LITERALLY MISS THIS STORY SO MUCH IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST KUDOS TO @decembermoonskz

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.

Keep reading

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

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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 ♡

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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.

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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

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©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.

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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

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