before following on his own. But then he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bridge.

Your immediate reaction is to let out a small scream that cuts through the quiet night, and it’s quickly muffled by Minho’s hand gently closing over your mouth. “Trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen.”

You really want to remind Minho of what happened to Hyunjin and his girlfriend— well, ex-girlfriend— but you let him lead you towards your dreaded destination. Because you do trust him, more than anything. 

The balmy summer night sticks to your skin, a feeling that will soon give away to the crisp bite of autumn. You’ve already moved back onto campus to get a headstart on the teaching assistant position for your biology professor, but for the first time ever, you don’t feel sad or apprehensive at the thought of going back to college again. This was the gap in time that you once despised because it signaled the unfortunate trudge of school life: textbooks, homework, and stress. But nowadays, you think it to be a reminder of something better: Minho, Minho, and Minho.

Your boyfriend takes an easy step onto the bridge, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You trail after him more cautiously, hiding behind his broad frame like the bridge will come alive and attack you. “You better not ever break up with me, Lee Minho.”

He turns back to look at you as you both near the center of the supposedly cursed bridge, his lips pressed together in a way that suggests concealed laughter; knowing him, it probably is. “Never. Now close your eyes.”

With a grumpy sigh, you oblige him, shutting your eyes. “For what, Minho?”

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. It’s a new color to him, compared to how assured and confident he always seems to be.

You crack open one eye, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

He frowns, letting go of your hand. “No peeking!”

“Okayy.”

Minho takes a deep breath, right before he turns your world upside down. “I love you.”

Your eyes fly open, and Minho doesn’t complain this time, only gazing at you nervously, clutching his right arm with his left hand like he’s a little kid again. “What did you just say?”

Regardless of his uncertain body language, he looks you directly in the eye. “I love you, Y/N. And I know it’s too soon to say it, but it’s true. I love you, and you don’t have to tell me back, but—”

“I love you too,” you blurt out, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, in mutual shyness and surprise. You can’t believe how good it feels to finally say the words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue for the past few months since you started dating.

Minho’s beautiful face breaks out into a dazzling smile as he steps closer to you. “Then let’s make our own story for this bridge. Two people crossing the bridge together will be lifelong friends. And if they kiss, lifelong lovers.”

Your poor, racing heart can’t take anymore of this; what a man that you have found. “Kiss me, then.” 

Minho gives you a tender look, and in that moment, you wish you had a camera to capture it. You can’t seem to remember your initial fear of coming onto this bridge, not when you have a beautiful boy who gazes at you with nothing short of absolute adoration. You’ll follow him anywhere, if it means you’ll stay together. Always and forever.

From when you were a little girl, your parents painted fairy tales for you in your childhood bedroom, of handsome princes mounted on midnight stallions and towering castles set against sunsets. For the longest time, you thought them to be true, because by the time you might have grown up, you found your own handsome prince, who rode a secondhand bike instead of a horse, and his castle was the sweatshirt-strewn dorm room he shared with two other boys. Nevertheless, you so strongly believed you would get your own happily-ever-after, that it took you a long time to accept the thorns in the rosy brush that constituted your outlook on life. You had a hard time understanding your prince, sometimes, and ended up spinning your own stories to fill in the gaps you thought he created. It never once occurred to you that life would never be perfect, and that your prince could not be exactly who you dreamed him to be.

It’s why you stroll the length of Forsaken Bridge alone, materializing its dreary name with your head bent and hands tucked in your pockets. But you’re not surprised either, when you see your prince, standing on the very place where he made you a promise that you broke yourself. His crown is misplaced and his armor has lost its luster, but he’s your beautiful prince, still beautiful while heartbroken over you.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say softly. 

“I shouldn’t have.” Minho stares at the deteriorating timber planks beneath your feet. “But I can’t say no when it comes to you.”

You shake your head, sniffling lightly. You both hate and love him for being so understanding, so kind, even now. You hate yourself for it, too. “I broke your heart.”

Minho blinks, clasping his hands in front of himself. “There are so many things that I’m sorry and thankful to you for, but you know I’m not good at expressing myself.”

“That’s my line, Min.” You scoff through your tears. “I tried to force you to be someone you're not. And you respond by taking care of me, like you always have. And you listened to me instead of fighting. You walked away.”

“I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted. With or without me in the picture.” Minho shoots you a watery smile. “I love you, you know. I always will.”

You inhale shakily. “And I love you too. I was scared of being hurt because I love you so much. I shouldn’t have been so afraid of what I didn’t know. I should have tried to ask you instead of coming to assumptions on my own.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” Minho steps forward towards you, reaching up to hold your face in his hands. “Remember what I said? You never have to be alone. I’m right here, always.”

Minho rubs his thumbs over your tears, nothing but devotion in his eyes. You touch his arms, pulling him into a hug. “I know I ruined everything, but please come back to me? I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too. And you ruined nothing.” He squeezes you. “We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”

You draw back from the embrace, smiling through your tears— for once, they’re the good kind. “I love you, Lee Minho. Let’s start over?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Minho whispers, a grin slowly spreading on his face. “And I don’t want to ruin the moment, but can we begin by finding an apartment, please? If I accidentally drink Hyunjin’s paint water one more time I think I will literally die.”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him teasingly. “Only because you want to escape Hyunjin? Not because you love me?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, a light blush tinting his pale skin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should show me what you mean.”

“I should.”

Minho obeys your command, leaning down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, before you grasp his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the movement. God, you missed this so much. You missed him, so much. Minho’s hands reach up to cup your neck as you trace endless love letters on each other’s lips, campus curses and bad faith banished from your lovestruck young minds.

“See? Looks like our story came true.” he whispers as you come up for air, nudging your nose sweetly with his own. “Lifelong lovers, we’ll be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Minho kisses you once more and pulls back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This means forever.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It feels so good to get back to Love Playlist <3 This whole series itself was inspired by the cute, college au vibes of the K-drama Love Playlist and its spinoff, Dear M. (starring NCT's Jaehyun, a must-see), but this story especially was heavily based on Dear M.'s second leads. Brownie points if you've noticed which hit superhero TV series I took a piece of dialogue from! I just adore that quote so much. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Minho and this story has a special place in my heart. Can you guess who is next?! And thank you for supporting me, always! -Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

TAGLIST @chansburgah @hamburgers101@ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98@ohish@chizumiyoshi@lilydaisyyy@jetblackbelle @143hyunes @yeahhspider

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

Bro, the way you described their feelings made me feel like I was actually in the story! I don't know how you managed to do that in such a short text but you left me speechless!

waiting for us

pairing: hyunjin x reader

synopsis: you’re afraid to let hyunjin love you, but he’d wait forever for you

warnings: very brief suggestive content, angsty angsty angsty (but happy ending) reader shuts down hyunjin’s advances, opening up, discussion of feelings, getting together, nothing is perfect, feelings are messy in this, writing is messy (apologies), hyunjin is an angel, they are both hurt souls just wanting to be loved

✿: @hhwangsmoon @straywrds @l3visbby @armysantiny @hwajin @casualtaelyn @staybangchan @hopeladybug @midsoulz @aestheticsluut @venustired @abiaswreck @deathlypink @djeniryuu @rachabreathing @alyszaen @starlostseungmin @bokk-minnie @spicymooseeyes @arlojulien-nightchild-of-hades @downbadreading @moasworld @ren0325 @ketchupaeternum @like-a-diamondinthesky @itsgivingitalian

No reposting or translating of my works. All rights reserved to me, myself and I.

“I hate flowers,” you mumble as you stare at the bouquet Hyunjin had gifted you minutes ago.

“I know. You think they’re cheesy and a cliche gift.”

Your eyes flutter from the arrangement to Hyunjin.

“Then why do you get them for me?”

Hyunjin smiles, looking completely unbothered.

“Because I know you love when I give you flowers. You don’t care that it’s cheesy. Not when they’re from me.”

Your heart flutters and you can feel a smile threatening to tug at your lips but you keep your features neutral.

“Why are you still trying Hyunjin?”

The man shrugs as he leans back against the park bench.

“I love you and I know you love me. But I also know that you’re not ready yet and that’s alright.”

A smile stretches across his lips, “I’ll wait as long as I need to.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell Hyunjin to fuck off but you also wanted to pull him closer and kiss him until your lips became numb and all you knew was the feeling of his body against yours.

You wanted to run away.

But you also wanted to stay.

You didn’t like the way Hyunjin looked at you. You didn’t like the way his eyes lit up when he spotted you or how he fiddled with his rings out of nervousness when he talked to you. You didn’t like when he gave you gifts, you didn’t like when he tried to talk to you.

You didn’t like it because you knew it was fleeting. Hyunjin would grow tired of your shit. He’d eventually stop trying to break down the walls you’d spent years building. One day he’d stop giving you flowers, he’d stop approaching you, he’d stop wanting to be around you.

But you also knew that Hyunjin was aware of your inner turmoil. He saw past the frowns and the stoic expression. He saw bits of your true feelings that seeped through no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay.

You were tiring but he hadn’t grown tired of you.

Every rejection had only egged him on. It had only made him want to get closer to you.

No one had ever tried as much as Hyunjin had.

But you knew he deserved better.

You loved him, you loved him so much. But he shouldn’t be with someone like you.

A shaky breath left you, a reaction that had startled both you and Hyunjin.

“If I told you to stop, would you?”

Hyunjin is quiet for a moment. You can feel his burning gaze against your skin but you don’t dare to look at him.

Vulnerability is something that you aren’t comfortable with. But something about Hyunjin makes the tears pricking your eyes a little less burdensome. He makes you feel safe.

“I don’t want to. But if that’s what you wanted I would. I would give you space but I wouldn’t give up hope that one day you could let yourself be happy with me.”

Your eyes meet his then. He’s smiling despite the tears gathering in his eyes and it breaks your heart.

“I want to be,” you find yourself confessing, “I want to be but—.”

You don’t finish your sentence but you don’t have to. Hyunjin knows you’re scared. He knows you’ve been hurt. He knows you can’t let yourself trust easily. He knows you’re cold and dismissive because you can’t let yourself be broken again.

But he’s still there. He’s always been there, waiting so patiently for you to let him love you the way he knows and that you know deep down you deserve to be loved.

The paper of the bouquet rustles with the way your hand shakes.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he says softly.

He’s hesitant at first when he reaches out, but when you don’t pull away he settles his large warm hands over your own.

“You did good today Y/n,” he whispers, “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

You feel the first tear fall, then another. The first you’ve let fall in front of someone in a long time.

One of Hyunjin’s hands leaves yours to brush the tears away.

Your chest hurts, your entire being hurts.

And you feel so fucking sorry.

“I-I kept them all.”

Hyunjin hums in question as he guides your head to rest against his shoulder, fingers intertwining with your own.

“The flowers, the notes, the poems, the butterfly shaped gummies you bought me bc you said they reminded you of my eyes,” you sniffle.

“I kept them all. I still look at them everyday.”

Hyunjin is quiet, too quiet.

“I never wanted to hurt you, not really I just—. I’m so sorry Hyunjin. God you don’t know how much it ate me up everytime time I turned you down. I couldn’t—.”

“You were afraid to be loved. I know Y/n. I’ve always known,” he whispers as he shifts to look at you as you sit up.

“I’m still here,” he says as his fingers reach to brush a couple of loose strands behind your ears.

“I’m here. I’m yours. And I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. I’m not leaving. I-I’m not going to disappear.”

Even when he cries, Hyunjin is still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

He’s crying because he’s hurting too. He’s crying because he loves you.

“I want to be happy with you,” you confess as Hyunjin leans his forehead against yours.

His breath in your lips makes you shiver.

“I-I want to be loved by you. I want to love you in turn. I just wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I didn’t hurt so much. I wish I didn’t hurt you. I wish I deserved you.”

“Don’t.”

It’s firm, the way the word leaves his lips.

“Everyone deserves to be loved. And to me, you deserve it the most.”

He’s so close to you, a tilt of your chin and your lips would meet. You think that it would heal you.

Something about Hyunjin has always felt that way to you. Healing.

But you didn’t give in. You had wanted to hurt because you felt like you deserved it.

“Just let me and I’ll show you. I’ll make the hurt go away.”

“I'm too much Hyunjin,” you admit.

“Loving someone isn’t supposed to be easy. People aren’t perfect, relationships aren’t perfect. You and I have our faults, our scars, our fears. But one thing I am certain of is that I feel so deeply for you. I think it’s beyond love at this point but it’s indescribable. You make me feel like I can’t breathe but at the same time by your side is the only place I can. It’s confusing and frustrating but fuck do I love you and I’ll be damned if i ever stop showing you how much I do.”

It’s fucked. Everything is fucked when you tilt your chin up and connect your lips.

It’s fucked when he kisses you back with so much passion that you feel his hurt, his love, his everything as his lips glide against yours.

It’s fucked when you feel your walls crumbling down and more tears escape. Both of you tasting the salty hurt and love that coats your lips.

It’s fucked when you breathe those four words against his lips that you had been trying so hard not to utter.

It’s fucked when Hyunjin takes you in the entryway of your apartment that afternoon—desperate and hungry as he fills you with all the love he has for you.

It’s fucked when you lay naked in your bed that night.

It’s fucked when you feel the anguish and hurt leave you at his touch.

It’s fucked, completely and utterly fucked.

Everything that you had built up, one man tore down in a single evening. He had been chipping away, making cracks in your defenses for months now and you had only stuck bandaids over them—not wanting to reinforce them anymore. You grew tired of the facade—tired of trying to force him away.

Hyunjin didn’t leave like you thought he would. He was right here, in your arms—lips pursed as he slumbered atop your chest.

He had been waiting for you.

And finally, you had stopped running and let your heart beat once more.

↳ If you liked this please consider commenting or reblogging! It would really mean the world to me ♡

Always leave it to @petrichor-han to write the best angst out there, honestly! Play with your feelings from the right angles!

I loved how it wasn't the happy ending everybody wishes for cuz life doesn't always work out in the end! And that just makes it all the more exciting!

red desert | h.hj

PAIRING | hyunjin x afab!reader

CAST | hwang hyunjin, yoo jimin (karina), kim minjeong (winter), mentions of felix lee, uchinaga aeri (giselle), ning yizhuo (ningning)

WC | 10.2k

GENRE | angst, fwb, college!au

WARNINGS | explicit language, casual marijuana usage, alcohol consumption, sexual references & jokes

SYNOPSIS | inspired by the song “red desert” by 5SOS. // you won't admit that you're in love with hwang hyunjin, and he won't admit that he's in love with you either. instead, he asks you to accompany him on a trip into the desert, where everything comes to the surface in between grains of red sand and fractured sunlight.

A/N | this is aggressively american and also loosely based off of the camping trip that i went on with my fwb last october. let’s just say that a 6 hour car ride and three days in the desert with him solidified some things and we haven’t spoken since. (same note as the teaser)

request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!

MASTERLIST | RAIN’S PLAYLIST

The day that he asked you to go with him, his hair was red. You remember because he’d been blonde for so long that you couldn’t remember how he looked with his natural color. He was the type of person to dye it so often that his roots hardly ever showed any signs of growth, because he claimed that he hated when people let their dyed hair grow out, even though that was normal and quite frankly, what ninety-nine percent of the population with dyed hair tended to do.

You’d run your fingers through his split ends and dry blonde locks, telling him maybe he should give the bleach a rest. But he shook his head, shook off your hold, and firmly said that he liked how he looked blonde. Other people liked how he looked blonde.

You liked how he looked blonde.

And it was true—his hair was the reason he caught your eye when he walked into the room that night. His silvery locks caught the neon lights bouncing off the disco ball drilled into the ceiling and made you turn your attention away from the semi-hot, semi-lame guy you were chatting up, hoping to get laid after a particularly long dry spell. You’d excused yourself, shaking your empty red Solo cup in his face, making his eyes cross slightly as you yelled, “I need another drink!” over the loud music. You didn’t bother to wait around for a response, cutting through the crowd and feeling sticky skin and damp fabric clinging to you as you pushed past people to try and reach the boy with blonde hair.

He’d settled against the wall, right next to the kitchen so that people were constantly pushing past him and putting him in an awkward position. Clearly, this wasn’t really his scene. But as you gasped, nearly toppling over as you escaped the tightly knit crowd into the outskirts, you looked up and saw him passing a loosely wrapped joint to his friend, lithe fingers carefully handling the badly wrapped object, as if it could fall apart at any moment. And honestly, it looked like it could. He turned his attention to you as you straightened up, blowing a cloud of smoke to the side as he looked you up and down, one side of his mouth turning upwards. He seemed to like what he was seeing as you walked over and perched yourself on the wall right next to him. His friend seemed to feel the tension before either of you two did, and edged away, busying himself with another person that had escaped the crowd. 

“Is it always this busy here?” he asked you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose jeans. 

His voice. He had the most gorgeous voice you’d ever heard, and you practically melted into a puddle on the sticky, beer-covered floor. 

“I mean, free alcohol and hot guys? Who wouldn’t come here on a Saturday night?” you ask. You realize now that you’ve lost your cup somewhere, probably back in the crowd. Your throat is dry, and you wish you had a sip of something to take away your nervousness—you weren’t quite tipsy yet. 

“The guys at TKE are gross,” the guy said, wrinkling his nose. “Trust me. I used to be friends with some of them.” 

“All guys are gross,” you counter. 

“Fine. But take my word for it—the ones at TKE are especially gross.” 

“And how can I trust what you say?” Your words are accusatory, but your tone is flirty, and the guy picks up on it as you move closer to him, mostly to edge further away from the kitchen entrance as a pair of extremely drunk girls stumble towards the guy passing out drinks. 

“Maybe my name will provide some credibility?” he says, nudging his friend with the badly wrapped joint as he passes by, hand in hand with someone in leather pants. The friend rolls his eyes but hands him a cart, which the guy accepts and hits once before offering it to you. 

You start to decline, but the way he wiggles it enticingly makes you change your mind for some reason, and you mimic him, taking a big hit before handing it back to him, coughing a little as you turn your head and blow the smoke away. “Alright, so what’s your name?” you ask, eyes watering. You can already feel the high settling in as your eyes twitch a little—but it’s a comfortable high. You can tell it’s not too strong. 

“Hwang Hyunjin.” He sticks his hand out to you, and you smirk and shake it. 

“That name means nothing to me,” you admit. 

“Not yet.” 

And that’s how you end up breaking your three month streak of getting zero bitches—having the most mind blowing sex of your life in the back of Hwang Hyunjin’s bright red car in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. 

It’s not the first time, and it’s certainly not the last. You and Hyunjin, though you wouldn’t consider yourself friends—not really—are closer than most people would be comfortable with getting to their disposable orgasm machine. Which is a nice way of saying that you had a hopeless, dopey crush on your friend-with-benefits, and he seemed to be completely oblivious. 

Such obliviousness was worse than flat out rejection, in your mind. At least if he straight up told you to go fuck yourself, you wouldn’t feel bad about stalking his mom’s Facebook posts from 2013 to find pictures of a pimply, flat haired Hyunjin to save to your blackmail folder. Nor would you feel bad about downing endless cartons of ice cream while you put off showering for a week and a half. 

But this—this limbo that you two were seemingly stuck in? It’s agonizing. It’s fucking excruciating. You think you have a chance when he’s fucking you from behind, one hand clasped around your throat as he tells you “how fuckin’ beautiful” you look as you’re getting your cunt destroyed. But then you feel like a dirty whore when he gets up right after he finishes and starts checking his dating apps right in front of you. 

“Have some fucking self respect,” your friend said to you firmly, after you cried in her arms after one of these fuck-and-dumps happened. It was too much seeing him match with this gorgeous girl and slide into her DM’s with a really bad pick up line. If the jealousy because of this random girl’s beauty wasn’t enough, the corny shit he thought would get her in his bed did it for you. 

You throw back the covers, the sticky stale air hitting your naked skin. Hyunjin barely glances at you as you stand up and start pulling your clothes on roughly. He only notices when you’re tying your shoelaces and picking up your tote bag that you’re actually leaving. 

“Where are you going?” he asks lamely, blinking slowly at you. The stupid pothead had taken two long hits from the dirty orange bong sitting on his nightstand right after he came on your tits, and it was clearly getting to him. 

“Home,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. 

“Oh. Okay. See you later.” He turns his attention back to his phone, where you can see that the pretty girl has responded. You feel a tug in your chest as you gnaw on your bottom lip and turn on your heel to stomp out of his room. The aged wooden floors creaked and moaned beneath your harsh steps; you were sure that Felix, whose room was also in the basement, now lived in fear that the ceiling would collapse onto his head. 

“Bye, (Y/N),” one of his friends called as you rushed by. You feel your face warm with embarrassment; when did everyone get back? Hyunjin told you they were all out seeing some classically boring hetero male film in theaters, and would probably go bar hopping afterwards. Nope—all seven of his housemates were crowded into the cramped living room, watching a chick flick from 2004 where the attractive female main characters were at a nudist beach. You tried not to let your eyelid twitch at the incredible amount of male energy in the room. That, and the entire house just reeked of pot, more so than usual. 

You manage to mumble out a goodbye before slamming the front door behind you. You have to take a moment to breathe in the fresh air and recollect yourself, letting the pieces that Hyunjin metaphorically broke off of you find their way back home. You’re a strong person—you know that he can’t really hurt you, not really. Especially not when you agreed to something casual, nothing serious. Not now, not ever. 

It’s autumn, and campus is starting to look like it. You’re lucky enough to study somewhere with the most gorgeous scenery—it’s pretty year round, but when the leaves change colors in the fall, it’s impossible to look away. There’s a slight bite to the breeze that sweeps through you suddenly, blowing the few fallen crispy leaves across the sidewalk. They rasp and crinkle underneath your boots as you walk down the oddly steep stairs that leads to their front door, and you can feel your spirits lifting with each step you take away from his house. You barely even glance at the bright red car sitting in the driveway, amongst at least four others. 

You pull your sweater closer to your body as your teeth chatter. The wind had more of a slight bite now—there’s a full on chill that rattles you down to your bones. 

At least, you think, Jimin’s apartment isn’t too far from here. 

Jimin lives right off campus, a few streets down from Hyunjin and his roommates. Though you enjoy Jimin’s place a lot more, you can’t help but prefer the mornings when you wake up at Hyunjin’s, simply because the walk to class is so quick and easy—you can see the edge of campus from Seungmin’s bedroom window. 

As you walk up to her apartment and pound on the door with a tight fist, you can’t help but crack a smile at the corny wooden sign that’s hanging on it—it’s covered in chunky orange glitter and says “IT’S FALL, Y’ALL” in curly brown letters. You assumed that Aeri, one of Jimin’s roommates, bought it—mostly because you’d seen her post a picture of her autumnal shopping haul on her Instagram story. It was cute, in a specific kind of way. Only someone like Aeri could pull it off. 

Jimin opens the door quickly, and scans your slightly disheveled appearance. “You have to stop this,” she says immediately.

“Please. I could stop whenever I wanted to, but I simply don’t want to.” You nudge her aside and walk in, and she crosses her arms and scowls at you. She’s mad. Not because you waltzed in like you own the place—you were practically their fifth roommate—but because you kept letting yourself get hurt by this douchey guy, and she was left to pick up the pieces. As much as she loved you, your denial was driving her insane. 

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. 

You wince at her tone. “Rina…” you mumble, using a nickname. Her expression softens. She guides you to the couch, where her other roommate Minjeong is asleep on one end, only her feet sticking out from a plush green blanket. You know it’s her because you were there when she painted her toenails dark blue and spilled the rest of the bottle onto the beige carpet in Jimin’s room. It left a massive dark stain, but after shifting Jimin’s dresser a few inches over, you and Minjeong got away with it. Until they moved out at the end of the school year, at least. 

You sit down on the free side of the couch. The slight movement jostles Minjeong ever so slightly, and she snorts a little in her sleep before curling up in a ball underneath the blanket, pulling her feet back underneath. Now, the only sign of life was the gentle, slight rising and falling of her breathing. You couldn’t see her moving at all unless you looked very closely. 

Jimin re-enters the room, holding two steaming mugs in her delicate, pretty hands. She hands you one of the mugs before sitting down on the chair—the one next to the couch, that desperately needs to be thrown out—and sinks into it uncomfortably. Her knees are almost touching her chest because of how far down she slid. She watches you carefully until you take a sip, and you sigh contentedly—it’s mulled wine, with just a splash of cream. 

“What happened this time?” she asked, taking a sip of her own wine. You can hear the disappointment in her voice and it makes your insides squirm with guilt. 

“He was on Tinder again.”

“Oh?”

“Right after he came on my tits.”

“Oh.” 

Jimin sucks in a deep breath through her teeth, and you can tell it’s bad. Her gaze drops to your chest, though it’s covered by your sweater. 

“Stop,” you whine, placing your arms across your chest. Your wine almost sloshes over the ceramic rim of the pale blue mug. 

“I just feel bad,” she groans, putting her mug down on the coffee table and massaging her temples. “There’s nothing I can do, but you just feel like shit all the time.” 

“Not all the time!” you say, feeling defensive. 

Jimin stares you down. “Fine,” she sighs. “Not all the time. But anyways—you can’t keep doing this. I love you, and this is why I have to tell you: it’s getting pathetic.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” you snap. You slam your mug down. Dark red splashes over the edge and onto the slightly dusty surface of the table. Jimin’s gaze snaps to the mess, her eyes flashing. 

You burst into tears. 

“I know, I know it’s stupid. I know he’s stupid. I know I shouldn’t be crying about him, and I know that it’s getting on your nerves.” You sniffle loudly. “I think it’s time. I can’t keep doing this.” 

You feel a small but comforting hand on your shoulder. You look over, and find that Minjeong has awoken. Her eyes are slightly puffy, and her short black hair is mussed. But she retains her beauty, her cute features blurred only slightly by grogginess. “Good for you,” she says before yawning widely, “he’s an asshole.”

“He is an asshole,” Jimin says sorely. But she nudges you a little so she can sit on your other side. She puts a comforting arm around you. “We’re here for you.” 

You start to cry again. 

---

Your phone is ringing. 

Bright blue light fills the small dark room, and your eyes snap open immediately. You cover the screen with your hands, looking around wildly to make sure it didn’t wake up anyone else. It’s to no avail; the room is pitch black and you can’t see shit. But you can hear Minjeong’s little snuffly snores, Jimin shifting around in her silk pajamas, Aeri letting out a little groan, and Yizhou smacking her lips all in different corners of the room.

You yawn silently, stretching your arms above your head and picking up your phone in one hand, walking over and opening the door with the other. The short hallway is dark and the floors are creaky and cold on your bare feet. When you reach the main room, you finally lift up your phone, which hasn’t stopped vibrating this entire time. Your heart stops for a moment when you realize who’s calling you. 

Hwang Hyunjin. 

The name glows in bright white letters on your phone screen. His generic, blank contact photo—you refused to put a real picture of him there—glares at you. You gnaw on your thumb nail nervously but ultimately decide to pick up. 

“Hello?” Your voice is cold and thin in the thick black darkness of night. You walk over to the window, and push aside the curtain. The silky material washes over your fingers, cooling their clammy surface. 

“Hey. I’m outside.” Hyunjin’s voice is rich and thick in contrast. It’s sort of raspy, like he just woke up. Then it registers—he’s outside? 

“What do you mean?” Your mouth is dry.

“I’m outside your apartment. Can you come out?” 

“I’m not there right now.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You can only imagine what your roommates would think of some guy waiting outside for you. Luckily, they were both out of town at the moment. You hoped no one else saw or recognized him, but who were you kidding—he wasn’t fooling anyone with that damn bright red car. 

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence. “Where are you, then?” 

“Um, I'm over at a friend’s place. Jimin’s. Yoo Jimin.” 

Why did you give him her full name? You didn’t know. 

“Oh, yeah. I think I know her. What’s the address? I can be there soon.” 

You bite down too hard on your nail and taste blood, from where you ripped it from the skin. “What? Why? Why are you—why are you looking for me right now?” 

Again, there’s a brief silence before he replies. “I’m… leaving for a little bit. I’m going camping, and I was wondering if you would come with me.” 

You stare blankly out at the clear night sky. “Are you serious right now?” you ask, chuckling in disbelief. 

“Yeah, of course I’m serious.” 

“You realize how sketchy this sounds, right?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he drawls, sounding defensive. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I can’t come pick you up. And I will be forced to knock on every door in your building until someone can tell me this Jimin’s address.” 

“Do not do that,” you hiss, “I’ll give it to you, just… give me a second. I’ll text it to you.” 

“See you soon,” he managed to get in before you pressed the red END CALL button roughly. You quickly type in Jimin’s address, your clammy fingers sliding all over your slippery phone screen. You then sneak back into Jimin’s room, where you keep at least half of your wardrobe and a few spare self care items. For the amount of time you spent there, it would be weird if you didn’t keep some of your personal items there. Using your phone to light up the room, you stuff a few clothing items into a spare backpack and toss in a few other miscellaneous items. Camping, he’d said? He better have extra gear for you, or else he can count on dropping you off at your place. 

Your phone lights up again just as you close the door to Jimin’s bedroom. It’s just one word: Here. 

You quickly type out a text to Jimin, telling her the truth even though you knew you’d get your ass beat when you got back. It ends with you promising that this is the last time, that this is the closure you need. It’s half bullshit, half what you truly believe, and you just hope that she doesn’t see through it completely. You sigh, and exit the apartment. 

You’re still dressed in your pajamas, an old t-shirt and sweats. Your previous outfit from the day is somewhere at the bottom of your bag. The night air is crisp and cold, and you can see your breath in the air when you exhale. Your fingers are starting to slow due to the cold as they grip the handles of your backpack. 

As soon as you round the corner, you can see Hyunjin’s car. The engine is roaring, loud. Exhaust clouds around the car, pale white in the cold. He sees you as soon as you see him and rolls down his window, a wide grin on his stupidly handsome face. And his hair is red. Bright crimson, the color of something sweet and artificial. 

You can’t hide the shock on your face as you walk over, cupping a hand over your mouth. “Your hair!” you exclaim softly. You reach his window, and he lets you touch his silky scarlet locks. 

“What do you think?” he asks smugly. 

“It’s different. Looks nice,” you say honestly. You walk over to the other side of the car and toss your backpack in the back before settling into the passenger seat. The heated seats are nice on your chilled skin, and you hold your numb hands up to the warm heat that’s blowing from the vents. Hyunjin reaches over, his big hand gripping your cold thigh through your thick sweats. He squeezes the flesh there. 

“Missed you,” he admitted. He keeps his eyes on the road. 

“Did you now?” you ask, staring at the neon green number on the dashboard. It reads 4:47 AM, blinking in the darkness. 

“I did!” he insists, “that’s why I’m here now.” 

“What is this?” you blurt out. 

You watch the muscles in his jaw tense as he clenches. His skin looks green from the light of the glowing numbers. “It’s a camping trip,” he says thickly, nodding to the equipment stuffed in the backseat. At least that answers your question of whether or not he brought stuff for you. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” You sound firm, sure of yourself. A lot surer than you actually are.

Hyunjin has stopped smiling completely. “Can we not talk about this now?” 

“Then when? I’ve waited months. I’ve tried to bring it up. And all you do is dodge it and change the subject. If you don’t answer me right now, I’m jumping out of this car.” You’re yelling, your voice filling the expanse of the vehicle. 

He slams on the brakes, then takes a deep breath and properly pulls over. He turns off the car, and the two of you are left in darkness. The only thing you can hear is your own blood pumping through your ears; the sharp nervousness and reality of what you just said sinking in. Finally, he lets out a short breath, an attempt at a laugh. “I don’t know. It’s what we said it was when we met. Isn’t it?” His voice is low, and you’re unable to decipher any feeling in it. 

“Well, yeah…” you trail off. Your voice sounds small and pathetic. Your request only sounds more pathetic. 

“Then that’s what it still is,” he says carefully, “nothing serious.” 

“Of course,” you say quickly. There’s so much more you wanted to say—you wanted to slap him in the face for even daring to say that, for shutting you down and playing stupid. Is it a little over dramatic? Maybe, but you can feel your anger bubbling in your stomach, salty tears burning the rims of your eyes. For once, you’re thankful for the cover of night. 

That’s when the sun starts to rise. When Hyunjin starts the car again after you both refuse to break the silence, the sound of the engine starting up does the job for you. It roars to life, tiny neon lights flashing in your face as he pulls back onto the road and continues the drive. You know he knows—he isn’t an idiot. If he didn’t know before, he knows now that you’re hoping for something more from him. He knows that you want him in a different way now, that obviously other things in your relationship have changed which led to your feelings changing. 

Warmth finally breaches the seemingly eternal darkness of night. Black turns to dark blue, which turns greenish at the horizon with the arrival of the sun, which exudes warm rays of orange and yellow and pink, expanding as the sun reclaims its spot in the sky. You watch silently as your surroundings start to appear before your eyes; other cars on the road in all different muted colors, a stark contrast to the colorful wildflowers that are growing by the side of the road. uncontained and free. Fluorescent signs are staked into the ground every so often, telling you that there’s construction ahead or that you need to slow down. You peer out the window at the car next to you; a couple sits in the front, laughing together at some presumed inside joke. You’re jealous, watching their mouths move in unison. Are they singing the same song? Their song? 

At the next stoplight, Hyunjin quickly picks up his phone, scrolling through it while trying to keep an eye on the lights. 

“I’ll tell you when it changes, just hurry up,” you say, nervous as you watch him do exactly what you shouldn’t do when you’re behind the wheel. 

He shoots you a withering look but finds what he’s looking for. The catchy constant of his playlist cuts suddenly, and you hear a song you love playing over the speakers. He turns it up just a little so that the lyrics are clearer, and he tries to watch your reaction—subtly, or so he thinks. You can’t help the warmth that blooms across your face, the surprise at his tenderness. He remembers, you think, that I showed him this song all those months ago. 

The gentle voice of the singer warbles in your ears as you sigh happily, leaning back into your seat and drifting off into a calm sleep, visions of plentiful wildflowers and red haired princes filling your dreams. 

---

It’s not like you’re asleep the whole time—you wake up when he stops at a gas station, about halfway there. You come to when the car slows to a stop; you open your eyes to see Hyunjin getting out of the car and squinting at the gas prices in disbelief. He had noticed you stirring and grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. 

“If you need to use the bathroom or something, now’s the time.” He pulls out his phone, looking at a colorful map, and points out the long, winding road ahead. “We won’t hit another stop until we get there.” 

You stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, nodding. It’s warmer here—you’re further south, and the sun is high in the sky. You guess that it’s a bit after noon, and when you check your phone that only confirms it. 

The lights inside the gas station are just as harsh and white as they are at midnight. One of the long, exposed bulbs flickers at the far end, near the ice cream that’s probably expired. You’ve never really disliked gas stations—really, you just never thought about it—but now, as you stare at the hostile face of the cashier, their beady eyes watching your every move, as if they suspected you already, you want to get out of there as soon as possible. 

The bathroom is somehow worse. There’s a singular shred of toilet paper left on the barren brown roll, and there’s no replacement in sight. There’s stains everywhere, both fresh and old, which makes you wonder about the last time it was properly cleaned. You leave as quickly as possible, scrubbing your hands roughly with the nameless neon pink hand soap and trying to kick the door open with your foot—the handle is crusty, and you don’t want to touch it. 

The cashier is still watching you when you walk out, and they continue to eye you as you try to ignore the stare and pick up a bag of pretzels. You pay, avoiding eye contact, and speed walk out of the doors. 

It’s actually hot outside now, even though it’s well into autumn. You’re grateful that you kept your t-shirt on and denied when Hyunjin offered you one of his hoodies. Your forehead already feels damp, and you dab at it with a hand as you walk back towards the red car. 

Hyunjin stands beside it, watching his tank fill up and bopping his head to music. He’s put his own playlist back on now, much to your disappointment, but you weren’t about to let him know that. He notices you as soon as you walk up beside the car and get back into the passenger seat, leaning back and opening your bag of pretzels. 

“You really trust any of the food from that gas station?” he asks. His voice is muffled, so you roll down the window and shrug in response. He leans over, and opens his mouth, wordlessly asking for one. 

“Hypocrite,” you mumble, but you shove one in his mouth anyways. He catches it with his perfect pearly teeth, and gives you a toothy smile, showing it off. 

“Thanks,” he says around the dry mouthful. The crumbs that sprayed from his mouth as he spoke probably should have turned you off, but you only found it endearing—another piece of evidence that suggested you were hopelessly pining for this man. 

Finally, he himself gets back in the car and you’re back on the road. Some might call you cynical, but you think you can only appreciate the scenery for so long, and it doesn't take you long to fall asleep again. The constant movement of the vehicle puts you to sleep easily, and the several late nights you’d been pulling because of looming midterms only added to it. It’s only when you feel yourself lurch to the side heavily that your eyes snap open, but you feel safe and secure. A strong arm pins you to your seat, and when you look down at it you realize that you’ve also been covered with a hoodie, draped over your front like a blanket. It’s dark green, and it smells strongly of Hyunjin’s cologne. “Sorry,” he says, and you turn to look at him, confused, as he takes his arm off of you. “Some idiot cut in front of me and I swerved a little. We’re almost there though, so it’s good that you’re awake now.” 

“Thanks,” you say shortly, your mind still fuzzy from sleep and the two kind gestures. 

You watch as the winding road ahead slowly turns to a dirt path, pebbles getting caught in the tires as Hyunjin grimaces and tries to steady his precious car. He pulls off of the path when you reach a small clearing, only a few trees and dry bushes to cover you. You stiffen, looking around for some sort of bathroom—really, any building—but to no avail. “Where are we?” you ask nervously, “this feels like the plot of a horror movie.” 

“I come here a lot with my friends, it’s a really nice campsite,” he says, almost defensively. “And I wouldn’t murder you. If I wanted to, I would have a long time ago.” 

“Yeah, because that’s reassuring,” you mutter, to which he casts a withering look at you in response. “Just saying…” you say under your breath, though you’re fairly sure he hears you regardless. 

He parks the car, but not before giving you another sour look as he gets out and starts unloading the camping supplies from the back of his car. You help, but soon wander off in search of something more interesting. You leave him to struggle alone with the new tent he’d bought—apparently, it didn’t come with directions, and he didn’t take it nicely when you suggested that he’d probably just misplaced them. You can still hear him cursing as he struggles with the poles as you walk over a small hill and peer at all of the desert flora and fauna. Upon first glance, the landscape is literally a barren desert—there’s nothing but sand and a few scrappy plants amongst the rocky, pebbly terrain. But as you crouch down to stare at a singular crispy looking bush, you see some light green buds on the branches, and the beginnings of perhaps some blossoms. Small insects crawl over the new life, seemingly anticipating its arrival. Momentarily, you think of the possibility of larger, more dangerous wildlife, but you brush that thought away as you admire a massive brown cricket leap out of your way. 

“Thanks for all the help,” a sarcastic voice calls from behind you. You stand up, emerging from the squatting position you’d been in, and chuckle at Hyunjin as he approaches you, bare feet sinking into the warm sand. 

“It seemed like you had it under control,” is your cool reply while you shift around awkwardly, trying to ignore the heaps of sand pouring into your sneakers. His gaze drops to your covered feet, and now it’s his turn to chuckle. 

“It’s a lot easier if you just take off your shoes,” he says matter-of-factly, and you bite your tongue to avoid mocking his tone, trying to bend down to reach your shoelaces without falling onto your face. 

Wordlessly, he walks over and kneels in the sand to do it for you, making you feel guilty for being bitchy again. He slips them off your feet, and you peel off your socks as well, feeling immediate relief as your skin touches the sand. Hyunjin dumps out your shoes, the sheer amount of sand in them making you both giggle. “Isn’t that better?” he asks triumphantly, waiting for praise, and you shrug, trying to hide your smile from him. He notices this and walks over, grabbing your waist and kissing you until you break into a grin and you’re laughing aloud, pulling away so you don’t literally laugh into his mouth. “You’re so cute,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and ruffling your hair. You appreciate this much less—it makes you feel like a child. So you squirm out of his grasp and take a few steps away, in the direction of his car. 

“Did you finish setting everything up?” you ask, clearing your throat before to at least attempt to provide a conversational transition between his compliments and your question. 

He seems a little offended that you pulled away so fast, but his facial expression remains unchanged; he isn’t going to let you know that it bothered him. Is it even within his rights to get annoyed at that? That’s more boyfriend status, he thinks, and then he opens his mouth to reply. “Only the tent, everything else is still just in a pile right next to it.” 

“I’ll help now,” you say with false brightness, speeding off in that direction. You clutch your shoes and socks in one hand, the other clenched into a fist. You can hear his footsteps a short distance behind you, but you don’t stop to wait for him. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the campsite again and you see exactly what he was talking about, with all of the bags haphazardly piled right beside it. “You didn’t lie,” you say, scanning the equipment. 

“Why would I?” he counters, but playfully. 

Slowly, the two of you unpack the necessary things, rolling out your sleeping bags, organizing toiletries and taking out hiking equipment—to which you firmly denied going on a hike in the damn desert. Hyunjin pouted, but brushed it off by saying that he liked hiking alone best anyways, and that you could have fun at the boiling hot campsite by yourself while he explored trails deeper into the site. Keeping up your act, you tell him to have fun, and leave it at that. Surprisingly, you don’t notice the way his face falls slightly as he realizes that you really don’t mind not spending time with him. 

The late afternoon sun is blazing, unbearably hot. You retreat to the tent, which provides little to no comfort—there were no trees around to set it up in the shade, and Hyunjin insisted that you weren’t supposed to pitch a tent underneath trees anyways. Especially here, he said seriously as he smoothed out his sleeping bag, the branches are all so dry that they could fall on our heads any time. You fought the urge to say that you’d prefer a crispy branch falling on the tent over sweating your skin off in the direct sunlight. 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs that gather at the nape of your neck and how they’re plastered to your skin from the damp heat. You pat the area gingerly with your hand, feeling it come away wet. Your phone is charging, but you’re trying to stay off it to preserve the battery life on your portable charger. Instead of scrolling endlessly through random apps and social media, you’re grumpily sitting on top of your sleeping bag with your legs criss-crossed, slowly chewing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Luckily, Hyunjin had brought a lot of food—more than enough to sustain you for the duration of the trip. It shouldn’t be that long anyways; you both have to be back on campus by the time the weekend is over. 

“The sun’s setting now, so it should be cooling down soon. Might want to get that hoodie back out,” Hyunjin says, entering the tent. He nods towards the hoodie that he’d draped over you in the car earlier, and you chuckle. 

“I’ll put it on if I need it. It’s way too hot to be wearing pretty much anything right now,” you say, trying to fan your moist face with your hand, both of which are sticky with jelly. 

Hyunjin touches the back of his neck too, pushing up the small low ponytail that he’d gathered his bright red hair into. You can see that the dye is so fresh that it’s bleeding into his sweat, leaving scarlet rivulets across his skin that look like scars. “Sorry I didn’t warn you about the temperatures out here. It’s kind of crazy sometimes,” he says softly. 

You shrug, finishing your sandwich and flopping onto your back, which you regret a little; the slick thermal cover of the sleeping bag sticks to your skin immediately upon contact, and the entire surface is warm. Hyunjin mirrors your actions, falling back on his own matching sleeping bag. “That was some hard work we did,” he says, with an approving tone. “For someone who’s never gone camping before, you didn’t do too bad with the tent and everything.”

“Thanks,” you say, somewhat dryly, but only because you don’t know what else to say. A slightly uncomfortable silence ensues, before Hyunjin clears his throat again to speak again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You turn your head to look at him, the movement creating a swishing noise against the sleeping bag. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just been acting kind of weird recently. Especially today,” he admits, doing the same and turning to face you. He props his head up with his hand, his elbow sinking deep into the plush sleeping bag from the weight. 

It’s hard to swallow the last bite of your sandwich, because of both the thick peanut butter and your suddenly dry throat. “Well…” you trail off. For a moment you think you want to be honest with him, because truthfully, he’s a good guy—sure, he has his moments, but he never really intends to hurt you with his actions. He isn’t obligated to coddle you. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that… right?” he asks. “Like—I’m here for you, even if we’re not…” 

This time, he’s the one to trail off, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. You feel it on you as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers nervously. “That’s the issue,” you blurt out, “we’re… not.” 

“Not?”

“You know what I mean.” You’re embarrassed, so you turn away from Hyunjin so you don’t have to look at him or cringe at the shocked expression spread across his handsome features. 

“You—you want to be…” 

“I mean… yeah. Not at first, but now… I guess I feel differently.” Your voice grows softer. 

“Since when?” 

“Sort of recently. Maybe a month ago.” 

He says your name with such gentleness, such care, that you feel your eyes starting to water. “If I knew… I wouldn’t have been so…” 

“Such an asshole?” you ask scornfully. You can’t help it. This was why you didn’t want to ever have this conversation with him. You knew that there was resentment, even though he didn’t really do anything wrong. You knew that by bringing this up, you’d be breaking down your own walls that you put around the feelings you had for him, locked away deep deep down. 

He exhales loudly, clearly not pleased. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that.” 

You don’t reply, because you know that if you do your voice will break, and then he’d say something about you crying. Something nice, probably—he’d want to comfort you, which makes everything worse. You wished that instead, he’d laugh in your face or say something douchey, just to give you a reason to hate him and get over it already. Quickly, you wipe away a tear that’s threatening to spill from your eye, and you get up and leave the tent. 

You have nothing with you: no shoes, no hoodie, no water or food. The remnants of the peanut butter taste in your mouth turns sour and dry as you take deep gulps of air, sprinting away from the tent. You run further than you did when you were exploring, faster than you’ve moved in years. You stumble a few times, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment every time the sand trips you up, but eventually you think you get far enough away from Hyunjin that he can’t see you any more. You come to a stop when you reach the only somewhat memorable landmark you’ve passed on your run—a medium sized rock that has been flattened at the top to create a seat out of the natural material. Panting, you sit down on it, the hot surface crackling across your skin. It’s not hot enough to burn you, but it’s hot enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Yet, you stay there, hands gripping your itchy thighs, which burn from the rock and from the exercise, as you try not to choke on your own breathing. 

Wiping the sweat from your eyes, you feel a sudden chill in the air that makes goosebumps rise on your arms. You look around to see the sun starting to sink below the horizon; you have the perfect view across the long, flat landscape. The campsite seemed to be in a sort of valley; a lower part of the ground that did not allow you to see across the land. 

It would be dark soon, and you were in the middle of nowhere with nothing. 

“Why couldn’t we have had this talk when it was still warm out?” you muttered aloud, angrily. You wrap your arms around yourself, starting to shiver as the warmth disappears along with the sun. There’s a cool bluish cast on everything now; the sand looks gray and the rock looks black, in contrast to the constant reddish warmth that the desert had embraced during the day. You again wonder if there’s any dangerous wildlife here, and curse yourself for pulling such a stupid move. You curse at yourself for a lot of things—the main one being that you actually came here with him and expected everything to be fine. 

Perhaps that isn’t true though: but isn’t that worse? 

Deep down, even though you’d never admit it, you came on this trip because a small part of you still yearns for his love. You don’t like to change the way you act for a guy; that’s lame and pathetic. But that small part that disagrees seems to have more power over you than you previously thought. You came here because you thought that there was a chance, no matter how small, to get him to love you. Maybe, he would realize just how beautiful you were in the orange light of a sunset. Maybe, doing things that he enjoyed would make him relate to you. Maybe, you would be able to impress him with some secret hidden skill that even you didn’t know about until you showed it off for him. 

You have no tears left, only anger at yourself for being such an idiot, as you pull your legs closer to your body and stare into the darkness of the night. 

You couldn’t have been there long, but you can’t be sure when Hyunjin finds you. By that time, you’d run through a million possible things to say to him when you saw him again, but you end up saying none of them. He too is silent, and the only thing he does when he sees you is hand you the same green hoodie, which you take without hesitation. You’re too cold to give a damn about your dignity any more. 

The walk back is silent. Your toes are freezing, because the sand is completely cold now that the sun isn’t there to warm it. You shuffle behind Hyunjin, who takes wide, reaching strides with his long legs that easily eat up the desert terrain beneath him. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, as he always did, and you think of the first night you met him at that party, when the very same thing captivated your attention and refused to let go. The only difference now is the red—his hair, still burning and bright in the darkness, rather than the silvery blonde that made you do a double take. It’s no less mesmerizing though, to see it bob and sway as he walks, leading you silently back to safety. 

“This is why,” he says, his voice shaking. The raspiness breaks the quiet, disrupts the still air.

“Why…?” 

He stops suddenly, and you almost crash into his back. He turns to face you, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight, small line. He says your name again, tenderly as always. “This is why we’re stuck like this.” 

The campsite is in view, and your gaze drifts from his pained face to the lonely, singular tent that’s sitting in the sand. “Because I’m a fucked up person?” you ask bitterly, knowing damn well that isn’t what he meant. 

He just shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.” 

“But it’s what you mean, isn’t it?” 

“(Y/N)...” 

Dawn breaks, warmth spilling back over the hills and valleys, turning the sand a bright orange. You watch as the light washes over Hyunjin’s tall frame, a mile long shadow being cast by his lanky body. Neither of you says another word, and then he just shakes his head again, scoffing so quietly you can barely hear it, and turns to walk back to the tent. He doesn’t look back, and then ducks inside. The rustling sounds stop, and you’re left standing there alone, clad in the dark green hoodie, when your tears finally overflow. 

---

Men. 

You want to blame Hyunjin. You always want to blame him, because honestly, it is partially his fault, just as much as it is yours. Once, Jimin had muttered something about men always being disappointing, especially men around Hyunjin’s age. His personality and looks didn’t help either; he knew that he was attractive and desired, and he took advantage of it. That’s the worst part about pretty men, you thought, their own fucking self-awareness. 

Or maybe that’s not the right term, because there’s a lot of shit about him that he was just blind to. He never understood why you got mad when he said something insensitive, thinking that he was just being honest and communicating. His naturally flirty personality attracted a lot of people, who he messed with for fun instead of taking it seriously. Here, you were torn: you genuinely could not tell if you were just another body to him, or if he actually cared about you and thought you different from all the other losers that he’d mess around with. 

You feel nothing but guilt when Jimin pulls up to the campsite, an unreadable expression on her pretty face. She stares you down as you pick up your bag and trudge over to her car, your furrowed brow and frown a clear indication of your emotions, the complete opposite of her. She doesn’t help you into the car, instead staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles are pale and bloodless. 

You’re about to shut the door when Hyunjin peeks out of the tent and notices that you’re leaving. He gnaws on his plush bottom lip for a moment, as if he is pondering whether or not to do what he thinks he should, and then he stumbles out of the unzipped flap and walks over to you. His nose is scrunched up, his eyes narrowed a little from the effort. “Are you leaving right now?” he asks, somewhat stupidly. 

“Obviously,” Jimin spits, venom lacing her words. 

Hyunjin looks surprised at her hostility, and his gaze flickers between you and her for a moment as you avoid eye contact with both of them. 

“Can I say something to you before you go?” he asks. His voice sounds unnaturally rough, like he’s struggling to speak. 

Jimin looks at you, and you realize that she’s letting you decide for yourself. 

You stare up at Hyunjin, at his gorgeous face that looks almost hopeful as you stare into his deep brown eyes. 

“No.”

“N-No?” he repeats, stumbling over the first syllable, pathetically—a first for him, straying from his usual graceful, cool tone. 

“You heard her,” Jimin snaps, and she reaches over you, snatching the door handle and slamming it shut in his face. He looks appalled, shocked, as you drive away. The wheels on her car spin in the dirt before they finally get a grip, and she pulls away from the campsite, away from the lone brightly colored tent in the beige landscape, away from Hyunjin and all of his unspoken emotions. 

“I’m sorry, Rina,” you say immediately, looking down at your hands shamefully. “I should have known better.” 

“What happened?” she asked, “What did he do to you?” 

“He didn’t do anything. Honestly, that’s kind of the problem,” you say, scoffing at the end at your own foolishness. 

Jimin presses her lips together until there’s nothing left but a thin pink line, showing her exasperation with you. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t ever get to do anything to you,” she says, stepping on the gas as her car finally touches the smooth paved road again, escaping the rugged, bumpy terrain of the dirt pathway you’d been traveling on thus far. 

“One can only hope,” you mumble, just a little sarcastically. 

Jimin cracks a smile, and you feel your guilt melt away as she covers your hand with her own, a small gesture of comfort. You sigh aloud, and wonder why you bothered to get yourself into such an emotional situation in the first place. You were done being a doormat, done being the other woman, and done with Hyunjin. 

---

Fuzzy socks, a mug of rose (chilled, but you felt as if you looked fancier and more seasonally appropriate drinking it out of your cute hand painted mug), and a Halloween movie marathon on your laptop. That was the medication that Dr. Jimin had prescribed when she dropped you back off at your place. She didn’t say anything about the long drive there and back and how you really just wasted away half of her weekend, and she gave your cold hand a last comforting squeeze before she left. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t want to be alone until her car disappeared around the corner, and you realized just how quiet your apartment was. All of your housemates had gone out for the weekend, with one of them away visiting family and the other at their partner’s, and the silence seems to sting your skin as you walk around mindlessly for a few minutes. 

You toss your backpack onto the floor of your bedroom, not even wanting to think about unpacking it even though there’s hardly anything in there. You peel off your clothes, watching stray grains of reddish orange sand spill onto the hardwood below. A trail of clothing items leads from your bedroom and to the bathroom, where you sit down on the floor of your shower and let the hot water run over your skin until steam rises off of it and it’s fevered to the touch. Only then do you bother to wash yourself, scrubbing away the last day with Hyunjin, peeling away his touch little by little. 

You don’t feel raw when you step out of the shower, like you probably should. Your skin is irritated from the temperature and the friction, and you wrap yourself in a clean towel and trudge to your room, ignoring the puddles joining the trail of clothes on the floor. 

You follow Dr. Jimin’s prescription, getting reluctantly dressed in clean and comfortable clothing and turning on a movie marathon. You pour yourself a full mug of wine, the pink alcohol slopping over the rim of the ceramic container. Though you wince at the mistake, you don’t bother to clean it up. You make a mental note to clean before the weekend is over, so that your housemates don’t return to a dumpster fire in the apartment. 

You lay down on the couch, your warm laptop acting as a heat source on your stomach. You’re facing the one big window in the entire apartment, and the curtains are parted, allowing you to see outside. It’s raining heavily, with fat droplets slapping against the glass almost angrily, mirroring the emotions you’d been feeling lately. Everything is gray, the once bright autumnal foliage now dampened and soggy as the season begins to transition into the next. This is the worst part of autumn in your opinion: the decay that comes after the bright happiness. It’s so fleeting, but so beautiful that you can’t help but stick around even though you know nothing but desolation awaits you once the flame dies. You laugh to yourself at your dramatic nature, comparing the changing seasons to your relationship with Hyunjin. It’s almost cathartic to be so wholly passionate and silly about it all, to let yourself feel all of your emotions at once and not worry about what people will think. The movie playing on your laptop drones out the steady pattering of raindrops against the window as you chug your wine, beginning to feel fuzzy as you drink more and more. 

You’re not drunk enough to hallucinate—you know that for damn sure. Does alcohol even do that? You’re not sure but you think you’ve been blackout drunk enough to get there, if it was a real thing. Then you realize that it’s real—he’s real. Through the blurred window, you can see a bright red car parking in front of your building, and an individual with the same lanky frame as Hyunjin stepping out of it. His hood is pulled up over his head to keep out the cold rain, so you can’t be completely sure, but you’re pretty positive that no one else you know drives a car like that. So really, who else could it be?

You have to pretend like you weren’t secretly hoping this would happen as you walk over to the door, expecting him to knock at any moment. Sure enough, a sharp knocking reaches your ears, and you unlock and open the door immediately, staring directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. You glance upwards ever so slightly and see the dark black bangs hanging in his face—his hair has been cut and dyed. 

“What?” you ask dryly, the implications finally getting through your muddled mind. Simultaneously, you try to ignore the new changes to his hair. You wonder what Jimin would do if she knew he came to your door. Probably beat his ass, which at the moment you thought was quite deserved. 

“I do like you,” he says hastily, the statement escaping his lips plosively and suddenly. You watch a raindrop slide down the tall bridge of his nose and fall. His damp, short bangs peek out from beneath the hood of his gray sweatshirt. The entire garment is spotted with rain. 

“Okay…” you say, feeling your heart catch in your throat. You try to sound nonchalant, ignoring the pounding in your chest and the way your head starts spinning. 

He ignores your response, continuing in a desperate voice. “I do like you,” he says hastily, “but I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now.” 

“You came all this way in the rain to tell me that you don’t want to date me?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“No!” he protests, and you step aside to gesture to him, letting him inside. He shivers in his damp clothes, and you roll your eyes as you toss him a throw blanket that was laying around. It definitely isn’t yours, and you add “laundry” to your checklist of chores to complete before your housemates come back. He wraps himself up in it, fuzzy pink fluff surrounding his face, which is wetly streaked with raindrops. “That’s not what I was saying.” 

“So you do want to date me?” you ask bluntly, picking up your mug and taking another massive gulp. He eyes the nearly empty bottle of wine sitting on your coffee table. 

“Are you drunk right now?” he asks. “Where did you get this from?” 

You wave him away. “Someone left it here after a house party a little bit ago, we needed to use it up so here I am being resourceful and eco-friendly.”

“That’s not what that means,” he says, cracking a small, crooked smile. 

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes yet again. “What did you have to say to me?” 

“You’re honest when you’re drunk. And sassy,” he comments. 

“That’s what you have to say?” 

“Give me a minute!” He huffs, sitting down uninvited on the edge of the couch. “Listen, I do really like you, but I’m really busy and it wouldn’t be fair to you if we were in a weird half-relationship just because I don’t have time.” 

“And is that all that different from what we do now?” you ask crossly. “Only you have zero commitment right now, and you’d maybe have like… fifty percent commitment if we did that.” 

“You’re drunk,” he states, as if it weren’t obvious as well as previously established, multiple times.  

“And you’re an asshole.” 

He stops, the playfulness completely gone from the banter. 

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” you say slowly, “I’m not mad any more, I’m just saying. And what I’m saying is that that’s the exact bullshit guys say to you when they don’t actually want to date you, but want to fuck you.” 

Hyunjin blinks slowly at you, in disbelief. “You really think I’d do that to you?” 

“Why not me? I’ve seen you do it to so many people—even when I’m out with you. You think that messing around with all these people has no effect, that everyone can just brush it off like you do. But not everyone’s an asshole like you are.” 

“Stop calling me that.” His voice sounds small, wounded even. 

“Stop being one, then.” Your voice is cold, but pain creeps through the cracks and shows your true emotions. You’re tipsy and you’re crying in front of him, and you’ve never felt more pathetic. 

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he says softly. “I should have been honest with you from the start.” 

“You had a lot of chances to do that,” you reply. 

“So did you,” he reminds you—not out of malice, but out of honesty. 

“Yeah. I wasn’t perfect either,” you admit, though your ego takes a bruising from that single statement. 

“People aren’t meant to be perfect…” Hyunjin says, trailing off at the end, like there was something else he wanted to say. You wait for it, studying him as he picks at the fuzzy corner of the blanket. “So can’t we forgive each other and try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Try… us. Try being together, even if it doesn’t work out in the end.” 

You know what you want to say as soon as you hear him say that, but you also know the ending already. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you and Hyunjin weren’t exactly compatible. There were so many arguments, even though you were never officially together, and you had little to nothing in common. Though those weren’t dealbreakers on their own, when put together, and along with all the other little things you picked up on as you got to know him, you knew the real answer, the right answer. You reach out to caress his face. His skin is warm now, and his hood slips off of his head to reveal the full haircut. It’s short, as you presumed, only the top layers left somewhat long. His bangs tickle your fingers as your hand drops. 

The rain only pelts against your window harder as you take his cold hand in yours, intertwining your fingers for the last time, and press your lips to his knuckles. Hopefully, he looks at you, awaiting your answer. 

You smile sadly; the moment is bittersweet. Goodbye moonlight, goodbye to our song, goodbye to your stupidly loud car and your soft hair, you think, goodbye.

“No,” you say simply. “We can’t.” 

DIVIDER CREDIT | @cafekitsune

© petrichor-han 2023, all rights reserved. do not translate or repost without my permission.

bro, when i tell you that i love this fic, i meant it with my whole heart

Demon! Felix x Reader

Yandere! Demon! Lee Felix x Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Summary: You come from a family of demon hunters, born to carry out your parent’s legacy. When a simple mission escalates rapidly, how will you be able to this demon?

Warning(s): Obsessive Themes, Violence, Gore, Death, Emotional Trauma, Profanity, etc

Word Count: 16.3k

Previously: You saw Felix standing over a body, head hung low, and gun in hand. He dropped the weapon before turning to face you. His eyes were blazing and smog was spilling down his shoulders and onto the ground. He didn’t seem to be hurt at all though, you couldn’t say the same for the other one— Minho. It was Minho.

You were frozen, the knife you were holding dropping due to your shock. “F-Felix? What? Why?” This couldn’t be. You were paralyzed, your brain unable to wrap around the scene. Had Felix really just killed Minho? Why? Why now? You just stared at him, fear in your eyes with tears threatening to spill. “He’s finally gone,” a crude smile cracked itself across Felix’s face, his pupils enlarging upon seeing you. He faced his chest toward you, blood staining the whole front side of his body all the way down to his shoes. “Aren’t you glad? Now he can’t interrupt us anymore.”

You were shaking. “B-but he-” you sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep your composure and voice stable. “He was leaving, you-” you swallowed. “You didn’t have to kill him, Felix.” You let out a sob, stumbling closer to Minho’s corpse, shaking your head. “Why did you have to do this?” Tears were running down your cheeks. You couldn’t handle looking at Felix covered in Minho’s blood.

Keep reading

If this isn’t one of the best fics out there, then I don’t know what is..

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER TWO | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

THE MATCHMAKER MEETS HIS MATCH

“Ruin me, please.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, brief mentions of virginity loss, heavy drinking, Hyunjin is delulu, heavy dom/sub dynamics: dom!reader, sub!Han Jisung (yes, there's Jisung smut in a Hyunjin story SUE ME), degradation, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, drunk sex (both are consenting parties), semi-public sex (?) Word Count: 15.1k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“And now, here’s what we really want to ask you, Dr. Hwang: are you single?” 

The interviewer swivels her head to look at Hyunjin, her Botox-enhanced mouth spreading into a wide, magenta-lipsticked smile. Hyunjin barely registers her question, distracted by her disturbing resemblance to a vulture, with her beady eyes, hooked nose, and razor-sharp nails clutching a microphone like talons grasping prey. Her garish pea-green pantsuit and cat-eye glasses, combined with a frizzy blonde perm, remind him of that creepy reporter from Harry Potter, absolutely not helping his currently depleted Zen levels. 

He can already feel a sweat breaking out on his neck, permeating his satin button-down and threatening to ruin the outfit he had chosen this morning. Usually, picking out what to wear is one of Hyunjin’s favorite parts of the entire day; breathing in the Coco Noir scent of his walk-in closet is like Hyunjin’s own expensive version of aromatherapy. Today, however, it felt like a chore; It took him forever to find the perfect accessories to tie everything together, before he finally settled on his new gold Cartier earrings and the matching Juste un Clou bracelet. Hyunjin knows he looks amazing in his tastefully vintage yet sleek ensemble. He looks every bit the title of a sexy savant, one that he so rightfully carries. He looks ready to slay an interview on California’s most popular talk-show, The L.A. View. But for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel it. 

It could have been the coffee that he had hand-pressed for himself this morning, his usual brew of arabica beans imported from the misty slopes of Guatemala. But then again, the coffee brought a much-needed buzz that Hyunjin needed to drag himself out of bed, no matter how temporary. More likely, it was the margarita that he’d downed in the car that was sent to pick him up and bring him to the studio to tape the interview. Tequila always makes Hyunjin’s stomach turn. Or maybe—

“Dr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin snaps out of his reverie, plastering a charmingly mysterious smile onto his face. One, two, three… work that charm. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sharon?”

The audience oohs beneath the dimmed stage lighting, and Sharon turns red, a shade visible even under the lurid bronzer that’s caked onto her face. Hyunjin would really love to book Sharon an appointment at HWASA Skincare and Cosmetics, his go-to beauty consultant whenever he’s visiting Seoul. The founder and CEO, his old friend Hye-Jin, would personally host her just so that Hyunjin could be relieved of the horrible bout of trypophobia he’s getting right now, staring into Sharon’s cavernous pores.

“Oh, stop it!” Sharon giggles, clapping her hands together. “There definitely must be a lucky lady in your life. You’re the Love Doctor. And not to mention, but very handsome.”

Sharon winks over exaggeratedly at the camera, and Hyunjin has to hold himself back from cringing away when she palms his shoulder, eyeing him hungrily. He can’t blame her, of course; the sleeves of his shirt squeeze his arms in such a way that his toned biceps are shown off— thank you very much, Better Body Pilates. But he needs his personal space. Out of everything, he hates when people treat him like some sort of an animal at the zoo, petting and prodding at him. He sees himself as more of the Mona Lisa, a masterpiece to be marveled at, not touched. His Zen is important, after all. 

Still, Hyunjin just shoots her a disarming smirk, crossing one Valentino-clad leg over the other. “The only lady in my life is Princess Diana. But I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

Both Sharon and the audience members aww, utterly captivated by Hyunjin when he pulls out a small Polaroid of his puppy from his breast pocket, holding it out so that the cameras can zoom in on it. As expected, his answer seems to have satisfied Sharon’s invasiveness, but beneath his beaming expression hides the building tension in his chest. 

What Hyunjin said is the partial truth; he may not currently have a significant other, but did he have someone in mind, when romance is in question? Yes. Is said person completely off-limits? Also yes. And would his reputation be completely tarnished if that very classified information got out? Yes, yes, and yes.

“Thank you so much for sitting down with us, Dr. Hwang,” Sharon says, thrusting out her hand for Hyunjin to shake it. Ever the professional, he accepts it like a champ. “And that’s all for now, folks! Stay tuned to watch my little chat with Meghan Markle about her ex-royal lifestyle. The teapot is boiling!”

The cameras cut and Hyunjin quickly excuses himself, waving to all of the people wistfully gazing after him. He enters the little hallway behind the filming room and breaks into a run very unlike himself, practically having to swerve around crew members and stage equipment. As soon as he’s locked away inside his dressing room, Hyunjin slides off his patent leather loafers and falls back onto the couch.

It’s been exactly three months since he first set eyes on you, kickstarting his unsavory fantasies and therein, digging himself into an early grave. And maybe it would have been okay, because as a male, sometimes he’s inclined to think with his dick. It’s a biological reaction that he can’t control. But it’s not, though, because the constant image of you printed like a tattoo on his mind has been interfering with his life and sense of normalcy. It’s a feeling that’s only grown in magnitude, especially now that with your weekly sessions, you’ve rapidly blossomed into the strong, confident woman that he always knew you were. So it’s not the fact that he’s horny— well, not the only fact— it’s that he might have feelings for you. Feelings that could get him into trouble, bigtime.

And the list that you wrote for him a while back definitely didn’t help. Hyunjin sits up, reaching for his notepad that he left on the little coffee table in front of the couch. He leafs through the pages, before pulling out the small slip of paper that he saved. Reading over the words for what feels like the umpteenth time, Hyunjin involuntarily smiles to himself. This time, it’s genuine.

The first thing that I don’t absolutely hate about myself is my imagination. I’ve been restricting myself a lot, lately, because I hated the thought of coming up with new ideas just to never bring them to life. It’s probably my post-Jisung and ITEM Tech trauma. But I felt kind of inspired by our first meeting today. I have a lot of great ideas, and I think that one day, I have the potential to beat Jisung’s ass and make a better company than his.

My fucking patience. You know, you might think otherwise, because it may seem like I have the patience of a single mom at a birthday party. But today proved differently. My friend/coworker Minho and his wife invited me over for dinner, which would have been fine, except they’re one of the most disgustingly perfect couples ever. They can’t go two minutes without giving each other a sappy ass look or holding hands or singing a song or something. And then Minho’s wife asked me if I wanted some ice cream, like she and her man weren’t just all over each other a millisecond ago. I just smiled and nodded. You can say I have the patience of the saint, now.

I like how I’m perseverant. For example: this. I could have given up after the first two days and ditched this piece of paper. But I didn’t. I want to be better. I’m very perseverent. Okay, my hand hurts. I’m putting down the pen for today.

My resilience. For the billionth time in my life, my boss made me want to drive out of work and jump into a lake. Long story short, Mark Lee is the worst motherfucker to ever exist (well, after his bestie Park Jisung. My boss and ex-boyfriend are friends. FML). But after one of his daily rants about how I’m not up to mark for some random reason, I walked out of his office and into the office kitchen. I got a Sprite from the fridge, crushed the full can with my bare hands, and then proceeded to calmly clean up the spilled soda before going back to work. I deserve a medal for my healthy anger management technique of smashing things and then bouncing back like a friggin’ spring.

The only home cooked meals I can really stomach are the ones that Minho shares with me at work. You know, he’s really such a menace. When I moved into my current apartment, he got me a cutting board as a gift, knowing damn well I don’t cook. But nowadays, I’ve been slowly getting more comfortable in the kitchen. I still don’t think I trust myself in cooking, but I’m kind of a really good baker, I’m realizing. Today, I made brownies. I’m eating one right now, and I guess I don’t hate that.

I am very patient, Part 2. My dumbass cousin, Yeonjun, called me up to hang out. Knowing him, that means me buying him a crap ton of expensive food. And he’s pretty loaded, too. I think he just loves pissing me off. First, he wanted pizza. That would have been fine, if we hit Domino’s or something, but he made me take him to this ridiculously upscale restaurant downtown. Their damn pizzas had caviar and truffles on them! Like, what the fuck happened to good old pepperoni? And as if that wasn’t enough, he then started complaining that he wanted fucking dessert too. So he ordered this fruit charcuterie board that cost another fortune. On the way home, I had to get him an $8 boba because “the cheese made him thirsty.” His metabolism is amazing. I’m kind of jealous. But anyway, I’m practically Mother Teresa at this point, because dealing with Yeonjun is no easy task. He’s lucky I love him.

Fundamentally, I think I’m a good person. And I think I deserve to be happy. There. Seven things, seven days. I’m done now. See you tomorrow.

Hyunjin sighs, sliding the paper back into his book and setting it inside his little Prada bag. This tiny scrap of paper had him seeing stars, when he first read it in the office, in front of you. There’s just something about you that he couldn’t and still can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s how delightfully pugnacious you are, or that comically angry tone you approach the world with, no matter what. And he had to bite his tongue too, because there’s no way you came up with just seven things, not when Hyunjin felt like he could give a whole recitation on your very attractive qualities, just after meeting with you once. You’re unintentionally hilarious. Real. Tough. Inquisitive. Also, you’re simply the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

You’re like an impossible puzzle to him; all the pieces are there, and yet, he can’t seem to put you together. Or rather, he can’t seem to figure out how to get his own shit together and finish the damn puzzle. Because he’s oh-so down bad, and he knows it. 

“Dr. Hwang? Are you in there?”

Hyunjin stands up immediately, locking away his daydreams about you and brushing off his trousers. He quickly smooths back his artfully slicked wolf cut and opens the door for Wonyoung to step inside with her trusty tablet. Momentarily, Hyunjin is sidetracked by her outfit, a stylish mini paired with a silky lilac bomber jacket— because where the fuck are those heels from— before he remembers himself.

“What’s up?” Hyunjin nonchalantly flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes, trying not to seem like he wasn’t just having a panic attack on that stupid couch just five seconds ago.

Wonyoung taps on the screen of the tablet for a few seconds, before looking up. “You have an appointment with your personal trainer in twenty minutes. You’re running late. And then at four, you need to get back to SeoulSpark for a meeting with a client. Here’s your change of clothes. I’ve already called a car for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Hyunjin accepts the gym bag, before jerking back in dreadful realization. “Wait. Which client do I have to meet with today?”

Wonyoung gives him a strange look. “Miss Y/L/N. Hey, are you alright, Dr. Hwang? You always stay on top of all of your engagements, but you haven’t been yourself lately.”

At the mere mention of your name, Hyunjin literally wishes he could melt into a puddle right then and there. Of course he hasn’t been himself, not when you waltzed into the office and wreaked havoc on his very humble life— for example, yesterday, he forgot to wear his Versace pajamas to sleep, and not his Fendi ones. Hyunjin knows that Saturdays are strictly for Versace; he promised Donatella years ago at the Met Gala. This is all your fault— how can it be poor Hyunjin’s, when he’s just a mere mortal cowering in your goddess-like presence? 

“I- I’m okay, Wonyoung. I, uh, just ate some bad sushi.”

“You ate bad sushi every day for the past three months?” Wonyoung suspiciously raises an eyebrow at Hyunjin. She isn’t buying it, unfortunately. 

“Uh-huh. It’s a terrible addiction that I’m trying to break. My raw seafood intake is off the charts. Guess I’m not perfect after all,” Hyunjin babbles, adding onto his already horrendous lie. 

Wonyoung still doesn’t look convinced, but Hyunjin flounces out of the room before she can say anything else and uncover his deep, dark secret: you. Besides, his ride is waiting outside and his quads really need working.

“See you later, Changbin.” Hyunjin waves to his trainer as he grabs his belongings and exits the gym after a grueling workout. Usually, he prefers more low-impact routines, like aerial yoga or cycling around Marina del Rey. But because he’s been skimping out so much these days, Changbin made him do an endless round of jump squats before beating his ass in boxing. 

Hyunjin presses his fingers to his aching back muscles, sore with both exhaustion and worry. The slim hands of his Rolex alert him to the fact that there is only one more hour before he must face you, and he is nowhere near ready. He’ll just have to skip the sauna today. Quickly, he gets into the car standing for him by the curb, slipping on his Gucci shades and sliding down below the window in the backseat, like a celebrity escaping a paparazzi cloud.

As soon as he gets back to Oasis, the opulent complex that houses his beloved penthouse, Hyunjin practically flies into his bathroom and locks the door. Without even bothering to set his eucalyptus shower steamer, Hyunjin cleans himself up as much as he can, scrubbing off the sweat and grit of the gym from his skin. 

Once he’s finished, he gets dressed and sits down in front of his bedroom mirror that’s designed to look like a Hollywood-style vanity. Taking a deep breath, he inspects his face for any signs of something off. Nope. He looks as dewy and fresh as a pink rose petal, minus the slight red rings under his eyes, which are the courtesy of many, many sleepless nights over you.

Hyunjin, however, is incredibly proud of himself for getting to the office with fifteen minutes to spare, therein being able to fit in a little solo pep talk in the car. His third outfit of the day is a show-stopping black Celine suit, practically designed to make heads turn. It definitely isn’t to impress you with his impeccable style— no, he did it for himself, obviously. That’s the only reason. And it’s a little extravagant, even for Hyunjin, but then again, he’s never been known for his subtlety. 

His post-workout clarity gives him hope that everything will go back to normal, before you. All he needs to do is focus on himself. Everything else will pass, eventually. At least, that’s what Hyunjin keeps telling himself to believe, right before he crashes headfirst into you in the hallway outside of his office.

“Hey, Hyunjin!” Grinning, you hold out a small gift box tied with a sunny bow, which is coincidentally the exact same yellow as the dress you wore when Hyunjin first met you. Today, you’re sporting salmon-colored shorts and a cream blouse with an adorable sailor collar, and Hyunjin immediately has to tamp down the urge to whisk you away to go on a private boating vacation on a yacht in St. Barts. God, you really have amazing style.

Hyunjin swallows roughly and takes the box, trying to look more excited about it than how utterly taken with you he is. “Afternoon, darling. What’s this?”

You reach your hand over to where the box rests in Hyunjin’s hands, toying with the bow. Hyunjin automatically feels himself internally hyperventilate at your proximity that’s too close for comfort. 

“Mango cheesecake. I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe for a while now, and I think it finally turned out really well.” You break into a bright smile that makes Hyunjin’s brain short circuit. “I want to thank you for all of your help, besides me being less-than-cooperative sometimes. Coming here has really changed my perspective on things, and for the better.”

Hyunjin clutches the box to his chest. He had always suspected that you are the sweetest, under your stormy exterior, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get a taste and confirm the truth for himself. Nevertheless, he’s both touched and now even more delusional, because you spent time on him, making something to give him. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

You pout in response, and Hyunjin grasps the box even tighter, nearly crushing the contents in an effort to get a grip on himself. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Hyunjin grins, feeling himself relax a little. That’s one more thing about you— you have this contradicting ability to induce both calmness and anxiety into him, another kind of black magic that you definitely harbor in your bewitching eyes. “Well, thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

You look away shyly and gesture towards Hyunjin’s office. “Should we head in?”

Smiling to himself, Hyunjin steps ahead to open the door for you as you duck your head and scramble in, folding yourself onto the sofa that you both are now well-acquainted enough to often share. After setting his velvet tote bag onto his desk, Hyunjin sits down beside you, holding out a glass of mango juice to you, a drink that you now frequent whenever you meet. Plus the cheesecake? You really must love mangoes.

As you sip on your juice, Hyunjin decides to take the reasonable course of action available: ask you about your day, not if you’re available next Friday night at six. “How have you been? I’m sorry I couldn’t see you last week.”

You shrug, waving off Hyunjin’s apology like it’s nothing. It isn’t, though; he would rather have spent time with you than having to fly to Shanghai for some brand endorsement deal that his agent made him take. “Don’t worry about it. And I’ve been good. Evidently, in a much more agreeable mood these days. It’s certainly a step-up from the grumpier me, isn’t it?”

“I like you however you are,” Hyunjin blurts out without thinking, before freezing in realization. In a better world, he would have had the sense to at least clamp his hand over his mouth before he could say something stupid, but unfortunately, he’s stuck here. He wills the stammering, bumbling idiot that he turns into when you’re around to disappear, to be replaced by his usual, suave self. It doesn’t quite work, because he feels a furious blush building on his neck.

You’ve also turned a light shade of pink, and Hyunjin prays to God that you can’t see through his bullshit. “Because I’m your client. You accept me however I am.”

Hyunjin has to mentally stab himself with a fork as a reminder that he cannot, under any circumstances, disagree, although he really, really wants to. You could never be just a client to him. You’re too precious to him for that title. Yet, he keeps a straight face as he nods, disgusted with what he’s about to say. “Exactly. You’re my client.”

You down the rest of your drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Anyway, you emailed me that you had something special planned for today. What is it?”

“Right.” Hyunjin clears his throat, getting up from the sofa to make his way over to his desk. He opens one of the drawers and pulls out the thick binder he’s been dreading using with you for a while now. It weighs his hands down like an unpleasant secret as he sits back down next to you. 

“What’s this?” You inquire, leaning in closer to Hyunjin. The movement allows the sugary scent of your vanilla perfume become even more prominent to Hyunjin, which is definitely not helpful right now. Hyunjin stares down at the binder, adopting a robotic tone that won’t betray his thoughts.

“We’ve worked on just you for the past few months, and now it’s time. You’re finally ready to explore dating.” Hyunjin opens the binder, trying to ignore the sour taste of the words on his tongue. “And as I’ve told you before, SeoulSpark has an incredible matchmaking service that caters to everything you desire in a potential partner.”

“Cool! How does it work?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices your shorts ride up slightly, further exposing the soft skin of your upper thigh. Think of the fork, Hyunjin. Think of the damn fork.

“Well, I’ve already compiled a number of candidates in our database whose profiles complement yours. We’re going to be setting up a time when you can speed date them.” 

You quirk your eyebrow in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is to Hyunjin. “Speed dating? That’s…”

“I know, I know. It might seem weird at first, but that’s why we’re doing it the SeoulSpark way, to reduce awkwardness and make it really worth your time. We’ll go over the candidates briefly, and weed out the ones you really don’t want to see.” Hyunjin opens the binder, going to the profiles. “But I won’t tell you their names, so we can maintain at least a small element of surprise.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the first candidate’s picture, and Hyunjin has to fight the burning jealousy in his chest. “Wow. He’s handsome.”

“Swipe left or right?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin turns to the next page. “What about him?”

“Uh, left. He reminds me of my uncle. No thank you.”

Hyunjin stifles his smile as he continues flipping through the profiles, noting down your answers. He tries to enjoy your unfiltered reactions and not think about the fact that one of these lucky bastards could be your future husband. Finally, he gets to the last candidate.

You frown. “He looks kind of like a chipmunk. A quokka, maybe.”

“So is that a left?”

“I’ll say right. He seems like he’d be interesting.” You shrug, your eyes glittering with mischief. “Actually, I’m kind of excited now. Some of these guys are lookers.”

Hyunjin laughs in spite of himself, shutting the binder and standing up. “I’ll email you the details of the event by next week, when we’ll be holding it. ”

You nod, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear— oh, how Hyunjin wishes he could just casually do that for you. “Got it. I’ll make sure to look dazzling.”

“Darling, you always look dazzling.” Hyunjin smirks in self-satisfaction when you flush at his quip. It’s not exactly a reaction that’s foreign to him, but seeing you like this, all cute and bashful, is new. And it’s a look that’s very attractive on you. Hopefully, you attribute the flirting to Hyunjin’s naturally charming personality, not the fact that he’s impossibly gone for you. Not that the truth would make a difference, however. You’ll never be his.

“Thanks, Hyunjin.” You get up from your seat, letting Hyunjin walk you out, like he always does. “I feel like you have a vision going on for this matchmaking event.”

“Oh, I always have a vision.” Hyunjin chuckles, opening the door for you. “We’re considering a tropical theme, or a garden party, maybe. Or something glamorous. Kind of like prom, but without the bad music and horny teenagers, you know?”

You shrug. “Actually, I never went to my high school senior prom. But all of these ideas sound incredible.”

He pauses, his eyes widening. “You never went to prom?”

“There was this guy.” You look uncomfortable, but before Hyunjin can assure you that you don’t have to tell him about it, you decide to continue. “I wanted to go with him, but long story short, he rejected me. And I didn’t really have any friends I could go with either. I could have gone on my own, but I wasn’t brave enough. It’s one of the things that I did when I was younger that I regret now. I guess it just speaks volumes about how I hold myself back a lot.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

“My first love, apparently. And a bunch of others.” You sigh, fiddling with the little bow on your sleeve. “But whatever. I’m going to find a real man.”

“They’re idiots. And prom isn’t even all that.”

You snort. “Says you. I’ll bet you were the kind of guy who got invited by all of the girls to be their date to prom, even if you weren’t even a senior yet.”

“Exactly. I would know precisely that prom is overrated as fuck.” Hyunjin gives you a smile. “Maybe we’ll just go with the garden party.”

You stay quiet for a moment, as if thinking something over, before looking directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. “Shame. I think I would’ve liked to see you in a tux.”

And with that, you turn around and leave, as Hyunjin just stays rooted on the spot, dumbfounded. Because how can you just so easily shoot an arrow straight into his heart and walk away? You’re a threat to society. You’re a wicked enchantress. You’re the bane of Hyunjin’s existence, and yet, he wants you to come back and string him along like a fucking bow. The dilemma is clear: Hyunjin absolutely cannot just move on from you. This is an extremely deafening cry for help.

“Wonyoung?” Hyunjin croaks, as he steps back inside and collapses onto his chair.

Hyunjin’s loyal secretary sticks her head into the room, her glossy locks tumbling over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial. Hyunjin makes a mental note to ask her later about her hair care routine. “Yes, boss?”

“Call Dr. Kim for me, please. I don’t feel so good.”

“Of course. I guess the bad sushi really got you this time.”

“Strep throat? Negative. Flu swab test? Negative. Every single other test you made me administer for you? Ditto.” 

Hyunjin aggressively rubs his palms over his face. “Is there anything else, Seungmin? Are you sure there is absolutely nothing wrong with me? Should we do anything again?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, setting his clipboard down on the bench space next to him. “It’s Dr. Kim. And I did a Barium Swallow test for you, Hyunjin. You don’t just do those for any idiot who walks in begging to be examined for no apparent ailment. Took thirty minutes and nothing at all. Chief resident would be on my ass if she knew.”

“You’d think we haven’t been best friends since our Stanford days,” Hyunjin says. “There is something wrong with me.”

Hyunjin stares down at the upper right leg of his pants, picking at a small loose thread. He’s never seen one appear in his clothing ever since he was eighteen and quiet being so fashionably challenged, but instead of disgust, he feels a strange sense of solidarity. Just like the thread, he feels out of place; confused and lost, even though he’s standing right in the middle of half of the world’s dream. But wanting someone who he can never have isn’t a dream, surely, and neither is the phantom pain in his abdomen, the one that Dr. Kim claims doesn't exist.

“‘Our Stanford days’ were literally only three years ago. And I was in med school while you were getting a PhD in the study of crazies. I knew there were a couple screws loose up there,” Seungmin scoffs, tapping his temple in flourish punctuated with impudence. “I should have known better than to befriend your ass.”

“Seung-min, you’re lying,” Hyunjin retorts, emphasizing the syllables of his friend’s name. “I swear, I’m sick.”

Seungmin groans, fed up with Hyunjin’s stubborn mindset. “You’re twenty-eight years old and have your own booming practice. Hell, you wear head-to-toe designer, even underwear— yes, I saw the Gucci briefs in your bag, that one time you made me go shopping with you. Meanwhile, I’m a stressed, overworked, and underpaid surgery resident who has to listen to his rich and famous best friend complain that he’s not feeling well. Oh, poor baby. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying! I’m trying, okay?” Hyunjin finally explodes, throwing his hands up in the air. Usually, he maintains that peaceful temperament that puts up with Seungmin’s attitude. Not today, however. “Honestly, Seungmin, you want to know what’s wrong with me? Her. She’s all over me, inside and out! Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of her. Everywhere I go— her. And you know what? It’s not all in my head. It’s not a fucking crazy case. I physically feel myself wanting to throw up every five fucking minutes. I have a horrible headache that won’t go away, no matter how long I rot in my bed. I’m sore all over and I just want to go home!”

Hyunjin’s best friend just glares at him in shock for a good few seconds, watching as he pants from the ferocity of his words. And then he recovers, smoothing his face over into that signature judgemental expression, because he’s Kim Seungmin. “I should’ve known this was about a girl.”

Hyunjin sighs. Thankfully, no one overheard his rant, because this is Seungmin’s lunch break and whenever Hyunjin insists on an emergency meeting, Seungmin brings him over to this empty corridor tucked behind the equipment storage rooms, where no prying eyes wander. 

“It’s not just any girl, Seungmin. It’s the girl. She’s… all I do know is that she’s my client who walked into my life three months ago and proceeded to destroy it. She came in like a tropical storm and now she smiles at me like the fucking sun. She confuses me and makes me forget random shit and she doesn’t even know about any of it. And all I want to be is hers, even though I can’t be.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes his body shake with impact. “You… are… acting… so stupid.”

And this only makes Hyunjin even more frustrated. “Well, that’s the whole damn point! I’m not stupid, but I’m obviously acting it! I don’t know what to do, Seungmin! Help a brother out!”

After he calms himself down, Seungmin sighs loudly and wipes the traces of any tears caused by amusement of Hyunjin’s plight. “I’m not an expert in this, Hyunjin. But to be honest, it seems to me that you’re falling for her, and you’re just in denial.”

Hyunjin feels nothing short of horrified. “But… I can’t be. Are you sure?”

“Aren’t you the friggin’ Love Doctor or some shit? How the fuck am I supposed to be sure?”

But Hyunjin barely hears Seungmin, getting off the bench to pace back and forth in the little hallway. He can’t be falling for you, because— he just can’t! The plethora of problems that would arise from him falling in love with you are fucking endless, the worst being that you could end up negatively impacted. And all because your stupid, idiotic dating coach couldn’t keep his stupid, idiotic feelings in check. He would rather give up his beloved Versace brand deal than ever see you hurt, and that’s really saying something.

Seungmin tries to get to Hyunjin again. “Or maybe you’re not falling for her. Maybe you’re just horny.”

Hyunjin whirls around, side-eyeing Seungmin with disgust. “The hell you mean?”

“When’s the last time you, you know? Got some?”

“You put it so eloquently.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “And it’s been ten months.”

“See? That’s definitely it. You need to get laid, and you’re taking your sexual frustration out like this. You’re always the one lecturing everyone else on having healthy sex and love lives and shit, but really you’re a hypocrite. Tell me, why are you such a hypocrite, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, irritated yet able to see Seungmin’s point. He had his share of relationships, enough to augment his experience and research in the whole field. It’s not like they all ended badly, though— quite the opposite, really. The majority of them were amicable splits, or awkward conversations, at the very most. The only notably sour memory is Hyunjin’s ex-girlfriend from ninth grade, the one who broke up with him in a fit of jealousy when another girl confessed her love for Hyunjin. But then again, all high school relationships are basically doomed to crash and burn.

Hyunjin was careful to never get into anything too serious anyway, because his only love would be his job; he broke up with his last girlfriend— which might be a strong word for someone who merely considered him a wine-and-dine booty call— because he just didn’t feel that same spark with her that he felt when running his business. And he didn’t think he had that capacity to feel it anywhere else, but that was all before you.

“I don’t know, Seungmin.” Hyunjin looks down glumly at the concrete flooring, his body completely exhausted of all of the fight in him

The look in Seungmin’s eyes softens as Hyunjin slumps back into his seat. “Don’t you think that you’ve been so busy thinking about helping other people with their loves that you’ve completely neglected yours? When are you going to stop being so goddamn perfect and care for yourself?”

“But I do care for myself! Why else would I have a fourteen-step skincare routine and Gucci boxers?” Hyunjin protests, stalling more than really arguing. He just doesn’t want to admit to what’s really bothering him.

Seungmin rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. He should get back to rounds; lunch will be over soon. “That’s not self-care, that’s called being fucking weird. And I’m talking about your head. You have this illusion up there that in order to help others, you need to be flawless. Get out of it, man. Whether you want someone to have a one-night stand with or have your freaking children, you need to be open and pursue it. Life is messy and unpredictable, even for neurotic perfectionists like you. It’s okay to be horny. It’s okay to be in love. It’s okay to be you.”

Hyunjin ponders over Seungmin’s advice, before looking up. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t you ‘fine’ me, dumbass. Go put on your Armani shit and get going, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t Mission Impossible. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” Seungmin shakes his head, dusting off his scrubs. He leans forward to tighten the laces on his special work sneakers; the clock is really ticking down now.

Hyunjin gives Seungmin a withering look. “I wear Versace on my missions.”

“Welcome to SeoulSpark’s third biannual company-wide Matchmaking Event!”

The small crowd of hopeful singles crammed into the gazebo politely claps as the speaker looks down at all of you from his perch on the little elevated platform, like some kind of an all-knowing benefactor. 

“Thank you everyone. You can call me Jin, and I’ll be your emcee and operations director on this fine afternoon.” He beams. “And can I just say, you people look so good today? Obviously not as much as me, but still.’”

A scattered collection of horribly faked laughter ripples throughout the gathering, and you have to resist rolling your eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jin does actually serve as great eye candy, you would’ve already been putting on your sunglasses and trying to fake being awake. 

“Dr. Hwang will be here in a few moments to intro, and then we’ll get on with it!” Jin states, continuing his unnecessary theatrics. “But while we wait, can someone answer this question: what do you call an ice cream that parties too hard?”

Before the inevitable awkward silence can ensue, some bored-looking man who stands a little further away from everyone else pipes up. You recognize him as the very first candidate whose picture Hyunjin had presented to you— the hot one— except now, his short, preppy haircut has grown out into a wavy mullet. “Just say it.”

Jin looks temporarily taken aback by the man’s unfiltered attitude, before correcting his expression back into a winning smile. “It is out of CONE-trol! Get it? Because of the ice cream cone? Isn’t that funny?”

There isn’t a single person in the crowd who looks impressed, least of all mullet-guy. “No. And it still wouldn’t be funny even if I was seven years old and actually liked horrible dad jokes.”

There’s a bite to his tone, and Jin seems to have taken it personally. Jin clears his throat, stuck while clearly trying to think of something to say, when relief comes over his face as he looks directly at you. “There he is! Dr. Hwang: the man of the hour.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly get whiplash, and of course Hyunjin is right there, towering over you like some sort of gorgeous sunflower. Fuck— you knew you smelled that stormy jasmine in the air, but you passed it off as just your imagination. And because there are so many people packed into this tiny pavilion, your bodies are practically pressed together as everyone else cranes their necks to get a load of the Love Doctor. 

“It’s so good to see you, darling. You look stunning,” Hyunjin says to you, in a way that seems so genuine that your baby blue gingham sundress from Target doesn’t feel so childish anymore, like you thought after seeing all of the other ladies’ stylish getups.

“Thanks.” You blush, averting your eyes. The last time you met up with him, your bolder alter-ego possessed you for a second and threw a flirty one-liner at Hyunjin, when you realized yourself and walked the hell away, before you could gauge his reaction. “You look very stunning yourself as well.”

And he truly is, as always, dressed in another quirky yet stylish look: a high-neck jacket and camel cargos, complete with a chain link shoulder leather bag. The thick gold crosses dangling from his ears don’t look gaudy, instead bringing out a youthful glow in Hyunjin’s skin. God, you really love a man who can dress.

“Everything alright, Dr. Hwang?” Jin calls out, breaking you out of your trance.

“Yes, Jin. I’ll be up in a second.” Hyunjin doesn’t take his eyes off of you, just serenely blinking like he has all the time in the world. “I absolutely adored your mango cheesecake, darling. You have to tell me about the recipe later.”

He shoots you one last disarming smile, before heading up to the platform, and you’re left to longingly stare after him like a dessert enthusiast on a sugar-free diet. You watch him take the mic from Jin, who dramatically holds out his hands towards Hyunjin when backing off of the platform. 

“Hello!” Hyunjin chirps, and really, the wind is a paid actor here, breezing in and perfectly tousling his midnight mane. 

This time, the audience’s response is more authentic, everyone responds in their own greetings out loud. You can’t help but feel your heart swell at the sight; your crush really is so charismatic.

“So, we’ve already explained how today’s going to work in the emails that were sent out to all of you a couple days ago. But to debrief: we will be having fifteen six-minute speed dating rounds today, each held at one of the designated tables,” Hyunjin explains, gesturing to the space surrounding the gazebo.

For the matchmaking event, SeoulSpark booked out Cafe Fiorella, a posh little eatery nestled in the heart of Vista Hermosa Natural Park’s dusty garden trails and meadows. Hyunjin and his planners did an outstanding job of organizing everything, and even you can’t help but note how impossibly romantic it is— for a speed-dating gig, at least. There are dainty bistro tables set up in the grassy outdoor dining area and nestled on top of them, multiple tiered platters loaded with hors d'oeuvres and decorative blossoms. You don’t even want to think about how much this would have cost.

“Before each round, you will all get a text providing you with the number of your table, where you will be able to chat with your partner, one of the candidates that corresponded with your profile.” Hyunjin catches your eye, and you feel yourself heat up. Focus. “After every round, take note of who you want to see again, and at the end, we’ll give you a form to fill out and submit. When you have your next appointment with us, we’ll let you know who you’ve matched with. Any questions?”

No one raises any, probably because they’re too self-conscious to ask in front of their potential partners, which leaves Hyunjin to just nod. “My team and I will be present as chaperones, just making sure everything is going smoothly. And I’d also like to thank our Dr. Jeon’s brother, Mr. Kim Seokjin, for volunteering to time and emcee the event!”

“Oh, Hyun. Always so formal. Call me Mr. Worldwide Handsome instead!” Jin calls out from the back. He does an exaggerated little bow and you— along with many other attendees— have to stifle a laugh. What a cheeseball. 

Hyunjin just smiles graciously, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Let’s get the party going!”

The up-tempo, raunchy sound of girl rap blasts out of speakers that you didn’t even know existed, scaring the shit out of you momentarily. You have no doubt at all that the afternoon’s garden party beats were compiled by your eccentric Love Doctor, before you start to subconsciously sway— and mentally twerk— to “Body.”

“Ladies and gents, this is just in with Jin! Make sure to find your seats in the next five minutes, and we’ll start the clock!”

Your phone chimes with your first table assignment of the day, and you make your way over there, dodging the throngs of men and women antsy to discover their matches. You sit down at your table, trying to ignore the nervousness building in your chest. With the presence of Hyunjin, his beautiful self lingering somewhere barely a few feet away from you, you’re not sure you can give today your best. And for the first time— it’s not you. It’s the fact that you have feelings for your unsuspecting charmer, and deep inside, you can’t fight the thought of not being able to get over him. 

But a lively ambiance courtesy of Megan Thee Stallion doesn’t fit the deep, contemplative mood, so you resort to pushing away your qualms and blankly gazing out at the high rise views while waiting for your partner. If this doesn’t work out, at least you can say you had a nice time humming to lovably NSFW music and raiding the appetizers. 

“Beefing with you bitches really getting kinda boring—”

“You know, I kind of vibe with this shit.” Mullet-guy from earlier plops down into the chair across from you. “Don’t tell Mr. Worldwide Handsome that, though. I’ll never give him the satisfaction.”

You giggle at the comically blank expression on mullet-guy’s face. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Jin would’ve added the EDM remix of “Savage” to the playlist.”

Mullet-guy doesn’t smile, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Fair enough. I’m Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” You carefully take a mini slice of flaky herbed pastry off of the stand and place it on the china plate in front of you. Now that everyone has settled down, the music has been turned down to enable better conversation. “Maybe I’m being blunt here, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type of guy to go to a speed-dating event.”

“Well, what kind of guy do I strike you as?” Yoongi asks, settling back comfortably into his chair. If it was anyone else talking, you would have thought they were flirting with you. But not with Yoongi— you can’t quite put your finger on it, but he feels incredibly familiar to you. This could be just another regular talk with a good friend.

You make a show of taking in his beat-up leather jacket and the silver stud in his left ear, all add-ons to his roguishly handsome aesthetic. “Wannabe SoundCloud rapper meets Fuji Kaze, except with an even worse fashion sense.”

Most people would have already shrank away from your sarcastic sense of humor, but Yoongi claps back. “I could say the same for you. Don’t tell me you’re actually going for The Stepford Wives with that dress. You even have the Mary-Jane shoes.”

“These are discounted flats from Old Navy, don’t even. And I’ll bet your emo ass was stuck in Hot Topic since grade school.”

Yoongi bursts out laughing. “Okay, you win. But you’re not wrong though— I am a rapper, of sorts.”

You lean forward. “Really?”

“Of sorts— I haven't had much time to really get into it and improve myself, ever since I started my own record label last year, D-2 Music,” Yoongi says, picking at his peach scone. “Managing other artists is my focus these days. Been writing my whole life, though.”

“What do you like to write about?” You take a bite of your pastry, savoring how it nearly melts in your mouth. Maybe this thing isn’t that bad; good food and good conversation. Besides, this Yoongi is totally intriguing to you.

“Dreams, depression, obsession.” Yoongi steadily holds your gaze, and you don’t look away.

“Refreshing.”

“I get that a lot.” Yoongi takes a sip of his mimosa, before making a face and putting it back down. 

“No, but seriously. I hate pretending, most of all. Perfection doesn’t exist, and a lot of people can’t get a grip on that.” You shrug, wiping your mouth with one of the provided lavender napkins. “It is refreshing that you don’t seem to give a crap about others.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi smiles, and you think it’s a good look on him. It doesn’t fade even after what he says next. “We’re not going to be a match, are we?”

In that moment, you can confidently say that you are both the same exact person, and while it feels so good to finally speak with someone who might remotely understand exactly what you are, you know it can never be a sustainable relationship. The two strong-minded pessimists that you both are would only clash or just further bring each other down, in the end. So you return his smile, not a hint of sorrow in it. 

“Probably not.” Both of you clink your champagne classes together and drink on it, before collectively gagging at the taste.

“Time’s up, people! Please bid your partners adieu and get on to your next table!” Jin’s voice breaks out through his microphone, and immediately, the music resumes as the frenzy starts all over again.

You stand up, smoothing out your skirt and looking over at Yoongi, who stays seated, taking his own time finishing his scone. “Catch you later, Hot Topic.”

“Likewise, Mary-Jane.” Yoongi snickers, tilting his head up in a casual goodbye. 

You make your way to your new assignment, and as you approach, you remember him. The next person sitting there is the final candidate that Hyunjin had shown you, the one with the rather squirrely look to him. You have to admit, however, that he isn’t bad-looking, with wavy brown bangs falling into his eyes and a soft smile painting his features. He looks simple, a pretty boy waiting for a girl. You feel like you’re reading a picture book with a happy ending, because there are no puzzles to stay sleepless over. You see the bistro table becoming a kitchen counter, frequented for coffee talk and family dinners— there is no smoke-cracked glass desk that costs more than your entire salary. And you’re not Pygmalion sculpting Galatea, the gender bended Grecian rendition of the Hyunjin who plagues your thoughts; instead, you can see the elementary construction paper dotted with finger-painted sunny skies.

“Hi,” you greet, dragging out your chair and locking eyes with the stranger. Strangely, you don’t feel that telltale thump of your heartbeat in your panting chest— you sense a steady rhythm, and perhaps you could get used to it. Think: the picture book over the puzzle. You like staying in check and control— Hyunjin doesn’t allow you that power, no matter how unknowingly he keeps it for himself. 

“Hi,” he responds. “I, uh, thought you had a nice smile in your picture. It’s even better in real life.”

You stay unfazed; compliments don’t affect you much— when they come from anyone but Hyunjin. Still, it’s a cute try, and you decide to dig in deeper. To you, directness is key— again, when dealing with anyone but Hyunjin. 

You slide your finger down the damp side of your champagne flute, tracing a haphazard shape in the water drops. The man falls quiet again, and you don’t bother saying anything else, just taking him in. You don’t have much experience with conversation loaded with romantic intent, and this holds true even with your infamous ex-boyfriend.

Park Jisung had spied you at a holiday festival on your college campus, and then proceeded to ask you out. It was pretty unceremonious, to say the least, and thinking in hindsight, you can’t remember a time when he actually tried to get to know you. You were so enamored with him that you didn’t bat an eye, not even when he insisted on having sex with you on your very first date. And it was also your very first time, actually— but you didn’t question it. And the sex? It was over in less than five minutes and he left right after he finished, but it just felt nice to be wanted, for once. 

In the following months, you realized that when he wasn’t sleeping with you, Jisung was in his own world. You barely existed to him, while you memorized his Chipotle order and silently bought new soap for him when it ran out. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he just wanted a warm body in his bed to replace the other ones he’d fucked with all day. 

“You should know that I have asthma, just in case you intend on taking my breath away on a regular basis,” the man blurts out, snapping you out of your depressing Jisung-reverie.

You bite back a snort— looks like Mr. Worldwide Handsome has new competition for the corniest person at this place. “Thank you.” 

He coughs, no doubt embarrassed by his poorly executed pick-up line. “Sorry. I can’t help it. Pretty people make me nervous.”

“You’re pretty too.” You shrug nonchalantly as the man blushes. “What’s your name?”

“Han Jisung.”

You nearly throw the champagne in his face. “Come again?”

“Jisung. My name is Jisung.”

You clench your fists under the table, trying not to break something. Of all the people in this world— of all the fucking names in this world— you just had to get set-up with a guy who shares the same name as a monster who did nothing but hurt you. What the fuck, universe? You glance at your phone screen peeking out of your purse— there are still four minutes left in this stupid round. 

“Hey, is everything good?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You look up, giving him a venomous smile. Screw the picture book. “What do you like to do in your free time, Han Jisung? Don’t tell me you like to day-drink and play beer pong.”

“I’m not really a drinker. And you can just call me Ji-”

“Tell me, Han Jisung, is your zodiac sign Aquarius? And do you work in tech? Do you work for NCT Corp? Do you?” You inquire without a break, gulping down your glass before refilling it with more of that horrendous champagne. The angel on your shoulder implores you not to project your ex-boyfriend’s personality onto the poor sucker sitting in front of you, but the devil whispers a different tune. You decide to follow the latter’s advice; raging hellfire is always more fun.

Han Jisung looks bewildered, but answers your question anyway. “Um, I'm a Virgo. I do work in tech, but with JYP Electronics.”

“Wonderful.” 

“Anyway… I never got your name,” Han Jisung tries, visibly shaken by your suddenly aggressive line of questioning. 

You scowl at him. “That’s because I already made the mistake of trusting someone like you, Han Jisung.”

There’s still a few seconds left in the round timer, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Your social battery has been exhausted, and all of the progress you’ve made in a long time has gone to dust in a mere five-minute parameter. You grab your bag and stalk away from the table, leaving Han Jisung staring after you, openmouthed and utterly perplexed by the unmerited hostility. But screw him— you can’t even live for a day without being reminded by your douchebag ex who traumatized the fuck out of you.

In your fury, you barely notice the rolling cart of lunch items that accidentally rams into your side. Bowls of pesto pasta fly off the cart, the roasted cherry tomatoes arching in the air in perfect semi-circles before splattering onto the pristine grass. The restaurant staff immediately attends to the mess, while the other guests just glance carelessly at the mess before continuing onto the next round. You rub your hip as Hyunjin rushes over to you.

“Darling, are you alright?” Hyunjin drapes his arm around your shoulders, gazing at you with concern. You melt into his touch for a moment, the frustration simmering with the longing inside of you. “Where were you going?”

You back away from him. “This was a bad idea. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I need more time.”

He frowns, stepping closer to you. “But—”

“Han Jisung?” You interrupt, more animosity in your tone than you intend for there to be. “You knew his name when showing me his profile.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen in both remembrance and regret. “Oh my god. I didn’t realize— I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Even taking into account how you feel right now, you don’t want to take it out on Hyunjin. Never. “It’s not your fault. But I’ll be on my way.”

Ducking your head, you turn and walk away, furiously blinking the tears away. A small part of you wishes Hyunjin would call you back, hug you close to him and ask you to stay. But he doesn’t, because he knows his boundaries. It’s you who doesn’t know their place, because regardless of the smarting pain inside of you, you want Hyunjin to bandaid your emotional damage. 

And as you pick up your pace, you realize that maybe you really are doomed to be Pygmalion, yearning for someone who no one else can even compare to, someone who’ll never be yours. No matter what sorts of grotesque demons haunt you, the most sinister of them all is the off-limits adonis who disturbs your heart even when you’re still reeling from the previous break. Han Jisung’s sunny skies woke you up from your dreams— Galatea is a fucking statue, art that will never come alive. 

“Well, that was a colossal disaster.” Hyunjin covers his face with his palms and shrinks into the buttery leather upholstery of his seat. 

Wonyoung glances over at him as the car starts up. “What do you mean? I think it went great. I saw a sickening amount of flirting going on. Pretty soon, you’ll be officiating a bunch of weddings.”

Hyunjin groans, shaking his head. “But did you see the way Y/N left, Wonyoung? The whole Jisung thing? God, I screwed things up colossally.”

“It’s not your job to remember the names of all of your clients’ ex-boyfriends. It was an honest mistake that we both overlooked.”

“Still.”

“Dr. Hwang, I feel like there’s more to this than you’re letting on.” Wonyoung crosses her arms. “Since when did you get so worked up over a client— over anything?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes like a petulant child. “I’m not getting worked up.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Sure.” Wonyoung looks back down at her tablet, tapping away at the screen. “I’m already seeing so many matches.”

“Nice.” Hyunjin looks out the window pointedly. “It’s always fucking raining these days.”

“Dr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin ignores Wonyoung, just leaning forward to instruct the cab driver. “Actually, can you drop me off at The North End? Thanks.”

“Seriously. What is going on?” Wonyoung presses once more. “You can’t just go drinking now, not like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Jang.” Hyunjin doesn’t meet her eyes as he gets out of the car, placing a few bills covering the whole cab fare into her hands. “Get home safe.”

Before she can protest, Hyunjin closes the door and lets the drizzle envelop him, effectively ruining his new logo-motif jacquard set. But he doesn’t give a fuck as he steps into the bar like a shivering stray cat, because the stench of liquor and greasy peanuts is strong enough to incapacitate his inner fashion police. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks,” Hyunjin orders glumly, looking down at his phone screen, a shot of Princess Diana on her birthday last year. She looks absolutely precious in that fluffy pink tutu that he dressed her in, a sight that never fails to make Hyunjin melt. Today, however, not even his adorably stylish puppy can cure him. He downs the whiskey the bartender sets in front of him, wincing at the burn he so rightfully deserved.

When you stormed out of the party just barely two hours ago, it took every fiber of Hyunjin’s being to not run after you. He’d wanted to ditch everyone and just kiss it better for you. He’d take you back to his apartment, run you a bath, cook you a comfort meal, and massage all of your sore spots. And then he’d cuddle with you on the couch, holding you while you fall asleep in his arms. But his stupid common sense held him back, rooting him to the spot like a big, dumb boulder. 

After speaking with Seungmin, he realized how precisely he’s gone for you. And it obviously wouldn’t end well, so he decided that distance— complete professionalism— would be the way to go. Last night, he’d tried a crapload of healthy methods to try and fix himself, from watching porn to reading porn to even listening to porn on some sketchy podcast— anything to distract him from the thought of you. But nothing worked, because he wasn’t horny. No, he had an emotional boner— the worst kind of boners. In the end, he’d realized that the only way to move on from you would be get his ass out there and find someone else,a rebound— which is what he’d been dreading all along.

Therefore, he’d turned around like a fucking moron and went back to the party, listlessly floating around like a trash bag discarded on the highway. And now, he’s at some bar with high end cocktails that are just a pretentious way of saying “fuck me” to strangers.

“Hey there handsome, need company?”

Hyunjin looks to his left, where the sultry voice has originated from: a young woman— a pretty one, too. She’s wearing the kind of tight, black dress and matching coy smile that can only mean she wants one thing. Luckily, Hyunjin’s on the same page as her.

“What’s your name, darling?” Hyunjin asks her, ignoring the guilt inside his chest. That term of endearment was once reserved for you, and only you. He’d have to get over the sting of that too.

She sits down next to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and exposing the smooth skin of her neck. “Lisa.”

“Lisa,” Hyunjin repeats, signaling to the bartender for another round. “Tell me, what do you do?”

“I’m hoping it’ll be you tonight.” Lisa smirks at him, raising an eyebrow seductively.

Well. That was fast.

Hyunjin chuckles, trying not to think of the nausea rising in his stomach. He accepts the drink from the bartender, clinking his glass against Lisa’s, meeting her darkened eyes over the rim.

“I’m Hyunjin. It’s nice to meet you.”

You haven’t watched trashy Youtube videos in months, thinking you’d left that disgusting habit behind, and yet, here you are, watching said trashy Youtube videos. Today, it’s a shotgun wedding getting upstaged by one of the bridesmaids proclaiming her love for the groom. You feel an old chips packet somewhere inside the bedsheet hollow you’ve burrowed yourself into, the crumbs poking into your back like unwanted intruders. However, you just try to ignore the nasty feeling and slump into the mattress, pulling the bedcovers up so they cover your chin. 

It’s been almost a full week since the matchmaking debacle that you absolutely made a spectacle of yourself at. You’ve spent the entire time drifting off to work, getting yelled at by Mark for no reason at all, and then coming home and lazing around. At this point, your gym membership must be a mere accessory, and the nearby 7-Eleven that you frequent for junk food is practically your second home. Fuck— you’re disgusted with yourself.

Resorting to self-destructive yet containable activities has always been your go-to for whenever you’ve been down— you’ll let yourself be fine with the world falling apart as long as it’s inside the confines of your humble abode. For months, however, you’d truly believed that you were past it. Hyunjin’s presence in your life inserted a certain desire inside of you— not to be better for him, but to be better because of him. Hyunjin opened your eyes to the real beauty of living, of having passion for any trade and a lust for happiness. That kind of positive outlook kept you climbing up that hill, no matter how arduous it was to maintain good spirits for the majority of the time. But as soon as a crisis hit, you bailed on your trek and fell back down the cliff.

You feel truly guilty as well, an emotion that usually got lost in the web of pity and hatred that you spun yourself into whenever you know you’ve done something wrong. Han Jisung didn’t deserve to be subjected to your outburst, you know that— that should have been reserved for the person who actually wronged you. You never actually got the chance to confront Park Jisung, not after he walked out like he didn’t just fucking break you. Deep inside, you know that you take out that inky mixture of unresolved frustration and regret on every single person who dares trigger you, even if it’s unintentional. Han Jisung was one such unfortunate target today.

A small chime alerts you to a new message, and you tear your eyes away from your laptop, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. In the notifications on your home screen, you see that it is not an email from Hyunjin like you’d unrealistically hoped for— instead, it’s a text from Yeonjun, your cousin who’s a constant thorn in your fucking side.

Yeonjun: hmm i’m thirsty :P

You: no yeonjun, i will not take you out for drinks.

Yeonjun: pretty pls w a cherry on top

You: fuck off

Yeonjun: u seem upset :(((

You: i’m having adult problems, yeonjun. leave me alone.

Yeonjun: well then i will help you with ur adult problems

Yeonjun: u know, i’m an adult too OMG

Yeonjun: come on, when have i ever not given u great advice?

Yeonjun: i missed my fucking calling in therapy. i woulda been an excellent shrink.

Yeonjun: i’m an amazing cousin who always is there for u. y/n i lysm, u know that?

Yeonjun: u know what else i love? Vodka. 

Yeonjun: but i love u too <3

You: Yeonjun, stop fucking spamming me or I’m not coming.

Yeonjun: YAYY!

With a defeated sigh, you shove the blankets to the side, the cold air conditioning gripping your body like a vice. But begrudgingly, you have to admit that it feels refreshing to get out of your sweaty hideout and step into the shower, cleaning yourself up as much as you can on the outside— the inside issue can be attended to with the drinks.

A half hour later, you find yourself in a skeevy dive bar on the Westside, doing shots with your cousin, because even though he irritates you to the core, he’s all you have. You really could use that drink, anyway. But no amount of alcohol seems to mask the way your heart hangs heavier than the full moon outside. In fact, the liquid courage just manifests your sadness even more, leaving you a sniveling mess on the bar counter.

“And, he was actually really cute, you know? But I could never date him,” you sniffle, after downing your fifth drink. “It’s just, I just can’t deal with any reminders of Jisung.”

Yeonjun knocks back his vodka. “I take it back. If therapy means dealing with saps like you, I’d rather die.”

You frown at him. “It’s better than being a failing TikTok influencer. When’s the last time any of your thirst traps got views?”

Yeonjun shrugs, unbothered by your jab; he’s as used to you as you are to him. “You could’ve at least hooked up with him, if he was that cute.”

You swirl your straw in the melting ice as you get on your phone, pulling up the follow-up email in which Hyunjin had sent you online scans of the candidate profiles. Yeonjun looks over your shoulder and whistles as you zoom-in on Han Jisung’s picture. “But I’ve only ever slept with Jisung before. I may be a scary bitch, but I’m not bold enough for that.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Yeonjun cackles. “Well, it’s only a better reason to have a one-night stand. Do you really want to give your trash ex-boyfriend the power of being the only person to have had sex with you? That’s kind of sad.” 

Yeonjun makes a face, shivering in disgust, and you sock him in the elbow in retaliation. “For someone so bitchless, you really have such strong opinions about me and my love life.”

“Who says I’m bitchless?” Yeonjun grins deviously. “Besides, you’re the one who told me all this crap in the first place.”

You glance up at the ceiling, feeling an indescribable sense of loss. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind a one-night stand, though. I guess getting laid is something I kind of need right now. I need to stop letting Jisung control every aspect of my life.”

“Well, if you’re not averted to the idea, a person of interest just walked in.”

You whip around to look at the door, and of all people, Han Jisung from the matchmaking event walks in. He doesn’t notice you at the counter, just making his way over to one of the booths near the entrance and sitting down in solitude. The waiter takes his order and walks away, leaving him to put on his headphones in wait.

“I think I must be living in a social experiment.” You groan and look over at Yeonjun. “Hell if I’m sleeping with him.”

“Did you or did you not just say that you don’t want to let your ex control your life?”

You stare at Yeonjun. “I can sleep with someone else. He’s probably too scared of me anyway. I kind of verbally-knifed him the other day.”

“Please. Everything about that guy screams ‘degrade me.’ He probably liked that shit. You might as well use him as a punching bag again— this time, more productively.” Yeonjun waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“The fuck do you know about productivity?”

“Nada. But I do know a lot about getting a fix when needed.” Your cousin winks at you, producing a packet of condoms out of nowhere and slapping it into your palm. Before you can react, Yeonjun is already slinking off to go and flirt with a pretty girl sitting by herself on the other end of the counter. And alas, you’re left alone again. With a packet of XL condoms— Yeonjun sure is optimistic.

You glance over at said person of interest, who is currently immersed in whatever song that’s got him bopping his head to the beat, eyes closed as if in a dreamy trance. He’s not your type, for sure. But the thing is, you don’t even know what your damn type is at this point— if it wasn’t for Hyunjin’s ability to make you feel inappropriate things so vividly, you’d have thought you had fucking cobwebs down there. Speaking with Yeonjun really was a reminder that you’re still young, after years of both an emotional and physical dry spell. Emotionally, you might not be ready. Physically, however, there’s an opening, and you know it.

When you were dating Park Jisung, sex was always initiated by him. It was always for himself too, because he never cared about making you feel good. But you didn’t see it as a red flag, since you were so in love with him. You just followed him around like an innocent, lovesick puppy that was eager to please. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.

Your first orgasm— and first experience with a deeper kind of desire— was alone, some time after your relationship ended. It was a quiet night, and you’d just fallen back onto the couch after another long, uneventful day at work. You flipped through the TV channels before settling on a network that was playing The Notebook, and despite its fame and reach, you’d never watched the movie before. Everything was normal until the main characters started kissing each other in the rain, a scene that would remain something you’d download and revisit many, many times when you were locked away in your room.

You’d never seen that level of lust before. You’d never felt it directed towards you or ever even experienced it when you discovered porn in your teenage years. Yet, these two people seemed to want each other on a whole other level, risking everything— their home, their reputation, their love— for something you’d always thought would be over in two minutes. And as your hand undid the button of your jeans and slipped down even lower, you realized just how wrong you were.

In the years that followed, you learned to become so much more comfortable with your sexuality. Hell, you have a drawer dedicated to storing your sex toys and on nights that you’d had too many glasses of wine, you wind up writing filthy erotica just for fun. However, you’d never actually considered having sex outside of a committed relationship, not until now. And in complete honesty, you really are curious about if Han Jisung is as subby as Yeonjun insinuated— if that proves to be true, you wouldn’t mind taking your pent-up Jisung-frustrations out on him. Productivity, and all. 

You slap your payment down on the wooden counter, shaking it slightly, before marching towards Han Jisung’s table. 

“Hey,” you start, but Han Jisung doesn’t notice you. “HEY!”

Han Jisung’s eyes fly open as he jerks in his seat and pulls off his headphones. At the sight of you approaching him so determinedly, he eyes you with both wariness and renewed interest, and you have to keep yourself from sighing exasperatedly at his hesitant desperation. You’re here for a reason, after all.

“Oh, hello. Y/N, right? I asked Hyunjin for your name after you left.” He gives you a nervous smile, brushing the bangs off of his forehead. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to say—”

“I’ll get to the point, Han Jisung.” You cut him off, ignoring the surprised expression on his face. It’s like he’s never in his life encountered a woman who knows what the hell she wants. “I want to have sex with you. What do you say?”

For a good minute, he says nothing, just gaping at you, shocked. And then he does a double-take, looking you up and down as if checking to see if you’re real. 

“Is this a ploy to kidnap me and steal my organs, or something? Because when I last saw you, I got the impression that you severely disliked me.”

“No, I’m not going to steal your organs. The truth is complicated,” you scoff. “But you’re hot, and I’m over everything else, at least for tonight. Are you up for it?” 

You stare Han Jisung down, making him shift in his seat. He scratches his nose and blinks at you like a trembling mouse. “I… wait. You think I’m hot?”

What an idiot. Good thing he’s pretty.

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

With no warning at all, you grasp his hand, pulling him out of the booth while he scrambles to grab his belongings and shove them into his pockets. You feel his gaze on the back of your neck as you drag him through the bar, walking with your chin pointed up with purpose. You wind your way between the tables expertly, but this Jisung stumbles, making you glare at him over your shoulder.

“Watch your step,” you snap.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the floor as you barge into the bathroom in the back of the building, tugging him inside with you. “Wait, are we not going to your place, or—”

“Stop asking so many fucking questions, Han Jisung.” You slam the door behind you both and click the metal latch in place, leaving you both locked in the tiny room. It isn’t so cramped that there isn’t any space for movement, but it’s small enough to force you both into facing each other in a charged silence.

You eye Jisung from head to toe, taking in his baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. He clears his throat, making you raise an eyebrow at him. “So, um, do you really have to call me by full name? Don’t you think that’s a little formal, considering what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes, your mind going back to the other Jisung you know. Never— there must be something to differentiate the two. You take an intimidatingly emphasized step towards him, backing him up against the wall. “No. I don’t think that’s too formal, Han Jisung.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up.” You trace your eyes down his body once more, gaze landing on the noticeable bulge in his pants. Bless Yeonjun— how right he was, for once. You look up, giving Jisung a mean smile. “Are you actually getting turned on right now?”

“Uh, wow—” He squeaks, as you reach your hand out and place it on his warm thigh, tracing it up his limb at a painful pace both dedicated to your desire to tease and be cautious.

“I asked you a fucking question.” You retract your hand right before it reaches its destination, glowering at him. “Answer me.”

“Just, um. I…” Jisung stammers, closing his eyes before opening them again, as if preparing himself. The honeyed tone of his skin exposes a light blush and therefore, his answer. “Ruin me, please.”

That’s all the permission you need before you’re placing your hands on Jisung’s surprisingly toned shoulders, roughly turning him around and swapping places with him, so that now you’re the one with their back to the wall. 

“Han Jisung…” You speak slowly, punctuating your words with the kind of loathing that has Jisung panting like a dog waiting for a treat, eyes wide with anticipation tinged with delicious fear. “If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told, I’ll see about giving you a reward.”

“Oh my god.”

“Take off your clothes.” 

Jisung nearly trips over his own two feet trying to wrestle the suddenly irksome swaths of fabric off of his body, tossing the garments onto the gross bathroom floor like he doesn’t give a fuck about getting a staph infection later. When he’s fully stripped, you trace your eyes over him in your own leisure, reveling in the way he shivers when you do. Your gaze washes over his defined abs, dipping even lower until you reach his hardened cock, flushed a pretty pink and glazed with pre-come— the condoms would come in very handy, after all.

Seeing him bared to you and your mercy rouses you up like you never thought it would; you never thought that feeling wanted yet being in control would work you up so much, but it does, and you love it beyond reason. 

“You’re really something else. Getting off on me being so mean to you.” With a sadistic smirk, you cross your arms. “I bet you thought about me even after I ditched your ass at the party, didn’t you?”

“I— I did,” he admits, with a nervous giggle. “You’re so fucking hot, I just couldn’t help it. Seriously. I’m sorry if— mmph.”

You interrupt his rambling by winding your hand into his soft hair and forcing him closer to you, meeting his soft lips in a harsh kiss, one that has him moaning shamelessly into your mouth. You kiss him deeply, like you want to punish him for it, like you want to both hurt him and make him beg for more. Jisung’s lips are small but full, moving against yours in a sloppy yet heated exchange, fighting for more in an unwinnable battle; he tastes like brandy, strawberries, and the promises of a good time, and you’re drunk on it.

“You’re disgusting, Han Jisung,” you spit out, prompting a whimper from Jisung. “Get on your fucking knees.”

He wastes no time dropping to his knees and letting you lead the way, fully submitting to your tantric commands. Quickly, you clutch at his hands and direct them to where they should be, tilting your head back against the wall as Jisung satisfies your wishes. With an eagerness that doesn’t even compare to your own, Jisung loosens the knot on the elastic band of your skirt, not bothering to untie it fully before he’s tugging the skirt up so that it’s bunched around your waist. 

And without you even demanding him to move faster, he’s pushing your panties aside and attaching his greedy mouth to your cunt. You nearly jerk away at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure; your ex-boyfriend never went down on you, and oh, how profoundly you’ve missed out. But you’ve researched enough to know exactly what you want.

Jisung’s eyes flick up to where you’re looking down and showering him with breathy sighs, spurring on his performance. When you shoot him a warning glare, he goes back to completely making-out with your cunt, easily spreading you apart with two of his fingers so he can focus on your throbbing clit. Jisung uses his other hand to squeeze your thigh gently, rubbing circles into the smooth skin as he works.

He delves deeper into your pussy when you run your hands through his silky hair, lapping at your arousal like it’s honey and he’s been starving for days. “You taste so good…”

Immediately, you yank back his hair and hold him in place as you start to grind onto his pretty face. “I don’t remember saying you could fucking talk.”

Jisung groans, taking every insult you hurl at him in such a measured but unbridled way. He makes up for his lack in precision with his enthusiasm, suctioning his mouth around your tender clit and swirling his tongue in patterns that have gotten you seeing the fucking stars. He lets you use him entirely, body going slack as he helps you ride out your high. The obscene sounds of Jisung slurping at your cunt fill the room as you come, gripping his head between your thighs as you feel that beautiful wave of euphoria fall over you. You pat Jisung’s shoulder in silent instruction, and he rises, cupping the sides of your arms and running his hands down them gently, soothing the way you quiver at any touch. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispers, making you open your eyes in surprise. Your ex-boyfriend never once checked up on you, not even when you were clearly in discomfort that first time he made you his own. This complete stranger however, one that you have been anything but gracious with, inspects your face with concern. A strange feeling of warmth spreads throughout your body as you nod your head.

“I’m good. You did well.” You grasp the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head so that all you’re standing in now are your skirt and basically ruined panties. You didn’t bother with putting on a bra before you left the house, and now, you’re thankful for the decision that was ultimately a byproduct of your laziness; Jisung gazes at your body with utter reverence, like just the sight of your tits has blessed his entire life.

“Please…”

“Please what, Han Jisung?” You bite your lip, both amused and flattered by how desperate he is for your pussy. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Jisung whines sadly, clearly on the verge of tears. His cock is now rock-hard, flush against his stomach, and it turns you on so much to know that eating you out has reduced him to such a pathetic mess. 

“Yes, you have…” you murmur, before jutting out your hand to hold his chin tightly. “Spit.”

Without a single protest, he obeys, a single string of saliva connecting his lips to your hand, before you’re reaching down and palming his cock. He lets out a gasp as you wrap your fingers around the base, spreading the dampness and pumping a few times for good measure, as if the mixture of his spit and your own arousal coating your pussy isn’t lubrication enough. 

You take the condoms out and help Jisung slide one onto his cock, chuckling when he places his hand over yours to help quicken the process. And then you’re finally guiding him into your entrance, circling one leg around his body and caging him into your fantasies. 

“Fuck—”

Jisung enters you as you both collectively moan out loud, him at how tightly your cunt clenches around him and you at how wonderfully his dick curves into you, hitting your sweet spot inside each time. Jisung cups your face as he kisses you again, but this time, it’s slower and more drawn-out, a vast juxtaposition to how rigorously he thrusts into you. You drag your nails down his back in a way that’s sure to leave marks for days to come, but he just increases his pace on your aching pussy, lost in pleasure. 

You grip Jisung’s ass and squeeze at the flesh, eliciting a throaty groan from him as your sweat combined creates a sticky layer between your bodies. Your breasts are pressed against Jisung’s chest, and he ducks his head to attend to them, licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples. The heightened attention goes straight to your sweet pussy, making you buck your hips as you hold him even tighter. 

“Oh god— I’m fucking— I’m gonna come—” Jisung chokes out, his movements now erratic and even more rushed, if possible.

“Not yet.” You just laugh cruelly, shaking your head. “You’re going to wait. I’m first.”

“I— I don’t think I can—”

“Suck it up like the little bitch you are, and make me come again,” you snarl, digging your nails into the arch of his ass.

He cries out, and for a brief lapse in time, you think he will not be able to outlast you, but then he slides his hand down, rubbing frantic circles onto your clit. The attempt to get you off a second time works, and the orgasm washes over you like a cool breeze in the summertime. You can’t help what escapes you next.

“HYUNJIN!”

“Did you just—”

You clench your jaw and give Jisung a menacing look, warning him of a topic that should not be broached under any circumstances. Luckily, your harsh expression just seems to spur Jisung on even more, and he follows you into ecstasy not long after, squirming in your hold. When he finally finishes, hot spurts of him coat your pussy and trembling thighs.

For a moment, Jisung slumps against you limply, and you let him, enjoying that blanket of heat and protection against your exposed skin, another gift you’ve never been given before. But then you remember that’s all he is to you— a body that has warmed you up for one night. You don’t feel guilty though, because you never did offer more than you could actually give. 

You pat Jisung’s back, prompting him to draw back and give you a fucked-smile. His bangs are plastered against his forehead in a sweaty mess, and his skin is tinged pink from his great efforts to please you. It’s a sight that you’ll be tucking away in your memories for any future lonely nights. 

After putting your blouse back on, you walk over to the sink as Jisung just stays leaning against the wall. Wetting a paper towel with some water, you run it between your thighs and clean up the remnants of Jisung’s come smeared there. And then you pull your skirt down and help Jisung, because no matter how you don’t see him as more than a fling, he is still significant to you. He’s the first person to make you come and show you that physical care that you’ve been craving for so long, and that amounts to something. Besides, you’d never just toss someone aside after using them so intimately, not like your ex did with you.

You get a fresh towel for Jisung, placing it against his forehead to cool his heated skin while assisting him in putting his clothes back on. When you both are completely dressed, you place a chaste kiss on Jisung’s lips and give him a small smile, before turning for the door.

“I’ll be on my way now, Han Jisung.”

Jisung leaps forward quickly, grabbing your head before it can reach the doorknob. “Hey, I know you said this was just a one-night, but can’t we maybe get dinner or something?”

“Jisung.” The plain name is still sour on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “We aren’t going to work. This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Wait. Are you just, like, crazy edging me right now?”

Shaking your head, you let out a tired laugh. “No, I’m not. Look, I think you’re a really nice guy. I’m sorry for how I treated you at the party last week. You definitely didn’t deserve that, and I definitely still need to resolve my own issues. I’m sure there’s some other sexy lady out there just waiting to dom your pretty face off. You deserve better than me.”

You leave Jisung speechless, finally getting out of the bathroom. You have a very important meeting tomorrow, one that you absolutely cannot miss. Besides, he really does deserve better than you, someone who definitely doesn’t make his whole life an enigma. Someone who doesn’t have the same impact on him as Hyunjin does on you. 

And in your post-coital clarity, you also finally accept that there will be no compromising with your feelings for Hyunjin. You’re falling in love with him, so much that even when another man is balls-deep in you, he’s all you can think of. It’s so profound that it hurts, the thought of never being able to fuck him into oblivion like you just did with Han Jisung. You can never have those nights with him in dirty bathrooms, or the ones tangled up in bedsheets for hours at an end. Late night conversations about the banalities of life and playful interviews about where he buys his amazing clothing will never be yours. You’re playing a dangerous game, ignoring your feelings like they’re a hazy insect that will eventually buzz away. Because you know they won’t. They’ll come back to sting you.

As you beeline for the bar exit, you run straight into Yeonjun, who seems to have been waiting for you all along. And by the looks of the Cheshire grin on his face, he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

“I knew his dick was big.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug, toying with the hem of your dress. It’s green, a new look from the various shades of pinks that you donned whenever visiting Hyunjin. The change doesn’t feel refreshing— really, it’s restricting and strange, somehow. Like it doesn’t belong on you.

Hyunjin sighs, getting up from his fancy chair to sit down next to you. So understanding, so caring, so gentle. Everything you don’t deserve and that you will never have. “Darling, please. Open up to me.”

You snap, looking at him directly. “I had sex with Han Jisung.”

Closing your eyes, you lift your up palm, effectively silencing whatever you know that Hyunjin was about to say. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. You have to mend the cracks before you break completely. Again. It’s now or never, no matter how much it will hurt you to do so.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE Here she is!! We're 2/5 of the way there 💪 Thank you for all of the love for this series! And again, I apologize for the atrocious wait-time. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t really mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

NETWORKS @kflixnet @k-films

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

LITERALLY MISS THIS STORY SO MUCH IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST KUDOS TO @decembermoonskz ❤❤❤

⸻ BLACK ROSE · H; HYUNJIN ˎˊ˗

summary ▸ what’s it like to know your soulmate is someone you hate? no one talks about those soulmates who despise each other and wish they could trade. this is that story.

pairing ▸hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

genre ▸ figure skater!au, college!au enemies-to-lovers!au, soulmate!au; figure skater!hyunjin, figure skater!reader, angst, fluff

other characters ▸ bang chan, shin yuna, park sunghoon, lee chaeryeong, jung jaehyun, lee mark, lee felix, brief mentions of lee jeno, hwang yeji, shin ryujin, han jisung

words ▸ 21.9k

WARNINGS ▸  explicit language, food, mentions of making out and sex but no smut written, alcohol consumption, minor alcohol abuse (mc gets pretty drunk at one point), injuries, brief mentions of blood, mc slaps hyunjin once, hyunjin can be a bit of a jerk I’m sorry hhhhh, there may be some inaccuracies with the figure skating terms and competitions

song rec ▸ cry for me - camilla cabello

a/n ▸ so after so long I finally finished this beauty~ it’s been in my drafts for a while now and it’s done! thanks to everyone who waited and for the ppl who asked to be tagged!! 😭😭 I hope you enjoy this and do let me know what you think of it by sending me an ask!! ✨💜 without further ado enjoy!

teaser | feedback

one.

You had to be the unluckiest person on this planet. 

You were the only girl in a family of loud guys; don’t get it twisted you loved your dad and your brother Felix, even your cousin Jeno, but they were so loud and boisterous all the time that it constantly made your social battery drain in an instant. You wish you weren’t the only mellow person, and you were just hoping the three loud men would maybe quiet down just a little when they all come together to watch sports and movies. 

Your part-time job at the college café wasn’t too bad, the pay was good for what it was, but your boss was so unhelpful and you’re convinced that they got their position—and kept it—through nepotism or something similar. It’s usually you helping new interns, or you locking up the store cause your boss went out drinking and never came back like they said they would. It was exhausting especially when you could use that time when your shift ends on the ice instead of dealing with rude customers or checking everything is in place before closing. That wasn’t your job, but in the end your boss praised you and even gave you more off days in return which was the only benefit of dealing with them.

More days for practice you suppose, which actually brought you to the reason you feel you’re so unlucky. 

You have an annoying rivalry with a fellow skater, his name is Hwang Hyunjin.

He was so snarky, constantly spewing small comments that had you pulling your hair out; he was arrogant, acting like he’s the best skater to ever walk into a rink, and no one could ever hope of reaching his level. True, he was considered a skating prodigy, doing jumps and spins and routines at age nine that were never considered possible at such a young age. Most of the coaches he’s been with, have constantly praised his expertise and skill, including your coach, but that didn’t give him a reason to act like he was so much better than you! 

Oh, and the worst part of it all? 

He was your soulmate.

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