Fic Idea Based On The Song Below:

Fic idea based on the song below:

Strangers to Lovers; both have experienced deep loss of some one close. I'm not sure which member suits the idea best.

What do you all think?

Yesssssss! Let's goooo

SKZ Ink - Series Masterlist

Well, y'all wore me down. I'll be expanding the SKZ Ink universe, writing for each member. I can't promise how often I'll post, but I've got plans to do something for each member. Comment below if you want to be added (or removed) from the taglist. xx Minty

Tattoo Artist & Shop Owner Chan x fem librarian reader

Of Kimchi & Ink [mini-series masterlist] > Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 ; Part 5 // AO3 link - NSFW!

Tattoo Artist & Piercer Minho x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist Changbin x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist Hyunjin x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist Jisung x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist & Shop Manager Felix x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist Seungmin x ???

There's nothing here yet

Tattoo Artist & Piercer Jeongin x ???

There's nothing here yet

Permanent Series Taglist: @the7deadlysans @resi4skz @mimililylupinblack @darthmaddie25 @wolfbc97 @3rachasdomesticbanana @aiko0invalid @beautyinhypnosis @ldysmfrst @lolareadsimagines @bubblebisk @babymbbatinygirl @solandiszale @n0y4 @renjunniex @jisunglyricist @youtifulish @palindrome969 @chuuyaobsessed @tirena1 @lilpuffysblog @ivydoesit23 @p0eticjust1c3 @andjeoidjavo @itsacatastrophe-xo @bandolls @avieeha @amaranthlvr @hongtyong @bowsnbang

Taglist for Individual Members: Lee Know: Changbin: Hyunjin: Han: Felix: Seungmin: I.N:

Ah, Sorsha I love your brain so much.

Body Language

NSFW // minors do not interact

Pairing: Lee Minho x female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers // romance and smut

Word count: 5.2k approx. mostly spicy smut 🌶️

Story: whilst attending a gathering at Felix’s apartment, you meet his new housemate, Minho. You don’t speak Korean, and Minho knows very little English, but somehow he understands exactly what you need.

Warnings: mentions of physical disability (reader has a hand impairment and wears a leg brace), anxiety and body image issues. Smut warnings below.

Note from Sorsha: This is my first piece where I talk about disability and body image issues. A person’s experience of living with disability is unique to them. I’m not implying that all people with disability experience anxiety or self-consciousness around their disability. But I do personally live with a physical disability and can only draw from my own experiences. Unfortunately my experience doesn’t include having hot sex with Minho 😫

Smut Warnings: unprotected piv sex (pull out method 🫣), oral sex (f. Rec), nipple play, aftercare.

I hope that even if you don’t have lived experience of disability that you still read this story as I think the character will still resonate with many of you.

Love you, and enjoy xxx

—————————

You take a deep breath as you approach the door of your friend’s apartment and ring the doorbell. While you wait for an answer, You look down at your chosen outfit. A White floral print on duck egg blue background ensemble of a tight tank top and matching maxi skirt. The skirt has a split up the front of one leg, your “good” leg. You always seem to refer to that leg as your “good” one. It isn’t even all that good, it just works better than the other leg. The one with the leg brace. No heels for you, but you’re sporting you favourite white sneakers. You run your hands over the fabric, satisfied with how you look today. You look great, and this party is going to be fine. You tell yourself.

But as you wait for the door to open, you can hear many voices from the inside of the apartment, and it makes you feel sick.

It isn’t the leg brace that makes you self-conscious, or that your balance isn’t so good. You actually “embrace the brace” because it is a tool to help you do what you want and need to do. It’s your hands that are the problem. No one can really see anything is wrong, not unless they look closely and really pay attention. But they hold you back from interacting with the world the way you want. Your impairment makes fine motor tasks near impossible. You can’t even undo buttons to save your life. And writing, well that went down hill at some point in the last three years, and you can barely fill out a form these days. Not being able to play guitar anymore is pretty shit too.

But your biggest anxiety inducing situation is eating in front of strangers. Cutting up food is awkward, holding finger food is risky for the floor and your clothes, and fucking hell, if chopsticks are involved you’re doomed to starve.

You are anxious. You hadn't anticipated how anxious you were going to feel when you told Felix you’d come to celebrate his promotion. But of course Felix didn’t quite know the full extent of the dread that filled your body whenever you had to be in a “dining” setting. You’d confided in him about your fears and anxiety somewhat, and he’d promised that it would all be okay and you could use anything that would help.

“It’ll be just a small gathering, y/n.” He’d smiled at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You didn’t want to say no.

And now here you are, at your friend’s. You have turned up. You haven’t bailed.

But you you want to run away. No. You will stay, even if you don’t get to eat.

“Y/n!!!” Felix beams at you as he opens the door. “Come in, love.” He steps to the side allowing you to enter the apartment. Sure enough there are a dozen or so people already mingling and chatting. Music was playing from a Bluetooth speaker over on the right.

“Are you feeling, okay?” Felix whispers in close to your ear, and you nod and swallow hard. You’re not really okay. You tell yourself that nothing bad is going to happen. That no one is even going to care, and as you find a place to sit and take in your surroundings, you realise no one is even looking at you. See, it’s fine. This isn’t that bad. You are okay. You don’t recognise anyone, they seem to be Felix’s work friends, whereas you are his childhood friend, but after about ten minutes of polite hellos, and introductions, you begin to feel your nerves settle just a little bit.

“Y/n, want a drink?” You look up to see Felix offering you a can of soft drink. You nod and your eyes flicker to the man standing beside him. A man you have never seen before. This must be Felix’s friend from Korea. From what Felix had said previously, he has moved here for a while for work and study. What is his name again?

“This is Minho.” Felix gestures to the man standing nervously beside him. Minho. “Hello, Minho. I’m y/n.” You smile. But Minho simply nods curtly, barely making any eye contact with you.

“He’s nervous. He doesn’t speak much English yet.” he chuckles and opens the can of drink for you before passing it to you. You use every ounce of concentration to grasp the can securely, hoping to god you don’t drop it and spill it everywhere. Satisfied you have got a good hold on the can, you look up to find Minho has disappeared.

“Oh, he’s gone?” You say surprised.

“He’s just gone to start bringing the food out. He loves cook-”

“Lix!” A voice from across the room cuts him off.

“Excuse me for a sec.” Felix pats you on the shoulder as he walks away in the direction of the voice.

Minho returns the room shortly after with trays of what looks to be various finger foods, and begins to place them on the coffee table and dining table that has been set up to the side of the living room. Mini pizzas, fried chicken pieces, some type of vegetarian situation, and several other awkward looking foods that you were not planning to attempt to eat. Although, it all looks absolutely scrumptious. You feel your stomach rumble and you regret not filling up on food beforehand.

You watch the other people pick some food and use flimsy napkins as plates. It looks so easy for them, and you feel a pang of jealousy. Stop that now. You tell yourself. How can you solve this problem? You need an actual plate, and maybe a coffee mug to have another drink in, you think, looking at your tight grip around the now empty can. You look around the room and see Minho standing to the side watching the positive reaction to the food. Everyone is absolutely loving it. You look back at Minho again and catch his gaze on you. He looks at you quizically and then turns to go back into the kitchen. Fuck! You must look like a stuck up bitch.

Okay, let’s go find a plate and a fork, and a cup, or you’re just going to miss out on eating altogether. All you need to do is get up and go to the kitchen. This is always how your internal dialogue goes. You need to plan in your mind how you are going to navigate your surroundings. Are there any obstacles you need to work your way around? Which is your quickest route?

You enter the kitchen surprised to see Minho still working away chopping food, even though there is already plenty of food in the living room. Your eyes drift over his frame, and you’re surprised by the flushed feeling in your cheeks. He is attractive. Felix had mentioned he was a dancer with a passion for cooking. Hmm.. yes he definitely has a dancer’s body. You can tell his thighs are toned from the way his trousers cling to them. You bite your lip as you eyes follow his thighs up to his taught ass and you bite down even harder on your lip. Fuck. Stop looking at him, you tell yourself. You quickly lift your gaze to his upper half, his thin cotton button down draping over his back muscles. And his arm. Fuck! You can’t stop staring at the veins in his forearm as he chops a tomato.

You are suddenly brought out of your not-so-innocent thoughts when the knife in his hand stills. Shit. You quickly remember why you came in to the kitchen in the first place, and open the overhead cupboard to fetch a mug, and opening the fridge to see what beverage options there are.

Your breath catches in your chest when out of nowhere, a veiny hand grabs onto the fridge door, opening it further and reaching in to grab two cans of soft drink. You step out of the way to give the owner of the hand room, only to find Minho standing there with a Sprite in one hand and a Coke in the other, holding them both up to you in a way that could only mean he’s asking you to choose one. But all you do is stare blankly at this gorgeous man in front of you.

Minho nods his head, gesturing for you to take one. Fuck his eyes are captivating. You reach out to choose the coke, but instead of him handing it to you, he takes both cans to the counter and places a second mug down next to yours. You watch him, intrigued, as he opens both cans - one handed - and fills the mugs part way with the drinks. You take a step closer, wrapping your hand around the handle of the mug of coke, and tentatively make eye contact with him again. “Thank you.” You whisper. He nods shyly in return and mumbles a “your welcome.” Then gets back to what he was working on.

You don’t move. You barely breathe. This can’t take your eyes off of him. You are sure he can feel your eyes on him too, because his movements are little stiffer, more hesitant than when you first walked into the kitchen and he didn’t know you were there. You wondered if you were making him nervous.

He takes two plates and begins to arrange much of the same food he’d taken out to the gathering earlier. Mini pizzas, fried chicken, but also a little salad on the side. Then he proceeds to cut up everything up into bite size pieces. On both plates. What is he doing? You are intrigued. To finish off, he gets two forks out of the cutlery drawer and takes both plates over to the little two seater table in the opposite corner of the kitchen. And then he’s brushing past you to take the two mugs of soft drink, setting them down with the two plates of food.

When he is done, he looks at you expectantly. You are unsure what is happening. His gaze alternates between the little table and you. “Eat with me?” He says carefully. Wait. What? You glance at the plates on the table. This is for you? “You want me to eat with you?” You double check, even though you’re not sure how much he understands. He nods with a smile and sits himself down in one of the chairs.

Slowly, you make your way to the other chair and nervously sit down opposite him. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself. The plates of food, all chopped up small, coupled with the cold drinks in what one would normally drink a hot beverage from, looks exactly how you set up your own dinner. At home, you have a special knife to cut your food up and you make a mental note to start keeping it in your handbag. But are you allowed to carry knives around like that?

“You don’t like?” Minho breaks your thoughts again.

“Yes… No… I mean I do like.” You say and stab your fork in a piece of chicken and pop it into your mouth. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head. “Oh my god, Minho!” You say with your mouth full. “This is delicious!” You cry. “Yum!”

Minho smirks, a satisfied look on his beautiful face. “Yummy?” He asks. You nod frantically. “So good. Yummy.” You grin back, before going in for more food.

Minho digs in too, and as you both fall even more silent than you had already been so far, you wonder why Minho hasn’t joined the others in the other room. Maybe he’s shy? Maybe he’s unsure because of the language barrier? But he seems so confident, and you imagined that if he were surrounded by his people he’d be boisterous and maybe even a little obnoxious. He has that look about him. Devious. As you place the last bit of food into your mouth, you realise that you hadn’t even thought about your anxiety for a while. Minho, a complete stranger, has made your dining experience one of the least stressful in a long time. And you hadn’t even had to explain anything to him. Felix must have mentioned something to him, you decide. How else could he have known what you needed?

You look up and give Minho the biggest, most thankful and authentic smile. “Thank you, Minho. That was so fucking good.” His eyes blink rapidly at your use of the word fucking, and he quickly breaks eye contact, and a look of confusion crosses his face. His cheeks turn a shade of pink. Hmm, so he knows that word?

“There you two are!” You both look up startled as Felix enters the kitchen and crouches down beside you both. He scans the empty plates and peeks into your coffee mug curiously.

“Thank you Felix.” You say, but he looks confused. “For what, love?”

“Letting Minho know my challenges…you know, with food.”

“Honey, I never told him anything.” He shrugs. “But I probably should have. Fuck, I’m a shit friend, I didn’t even see if you needed anything.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we are all heading into town now. Are you going to come?”

You glance at Minho who seems to be pretending to be interested in how his Sprite looks swirling around his mug, and then you look back at Felix. He shakes his head “Minho already told me he won’t be coming out.”

Oh. You take a moment to consider how your night would pan out if you went out with the group. It would most likely be fun, although your feet would hate you in the morning. A night out is extremely tiring. You cast your eyes around the kitchen. There are plates, pans, rubbish absolutely everywhere, and who knows what state the living room is in? If Minho was left here on his own, you were positive he’ll clean it all up himself.

“No, I think I’ll just stay here. Help tidy up.” You say brightly. Felix raises his eyebrows and looks to Minho and says something to him in Korean. You watch Minho as his eyes widen and when blink rapidly as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Eventually he meets your eyes and offers one polite nod. You nod in return, like you have both just agreed on something important, and you feel a nervousness in your stomach. Or is the feeling something else?

“Well,” Felix stands up. “I may or may not be back before dawn. If you want to crash here tonight, y/n, you know you are more than welcome, right?” He gives you a hug and then hugs Minho. They exchange a few more words, and you are sure Felix has just teased Minho, because Minho suddenly raises his voice in a loud “Ya!” making you jump, and play punches Felix in the arm. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” He laughs as he leaves you and Minho alone once more.

———

After the group has left, and after Minho cuts you a second piece of cheesecake, you watch him begin the mammoth task of cleaning up. The place feels so silent, apart from Minho pottering around collecting plates. You retrieve a garbage bag from the third drawer down in the kitchen, because you know where everything lives at Felix’s, and go about the apartment collecting any rubbish. You aren’t really sure how much help you’re going to be, but thankfully most people had only used napkins and canned drinks, so most of the washing up wasn’t the breakable kind. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils mostly, and you find you are managing quite alright with putting those away in their homes.

Once everything was relatively tidy again, you dim the kitchen lights a little, because your eyes are tired, and set to work filling up the kettle. “Minho, would like a coffee?” you gesture to the jar of instant coffee. His eyes light up. “Mmm, coffee. Yes…please.” He smiles. “Okay, great.” You chirp spooning out the coffee and open the fridge for milk. Again, just like before, Minho’s veiny arm grabs the fridge door. But instead of grabbing the milk, like you expect, he closes the door and gently grasps your arm and turns you so your back is against the bench. The gesture is soft and gentle, not aggressive or demanding, and it makes your breath stop. Your hands grip the countertop on either side of you, trying to steady yourself in this unexpected situation. He is standing directly in front of you, close, and there is nowhere for you to avert your eyes. He swallows hard and stares into your eyes questioningly. You open your mouth to speak but you don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter though, because Minho speaks first.

“Thank you.” He whispers. You aren’t entirely sure what he is thanking you for, but you assume he means helping him tidy up. “For eating with me.”

Your heart absolutely melts. Who is this man? “You’re welcome.” You choke, staring back at him just as intently. His brown, almond eyes convey a myriad of emotions. Nervousness, desperation, hope, desire. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then lower as he takes a really good look at your body, before returning to your lips. Then his eyes drop to one of your hands. He reaches for it, closing the gap between the two of you in the process, and brings your hand to his lips. You are caught off guard at this gesture. You don’t really like bringing attention to your hands, and having Minho deliberately tending to them makes you feel exposed. You try and pull away, but Minho just brings your fingertips back to his lips and proceeds to kiss the backs of each of your digits. Slowly. One by one.

You suck in your lower lip, both frightened and aroused in equal measure. He lowers your arm down to your side, but still holds your hand securely, and he brings his other arm to rest on your hip.

“This? Okay?” he asks, trying to guage your reaction to his touch. You nod. That’s all you can do.

You feel a heat wash over your body, and you know you are blushing. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around and there is an unmistakable ache in your core. You bring your free hand to rest on his bicep, and you bravely pull him closer to you. He reads this gesture as invitation to lean in closer to you. His eyes still linger on your lips, and his warm breath on your skin makes you quiver.

“This? Okay too?” he whispers in a husky voice, sending shock waves straight to your cunt. “Yes” you squeak and Minho chuckles low before turning serious again. The silence in the room suddenly feels excruciatingly loud as Minho pauses, centimetres from your lips, and it feels like you’re frozen in time. His lips brush yours in a featherlight kiss. It is barely even a kiss, but it feels more intense and passionate than any other “first kiss” you’ve had. He pulls away slightly, only to come back in with more intensity. He let’s go of your hand and cups your jaw instead, pulling you in towards him. You part your lips in the hopes he will explore you with his tongue, and he immediately does.

You feel yourself losing your balance slightly and grip onto Minho tighter. He slides his hands around to the back of your thighs and lifts you effortlessly setting you down on the counter. He breaks the kiss, panting and out of breath, and leans his forehead on yours to compose himself. You rest one hand on the back of his head, your fingers threaded through his dark brown locks.

Once he’s composed himself, Minho suddenly drops to his knees in front of you, taking you by surprise. You watch in anticipation as he very slowly, and very intentionally, lifts your skirt and drapes the fabric over your knees. You feel a surge of embarrassment and want to hide, and you berate yourself for how easily all that hard work of “self-acceptance” has come undone in a single moment. You force yourself to look down at Minho to find he has a hand resting on the velcro fastening of your leg brace, and he is looking up at you waiting. “This? Okay?” he repeats the same sentence as before as his fingers undo the strap a fraction. You nod. “Yes, it’s okay.”

You watch Minho’s expression intently, trying to catch any glimmer of disgust, or worse, pity, but you see none of that from the man at your feet. He carefully removes your brace and shoe, placing it carefully on the floor. Then he removes your other shoe and places that neatly beside the first. Next, he peels off your socks.

You have never felt so exposed in your entire life as you do right now. But as Minho starts to kiss and caress your calves as he makes his way back up to standing, you realise he is captivated by you. And as he pushes your knees apart to makes space for him to come in close to you, you feel that he is indeed very aroused by you too. It makes you hungry for him, and you reach up to the buttons on his shirt. There is no way you can undo these yourself, but it’s okay because Minho’s hand is there and he unbuttons his shirt swiftly with one hand while you watch in awe. You help him slide the shirt off his shoulders and it drops to the floor. Minho hurries to peel your top off over your head, discarding it carelessly. He is focused on only one thing now, the clasp of your simple cotton t-shirt bra, and he undoes it like a pro. You raise your eyebrow at him, suspicious as to why he is so skilled at undressing. But he just smirks and let’s your bra fall away.

He immediately takes a nipple in his mouth and cups your other breast. You arch your back into him and hum a “yes, Minho, yes.” He moans in reply and you rake your hands through his hair, panting as he rolls his tongue over your hardened nipple.

“Minho? Your bedroom? Hmmm…” you moan. “Bed?” You throw the words around hoping he understands. He lifts his head to look at you and you nod your head towards the hallway where the bedrooms are.

He wastes no time lifting you off the counter and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist. He devours your lips with his as he carries you to towards his bedroom, stopping on the way to press you against the wall in the hallway. You moan again, and throw your head back while he hisses as he grinds his hardness against your clothed cunt. Your body is craving his, and you would absolutely let him fuck you right then and there against the wall if he wanted to.

He pulls you away from the wall, biting and sucking the skin on your neck as he carries you to his room and carefully lays you on his bed. He continues to kiss you, alternating between your mouth and breasts, like he can’t decide what to settle on.

His kisses slowly move lower down your body, peppering your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your skirt. He lifts his gaze to check in with you yet again, and you nod your head, giving him permission to remove your skirt, leaving you only in your pale lavender cotton briefs. Minho’s face hovers incredibly close to where you’re aching to be touched. He hums in approval as he traces a finger over the wet patch of your underwear and brushes it over your clit, watching the fabric cling to your lips as he does so. You suck in a breath at the sensation. He smirks, satisfied with your response, then rubs his finger over your clit again. “Fuck!” you cry out. He locks eyes on you while he rubs a little harder. You furrow your brows and beg him with your eyes to remove your panties.

He peels your underwear off and you let your legs fall open for him, offering yourself to him completely. He doesn’t go straight for your cunt, but tenderly kisses your inner thighs and slowly makes his way to your centre. He knows, he has to know, what this is doing you. How wet, how soaked you are. How much you need him inside of you. “Minho, please.” You sob his name. He replies by licking a stripe from your entrance to you clit. Your hands fling to his hair, holding him against you, and he stops his teasing. He’s on a mission to take you to the stars.

His tongue slips inside you while his fingers finds your clit again. You are barely holding on by a thread as he expertly tongue-fucks you. And then he swaps, bringing his fingers to your entrance and tongue to your clit. He crooks his fingers, somehow knowing exactly where that spot is. You whimper, cry out, moan, almost choke on air, as he digs into that spot over and over, and his tongue laps at your clit in some kind of synchronised dance. It’s relentless, and you can feel the tightness inside you about to - “Oh…Ohh…I’m…I’m coming.” You cry as your orgasm surprises you. It is fast and intense, and you feel your walls clenching and releasing rhythmically.

Minho lifts his head, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction and his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He takes a good look at your pussy, before quickly discarding his trousers. Your eyes widen when they land on his hard cock. Mouthwatering. Veiny like his arms. Fucking perfect. You don’t take your eyes off of it, and you lick your lips when you see pre-cum leaking from the pinkish tip. Minho kneels between your legs, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him rub the tip along your lips. Your vagina clenches in desperation to be stretched and filled. You swallow and look up at Minho. His gaze is fixated on the tip of his cock as it pushes against you and threatens to slip inside. His eyes are hooded and full of desire, his lips are parted, perhaps in awe. Then he looks up, catching your gaze, asking for permission. He needs to be inside you. You can tell because he looks like he is absolutely going to die if he doesn’t fuck you soon. But there is also hesitation in his eyes. You know he doesn’t want to hurt you or take advantage of you.

Your reach up and cup his cheek and nod your head. Then you reach down and grasp his length, relishing in how hard he feels in your hand, and you feel like a fucking goddess when his body shudders in some sort of primal way. You let go of his cock and return to leaning on both your elbows. He crashes down on top of you kissing you, transferring your juices from his mouth to yours. And then you feel it, his thick, hard cock stretching you open. He holds your face close to his, keeping eye contact as he slowly stretches you, sinking deeper and deeper inside of your body. He mutters something in Korean, and it turns you on beyond belief. You know he notices your body’s response to the way he’s speaking, because he continues to say things, watching your reaction. Even though he you can’t understand him, his tone is gorgeous, and your body doesn’t care what he is saying. It’s just responding.

Your bodies are sweaty, your cunt wet and noisy, and with each thrust a loud slapping sound resonates in the room. Minho’s noises become a mixture of Korean words, grunts, hisses, and even growls, as he builds the pace, and it only turns you on more. You respond with your own moans and whimpers, crying out every time his cock kisses your cervix.

Sweat drips off his nose, and lands on you as he repositions himself slightly so he can watch his cock fuck in and out of you, all whilst still moving his hips expertly, finding that spot again.

Watching Minho watch himself fucking you is the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen. He is concentrating so hard on chasing both his and your pleasure. He’s so precise in his movements. Careful. Controlled. Measured. But you want him to lose himself to the moment. You want him to forget himself.

Without thinking, you reach up and tap him on the shoulder. He stops immediately and his eyes widen with worry as he tries to work out what is wrong. You pat your hand on the mattress beside you, indicating you want him to lay down. He does as you ask and you throw your leg over to straddle him. He grins up at you and you can’t help but grin back. He holds your hip with one hand, helping you lift up enough for him to guide his cock back to your entrance with his other hand. You both exhale in relief when he is snuggly back inside.

Minho waits for you to take the lead, and you experimentally grind your hips. The angle feels incredible. He is so deep inside you, your bodies flush with each other. Minho helps you set a steady rhythm and pace by guiding your hips back and forth along his length, and you are on the brink of your second orgasm. You sob at how good he feels inside of you and lean down onto Minho’s chest where he holds you close. He digs his heels into the mattress and begins to brutally snap his hips up into you. The force of each thrust takes your breath away and you come hard around his cock, crying out his name. You finally feel Minho snap and he somehow has you on your back again. You hold onto his shoulders as he knocks the breath out of you with each forceful thrust. And then he pulls out of you moaning as he paints hot ropes of cum all over your stomach. He collapses on top of you panting trying to catch his breath, neither of you caring in the slightest about the stickiness between your bodies.

Eventually your breath returns to normal, and Minho slips off the bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He disappears out of the room only to return with a warm cloth, a mug of water and the items of clothing you had left in the kitchen. Somehow he is able to hold everything at once. You watch him clean you up and offer you the drink. You gulp it down, not realising how thirsty you are while he goes to his chest of drawers to retrieve an oversized t-shirt for you to wear.

He leans in to kiss you. “This… this was okay?” he asks softly. You nod. “Yes.” And he grins sheepishly, pulling you down beside him and curling up behind you whispering words in Korean as you fall asleep.

—————

A/n: I had someone ask me since writing this how LK knew what reader needed. I suppose I wanted to tap into Minho being rather observant of other people’s needs (and I didn’t convey that well), or maybe Felix did say something to him afterall? I will leave it up to you to decide how you want Minho to know her needs.

Xxx. Sorsha

@channieandhisgoonsquad @chansmanda @antoniorhinothethird @queen-in-the-shadows @queenmea604 @lyramundana @2chopsticks2eyes @noellllslut @its-hannjisung @thatonenoona @ddyskz @bethanysnow @weareapackofstrays

---

Saviour | bc

❝𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.❞

↳ In a post-apocalyptic world where only the toughest survive, you have a singular purpose: find the leader of the mysterious gang that took everything from you, and end him.

↳ 15.5k

↳ Bang Chan x female reader

↳ Zombie apocalypse au, mafia au, mafia leader Chan, starring skz ensemble, strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut

! Explicit content, violence, adult themes throughout, suitable for 18+ readers only !

「© May 2021, rewritten August 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

Through the crumbling remains of the once vibrant metropolis of New York, you walk alone.

Feet sore and legs aching, the pain is a reminder of how long you’ve been wandering. Your clothes cling unforgivingly to your sweat-drenched skin, every breath you rake in is a scrape of acrid air down your throat. The backpack strapped tightly around you weighs considerably less than it used to, and that’s not half the relief it should be.

Passing a destroyed shop front, the sign of which reads a faded red ‘DELI’, you spy a stack of plastic crates. With the weight of exhaustion slowing you, you pause to sit down, unlatching the clasp of the backpack. It falls from your body with a thump; your shoulders thank you for the break.

It feels like summer now. The days are longer, nights warmer. You squint and look up; the encroaching sunset stretches hues of pink and orange over the derelict landscape, what little glass remains in the skyscrapers catches sharp rays of waning sunlight. Shrubs and wild foliage sprout amongst the broken concrete, the streets and buildings long since abandoned by civilisation for nature to reclaim, perfect habitats for the small animals that dart about the city scavenging for food. In that you are not so different. Structures that still stand do so with a dark and deathly quiet, their depths inhabited by undead nightmares that human reason was forced to comprehend when the world fell. Avoiding them isn’t too cumbersome a task; keep to the open streets, travel in daylight, sleep lightly and only when the insomnia will allow (for you’ve come to learn that the brain protects the body, and if it’s denying you sleep, it’s for your own good).

With some time left before sundown proper, you take a moment. Fishing inside your backpack, you retrieve your trusted water bottle, holding it to your ear and giving it a shake; your heart sinks. Water and food now a scarce luxury, you’ve seen one too many times how strong a force it can be in driving men to madness. Friends against friends, brothers against sisters; sometimes it’s hard to tell the creatures from the humans. You’re glad to be able to say you’ve abstained from such barbaric means. Indeed, you’d sooner give up what little you possessed than resort to hurting another in the name of survival. Something of an odd take in this world, you suppose, but integrity ought to mean something still, to someone. Identity ought to be worth more, when there is so little to be owned by so few— even if it’s likely to cost you something in this world karma has long since abandoned. You’ll pay the price.

But there are those who are not so prepared to; those like him and his gang of brutes that run from camp to haven, city to town, destroying and killing as they go. You know all too well the ease with which they rob the vulnerable of whatever they may and murder the weak. You still recall the smell of the blood; the sickly tang of iron in the air that welcomed your return to camp from a scouting venture. The bodies and the destruction, unable to identify the corpses of your friends from those of the dead ones, for there was no end to the gore. Caches of weapons upturned and emptied, food and medicine stocks raided, tents trampled to ruin. Yet amongst the despair that threatened to end you—for how could you possibly go on alone now? —there lingered a shred of hope: a tag of crimson graffiti, rivulets of the wet paint running from the great infinity symbol someone had left behind. It was a distinctive mark, one that inspired recollections of whispers about a gang that left such a bold sign in their wake: as much a deterrent to those that might challenge them as an indication of their victory. Rumour had it that the members of said gang sported the symbol on their skin, inked in permanence in what surely constituted some barbaric initiation rite. The leader, you’d heard, was the worst of them all: ruthless, bloodthirsty, a charismatic predator.

In the graveyard that was once your home, you vowed revenge by every oath you knew how to make. You would end him, his gang, his spree of violence and terror if it was the last thing you ever did; and part of you was counting on that.

A capable tracker and efficient scouter, following the infinity symbols had thus far led you to the husk of New York. That, paired with the signs of their presence that ranged from bullet casings to corpses of dead ones made for an easy trail. You just needed to pick it back up.

Scanning the wide street, you wonder how to do that. On your side, to the left and right-hand, there are more wrecked shop fronts, looted and abandoned. On the opposite side is an open area that branches out to a three-way junction, the gently swaying traffic lights creaking in the breeze. Rusted, mossy cars clog the roads, bus stop shelters advertise their years-old movies. As far as anything interesting goes, there’s nothing. Just like every other city you’ve passed through.

Taking the smallest of sips from your water bottle—enough only to wet your swollen tongue—you suppose you should keep moving. Something will turn up; it always does. Screwing the cap on your bottle and tucking it away, you gather yourself. Heading down the broken street and crossing into the road, you keep your eyes peeled for a sign; for anything.

Minutes later and as the stretching shadows of the towering buildings begin to inspire concern, an oddity catches your eye. A reflection in the water-stained glass of a bus stop shelter; you stop abruptly and double back, jogging to the structure.

Sure enough, though light is failing, you see it; great infinity symbols sprayed to a row of old, chained cinema doors, four in bold succession. Above them are neatly painted words, embellished by white outline: ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’

Something always turns up, you grin.

***

“Shit.”

Boot tangled in another clutch of wild bramble, you stoop to free yourself.

A billowing breeze picks up and carries through the gaping underpass tunnel, redolent of dust and stale oil. Not the safest of routes to be taking this close to nightfall, but it’s the same reason that posed your decision for doing so; being under cover in the dark is objectively smarter than lingering on the open streets. Through the centre of the underpass runs a slowly trickling stream, the stillness of the surface eerie in presentation. No life thrives down here, in the dark, dank silence.

Untangled from the bramble with only two cuts to show for it, you start off once more, torch in hand. Sweeping it from left to right reveals the tunnel still empty; a relief. The crunch of silt and pebbles underfoot is louder than you’d like, echoed in the wide and empty space. To attract attention down here would be fatal, and so you keep your steps as light as possible, your pace steady, but not so slow. Exhaustion perches on your shoulders, weighing you down, ever the unwanted companion. You’ve gone too far to turn back; onwards you press.

And then you hear it: a singular solid thud. You freeze, breath catching, limbs seizing.

Thud. Thud.

You sink to a squat, hand smacking over the bright bulb of the torch, stunting its light as the cool sweat of terror sweeps you.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It’s coming from above; from the road. On high alert you listen as the pace of thudding quickens to rapid sprinting, like frantic drums in the deep. A shrill, blood-curdling scream pierces the silence, shattering your composure for tears to run free. You hold still amidst the dreaded panic; the underpass shakes, loose debris falls to disturb the stream. Paralysed by terror, a course of action escapes you, every contingency plan you’ve ever committed to memory slipping through your trembling fingers. To fight or flight would see you in direct danger. If you can but remain unnoticed, they will soon pass.

The banal groans of the undead bleed down from the road, the stench of rot and decay rolling with it. Interspersed with wailing screeches of the creatures that have mutated beyond any form of humanoid, you find those to be the source of your true fear; there’s no outrunning them, no fighting them off.

Gut churning an unpleasant sickness of anxiety and in such a desperate state as praying normally calls for, you end up doing just that. Closing in on yourself, cowering from the monsters, circling a prayer to any deity observing that they will simply pass you by; that all will be okay.

It’s the sickening crunch of bones breaking that forces you to see what befalls you; peering down the underpass through the dim, a heaped figure rises from the ground, silhouetted by the last touches of natural light. You watch in unadulterated horror as it shambles unnaturally into the tunnel; the right leg is broken, the wrist contorted around, the neck snapped a clean ninety degrees for the head to hang uselessly. Hiding no longer an option, you rise slowly, careful steps backing away. It has yet to see you, and with a little luck, won’t at all.

Crunch.

A sharp snapping of twigs and brambles gives you away; your heart both sinks and rears with fear. The dead one stiffens with attention, its sickly yellow eyes trained on you like round bulbs through the darkness. A second of suspended stillness—

And you run for your life.

A hair-raising wail floods the tunnel, and you dare not look behind you to check on the creature’s shambling pursuit. Adrenaline takes hold, the atavistic terror propelling your sprint through the underpass, your screams of despair and pleas for aid barely contained by willpower, for they’ll do you no good. The dead one’s banshee cry draws attention from the horde above; bodies tumble from the road over both sides of the underpass, their figures plummeting to the concrete with nauseating snaps and—in the cases where the rot is severe—soft skulls and limbs explode to gore on impact. Panic stricken and beside yourself with fear, your desperation sees a route through the creatures ahead still recovering from their falls.

Run. You pant through the burning of your lungs. Run, and don’t stop.

Approaching the border of the underpass tunnel, you make quick (miraculous) work of dodging the creatures that claw and lunge for you, their bodies broken beyond sense, teeth like gravestones gnashing furiously. Crossing under the lip of the tunnel to the street beyond where you might find somewhere to hide, hope is in sight.

Until it isn’t. A brutal impact of sudden weight crushes you from above, winding you of breath. Pebbles scrape your skin, though the creature that’s landed on you is of far more concern; it squirms and writhes monstrously, mostly intact for your cushioning of its fall. No longer able to contain your screams, you struggle against its thin and putrid flesh, hands slipping throughthe thing as you try to keep it at bay. An opaque eye hangs from the left socket, black teeth and rotten gums exposed, for the lips have been chewed away. The stench is unthinkable; of death and bile, of things too horrible to imagine.

“Help me!” you cry frantically; it never works, but what else can you do? The creature gnashes and drools, teeth clicking inches from your face.

“Please, someone! Help!”

Your arms buckle under the weight of it, your strength dissipating. Dead ones crawl out from the underpass, guts trailing across the stone in dark streaks as they make their slow and menacing way towards you.

A thunderclap of sound through the area seems to you to be a product of the imagination; sudden bright beams of light slice the darkness to blind you momentarily. An eruption of gunfire shatters the air, the creature above you explodes into a fine mist of blood and chunks of brain. Smothered in gore and retching, you’re pulled from under the thing by a figure unseen.

“You okay?”

Too dazed to respond, you smear the blood from your eyes, vision tainted. The depth of voice suggests it’s a man that’s just come to your rescue; the white lights silhouette the sharp edge of his jawline, thick hair a mass of curls. You blink to further focus, clarity returning enough that you can make out a dirty red bandanna around his head, a strong, scarred nose and plump lips. He stares at you, brows drawn together. “Did you hit your head?”

His voice is attractive; warm, yet gravelly.

“I... Maybe?” you reply hoarsely.

“Can you walk?”

You look down at your legs. “I think so.”

“That’ll have to do.”

He raises the assault rifle slung around his shoulders, directing it at the approaching dead ones shambling from the underpass, their numbers doubled. It strikes you that this exchange occurred in all of thirty seconds; it felt so much longer.

“Changbin, left!” he shouts, directed at a man several feet away.

“Got it!” Is the response, said man cocking a fierce double-barrelled shotgun, firing blasts of pellets into the horde to tear limbs and skin. You squint and cover your ears, the boom of the weapon almost unbearable.

“Out of the way, lady!”

A second voice from behind you; you watch dumbfounded as another man strides confidently between you and your anonymous saviour, a pistol in each hand. His violet hair flutters with an uprising of breeze, his smile near maniacal when he lifts the weapons and fires consecutive, steady rounds into the dead ones; they drop like dominos, one by one.

“Minho, watch the ammo!” the bandanaed man warns.

The raging gunfire continues, the man beside you picking off those that get beyond the other two. It’s a picture book rescue, can’t be real. After a while—minutes, hours? —he calls to them, “That’s good enough, we’re out!”

At his order, they swiftly fall back.

“You’re coming with us,” he says, rifle swung to his back as he wraps an arm securely around your waist.

“Wait, what—”

Too weak to put up any form of fight, too discombobulated to protest with sincerity, you’re dragged along by his side, forced to keep up with the pace of jog he sets across the concrete, towards the source of the dazzling lights. The other men—Changbin and Minho—run yards ahead.

You wonder if you’ve been somehow desensitised to the imminent danger; all you really feel is his warmth of presence. How long has it been since you felt that?

“Pick it up, Hyunjin’s waiting!” Changbin calls. Minho stops, sending shots in your direction, putting down the dead ones that have enough left of their legs to keep up.

The bandanaed man braces you firmly against him. “Almost there.”

Parked on the roadside and with headlights the strength of industrial spotlights, a military truck waits. The driver revs the engine; Changbin hops into the open back, pulls Minho up by the arm.

“Quickly!” Another man wearing a backwards snapback cap shouts from the truck, his hands cupped around his mouth. “They’re right on your fucking ass!”

You’re hauled into the vehicle by the waist when you’re close enough; you grab the steel bars and pull yourself the rest of the way in, arms protesting the strength required.

“Hyunjin, go!” the bandanaed man commands as he dives inside, narrowly avoiding the lunge of a swift dead one. The snapback-clad man shoves his boot into its face, sending it sprawling to the ground.

“Han Jisung!” Minho swats him. “How many times have I told you not to—”

“Not to go near the dead things, yes, I know. Yo, I was helping! I helped!”

The truck shudders and roars amidst the cry of the blonde driver: “Let’s bounce, baby!”

Tyres screech against concrete, thick smoke of burning rubber pluming from the heavy wheels. Vehicle in motion, it tears off down the dark street, the horde gradually diminishing from sight. It’s only when their ghoulish groans die out and the stench of death gives way to fresh night air that you realise your state; trembling, aching, struggling to breathe.

The click of a pistol’s chamber sounds off beside your head; if you weren’t so thoroughly drained, you’d probably react.

“Minho, Jesus.” The bandanaed man rises quickly from his crouch. “Put that damn thing down.”

“Who the fuck is she?” Minho says calmly.

“How could I possibly know that? Put the gun down.”

“You’re the one that picked her up.”

“She needed our help, I made a call.” He steps forward, eyes darting to the gun. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

Minho’s jaw ticks, but he concedes, lowering the gun and clicking on the safety, an elaborate twirl back to the holster strapped at his thigh. The other two present watch, but say nothing.

The bandanaed man crouches before you. “Are you alright?”

You nod.

“No bites?”

You think about it, then shake your head. You don’t feel like you’ve been bitten. The man rakes a slow, assessing gaze over you, as though uncertain on the matter of trust. Valid, you suppose.

A moment passes, and he sighs. He holds his hand out for you to take, a warm smile offered. Something in your gut clenches; nobody’s smiled at you in years.

“Bang Chan.”

***

“Hey...”

A careful touch cascades over your arm.

“Wake up.”

Never truly capable of falling asleep, the instruction is no task. You crack your eyes open to hazel flecks and a smile of dimples.

“We’re here,” Chan says softly.

With his help, you rise from the bed of the truck, a litany of aches and pains immediately apparent. The brief rest you’d taken—on Chan’s advice and for your own sanity—seems to have made things distinctly worse; now you’re stiff and overtired.

“Where are we?” you ask, looking up at what appears to be some sort of vast hangar, long abandoned. From behind the filth encrusted windows is a dim glow of firelight, the impression of warmth from within.

“Headquarters,” Chan answers. “You’re safe here. Don’t stress.”

He climbs off the truck with ease and turns back, hands outstretched to help you down. You take them, glad of the aid in your fragile condition, yet when he opts instead to hold you by curve of hips and lower you slowly, closely, there’s an altogether different state of mind that’s inspired. Chan’s hands are steady, his physique strong; it’s entirely foreign to be touched so brazenly, but you can’t deny how nice it is. He settles you, and the seconds for which your bodies remain close is painfully brief.

He steps back, heads off towards the hangar. “You must be starving.”

You hadn’t noticed it with everything else going on, but now that you think about it, your stomach growls.

“I could eat.” You shrug.

Inside the building, you’re positively floored. While you’re unsure what a military operation or any such professional camp would even look like nowadays, this is about as close as you imagine it might get. Caches of guns are stacked in organised rows; weapons racks sport a range of perfectly maintained firearms from pistols and bolt-action rifles to semi-automatics. Ammunition cases are labelled appropriately, heavy padlocks and chains strapped to everything. Plasterboard has been erected to create sectional rooms, long, heavy curtains of mismatched patterns hung up and over the gaps in the name of privacy. Movie posters—both legible and not—are pasted to the steel walls amongst licence plates from various states and a collection of polished, painted hubcaps are arranged in a circular rainbow swirl; very art deco. Oil lamps perch on rudimentary shelving, open drums with quietly crackling fires lit inside them warm the hangar through. Aged dust holds in the air, the tang of petrol and old gunpowder lingers. In the centre of the space is a square metal table, foldable telling from the joints in the centre. Spread out on the surface and held down by sealed tins is a map of New York, its surface marked with blue and red ink—some circles, some scribbles—and pins of various sizes.

Chan observes you quietly as you take it all in, lips upturned in a smirk. When you remember how to blink, he gently nudges your elbow.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

You follow him into the depths of the hangar until the smell of industrialism is diminished. He pulls aside one length of a paisley double curtain and gestures for you to enter; stepping inside what looks like a rudimentary mess hall, you’re once again surprised by the level of domesticity. A rectangular makeshift table constructed from timber is draped in a paisley cloth, smooth benches cushioned with foam at its either side. Plastic knives and forks are stuffed into metal mugs and presented centrally, alongside mismatched salt and pepper shakers and a blue porcelain vase of plastic peonies.

“Sit down,” Chan says. “I’ll just be a second.”

You comply, taking up residence at the table, the foam soft to sit on. Nice. Chan disappears to the back of the room, behind another curtain, and you indulge in a rolling of your shoulders. They ache dully, as does every part of you, and in raising your arm to stretch above your head, you’re subsequently hit with the wicked stench of body odour and grime; you gag unceremoniously, quickly lowering your limb. Your shirt is stained beyond salvaging, your hair matted beyond repair. A fine state to be in when meeting the first man worth looking at in years.

Chan returns moments later, a tray of bread, warm beans and tinned hotdogs in hand.

“Sorry it’s not much,” he says as he puts it down in front of you, yet the way your stomach growls in anticipation betrays your delight.

Chan grins. “Go ahead.”

Requiring no more than that, you invade the tray, an involuntary groan of relief slipping from you when the first mouthfuls of real, edible food warm you through. You can’t bring yourself to much care that Chan takes the opposite seat, that your voracious feasting is done so under his quiet, curious observance.

With hunger lessened and the last few crumbs marking the tray, sense returns to you. Dirty sleeve swiped over your mouth, you clear your throat to speak.

“Thank you.”

Chan blinks slowly.

“For this,” you clarify. “For saving me, too. I’m grateful.”

He shrugs gently. “Just tried to do the right thing. You needed help.”

“I know, but... there’s not many people that do that anymore. Help.”

“There’s not many people full stop.”

You nod heavily. “Right.”

“I know what you mean, though,” he sighs. “People are either out for themselves or their loved ones.”

You fiddle with side of the tray. “Which are you?”

Chan puffs a gentle breath. “Life’s not worth living alone,” he says. “My team comes before anything. I’d die for them.”

“And for a stranger, apparently.”

He smiles softly, irreverent hazel eyes finding yours. “You seemed worth it.”

And just like that; there’s a singular thump where your heart exists, an ache wildly unlike the others you’re so plagued with. You swallow dryly, tongue feeling too big for your mouth. Palms suddenly clammy, you drop his gaze.

“Can I ask what you were doing out there?” he eventually asks.

“Trying to find somewhere to hunker down for the night,” you reply, a morsel of the truth. Saviour though he may be, he’s still a stranger.

“In that part of the city? It’s overrun with dead ones.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“This is your first time in New York?”

You nod. “Passing through.”

“There are safer routes to take.”

You eye him dubiously. “Is there any such thing anymore?”

“Sure,” he drums his fingers on the table. “We made them.”

“You and your... team?”

He nods. “Establishing safe routes into the city was one of the first things we did when we settled here. We cleared the dead ones from main roads and the surrounding area, keep it that way with regular patrols. We aim to expand, of course. The more we can reclaim of our city, the better. That’s actually what we were doing when we came across you; we heard the commotion. Haven’t seen a horde that size in a long time.”

“So I’m incredibly lucky then, is what you’re saying.”

“I mean; someone had to be watching over you,” he laughs gently.

A moment of silence passes; Chan fidgets in place, on the cusp of asking something you’re not sure you’ll like.

“What is it?”

He grimaces. “You were really just passing through?”

You cross your arms; you didn’t think you were so easy to read. Perhaps he just has a knack for it.

“Don’t trust me?” you challenge.

“Just covering all my bases. I have people to protect.”

“Because I’m such a threat?”

He rubs his forehead over the dirty bandanna. “People are a threat.”

You take a deep breath, uncrossing your arms. If assuaging him will deter his pestering, perhaps it’s better to be somewhat transparent.

“I’m looking for someone.”

He quirks a brow, intrigued.

“A gang, more specifically, though it’s their leader I want,” you explain.

“What for?”

You swallow thickly, an anxious churning rising in your gut. “They took something from me. Something that can’t be replaced.”

Chan’s face falls. “Raiders?”

You nod. “My camp, my friends. The only home I had since the world went to shit. They destroyed it all.”

Amid your voice breaking, you pause, blinking away the sting onset by vivid recollections of who you once were, what you once had. You breathe in through your nose, collecting yourself.

“So, I’m going to destroy them,” you say sternly. “Make it right.”

Chan shakes his head. “That’s a suicide mission.”

Your silence speaks to your acceptance of that fact. Alarm sparks in the man’s kind eyes; he leans towards you in earnest. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you, but I guarantee it’s not worth throwing your life away over. Revenge isn’t what you need.”

“You don’t know me even nearly well enough to say that and mean it.”

He reaches across the table, hand hovering near yours. “I don’t need to know you to convince you that what you’re doing is foolish. Won’t you let me change your mind?”

And in the subsequent seconds where your gazes hold—sincerity meeting uncertainty—part of you wishes he would. In cementing the point, his hand lowers on yours, warm and strong. Another thump in your chest aches pleasantly; if he were to ask you to stay, to join them and find a new purpose, you might consider giving up your mission and seeking peace. You might, if only it didn’t mean that everything you’d done thus far would be for naught. If only it didn’t mean that the blood of your friends would go unavenged.

You withdraw your hand from under his slowly. “I have to do this.”

Chan huffs softly. “Alright. Then, we’ll help.”

“Wh—”

“Help with what?”

The question comes from a deep, gravelly voice; a man with silver hair cropped short enters the mess hall, his stature lean and slim.

Chan glances over his shoulder. “Felix, your damn hearing is out of control.”

“Yo!” Another voice shouts, this one you recognise from the rescue as belonging to Changbin. Now that you see him in proper light, he’s bulkier in physique than the others. He follows Felix, throwing a muscled arm around his shoulders. Strapped to his back is the same shotgun from earlier; a security blanket, you quickly consider.

“What’s up boss?” Changbin beams, the two men taking up casual seats at the table.

“My blood pressure,” Chan sighs. “I thought you were on watch.”

Changbin shakes his head. “Jeongin took over.”

“By himself?”

“No, man. Minho’s with him. Relax.”

And Chan does, visibly. Changbin unhooks his shotgun and slings it to the table, the carelessness of the motion setting you on cool edge. Felix drags his fingers down the polished barrel, eyes trained to you.

“Did you actually need something?” Chan asks.

“Just scoping things out,” Felix muses. “This the stray you brought back?”

“I have a name,” you quip.

Felix smirks. “A stray with claws. Nice.”

Changbin cranes awkwardly over the table, his sleeve rolling up as he outstretches his hand. “Welcome to the gang, dude. We wear pink on Wednesdays.”

You stifle a laugh, reaching out to take and shake it, eyes naturally dropping to the skin of his wrist exposed.

How funny that a second changes everything.

Inked on Changbin’s wrist in clear, onyx black is an infinity symbol.

In the moment of realisation, everything stops; your breathing, your heart, your ability to think rationally, despite what rolls around in your screaming mind. Changbin’s brow furrows; he follows your gaze to his tattoo, confused. Snatching your hand from his leaves him dumbfounded; even more so when you rise from the bench in a panic, stumbling back from the table.

Chan rises immediately. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“Don’t!” you cry when he steps towards you. “Do not come any closer!”

He lifts his hands in defence. “Okay. I’ll stay right here. What’s going on?”

“Show me your fucking wrist.”

“What?”

“Your wrist!” you yell.

Chan glances at Felix and Changbin; the former is still seated, the latter standing and primed for action.

“Okay,” he says softly, lowering his arm and peeling back his sleeve.

And it’s the same as Changbin’s; inked with infinity. Despair curls around you, so concentrated it’s enough to outweigh the rage you had hitherto nursed so well in preparation for this very moment. They killed your friends. They destroyed your home. They left you with nothing.

The moments that follow are an adrenal blur; you lunge for the shotgun on the table, mere milliseconds quicker than Changbin in retrieving it. A brief fumble with the weight of it—you’ve never handled a gun like this before—and you point the barrel at them, braced firmly.

Chan strategically (unconsciously) positions himself in front of the others, arms once more raised. His eyes are trained to the shotgun, then to you in all your distress.

He calls your name carefully. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. Would you tell me? Talk to me?”

“Talk to a liar?” you seethe. “To a murderer?!”

Chan balks. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!”

“I really don’t. You’re the one with the gun, nobody’s pretending here.”

Changbin strides forward, past Chan. “Put my fucking baby down!”

You thrust it towards him. “Back off! Stay away!”

And Chan drags Changbin back by the shoulder, behind the shield that is his own form, the bigger man stewing in rage. Felix brings him close, arm linked tightly through his.

“You destroyed everything I had,” you exclaim. “Took it all from me! It was you.”

Chan pales, his stance faltering. “Why would you think that?”

You gesture with the barrel of the shotgun towards him; Chan tenses, eyes locked to it.

“Your wrist; the mark. The infamous fucking infinity tag of the gang that raids and kills as they please! There was a camp out west, just outside of Washington. My camp. You left that mark there like a... like a fucking victory sign for everyone to see, but the only one that saw it was me. I bet you didn’t count on there being any survivors, right?”

Weeks of wandering, weeks of nursing your hatred appear to amalgamate in a release of exhaustion so strong, your legs threaten to give out. You tremble violently, the shotgun rattling in your grip. Chan steps forward, his hands still raised. He clears his throat, his voice thick when he speaks.

“I don’t know how to explain this in a way that’ll make you believe me, so I’m just going to tell you straight up; I know which camp you’re talking about it, and we didn’t raid it. I swear to God, we didn’t.”

“You’ll say anything right now! I’m the one with the gun, and I’m not about to let you hurt anyone else—”

“We don’t hurt people,” he presses desperately. “I can’t bear hearing you say that.”

He steps forward again, dark eyes wracked with sincerity and despair. Something tight wrenches your chest; why did it have to end up being him?

“Your camp was attacked by the dead ones.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m telling the truth. You didn’t see their corpses?”

You shake your head, unable to truly recall. There had been so much death...

“We were out scavenging when we heard the screams.”

“Why would you be scavenging that far out?” you snap.

He lowers his hands gradually. “We’ve picked everything nearby clean. New York is a wasteland. The more we need, the further out we have to go. That’s just the way things are.”

And it makes sense, something within you reasons.

“We tried to get to your camp, but we were too late,” he says, jaw ticking with the memory. “All we could do was put down the dead ones and make sure your friends wouldn’t rise again.”

The sob that escapes you is entirely involuntary; everything aches. Your grip on the shotgun slacks.

“As for the supplies; yes, we took them, but only because we thought there was nobody else left that could use them.”

“I could have used them!”

Chan’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry. You’re not entirely wrong in blaming me for their deaths. If I’d just been faster—”

You can’t hear his apology amidst your own turmoil. Bracing the shotgun as best you can, you ask, “Why the graffiti? It’s not a warning?”

“No.” He swallows. “God, no. It’s stupid, actually.”

You wait for the elaboration. He scratches his nape, searching for the words, when Felix approaches his side, putting a hand on Chan’s shoulder.

“It’s a sign of respect,” the elfin man says softly. “Infinity is forever, right? In leaving our mark behind, we promise the people we’ve lost that they won’t be forgotten. That they’ll live on with us, through us, forever.”

Chan’s head hangs low. Changbin turns away, hands in his pockets. Felix drags his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo that set you to such hysteria.

“The ink reminds us of our obligation; to survive and keep fighting for the ones that didn’t make it.”

And in your heart of hearts, you know that what he says is the truth. None of these men are killers, none of their stories fabricated. Such a momentous misunderstanding cleared up should bring relief, yet you rather find that as the image of the murderous gang you’ve held central to your need for revenge melts away, you’re left with a weight of emptiness. Hunting them down was your sole purpose; without it, what have you left? A cruel, hellish world that takes the things you love and besets you with monsters.

You’re wracked with tears of the most excruciating making, the shotgun slipping from your grasp once more. Chan closes the distance, and with one hand deftly takes the weapon while the other draws you near, into chest so firm and embrace so secure. You hear rushed footsteps—Changbin and Felix? —then the swish of a thick curtain, and the tears come willingly, a surge of emotion finally unbottled for you to freefall through in the arms of a stranger that you cling to in your childlike fear.

“I’m so sorry.”

Strong hands soothe your matted mess of hair; you cry harder.

“What am I going to do?” You manage to speak in broken huffs for breath.

Chan says nothing, and holds you still, unwavering. After a suspended moment of silence, where your sobs have eased to stuffy sniffs, he allows you a little room. Searching your face, he says softly, “You should come with us on a run.”

You drag your sleeve over your sore eyes. “Like, a scavenge?”

His lips curve into a slight smile. “Something like that. It’ll take your mind off things for a little while. We can show you how we operate.”

“Would that be... okay?”

“Of course,” he draws you back into his chest. “You’ll be safe with us. With me.”

And your heart pounds despite yourself.

What does it say about the power of the man that, for the first time since the world fell, you feel able to trust in such a promise of safety?

***

“Okay, so—”

There are eight of them.

Eight men that appear to rally under the banner that Chan flies for them. Gathered around the map table in the main area of the hangar, he takes centre stage in addressing them.

“— Seungmin’s intel suggests that, aside from us, there are two other groups of major significance hunkered down somewhere in the city.” He points to a pin stuck in the west side of the map. “You think one of them is around here?”

A striking man with cherry-coloured hair nods. “That’s right.”

“So we would need to take this route to get to them.” Chan traces the map with his index.

“In theory, if the bridge hadn’t been destroyed,” Seungmin says coolly.

“Destroyed?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve blown that shit right up, made themselves a legit safe zone. The only other way through is via the backstreets, but I guarantee they’ve booby trapped those to kingdom come.”

Chan’s jaw ticks.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Seungmin adds.

“Is it ever?” Chan sighs.

“He’s right, boss,” Jisung pipes up. “You know we’re down for a challenge but if these people have gone to such extremes to cut themselves off, you’ve got to wonder if they even want help at all. We’d just be putting ourselves at risk.”

“We put ourselves at risk every time we go out there,” Minho exclaims nonchalantly from his side. “Makes no difference to me either way.”

That earns him a pout of disapproval from Jisung, and in watching the exchange; the way they all talk to one another, it strikes you that there’s connection behind all the organisation. Strong connection. As for Chan’s apparent objective—reaching out to another group to offer them aid? —you wonder on the intelligence of it. The dangers are apparent, the rewards shockingly slight. Still, Chan appears resolute. Such is the nature of the man; to help, to heal.

“I know it’ll be dangerous,” Chan says, “and yes, from the outside it looks like they don’t want any visitors, but they could just as easily be trapped in there with nothing. What starts as a haven can quickly become a prison.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

All eyes turn to the youngest looking among them.

Chan nods. “Go ahead, Jeongin.”

He approaches the map, leaning over it to touch the marked east side. “Doesn’t it make more sense to run to this other camp? It’s easier to get to in the first instance, at least for us. I kind of think they must be more vulnerable too.” He taps a spot with his index. “They’re right next to sewers access here.”

“They’ll have secured that area, surely,” Chan muses.

Jeongin shrugs. “Maybe. I hope so. Not that they could ever totally secure the sewers though; they’re so infested it’s almost better to leave them alone altogether.”

You want to voice your agreement—the dead ones slink to the darkest and dingiest of refuges when the sun rises, the sewer system running under New York favourite among their haunts for its maze-like protection—but refrain from doing so. You’re an observer, you remind yourself. There’s still room for disdain among the group yet; you did pull a shotgun on two of them earlier.

After a moment scanning the map, then assessing the others, Chan collects himself.

“Alright. We run to this camp.”

The other men begin to shift to attention.

“Hyunjin,” Chan calls.

“Yes?” the leggy blonde responds, reclining across a bench.

“Get the truck ready.”

And he rises gracefully, offering a respectful, “Yes, boss.”

“Seungmin, Jeongin, start loading up the supplies. Medicine, food; whatever we can spare.”

The two men nod their understanding and head off across the hangar. Chan looks to his right at Changbin, the man’s shotgun cradled in his arms.

“Weapons inventory, please,” Chan says. “Load us up.”

Changbin grins wide. “You got it.”

Something about the efficiency of the operation awes you; all with their roles and responsibilities yet tethered to Chan at the heart of it all, ever calm and collected. Watching him instruct his team—people he’s spoken of as affectionately as one might family—tells of so much more than the most obvious leadership qualities. Chan is a spectacle; a rarity. A saviour in its purest essence.

With Minho, Felix and Jisung left around the table, Chan speaks to them sternly.

“You know I’ll never ask you to follow me out there. If you want in on this, it has to be your call. I’m as content as always to go alone.”

“Shut up,” Minho scoffs, “you’d crash and burn without me, and you know it. Count me in.”

Chan smiles weakly, the truth of it plain.

“Me too,” Jisung exclaims proudly.

“You’re staying here,” Minho deadpans.

“Wh— But I can help!”

“It’s not happening.”

“Minho—”

The elder then turns to him, hands gentle yet firm on his shoulders. “I won’t be able to focus if you’re there, babe. I know you want to help, but if anything ever happened to you...” He falters. “... If I couldn’t protect you?”

And Jisung weakly acquiesces, nods gently, and curls his arms around the man’s middle to hug him. Your chest tightens inexplicably; how unthinkable that love should still bloom in the wasteland.

“You’re not going without me!” Changbin croaks from across the hangar, weapon-stuffed duffel bags tucked under each arm.

“Alright,” Chan states. “Changbin, Minho and I will take point. Hyunjin designated driver. The rest stay here and hold down the fort.”

In apparent agreement, the group breaks off to make their preparations and conduct whatever rituals bring them the most peace. When alone, Chan turns to you and stands close.

“Ready for this?” he asks you quietly.

“I think so.”

“I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it’ll be.”

You shake your head, hyper-aware of and warm with his proximity. “You don’t.”

He hums, then reaches around to his back, pulling something from the belt of his jeans. When he brings it around, you’re admittedly surprised, and that must be written on your expression.

“Take it,” he urges, handing you the compact revolver.

“Are you sure?”

He reaches for your hand and upturns your palm, setting the weapon on it tentatively. The sleek metal is cool on your skin, but it’s pleasantly light. Definitely something you can handle with ease, you think.

“Better than a shotgun, huh?” He smiles.

You turn it over in your hands, checking the barrel. It’s loaded.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Looking up at him so closely, you’re struck with a giddy swoop, tingles pricking on your skin. Chan shrugs softly; he returns your gaze, holds it.

 “Hopefully you won’t have to use it,” he mutters.

You swallow dry.

“Stay close to me when we’re out there.”

“Only when we’re out there?”

Chan searches your face intently, a brief yet subtle bite of his bottom lip betraying what tension you at first thought was one-sided. Whatever lives here, he feels it too. He puffs a gentle breath, then backs away a step, his jaw locked tight.

“If things get bad, you run, and you don’t look back,” he says.

And as he walks away across the hangar, you hope he doesn’t expect compliance with the final instruction.

You refuse to run from him.

***

Hyunjin navigates the ruins of New York like it’s his personal playground, and in that, there’s something to be respected.

You’re not sure you could commandeer a truck this size slowly through empty roads, let alone at top speed through ones strewn with debris and destruction, but Hyunjin somehow manages it with envious efficiency.

The rising sun crawls over and above the jagged skyline, its early light all too welcome. The darkness peels from the streets, the shadows retreat to their derelict homes to await cover of night once more, and it feels all that much easier to breathe. Still, Hyunjin keeps the full beam headlights primed, slicing rays of blinding white through the dim that sends nervous wildlife skittering back to the safety of their concrete refuges.

Chan and Minho ride with you in the bed of the truck, Changbin takes the passenger seat. They exchange few words—the few are quiet and abrupt—and it strikes you as odd given what you’ve gleaned of their natures until you realise the silence is for Hyunjin’s benefit; he drives with unwavering focus, and they’re loath to create any such distraction.

The steady thrum of the engine is married to occasional pops of the aged exhaust; it’s worse going over uneven terrain, but for as long as Hyunjin perseveres, so does the vehicle. The morning air is still pleasant, yet to adopt the acridity of summer. It feels nice through your hair, on your skin.

“We’re close, boss,” Hyunjin calls from the cab.

Chan straightens in his seat, readjusting the rifle strap taut across his broad chest.

“Ready?” He addresses everyone.

Changbin nods and cocks his shotgun, Minho secures his thigh holsters, the safety on his dual pistols disengaged. The truck turns into a long stretch of mostly clear road; abandoned vehicles appear to have been manoeuvred to the pavements, all obstacles and debris removed. Standing from your seat and craning over the cab, a few hundred yards ahead is a sturdy wire fence. Ramshackle signs are welded to the wire, warning off intruders and looters on pain of death, which only serves to further confuse when you’re near enough to tell the double gate that should be securing it is instead swung wide open. Beyond the fence is an overgrown lawn; a playing field, you think, telling from the rusted football posts that stand tall. The building that overlooks it all is vast in length and several stories tall, its rows of windows mostly intact as they catch the first morning’s rays. While structurally sound, the exterior still leaves something to be desired; ivy crawls with abandon and the once white pebbledash browns unpleasantly, stained by weather and neglect.

Hyunjin rolls the truck to a gradual stop. “What do you think?”

“Take it slow,” Chan calls, scanning the grounds.

Driving through the wrecked gates, it belatedly dawns on you what this place is.

“A high school?” You look to Chan.

“Once upon a time,” he mutters sadly.

Your stomach twists uncomfortably as you look upon the eerie stillness of the building that now seems so melancholy. A plastic bag tumbles lazily across the deserted playing field. Minho stands close to Chan.

“Something’s not right,” he says quietly, and in voicing the obvious, Chan’s face simply darkens.

Hyunjin pulls up gently before the apparent main entrance of the school, and a tickling of anxiety spikes as Chan and the others hop down from the bed. You follow suit as best you can, glad of Chan’s hand to help you. He rounds the truck, reaches through the front window to pat Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“Leave the engine running.”

“Got it.”

As a group, the three men traverse the few concrete steps to the main double doors, Changbin with his shotgun primed, Minho with his weapons still holstered, yet on clear high alert.

“It’s too fuckin’ quiet,” Changbin grumbles. “Why is there nobody on watch? We should have been shot at by now.”

Chan turns to you, pushing his curls back over his bandanna. “Stay close.”

Taking point, Minho pushes the nearest set of double doors open, the glass frame streaked with filth. A piercing creak whines from the hinges; he grimaces (as do you) and stops, breath bated. With no responding sound, he shoves it the rest of the way, making room for all to enter.

Inside, the light reaches nothing. Darkness reigns supreme, the entrance corridor stretching out endlessly to your left and right-hand. There’s a distinct odour of damp and rot that permeates the heavy air, puddles having formed on the pale blue linoleum, the distant trickle of a leak from somewhere. Tall lockers line the walls, some with their doors open, some with no doors at all.

Minho’s hands hover over his thigh holsters as he and Changbin start ahead, their pace slow and controlled. With silence so oppressive you pick up on one another’s very breaths, you can hardly hope to control the way your heart races with nerves. Several paces behind, you stay close to Chan, his presence a welcome comfort.

“Shit,” Minho curses, having peered inside an open classroom. He gestures to Chan. “Boss.”

To you, Chan hisses, “Stay here,” and rushes to Minho’s position before you’re given chance to complain. You can only watch as the man discovers whatever Minho just did, his shoulders sagging with apparent defeat, his hands raking down his face. Changbin joins them.

“Goddamn it.”

“Looks like it goes this way,” Minho says, pointing at the floor, then down the corridor to the adjacent room. In inching closer and focusing through the dim, you realise the pale blue is stained a distinct aged crimson. Fear seizes you, heart pumping.

A brief check on your state, and Chan follows Minho along the blood trail, the former bringing his rifle around while the latter unclasps his left thigh holster, drawing one pistol. Changbin takes up the rear, and as the three disappear into the quiet classroom, your mind races. This place was supposed to be okay.

Seconds of silence feel to drag out long minutes, yet what breaks it inspires clean terror.

“Boss, no!”

A deafening thunderclap destroys the quiet as a gun fires off, a bloodcurdling scream roots you in place. Up ahead, Minho throws himself out of the classroom, landing on his spine with a hefty thud, dual pistols drawn to tear holes through the dead one that follows him in a crazed lunge. It lands atop him in useless shreds; Chan and Changbin burst from the room, the former coated in blood. Changbin yanks the corpse from Minho to toss aside, offering him a hand.

“Fuck me,” Minho curses. “That was way too close.”

You rush over to them, your focus on Chan. “What the hell happened? Are you—”

But the man simply holds a hand up, his breath coming in rapid spikes. “Quiet.”

All comply, and everything stops.

You hear it before he does; the distant droning groans and gargles stirred by the chaos, initially faint yet growing at a volume so rapid it’s difficult to comprehend. The stench of death and decay rolls through, the resounding tumble of shambling sprinting. Panic curls around you, a cool sweat of terror pricking over your skin.

“Chan?”

The corridor shakes, the linoleum under your feet tremors, and from around the corridor’s end tumble the dead ones; a dozen or more. The creatures at the front smack and collide to the wall with their uncontrolled momentum for the ones behind to bounce off, an uncoordinated frenzy that funnels them in your direction.

“Run!”

Chan’s frantic instruction requires no thought; Changbin and Minho bound off immediately down the corridor. On his way past you, anchored in your fear, Chan grabs your hand to match his pace of sprinting. Instinct takes the lead, your mind driven as singularly as the horde’s behind you; theirs to feed, yours to survive.

At the end of the corridor the flight of stairs is taken two at a time to the second floor, the frontmost dead ones tripping over themselves at the obstacle. Your thighs burn with the exertion; you’d feel it were it not for the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Down the second-floor corridor you sprint as best you can, Chan’s hand still tight around yours.

Changbin points ahead to a set of heavy double fire doors. “In there, quick!”

Slamming shoulder to the bar for them to swing them open, once inside, Minho shoves them closed, propping himself against them. Changbin joins him, bracing for the horde’s impact which follows mere moments after.

A quick assessment of the area reveals it to be a gymnasium turned living space; the polished wooden floor is still marked with the faded white paint of an old basketball court; interior bleachers are stacked along the left and right sides. A walk-in storage cupboard sits at the back, its sliding doors drawn closed. Chan rushes to a stack of broken chairs, snapping one of the wooden legs under his boot with a sharp crunch. He tosses it to Changbin who wedges it under the door bars, locking them in place against the force of the intruding horde. They bend precariously when he and Minho carefully let them go, but ultimately withstand.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” Minho exclaims, dropping to a nearby bench.

“Guess it explains where everyone went,” Changbin huffs. “Jeongin was right; those things are from the sewers.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Minho sighs breathlessly.

“You didn’t smell them?”

“They always smell that bad.”

“Man, come on,” Changbin tuts. “They were so much worse than usual. Like, real shit.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you perch on one of the dusty futons. There are several more like it strewn around, old armchairs and splintered desks no doubt repurposed from the classrooms. Moth-eaten blankets are piled near the broken chairs that Chan so resourcefully made use of. In here, the morning sunlight is free to roam as it will, the multiple skylights allowing for such a thing. Dust motes swirl in the rays, disturbed by the first breaths that have been taken here in a depressingly long while.

The empty moans from behind the doors intensify.

“What are we going to do?” you ask quietly.

Chan, who had hitherto been pacing the room for an alternative route of escape, approaches and pulls you up from the futon.

“Might not seem like it now, but we’ll be just fine. We’ve been in worse spats than this, trust me.”

“I do.”

He blinks slowly. “Good.”

“I just don’t think I’ll ever get used to living in a nightmare.”

He takes your hand gently, squeezes it. “Wouldn’t want you to. We have to hope for more, right?”

“Yo, boss,” Changbin calls. Chan releases your hand; your heart sinks just a little.

“What is it?”

At the rear of the gymnasium, Changbin points to an outcropping of ledge just below the strutted ceiling, where a slim window rests open on the latch.

“There’s our exit,” he beams.

Minho strolls over. “That?” he scoffs. “And how do you expect to wriggle your beefy ass through that tiny gap, exactly?”

“No,” Chan exclaims, “it could work. We just need to reach it and we can loosen the latch.”

He looks around the gymnasium, then strides to the walk-in storage cupboard. Yanking on the door with some force, he disappears inside, and returns a moment later wheeling out a tall, wooden gym horse.

“Minho, help me—”

Together, they manage to drag it across the dusty gymnasium, the wheels squeaking unforgivingly when they angle it beneath the outcropping.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough,” Minho pants.

“Hold up.”

Chan jogs to the broken chairs, rummaging through them until he finds one mostly intact (as far as the legs are concerned). Back at the gym horse, he balances the chair atop it, brow furrowing at the way it wobbles.

“That is precarious as shit,” Minho comments.

“It’ll have to do,” Chan says, glancing nervously at the doors that throb inwards with the growing force behind it. “We have to move. Minho, you first.”

With a deft hop, Minho springs to the top of the gym horse, the picture of elegance. Chan holds the chair legs steady as the man balances on it, reaching to the outcropping and pulling himself up with feline ease.

“Loosen the latch!” Chan calls.

“Get up here first.” Minho turns back, reaching down. “Come on.”

And with a final painful creak of bending metal and crack of splintering wood, the gymnasium doors crash open. Dead ones tumble over themselves in a bid to move as one wave of destruction, their numbers twice what they were.

“Go!” Chan shouts, grabbing Changbin and giving him a leg up to the gym horse, the man grunting with exertion when he’s then forced to balance on the chair. Minho cranes down to him, pulling him up the ledge.

Gunfire suddenly erupts; Chan rains a storm of bullets into the shambling crowd, his rifle held securely and propped against his shoulder. He picks off those closest, empty casings trickle to the ground in a steady stream, as does the blood from the dead ones torn to bits. You cower behind him in the face of it all, tucked into his broad back.

“Boss, come on!” Changbin yells.

“Her first!” He fires again; your ears ring painfully. Downing another dead one, he briefly turns to you, a gentle shove to your shoulder backing you to the gym horse. “I told you to run when things got bad.”

Run from the man that saved you? That’s trying to save you again?

A surge of defiance spurs you to action; determination to earn your place and prove that you’re so much more than a damsel in distress. You walked leagues to find this man and his crew, crossed cities and faced unthinkable danger in doing so. What happened to that girl? Where was she now?

Lost, perhaps, in the face of her turmoil. But no longer.

Gathering your courage, you draw the compact revolver from the band of your jeans, emerging from behind the man. Knocking off the safety and aiming as straight as trembling hands will allow, a single squeeze of the trigger sends a shot whizzing alongside a dead one’s rotten head.

Chan balks momentarily. “What the hell are you doing!?”

The dead one drags its feet, shambling still towards you.

“Will one of you just fucking move!?” Minho yells, drawing his pistols to fire systematically into the horde.

A second attempt to land your shot; a deep inhale and slow exhale, and a bullet straight between the approaching dead one’s eyes sends it sprawling to the ground in an explosion of gore.

“Chan, go!” You fire again, titillated in downing another. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe!”

Potentially very foolish, to stand your ground so vehemently in the face of such imminent threat, but desire to demonstrate your worth instils confidence as to your ability. You can do this. You can save him this time.

“Shit!” Chan curses with little room to argue much more, swinging the rifle to his back as he clambers up the gym horse. An impressive display of agility sees him skipping the chair entirely as he grabs for the ledge and pulls himself swiftly up.

“Alright,” he calls back, “I’m safe, now move it!”

Making a break for the gym horse, you haul yourself up, ears ringing tinny with the consecutive pumps of Changbin’s shotgun and the rhythmic shots of Minho’s pistols covering you. Dead ones drop to join the horrific mess on the gymnasium floor, one after another yet never seeming to make a dent in the horde.

Clambering to the rickety chair, it rocks under your weight. Chan reaches down from the ledge, strong arm outstretched.

“My hand, grab it!”

And you try; his hand is close, so reachable. Yet as the chair gives out beneath you and balance is lost, Chan’s outcry of panic is heard even over the wail of the dead ones.

With a sharp crack of skull and heavy thud of spine, you hit the gymnasium floor. The world spins, your head hot and vision white with the force of impact; you know you’re in danger, that you should get up and move from it, yet function eludes you.

What you think you see is Chan jumping down from the ledge; you think you hear Changbin yelling, “Yo, what the fuck!?”. Blasts of a shotgun take fleshy chunks out of the ones closest; they’re much closer now. Chan rushes to your side, gently helps you from the floor, your senses too dulled to really understand why he’s doing it.

“Get out of here, we’ll find another way!” Chan cries, arm around your waist to hike you up. You’re half-dragged across the gymnasium and into the walk-in storage cupboard; Chan settles you on a stack of gym mats and rushes back to the door to brace it.

“We...” you mumble, still dazed, “... we’re trapped?”

“We’re fine,” Chan grunts. “We’ll be fine.”

And of course, he’d say such a thing. The man who hopes for more, for better. The man who stands against the relentless gnashing of the dead ones at the door, and still maintains that everything will work out.

You might feel better if he simply blamed you.

***

Counting the seconds helps keep you awake.

Potential concussion aside, the numbers remind you that every second ticking by is a second longer that you survive; a good and bad thing in equal parts, you suppose.

The other benefit is, of course, tracking it. You’ve been trapped in the pokey confines of the cupboard with Chan for approaching two hours. The shuffling of the dead ones outside has quieted, their groans not quite so concentrated in frenzy. They’re probably wandering now, amidst the corpses and death. While the break from their onslaught is welcome, you’re by no means free from danger. The slightest sound will once again alert them.

Propped against the same stack of blue gym mats, you sit on the floor side by side. Silence has held for so long, you’re now loath to break it, but in stretching his legs out slowly, Chan does just that.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers gently.

“Better.”

“Your head alright?”

You nod, the ache now mild. You’re sure you’re sporting a wonderful bruise or two. Chan smiles, though it doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I fucked things up so badly.”

Chan frowns, brows pulled together under his bandanna. “This isn’t your fault. I should have made you go first or made that dumb structure sturdier, or something.”

“You’re blaming yourself?”

He sighs. “Who else is there to blame?”

And in a thoughtless moment with intentions of giving comfort, you place your hand over his rested on his thigh. He looks down at it, then at you, turning over his palm to link your fingers carefully. Your pulse inexplicably picks up; you swallow dry.

“I know this wasn’t the ideal first run,” he says, voice a thin rasp.

“Understatement,” you laugh gently.

Chan grimaces. “Right. If things had gone better; like, to plan, I was going to ask you to stay.”

Your chest throbs again, warm and full.

“You were?”

He holds your gaze, his dirt-streaked cheeks pinkening subtly. “I’ve, uh... never met anyone like you. Which I appreciate is probably a lame thing to say given the state of the world, but still...”

Silences becomes him, the sentiment lingers. If you could find the words, you’d tell him that it’s mutual—the gladness for your meeting, despite wanting to kill him and everything you thought he stood for less than a day ago. Chan is heart and soul amongst the cold and dark; he’s everything the evil should have extinguished. Too big a task for you to put into words the tangible gratitude you feel not just for his existence, but for his unwavering virtues that foster a sliver of hope.

Fingers still linked and Chan moves carefully; his free hand lifts to caress your cheek, the tremble therein speaking of his trepidation until the warmth of his calloused palm stills over your skin. Your face burns—you wonder if he feels it—and you hold expectantly as he tilts towards you.

When he kisses you, your heart feels like it might burst. His touch is delicate, indicative of his worry concerning your still fragile physical state, but with the way you melt into him his fervour deepens. Lips brush softly and a sigh of content emits from him; the hand on your cheek slips to your neck, his gentle hold a guide by which he angles from left to right, noses bumping in the dim. Your palm firm on his thigh expresses your wanting, the growing swell of giddy desire he so easily inspires rendering you somewhat breathless. And amongst the delight, there is pain. The surrender of adrenal tension is a knife withdrawn recklessly from your chest, for so much fear and stress suffered for so long is now integral to your soul; you have learned to love the sting of it, the weight of it. How can it be fair that it is all soothed by so simple a thing—a connection?

When he breaks from you, it’s to tears streaking your cheeks. He swipes them away by gentle thumbs and kisses you again, forehead held to yours.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he breathes.

You turn into his palm, kiss it softly, the tears dampening his skin.

“Ditto.”

***

“Boss?”

A raspy voice pierces the fragile haze of your dozing; you shoot upright, the dread of alertness returning to you.  

“Boss? You in there?”

A slumbering Chan at your side, you shake him gently. He rouses and groans a complaint, seeming to remember where he is with some disdain when he takes in the surroundings of the dusty storage cupboard.

He’s about to say something when the voice speaks again: “Yo, maybe they got out?”

Chan bounds to his feet, looking up and around until he spies a small rectangular vent in the upper reaches of the ceiling. He climbs over the gym mats and up to the mid-shelf of a rack, getting as close as he can.

“Changbin?” he hisses.

“Boss? Thank fuck, man. I was starting to stress out.”

Chan laughs low—not so much a laugh as a wheeze of relief—and promptly asks, “What’s the plan?”

There’s a second of silence, then Changbin says, “Uh, well, we kind of hoped you might have one.”

“What?”

“I suggested an all-guns-blazing approach, but Minho said we don’t have the ammunition for that. Or that was the polite version, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Another voice complains. “We have a plan!”

“Keep your voice down, dude,” Changbin warns. “We’ve been over this, your plan is dumb as fuck.”

“Jisung?” Chan chimes in. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it’s real simple; we blow a hole in the wall using that C4 we pilfered from the military base a few months ago. Get you out of there nice and quick.”

“And in multiple pieces,” Changbin deadpans.

Chan rakes a hand through his hair. “So, Felix is with you guys?”

“Right here, boss,” the low voice responds quietly.

“Alright,” Chan sighs, looking back to you from halfway up the shelf. “Give us a few minutes, then set the explosive.”

“You’re not actually considering this—”

“We don’t have much choice, Bin. There’s enough shit in here that we can barricade ourselves with. Just wait for my mark, okay?”

Hopping down from the shelf, he sets about manoeuvring equipment against the door, propping them firmly: springboards, a sturdy gymnastics vault, leather pommel horses. The speed of his working draws attention from the lingering dead ones that keep you prisoner, their bumping and shambling against the door flares up slowly. Aiding him as best you can, you drag the thick mats from their stack, supporting them between and in front of the struts of a climbing frame so it stands solidly. With eventual space made between you and the wall to be blown out, there’s a clear structure of protection: thick gym mats padded around the frame will take the brunt of the explosion, any scraps of debris should be caught by the foam.

Chan sinks between the mats, pulling you in the small space with him. Your back to his chest, his arms secure around you, he now shouts to be heard through the vent: “We’re covered. Ready, Felix?”

The door throbs with those who crave entry, thumping and groaning from the other side.

“Ready!” Felix calls back.

“Are you sure that’s secure? Man, this is such a bad fucking idea—”

“How about you leave the logistics to the demolitions expert and go take cover?” You hear Felix retort. “Jesus. I’m surrounded by divas.”

Chan casts a nervous glance at the door. “Getting hot in here, guys!”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Ten seconds!”

Yours ears are covered by warm hands; Chan hunches over you, his head tucked into your neck, his frame a solid shield surrounding your person.

“This is going to be loud,” he warns.

The seconds tick by painfully, breath held and drawn tight in anticipation, yet the thunderous boom you expect isn’t what you initially detect. It’s the shallow tearing of concrete that warps to a profound drilling crack, splitting the surface of the wall and sending shards of the structure inwards amongst billows of dust. The blasting impact pops your ears, a calamitous tremor of destruction that brings a rainfall of stone and metal, wire and mortar. A searing flash of heat scalds your skin despite the protection, and Chan tightens around you, sparing you from the singe of debris that makes it beyond the mats and padding. Dragging in a breath brings you to an instant coughing fit; the air too thick and acrid to take into lung, ears ringing and bones vibrating still.

Chan tries to stand, shaking himself free of the layer of powdered concrete that now blankets him grey. Helping you to your feet, the climb over the destruction is done in a daze.

“Come on, let’s go!” Felix cries from the other side.

Chan lifts you over a chunk of rock when your knees threaten to give out; the moment he does so, the cupboard door splinters and caves, giving way to the dead ones that so relentlessly pursue.

“Quick!” he urges.

Felix reaches through the fresh hole in the wall, your wrist grabbed when you’re close enough. Tugged through unceremoniously and out into unpolluted air, you’re left clamouring for breath on the moist grass; the rain on your skin is a relief, yet the darkness inspires dread. Nights shouldn’t be spent beyond safe walls.

Chan swiftly follows, and not a moment too soon as he narrowly avoids the lunge of a chomping dead one. Changbin—in all his bloodthirsty desire to help—pumps a single shotgun shell into the creature’s soft skull, the gore joining the mess of deconstruction.

“We should move,” he says.

Jisung helps you to your feet. “Come on.”

And what begins as a pace of walking hurries to a run as the shambling horde follows; their combined weight of impact is a wrecking ball against what parts of the wall still stand. Slabs of heavy concrete thud to the grass, the corpses that take them down falling with them.

“The trucks out front, just a bit further!” Jisung pants, arm around your waist. Changbin takes point, Chan and Felix right behind him, the former leaning on the latter in his still stupefied state. Down the length of the school the group runs, those of the emerging horde able to keep up doing just that in their wailing and gnashing. Your lungs burn with yet further exertion, the threat of death a constant incentive in willing your legs to keep pace with Jisung.

Rounding the building, the main entrance is in sight, whereby the truck sits parked with engine primed. Hyunjin, on sight of the group, bolts upright in the cab, headlights on full beam to slice through the night.

Changbin is the first to reach it, hauling himself into the truck bed to drag Chan and Felix up respectively. Jisung hands you off to the man who lifts you in with ease, darting off to dive into the passenger seat beside Hyunjin.

The truck roars to life with a veritable growl; the pursuing horde scatters amongst the blinding headlights, their screams as frantic as their contortions. With no time to turn around and in a smooth manoeuvre of reversal, Hyunjin backs the vehicle down the school driveway, past the playing field that sits in darkness. Once through the gates, he slams the handbrake for the truck to careen a clean one-hundred and eighty degrees (much to all passenger’s terror), and with a victory whoop, he tears off through the city.

“I cannot fucking believe that worked,” Changbin emotes, sagging beside a beaming Felix.

“I told you it would!” Jisung shouts from the cab.

Chan—despite his clear fatigue—pulls himself from the bed of the truck to sit beside you. A quick once over of your state, and he puts his hand on yours in comfort.

“You okay?”

You’re not even sure where to start.

“I’m in one piece,” you acquiesce.

He smiles weakly. “Good.”

“Hold up,” Felix interjects, a dubious look cast from you to Chan, then back again. “What is this?”

Chan frowns. “What is what?”

Felix gestures between you. “This.”

A wave of mortification accompanies the heat that crawls over you; Chan’s hand on yours suddenly feels ten times heavier. You move to slide it out, but he holds it firm, unrelenting. Felix grins from ear to ear.

“Love’s young dream, huh?” he smarms.

“Maybe.”

Changbin whistles through his teeth. “Damn. You better know how blessed you are,” he directs the statement at you, his tone sincere. “This man is the best of them all.”

***

When was the last time you felt even marginally like a normal girl?

A little, perhaps, during what essentially amounted to your first kiss in the dirty storage cupboard of an overrun high school. You can imagine well enough that that feeling of floating was probably what the old love ballads sang of, what the ruined romance novels wrote of. A shame that you can only relate to them after the fact.

This moment, you think, does something rather different towards making you feel normal. A shower. Yes, it consists of intermittent sprays of lukewarm water being dumped over your head from a salvaged and repurposed copper pipe, but still; a shower.

Changing into the loose cotton shorts and baggy shirt Jeongin kindly donated to your cause, the fresh clothes feel unthinkably good on your clean skin. The shirt looks somewhat ridiculous on you—it’s so long it conceals the shorts altogether—but it’s a welcome alternative to the grimy clothes you’ve been wearing for weeks. Inspecting yourself in the makeshift mirror fashioned from car rear and side-view mirrors artfully taped together, you suppose it stands to reason that you hardly recognise the girl looking back. She’s aged. Her skin is dry and mottled from sun exposure, her tired eyes have seen things that have left marks both mental and physical. She looks somewhat lost, you think, and that would also make sense given that her purpose until now was one of bloodthirsty pursuit. Without that, who is she? What does she do?

Shaking off the existential crisis and repacking it for another day, you leave the designated bathroom and pad through the vast hangar. Passing curtained rooms as you go, you catch signs of life: Jisung and Hyunjin’s muffled laughter, the quiet crackling melody of a gramophone to which Felix hums a low, smooth accompaniment. One of the curtains is left drawn open; on passing it, your name is called.

Changbin leans against the plasterboard that makes up his ‘doorframe’, arms crossed over his bulky chest. Takes you a moment to actually register that he’s shirtless beyond the initial shock, and once you notice it, you can’t pretend you don’t. He is built.

“Can I have a second?” he asks.

“S— Sure.”

He steps out of his room, for which you’re grateful; you’d rather not have to experience being in confined spaces with him looking like that. Regardless, his expression is stern as he approaches.

“What you did today,” he says sullenly, “it was real fuckin’ dumb.”

You say nothing, swallowing hard.

“I can’t imagine you don’t already know that.”

If he’s trying to spare you the embarrassment of having to admit to foolishness, it’s not working.

He takes a deep breath. “Look; this all only works when we know where we stand. When Chan gives an order, we damn well follow it. The others had to learn that, but for him and I it was like that even before dead people started getting up.”

He uncrosses his arms and gestures for you to follow, heading back into his room. You linger at the curtain, watching as he picks something up from the bespoke bedside table. When he turns back, he hands it to you.

“The ranks might not mean shit anymore, but a soldier’s mindset won’t ever change.”

The framed photograph is grainy and faded; weatherworn and creased down the middle. Still, you can make out men and women in military uniforms, grouped together in front of a stationary helicopter, their poses relaxed and faces bright. Front and centre of the gathering—the only one not smiling but rather more reserved in his stance—is Chan, his chest decorated with medals, his rifle strapped to his side. To his right-hand stands Changbin, tucked into uniform, the man’s arm slung around the person next to him in clear comradery. Part of you wants to ask where they all are now. The realist in you knows better.

“He’s a born leader,” Changbin says quietly. “I’d follow him into hell itself.” He scoffs a laugh then. “Shit, I guess I kind of did.”

You hand the photograph back to him, chest aching anew. He takes it, puts it back on the table carefully.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that... Chan takes on a lot of responsibility; he did then, he does now. And he feels it, you know? Pulling the kind of hero shit you did today only adds to the load he carries. You forced him to go on ahead and that left you vulnerable—”

“I just wanted to prove that I could handle myself.”

“Right,” Changbin sighs, “and I respect you standing your ground, but there are other ways to do that. Safer ways. Ways that won’t make Chan feel like he has to risk his life for you.”

You hang your head. “I’m sorry.”

And Changbin scratches his nape amidst a grimace. “Shit. I’m really fuckin’ awful at this. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just... he means a lot to me, is all, and I figured you’d be sticking around now too, so you should know, like, why he does what he does. Felix says that’s called context. I think.”

A gentle hand finds your shoulder, a reassuring squeeze offered. “Just be safe, is all I’m asking. Then the rest of us will be.”

You nod, blinking away the sting that crops up in your eyes. While delivery might have lacked tact, the sentiment is clear; he wants to protect what little he still has.

“I’ll be more careful,” you vow. “No more hero shit.”

Changbin quirks a brow. “Occasional hero shit? In controlled conditions with backup?”

You stifle a chuckle of relief. “Sounds fair to me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.”

He grins, arms opening tentatively. “We good?”

And you step into them, returning the hug he offers, the warmth of his bare skin against you an inherent comfort. “Of course,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

When the hug breaks, his cheeks are a warmer shade. For all his surface intimidation and despite the jagged edges of his persona, he appears to care more than anyone.

“Chan’s in the main room, by the way,” he points in said direction as he backs up to his room, drawing the curtain.

 Feeling significantly lighter with air cleared, you head there immediately, finding the man precisely where stated. What surprises you are the conditions in which you find him; the central space is darker with lack of daylight, the oil fires in the few metal drums cast haloed rings of flickering amber not strong enough to reach the shadows that stretch across the depths of the hangar. Chan sits beside one of the drums, watching the flames, one knee propped up with his trusted rifle laid out in front of him. Approaching him feels like an interruption, but you can’t bear to be alone now.

He glances up when you’re close, the length of his gaze following your exposed legs. He turns back to the fire when you sit.

“Penny for them?” you ask quietly.

Chan sighs, the angular planes of his face lit softly. “Just thinking about today.”

You wait for the elaboration, which eventually comes when he mumbles, “I’m so sick of everything always ending in blood. Those people had a good thing; the school should have been safe, solid. Why was it overrun?”

He drops his knee, reaches for his rifle. One hand glides over the barrel to the stock, where it lingers. “Where were their defences? What was their escape plan? Did anyone survive?”

“Chan,” you turn towards him, taking his hand from the gun, “thinking like that will drive you to the worst kind of crazy.”

“But maybe if we had tried to reach out sooner—”

“Then what? You’d be down resources and they’d still have been overrun; you heard what Jeongin said, the sewers were right nearby them. No preparation would have been enough.”

He sags in place, fingers slotting to yours, warm and strong.

“You’ve done so much,” you whisper. “What you have here is incredible; these people are incredible, and they adore you. Be proud of that.”

“I am,” he stresses. “I really am. I just...”

“You can’t save everyone.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark. “I saved you.”

“Yeah. You did. I know I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

You lean towards him, cupping his cheek gently. “I owe you everything, Chan,” you mutter, “and I want to spend whatever time I have showing you how grateful I am, not just for saving my life, but for giving me a new one.”

Chan swallows, the shell of his ears pinkening in the firelight. The kiss he leans into is meant with true intention; firm and wanting against your mouth, his inhibitions slipping with the descent into intimacy. He breaks off, his breath warm on your lips when he rasps, “Come with me.”

Pulled from the floor by his hand, rifle hooked to his shoulder, Chan leads you through the darkened hangar to the row of curtained rooms. At the end most cubby, he draws back the heavy velvet draping to reveal a cosy homestead: a neat single bed against the wall covered with blankets and soft pillows, a chest of drawers sporting ornamental knick-knacks. An acoustic guitar with the strings missing is propped in the corner, and beside that, a stack of vinyl records. A hanging oil lantern illuminates the weapon rack bolted to the wall; with one hand Chan unhooks his rifle and deposits the weapon on it, tucking the strap aside.

Having yet to release your hand, he turns back to you. His palms slide over your forearms, to your elbows as he closes in. Foreheads connecting, Chan takes a slow, deep breath.

“Spend the night with me.”

You nod amidst the thundering of your heart against your ribcage, allowing the man to once more capture your lips. Arms around his neck and manoeuvred gently to the bed, it strikes you how easily the intimacy comes; it feels so natural.

His form follows as you lay back to the soft cushioning of his single bed, your throat exposed to allow his lips the wandering they seek. Each slow brush is a spark under your skin, amalgamating arousal pooling deep and heavy.

“How do you smell so good?” he whispers, the question not truly requiring an answer; he’s lost in the moment, smothering the dips of your throat and collarbone with attention. Running hot with wanting, you urge him closer still by tugging his shirt. Hint received, a hand slips under your baggy clothing, the canvas of your side and navel explored by clammy palm. The contact is enough to elicit a strained gasp; Chan recoils, concerned.

“Sorry,” you quickly reassure him, “it’s just... it’s been a while. Like, forever.”

He chuckles amidst a breath. “Ditto.”

“I mean; this is my first time. Being touched.”

And Chan searches your face, his expression unreadable. He appears to falter, and in your brief disdain you cup his face to have him heed you.

“Please don’t read too deeply into it,” you whisper. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

At that, you must resist the urge to laugh. “Regret being with my saviour?”

Chan smiles, nose scrunching, head dropping to the crook of your neck. A show of embarrassment, perhaps, but either way the desire soon flares. The hand on your stomach travels up to breast; slower, this time, to allow you to acclimate.

“So soft,” he mumbles between kisses against your throat.

A sharp tug on his shirt and you breathe, “Off—”. Chan complies, sitting back on his haunches to drag the clothing up and over head, revealing a tight six pack of abs and pale, svelte form. A second tattoo is discovered: a crest on his right pectoral of knife and gun crossed over, the wings of an eagle backdropping them. He returns and hovers above you; you trace the shape gently.

“Was the crest of my squadron,” he explains quietly. Sadly. “We all had them.”

You place your palm over it, craning to kiss him. He need not explain further, and only when he’s ready. What details Changbin gave were sparse, and one day, you’d certainly love to hear how Chan remembers them all. But that day is not today.

Your kiss is returned and what clothing remains is swiftly—enthusiastically—removed. Being naked underneath him brings a wave of vulnerability such as you’ve never felt. He shields you with his physique, keeps what lives outside this small room at bay in more ways than he’ll ever comprehend. Legs spread and hooked around him, Chan makes no rush of exploring your body. Gentle fingers at your centre ease you open, the glide slick enough that the tender stretch is bearable; a minute or two of his focused ministrations and you find yourself burning with the build of pleasure.

“How is it?” he rasps, his own arousal apparent, hanging thick and heavy between you.

“Good,” you confess, “so good.”

A shiver trails down your spine when he withdraws carefully. Mistaking your tremble for a chill, Chan reaches back to drag a blanket from the foot of the small bed, draping it over his back and thereby cocooning you when he returns. He kisses you tenderly, weight supported by arms that flex deliciously.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

You nod, finding breaths to be shorter and less effective the longer he keeps you in suspense; the occasional prodding of his length against your wetness doesn’t help matters, of course.

He drops a hand between you, angling himself just so. When his velvety head catches on you, you tense. “Might hurt a little,” he warns, and you’re glad of it when the initial breach floods your lower half with licks of muted fire.

Chan eases on a slow, controlled thrust, his length and girth seeming endless in the way you’re shaped around him. Clutching his shoulders, you breathe through the moment, seconds seeming hours long. Chan groans inaudibly, his lips parting through broken breath; he draws tight in every muscle, the strain of wanting to sink into you overwhelming him. When finally connected, he assesses you with darkened eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yeah... fuck—”

The expletive comes as he sets a slow pace of thrusting, the rhythm of the drag so unthinkably good it renders you near delirious with pleasure from the onset. You groan helplessly; Chan puffs a low chuckle, lips against your ear as he says, “Into my shoulder, baby. Curtains aren’t soundproof.”

Mouth pressed against his firm, smooth skin, it does enough to muffle the litany of whines you fail utterly to control. Chan moves fluidly, his lips to your neck and jaw, occasional sharp, deep thrusts betraying the power you know lives behind the control he’s displaying. The baser part of you wishes he’d let go.

Clawing at his muscled back now slick with exertion, Chan reaches swiftly behind and grabs the blanket, drawing it up and over to cage the two of you in. The air shimmers with heat and lust; Chan pulls back.

“Want to hear you,” he urges, “moan for me.”

“Mhm, Chan—”

He groans listlessly, veins in his arms protruding as he fists the blanket down against the pillow, drives into you so firm and thick. Ramshackle headboard thumps the wall gently, the mattress creaks in complaint of Chan’s momentum; being on the receiving end is so fucking wonderful a sensation. Curls matted to his forehead, lips swollen and indented by markings of teeth, he’s a vision of the most lustrous making. Living proof that while things outside are dire, a world of your own can exist in his safety.

“Fuck— Close—” he breathes.

Brought to the peak of your threshold by the illicit fullness of his cock, so smooth and solid, you feel to be fraying at the edges of your consciousness when your vision whites and your core unravels, white hot sparks of euphoria sweeping you. Chan slows the pace, his arm slipping under and around your trembling form to keep you close. Clutching to him while inside you’re fit to liquefy, the pressure of orgasm tightens around his length; he curses and pants, “God, baby. That’s it—”

Only when the fit of your release subsides does Chan withdraw, the motion swifter than you’d have liked for losing the completeness of having him inside you, but the reason becomes clear when he props up and strips once, twice over his slick cock, throbbing in his palm. He comes with a sharp pant of your name, blushed from chest to ear as he coats your belly with milky, warm ropes of his release.

What follows amounts to blissful aftercare; you’re cleaned up with a towel retrieved from his drawers and offered something to drink. All you truly want is the man that so defiled you back at your side, to be held until the sun comes up.

With no room allowing for separation in his single bed, Chan enacts the bigger spoon, your nakedness tucked into his under the comfort of his blankets. His warm, steady breath on your neck encourages the exhaustion that you had hitherto kept at bay; now in post-coital heaven, you stand no chance of doing so.

“You think we’d have met if the world hadn’t ended?” he asks dreamily.

“I don’t see how,” you whisper.

“Washington’s not so far from New York. We might have bumped into each other.”

You smile warmly; what a thought.

“Maybe in a coffee shop or something. I’d have bought your latte for you and offered to take you to dinner.”

"Yeah?” you laugh gently.

“Mhm. I’d have embarrassed myself trying to impress you,” he sighs.

“You wouldn’t have needed to try.” You turn over slowly, pressed close to take in the softly flushed planes of his face. “I’d have been infatuated right away. I was.”

Chan blinks slowly, his lashes thick and dark. “I know you think it was me that saved you,” he whispers, cupping your cheek, the pad of his thumb sweeping your lower lip tentatively. “I can’t help thinking that’s all wrong. Like, twisted, somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just... have this feeling; I’ve had it since I pulled you out from under that dead one. Like I can hope that everything will be okay again, and it’ll be because of you.”

You swallow over the rising lump of emotion, turning into his palm to speak against it.

“We’ll make everything okay for each other. Promise.”

“Then you’ll stay?” he blinks through damp lashes. “You won’t leave?”

You shake your head; how impossible a notion.

“Not even if the world was ending again.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙨𝙠 ♡

I haven't read this yet...but the way I laughed when I saw the title

the nut graph.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, college au, fluff <3; oc is a journalism student (there's just a couple references in here) bc i am once again being self-indulgent lol word count: 0.8k note: how ironic that as i was writing this, there was a thunderstorm outside but i didn't have a hyunjin to cuddle up with. tragic :/ anywhomst onigiri 🍙 this is for you and our shared hyune brainrot. i hope u'll tolerate like this one 🥹 <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

"it's raining."

the voice comes from beside you, where hyunjin has been sitting for the past couple of hours while you work on your respective assignments, sharing headphones and feeding each other gummy worms and almond pepero's every once in a while, your head softly nodding along to the music from his lo-fi playlist.

when you glance out the window, it's too dark to watch the sky, but you do catch a glimpse of the downpour thanks to the light from the streetlamp below.

you hum in agreement without much enthusiasm, turning to peck his cheek quickly before diverting your attention back to your laptop.

hyunjin huffs out a griping noise, shrugs off his earpod and scooches closer on his chair to rest his head on you. "hey, let's call it a night," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, pressing his full lips against you, over the material of his hoodie that you've stolen borrowed.

"are you done with your paper?" you ask.

"no, but it's raining."

your boyfriend loves the rain; there's something so charmingly idyllic about the rain and he's nothing if not a romantic. he loves it even more when he gets to spend the moment with you, with the two of you nicely tucked together in bed or on the couch as you listen to the sound of the shower outside pattering against your window.

you only chuckle, kissing his forehead to appease him for now. "i'm not done with my article," you say. "you go to bed first. i'll be there in a second."

"let's go to bed now," hyunjin whines, drawing out the last word like an overgrown child. two bargaining hands slide around your body until they're clasped together on the other side of your waist. "it's the perfect time to cuddle."

"fifteen minutes and i'll be done. i just need to finish the nut graph and i'll be right there, okay?"

"nut graph," he echoes, giggling to himself as if it's the first time he's ever heard of the term. then he clears his throat, like he suddenly remembers that there's something much larger at stake here. "that's not a second. what if it stops raining?"

"then it stops raining." you shrug, reaching for a pepero stick to munch on while you keep your gaze on the laptop screen again. "it won't kill you, y'know."

"you don't know that." another pathetic mewl escapes his mouth. "come onnn, i need my cuddles."

"well, we're kind of cuddling right now."

though if you're being honest, your train of thought kind of kicked you off and left the station the second hyunjin started slotting himself against your side. you're just doing this for kicks, because sometimes it's entertaining to tease your boyfriend and watch him be dramatic for a minute. it's endearing, how he whines about not being able to snuggle with you like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to him. it's a bit of an ego boost as well, to know that this godlike man would turn into a puddle every time he's needy for your attention.

"this is not cuddling," he says, his arms tightening around you and for a second there, you wonder if he would actually carry you over his shoulder like a potato sack and take you to the bedroom himself. "come on, let's go to bed. this is your tax."

"this is my what?"

"your tax," he repeats, pinching the material of your (his) hoodie between two fingers. "for wearing my clothes. pay up."

rolling your eyes in playful disbelief, you open your mouth to shoot back a retort but you're promptly cut off after the first syllable makes it out when hyunjin does exactly what you were picturing a minute ago - he fucking picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, in true potato sack fashion, while you squeal in shock.

"hyunjin! the nut graph!"

he only pats your butt in response to your helpless wiggling. "it'll still be there tomorrow."

his long strides carry you to the adjoining room in no time. before you know it, you're already gently laid on the bed while hyunjin settles on top of you, his arms encircling your frame as he throws one of his legs over both of yours. he sighs, clearly content with himself, the soft puff of air escaping his lips to tickle the skin of your neck.

you have no choice but to concede; you're already here anyway. you turn in his hold until you're hugging him back comfortably, carding your fingers through his soft hair to keep his head close to you.

"needy little monster," you complain, no bite.

hyunjin doesn't care about witty comebacks. he won, he got what he wanted. so he just pushes himself up the bed, crossing the few inches it takes to reach your lips. "love you," he giggles, showcasing a grin that makes his eyes turn into adorable crescent moons before he's kissing you tenderly. oh, so delicately.

outside your window, the rain only falls harder.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.06.2024]

battleground

synopsis: you hated your co-president, kim seungmin. but, it's your last year of high school and prom planning is up to the two of you. you just expect getting work done and leaving school. what you don't expect however, is kim seungmin looking after you (considering you never do) and you coaxing him into being your prom date.

pairing: non-idol!seungmin x fem!reader

genre: academic rival to lovers, crack, fluff, high school au, angst if you squint

warnings: swearing, mentions of eating, mentions of fatigue and fainting, sickness and overworking, slight themes of stalking, panic attack but not mentioned as such, mentions of alcohol, overconsumption of alcohol, a shit ton of pop culture references (i'm sorry)

word count: 21k words (?!)

requested by: @starlostseungmin (hi kaisey ily)

playlist: gorgeous - taylor swift, true love - p!nk, CHILL - stray kids, make you mine - madison beer, teenage dream - katy perry

a/n: real life men are better of as just enemies. my fictional rendition of seungmin, however, is not. (also i hope it isn't obvious that i have never been to prom.)

"you ruined my life, by not being mine"

"Was that an attempt of trying to flirt with me? Cause, wow, you need to step your game up," Seungmin told you with a smirk.

Sunlight streamed through the library windows, illuminating the dust that covered the bookshelves. They were proof of the lack of visits to the old haven of knowledge. Settled in an armchair was Kim Seungmin, book in one hand, glasses slightly crooked and one legged propped upon the other.

You let out a puff of breath in an attempt to calm yourself down because, who did he even think he was? "No, Kim, it wasn't. I am literally a teenage girl and yet, you are the most delusional person I have ever meet," you spit out, "The principal's calling us. Let's go."

"Alright, fine," Seungmin responded lazily. He stretched his long limbs and got up from the armchair he was cozily tucked up in.

He joined you on your walk towards the principal's office while you told off whatever force was above that caused you to be walking to impeding doom with Kim Seungmin on a Friday morning.

You both had a bitter rivalry that began your first year in high school. Coinciding with the fact that the said high school was also a boarding school, there was no escaping Seungmin. You couldn't even pinpoint when your feelings towards him changed from indifference to animosity; but having been pitted against each other for all your academic life at Park Academy, it certainly did make sense.

It wasn't that you didn't respect Seungmin. He was good at everything he did and a worthy opponent in all your endeavors. But he just made it so difficult for you to like him.

Your already dysfunctional relationship with him only took a turn for the worse this high school senior year. Both of you had decided to run for student council president. Despite all the campaigning and emotional blackmailing, you both had tied for the position.

Your incredible school, instead of holding a tie-breaker, deciding to make you both student council presidents. The idea of writing 'student council co-president' on your college applications physically made you wince.

But the worst part? Seungmin and you actually worked really well together. Deciding to keep your rivalry out of anything student council related on your first session (the banter continued though, nothing could take that away), you both had built up one of the best councils the school had seen under your shared leadership.

You didn't know just how well you both would get along when it came to matters as such, but that didn't lead to either of you warming up to each other. Conversation between you both strictly consisted of official matters and jabs at each other.

In fact, you hated each other's presence so much that you both almost instantly decided on splitting responsibilities to avoid running into each other. Oddly enough, you both seemed to agree on a lot of things. You always just brushed it off with a, great minds think alike.

Not that you would ever confess to Seungmin that you considered him to be someone with a 'great mind'.

The both of you walked towards the principal's office in silence. When you eventually got there, the receptionist quickly ushered you both inside. You smoothed down your skirt and sat down with your hands in you lap. Beside you, you noticed Seungmin drape his blazer over the back of his chair and take a seat.

Your principal was on a call and winked at the both of you, pointing towards the phone and turning her finger around in a circle near her temple. Seungmin flashed her a strained smile while you hoped that the expression of judgment on your face wasn't obvious.

For some reason, Principal Kim thought that she was your friend. When she finally put the phone down, she snorted, "Superintendents, am I right?"

Seungmin and you laughed weakly in response. Principals, am I right? was the phrase you were currently trying very hard to bite back.

Coming closer, Principal Kim laced her fingers together and leaned onto the table. "As you both know," she began, "We have around five months till prom."

A buzzing grew in your stomach, excitement engulfing your senses. Prom. Your sole respite, the event that you had looked forward to your entire high school life. From watching Disney movies romanticizing prom at a young age, to subsequently moving onto books that did the same, you felt like prom would be the pinnacle of your time in school.

"Now," continued Principal Kim, "While I do know that you both have a tendency to work separately, I would like you both to chair the prom committee together this year. We are thinking of making this year's prom one of Park Academy's finest. Take your time and compile the best Prom committee you can and get started on everything."

She clapped her hand and leaned back, beaming at her best students. "That is all," she smiled softly, nudging a tray of toffees towards you both.

Seungmin looked mortified at the thought of eating something from the principal's office like he was six. In any other circumstance you would have too, but the giddiness of both prom planning and not having had anything for over twenty four hours compelled you to take one.

"Aren't you excited?" you asked Seungmin as you both walked out of the door.

You were opening the toffee wrapper when he responded with a curt, "No. I personally believe that prom is a waste of time. I'll help in the committee planning and be present if I need to, but you can rightfully assume that I will not be enjoying any of it."

You were slightly shocked at his response but responded with a scathing, "I didn't know that the Kim Seungmin was too high and haughty for prom."

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to make eye contact with you. "Prom is like a playground for bullies and confused teenagers. It's a battleground for snarky comments and raging hormones and, might I add, brings out the worst in people."

He quickly turned on his heel and walked away before you could utter a word. You slowly let out a deep breath to control you anger and headed in the same direction as him, towards the cafeteria. You can hear the chatter of students and the sudden influx of sound momentarily causes your world to spin.

You're leaning against one of the lockers trying to steady yourself when feel an arm around your waist hoisting you up.

Hyunjin clicked beside you in disappointment. "Don't make me start feeding you now."

You just sighed in response and leaned your head against his shoulders. He was right, of course. You had the horrible habit of putting your health second (to last) with regards to anything that had to do with university and getting in. One of those things was skipping meals in favor of studying.

"I don't understand how people who sleep eight hours a day get shit done," you whined against Hyunjin.

"Well, has it ever occurred to you that people usually don't have as much shit to do as you do?" your best friend responded wisely. You lightly tapped the side of your sneaker against his.

Hwang Hyunjin was practically your brother in every aspect possible. He was lovable, caring, annoying and wanted to make you rip your hair out. All of this was what you assumed having a sibling was like, being an only child yourself. Ironically, he was one too.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You first met Hyunjin during an art class that you had to take for your first week of school. You struggled with drawing a straight line, while embarrassingly using a ruler. He was sitting beside you and calmly sketched one of the most incredible monochromatic landscapes you had ever seen.

When fourteen-year old Hyunjin gave your drawing a practically dangerous side eye and when you looked at him with eyes pleading to help you, the foundation of your friendship was laid. Later, when you handed him half a Snickers bar as a means of saying 'thank you', your friendship was cemented in chocolate and pencil shavings.

You both were joined at the hip ever since.

Your other best friend, Jeongin, had a habit of seemingly materializing out of nowhere and startling you in the process.

"Hi," he said, his face spawning in front of yours.

His wild hair and crazed smile caused you to yelp in surprise and hit your arm against the water fountain. Hyunjin laughed at your misfortune while Jeongin apologized with an extremely unapologetic smile. You resorted to glaring at both of them.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The story of how Jeongin turned your duo into your trio was a tale in itself. Jeongin was a year younger than you and Hyunjin, currently a junior. You had first spotted him on his first day of school, him waddling around like a lost duckling and you unwittingly (and unwillingly) taking on the role of a mother hen.

Hyunjin had seen young Jeongin standing in the crowd, desperately trying to act cool. Jeongin's shoes were a painful pattern of key lime and hot pink that most definitely did not match together. He wore an oversized jacket and sent a small nod towards everyone who looked his way, hands jammed in his jeans pocket.

"That one," Hyunjin declared while dragging you along with him, "We're adopting that one."

And so two became three.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Presently, you scoffed at Jeongin. "How did you even become student council vice president?"

Jeongin beamed at you, counting off his fingers as he listed of his campaigning winning qualities. "I'm hot, rich, smart and funny."

Hyunjin snorted in response, him on one side of you and Jeongin on the other. "Innie, you are several things but smart is not one of them."

You were compelled to nod in response as Jeongin responded with a gasp, "You too? How could you betray me as well."

You would have issued a sarcastic reply to what he said, but you were too distracted by Hyunjin being distracted. He had suddenly stood still at the entryway of cafeteria, staring at something in the distance.

When you followed his line of sight, you suppressed the urge to burst out into laughter. Jeongin, however, did not.

"Gosh Hyunjin," he wheezed between laughs, "Just ask Riya out. Watching you suffer in this down bad, unspoken friend zoned phase is pitiful."

Hyunjin had been in love with Riya Rai for well over two years. You could obviously tell why; she was gorgeous, smart and a part of Hyunjin's dance class. You were truly rooting for them to start dating, Riya being one of your roommates.

You still remembered the way Hyunjin gushed over her classical dance audition. ('I couldn't understand the words but it was like she was flying!') Jeongin too, was subject to Hyunjin's hopeless love for her. Being the kind of person Hyunjin was, he fell for her hard and deep.

You were happy for Hyunjin, you truly were. But a part of you longed to feel a love like that for somebody. Not even a relationship, just feel love dripping into your heart until it rushed in like a torrent.

You were always so busy with proving yourself to others, that you never really took the time to introspect your own desires.

"Hyunjin," you asked impatiently once you remembered what exactly you wanted to talk about.

"Hm?" he responded as you both grabbed your food and sat at a table with your regular friend group.

Riya slid in beside Hyunjin and you could feel him visibly tense. You couldn't understand why he was so nervous to profess his feelings for her. Any girl (apart from you, because ew) would be willing to date Hyunjin.

Riya brightly made her pleasantries after which you asked solemnly, "Guys. Would you do me the honor of being part of the prom planning committee?"

Riya and Hyunjin were the few people who shared the enthusiasm for prom which you did. Riya mouth slowly hung open while Hyunjin sharply took in a breath.

"Really?" he whispered in awe.

You nodded happily as Hyunjin hugged you from one side and Riya clambered over to where you were sitting to wrap her arms around you. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou," she repeated like a chant while Hyunjin excitedly began plotting décor ideas.

Maybe you wouldn't need romantic love while you had them.

You were busy people watching and tuning out Riya and Hyunjin's enthusiastic chatter when you caught site of Seungmin. He was sitting with his best friend, Lee Felix. You found their friendship quite odd. How could the embodiment of happiness be so close with the devils spawn?

I guess opposites attract platonically too.

You lamented at the thought of co-heading a prom committee with a partner who hated prom until an idea struck you. If Kim Seungmin hated prom, you could teach him how to love it. That lunch break, you made an executive decision that, unbeknown to you, would inevitably change you life.

You decided to open Kim Seungmin's eyes to the brilliance of prom.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - five months.

Seungmin stood next to you as you both waited for the rest of the student council members to make their way for your impromptu Saturday meeting. The two of you stared up at one of the most monstrous things you had ever seen in your lives.

A large banner with a blue background and the words "T-5 MONTHS TILL PROM!!!" in an ugly orange text stared back at you.

You gaped at the banner, seething with anger. "Let me find the person whose amazing idea this was and rearrange their body proportions for them."

Seungmin just responded calmly, "Maybe this is a sign from the universe to get our act together, delegate responsibilities to the committee and actually get started on prom."

"Not all of us are as optimistic as you, Kim," you told him dryly.

"Not all of us have an insatiable bloodlust, candy cane," he retorted monotonously.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line as you turned to see Seungmin's eyebrow cocked in a persumed sense of superiority.

You despised the nickname, a knowing jab at your short stature. Seungmin first called you candy cane when he noted how your height was nearly equivalent to the candy canes lining your school halls in your junior year.

It had stuck when you both were privately conversing with each other ever since.

His indifference slightly bristled you, but then again you were known for having a slightly short temper.

Chatter flowed in through the library's door, accompanied by the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor. People who you and Seungmin had individually contacted, along with most student council members, began entering the room.

You noticed Hyunjin making his way to sit next to Riya, who was busy in conversation with Felix. The three of them were known for being close due to dance club. You shot Hyunjin an encouraging smile and he gave you a slightly crooked one.

Jeongin bounded up to the front to assume his rightful place as vice president. You ruffled his hair and he pinched your arm in retaliation. Your little squeal and his irritated grunt earning an annoyed look from Seungmin.

He cleared his throat loudly, instantly commanding the attention of the entire room. Faces turned to look at him when his voice called out, "I hope you all know why we have gathered here today."

He turned to look at you, your cue to begin talking. "As you may be aware, you all have been selected as this year's Park Academy Prom Committee!"

The room burst into applause as Seungmin continued, a routine familiar to you both. You didn't know how the two of you did it. Without even prior conversation, you two fell into sync when it came to addressing the crowd in front of you for your co-lead student council meetings.

Once again you chalked it up to, great minds think alike. There was no way you and Seungmin had anything else in common, apart from the occasional train of thought.

Right?

When your long sermon was finally finished, the room was buzzing with excitement. Teenage hormones and the onset of prom brewed a recipe for eager anticipation. This is it, you thought, this is the last piece of my childhood I have left.

On the advice of Principal Kim, you and Seungmin split the overall committee into three groups: one for decorations, one for publicity and one to arrange entertainment.

Jeongin had proclaimed himself the 'god of social media' and sauntered off to the group in charge of publicity. Hyunjin, Riya and Felix automatically were presumed to be part of décor, with Hyunjin elected head of their group. ('I will not let my team down. Over my dead fucking body,' he told you in complete seriousness later that day.)

Finally, you and Seungmin were left handling booking and anything else payment and transaction related. Principal Kim's vehement repetition of how she only trusted the two of you with cash was seared into your brain.

As you both took rounds of the large library hall, something kept nagging at you, itching the back of your brain. It disheartened you to see how warmly everyone interacted with Seungmin in comparison with you.

What bothered you even more, however, was how warmly Seungmin, interacted with others when compared to you.

Being likable was one of, if not the biggest goal in your life. Knowing that a single person disliked you sent you into a frenzy. Call it your upbringing or society, either way you felt like everybody you knew had to find you to be a good person, or else you weren't.

Other people's opinions were like medicine to you. Gaining external validation became such a large part of your life that sometimes, you forgot that what you thought, what you wanted, mattered as well.

And in this draining people-pleasing process, you weren't quite 'friends' with everyone. You were friendly and appreciated among your students, yes. But you didn't have a large friend group full of people who cherished your very existence, like Seungmin.

That was probably why you called Hyunjin and Jeongin were your best friends. It took away from the fact that they were your only friends. Seeing them with their own, other friends hurt, but it was too late now.

There was no point making more friends when you would be gone anyways. And despite how much you wanted to, you knew that creating deeper connections only to break them away would prove pointless.

You and Seungmin settled into the small bean bag pods which were propped up against the empty library walls. He scrolled through his phone with utmost concentration as you did the same, tapping away at your laptop keys.

"We'll have to sit with Lily for planning the budget," Seungmin broke the silence while referring to the committee treasurer, "But she has texted me the overall amount we have in the trust."

Seungmin opened the message and angled his phone towards you, eliciting a gasp from your mouth.

"That is an insane amount. Do you know what this means? We truly can make this Park Academy's best prom yet!" you excitedly began listing off the non-existent limits to which the money could spent.

"You forgot something," Seungmin added, stunning you to silence. What could have you forgotten about prom which Seungmin could have remembered?

The stoic expression on his face, however, told you it was nothing good.

"We need to show extreme constraint while using the money and be strict on the group," Seungmin huffed.

You blew in anger, "The entire point of having an extensive budget is to let loose! God, you're like the Grinch of prom or something."

"Please sweetheart," he snorted, "I'm far better looking than him. Even you can't deny that."

And as infuriating Seungmin seemed to you, he was correct. Seungmin was drop dead gorgeous. Even in a plain school uniform, he had the power to turn several heads. In fact, you would be lying if you said that you didn't find him a teensy bit attractive.

Not that he would ever obtain that information.

Seungmin went back to work, looking for banquet halls and hotels open to being the venue for prom. You observed him carefully, trying to figure the psychology behind why he hated prom. Then, you realized that to to succeed in your mission, you didn't have too.

The Grinch fell in love with Christmas too...

"I have made an executive decision," you announced to no one but Seungmin in particular.

He looked up, an expression of boredom and confusion coating his features.

"How exactly, darling, did you take an executive decision without consulting half of the executive. I thought you were smart enough to know how decision making takes place," a smug smile adorned him.

You rolled your eyes at him, "I will make you like prom."

Seungmin scoffed, "As if. You know what, Y/N? I bet you can't."

You sighed in fake defeat, cheering inside. One thing about having an academic rival was predicting their moves to the point where you knew how to trap them. It was like a game of chess, where Seungmin thought he had the upper hand, but you were one move away from checkmate.

You understood what made Seungmin tick, what ignited passion in him and what triggered him. You knew how to get a rise out of him and get him to calm down. More terrifyingly so, you knew that he knew the same.

You likened it to years of shared dislike, denying the fact that you both maybe were alike.

"I mean, considering our role in the entire organization of prom, we'll be stuck together all night anyways," you lamented in disappointment, "Truthfully speaking, I honestly did expect you to decline my invitation to formally attend prom with me as my de facto date."

"Although I wasn't planning on calling you that," you included for good measure.

You decided to deviate from telling him the real reason why you wanted to take him to prom. Out of everyone in this school, Seungmin was the last person left whose good books you didn't have so much as a footnote in.

You knew that this little social experiment of yours to leave school with everyone singing praises about you was highly selfish, but you needed this to feel worthy of graduating. You needed this to feel worthy of being a part of a social communities.

You could practically see the anger teeming from Seungmin at proving you right. "Fine," he spit out, "I'll be your date."

Checkmate.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - four months and 16 days.

With final assessments right around the corner, physical committee meetings came to a halt. All conversations took place through group chats and the occasional locker meetups. In all the frenzy of studying, you were once again indulging in sleepless nights and nutrition-less days.

Seungmin had gone into hibernation mode and as had you. All your phones were on do not disturb and casual fun was out of the question. Today, you had taken release in the library, headphones on and coffee in hand.

You were (pathetically, to some, advantageously, to you) on a first name basis with the resident librarian. Because of you often staying late nights (correction: all night) in the library, you even had your own spare key to lock up when you were done. It was a little secret you both shared.

Today, however, you felt uneasy. A transfer student by the name of Benji had been unceasingly making romantic advances towards you the past week. Although you reject him multiple times, his feats of grandeur only grew.

He was currently sitting a few tables away from you, the only other person in the library apart from librarian Kang. Even though he attempted to look busy and engrossed in the book in his hand, he kept stealing glances from you.

It was late, very much so. Everybody would be asleep and you didn't want to disturb anyone. You calmed your nerves but reached your breaking point when Kang asked Benji if he planned to leave anytime soon and he refused.

In a state of both fear and fatigue, you dialed the number of the only person who you knew would be awake at this time and waited for the call to ring out.

"Hello?" came Seungmin's bewildered voice. You rarely called him and even then, never at this hour.

"Seungmin, hi. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?" you asked him, hoping to suppress the  anxiety in your voice.

He must have noticed though, because his voice was alert. "Sure, what's up?"

"You know how Benji has been treating me, right?"

He hummed in acknowledgement. Of course he knew. Benji boasted so much that everyone knew.

"Well, I'm in the library and so is he. He's the only one here and it's kinda freaking me out. If it's ok with you, can you please just stay on call with me just in case? You can put me on hold or something, just please be active. I'm really sorry but you're the only other person who I knew would be awake right now."

You heard rustling in the background and his voice finally came back, "Wait. My dorm is loud anyways so I'll meet you there."

"Oh, okay, okay."

To your extreme relief, Seungmin did not hang up the call. Instead, you could hear his footsteps. All the mundane sounds of him locking his dorm, shoes slapping against the concrete and heavy breathing (due to running, but that didn't make sense) oddly calmed you down.

That was, however, until Benji walked over to where you were sitting. He gave you a venomous smile and leaned over to books right above your head. Pulling out a book from the shelf above your head and walked away, something sharp glinting in his hand.

You breathing quickened. "Seungmin, he has a sharp object. I have assessed all possible escape routes. I would suggest that you leave as I will probably as well if the situation escalates."

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" he questioned, almost sounding angry that you had even thought of saying something like that.

"I'm not leaving you alone with him or giving him an opportunity to fuck with the students of this school. He may be here for only two weeks, but I'll make sure he doesn't hurt a single person."

The steel in his voice made you shudder. You did not want to be on Kim Seungmin's death list. The library doors swung open as librarian Kang let out an exasperated sigh.

"Another wannabe Einstein," she muttered under her breath as Seungmin made his way towards you.

He looked like a sight for sore eyes in his plain sweater and gray sweatpants. Seungmin gave you a subtle not and took a seat right beside you, pulling out his books and tablet. Soon you both started studying and, before you knew it you both were engaged in a heated competition to see who could solve as many trigonometry problems as possible correctly, in the least time.

Throughout this duration, you didn't find out much personally about him, but saw a more carefree side of him. In fact, you liked this carefree side of him.

He winced when you pointed out the simple mistake he made that caused him to lose in the end. "I can't believe I've forgotten what the division symbol looks like."

You giggled and poked his arm, legs underneath your feet. "Is this what letters in math is doing to you?"

Seungmin shrugged sheepishly with a tiny smile. "Go ahead, shortcake, gloat."

Instead, you posed him with a question, "Why do you always insult my height? Like, that seems to be your favorite."

Maybe, just maybe, you were imagining it, but you saw a light blush scatter over Seungmin's cheeks. He cleared his throat and, in what must have been a moment of vulnerability said, "You are good at literally everything else. Your height is the only thing I can ask you about."

You stared at him slightly open mouthed at his sudden respect. In an instant, the room felt to hot and Seungmin's face felt to close to yours. The moment was broken, however, by the simultaneous and not at all harmonious chorus of a chair scratching against the floor and you're stomach rumbling.

Benji was gone and but your appetite was back. Seungmin must have heard it too because his right eyebrow was ticked up.

"When, exactly, did you last eat?"

"Today," you admitted sheepishly, "Morning. At 6."

"And what was it?"

Another gulp. "A banana."

Seungmin shook his head in disappointment and rifled through his bag. He pulled out a mushed granola bar and handed it to you.

"Eat," he commanded.

"Okay," you said meekly. "Wait, this is my favorite brand!"

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that before," Seungmin said nonchalantly, but you noted the slight quiver in his voice.

You took a bite and it felt like your body was screaming at you. It felt so good to eat after just having six in the morning bananas for the past few days, that you little out an embarrassing little squeal in content.

"I'm surprised you remembered," you referenced Seungmin earlier statement and folded the wrapper in a neat rectangle. Putting it in your pocket to throw away later, you waited for Seungmin's response.

It never came. His head was bent and he was hard at work, evidently ignoring. Seeing this as an indication that the conversation was over, you got back to your own work. That wasn't, however, without a feeling of something new that wasn't hate - adjacent.

You felt a little blossom of affection in your stomach for the boy flipping through the pages of his notebook beside you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - it's finals!

You slammed your Astrophysics textbook against your desk, yet again unable to get stuff to fit in your brain. It was your last final and while you crammed for your other subjects, Seungmin had told Hyunjin that you were back to your old habits. Hyunjin and Riya had then joined hands and blackmailed you into (yuck) taking care of yourself.

"Seriously," you grumbled, "How do people who get eight hours of sleep get their shit done?"

Finally coming to the conclusion that you were helpless, you reached for your phone to text all your questions to Seeun, the assistant teacher. Seeun was a university student interning at your school, and an alumni as well. Citing how she was very much close in age with the students of your grade (if six years is considered 'close'), she insisted that you all call her Seeun and not Miss Choi.

You were in such a rush that you didn't even check for typos, tackling another chapter while waiting for Seeun's response. You still had one more day to study, considering that your exam was the day after tomorrow, you were going to use all twenty four hours and more to your advantage, not wasting a single bit.

Finding it odd that Seeun still hadn't responded considering how bored she always said she was and her frighteningly quick response times, you decided to check your phone. To your horror, however, you found out that in your rush, instead of sending your questions to Seeun, you had sent them to Seungmin.

His responses were almost instantaneous.

[8:18 AM]

You: [sent attachment]

You: Hi Seeun, I had a few questions regarding these topics. I was wondering if we could meet up tmrw to discuss them? Thx!

[8:20 AM]

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): i'm not seeun, but i could help

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): i tutored a few seniors taking this class last year

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): if you want, how does the coffee shop down the street at eight sound to you?

You were practically smiling at your phone. It obviously had to do about the fact that it was someone offering you help, not that it was Seungmin specifically. (Duh?) After waging a long, internal war, you finally opted to sacrifice what little dignity you had in front of Seungmin's eyes and take him up on his offer.

[2:47 PM]

You: really? omg thx!

You: see you then

[2:48 PM]

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): k, ig i'll see you there

Huh. Weird. Seungmin was notorious for being known to reply to people after a minimum of at least two hours, if they were lucky enough not to be left on read.

Not reading to much into it, you went back to work. Work wasn't just work though. It was an influx of nervous butterflies accompanying it. Not that it had anything to do with Seungmin, of course.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you got to the coffee shop that morning, it was technically 7:55. But, as you had always been taught, five minutes early is on time. Seungmin must have abided by that philosophy too, because soon he stumbled through the door.

You hadn't even picked a table to sit at when he tapped you shoulder and said, "Hey."

You turned to find Seungmin with the same green, battered back pack he took everywhere slung over one shoulder. His hair was tousled in an endearing way that made you want to squish him. His eyes were surprisingly warm and his lips were turned up.

"Like what you see sweetheart?" he teased.

You rolled your eyes at him, "No, of course not. It's like looking at something so hideous that you can't peel your eyes off of it."

He gave you a good natured laugh and walked alongside you to the coffee table.

After much deliberation, which mainly consisted of you and Seungmin arguing over the pros and cons of a window seat, you finally settled on a seat close enough to the large glass window for Seungmin's satisfaction and far enough to not prove distracting to you.

When your sugar packet tower fell down in the process of building it, he grinned at you again. It felt nice, having Seungmin's smile directed towards you.

Whoa, slow down there. Are you ok?

Without even realizing what you were saying, you asked Seungmin, "Why do you always cover your face when you laugh?"

Seungmin's smile slightly faded. "When I was in middle school, I used to wear braces. The kids... they found it weird, which meant they found me weird."

You were shocked. How could anyone dislike his smile? Seungmin's smile was one of the prettiest smile's you had ever seen. And mind you, you used to hate Kim Seungmin.

Used to. Now, it was more like you were tolerating him, sometimes even appreciating him. Wow, something really is wrong with you.

You snorted. "If I could travel back in time," you declared, "I would deck those dumbasses in the phase."

Seungmin choked on the coffee that the waitress had dropped off a few minutes ago. He surprisingly remembered your order, despite you only mentioning it to him during his student council coffee runs only once or twice before.

"Y/N, I'm pretty sure that's a crime," Seungmin snickered.

You raised your eyebrows in response. "And if you don't help me with this, I'm about to commit a crime, and you won't be in a position to testify."

With that, the lessons began.

Seungmin was an extremely good teacher. He was well known among the student body for being the kind of tutor that took F grades and turned them into a B+ or A-. Even you wanted to start tutoring, but your patience often wore thin faster than it did for others.

Seungmin though, didn't break a sweat. He revised concepts over and over again until you understood, making sure that at the end, you didn't have a single semblance of a doubt in your mind when it came to the related topic.

Two hours later, you were finally done.

"Now," Seungmin announced, "We will have some fun and let loose."

You were putting your books inside when you clicked a pen in your hand restlessly. "You, prim and proper Kim Seungmin, want to 'let loose' and 'have some fun'?"

Seungmin clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Look tiny, I'm disciplined, but I know my limits. You have already studied everything to the T. Plus, your exam is tomorrow. Get some fresh air and take a break now, then revise once more in the evening."

You wondered how he could be so careless when he probably had an exam tomorrow too. "What about you? Don't you have to study as well?"

Seungmin sent you a devious grin and you felt your knees go weak a little (No. What?)

"I had my last exam yesterday, honey," he happily shared, patting your head in mock pity in the process.

Honey, that was new. You were so used to the reoccurrences of 'darling', 'sweetheart' and terms related to your height that the new nickname caught you slightly off guard.

You hoped the expression on your face clearly conveyed that you found his actions traitorous. "How dare you prey on a vulnerable young woman just to quench your loneliness?"

"Come on," Seungmin coaxed, "We can hit the boardwalk, get lunch and go back to the dorms. You and I both know that we aren't invited to Saturday gatherings due to unfortunately being classified as 'nerds'."

In the end, you relented. After all, who can say no to someone whose beaming smile rivalled the shine of a rainbow and whose honeyed voice washed over you like a soothing balm?

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Boardwalk was the name that the students had given to the all year amusement park reminiscent set up that was just a few minutes away from the dorms. You had come here several times, but rarely with someone else and mostly to clear your head. (And watch toddlers shrieking on the carousel).

The moment you got your pink wristbands, Seungmin dragged you to the stalls where you played to win a plushie. He was so intent on winning something that you found it almost adorable.

"You do know that these are all scams, right? There's no way you'll win," you stated confidently, disregarding the mammoth scowl on the game operators face."

Seungmin lazily picked up a dart and aimed for the balloons hung on the wall. He cocked his head towards you and gave you a wink, "This one's for you, sweetheart."

To your utmost surprise, the dart hit the balloon perfectly. Even Seungmin looked stunned. The operator offered him another dart and you a self-assured smirk. He once again hit the dart again, with a satisfying pop!.

"All right folks," the operator droned, "Pick a stuffed toy."

Seungmin nudged you slightly, "Which one?"

You glanced at him, "You won, so it's only fair that you choose."

Seungmin smirked at you, "Nope. I recall mentioning that that one was for you."

Heat pooled in your stomach, which shouldn't have. Especially when the cause were Kim Seungmin.

"Okay," you jutted out your head to make eye contact with him and turned back to choose the lucky stuffed toy.

You pointed at a medium sized elephant plushie and grabbed it eagerly. Holding it tight to your chest you said, "What should we name our child Seungmin?"

He presented you with no reply and a face contorted with judgement.

Pouting, you mockingly told the elephant, "Look, your father doesn't love you."

Feigning an offended gasp, Seungmin promptly snatched the elephant from you, "Don't listen to your mother, Ello."

"Ello?" You laughed.

"Shh," Seungmin chastised, "Let my inner European be free."

The mild spring breeze whipped your hair around and you took of your jacket, wrapping it around your waist. You spotted a fallen rose and quickly went to pick it up. It was still in pristine condition and in a random bout of girlhood, you tried to tuck it behind your ear.

Silently, Seungmin motioned towards you taking Ello and you handing him the rose. Seungmin somehow managed to break of the thorns without cutting himself.

Delicately lifting up the hair behind your hair, he began to adjust the rose in place. Since he was considerably taller than you, Seungmin leaned in front. You could see every valley and crevice in his face and for some reason, you wanted to hold it in your arms.

A rush thumped through your chest. As silly as it seemed, nobody had ever quite touched you like that. Seungmin's breath smelled like chocolates and cinnamon.

A rebellious part if you wondered if that was what he would taste like.

Lightly clearing his throat, he continued walking and you followed wordlessly. A few random rides later, you both finally found yourself in front of the Disco Pang Pang. A smile tugged at your lips. You were so going on this ride today.

Cheeks flushed from the fun you were having, you said breathlessly, "Let's go."

Seungmin visibly gulped, "I don't know."

"Aw come on, don't tell me you're scared." Seeing the petrified expression on his face however, you quickly retracted your statement. "It's fine, we don't have to,"

"No, it's okay," Seungmin managed weakly, "Just, hold me please."

Handing Ello to one of the fair volunteers, you both clambered up the metal stairs and took a seat on the foam benches. Seungmin was right next to you, his arm around the railing of where you sat.

Your initial excitement of experiencing this wore off, however, when the machine suddenly lurched forward. It threw Seungmin on you and his arms instinctively curved around your waist.

The warmth from his body radiated into you and for a moment stayed frozen, eyes glued on each other. You felt electric shocks where he touched you and trembled slightly.

Catching his breath, Seungmin began to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry I didn't mean too-"

The machine lurched again and again. Seungmin had figured out how to maintain his balance and stayed the distance of an arm's length away from you. When it was finally over, you both stumbled onto solid ground, clutching your stomachs.

"That. Was. Awesome!" You decided, delight etching your face.

"I'm convinced you're a six year old boy stuck in an eighteen year old girl's body," Seungmin groaned.

Agreeing upon this being enough fun for one day you both walked back to the dorms and went your separate ways. Astoundingly, Seungmin's advice of taking a break in between studying did help and you noticed that you were retaining information better.

You wanted to thank him and grabbed your phone.

[7:26 PM]

You: ty maybe.

You: I *kinda* had fun today

[7:30 PM]

Ello's dad: just admit it darling

Ello's dad: im fun

[7:31 PM]

You: in ur dreams Kim, in ur dreams

[7:32 PM]

Ello's dad: well then, ig I'll be dreaming of you tonight

You smiled despite yourself and went to bed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - three months and twenty-five days.

Your relationship with Seungmin was somehow significantly improving. Yes, you still did indulge in your regular banter, but you both now had the ability to have full conversations without actually insulting the other person.

Your exams were finally over and, as presumed, both you and Seungmin had equal grades. What you didn't expect however, was even sharing the title of valedictorian with Seungmin.

The you before your impromptu study session would have been spitting fireballs. The you currently was looking forward to embarrassing Seungmin a little bit (in all good fun), during your moment in the spotlight.

In the fast paced environment of writing finals, wrapping up college applications and facing parents at parent - teacher meetings, the prom committee had forgotten one, extremely crucial component of prom planning: Picking a theme.

It was so stupid, really. None of you even realized until the décor committee was busy trying to decide on decorations and Felix meekly articulated, "Uh, guys. I don't think we ever decided on a set theme."

Seungmin eyes grew wide and you took in a sharp breath. How could you forget something so important? Frantic chatter arose and in a futile-ish attempt, you yelled out to the students, "Guys! Let's just come up with ideas, but in an orderly fashion."

In an instant, the room began quieting down and hands were raised, full of ideas. Seungmin gave you an impressed look and everyone slowly began suggesting various prom themes.

"What if," Noelle screamed from the back of the room, "We had a Paris inspired theme? I know, Paris nights!"

The entire room let out a collective groan. If Korea had koreaboos, then Noelle was some fucked up version of a French-boo. She boasted to whoever would listen that she had French blood, if being named Noelle and visiting Canada for two weeks constituted French heritage.

Riya ears perked up however, and she asked, "How about Aphrodite's Garden?"

You and Seungmin exchanged a look. "Elaborate," asked Seungmin.

Hyunjin gave Riya an encouraging shove and she stood up, "How about a spring theme, but instead of the classic flowers and leaves, it's more sensual and inspired by Greek mythology?"

The room broke into excited conversation, seemingly approving of Riya's idea. Hyunjin stood up next to her, "Riya and I could prepare a mood board and send it to the group chat."

"All in favor," Seungmin asked. A clear majority.

"Perfect," you smiled, "Then it's settled. The theme will be Aphrodite's Garden."

The room went back to it's raucous state as you stepped aside for a moment, head pounding from a headache. You had a cold and staying up all night studying for scholarship tests did not help. You knew you had to pass them though. You weren't willing to give your parents another reason to demean you for being a burden.

You were massaging your temples when Seungmin came up from behind you. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

"Yep," you tried to muster a positive tone, "Just a headache. I'm peachy."

"Peachy?" Seungmin inquired, his eyebrow cocked upwards and tone full of mischief.

"Don't assume that I don't use the word peachy unironically," you huffed.

Still, Seungmin's apprehensive expression and the exponentially increasing pounding in your head made you feel your gut that something bad was brewing.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You, Jeongin and Hyunjin waited patiently in the computer lab the next day. Hyunjin and Riya had made the mood board for Aphrodite's Garden, but wanted the input of you, Seungmin and Jeongin.

All three of you stood near the window, peering out of the glass and observing the ant-like players on the soccer field below. You wondered what was so appealing about kicking a ball on a Saturday morning.

Hyunjin looked troubled, "I want to ask Riya to prom. But I don't know how."

You let out a sneeze in response and Hyunjin wordlessly handed you a tissue, the despair never leaving his face.

You slightly understood the reasoning behind Hyunjin's thinking. It was promposal season, people planning elaborate and innovative ways to ask each other to prom. Considering the high school you were at, this more often than not involved Rube Goldberg machines and periodic table confessions.

Jeongin let out an audibly exasperated huff of breath. "If you like Riya, just ask her out. The worst she could say is no."

Before you could add onto Jeongin's admonishment, a voice cut through the room.

"What?"

Your eyes widened as you clapped your hand to your mouth. Hyunjin felt himself stumble backwards and Jeongin muttered a low "Fuck" under his breath.

Judging by the tone of the voice and familiar sweetness, you knew it could only belong to one person. Time felt like a concept out of grasp as you, Hyunjin and Jeongin turned to face Riya, standing in the doorway with shock painted on her face.

"I- I can't," she tripped over the doorstep, "Look, I'll just send them to you, I-"

Riya steadied herself, holding on the the doorframe, and then fled the room. Hyunjin glanced at you, his eyes full of pleading.

"Go, quickly," you commanded, and he rushed out of the room in Riya's stead.

"See, this is why you're my favorite," Hyunjin told you while ruffling you, scowling at Jeongin. You sniffed in response as Jeongin's jaw clenched.

Just then, Seungmin entered the room, giving both Hyunjin and Riya and irritated glare. "Weren't they supposed to show us something?"

"They'll just send it to one of us," you told Seungmin, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"You know what," Jeongin threw his hands up in the air in rage, "Fuck this. If they are out, I am out."

Seungmin stared at you quizzically, as if trying to unravel the pieces of the puzzle that made you, well, you. His eyes must have taken in your sickness - stricken state because the curiosity on his face morphed into concern.

"Are you okay?" Seungmin asked, stepping closer to you.

"Fine," you choked out, but you knew you weren't.

Your head felt like a thousand drills were screwing into it. You felt hot and cold at the same time, throat parched and dry. Your body felt like lead, being weighed down at ever movement. You knew these were the textbook symptoms of a fever and then some more.

You tried to walk forward, but couldn't hold your balance. Dazed, you felt your consciousness slowly slip away due to the lack of sleep you were forcing yourself to put up with it. Exhaustion didn't come to you in raindrops, it came to you in a torrential shower.

The last thing you felt was Seungmin's arms holding you up as your entire world shrouded in darkness.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you came to, you were still in the classroom, water droplets running down your face. Seungmin looked guilty and the bottle of water in his hand told you everything you needed to know.

"Sorry," Seungmin said sheepishly, "I didn't know what else to do."

You waved him off, still trying to fully gain control of your senses. You blinked slowly and languidly, adjusting slowly to the light. The sudden shift from complete darkness to windows that let in natural light was slightly painful.

You placed your palms flat against the floor, where Seungmin had most likely placed you. The cool sting of the marble tiles was a welcoming sensation, the bite of it rebooting your brain. You straightened your skirt but your head was still fucking hurting.

"What exactly happened?" you asked weakly.

You knew that women were often taken advantage of in such situations. You knew you could trust Seungmin with your life though. He would never hurt you in any sense, and the past few weeks only solidified that fact for you. Still, asking was like second nature for you.

"Oh, uhm, you fell and I caught you and somehow managed to lean you against the wall," Seungmin stuttered.

He let out a weary sigh and rubbed his eyes vigorously. It was almost as if he was the one who had just fainted and was sitting on a cold marble floor. The thought made you laugh, but the way your chest constricted in pain when the laugh travelled up your bones made you push it down.

"Let's-" you managed until you let out a sneeze, "Let's get back to work. Hyunjin or Riya must have sent the designs by now."

Seungmin looked at you, appalled. "No. Are you insane? You probably are. I'm taking you back to your dorms and making you something warm to eat, no questions asked."

"Seungmin, you don't have to," you let out, your voice hoarse. But despite your mental and vocal protests, your body couldn't fight it anymore. It was begging, screaming for help and you had ignored it wrong enough."

Seungmin set you a look that could kill and held out his palm. You grabbed onto it, and with his help stood up. You legs were so weak, however, that you fell forward again. The world was spinning and you were falling and falling until you weren't.

The entire time, only one thought rang over and over again in your head, like a sickly song.

Was success, was making the people around you proud, was your hard work really worth this form of self inflicted torture you were putting yourself through?

Seungmin's arms steadied your waist as you arms flew up to his shoulders. You were in close proximity now, close enough that you could see your reflection in his eyes. God, you looked like shit.

The concern in his eyes and the pain you were both mentally and physically going through finally made you snap.

Without warning, tears filled your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks. You were so, so tired. Seungmin didn't say anything, but he understood. Of course he understood. You couldn't deny it any longer. Being compared and set against each other didn't make you two poles on other sides of your respective worlds; in fact, it did the very opposite.

You were so accustomed to the thought of each other, that you had become a reflection of each other. There was no Y/N L/N without Kim Seungmin and no Kim Seungmin without Y/N L/N.

Your lives had become so intricately intertwined that the thought of a world without Seungmin, without the jabs and maddening nicknames, without the warm smiles that were solely reserved for you when somebody made an out of pocket comment at one of your student council meetings, felt impossible.

You felt your arms effortlessly slip down Seungmin's shoulder and around his waist. Your head automatically found a spot on his chest. You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, you knew that you were helpless and vulnerable, but you didn't care.

Seungmin kept you anchored as your mind swam through every dark tunnel that dug itself throughout your life. This time, you weren't frolicking in them. This time, you weren't finding solace in them because of your self proclaimed incompetence.

This time, you were sealing them shut for good and the only reason you could was because you knew Seungmin was there. He was there, he was there, he was there.

When Seungmin lightly placed his chin over your head, you didn't mind being short. His hands soothingly smoothed your hair over and over again as you noiselessly let out all the pent up emotions and feelings that grew into this black hole that was sucking the life out of you.

You stepped back. "I'm sorry," you sobbed.

"It's fine, you're good," he whispered softly.

Holding you forearm gently, he walked you out of the room you both were in and in the direction of your dorm. You furiously rubbed at your cheeks, attempting to lose any indication of you previously pathetic state, but you stopped when a shot of something you hadn't felt in a long time rushed back to you: indifference.

In this moment, you didn't care that the regality with which you held yourself in front of Seungmin  and the world was soiled under your feet.

All you cared about was that you finally had a person who would hold you while you break and pick up the pieces with you when you were ready, mending you and healing and hell, loving you back to a state of somewhat living.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your hands were shaking so much and your vision was so blurry when you tried to unlock your dorm room door that Seungmin had to ease the key out of your finger. He slid it in and with a click, the door swung upon.

You pulled out strength from the nooks and crannies of your being to actually change into something comfortable. Seungmin surprisingly also had a change of clothes in his bag, until you later remembered that he had baseball matches every Saturday morning at dawn.

You came out of your room wearing cat faced pajamas that were a little big for you but cozy nonetheless. Seungmin looked you up and down with a smirk on his face.

"Shall I call you kitty cat now?" his tone heavy with fake torment and real intention.

There was no way you were getting out of this one.

"Shut up, puppy," you referenced the small puppy face on his t-shirt as you padded towards the bar stools that stood along your kitchen counter.

"Okay, kitty cat," he grinned while you groaned.

In the fifteen minutes Seungmin had spent inside your dorm room, he had located the medicine cabinet and slid a bottle of Tylenol and a spoon. You withered under his expectant stare and duly obliged.

"Fair warning," Seungmin said casually as he took out some instant ramen and a saucepan, "I'm a horrible cook."

You probably would have flipped him off for his easy-going tone while saying that he could food poison you if he wasn't the reason you were in the comfort of your home right now.

"Just don't give me acidity. I would probably die and if I do, best believe I'll come back to haunt your ass," you muttered.

"Relax," Seungmin's tone was slightly offended, "Have faith in me. I can make at least instant ramen."

"If you insist," you sighed.

Seungmin passed the bowl of steaming hot ramen towards you, vapor still rising from it. You blew on it and took a bite, the heat instantly making you feel better. Seungmin sat beside you and began eating as well. You both lunched in silence, only the sounds of your spoons hitting your bowls and the occasional slurp filling the room.

You let out a yawn and Seungmin was quick to tell you that the instructions on the instructions stated that you had to wait an hour before sleeping if you had eaten anything after administering it.

To kill time, you suggested watching something on television. Seungmin joined you on the couch. You wrapped a warm blanket around you while Seungmin shifted through your Netflix catalogue, evidently pleased with your taste in media.

You started speaking, "You know, I was thinking of watching -"

At the same time Seungmin began, "I was actually planning on starting -"

"Three Body Problem," you both finished at the same time.

Reflections, reflections.

Seungmin played the first episode and you both watched in transfixed awe and silence. Seungmin kept checking on you in between though. It was never something major, but small things, like handing you the only pillow on the couch and passing a bottle of water at regular intervals.

"Wow," you said breathlessly as if you yourself were in that setting, "Any theories?"

Seungmin gritted his teeth, "Multiple, actually, but I have read the books and that would be fair, would it kitty cat?"

You pouted at him and he laughed his devious laugh.

"You can go, if you need to," you told Seungmin, "I'll get some rest. Riya will probably be home soon for a few hours."

"No, I'll stay out of the goodness of my heart," Seungmin smirked.

You snorted, "Out of the goodness of your heart, or out of the goodness of wanting to steal something?"

"Maybe I'll take your bunny slippers. They're the only thing worth committing a crime in this dorm for," Seungmin mocked, the slippers you were currently wearing coming I'm intentionally violent contact with his leg.

"Seriously though, thank you for helping me. I wouldn't have expected it from someone who hates me," you said, not thinking much of it.

"I don't hate you," said Seungmin, and your worlds collided to come to a standstill.

Every perception you had for yourself was destroyed with the utterance of four words. I don't hate you. The walls you had built of rivalry and animosity, of surpassing him and opposing him came crashing down and burying you in rubble underneath.

If all you had worked towards was to dismantle the justification of Seungmin's fabricated hatred, and yet he never hated you in the first place, then what was the point? Does that mean that you were never truly doing any of this for yourself, and only because of him?

If he didn't exist, what would you be?

You realized that you were probably reading too much into it and let out a hollow, "I thought you did."

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. I just considered you a worthy opponent that would help me improve myself. If anything, I respect you. In fact, these last few days have led me to see you as a friend."

You realized that it was time you apologized as well. "I'm really sorry too. I shouldn't have treated you so crossly."

Understanding and amusement flooded Seungmin's features. "No, please don't change. Bickering with you is one of the highlights of my day."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Okay, puppy boy. I'll go get some rest. What will you be doing?"

Seungmin winked at you. "Looking for things useful to steal, of course."

You lightly shoved his shoulder and he shook his head, shaking with laughter. Seungmin's hair bounced up and down as he laughed, pitifully, at his own joke.

You went to bed with a reducing migraine, a lighter heart and a new perception of you relationship with Kim Seungmin.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were completely knocked out. When you woke, you felt weirdly feverish. You sighed bitterly, knowing that it would take you time to recover.

You walked out to the living room the check up on Seungmin. The sight which you found before you made you mentally melt into a puddle.

In front of you was a sleeping Kim Seungmin, legs brought to his chest and cheeks puffed out. His chest heaved rhythmically and small puffs of breath escaped his mouth. His hair covered his eyes and he was in the most compact position you had seen. You suppressed a snort.

You knew the kindest thing you could for him was to let him sleep. You knew the kindest thing you could do for yourself was to take pictures for blackmail material. Slipping your phone out of your back pocket, you quickly snapped a picture.

Foolishly, you forgot to turn off the flash and Seungmin stirred in his sleep. He got up with a start and blinked slowly. His eyes found yours and he blinked once more.

Then, with a slow smile, he said, "Hi."

If you thought you were a puddle before, you were now a stream rushing towards the ocean. "Hello."

Seungmin sprang up, "Feeling better?"

"Hm," you responded.

You watched as Seungmin made his way to the kitchen, shuffling with the cups you had inside your mildly messy cupboards. "I'll make coffee. Two sugars right?" he asked matter of factly.

"Yep," you replied in slight surprise, "It's crazy how you still remember. It's been... what, six weeks since your last student council coffee run?"

Seungmin's back was to you, mixing away the milk and coffee granules. "I remember everything about you."

You heart shouldn't have stuttered the way it did, and for once, you didn't try to stop it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - three months.

"Han Jisung," you yelled into your phone, "I will kill you!"

Static emerged from the other side, but you could still make out Jisung's muffled giggle. "Y/N, bestie, bad bitch, my ride or die, just get cookies."

You hung up the phone call in irritation as Seungmin leaned against the window of the bus stop, observing you with a smile. You shot him a grimace which was poorly disguised as a smile, and he burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Cookies it is I guess," he snickered at your misfortune.

"We're splitting the bill," you announced haughtily, and you both walked side by side to the local grocery store.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The cold air of the grocery store nipped at you, making its under your shirt and through your jeans. You rage towards a particular Han Jisung, however, propelled you towards the baked goods and sweets section. Seungmin tailed behind you, his hand holding on to your jacket sleeve.

The conquest in question was to get one of the people in your grade, Jisung, to help provide entertainment for the school prom. Him and two other seniors who had already passed out, Chan and Changbin, were part of a trio named 3racha. The entire school knew of their laurels; they had been signed to a famous company before even graduating high school.

Jisung told you to meet at their studio after school to discuss prom, assuring you that they would provide music and maybe even dj on the side. Right before you and Seungmin were going to leave however, he had the absolute audacity to tell you that his hyungs needed a lot of convincing.

You scanned all the decorative tin boxes, trying to pick out something cheap that would also suffice for the treacherous endeavor you were about to undertake. Sometime during this process, the familiar tug of Seungmin's hand on your sleeve vanished.

You surveyed the room to find where he was, like a mother looking for her son. When you finally spotted his familiar tuft of hair and tall frame, you let out a slightly fond and extremely exasperated sigh.

While you were actually working, Seungmin was busy waving two cones of ice cream towards you. You grabbed the box of cookies you were eyeing and walked towards him.

"Really, Seungmin?" you dryly questioned.

"I have an unnatural craving for butterscotch. If you don't let me have it, I'll go Edward Cullen on you," he retorted.

You seriously regretted persuading Seungmin into watching Twilight with you. Ever since the little sick spell you had which prompted Seungmin to spend time at your dorm, you both began a mini tradition of watching a movie together once every week.

You would play the movie on your respective laptops and call each other, listening on mute bar the occasional theoretical conversations and joint rants about the main character's absolute stupidity.

It all started when he began pestering you about table colors for the prom banquet ("but I don't see the difference between ivory and off-white!"), but you interrupted by saying that it movie night and that you were rewatching Interstellar. Both your movie preferences and haywire sleep schedules being very similar led to Seungmin asking you if he could watch as well.

The rest, as they say, was history.

You finally relented and you and Seungmin stepped out of the store with a split bill, a box of cookies under your arm and ice creams currently being devoured. You opted for Belgian Chocolate while Seungmin wolfed down butterscotch. You finished your ice creams and tossed your wrappers in the bin outside.

You noticed a spot of ice cream near Seungmin's lip. Without thinking anything of it, you pulled your sleeve and swiped at it, cleaning it in one go. Seungmin glanced at you with a mixture of awe, shock, and something you assumed was adoration.

"It's just ice cream," you mumbled, but the atmosphere of comfort and domesticity hit you just as much as it healed him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The two of you got on the bus and found two empty seats beside each other. After you vehemently listed the cons of sitting in an aisle seat, Seungmin finally conceded into letting you sit near the window. He didn't do so without insulting your height (again), claiming that since he was tall he would need to stretch his legs, but you wouldn't be having such issues at all.

The bus ride to the 3racha studio would take a good forty five minutes. Not because it was far, per se, but because traffic was a little shit.

You both were on your phones, and you scrolled aimlessly through social media. You let out a groan of annoyance.

"What is it?" asked Seungmin.

"Just Riya and Hyunjin being disgustingly adorable. Go ahead, take pleasure in my despair," you offered, full of snark.

"I mean, if you insist," Seungmin grinned.

Ever since Riya and Hyunjin's dramatic love confession and Victorian romance-esque scenario, you had been third wheeling to the point where you were third wheeling without even being near them. Hyunjin and Riya being in a relationship did make you crave one of your own, but you were kind of to not let an innocent victim (see also: Yang Jeongin) fall captive to the perils of being a third wheel.

You were drifting in and out of reality, immersed in a science fiction eBook loaded onto you phone. Or at least, you were, until animated video game noises came from Seungmin's phone. You peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing, and burst into a fit of stifled laughter.

"How can you be so bad at Fruit Ninja of all games," you giggled.

Seungmin glared at you, "As if you're any better."

"I am, in fact," you snorted, your tone full of invitation and open to challenge.

It took just those four words and the smug expression on your face for Seungmin to quickly switch to multiplayer mode. The two of you vigorously tapped at your screens, slicing watermelons and mangos. Seungmin swiping was so arbitrary that he couldn't even cut through a fruit half the time.

You shoulder was pressed against Seungmin's and your chin hovered over it. You thought you both were being soft enough so as to not disturb anyone, but an old woman sitting in front of you coughed in what you assumed was contempt.

Blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment as you and Seungmin both bowed apologetically. You were expecting a lengthy sermon on public discipline, but the old woman broke into a smile instead.

"Always cherish your childhood friendships and childhood loves," she winked at the two of you, "Especially when it seems to be a love as free as the one you both share."

You and Seungmin exchanged confused looks.

"We're not-"

"About that-"

You were tripping over your words, stumbling and falling until Seungmin finally mustered, "We're not dating, or in love or anything."

The woman just laughed in response. She got up from her chair and left with an "If you say so!", leaving both you and Seungmin stunned in her wake. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You and Seungmin sat cramped in the 3racha studio couch. You couldn't quite call this room a studio. It was more of a musically inclined man cave.

Jisung, Changbin and Chan sat across from you, their legs ridiculously crossed over the other at the exact same angles. Jisung nibbled on the cookies that you brought. He smiled at another one of your death glares.

Chan clapped his hands together, "You know what? We would love to play at your prom. Changbin and I are alumni and Jisung is bitchless anyways."

Jisung swatted at Chan's arm with his cookie while Changbin swooped in to claim a cookie of his own. Amidst the chaos, you and Seungmin let out a sigh of relief.

"You can send us the transaction details at our email," said Changbin, scribbling it on a notepad. His booming voice made you jump in surprise.

"Cool, we'll do that soon. Before we go, can I use the restroom?" Seungmin inquired.

Chan rattled off the directions to the restroom and Seungmin left with a pat on your head and a "Don't miss me too much, darling."

"We'll get back to work now, Y/N," Chan said kindly.

You shot him a smile which remained on your face until Changbin snickered, "Yeah, Jisung can keep you company."

The two of them went inside their studio booth, erupting with giggles that turned into fake coughs which once again morphed into real coughs. You shot Jisung a quizzical look. "Oh, that's because I used to like you," Jisung said through a mouthful of cookie.

You weren't taken aback, unfazed by his sudden admission. Jisung has had a crush on almost the entire student body, regardless of gender. You would be kidding if you said that you didn't have a soft spot for Jisung though. He was your seatmate in chemistry class (a horrible one at that), but also the reason why you ran for student council president in the first place.

"You would be good at it," he encouraged you, even though you knew his ulterior motives.

You were presently reaching for a cookie when Jisung stated casually, "I didn't know you were dating Seungmin."

You choked on your cookie. "What? We aren't. Why would you think that?"

There was no way in hell you and Seungmin could ever be mixed up for a couple. Yes, your feelings of hatred towards him had considerably dampened, but that didn't mean that you liked liked him. Everything you felt towards him was strictly professional and only had to do with prom planning, as you would regularly reassure yourself.

Jisung shrugged. "The nicknames, the looks you were giving each other. I mean, you both are alike. It wouldn't be that out of the blue of you were."

You responded with a huff of indignation, assuming that this was Jisung's way of asking you if you were single.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"We are not watching Twilight," you told Seungmin sternly. He pouted at you but you wouldn't budge, not even an inch.

Seungmin and you were back on the bus, the sky painted in beautiful shades of blue. The bus was quiet, you and Seungmin being the only passengers on there. Deciding to kill time because evening traffic would cause the bus to take even longer, Seungmin suggested watching something on his tablet.

"Let's watch the Vampire Diaries instead!" Seungmin said in excitement.

You stared at him, mouth agape. "What is it with you and vampires?"

"It's either that or Mean Girls," Seungmin offered.

You instantly knew what you would watch. Suffering through Seungmin watching Mean Girls and adopting Regina George's personality would be pure agony. There were many things you could tolerate in life, but Seungmin taking up the persona of his favorite characters after watching something knew was not one of them. Knowing Seungmin, you didn't have a shred of doubt that his favorite would be Regina.

"Vampire Diaries it is," you agreed, "But Damone is mine."

Seungmin offered no objection and handed you one side of his wired earphones. You had to sit in extremely close proximity to Seungmin, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek. Your head subconsciously dropped on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against your hair.

Seungmin smelled like cinnamon and rain. You wondered what perfume he used, but then realized that it would be pointless since any and all perfume would have worn out by then. After that you began to ponder about what Disney movie he had stepped out of to smell so good and look so good despite spending hours either outside or in a cramped studio.

Finally, your train of thought took a sharp, final turn.

You were comfortable, pressed up against Seungmin and making sarcastic comments every so often. It felt normal, natural even. It struck you that your head fit under Seungmin's chin like a missing puzzle piece.

The pieces of your brain and the pieces of his heart joined together to form a beautiful mosaic of shared chaos and resilience that was unique only to the odd relationship you both shared.

Maybe it wasn't so absurd that two people had assumed that you both were in a relationship. Maybe you didn't want it to be so absurd. Maybe you wanted it to be something that wouldn't cause you and Seungmin to dismiss with hurried explanations and laughs full of ridicule.

That was enough thinking for today.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[10:17 PM]

puppy boy: i have come here to tell you that i am willing to risk our friendship

[10:18 PM]

You: /what/ friendship?

[10:18 PM]

puppy boy: fine, i'm willing to risk out not friendship for claiming damone salvatore

puppy boy: talk to hand if you have any arguments

puppy boy: ✋🏻

[10:19 PM]

You: lmao not you acting like damone would choose *you* over *me*

[10:19 PM]

puppy boy: ...

puppy boy: ok well i can't rly argue with that

puppy boy: if i was damone, i would choose you in a heartbeat

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - two months and twenty six days.

The most fascinating thing that you had studied about in your astronomy class were binary stars. They were the most common multi star system, found regularly in pockets of the universe. They were immensely important, aiding in the calculation of things like mass of celestial bodies.

But one could not exist without the other.

A binary star was useless without it's counterpart, just another ball of glowing gas drifting about in the universe. You reckoned that humans also had their version of binary stars, people whose lives were so intertwined with each other that having one without the other stripped both entities of their meaning.

In astronomy, they were called binary stars. On earth, they were called soulmates.

That was what you and Seungmin were, stars that shone brightly in your shared skies but instead of dimming the other, only amplified it. You both were natural satellites, celestial bodies gravitating into each other's pull like a two magnets.

Seungmin drew you in like nobody else did, and you were tired of repelling it. If the earth had reversed it's poles so many times in the past, then in the grand scheme of things, you reversing your perception of Seungmin should have been nothing that would warrant a big deal.

But to you, this was your entire perception of a black and white reality being ripped away and slowly rebuilt in color.

Considering that the person behind all of it was Seungmin, these colors were more often than not so vivid and vibrant that it left you craving more of what life could be like if he would be there mending every crack in your universe.

It left you craving more of what life could be like if the term my universe in your dictionary changed to our universe.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You and Seungmin were sitting together in the library. Well, less sitting together and more having a habit of happening to be there at the same time (which was almost all the time). This caused you both to strike up a habit of unknowingly taking a seat beside the other person.

Seungmin was leafing through a book while you silently observed him. "What is it?" he piped up, his eyes never leaving his book, "What do you want to ask me?"

You placed a finger between the pages of the book you were reading and shrugged. "Nothing much, really. How did you know I was wondering about something anyways?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I just know. Now, what is it?"

His impatient gaze and curious eyes tempted you into telling him what was making rounds in your head. You found yourself thinking for the umpteenth time how his hair fell into his face so perfectly, making him a vision that seemed like a painting encased in a Parisian museum.

"Your eyes," you whispered, your tone so imperceptible that a another human being would have barely heard you.

Seungmin always heard your voice, though.

"What about them?" he chuckled.

You titled your head to the side, wondering if you yourself were imagining all of this. "Did you know your eyes change color when you look at me?"

It was true, at least to you. You noticed that whenever Seungmin's gaze caught onto yours, his eyes darkened. Not in the terrifying way often associated with bloodlust, but in the puzzled way that made you feel like he was trying to figure you out, just as you were trying to figure yourself out.

"It's just a telling sign for my animosity towards you," taunted Seungmin, attempting to ignite a fiery response out of you.

It somewhat mildly worked.

"Oh yeah," you gasped, "Ello will be troubled to know that her parents are fighting.

"Hm," contemplated Seungmin, "Who's gonna be the one to tell her that she's a child of divorce?"

Seungmin's comment caught you off guard. Child of divorce? It was so out of pocket that even the tantalizing curve of your lips that had been making you feel unnatural things as of late couldn't distract you.

"We aren't even married, Seungmin," you pointed out.

In response, Seungmin put his book down on the table in front of him. He placed his elbow on the aforementioned table and smoothly removed one of the two rings that he was always wearing: the smaller moon ring to his larger sun ring, you noticed.

He motioned for your hand and in one gesture, slid the moon ring onto your ring finger. "There," he declared proudly, "Now we're married."

He seemed so casual, so unfazed about it, that it enraged you.

Did he not just feel like an entire carton box of fireworks had gone off in an empty parking lot that was his stomach? Did he not get his breath taken away from a gesture that was so simple that a passerby wouldn't even have batted an eye at it? Did he not feel perplexed, terrified and astonished that such a feeling was even possible?

Because you did.

You felt like your world was tilting on it's axis and you couldn't keep letting the lava simmer under the surface anymore.

It felt like the entire universe was in your grasp, like electricity crackled at your fingertips. You felt euphoric, your brain buzzing and mind spinning.

You felt like someone shattered the vase of feelings that contained all you had ever experienced and glued it back together with gold in its cracks. You felt like someone placed rose-tinted sunglasses on your eyes and that you never wanted to go back to normal vision after gaining a taste of what this felt like.

You knew that what you felt was, according to the countless books and movies you had watched, a horrible illness that constituted a crush. But you didn't know that it felt so good? Even more frighteningly so, you didn't know when you stopped seeing Seungmin as a rival and as a friend.

You frighteningly didn't know when you started seeing Seungmin as someone you were capable of loving until you did and it scared you to death concretely only knowing that your brain provided not a single fucking objection to this flurry of feelings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - two months.

In the time that you had come to the realization that you had feelings for Seungmin, and all the moments post that day, you were in a tumultuous state of mind.

You hadn't told anyone about your feelings, because you weren't sure if they were genuine or if they were a product of you romanticizing the entire atmosphere surrounding you.

You would be so cruel to Seungmin before a few months ago, so neglectful of his feelings that you thought it was foolish to think that he would ever like. It baffled you that he even saw you as a friend; hoping that he would see you as a lover would be akin to grasping for non-existent straws.

You should have told Hyunjin, who viewed love so beautifully that you envied him for it. You should have talked to Jeongin, who didn't see love as poetically as Hyunjin, but had so much of it to spare and never seemed to run out. But you didn't.

Instead, you chose to exist in torturous turmoil, over thinking each and every shared moment you had with Seungmin. If this was what experiencing supposedly unrequited like was going to be for the rest of your life, you sincerely hoped you never went through the pain of it again.

If this was what experiencing supposedly unrequited like was going to be for the rest of your life, you sincerely hoped it didn't become unrequited love.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"And we'll have to meet Felix for his cousin, you know, Lee Minho, who said he'll be open to catering for prom," you finished with an air of finality.

Seungmin bobbed his head in agreement and walked with you towards you locker. He stepped normally, slowing down to keep pace with you. You felt like your legs were lead.

Being near Seungmin made you simultaneously want to combust and make you want to fly.

You reached for you locker and twisted the knob according to your combination, as you did almost everyday. This was like second nature to you, so when you opened you locker, put your books inside and turned around with the intention of facing Seungmin, you certainly weren't expecting what you were met with instead.

Renjun, one of the students of your grade, stood facing you with a bouquet. You had spoken with Renjun a few times at most, striking up conversation very rarely. You had no idea what warranted him looking at you earnestly, hoping that he was waiting for someone else.

Of course you were wrong.

"Hey Y/N, um... I have liked you for a very long time and I wanted to ask if you would go to prom with me," Renjun stuttered.

To say you were in shock was an understatement. Dating was the furthest thing from your mind, regardless of whether or not you had feelings for anyone, Seungmin included. While you did feel a surge of ego at being asked out for prom, you weren't in any way, shape, or form, expecting it.

This also meant that you weren't prepared for what you were going to do if you wanted to accept a promposal, which in turn meant you had even less of an idea of what to do if your intention was to reject a promposal.

You instantly felt pity on him and remorseful for what you were about to do.

"Oh Renjun, I'm really sorry but I barely know you. On top of that, I'll be really busy with student council and just be the reason your night to be ruined," you told him softly.

Renjun looked at you crestfallen. "Oh yeah, no, you're right. I'm sorry for bothering you. Can we grab coffee sometime though?"

Before you could respond, Seungmin interjected. "Yes, yes, that's all nice but we have to go. People to see, places to be. Just text her when and where."

With that, Seungmin dragged you away. You wanted to protest but were internally cartwheeling instead.

It was probably your imagination, probably caffeinated emotions, but you thought you saw a flash of jealousy in Seungmin's charming eyes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"What was that about?" you snorted.

"That was me having to be inconvenienced because my partner doesn't know how to respond when a guy asks her out," Seungmin snapped.

Not friend. No colleague or co-president. Not even your name. But partner.

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

"Why do you hate prom so much Seungmin?" you sighed, changing the topic.

Seungmin shrugged in response but you pressed on. "It's okay puppy. No matter how embarrassing, I won't judge."

You crossed your fingers over your heart, but Seungmin just looked at you with melancholy in his eyes. Your teasing smile fell.

"It's a long story," Seungmin said. His hands were in his pocket and he was kicking at a rock on the pavement.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," you told him, your voice full of guilt for asking.

"No, I will," he responded, "You deserve that much."

Seungmin finally began, "You know how I have an older sister, right? She's in college right now, but back when she was in high school, she was really smart. Smarter then me smart. I know right. Crazy? Anyways, she was very much type casted as a nerd and even though she was well liked, nobody wanted to date her. That was, until, prom came around. A guy asked her out and she was over the moon."

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, knowing where this was about to go.

"She wasn't even romantically interested in him, but was so excited that someone had for once, shown some interest towards her that she instantly said yes. I still remember how she wouldn't stop talking about it. She got ready, buying her own dress and everything, using money from her part time job that she was saving for university. She looked ethereal that night. I still remember all of it, even if it was five years ago. But she was stood up. Turns out the entire was a dare, a sick joke. Her final straw was when she saw the guy who asked her out walk into the prom venue with another girl on his arm."

Your heart broke for Seungmin's sister. You couldn't even imagine how it must have felt. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, however, Seungmin opened his mouth once again.

He continues bitterly, "She was so heartbroken that she went to one of those afterparties, that's basically a rave. She drank so much alcohol that it got to the point where she was passed out on someone's hospital. We had to rush her to the hospital and get all of it pumped out. It felt so painful, being thirteen and watching my sister just suffer in pure agony."

Seungmin's voice broke, "She almost died last night, physically. But mentally, she was wrecked. It was on her hospital records, this incident. None of the Ivies, or any university even remotely good accepted her. She finally got into Stanford, but that was after writing several scholarship tests and paying a hefty fee. She's never really been the same since."

When Seungmin's sermon came to an end, you felt his hurt ten times over. Tears glistened in his eyes and without warning, you pulled him in for a hug. You felt Seungmin let out a shaky breath and held him close.

"Your hair smells like strawberries. It's highly concerning. Fruit based shampoos are dumb," he mumbled into your hair.

"Shut up and stop ruining the moment or else I'll let go," you warned.

In response, Seungmin just held you tighter. When he let go, he swiped at his eyes and gave you a grateful smile. "Sorry. And thank you," he told you with a tight smile.

You just nodded in response. "Hey, I understand why you hate prom. I can take over for you on the actual night," you offered with a squeeze of his hand."

Seungmin shook his head in response, "No, I'll be there. It wouldn't be fair to all of you if I wasn't. But you should go with Renjun. Being tethered to someone who has an outlook like me would just make the night boring as hell for you."

The possibility of going to prom with Renjun when Seungmin was right there was something you found utterly ridiculous. It made no sense, no sense at all to go with someone you had no feelings for. Going to prom with Renjun would hurt both him and you.

Seungmin's glazed expression sent an arrow straight into your heart, piercing and deafening. You refused to let him drown in sorrow. "Absolutely not, Kim Seungmin. If I said you're coming to prom with me, you're coming to prom with me."

You didn't allow any room for further argument, shutting Seungmin up with a defiant stare. You wanted Seungmin to enjoy prom, you truly did. But you knew that this wasn't the complete truth. You had a much more selfish, concealed motive.

You were going to make Kim Seungmin fall in love with prom, while falling in love with you as well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - one month and three days.

[9:06 PM]

You: oi seungmin

You: we still meeting up at the library to wrap up all the finally details?

[9:07 PM]

seungmine (hopefully someday): Yep.

You could somehow tell that something was bothering Seungmin, just by reading that last text. You caught your lip between your teeth as you got ready to go to the library, his dry tone throwing you off. Seungmin was pretty much a dry texter, but always followed it up with something absurd. Today however, he didn't. Hell, he even used proper punctuation.

The entirety of the mini 'meeting' that you had consisted of only you talking and Seungmin responding with one or two words. If you were lucky, he would look your way, but your luck mostly fell short.

You snapped your binder shut and asked, "Everything good?"

Seungmin just blinked in response, the boredom and sense of being done evident in his eyes. He didn't reply and instead proceeded to swing his bag around his shoulder and stand up.

You tried once again. "I was going to go shopping for prom dresses. Do you want to match colors? Let me know what you plan on wearing."

Seungmin spared you a half glance. "Yeah sure, wear whatever. I don't really care."

You felt tears prick in his eyes. How could he just not care? You were willing to give up fun and sacrifice romance so that Seungmin could have someone to spend time with. You were doing all this and for what? Being told that he didn't care?

You felt so heavy that you spit out, "You know what? Fine. I wanted to go to prom with you so that you would have someone to be with. I knew, I knew that we would have to be stuck together all night, socializing and making sure nobody burns the school down or spikes the punch bowl. But that doesn't mean that I don't want prom to feel authentic, to go as a normal teenager."

You continued, "I'm not even asking you for the grand promposal that I have been dreaming about since I was nine. I'm just asking you to do the bare minimum, if not as my prom date, which you agreed to might I add, but at least as the person who I share the title of co-president with. You cannot keep disregarding my feelings Seungmin. I'm sick and tired of it. I understand that you hate prom but it's you who keeps insisting on coming, it's you who keeps saying that it won't be fair if you aren't there which is ironic, because you most definitely aren't being fair right now."

Seungmin stared at you, jaw slightly hung open, but the fire inside you kept raging.

"I know you don't see me as a date and that's fine but at least show me some modicum of respect. You didn't even let me complete my question; it wasn't me asking about matching prom attire. It was Principal Kim who suggested asking you about it. And you know that a suggestion from her is nothing short of law."

The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill out now as you mentally cursed yourself for ever even thinking that you could have feelings for someone like him.

"So, Kim Seungmin, if you don't want to go prom, or if you want to be a whiny little bitch about it, it's fine with me. Text me if you're going. If you won't, I'll just assume you aren't. You can do whatever the fuck you want because I'm sick for pitying you when you clearly aren't deserving of it. Go ahead and fucking ruin prom for yourself, but don't you dare tarnish the experience for me."

Before Seungmin could even anything, you grabbed your backpack and walked away, blinking back tears as you thought about how cold and lonely prom would be without anybody by your side to spend the night with. Hyunjin had Riya. Jeongin had a roster of senior girls willing to go out with him.

But you? At the end of the day, every single day, you were all alone. You let your intrusive thoughts in, swirling in your head and nearly paralyzing your capacity to think.

What if the reason why you were alone was all your fault? What if you were too pushy, too rude for your own good? None of that mattered, though, because thinking about the situation never changed the situation.

You would be alone, no matter how hard you tried otherwise, and that was the bitter truth you had to learn to live with.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[5:28 PM]

Kim Seungmin: i am so sorry y/n

Kim Seungmin: please answer my calls

[6:36 PM]

You: I have sent the details regarding the electronic equipment.

You: Make sure to contact them.

[6:36 PM]

Kim Seungmin: please let me make it up to you.

Kim Seungmin: please.

[7:05 PM]

You: Let me know once you contact them.

You: Don't bother texting me otherwise.

You: My phone will be on dnd since I'm going out.

You: Call me only if it's urgent. I think you should be more than capable of handling the situation now, but just in case. Don't expect me to respond to you about anything else.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You were avoiding Seungmin as if he carried a deadly virus. You dodged him in hallways and expertly deflected any and all of his attempts to talk to you. The one place you couldn't avoid where you knew he would be, however, was the library.

You needed to return one of your library books. Today was the last day and not doing so would led to you paying a fine. You couldn't afford a payable fees right now, since most of the savings from your part time job and the money your parents would regularly send you would be going towards buying your prom gown.

Okay, fine. Maybe you wanted to give Seungmin a chance to properly apologize. But that's absurd and not important right now.

Your headphones were jammed in your ears, music pounding through them while you walked in its direction. People thought that you had an affinity for listening to classical music since you came under the categorization of an 'over-achieving nerd.'

You knew that society also known as your school, would break out into scandal if they ever found out that Kendrick Lamar was your top artist on Spotify.

That thought brought you back to Seungmin, as you giggled at the memory of his confusion while you were explaining the entire Drake and Kendrick beef to him. His nose was scrunched up and his eyes were squinted, listening to you as if you were preaching about the secrets of life and the universe, not ranting about rap music.

Oh wait. You were supposed to hate Seungmin. Not giggle at the memories of the time you spent together like a middle aged woman recounting her college days.

When you got to the library, you placed your bag on Mrs. Kang's table and took out the book you were supposed to return.

You handed it to her with a strained smile. "Hey, I am on time though, aren't I Mrs. Kang? Plus, this is just a first time offence. I'm sure you can let it slide."

Mrs. Kang raised her eyebrow. "Fine, just this once," she slid the book underneath the scanner and mentioned, "Oh, you should go check out the Romantic Literature section; we finally got sent The Vicar of Wakefield."

You looked at her, puzzled. You were never really interested in works that emerged during the age of early eighteenth century Romanticism. She must have mixed you up with somebody else, but you began to walk towards the shelves anyways. If anything would help lighten your spirits, it would be re-reading Pride and Prejudice.

When you got there however, the most unexpected sight awaited you.

Your eyes drank in the sight of Seungmin, standing wearing a varsity jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. Dried rose petals littered the length of the aisle. Seungmin was holding up an open book with it's pages folded to form the word 'Prom?'

As much as you hated to admit it, the sight took your breath away.

Seungmin cocked his head to the side. "I had to bribe her with my limited edition copy of Frankenstein."

"What- what is this?" you asked, your brain still numb from shock.

Seungmin bit his lip and looked at you. "This is me apologizing. You were right. I completely sidelined you when I shouldn't have. I truly respect and admire you and feel horrible that I made you feel like this. And I figured, that I should ask you to prom the way you deserve: with all the grandeur in the world."

His apology was one that you could have never imagined being the recipient of. Even fiction didn't predict something as thoughtful as this. Seungmin preparing an entire promposal for you, over just a hissy fit, was enough to thaw your temporarily frozen heart.

You looked at him open-mouthed. "But I thought you didn't even like me that way."

Despite how hard he tried to contain it, tones of mischief slipped through Seungmin's voice. "Would it be so bad if I did?"

What? This couldn't be real. This was most definitely not happening. You pinched yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming, because never in your wildest dreams would such a scene have ever taken place.

Seungmin must have somehow read your mind because he quickly stuttered, "Not that I do. I mean I like you. But not in that way. Like, I asked you since we have to spend the entire night together anyways. I'm sorry for making this weird."

You let out an exhale, chiding yourself for being so gullible. It was just Seungmin being Seungmin. You spared a glance at his eyes, full of anticipation. You wanted to say no. If you didn't, you knew you would be in too deep.

You took a step forward to refuse his request when your eyes fell on his hand. The sight awaiting you knocked the wind out of your body.

You already noticed Seungmin's baggy eyes, attributing it to lack of sleep because he was busy doing whatever guys do. But his hands told the other half of the story.

They were adorned with paper cuts. Small scars like moons were imprinted on him in various stages of healing. One even had a bit of blood on it.

"Uh, yeah," said Seungmin, noticing your eyes drift down, "I spent all night making it. Let's just say that I'm really bad with paper and folding in any context and leave it at that."

"Seungmin," you whispered, your eyes tearing up. He offered you a tight smile.

"I should go. This was weird. I'm sorry."

"Wait!" you said in a tone that startled him, "I'll go. I'll go to prom with you. Officially."

Seungmin's eyes reflected a question of whether you were doing this genuinely. You hoped that your eyes reflected that you were. Seungmin may not ever come to like you romantically, in any sense. But you were happy with what you were being offered.

You were happy that Seungmin was the first person you thought yourself to have the potential to love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - shit, it's prom!

You couldn't sleep all night.

The frenzied prolepsis that clouded your mind refused to escape. 'What if's?' and 'Should have's?' regarding the event clouded your head. You thought that you would feel more nervous about your experience at prom, but it was all the planning that got to your head.

If you were a wreck, however, then Seungmin was a fucking natural disaster.

He texted you without pause, your phone blowing up so much that even Riya had to ask you if everything was okay. His chats varied, from long rants about how Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, despite Felix's apparent protests, and immense worry about how prom would turn out.

You didn't blame him. You were just as anxious as him, even if you weren't as vocal about it. This mammoth event was like yours's and Seungmin's baby. You were so concentrated on making sure that everything went according to plan, that the idea of you going to prom with Seungmin was pushed to the dark and dusty corner of your brain.

"You have been texting Seungmin a lot lately," teased Riya as she curled her hair.

"Shut up," you told her smoothly, already armed with blackmail material, "Or else I will smack you and tell Hyunjin about your Shah Rukh Khan shrine."

She effortlessly shut up.

You ran from one room to the other, your dorm house common room and back, pacing and placing calls and confirming and reminding people of what had to be done. You were in such a rush that you hadn't even started to get ready.

In your panicked chaos, you slammed into an already ready Felix. His white suit was immaculate, small roses embroidered on the sides. His blond hair was tousled and his easy smile gave you a bit of reassurance amidst the hectic situations you were constantly throwing yourself in.

"Felix! What are you doing here? You look amazing, by the way." You pulled him in for a quick hug, distracted by a call you had to make.

"I'm here to pick up my date, Jeongin," Felix smirked.

You let out a cough. "What?"

Felix laughed. "I didn't have a date and thought that he deserves to come since he has helped so much. So, I offered him my plus one ticket."

Ah, that made sense. You wondered why Jeongin didn't go with one of the senior girls on his roster of ladies in waiting. Then you remembered that he thought of himself as some sort of a chivalrous gentleman.

"Why haven't you gotten ready yet?" Felix questioned.

"Oh, I was just-," you began, before Felix sternly interrupted you.

"Don't you dare say you were wrapping things up. You and I both know that your definition of wrapping things up is frantically quadruple checking everything," Felix scolded, "You will stop worrying and get ready."

You just sighed in response, "I wish I could but-"

"No buts," he said, his eyes softening. "This night is yours as much as everybody else's. If anything, it's mostly yours."

Before you could sweetly respond to Felix with a resounding refusal, Jisung, per usual, appeared out of thin hair. His suit coat looked a little small and you vaguely remembered yearbook pictures of Chan during his prom, wearing almost the exact same suit coat, minus the little hand stitched lightening bolt on the side pocket.

"This," Jisung motioned towards you with a flourish of his right hand, "Is unacceptable."

Felix promptly agreed. You flashed him a withering glare and he slightly wavered, but it was of no use. You had lost the battle before it had even begun.

Twenty minutes later, you, Jisung and Felix were in your dorm room. No matter your protests, they insisted on helping you get ready for prom night. The two of them did your hair and makeup while you pondered on how you couldn't do it yourself half as good as they did.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When they were done, you gasped in surprise. They made you look a beautiful you thought you weren't capable of outwardly being.

Your dress in itself was majestic, at least in your eyes. It didn't exactly fit the theme, but the moment you saw it, you knew you needed to have it. It marveled you to no end about how someone could leave something that looked so incredible in a small thrift store next to the coffee shop you frequented.

The dress was silver, shimmering in a shade of what you only knew to be 'almost white' when light struck it. The bodice was in the shape of fairy wings, the sides laced crisscrossed and showing the smallest bit of skin. The back was covered, and the dress flowed down to reach your feet like a cascading waterfall. It was sleeveless, and so you wore long, winding silver bracelets on each hand.

Your make was done almost professionally by Felix. He used a colour pallet of silvery white, not exaggerating your make up. He brushed your hair calmly and tied two strands of it in a braid, pull them back to make a sort of halo. Felix clipped butterflies into your hair and made you feel like a mythical creature stepping out from a fantasy novel. Narnia, maybe.

Jisung on the other hand, provided food, gossip and entertainment. You would never reveal this to him, but you found that very vital to the process of getting ready as well.

"You are so good at this," you gushed at Felix.

He looked at you calmly. "I have two sisters, and I'm the middle kid. As a consequence, I was often my older sister's model for all things fashion and my younger sister's personal stylist."

Jisung munched on a piece of cake which you had no idea was even there in your kitchen. He sat on a barstool and clapped when you came out and gave him a spin. His feet rocked back and forth while he cheered you on.

"See," he said to Felix pointedly. "I am a better wingman than you."

Felix looked immeasurably hurt. "Not as good as me though. You didn't even help me!"

"I did, didn't I?" Jisung looked at you with those boba eyes that you found extremely hard to resist.

In response, you ushered them both out of the house in order to not get pulled into conflict and be the cause of an unsatisfactory prom night. Plus, you wanted to get there early and check on the venue.

Well, that and also to (mostly), see Seungmin.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You spotted him before he could see you.

Seungmin looked ethereal in his silver suit, his hair swept to the side and hands in his pockets as he engaged in easy conversation with one of the teachers.

He looked like a song you could listen to for the rest of your life until you were maddened by it but never turn it off. He looked like a painting that you could stare at as it dried, like a work of art you spend countless hours and dollars just to catch a glimpse.

And, he matched with you.

When you mentioned to him in passing that your prom dress was silver in colour, you hadn't actually expected him to wear something of a similar, much less the same colour. And yet he did, and you went down a spiral of feelings once again.

Seungmin's eyes must have found you because he sauntered over to you like a man with a purpose.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in awe, "But then again, you do everyday."

You blushed, hoping that the shitty lighting would hide it. "You look incredible yourself Seungmin," you said lightly, "And you somehow look good everyday, despite only running off of caffeine and spite.

Seungmin threw his head back an infectious laughter that had caused you to laugh as well. Someone called his name from the background in the middle of your laughter. Another louder, more insistent call of his name floated towards your general direction. Seungmin dipped his head in apology and walked away.

He had told you that you look beautiful. Not your dress, not your make up, not your hair. Not the meaningless, material attire that clung onto you like tinsel on a Christmas. But he said that you, you, look beautiful.

Seungmin wasn't looking you up and down when he said so, like men in the movies did. He didn't look like he was trying to memorize your body, memorize the dips and curves where he could place his hand and mold his being into yours.

No, he looked you in the eye when he said at, as if he didn't believe that it was the clothes that made you look beautiful. He looked you in the eye as if everything that made you, well, you was what made you so beautiful in his sight.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You stood in a moment of peace, finally standing still since reaching the venue.

The moment you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, however, a guttural screech and the sound of howling teenage boys flooded your ears. Sighing in irritation, you opened one eye to asses the situation. Deciding that it warranted you opening the other eye as well, you walked over to the culprits and sternly told them off.

You probably jinxed any peace that would possibly be coming your way by stealing away those five minutes for yourself.

Bad karma, bad decisions.

Seungmin was watching the entire altercation with a faint smirk. He walked over to you and tapped you on the shoulder. You didn't know it was him, and were about to tell him off as well until his familiar scent reached you.

You glared at the gaggle of seniors who has no right to be called seniors and turned to Seungmin.

"May I please have this dance?" he asked with a smirk.

You raised an eyebrow at him and placed your hand in his. "The theme is Aphrodite's Garden, not 18th century Regency era Bridgerton," you quipped.

Seungmin was subject to torture at your hands, also known as, watching Bridgerton with you. He would never admit it, but you knew he liked it. In fact, he may have even enjoyed it more than you. Either that, or you were hallucinating him being on his Simone Ashley Twitter fan account.

Your arms went around his neck as Seungmin guided you to the dancefloor. "I can't really dance," you murmured, the close contact between you both making your head go haywire.

"Neither do I," he winked.

Seungmin's eyes bored into yours and you licked your lips self-consciously. Considering you incredible luck, the song was slow and sensual. Considering your incredible luck, less than twenty seconds into the song playing, a loud crashing sound was heard in the background.

You prayed to God to help salvage prom, and no, that god was not Taylor Swift.

"I'll handle it," Seungmin reassured you.

"I'm a big girl," you bristled, "I can handle it as well."

"I know you are," Seungmin mused, "But I also know you well enough to know that those heels are absolutely killing you right now."

You pressed your lips in a thin line. No matter your feelings for Kim Seungmin, you still hated when he was right. You flashed him the tiniest smile in a way of saying 'thank you', since you were too proud to actually do it. He took it in stride and went away to handle whatever it was that needed handling at the moment.

He left you alone with your thoughts if such situations weren't confined so momentarily and were instead something you could enjoy for eternity.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You decided to step out of the venue for a bit, to finally clear you head. The atmosphere of prom buzzed with electricity and it wasn't the good, energetic kind; it was more of the kind that made your hair frizz.

You were standing, staring at the stars when you felt the air shift beside you. You knew who it was even without sparing a glance at them.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," you whispered to him.

"They are, but I have seen sights today that even rival them," Seungmin said. His voice was missing his trademark sass.

Your heart thumped incessantly as you asked, "Trying out cheesy pick up lines on me now, are we?"

Seungmin laughed, "Now would that be so bad?"

You both stood in silence. You bent down, opened your heels and set them to the side. You felt Seungmin looking at you, but you kept looking at the sky.

The sky, which was ever changing, yet reflected the same shades everyday. The sky, that served as a medium of rain and thunder, sunlight and rainbows. The sky, that was always there in you life, unwavering and never faltering.

Sky, which was coincidentally Seungmin's English name. It suited him.

"I really like the constellation of Orion," you told him with a sideways glance.

"I know. I remember."

"How? I mean, how do you remember all this?"

"I remember everything you tell me," Seungmin repeated, like he did all those months ago.

"Why?" you asked. You asked because you wanted to know, needed to know and repent your mistake of not asking earlier.

Seungmin turned to face you. His eyes held no glint of mischief, no edge accompanied by teasing. Instead, you felt locked in his gaze. It was the kind of intense stare that made you think that he was about to spill all his sins at your feet, right here, right now.

"I remember everything because it's you who says it. I used to remember because I wanted to beat you, be better than you. Then I started to remember as a habit, noticing the smallest quirks about you. Now I remember because I want to be there for you, to help you."

This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. But how much longer would you say that to yourself until you were imbibed with it?

"There is an ugly mix of feelings inside me regarding you, Y/N. They went initially from animosity, to something akin to friendship, to now, the desire for something with you that's more than just platonic."

He gulped. You swallowed. Silence.

"I am drawn to you, Y/N L/N. From the moment I have met you, it has felt like my life is irreversibly tangled with yours. I am propelled towards like it's pre-destined, and I always have. There are times where I feel like I cannot exist if you do not exist. And I'm tired of brushing these feelings aside, acting like they're non-existent."

"I like you, and not telling you has quite nearly driven me to the brink of insanity. It's alright, if you don't feel the same, but please don't walk away without an answer for me."

His gaze averted yours when he finally finished. You looked at him in awe, unable to express how you felt his brilliance radiate off him when he perfectly articulated all the feelings that restlessly capsized land in the empty spaces of your mind.

"For someone really smart, Kim," you breathed, "You are extremely stupid."

"You mean..." Seungmin's voice trailed off. Now it was his turn to look at you in awe.

"I have the feeling that you're trying not to kiss me, and I give you permission to just do it," you announced.

Seungmin gave you a wild smile before his lips swooped in to meet yours. They tasted like fruit punch and chocolate cake, like promises and forever.

You might have been imagining it, but for one cosmic moment, it felt like the stars were shining brighter than the usually did. Two binary stars had finally found each other, finally made their way into each other's orbits, never to stray again.

His lips left yours with a small gasp. "That was my first kiss," you mumbled sheepishly.

Seungmin fiddled with the flaps of his suit coat nervously. He started babbling, "Really? This was, I think, my third. Once at camp and once last year but that was just spin the bottle-"

You cut him off with a smirk. "Let's make it a fourth time, shall we?" and you promptly shut him up by placing your lips on his.

You weren't jealous of the other people Seungmin had kissed. God knows how awful this entire experience would have been if you both were going into it as novices. If anything, you were glad you were the third person he was kissing, because in that celestial moment, you made a vow.

You may not be the first person Seungmin had kissed, but you would make damn well sure to be the last.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - girl, it's the epilogue!

Seungmin yawned and wrapped his arm around your waist, practically caging you to the bed. He let out whine when you tried to get out of his grasp and just pulled you closer. You poked him in the side until he yelped.

"Kim Seungmin, you are not skipping work today. I know this display of affections is just so that I concede and let you stay home for cuddles," you told him sternly.

"But it worked last time. And the time before that. And the time before-"

"Well, it won't work this time," you announced with an air of finality.

If anything, being in a relationship with Seungmin only increased the penchant for banter you both had. You both rarely disagreed on things, but went back and forth for fun anyways. You knew your boundaries and never crossed them, but argued like cats and dogs nonetheless.

Well, you called it arguing. Seungmin called it flirting.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You both finally pulled up at Seungmin's workplace and you snorted when you saw the building gates. Seungmin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at you with a smile that you gave back. It was his first day on the job as Principal.

It had been ten years since you stepped foot on the campus of Park Academy.

"The legacy of Principal Kims continues," you giggled, proud of yourself for making that joke.

"That's because Kims are superior," Seungmin declared.

"That is literally so offensive," you flicked him arm lightly.

Seungmin's eyes met yours and a familiar look in it made you outwardly dread and inwardly prepare to rebut whatever he was going to tell you.

"You shouldn't say that," he snickered, "Considering that you'll be an honorary Kim yourself soon."

Oh. Oh.

It would be a week until students started coming to campus, there classes yet to start. When Seungmin mentioned this to you, you asked if you could come along to see the campus once. The campus where you fell in love with him.

"You might be a hot shot CEO," Seungmin relentlessly teased, "But it's good to go back to your roots sometimes."

It was ironic how you called his mother more than he did.

Your feet subconsciously guided you to the library. You loved this library. It was the place where you spent some of the best moments of your life. This was where you slowly fell in love with Seungmin, uncovering him layer by layer until you could call him yours.

You felt a laugh bubble up your throat when you made your way to the Romantic Literature section. Seungmin gave you a poor attempt at a smile as he observed you. In fact, he looked extremely nervous, a sharp juxtaposition to the flirty demeanor of his just a few minutes ago.

You could count on one hand the amount of times you had seen Seungmin being nervous.

It must have been anxiety surrounding the promotion. You reached over to squeeze his hand and give him a reassuring pat. Once you were sure that he would be fine, you turned back to prodding at the books shelved on the wall as if they were part of some lab experiment.

Once you were satisfied, you turned to give Seungmin the signal to go, when you stumbled backwards at what was in front of you.

Seungmin stood down on one knee, a box in his hand, with the most beautiful ring you had ever seen inside it.

"What?" you asked, your voice shaky. Tears instantly began to spring up in your eyes.

This wasn't real. This wasn't happening. But it was. The man you had loved for a decade was here, in front of you, wordlessly asking to turn those ten years into the rest of a shared forever.

"I had a really dramatic speech planned," he rambled, "But I forgot since I'm kind of terrified and you do always tell me to speak from my heart so here goes nothing."

"I have probably mentioned this thousands of times, but I have felt a magnetic pull towards you since the moment I first interacted with you. I didn't know what it would turn into then, but I knew it was going to be something, and I have been eternally grateful that it was love."

"To put it simply: every single infinitesimal particle that makes me in hopelessly in love with every infinitesimal particle that makes you. I love you, so, so much. I have been yearning for a forever with you before I even knew it so; will you marry me?"

He stopped with a sniff and swiped the sleeve of his sweater across his eyes. "Shit, I wasn't supposed to cry."

It all came full circle, didn't it? Ten years ago, he asked you to prom. Ten years later, he offered you eternity.

You let out a laugh and threw yourself at him, peppering him with kisses. "And you said you didn't want to come to work today," you laughed in between your cuddle attack.

"So, this means yes?"

You face palmed. "This means yes, Seungmin. Yes, I will marry you. In every universe, I know that I will spend the rest of my life with you."

Seungmin gathered you in his arms and kissed you like he was burning and you were oxygen. Binary stars, burning and burning, bleeding into each other in every reality because, there could never be you without him, one without the other.

Ten years ago, you swore that you would be the last person Seungmin would ever kiss.

Ten years later, nobody could say that you weren't a woman of your word.

please reblog and comment if you liked this fic! it means everything to me and I love reading your thoughts <3

: ̗̀➛ current permanent taglist (reply to be added):

@linoalwaysknows @moon0fthenight @hyulino @palindrome969

@squishybinnieee @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @stayinlimbo @farfromsugafanfic

@hongshuaknow @cookiesandcreammy @kayleefriedchicken @toomanybiasz

@seooj444 @soaplickerrr

: ̗̀➛ battleground taglist:

@starseungs @starlostseungmin @moon0fthenight @brainrotahahaha

@booksndpoetry @yoontaethings @vnamps @renjuneoo @queen-in-the-shadows

@reignessance @lilifiedeans @vegetablesarefuntables

---