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left absolutely speechless

WONWOO ☼ HOT

knight in shining armor — j. wonwoo

pairing: non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader

word count: 7,350

genre: fluff, angst, mild crack, college setting

warnings: cheating (not wonwoo tho our boy is sweet, it's reader's shitty ex), curse words, implicit violence (black eyes, cuts on lips mentioned)

author's notes: y'all pray that one day i have the energy to proofread my works ;_____; BRO I STG I WORKED ON THIS FOR OVER THREE MONTHS AND IDK HOW IT GOT SOOO LONG T___________T

“Hey, I’m planning on finishing my paper for International Law in Holly’s, come with me?”

With your hands intertwined with your boyfriend, Hanwoo, the two of you walked towards the parking lot by your university, just having finished a class together. You were hoping to spend some time together since Hanwoo had been preoccupied with the major association he’s a member in, as the collegial organization is holding its elections in the next week and he had been approached to help out as a committee member. Since the two of you have the same classes together, and the paper was due next Monday (it being a Thursday now), you thought you could get, at least the introduction down, while having some quality time in the 24 hour café with your boyfriend of six months.

“We’ll be there all night and you can distract me from my paper and I will do the same to you, and then we can down a ton of caffeine before passing out on the bean bags they have,” you tried to convince him, leaning into his side as you two approached his car. “And then we can go home and talk about how we should’ve finished our paper, plan another night in Holly’s and do it all over again!”

“Although that does sound tempting,” Hanwoo began, releasing your hand to reach for the car keys and unlocked the doors. He leaned down to be eye-level with you, as his hand reached for the door handle of the passenger seat, he uttered, “But, I have a meeting later tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he pulled your door open and stepped aside enter the car. A pout found its way to your lips, pulling your favorite move to get what you want, but he wasn’t budging and only nodded his head for you to climb in.

“What meeting?” You asked once he climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the car out of the parking lot and on your way to your house to drop you off.

“The election, since Monday evening will be the debate between president and vice president candidates, so we need to discuss the topics of the debate, all the technical stuff tonight,” he explained, “we’re planning on pushing a lot we need done between today and tomorrow, so we can have the weekends free and do finishing touches on Monday.”

“Ahh, being Event Organizer really isn’t easy… so you’ll be busy today, and tomorrow?” He only nodded, briefly sending a small smile her direction. “Alright, then, I’ll just see if Wonwoo is free tonight.”

Hanwoo threw his head back, asking, “Isn’t Wonwoo a Computer Science major?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good at research so I think he can help.” Hanwoo didn’t bother asking more, turning the music up to let it fill the silence as you arrived by the driveway of your house. “Good luck on your paper, yeah? Don’t drink too much coffee.”

“No promises,” you responded before kissing his cheek and climbing out his car. You waved him off, watching as the car disappeared in the distance before turning to head inside and up to your room just left of the entryway. Tossing your bag on your chair, you flopped on to your bed, too mentally exhausted from the three lectures today to even change your clothes, feeling sleep begin to fog your head. You were on the edge of dreamland when you heard a clink, then a few seconds later another one, and then another one, and it seemed to be never ending before you pulled yourself out of your drowsiness and headed to your window—which just so happened to be adjacent to your next door neighbor, Wonwoo’s window.

“You seriously need to reconsider throwing rocks at my window before you shatter it, Wonwoo.” Your neighbor only chuckled, so you took this as an opportunity. “Hey, can you come with to Holly’s? I’m planning to stay overnight there.”

“What for?”

“I’m holding an executive meeting for us to discuss a ten-step plan to overthrow our government,” you grinned, and he pondered, tapping his chin lightly before shaking his head.

“I can’t overthrow the government yet, I have a quiz tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. You could always count Wonwoo to go along with your poor attempts at sarcasm. “I have a paper to work on and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? What’s his name? Yohan?”

“So close! It’s Hanwoo,” you retorted with a deadpan as you reminded him of your boyfriend’s name. Wonwoo hasn’t been discreet in his distaste towards your boyfriend—it’s been six months since he asked you out, and it’s been six months of Wonwoo never remembering his name. “He has a meeting today since the upcoming election debate for my major’s organization.”

“Is he running or…?” Wonwoo asked, despite his lack of interest with the topic.

“No, he’s the EO, and will be occupied for the next couple of days.”

“Aah, so I’m a back-up to you? Got it.” You knew he was being sarcastic, it was a running joke between the two of you since splitting when choosing college majors—you had done the same when he asked you to accompany him to watch a movie he really wanted to see, only to find out he came to you because friends from his major were busy.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” You asked again, “you don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“What time?” Wonwoo asked, not hesitating. “Eomma is making dinner tonight, and asked me to ask you to join in case your parents are working late.”

You turn briefly, listening in to your parent’s room across from yours and can hear the muffle conversation behind the walls. “I think they’re home, but knowing my dad, he won’t be cooking so I think all three of us can head over to your place for dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Eomma,” Wonwoo informed, “so after dinner then, we can go? Did you ask your parents for permission to spend the night working on the assignment.”

Dread immediately washed over you, colour draining from your face and to your feet as you remembered you haven’t asked permission from your parents, especially your dad who isn’t fond of you working long hours for an assignment you could’ve finished from when it was assigned. Force habit, dad, it’s not my fault you raised a chronic procrastinator, you couldn’t help but think. An innocent chuckle left your lips as you pulled your signature puppy-dog eyes to Wonwoo, who—without you having to utter a single word—understood what you were doing.

He heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll ask them.”

“You are the best! Did you know that you’re the best person I’ve ever met? You’re absolutely awesome, smart and so, so, so kind, Wonwoo!” You blew a kiss in his direction, like how you watched Sunjae in Lovely Runner do so. “Love you!”

He waved your exaggerated gestures off, ignoring the heat forming in his cheeks and spreading to his ears, as he turned away, yelling back at you, “Yeah, yeah, just hurry up, I want to get this over with.”

“When do you think International Humanitarian Law is applicable?” You turned to Wonwoo after reading (re: skimming) a journal regarding the topic for your paper. Despite having only been studying the material for about twenty minutes, you could feel yourself losing it by the second. You didn’t hate International Law, but you always thought that the professor assigned too much reading, and is so strict about the entire paper itself—specifically using APA style, it has to only be footnotes (no in-line citations, despite that being the easiest in your opinion and you always preferred Chicago over any other reference style).

Oh, and the International Law professor is biased and lowkey a bitch.

So, being reluctant to work on an assignment given by your major’s most disliked professor wasn’t a priority even with the deadline closing in.

“During world conflicts?” You and Wonwoo stared at each other briefly, before you nodded, “That is true.” Wonwoo stifled a laugh. Seeing you look so drained and empty every single time you worked on an assignment, never failed to make him laugh. He enjoyed accompanying you, and despite the different majors and study programs you both have, he always tried to make sure he is more help than company. Even though you never really wanted to help you work on the assignment, knowing he has his own to deal with as a Computer Science major, but he’s well aware of your habits that even if the due date is Monday and you are working on it right now, you won’t completely finish it until Sunday, if not with Wonwoo’s aid.

“What’s the paper about?”

“The application of International Humanitarian Law in a specific study case,” you responded, tone flat. The more you talked about it, the more your soul was being sucked into the void. “I chose the Femicides in El Salvador.”

“Alright.” Was all Wonwoo said before he opened Google Scholar and began his own little research.

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“Y/N?” Cut off mid-sentence, you and Wonwoo turned to find Joy approaching your table, her hair tied and a lanyard around her neck, she must’ve just gotten back from campus.

“Joy? Hi, what are you doing here?” You smiled, internally sighing in relief because you had a reason to not look at the journal you were reading of femicide reports in the past decade.

“I just came back from an internal meeting with the EO’s for the upcoming debate,” Joy responded, noticing Wonwoo and waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on Michelle’s paper,” you answered, exaggerating the slouch in your shoulders and pout in your lips. You then realized, sitting up straight, head cocked to the side with your brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re an EO for the debate?”

Joy pulled a chair to sit across from you, resting her arms on the table and nodded.

“So you were with Hanwoo?”

It was her turn to furrow her brows. “Your boyfriend?” You nodded, and she shook her head. “No I wasn’t.”

“What? But he told me he was having a meeting with the EO’s for the debate, maybe you didn’t see them?”

The crease between your friend’s brow only deepened. “Y/N, the EO’s are only four people, not including the PIC—I’ve also met them all, and Hanwoo isn’t a part of us.”

“That’s weird,” you muttered. Did your boyfriend lie?

“Maybe he got his position switched? Maybe he’s not an EO? You could try asking tomorrow,” Joy tried to reason, and you only nodded. Hanwoo had been telling you that he was an EO for the past couple of weeks, ever since the announcement of election was released for the major association. He explained to you in great detail what the position would entail, and well, frankly speaking, you trusted him. It tugged at your chest at the possibility he might’ve lied to you.

And Wonwoo can see it. The deep glare in your eyes as you stared at the article you were reading, but you weren’t actually reading the reports from representatives of the El Salvadoran government, instead you were reading into the situation with your boyfriend. Gears were turning in your head, making connections, coming up with excuses as to why he had chosen to lie to you about something as trifling as his position in a collegial committee. He could tell that no matter how many paragraphs you read, how many relative research articles you pulled up from the internet, nothing will allow you to progress in your paper until the nagging feeling of your fibbing boyfriend is at ease.

“Y/N, do you want to head back home, call it a night?” Wonwoo asked, before quickly raising his phone, “My brother just sent me a text, that he needs the car early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah sure, let me just pay—”

“You pack up, I’ll pay for our food.”

You knew that he knew. Your lips pressed into a tight smile, “Thanks, Won.” He nodded, returning your smile before heading to the counter.

“Should we continue tomorrow night, then?” Joy asked. You nodded. “Sure,” then added, “depends though.”

On whether or not your boyfriend is lying.

“Wonwoo, do you have notes from Beom’s class? Last weeks’?” Seungcheol sat across from Wonwoo in the cafeteria, picking up a fry from Wonwoo’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. Wonwoo merely stared at his friend, unamused by his lack of manners, causing Seungcheol to chuckle.

“You know I do, Cheol, but why should I give it to you?” Wonwoo asked, his baritone voice holding a twinge of sarcasm, still upset by Seungcheol’s unwarranted act of property theft.

“Who says I want them?” Seungcheol turns away, flustered that Wonwoo caught on too quickly to his motive.

Wonwoo shrugs, and continues eating his lunch. “Alright then.”

“Can you email them to me?” An innocent, close-lipped smile etched across Seungcheol’s face, his dimple deepening as he clasped his hands together, pulling the same trick as Y/N usually does to get what they want.

“Stop that, I already get enough of puppy-eyes from Y/N,” grunted Wonwoo, rolling his eyes. “I’ll send them tonight, just send me a reminder.”

“Great, thanks, man.” Wonwoo expected him to leave, allowing for Wonwoo to spend the rest of his lunch alone before he heads to his next class, but Seungcheol stayed put, eyes on his phone. Not feeling like making any conversation, Wonwoo shrugged it off and continued eating. That is, until Seungcheol spoke up again, asking, “Hey, doesn’t Y/N have a boyfriend?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the heat that rose at the back of his neck. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it that Hanwoo guy?” Wonwoo nodded, but Seungcheol only looked even more perplexed. “They’re still going out?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo confirmed, but the question only made his curiosity grow. Why did Seungcheol look so surprised? “Why?”

“It’s just… I mean, if you say they’re still together then it might not be- I must’ve made a mistake,” Seungcheol tried to change the subject but Wonwoo wasn’t going to let him do so.

“Tell me what you’re talking about or you won’t get Beom’s notes,” Wonwoo threatened, earning a look of genuine offense from Seungcheol, whom briefly rose a brow, a bit unconvinced. “I’m serious, Cheol.”

“Ass,” he muttered, before shaking his head, “Nah, it’s just… last night I saw a guy pick up my neighbor from across the courtyard, and I thought he looked a lot like Hanwoo.” Wonwoo’s eyebrow rose in suspicion, Seungcheol spotting it. “But if you say they’re still going out, then it must’ve been someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any guy would be stupid to cheat on Y/N, especially since she’s your best friend and all.”

That only made him more confused. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like you’d let anyone hurt her, Won,” Seungcheol retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (it was), “and Hanwoo would be a huge dumbass if he even thought of cheating on her.”

Even though Seungcheol was right, Wonwoo wasn’t convinced—Hanwoo had a meeting last night when they were at Holly’s but Joy confirmed that he wasn’t even a part of the EO committee.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?” He tried to make sure.

“I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t wearing my glasses so it was a bit blurry—all-in-all I would say 50%, either he was or he wasn’t,” Seungcheol explained, being no help to Wonwoo’s growing suspicion of your boyfriend.

“I’ve gotta go,” Wonwoo uttered, standing and packing his things, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you go- class is that way!” Wonwoo paid no mind to his friend as he continued walking towards the parking lot. However, he could hear Seungcheol as he was almost out of earshot, “Y/N, your knight in shining armor is on his way.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lips quirked up. “I’m not sending the notes then!”

“Oh, come on, man!”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Suspicions and of course, anger, only grew the more steps he took towards his car, knowing the destination was you. If what Seungcheol said is true and he did, in fact, see Hanwoo with another girl, then that means he’s openly seeing someone else behind your back.

His hand reached for his phone, sparing quick glances between the screen and where he was walking as his fingers swiped for your contact, immediately dialing. Pressing the phone to his ear, he let his other hand pull out his car keys and unlock the door just as the line started ringing.

You picked up after two rings.

“Wonwoo? What’s with the sudden phone call?”

“Where are you?” He waited in the front seat, keys dangling from the ignition. Your answer would decide whether he starts the car or not.

“In the cafeteria near the engineering majors, why?”

“Are you with Hanwoo?” You were taken aback by his question, not because of what he asked, but by the fact that he got your boyfriend’s name right.

“Yeah, I am… Why?”

His shoulders sunk with your confirmation. “Just… just checking, sorry to bother you guys.” You muttered something that he didn’t catch before he hung up, exhaling a heavy sigh. Maybe it was paranoia. He had known you since you both were in middle school, of course he was protective over you, like every friend out there, he never wants you to get hurt.

Little did he know that as you put down your phone, a grimace had taken over your features as you looked at Joy.

“What did Wonwoo ask?”

You wanted to tell her the truth, but even you couldn’t wrap your head around the obvious that was happening. Wonwoo thinks you’re with Hanwoo, but you’re not and Joy’s tip about your boyfriend never having been involved in the election committee—you knew, and if your best friend had asked and even remembered Hanwoo’s name, then that must mean he knows, too.

“If I was with you,” you answered before her suspicion grew. “He wanted to check if I was up for lunch with him, but I’m with you already.”

“Ah… I think it’s good that he isn’t here,” Joy prefaced, pulling her phone out. “Do you remember I use to be a student supervisor for our major’s freshman camp?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, I follow most of the kids that were in my group, right? And I was scrolling through my Instagram stories when you were buying lunch, and then—“ Joy scrolled through the following list of her account, stopping her explanation as she found who she was looking for. “—I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

She slid her phone face-up to you, an Instagram story of a junior you didn’t know of was opened. The picture wasn’t revealing much of anything that seemed of significance to you, just a photo of her holding hands with a guy and it was posted in her Close Friends—most likely an attempt at soft-launching her boyfriend.

For a moment you were confused, then you spotted it—the username. It was Hanwoo's Instagram account. Dread grew at the back of your head as your brain couldn't grasp on to this fact, even exiting out of the story and searching for his username, hoping it was one letter off and your suspicions would be wrong, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and both the username in the girl’s post and his username were the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Joy uttered, in hopes to break the silence and tension that was building, but it was to no avail. Your throat tightened, and tears burned in your eyes, but you knew they weren’t from sadness, or heartbreak even, you were furious.

The audacity this piece of shit has to think he can cheat on me? You locked Joy’s phone, sliding it back to her before picking up your things and standing from the table.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were filled with genuine concern, worried that you were a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up at the worse time.

You sent her a reassuring smile, and shrugged. “Where else? To plan my revenge on him, of course.”

Wonwoo thought he was hearing things. As he paused his game, he waited and listened for a moment before shrugging, chalking it off to probably a feature in the game he never noticed.

Clink!

That couldn’t have been a feature in the game, he was breaking wood—a clinking sound against glass doesn’t seem like something you’d hear while hitting a tree repeatedly in Minecraft.

He removed his earphones this time, waiting for the sound again, and when he did, he stood and walked to his window, finding you standing outside his window.

“Finally, oh my God!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Do you know how many pebbles I had to look for to throw at your window?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows bunched together as he stared at you dumbfounded. “Why did you need to throw pebbles, we’re ground level. You could’ve just knocked.”

“That wouldn’t be so romantic, now would it?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to stop sneaking around like this, though, people are going to think you’re a burglar.”

“Whatever, Won,” you waved him off. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I—“ You paused. The fact that Hanwoo is actively cheating on you, probably even at this very moment, felt almost surreal to you, but ever since Joy showed you the picture, you’ve (to some extent) came to terms with it—there were signs after all, signs you chose to ignore or were so subtle, they flew over your head. However, coming to the realization that you’ve been cheated on felt easier than to utter it out loud—it felt more like a confirmation, that once the words were spoken out into the universe, it confirmed you were too blind in love to see the fact that he played you like a violin.

And it felt worse to admit to Wonwoo that his suspicions of your boyfr— ex-boyfriend being a douchebag were right.

“I need your help to trash Hanwoo’s car tonight, he’s at a friend’s house and left his car by his apartment.” Might as well hold off telling the truth until after you’ve released your anger.

Wonwoo could see you were holding something back, and by your proposition, making a guess as to why you did so, was easy.

“I’m not going to ask, but I will need you to explain later.” You subconsciously thanked him for not asking for a reason to your borderline act of vandalism. “Come around to the garage, I think I have a baseball bat from when I played little league.”

Ignoring the last bit of Wonwoo’s childhood anecdote, you watched as he left his room before taking the route to circle towards the front of his house where the garage was. You heard a lock turn and a bar slide before door opened, revealing Wonwoo, nodding his head to follow him.

“Do you, like, a Swiss Army knife or something sharp?”

“I think my dad has one his tool box, let me check,” he says, then points to shelf behind the car. “You can check there for the baseball bat.”

“Alright.”

Once the equipments were prepared—consisting of Wonwoo’s baseball ball, his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and your dad’s spray paint from one of his furniture restoration projects—you were all set to get back at Hanwoo. You both tossed them into the back of his car, climbing in and Wonwoo started up for Hanwoo’s apartment.

“And how do you know he left his car?” Wonwoo asked after three minutes of complete silence (AUX cord was broken and nothing that could fit a drive to vandalize your ex’s car was on the radio).

“Because I texted him earlier, asking if he could drive me to the store because there was a book I needed to get, and he explained to me that he was at a friend’s house and left his car,” you explained, your tone flat throughout as you mindlessly played with the zipper of your hoodie.

“And you’re sure he’s with friends?” He asked, his tone cautious, as he watched you freeze briefly.

You weren’t sure. Instead of admitting that, you chuckled, “He wouldn’t be with his girlfriend without a car.”

Despite your efforts at breaking the ice, Wonwoo wasn’t able to laugh at your joke, and only you could muster a dry chuckle before leaning back, turning to face the window.

You seemed to float throughout—as if watching yourself in a third person point of view, almost numb to the fact that you were on your way to ruin your ex’s car. It wasn’t that you were in denial that he is cheating on you, you refused to believe it was happening to you. You always felt that you were doing so much, showing him so much love, prioritizing him when he needed, never doubting that you felt the same way for you.

What did I do wrong? What about me wasn’t enough?

You hated those thoughts that began flooding your head. You hated those doubts. You hated that because of what he did, you’re blaming yourself—making it seem that you were the one that wasn’t doing enough.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s baritone voice pulled you out of your self-loathing. “We’re here.”

“Oh, you remembered the way,” you finally took note of him never asking you directions throughout the drive.

“Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his snide comment. Looking out to his side of the window, you see Hanwoo’s white range rover. You knew he cherished it—making sure to get the oil changed routinely, weekly car washes and having it waxed monthly. In retrospect, he probably loved the car more than he did you.

Maybe destroying he loved could make you feel less shitty.

“Let’s go—“ Before you could climb out, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

Again, the truth choked you. As you stared at Wonwoo, the concern laced all over his features, it felt the question should’ve triggered a flood gate to open, but alas, you persist. I need to not use poor humor as a coping mechanism. You cocked your head to the side, the corner of your lips lifted. “Why? I honestly thought you’d be the most excited of us to trash his car, Won?”

Of course, being your best friend since middle school, he saw right through your façade.

His hand moved from your wrist to clasp your hands, wrapping his fingers around yours. “Just promise you’ll talk to me, yeah?”

The bile rose, once again, urging you to cough out the truth. Knowing well enough you wouldn’t be able to utter anything without your words breaking, you nodded and sent a stiff smile.

As you stood near Hanwoo’s car, looking through the window of his vehicle, memories of the two of you seated side-by-side there came flooding in. How when you would go to a drive-thru for late night snack runs, the way you reached over the console with a fry and feeding it to him as his eyes focused on the road. When you’d pull over into a parking lot, your legs stretched over to rest over his lap as the two of you talked about everything and nothing at all, or when he would purposely make wrong turns just so you would spend more time with each other when he was supposed to drop you home.

Moments that you held so close to your heart, now worth nothing in a blink of an eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, urging the tears to fall back and return to their sockets, inhaling a deep breath and pushing it out almost immediately as you flipped the knife to one of its sharpest options and pressing the point to the driver’s door. There’s no backing out now. You let the knife drag itself across the paint, a ragged line following your hand as you made your lap around his car.

Now, there really wasn’t going back now.

Before you could hold yourself back, your arm extended back and punctured one of the tyres—then one became two, and then three. Air spewing out of three of the tyres filled the tension around you, and you found yourself breathless. Breathless because you were angry. Breathless because you were hurt. The tears had escaped, creating warm trails down your cheeks.

“Give me the bat,” you urged, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

“Y/N—“

“Wonwoo,” you pressed, “it’s either you give me the bat, or you go home—I’m going to do this whether you agree with it or not.”

Wonwoo shouldn’t even be against what you’re doing right now. He’s obviously on your side when it comes to this, Hanwoo deserves getting his car destroyed for hurting, manipulating and thinking he could go behind your back this way. However, the more logical and law-abiding side of him is reluctant—especially since you’ve already slashed his tyres and ruined the paintwork, so breaking the windows seemed to cross the line.

“If we get arrested, just tell them I did it, alright?” Wonwoo uttered, handing you the bat and taking the knife with him. You smiled for the first time tonight, a genuine smile that reached your eyes as he said that. He then added, “I’ll get the spray paint—you do your thing.”

And after a bashed in windshield, a very poorly written “FUCKING CHEATER” was spray painted on all sides of the car and on the hood. You and Wonwoo drove away from the scene of the crime, driving to a nearest convenient store where Wonwoo hopped out, buying instant ramen, drinks and snacks, deciding to make a last-minute picnic in his car because in his words: “Vandalism works up an appetite.”

“They didn’t have the carbonara one, so I got you cheese.” Wonwoo returned in less than ten minutes, the noodles already boiled, only needing the seasonings. You smiled at him, mumbling a thanks as you took the cup noodles from him, tearing the seasoning and busying yourself with stirring, and continuously stirring, your eyes dazed off at the curly noodles as they spun in a faint orange mix.

“Y/N, I’m sure your noodles are well stirred,” Wonwoo commented, hoping to divert your attention. The leather beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against the door as he folded his knee under him, fully facing you at this point.

He called, “Hey.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and immediately, Wonwoo straightened up, his jaws clenched and shoulders tensed. Tear stricken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and everso present frown evident in between your eyebrows and downturned lips.

“Y/N…” Wonwoo took the noodles from your hands, placing it on the dashboard and pulling you by the wrists, engulfing you into his arms, then there goes the floodgates—the emotions you locked away throughout the evening, released in that very second your face was against his shoulder.

While you were bawling, grieving the relationship that reigned to be good to be true, Wonwoo was hatching up his own revenge plan on the piece of shit.

The incessant ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t your alarm, because one; you snoozed that ten times already, and two; it wasn’t your usual Radar tone.

Sliding the screen with one eye open, you placed it by your ear without seeing who it was.

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, Y/N?!”

Well that was one way of waking you up. You sat up, slowly, taking your time with adjusting your position while Hanwoo was screaming on the other line. Once you were sitting up, you glanced at the screen—the name you had changed last night once you got back home displayed as ‘IGNORE’, in hopes that you would do so when he called you. But then again, you thought he’d call you when you were conscious.

“—Y/N FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Rolling your eyes, you heaved a sigh before placing the phone back by your ear.

“And to what do I owe—“

“You were you even fucking listening to me?“ Hanwoo snapped.

“No.” Your answer was simple, honest, and obviously uninterested with whatever he wanted to say. Was the modification that you made to his beloved vehicle not enough of an announcement that you knew what he was up to all this time?

“I was asking what the hell did you to my car?”

“Can’t you tell?” you teased, “I gave it a makeover.”

“You ruined my paint job and popped my tyres, what kind of makeover is this?”

“The kind that fits a cheater like you.” Silence. Complete silence came from the other side and if you listened closely, you could hear the static along with his ragged breathing knowing well enough he was caught. “Cat got your tongue, dude?”

“Y/N…”

“Save the sob story, we’re not dating, I don’t see why you’re fucking calling me other than to cry about your stupid car—“

“How about the fact that your fucker of a dog punched me?” He interjected.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Y/N,” he scoffed, “it wasn’t enough to ruin my car, you had to send your dog to ruin my face too.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Wonwoo, which means that Wonwoo had punched his face.

Wonwoo punching someone in the face? That wasn’t something you had heard before, nor expected. The image itself was enough to cause you to burst out laughing, your phone falling from your hands, leaving Hanwoo confused and annoyed.

The idea that Wonwoo would go as far as to punch someone was such an unrealistic accusation Hanwoo had made, but nonetheless, had successfully made you laugh after a long night of crying yourself to sleep.

“Are you done?” Hanwoo asked once you placed the phone back to your ear after your laughing fit.

“Wasn’t enough for you to lie about your relationship all this time, now you want to lie and accuse Wonwoo of something he’d never do,” you defended, scoffing at his poor attempt.

“I’m not lying about this, Y/N!”

“So, you admit that you were lying about our relationship?” This time you interjected, wanting to hear him confirm it. It was mostly due to that nagging voice at the back of your head that still doubted what Joy had shown you, that the picture was friendly and not romantic.

It was so pathetic how even after everything, there was a sliver in you that hoped he would deny it.

“Y/N- let me explain—“ In other words: ‘I was, but you haven’t heard my reason’.

“Fuck off, Hanwoo, don’t ever call me again,” you warned, “and if I hear you spread bullshit about Wonwoo like you did just now, it’ll be more than just your car that I ruin. Bye.”

He managed to slip something before you got the chance to hang up. “What about my fucking eye, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you ask Gia to help you with that?” Grateful to have the last word, you hung up immediately, tossing your phone to the side. The phone call wasn’t closure, but it was enough to put those indenial thoughts to rest.

Wonwoo punched him? The thought wouldn’t leave your head as you got ready for the day. Trying to imagine Wonwoo walking up to Hanwoo and giving him a black eye wasn’t something you could see him doing. Besides that, when did Wonwoo get the time to punch Hanwoo if he did? He ended up driving you home around three in the morning, and it was past six now, meaning he had a three hour window.

Unless…

No, that would mean after dropping you off, he had stormed straight to wherever Hanwoo was just to punch him.

You had to make sure, even if it was hard to believe, you had to make sure Wonwoo was okay. As long as you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen him get into any physical altercations with anyone, and if it did happen, it might be possible that Hanwoo wouldn’t have let him walk away unscathed.

Your legs carried you to his house, to his front door and after greeting his parents, to his bedroom door. You knocked, listening in to hear rummaging noises, as if he was panicking.

“Wait, Eomma, I just finished showering—“ He called out from the other side, which you found odd because you knew him, he wouldn’t even be awake at this hour.

“Wonwoo, it’s me.”

The noise on the other side of the door paused for a moment, before Wonwoo called out. “Y/N?”

“Yes, can you open the door?” You asked, waiting for it to swing open but it didn’t.

“No, I’m- uh, I’m watching something, you don’t need to see it,” Wonwoo tried to think of an excuse but cursed at himself because why the hell did that come out instead? You, on the other hand, found his obvious panic hilarious, his excuse eliciting a chuckle.

“I know you met with Hanwoo,” you informed him, making sure to keep your voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So, can you please open the door and let me check the damage?”

You waited a few minutes, hearing him toss a few things away, the noise causing your brows to furrow. The lock turned and the door swung enough for you to squeeze yourself in, knowing well enough that Wonwoo wasn’t about to reveal himself in fear his parents would see (they wouldn’t have, they were on the other side of the house, he was just paranoid). Once you were in, he pushed the door closed, his back against it and you could see what damage Hanwoo had done to your next door neighbour.

It wasn’t bad, admittedly you thought it’d be worse considering his lack of experience.

It was a scratch and bruising surrounding his left cheek, that was most caused by a ring Hanwoo was wearing, but other than that, and a tear in his lip, that was all he took.

“I honestly thought you’d look worse,” you thought out loud, Wonwoo’s brows furrowing at the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, lightly laughing. “Nothing, do you have anything I can use to clean that?”

“Uh… I do, actually.” He dips to look on his bedside table. “Stopped by a drugstore after because I saw the blood.”

“And when did you get the time to pull it all off?”

“Well, after I dropped you off, I asked Seungcheol since he knows—“ Wonwoo stopped, realizing that this information wasn’t ever supposed to reach you. “Uhm… How did you know I was hurt?”

“Because a psychopath told me,” you informed, and his eyes darkened for a moment, rolling in annoyance.

“I told him to never bother you again,” he groaned, before his gaze softened as he turned to you. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“He just called my phone, I’m alright,” you reassured him. Taking a step towards him, your fingers gently touched the wound on his cheek, inspecting it. You could see that he didn’t tend to it once it started bleeding, evidence of dried blood surrounding the wound and there wasn’t any antiseptic used either to ensure an infection didn’t happen.

While you were playing nurse, Wonwoo became very aware of the lack of space between your face and his, and he had to hold his breath. It only worsened when your eyes darted to his, the two of you holding eye contact for what he thought was an eternity.

“Let me clean it up for you, Won,” you uttered, breaking the silence and eventually the tension as you turned to walk into his ensuite bathroom. He followed after trying to calm his heartbeat, finding you on top of his sink, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic and tearing a bandaid from its package.

“Come here,” you urged. Wonwoo stood between your thighs, not wanting to meet your eyes, but you didn’t mind—almost finding him being flustered cute.

“Ow,” he winced when the antiseptic touched the wound after you had wiped it clean of the dried blood.

“It’s a small sting, stop being a baby,” you teased, earning a glare from him. “How come you only came out with this?”

“Got me at the last minute,” he answered.

“And how was he?” Your question was responded with an eyebrow raise instead, causing you to roll your eyes. “I don’t care about him, Won, I just want to know if it was worth it—if you, at least, are satisfied with this decision.”

The corner of his lips turned up, a smug look etched across his face as he answered, “It was. I hurt him enough to send the message and keep it with him for the next couple of weeks.”

“I never knew you could fight,” you said honestly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Y/N,” he mumbled, but because of your close proximity, you heard it loud and clear. Before you ask further, he spoke up, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“After this we can have breakfast, I think my mom made doenjang jjigae,” he informed. You smiled, nodding, “Sure.” You finished tending to his wound by plastering on the Kuromi bandaid, teasing him about it, to which he used the ‘there wasn’t anything else’ excuse.

He grabbed your elbow as you hopped off his sink, the action caused you to stumble out of balance instead of helping, made you bump closer to him, his free arm automatically holding your waist.

Cue the eye contact and pink-tinted cheeks, the move could’ve made you laugh as if it was straight out of a cheesy rom-com, but you were too occupied with trying to think that you couldn’t do so. I’m heartbroken, I’m vulnerable and haven’t been feeling loved for the past week, this is just a fluke, you tried to rationalize the thoughts and your racing heart, knowing well what could work to get out of this.

You tapped his chest, gently pushing him. “Go shower, Wonwoo, you reek.”

“Shut up, I do not,” he protested, laughing to cover his shaky voice. He then added, “Thanks, Y/N, although you didn’t have to do all this.”

“And let you get an affection?” You retorted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, and without thinking he uttered, “A kiss would’ve sufficed.” It was too late for him to take back his words, noting your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, his cheeks flushed when he realized what he had said. “Y/N, I wasn’t thinking—“

You pressed a kiss against cheek, beneath his bandage, shutting him completely. “Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

It took him a second to compose himself, grinning, “I am your knight in shining armor, after all.”

You threw your head back in laughter. “Are you riding a horse, my knight?”

“Yes, a pink horse,” he answered, smiling endearingly down at you.

You frowned at his choice of color, “But you hate pink?”

“And you love pink.”

“Gosh, Wonwoo,” you flushed red, taking a step away from him, finding his comment both cringey and touching at the same time—it was shocking you could feel those two simultaneously. “When did you get so cheesy?”

He merely shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “I told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.”

WONWOO Lollapalooza Berlin Rehearsal

SEVENTEEN as TEXT POSTS #5

( low quality and unedited cause its funnier that way )

until next time, jeonghan. you've worked so hard ♡

like or reblog if you save/use please!!!!

gojo tried out nanami’s job…

ac: 1004_shvn

oh my…

ac : dawit_min.kim on insta

i'll choose you | choi seungcheol

PAIRING choi seungcheol x fem! producer! reader GENRE angst, fluff | 10k words | friends to mutuals to lovers SUMMARY when pledis hires you to work with seventeen on another album, you’re excited to work with your old friends again. so when you return, why is seungcheol different? WARNINGS RIGHT PERSON - WRONG TIMING TROPE! seungcheol is kind of an asshole, mentions of reading eating food multiple times, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader faints + seungcheol injures his arm = hospital runs, and mentions of a LOT of caffeine consumption. [+ vocal unit members are all platonic best friends with reader and love to mess with seungcheol]

shoutout to my lovely moot @dokries for helping me out with this one!! <3

TWO YEARS AGO

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, his eyes glued to the simmering hotpot before him, the aroma of spicy broth wafting through the air. He glanced down the table at you, laughing with Wonwoo and Minghao, your smile lighting up the dimly lit room.

“Are you going to tell her about your feelings tonight, Seungcheol hyung?” Seungkwan’s voice was just loud enough to break through Seungcheol’s thoughts. His head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm as he quickly scanned the room to ensure you hadn’t overheard. 

“Hey,” Seungcheol hissed, leaning closer to Seungkwan, his voice dropping to a whisper. He glanced at you again, relieved to see you still engrossed in your conversation at the other end of the long table.

Jeonghan, his cheeks flushed from the soju he’d been sipping all evening, looked at Seungcheol with a lazy grin. “You promised us you’d tell her today, during our celebratory dinner.”

Soonyoung, sitting on Jeonghan’s other side, nodded eagerly in agreement. “Yeah! You even pinky promised me, hyung.”

Mingyu, more sober than the others, was pouring himself another cup of beer. He looked up at Seungcheol with a knowing smile. “Hyung, I think we all know that you like her.”

Seungcheol sighed, the sound of your laughter floating over from further down the table making his heart race. You were the center of attention, as always, effortlessly captivating everyone around you. He clenched his jaw, unsure if he could go through with it.

“Come on, hyung. You can’t break our prom—”

“Everyone!” Jihoon’s voice cut through the chatter, commanding the room’s attention. The table fell silent, and twelve heads turned toward the end of the table, where Jihoon stood with a raised cup, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “In honor of ‘Face the Sun’ finishing and Y/n collaborating with us.” He gestured towards you, his smile wide. “Let’s hold a toast!”

“For Y/n!” the members echoed, raising their glasses in unison.

Seungcheol watched as you stood up shyly, the room falling into a curious hush.

“I have an announcement for you guys.” Your voice was steady, but Seungcheol noticed the slight tremor in your hands as you clasped them together. You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting Seungcheol’s across the table.

For a moment, everything else faded away, and all he could see was the uncertainty in your gaze. A pang of anxiety shot through him.

“I took a job offer, so I’m moving away to America.”

TWO YEARS LATER - PRESENT DAY

The winter chill clung to Seungcheol’s coat as he pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the bell above the entrance chiming softly. The warmth of the café enveloped him; the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of conversation. He shook off the cold as he glanced around.

“Seungkwan, no one drinks iced Americano in the middle of winter,” Seungcheol muttered into his phone, eyeing the bustling café with a hint of exasperation. The baristas behind the counter moved swiftly, steam rising from the espresso machines.

“Well, we all want iced Americanos. We’ll be there in ten minutes, so save us a table, hyung,” Seungkwan insisted, his voice slightly muffled by the background noise on his end of the line.

Seungcheol sighed as he ended the call, stepping forward to wait in line. His eyes roamed the café, taking in the sight of people chatting over their drinks.

As he scanned the room, his gaze landed on a familiar shade of hair walking out of the café. His heart skipped a beat, and he strained to get a better look, his breath catching in his throat.

“Sir? Would you like to order?” The barista’s voice pulled Seungcheol back to reality, and he blinked, realizing it was his turn in line. The barista smiled at him, waiting patiently.

“Hello,” Seungcheol greeted, “I’ll have three iced Americanos and one hot coffee, please.”

The barista nodded, punching in the order. Seungcheol’s eyes flickered back to the window, but the street outside was empty. He sighed, a sense of defeat settling in his chest.

“Your total is 16,000 won,” the barista announced, snapping him back to the present. Seungcheol paid and took the drinks, carefully balancing them as he walked to a secluded corner in the back of the café, seeking privacy.

The door chimed softly as Soonyoung burst in, rubbing his hands together vigorously to warm them. “Cheolie! It’s freezing outside!” he exclaimed, his breath still visible in the cold air.

Jeonghan and Seungkwan followed closely behind, the gust of cold air from outside briefly disturbing the cozy warmth of the café. Jeonghan unwound the scarf from around his neck, his cheeks pink from the cold. “Did you wait long?” he asked, settling into the seat across from Seungcheol.

Seungcheol shook his head, placing the drinks in front of them. “No, I just picked up the drinks.” He gestured to the neatly lined cups, the cold condensation already forming on the iced drinks.

The four of them settled in, the ambient noise of the café providing a soothing backdrop. Seungkwan stirred his coffee with his straw, the clinking sound soft and rhythmic. “So, did you all hear that Y/n is back?”

Seungcheol choked on his coffee, his eyes watering as he quickly grabbed a napkin. Soonyoung patted his back, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay? Did you burn your tongue?”

Seungkwan shrugged, glancing at Seungcheol as he wiped his mouth. “That’s why I told you not to order hot coffee. You never listen.”

Seungcheol shook his head, trying to process what he had just heard. “Wait a minute,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Y/n is back in Korea?”

Soonyoung leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Some members heard from Jihoon that she’s helping us produce the new album.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Then we might see her?”

Soonyoung nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess so.”

“Y/n got officially hired by HYBE for PLEDIS since the album she helped with in the past was a success. Plus, I heard Bumzu hyung is retiring soon. She will take over to help Jihoon,” Seungkwan added, watching Seungcheol’s reaction closely.

Seungcheol soaked in this newfound information like a sponge, his thoughts racing. “Hold on, how am I hearing all of this now?”

Seungkwan and Soonyoung exchanged a glance. “I think you were supposed to find out soon. It’s related to the producers, so only Jihoon heard it from the staff first,” Soonyoung explained, his voice gentle.

Seungcheol nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were back. The familiar ache in his chest resurfaced, but he pushed it down, unwilling to let it show.

“So, you still like her?” Seungkwan asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. Jeonghan immediately started sending signals to change the topic, subtly shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seungcheol mumbled, taking a long sip of his coffee, the warmth spreading through him but doing little to soothe the turmoil inside.

“Hey, Jihoon,” you greet as you close the studio door behind you, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the small, dimly lit room. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the faint traces of soundproof foam and lingering notes from past recording sessions. In your hands, two cups of iced Americano glisten with condensation.

The studio is filled with musical instruments and sound equipment. Although years have gone by, Jihoon's studio seems untouched.

“I bought you coffee from the cafe nearby. Hope you like some iced Americano,” you say with a soft smile, walking over to where Jihoon is hunched over his computer, his back to you. You place the cup on his desk, the ice clinking gently against the plastic.

Jihoon swivels his chair around, stretching his arms above his head with a small groan. His eyes light up with a genuine smile as he reaches for the drink. “Thank you. Didn't you get back yesterday? How was the United States?” His voice carries a mix of curiosity and concern, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your tired features.

You sink into the soft cushions of the couch, the fabric cool against your skin as you sigh, “Yeah, I'm jet-lagged, but I thought I should drop by.” You let out a tired laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Going abroad was a fun learning experience, but I missed Korean food more than anything.” You pull out your laptop from your bag, the faint hum of its startup filling the room as you open it on the small coffee table.

“I listened to all the demos you sent me. I liked the one that sounds orchestral at the beginning and then transitions into techno.” 

Jihoon takes a sip of his coffee, nodding thoughtfully. “Oh, that one. I wanted to experiment with blending genres—something different, you know?” His fingers dance across the keyboard, pulling up the demo files on his desktop.

You watch him in silence for a moment, your gaze softening.

“So,” Jihoon finally says, his tone casual but his eyes focused on the screen, “Did you keep in contact with everyone while you were away?”

You shift uncomfortably, your shoulders slumping slightly. “I had everyone text me, especially you, Jeonghan, and Seungkwan... even Hansol still sent me memes regularly.” Your voice trails off, and you lower your gaze to your hands, fiddling with the edges of your laptop. “But Seungcheol... he’s been radio silent.”

Jihoon pauses, his hand hovering over the mouse. He clicks his tongue thoughtfully before turning to face you, a knowing look in his eyes. “Do you still have feelings for him?” His voice is hesitant because he knows it’s a sensitive topic.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet room. “Come on, Jihoon, you’re my best friend. Take a guess.” Your smile is weak, a faint shadow of the warmth you once felt when thinking of Seungcheol.

Jihoon’s expression softens, a flicker of sympathy passing through his eyes. “You still like him,” he states, more as a confirmation than a question.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the admission settles between you, thickening the air with unspoken regrets and unresolved feelings.

Jihoon leans forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “As your friend and co-worker, my advice is to forget about Seungcheol for now. He'll come around. Besides, you’re back, and we’ve got a lot of work to do.” He offers you a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You force a smile in return, nodding. “I have to make a comeback in the music industry, don’t I?”

“Oh, also, your old studio is still there, just like how you left it.”

Your eyes widen, “What? I thought they would move my stuff out by now."

“I just pulled some strings for the past two years. Besides, I had to make sure my best friend returned to her studio, just like how she left it.”

Three weeks have passed since your return to Korea, but the music industry leaves no room for lingering jet lag or emotional distractions. The HYBE building looms before you, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the bustling streets of Yongsan. 

You swipe your ID to scan for verification, the small beep granting you access to the familiar world. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the employees hurrying around the lobby to get to work. You nod politely at the security guard, who offers you a curt nod in return.

The elevator doors gleam under the fluorescent lights as you approach, pressing the button.

“Hey, Y/n!”

The familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see Jeonghan approaching, his smile as effortless as ever.

“Jeonghan! It’s been so long! What are you doing here?” You ask, genuinely surprised to see him.

Jeonghan joins you, waiting for the elevator. “We have dance practice today to learn the choreography since 'Maestro' is complete,” he explains, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of exhaustion.

You nod, your mind already visualizing the hard work that lies ahead for him and the rest of the team. “I thought the choreography practices don’t start until next week?” you muse aloud, a frown of concern tugging at your lips as the elevator dings, signaling its arrival.

The two of you step inside, the cool air inside the elevator a welcome respite from the warmth of the lobby. The doors slide shut with a soft whoosh as Jeonghan presses his floor button, his expression turning more serious.

“It usually means that the choreography is intense,” he says, glancing at you as if to gauge your reaction.

You press the button for your studio’s floor, letting out a small sigh. “Is the practice going to be all day?” you ask, your voice tinged with pity. You know how grueling these sessions can be.

Jeonghan leans back against the elevator wall, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m assuming yes,” he replies with a resigned sigh, watching the numbers on the display tick upward. “Well, if you’re also going to stay in the building all day, might as well visit us during practice? No one except Jihoon has seen you since you came back.”

You offer him a small smile, touched by the invitation. "Okay, what time sounds good?"

“Come by noon. I'll see you later!” Jeonghan says as the elevator slows to a stop on his floor.

“Okay, see you!” you call after him as he steps out, the doors closing behind him.

The elevator continues its ascent, and you check the time on your phone, a sense of determination settling over you. “How much work can I get done in four hours?” you whisper to yourself, the question hanging in the air as you prepare for the day ahead.

The clock's hand strikes 11:54 am when you finally finish editing the beats for the vocal team's song. You glance at the screen, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Out of the three songs—one for each unit—you've completed one without Jihoon's help. Two more to go, but the progress you've made so far fills you with pride.

Stretching your stiff limbs, you stand up from the chair and grab your phone, deciding to go see your friends.

The dance studio is bigger than you remember, with mirrors lining one side of the room, reflecting the hard work and dedication of everyone inside. The room smells faintly of sweat, mingling with the familiar scent of wood polish. As you step through the door, Jeonghan greets you with his usual bright smile.

"Hey! You came!" His voice carries a mix of relief and excitement, immediately drawing your attention to the scene before you.

In front of the mirror, Soonyoung and Chan are focused, practicing the intricate moves to confirm every detail, their expressions intense and determined. Towards the middle of the room, the choreography teacher teases Mingyu and Seokmin, who blush at the compliments thrown their way. It's a moment of lightness during the intense practice, but deeper into the room, the rest of the members are on the verge of exhaustion, their faces etched with the toll of the day.

You can't help but feel bad, silently vowing never to attempt this choreography yourself.

"How's the progress going?" you ask Jeonghan, eyes scanning the room. The backup dancers are practicing too, moving in perfect sync, their fluidity a testament to the difficulty of the choreography.

Jeonghan shrugs, leading you toward where most of the members are gathered. "We'll get the dance by tonight. We still have a few more hours."

"Y/n! My best friend!" Seungkwan’s voice rings out across the room, instantly drawing everyone's attention to you. He rushes over, his energy somehow still boundless despite the grueling practice.

Joshua joins him. "Look who's back from the States."

"Yes, I'm back," you say with a smile, glancing around at the familiar faces. "You all look the same."

Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Wonwoo quickly surround you, their excitement palpable. "How was America? We saw the articles about you reaching the Billboard 100s, congrats!" Seungkwan beams, his eyes shining with pride.

You can't help but blush, touched by their support. "Aw, you know about that?"

"Of course we do," Mingyu adds, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Seungcheol tex—"

"Mingyu!" A sharp voice cuts through the studio, and all heads turn to see Seungcheol, standing by Jihoon, his expression unreadable.

"Mingyu, come help me and Jihoon with the footwork part," Seungcheol orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Everyone stares at Seungcheol in confusion. "Why can't you ask Soonyoung or Chan?" Mingyu murmurs with a frown, but still, he waves you goodbye and walks over to them.

Seungkwan leans closer, whispering, "Don’t mind Seungcheol."

"Okay?" you reply, your voice uncertain as the choreography instructor reminds the group that the break ends in a minute.

"I can't get anything done with the footwork!" Seungkwan complains quietly from beside Wonwoo, but he still heads to the center of the room with the others to practice.

"What footwork?" you ask, curious.

Joshua just shakes his head, his expression full of confusion. "Just wait. Don't stare at me, though, because I don't know what's going on."

You laugh, the sound a brief respite from the tension in the room, but the teacher’s voice quickly cuts through, demanding everyone’s attention. "Okay, let’s try this again!"

You wish them luck before heading to the side of the room where you can sit and spectate. A staff member moves to turn on the music, and you settle in, curious to see what kind of choreography has been crafted for this song.

As the music starts, the familiar intro fills the room, and your eyes widen in surprise. Soonyoung is playing the role of a conductor while the others move in time with the instrumental parts of the song. It’s a brilliant concept, and you can’t help but admire the creativity.

Then comes the part of the song with the infamous footwork everyone warned you about. Your eyes scan the group, watching Joshua stumble, clearly forgetting the moves, while Soonyoung remains focused, then there’s Seungcheol... on the floor?

You rush over before someone stops the music. "Are you okay?"

Everyone in the room pauses, turning their attention to Jeonghan and Seungcheol, who look out of place.

The two had apparently bumped into each other, causing Seungcheol to fall on his arm while Jeonghan managed to catch himself before hitting the floor.

"Jeonghan, are you okay?" Seungcheol asks while he's on the floor. Jeonghan shakes his head in disbelief, clearly more concerned about Seungcheol.

"I'm okay, I didn't fall on the floor. You, however, did," Jeonghan replies and the room quickly becomes a chaotic mess as everyone surrounds Seungcheol, who groans in pain.

Seokmin steps forward. "Do you think you can move your arm?"

Seungcheol attempts to, but winces. "Yes, but I should get it checked out." His voice is strained, and you notice that it’s his left arm that took the brunt of the fall.

"We should take him to the hospital," Jihoon suggests, and the room erupts in a chorus of agreement.

"I'll take him," you volunteer, knowing how important this practice is for the group. You have the time, and you’d rather ensure Seungcheol gets the care he needs.

Seungkwan pats your back. "Please text us once you find out what happened."

The drive to the hospital is quiet, the air thick with an awkward tension. Seungcheol, who had been avoiding you since your return, now has no choice but to be near you. You glance at him occasionally, but his gaze remains fixed out the window, lost in thought. It feels strange—after everything, to be here with him now.

After a long wait, the doctor finally enters the room, giving Seungcheol's arm a thorough examination.

"It looks like you'll need to wear a brace for a few weeks. Other than that, there shouldn’t be any major issues."

You stand and bow slightly. "Thank you," you say, relieved that he can recover quickly. Seungcheol also thanks the doctor before you both leave the room.

As you walk down the hospital hallway, your stomach growls.

"You want to grab dinner? We spent a long time waiting, so it's already dinner time." You scroll through your phone, searching for nearby restaurants.

Seungcheol takes the lead, heading toward the exit. "There's a place nearby we can go to. Come on."

This was the first time you ate dinner with Seungcheol after returning so you were nervous. The late evening air was crisp as you followed Seungcheol into the restaurant.

"Hello, a table for two, please," Seungcheol said to the hostess.

You quietly trailed behind him, taking in the rustic wooden decor and the warm glow from the lanterns hanging. From the outside, the place had looked unassuming and quiet, but inside it was lively, with the aroma of sizzling meat and savory broths wafting through the air.

When you reached your table, you quickly sat down, picking up the menu board to cover your face as you decided on your order. The list of dishes was extensive, and you were too preoccupied with your choices to notice the waitress approaching.

"Hello, would you like to order?" she asked, her pen poised above her notepad.

Seungcheol lowered his menu with a deliberate motion, resting it on the table with his right arm. "Can we have one tonkatsu and..." His eyes flicked to you, waiting for your decision.

You finally lowered the menu, your heart still racing. "I'll get a dolsot bibimbap," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

(author’s note: Tonkatsu is a Japanese dish of thick-cut, breaded, and deep-fried pork cutlet and Dolsot Bibimbap is a Korean dish of rice, vegetables, and protein served in a hot stone bowl, or dolsot, that sizzles and crisps the rice.)

The waitress nodded, jotting down your orders. "Okay, is that all?"

"Can we also get two sodas?" Seungcheol added.

You listened as Seungcheol ordered your favorite soda. When the waitress left, you glanced at him, surprised.

"You remember my favorite drink?" you asked a hint of wonder in your voice.

Seungcheol froze, the water pitcher hovering above your cup. His expression was carefully neutral, though his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place.

"You used to order it so much that I still remember it," he replied, his voice betraying no emotion. He finished pouring the water and sliding the cup to you.

You smiled faintly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "How have you been? I haven't seen you alone since I came back."

Seungcheol looked at you for a moment before picking up his own glass. "I'm the same," he answered. The response was curt, leaving you to wonder what was going on in his mind.

The waitress returned with your drinks, setting them down gently before retreating back.

"How come you haven't texted me back? I sent you messages," you asked, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into your voice.

Seungcheol averted his gaze, staring at his cup as if it held all the answers.

"I've been busy," he said flatly, his tone clear that he didn’t want to elaborate.

You frowned, feeling disappointed, but decided to let it go for now. "Oh, okay," you muttered. "So anything new?"

Before Seungcheol could respond, the waitress returned, this time with your food.

The sizzling sound of the dolsot bibimbap and the fragrant steam from the hot stone bowl made your mouth water.

Seungcheol stared down at his tonkatsu, and you noticed his expression tighten.

The dish had been served whole, and you could see the dilemma on his face. How was he going to cut it with only one arm?

You quickly thanked the waitress before looking up, catching the unease in Seungcheol’s eyes. "Oh, here, give me that for a second," you offered without hesitation, your voice gentle as you reached across the table. Without waiting for him to protest, you swapped your dish with his, picking up the knife to start cutting the round piece of pork into smaller, bite-sized pieces.

Seungcheol watched you in silence, his heart sinking. He was supposed to have moved on from you, but how could he when you were here, taking care of him as if no time had passed? The simple act of kindness stirred emotions he thought he had buried long ago.

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"You know I used to like you," he blurted out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hands paused, and you coughed in shock, quickly reaching for water. Seungcheol’s eyes widened as he grabbed the cup, hastily passing it to you.

"Woah, relax," he said, a hint of panic in his voice as you took a few sips, calming yourself down. "It was two years ago anyway," he added, trying to downplay the confession after your reaction.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you placed the cup and knife back on the table, staring at him in disbelief. "So, two years ago, you liked me?" you repeated, still surprised.

Seungcheol leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but like I said, it's in the past. I just wanted to get it off my chest since you're back now," he explained, trying to be casual, but you could see the tension in his shoulders.

You sat there, still processing his words. The man you had secretly loved had just confessed he used to like you—but the keyword was "used." The thought of your steaming hot bibimbap and Seungcheol's halfway-cut tonkatsu was long forgotten.

"Wait, I'm just curious," you pressed, your voice tinged with hesitation, "before I went abroad?"

Seungcheol nodded, taking another sip from his drink. "Yeah," he confirmed, his gaze flicking between you and his plate.

"How are you so calm about this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. The emotionless tone in his responses was starting to gnaw at you.

"It was just a crush," Seungcheol said, his mouth thinning into a line. His eyes met yours, but they were guarded, and the lack of emotion in his voice caused your heart to break a little.

"Then your feelings are now..." you started, but your voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Gone, yeah," Seungcheol finished for you, his voice firm.

You clenched your fists under the table, feeling a wave of frustration and sadness wash over you. Your appetite vanished entirely.

"If you get to confess, I’m going to too," you said, looking at him in the eyes.

You took a deep breath, straightening your back as you prepared to say the words you’d held back for so long. "I liked you too."

Seungcheol froze, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to you. "What?"

"I said, I liked you too. All those years ago. But you know what, Seungcheol?" you continued, feeling a surge of courage, "I still have feelings for you."

Seungcheol shook his head, his expression hardening. In his thoughts, you still broke his heart years ago, and nothing could change that. "No, you shouldn't," he said firmly. "We should focus on our professional relationship right now."

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it, grabbing your phone as you rose from your seat. The restaurant suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.

"I guess this is the closure I needed," you muttered before walking away, leaving Seungcheol alone at the table with his heart heavier than before.

You sit on the couch in your studio, the dim light of the TV screen casting soft shadows across the room. The studio is dark, save for the flickering light of a sappy rom-com playing on the screen.

You’re curled up in a corner of the couch, clutching a pillow, your tear-streaked face illuminated by the occasional bright scene on the TV. The room smells faintly of coffee, a reminder of how many cups you’ve consumed in the past few days.

Seungkwan steps into the room first, the door creaking slightly as he pushes it open. He freezes when he sees you, then glances back at the others following him—Seokmin, Joshua, Jeonghan, and Jihoon. The soft click of the door closing behind them echoes in the otherwise silent room.

“I don’t know why I chose to come back,” you mumble once they have been settled. Your fingers fumble with a tissue, wiping the tears that won’t stop.

Seungkwan immediately comes to your side, handing you a fresh napkin. His face is filled with concern, eyebrows knitted together as he watches you with soft, worried eyes. Seokmin sits down beside you, gently patting your back, trying to offer comfort through the simplest of gestures.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t deserve him,” Seungkwan says, his voice firm yet caring. “How can he confess his past feelings so casually?” he adds, his frustration palpable.

Jeonghan moves to sit on the couch opposite of yours, looking at you sadly. “I can’t believe Seungcheol would drop that bomb after you helped him yesterday. This is so unlike him,” he mutters, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off a headache, brought on by his best friend’s actions.

Joshua, who had been standing near the door, finally steps forward. He uncaps a water bottle, handing it to you with a soft, “Here, drink some water. You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to. I mean, I wouldn’t want to see him after that.”

Jihoon gives a slow nod while sitting next to Jeonghan. “I agree. I’ll take over the recording for now. That way you won't have to see Seungcheol for recording. You can handle the final editing later after you’ve had some time to breathe.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but there’s an underlying gentleness that you’ve come to appreciate in him.

You hiccup as you sip from the water, trying to regain composure. “I got another offer to go back to the United States,” you say with a sniffle.

The room falls silent. Your friends exchange worried glances before Seokmin speaks up. “Are you going to take it?”

You nod slowly, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “I wasn’t going to, but it is from a famous music label there. For now, I didn’t decide so I have until the end of my contract to choose.”

Seungkwan immediately protests, his voice rising slightly in panic. “Don’t leave us again!” He looks at you with wide eyes, his expression pleading.

You manage a small, grateful smile as you turn to Seungkwan.

“We can keep in contact, like how we did the last time I went abroad.”

Jeonghan shakes his head, his tone is more urgent now. “Y/n, we haven’t celebrated your birthday in person for two years! You can’t just leave!”

Jihoon steps forward, waving his hands to de-escalate the situation. “Let’s all calm down. In the end, this is Y/n’s decision, not ours. Her job is on the line too.”

Joshua offers a reassuring smile. “We’ll always be here for you, whether you stay or leave.”

The dance studio is full of activity.

The bright overhead lights reflect off the polished wooden floor, where some members are sprawled out, catching their breath while others mess around with lighthearted banter.

Seungcheol sits on the sidelines with Minghao and Hansol, his back leaning against the cool wall, the faint thrum of his pulse still echoing in his ears. The smell of sweat and energy drinks permeates the room, mingling with the faint scent of cologne.

Seungkwan and Jihoon are standing nearby, discussing something in hushed tones. Seungcheol isn’t eavesdropping—not intentionally, at least—but the concern in Seungkwan’s tone catches his attention, making his ears perk up.

“Is Y/n okay?” Seungkwan’s voice is tinged with worry, his brows furrowed as he speaks. He glances over at Jihoon, who is scratching his head thoughtfully.

“Oh, are you noticing it too?” Jihoon replies, his voice low, but before Seungcheol can ask what they’re talking about, Mingyu chimes in.

“What’s wrong with Y/n?” Mingyu scoots closer, forming a small circle with them. His curiosity is piqued, his eyes wide with concern. “Is there something wrong with the songs?”

Jihoon and Seungkwan shake their heads in unison.

“Mingyu hyung, you don’t understand. I think she’s overworking herself,” Seungkwan explains, glancing over at Seungcheol, who tries to keep his face neutral.

“Yeah,” Jihoon adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “The past week, she’s been sending me new drafts of songs every few hours after I gave feedback when she used to send new drafts after a day! That only means she’s been in her studio all that time.”

Wonwoo, who had been stretching on the floor nearby, sits up and joins the conversation. “I saw her enter the company’s cafe for coffee once, twice, then a fourth time while I sat down with Hansol for two hours,” he says, his tone laced with concern.

Junhui, leaning against the mirror, chimes in as well. “A few days ago, I ended choreography practice late at night with the performance unit, only to spot her walking into the company building after receiving food delivery outside.”

Seungcheol frowns, his gaze fixed on the floor as he twiddles his fingers, trying to process the information. As much as he wants to ask more about your well-being, he can already guess the reason behind your recent overworking behavior. His stomach twists with guilt, a heavy weight settling on his chest.

You feel dizzy. Your laptop screen and the harsh overhead lights seem brighter than usual.

You've been working day and night for weeks now, and as Jihoon promised, he took charge of the recording sessions, leaving you to finalize three songs. Now, you’re deep into mass-editing, your focus wavering.

An unexpected knock on the door startles you, and you try to steady your spinning head. "Come in!" you call out, grabbing your laptop and phone from the desk.

Seungkwan peeks his head through the door, a concerned look on his face as he holds up two steaming cups. "Please tell me you went home last night."

You chuckle softly despite your exhaustion. "Kwannie, my studio couch is very comfortable. You're always welcome to sleep on it too."

Seungkwan steps inside, handing you a cup of coffee with a gentle smile. "Here, drink this. I know you're barely running on any sleep."

You gratefully accept the drink, taking a long sip. "Thank you. What would I do without you?"

Seungkwan shrugs playfully as you both walk towards the elevator. "So, where are you headed now?"

"I have a meeting about my contract and the album progress. You?"

"We're going to shoot a new Going Seventeen video today," Seungkwan replies, taking a sip from his own coffee. "Our filming location is in Sokcho. It's further than usual, so it takes three hours to travel."

The elevator dings and you both step inside. "Oh, so you're leaving now?"

Seungkwan nods as the elevator doors close. "Yeah, I think all the members arrived. I'm not late, so it's okay."

After the elevator reaches your floor, you bid Seungkwan goodbye and head towards the meeting room.

The bright, harsh lights inside the room intensify your dizziness, but you push through.

"Hey, Y/n," your colleagues greet you as you walk in.

You smile and sit next to Mina, a new friend you've made recently, trying to shake off the lightheadedness. "Hello, is everyone here?"

Once seated, you feel a wave of dizziness again, but you try to ignore it.

"Yeah, everyone is here," a colleague confirms as you gulp down some of the coffee Seungkwan gave you.

"Okay, let's begin. Where are you with the album?"

Everyone's attention shifts to their laptops and tablets, the hum of typing filling the room.

"Out of the three unit songs, I have completed two. I'm almost done with the final one," you report, trying to sound confident.

A colleague asks, "So, we're on schedule since the deadline is in two weeks?"

"Yes, we're ahead of schedule. I can finish the final song by this week," you assure them, hoping your fatigue doesn’t show.

Your colleagues nod in agreement, and soon the room buzzes with discussions about upcoming music show dates and teaser preparations for the album. As the conversations continue, your vision begins to blur with black dots.

"Mina, can you please pass me that water bottle? I feel a bit dizzy," you request, trying to stay focused.

Mina quickly hands you a bottle from the center of the table. "Here you go, Y/n."

You thank her and take a few sips, hoping the caffeine kick will help. "I appreciate it."

"Let's move on to your contract," someone says as they shuffle papers. "Your contract ends in two months, slightly after the album releases."

You nod, trying to ignore the increasing heaviness in your head. "Okay, and what was the company’s decision?"

The room brightens with smiles. "HYBE wants to renew your contract."

You exhale a sigh. "I still haven’t decided if I’m renewing or not."

Mina gasps. "No! Don’t leave! We love working with you!"

You appreciate her support but feel guilty. "I know. I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll give my decision before the contract ends."

The mood in the room turns somber. "Everyone, it’s okay. We still have time left together, right?" you try to reassure them.

The atmosphere lightens as the discussion shifts back to tour planning. You attempt to stand up, but a wave of dizziness overcomes you, making you wobble slightly.

"Woah! Y/n, are you oka—"

The world tilts, and you collapse.

The car ride to Sokcho is long, and the inside of the van feels stuffy. Mingyu stretches, rubbing his neck before heading towards the coffee truck outside. "I need some caffeine," he announces.

"Whoever loses, should go to the beach later as punishment," Soonyoung says while Hansol shivers from the breeze, “But Soonyoung hyung, it’s the middle of winter! We would get sick after.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Soonyoung replies as they follow Mingyu to the truck.

Seungcheol, walking with Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungkwan, remains unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the ground. He plays with the loose threads of his brace, which is now slightly worn out. He was getting his brace off in a few days.

"I saw Y/n before I met up with you guys," Seungkwan starts, his tone filled with concern. "She mentioned something about her contract. Do you think she’s renewing?"

Jeonghan, sensing Seungcheol’s heightened interest, adds, "Oh, what would prevent her from renewing? She just joined us."

Seungkwan’s gaze shifts towards Seungcheol, who is now visibly attentive. "She got another offer to go abroad. I mean, she’s working as a producer for one of Korea’s biggest music labels. Plus, her popularity in the West."

Joshua takes a thoughtful sip from his coffee. "Oh no! So she’s considering leaving again?"

Seungkwan nods. "If she doesn’t find a reason to stay, she’ll likely choose to leave. She’ll tell us when it’s time, so let’s hope she finds that reason."

Seungcheol’s grip tightens around his cup as he walks away from the group, his thoughts churning.

It's break time during the film when Jihoon receives a phone call.

"What? Y/n fainted and went to the hospital? Is she okay?"

Everyone falls silent, their attention drawn to Jihoon’s worried expression.

Jihoon sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know she’s been overworking herself. I should have stopped her."

"Oh my, we should visit her later after filming," Jeonghan suggests.

Without a word, Seungcheol abruptly stands up and grabs his phone, leaving the group.

"Hyung, where are you going?" Soonyoung calls after him.

Seungcheol’s pace quickens as he makes his way to the director. "I need to go to her."

"Seungcheol, we can go visit her later tonight with Jihoon. We still have to film," Chan interjects.

Seungcheol shakes his head vehemently. "Please, I need to see her. It’s my fault."

The other members look at each other in surprise. Seungcheol, seemingly determined, begs the director to excuse him from filming for the day.

Mingyu and Jeonghan approach Seungcheol, supporting his plea.

"Director," Jeonghan starts, "Let’s allow Seungcheol to leave, just this once."

Mingyu adds, "He has a personal emergency. The rest of us can handle the filming. Don’t worry."

The director, seeing no other option, reluctantly agrees. Seungcheol rushes out, thanking his members as he goes.

"Wow," Joshua comments, watching the black van leave the parking lot. "I don’t get why he can’t just confess his real feelings."

Seungkwan grumbles, "We can’t force him. No one can fix their relationship except for Seungcheol. Hopefully, he realizes it before it’s too late."

“Y/n? Are you awake?”

You groan as you slowly wake up, the bright white light from the overhead hospital lamp causing you to squint. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils, and you blink to focus on Seungkwan, who is sitting in a chair next to your bed. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead mingles with the soft rustle of takeout bags being handled by your friends, who are gathered at the other side of the room. They're all fooling around and eating on the couches.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice raspy as you try to sit up. You look around, noting the clinical white walls and the steady beep of the heart monitor beside you. You see that Seungcheol is not present in the group.

“You fainted in the company building.” He stands up, his footsteps light against the linoleum floor, and moves to pour you a cup of water from a nearby tray. “The doctor said you're fine; you just need rest.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking a slow, appreciative sip from the cup. You glance around the room, noting the absence of Seungcheol. “How was the filming today?”

“The filming went well,” Seungkwan replies, taking a seat next to you once again. He sips his iced coffee, the condensation on the cup making tiny droplets form and drip onto his fingers. “We all came as soon as it ended, but you were already asleep. Mina brought you here, she left earlier."

You look out the window, noting the deep blue of the night sky dotted with stars. “Oh, can someone pass me some food then? I’m so hungry.”

After your loud voice is heard by your friends, Mingyu quickly reaches for a bowl of jjajangmyeon from the takeout bags spread across the table. He hands you the bowl and chopsticks while Seungkwan adjusts the bedtable to make room.

When you see Seungkwan taking a seat next to you, he brushes off your concern about his own hunger. “Don’t worry, I already ate,” he says with a slight chuckle, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

The group around you is busy as they discuss their upcoming schedule after their comeback. Their chatter is a comforting background noise, giving you a sense of normalcy despite your current situation.

“Kwannie, did Seungcheol visit?” you ask, looking up from your food.

Before Seungkwan can answer, his phone rings. He holds up a finger, signaling you to wait a moment, as he answers the call. You start eating the jjajangmyeon, the savory taste bringing a bit of comfort.

“Right now? Okay, we’ll be downstairs,” Seungkwan says into the phone, his tone turning serious. He ends the call with a sigh. “Our managers are here to pick us up, so we all have to go. We’ll talk after you recover, okay?”

You nod as Seungkwan informs your eleven friends that the cars have arrived. They quickly gather their things, cleaning up the empty takeout boxes and leftover food. The room becomes busier, the clatter of containers and the shuffle of footsteps filling the space.

“Goodnight and recover soon!” they all say as they leave the room, their voices echoing down the hallway.

“Come in!”

You call out, your voice echoing slightly in your studio. You turn your head to see Jeonghan and Seungkwan walk in, Seungkwan carrying a brown bag of takeout food.

“Hey, give me one second. I’m about to submit the final songs for the album,” you say, your fingers dancing across the keyboard. The low hum of your computer and the occasional clack of keys provide a rhythmic backdrop to the conversation.

Seungkwan starts placing the food on your desk, the scent of tteokbokki and other Korean dishes filling the room. Jeonghan settles onto the couch, his eyes scanning the room with interest. “Woah, you’re finally done then?” he asks, his voice a mix of surprise and relief.

“Yes,” you exhale in relief, clicking your mouse one last time to hit submit. The screen flashes a confirmation message, and you close your laptop with a satisfied sigh. “And done!”

Seungkwan chuckles, “This dinner can be us celebrating that you finished the album.” He opens the containers, the savory aroma wafting into the air.

You close up your desktop and walk over to the couch where Jeonghan is seated. “Don’t be silly,” you say, smiling as you sit down. “What’s the real reason you both wanted to eat with me?”

At your question, Seungkwan pauses, looking at Jeonghan. They exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Seungkwan finally speaks up, “Fine. You’ve caught us.”

You watch Seungkwan open the tteokbokki container, the spicy red sauce, and chewy rice cakes steaming in the container. “So there was a reason! What is it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you reach for a piece.

Jeonghan takes a deep breath, “It’s about Seungcheol.”

You stop in your tracks, placing your chopsticks down. “What about him? I know I have to move on, so if it’s about that, I don’t want to hear it right now.”

Seungkwan scratches his head, his eyes downcast. “It’s actually the opposite of that.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What?”

Jeonghan continues, “Before you left Korea two years ago, everyone knew about Seungcheol’s feelings for you. It was so obvious that we always tried to get him to confess.”

Seungkwan motions for you to eat while listening. “It was supposed to happen the day we had our celebratory dinner for you. We sat with Seungcheol at the opposite end of the table, hyping him up and reminding him to confess after the dinner ended.”

Jeonghan takes a bite of his tteokbokki, “But that night, you announced that—”

“That I was leaving to go abroad,” you finish his sentence, your voice tinged with regret. “So if I had waited one more day to decide, he would have confessed to me that night, and things wouldn’t be this way right now.”

Seungkwan and Jeonghan nod silently, their expressions somber.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, shaking your head. “He said his feelings are in the past last time, remember?”

Jeonghan and Seungkwan exchange a look before continuing. “Actually, that’s the part we need to talk about,” Jeonghan says.

Seungkwan leans forward, his eyes serious. “When you fainted a few weeks ago, Jihoon hyung got a call from the staff during our break. We were all next to him so we overheard that you were in the hospital.”

“Oh, the day he didn’t visit when you guys did,” you recall, your brow furrowing.

Jeonghan stops you, one hand raised to signal you to keep listening. “Seungcheol heard and immediately went to our director to ask if he could leave filming. He traveled three hours just to see you.”

You’re taken aback. “But he wasn’t there when I woke up?”

Jeonghan nods, his tone apologetic. “He left before you woke up. When we arrived, he said he didn’t think you’d want to see him after what he said, so he left. But he stayed by your side the entire time and even sent Mina home.”

“Also, he’s been keeping tabs on you while you were abroad. Every new song you produced and released, every award you won at shows, every feature you did on YouTube? We know it all because he sends it to us first.”

You place your chopsticks on the table, processing the new information. “So what you’re saying is, Seungcheol liked me, tried to confess, never had the chance, kept tabs on me, rejected me once I came back, and then went to the hospital after hearing I fainted?”

Seungkwan nods enthusiastically. “You’re getting it! Now, what conclusion can we come up with?”

You exhale sharply. “That he’s playing with my feelings?”

Jeonghan huffs in frustration. “Y/n, he’s still in love with you!”

You pick up one of the drinks on the table and take a long sip, trying to make sense of everything. “This is insane. What do you two want me to do now?”

Seungkwan watches you intently as you put the drink down with a thud. “Just answer this for us: do you still have feelings for Seungcheol?”

You groan, leaning back in your chair. “What’s that going to change?”

“Just tell us yes or no,” Seungkwan insists. “Then we’ll handle it.”

You let out a resigned sigh and finally say, “Yes, I still have feelings for Choi Seungcheol. Now what?”

Jeonghan’s face lights up with a smirk. “Just trust us. We’re your best friends.”

“Y/n's going to accept her job offer to go abroad.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps toward Seungkwan, who is sitting in a green room with his makeup being carefully removed by a staff member.

The other members wait around to get their makeup removed because they had just finished pre-recording their music show comeback for “Maestro”.

On the opposite side of Seungkwan, Seokmin is seated on a plush couch, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Really? So she’s leaving us again?” he asks, his voice echoing slightly off the room's high ceilings.

Seungkwan shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes scanning the room as he speaks. “Seeing that the album release is soon, that means her contract ends around next week.”

Seungcheol’s gaze shifts as he places his phone in his pocket, the screen lighting up briefly before he tucks it away. He starts scanning the green room, searching for Jihoon, who is seated on a couch nearby with Chan and Soonyoung flanking him. The room is a blend of muted grays and vibrant colors from various promotional posters on the walls.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol calls quietly, his voice a soft whisper against the backdrop of the green room's activity. “Is Y/n in her studio?”

Chan and Soonyoung look up from their conversation, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Oh, hyung, she definitely is,” Soonyoung responds, his tone matter-of-fact.

Seungcheol’s brows furrow in confusion. “How do you know that?”

Chan interrupts, leaning slightly forward as he answers. “Don’t you know?”

Seungcheol, his confusion growing, motions for someone to clarify. “Don’t I know what?”

Jihoon, who has been observing the interaction quietly, finally speaks up. “Y/n is moving out of her studio right now.”

Seungcheol pushes open the door to your studio, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the otherwise quiet room. His eyes dart around, taking in the sight of the once-busy space now barren and echoing. The mixers and your desktop are missing, leaving the large desk bare. The recording booth’s microphone and stand have been dismantled, and boxes are stacked neatly against the wall, each one taped shut and labeled.

You stand in the middle of the room, unplugging an extension cord with practiced ease. As you turn to face him, your eyes meet Seungcheol’s, who looks at you with a mix of urgency and desperation.

“Oh, Seungcheol,” you say, your voice carrying a hint of surprise. “What brings you here?” You notice his serious expression and wonder if something troubling has happened.

“I just need you to hear me out, please?” Seungcheol’s voice is firm yet tremulous, a stark contrast to the otherwise quiet room.

You lean against the table, your hands resting on its surface as you watch him, waiting for him to continue. The soft hum of the air conditioning is the only sound between his anxious breaths.

Seungcheol’s body shakes slightly, his nerves evident as he stumbles over his words. “I know that I’ve been nothing but mean to you and that it’s not my position to ask,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting your eyes again. “But can you please stay?” His voice wavers as he glances around the empty room, feeling the weight of his plea.

“What are you—” you start to ask, but Seungcheol raises a hand, palm facing you to signal you to listen.

“Listen,” Seungcheol interrupts, his voice cracking slightly. “I know you hate me because I was an ass to you. When you didn’t tell me before that you were going abroad, it hurt that I had to find out when everyone else did.” He starts to feel a tear roll down his cheek, the glossy moisture catching the light. He laughs bitterly at his own vulnerability.

Seungcheol wipes his cheek hastily, his movements jerky. “Now, I’m sorry for the way I rejected you before, but I want to be selfish about this. Please stay and don’t leave this time. I want to ask for a chance if you’ll let me.”

The room falls into a heavy silence. Seungcheol’s heart races, and he can’t control the hot tears running down his face. Then, unexpectedly, he feels your lips gently press against his.

You pull him closer with one hand, the other brushing away his tears tenderly. The warmth of your touch contrasts with the coolness of the studio’s air.

When you pull away, Seungcheol looks at you in shock, his eyes wide with surprise.

“I’ve already chosen to stay,” you confess softly.

Seungcheol’s eyes widen further as he processes your words. “But, the boxes, you’re not packing up to go abroad?”

The sound of your laughter is soft and reassuring. “No, I’m moving my studio closer to my house,” you explain, motioning to the packed boxes around you. “Since Jihoon helped me find a great location. This,” you gesture to the empty room, “is not me leaving; I’m just moving.”

“Then what about the job offer?” Seungcheol asks, his voice tinged with confusion.

You shake your head, pulling him into a warm hug. “You thought I was leaving you again?”

Seungcheol sighs into your embrace, finding comfort in your closeness. “Yeah, I had to try and hold you before I lost the chance.”

You pull away slightly and press a kiss on his cheek. “I already told the staff that I’m renewing my contract. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Thank God,” Seungcheol says, resting his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t really plan out what I would do if you rejected me.”

You playfully smack Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Then if I was leaving, what would you have done?”

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “Book a flight to America?”

Your laughter fills the room, and Seungcheol leans in to kiss you. But before he can, you hold up your index finger, a playful glint in your eye.

“Nope!” you tease, dodging him.

Seungcheol whines, clearly frustrated but you hold your ground. “You have to make it up to me for rejecting me. You’re not even my boyfriend yet!”

“Fine, I’m willing to wait. I have been for the past few years, so waiting for you a little longer is nothing,” Seungcheol says with determination. “Let me take you on a date first. Right now sound good?”

You gesture towards the boxes, groaning playfully. “I can’t; I have to go and get my keys for the new studio.”

Seungcheol grabs your arm and pulls you toward the door. “That’s okay, I’ll go with you. Then we can go on our first date.”

You smile, giving in to his enthusiasm. “And you’re sure I’ll say yes to that date?”

Seungcheol watches you lock the door, a hopeful smile on his face. “I’ll keep pursuing you until you let me. You’re not leaving, so I have forever with you.”

You look up at Seungcheol in the hallway, his smile infectious. You press a genuine kiss to his lips, the hallway's cool air a stark contrast to the warmth you feel.

“Well then, I think I always had the perfect reason to stay.”

BONUS SCENE - ONE DAY AGO

Jihoon walks into your music studio, his footsteps light against the polished floor. He takes in the sight of boxes stacked around the room, the empty shelves and bare walls creating a stark contrast to the studio’s usual clutter. “Are you busy? I can come back later if you are,” he offers, his voice soft and considerate.

You turn your head toward the door, closing the flaps on a box you’ve just finished packing. The rustle of the packing material fills the quiet space. “No,” you say, gesturing toward the couch with a smile. “I was almost done with packing for today.”

Jihoon sets down a plastic bag, the crinkle of the bag breaking the silence. He pulls out two drinks and offers one to you. “I brought you some coffee from the cafe upstairs.”

You take a sip from the cup, the rich aroma of the coffee providing a comforting warmth. You glance around the almost empty studio, the familiar space now feeling alien.

“So,” Jihoon begins, his expression serious as he studies you. “You’ve made up your mind, huh?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you place your drink down on the table. “Yeah. I’ve already talked with the staff at HYBE and PLEDIS about my decision.”

Jihoon’s gaze softens as he continues, “I just want to say, it’s always an honor working on music with you.”

You smile at Jihoon, a hint of gratitude in your eyes. “I hope there’s more to that sentence.”

Jihoon chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I’m honored that you’re staying longer instead of going abroad again.”

You beam at him, your smile full of warmth. “You’ll get sick of seeing me every other day soon.”

Jihoon sets his drink down, his demeanor serious again. “So, is it because of him?”

You tilt your head in confusion, your brows knitting together. “What’s because of him?”

“Your decision to stay,” Jihoon clarifies. “Is it because you learned that Seungcheol used to like you?”

You glance down at your hands resting on your lap, the gesture thoughtful. “You could say that. But at the same time, if I had known Seungcheol liked me sooner, I don’t know what choice I would have made. Either way, time apart has truly let me realize my feelings for him.”

You let out a deep sigh and continue, “As of now, I’ll just stay in Korea since I can keep working anyway. Then, I’ll slowly see where it goes with Seungcheol.”

Jihoon nods slowly, understanding the complexity of your emotions. “Even if it’s not easy and Seungcheol pushes you away at first, you’ll continue to love him?”

Without hesitation, you respond, “Of course. I know he might not let me in at first, but I want to be there for him.”

Jihoon’s heart swells at the thought of his two close friends finally finding each other in the near future. “I see. I’m always here for you if you need help with Seungcheol.”

You offer Jihoon a sincere smile. “Thanks, Jihoon.”

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO WAITED SO PATIENTLY, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3

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Cowboy gojo keeps me alive pls lemme ride it cowgirl style

Artist: thatsallitchief on Instagram

are you a lightweight nanami..?

ac: matchapichai

Imagine Nanami Kento waking up from anesthesia after surgery, his bleary and unfocused gaze landing on you (his wife) standing beside him and holding his hand in yours. You smile at him warmly, softly reassuring him that he's okay and that you're right here beside him as he stares at you silently.

Nanami looks down at your joined hands, his gaze seems to focus on the wedding band adorning his ring finger. He stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you.

"Who are you?" He slurs, his words sloshy and imprecise. So unlike him, and so very adorable. "Are you a nurse?"

You giggle at Nanami's question.

"No, I'm not a nurse."

Nanami seems puzzled at your response. His brows furrow as his fingers move against yours, thumb stroking across your knuckles in that gentle motion he always does to soothe you. Your smile widens. Looks like there are some things that even ketamine can't erase.

"Wow. You got the most gorgeous smile. Are you a model? You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my whole life. You got really pretty teeth too..."

Kento's fingers tighten around yours, his voice falling into a groggy whisper.

"But...I think I'm married. We shouldn't be holding hands like this."

You bite your lip, fighting against the bubbling laughter in your throat and failing.

"O-Oh?"

Nanami nods, his expression shifting from one of appreciative awe to adorable seriousness.

"I want to be a good husband."

Well that just about melted your whole damn heart. Even the hospital staff in the background can't repress their "awww"s and "that's a keeper"s.

"Don't worry, you are a wonderful husband, Kento. I know that for sure."

He's confused again, those unfocused honey brown's searching yours, trying to figure out the situation as best as he can given the circumstances.

"How do you know?"

You raise your left hand, bringing it into his line of sight and wiggle your ring finger, the golden band surrounding it captures Nanami's attention in an instant.

"Because I'm your wife."

Nanami's eyes instantly grow wide, his expression morphing into one of childlike wonder.

"You're my wife?"

You laugh.

"Yes."

He squeezes your hand with a surprising amount of strength given that he was knocked out cold not that long ago.

"We're really married?"

"Yes."

"Wow..." Kento breathes, drifting off for a moment before asking you another question. "Have we kissed yet?"

His innocent yet hilarious question sends you into another fit of laugher.

"Y-yes! Many times."

Nanami rewards you with a dopey smile, his gaze so utterly loving, enchanted by your unrestrained joy.

"My wife." He murmurs adoringly, his fingers reaching up to caress your cheek.

"I love hearing you laugh." His palm cups your face. "You really are so beautiful. I hit the jackpot, didn't I?"

Grinning from ear to ear, you press a tender kiss to Kento's fingertips before guiding his hand back down to the bed.

"Alright sweetest man alive, you need to stop talking before you make every person in this room fall in love with you. I'm going to grab a snack for us for later. I'll be right back, okay?"

Kento nods.

"Okay. Can I get another kiss when you come back?"

wonwoo PLS give me one chance i promise i can treat u right ……

smut is great but do you know what’s better? heart wrenching, soul twisting angst that makes you want to cry (take my money)

sleepy megumi

world exploded from cuteness

heads up! alcohol mentions [wonwoo drunk]

wonwoo shuffles into your apartment, and immediately you know that this man is drunk. he's silent, hand braced against the wall as he quietly slips out of his shoes and into his slippers. didn't you text mingyu to go easy on him...? maybe you should have texted seungcheol and vernon, too.

"did you have a good time?" you call out, looking up from your book.

wonwoo looks up, staring at you for a moment. "... hm?" and then he smiles, "it was good. i missed you."

you slide a bookmark into place, shutting your book and setting it aside as you make room for wonwoo. he makes his way over to you, all but collapsing onto you as you feel how warm his face is. he plants a tiny kiss against your chest before shutting his eyes. he pulls off his glasses, reaching out to drop them onto the coffee table.

"happy birthday," you say, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. "i bought cake if you want it."

"thank you." another tiny kiss against your chest. "give me a few minutes first..."

you'll get some water into him before the two of you go to bed tonight. you just wrap an arm around him and snuggle in, happy to have your silly guy safe at home for the night.

🕶️🕶️🕶️

Y/N: Hey Simon can you help me with this zipper? Simon: Sure thing, love Y/N: Y/N: Up, Simon Simon: Right of course

Price snores because he sleeps in his desk chair more often than his bed.

Ghost snores because his nose has been broken one too many times.

Soap talks in his sleep because he can't stop his mind from racing long enough to stay quiet.

Gaz can't sleep without multiple pillows because he's got a bad back from all thr helos he's fallen out of.

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

early seasons spencer reid>>

I think it‘s very suitable, so I drew it💀

Self-care