The Hope In The Fault Lines | Part 3

The Hope in the Fault Lines | Part 3

Part 3 is finished folks! Warnings: some suggestive material, smut in the next part!!! (so minors probably shouldn't interact with any of this), car accident described, death of a sibling, PTSD, nightmares, pretty severe cold symptoms, 97 liners ft Wonwoo make an appearance Word Count: 7.6k

Read part one and part two here!! (and part 4 here)

“Hi, Mingyu,” you say weakly into the phone.

“Hi,” he says. “You sound awful.”

You look around your bedroom, littered with used tissues, cough drop wrappers, and every blanket in your house that doesn’t belong to Sara. “I am awful,” you groan. “I didn’t know one person could be responsible for so much mucus.”

He laughs his charming, high-pitched giggle. “What’s the move, boss?” he asks you. 

“Well, I’m not going to work,” you tell him. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. I’m worried you’ll get sick if you come over.”

He scoffs. “I’m offended. I never get sick.”

“Well, still,” you say stubbornly. Already exhausted from the conversation, you lean against the headboard, coughing pathetically.

“I don’t think you should try to take care of Sara when you’re like this. You should be resting,” he says, his voice taking on that specific color it gets when he’s concerned. “And someone needs to take care of you, too.”

“Don’t come, Mingyu,” you protest, wondering at the blush now rising in your cheek.

“I’m coming,” he says with finality.

“Why did you even ask me what I wanted to do if you were just gonna do the exact opposite thing?” you ask him grumpily.

“Because I know you don’t think you need to rest, but the rest of us do,” he tells you, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“The rest of us?” you ask him, stifling another cough.

“Yeah, like, every single friend you have.”

You lose the battle with your lungs and cough violently for a moment, which is good, because it hides how touched you are that Mingyu has lumped himself with your friends. Then, “fine. But stay out of my room. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m not going to get sick. Have you eaten yet?”

Your silence earns a sigh from Mingyu. “I’ll make something when I get there. Hang tight, boss.”

It seems like hours before the doorbell rings and you have to drag yourself out of bed to answer it. The spring day is gloomy, and as you open the door a flood of cool morning air sweeps over you, making you shiver uncomfortably. But there he is, and he’s taking in the sight of you with an eagerness that belies the mundaneness of your meeting. Something seems to have changed between now and the hospital visit, but although words are your life’s work, you can’t put a name to what it is.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is a little more shy than you’ve ever been used to hearing. The reasons for this newfound bashfulness completely unknown to you, you curse yourself for the way your heart nearly beats itself out of your chest. 

“Hey,” you croak, throwing up a peace sign. You know you look bad. Your hair is a greasy, kinky mess, you’re wearing your worst grandma nightgown, and you didn’t even have the energy for contacts today, so your face is covered with thick spectacles.

He laughs. “That’s a really cute outfit, boss.”

“Shut up,” you say, and cough out a laugh yourself.

“I’m serious! You look like my granny. I’m pretty sure she has that nightgown.” He leans in a little to inspect. “And possibly the glasses too.”

You frown at him, but without any real venom — although a little startled by his closeness. “Cruel of you to tease me while I’m on my deathbed.”

“Speaking of which,” he says, coming into the house after removing his shoes. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Well, as much as I’m already regretting letting you come over, I couldn’t just leave you outside, could I?” you huff.

“I guess not,” he replies. “Where’s Sara?”

Your eyes get wide. “Oh my goodness. I haven’t even seen her today.” Guilt washes over you, followed by a pang of grief. What would Jeri say about you forgetting about her child?

Mingyu’s jaw drops, and he quickly runs to Sara’s room. He comes down seconds later with a sleepy-looking Sara in his arms. “She was awake, just laying there,” he says. “I think she knows you’re not feeling well.”

“Or she knows I suck at this,” you say quietly. “Either way, I’m glad she’s okay.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You don’t suck at this. You’re sick. Now go to bed before I kick your butt.”

You purse your lips, but obey, trudging tiredly up the stairs while he watches you carefully. “Who works for who?” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” he calls up to you, his tone trying for stern but landing at amused.

“Nothing,” you say in a scratchy sing-song voice that makes him chuckle. You pad your way up to your bedroom, shutting the door and tucking yourself in bed. Downstairs, you can hear the muffled sounds of Mingyu making food, presumably for you. You listen with interest -- you can’t make out the words, but you can tell Mingyu is speaking as he cooks. The sudden realization that Mingyu probably talks to Sara all day while you’re gone fills you with fondness; it strikes you as something Jisung would have done. 

Settling into your mountain of pillows, you try to relax your mind. It’s hard, though -- hard because for some reason your mind keeps wandering down the stairs and latching onto the obscenely beautiful man who is making you breakfast right now. No man, not even the ones you dated or slept with, has ever made you breakfast, and Kim Mingyu is managing to do it twice in one week. Are men only good to you if you’re paying them? you wonder to yourself.

Just then, the doorbell rings yet again. Curiously, you wrap yourself in a blanket and head back down the stairs to see who it is, and are shocked to find Mingyu at the door with Cory.

Cory is taking in the sight of Mingyu (in a Christmas apron he probably found in your pantry, still holding a spatula that has a few flecks of what looks like waffle or pancake batter). He looks between the two of you as you come down the hall. “Hey,” you say. “Mingyu, I see you’ve met my editor-in-chief, Cory.”

Mingyu’s eyes light with recognition. “Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” he says, his eager puppy-like energy making Cory blink in confusion. 

“Cory,” you explain, “this is Mingyu. He’s my...nanny.” You hesitate before stating Mingyu’s official job title, because “nanny” doesn’t seem serious enough for everything Mingyu does for you and Sara. 

“Oh,” Cory says, seeming to recover at least partially. You bite your lip, holding back a giggle, as Cory sizes Mingyu up yet again. “I’m sorry, uh, I thought…when you said nanny, I thought you meant…”

“A woman?” you say, raising an eyebrow. You cough, leaning against the wall for support, and Mingyu reaches out an arm to steady you.

“Well, I probably should go finish the pancakes,” he tells you after you finish coughing. “Nice to meet you, Cory!”

Cory’s eyes follow Mingyu down the hallway into the kitchen. “Your nanny?” he says in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat uncomfortable. “He came recommended by a friend who used to work with him.”

“Where? A bodybuilding competition?”

You really have to pinch your lips together tightly to avoid laughing. “So…why are you here?” you ask him after the urge subsides. 

“Oh,” Cory says, shaking himself. “I brought you some cough drops.” He hands you a bag of cherry-flavored cough drops lamely, his usual coolness tempered by the ego hit of meeting Mingyu, and looks at the floor. 

You take them from him. “Thanks, Cory. Don’t be late -- they need you there.”

“We need you there,” he corrects you. “Get better soon.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

You put the bag of cough drops on the kitchen counter and slump onto the couch in the living room. When you make eye contact with Mingyu as he turns around to put a pancake on a plate, you giggle. 

“What?” he asks, a little defensive and a little amused. 

“I think you just intimidated the shit out of my editor-in-chief,” you tell him.

His eyes get wide. “I didn’t mean to!” he protests. 

“I know you didn’t,” you say. Your laughs turn into coughs, which makes Mingyu look even more worried. He moves the now-empty pan off the hot stove and brings you a glass of water, which you accept gratefully. 

“Well, it’s cool your employees bring you stuff when you’re sick,” he reasons, taking a seat on the couch beside you as you drink the water. “You must be a good boss.”

You scoff. “My employees don’t bring me stuff when I’m sick,” you say. “Cory brings me stuff when I’m sick.” You can’t keep the annoyed tone out of your voice, and Mingyu notices.

“You...don’t like him?”

You sigh. “I like him just fine,” you say. But as Mingyu continues to stare at you, confused, you laugh again. “I’m sorry!” you say as his look grows exasperated. “You’re just funny. Um, well. I’ve known Cory since uni, and --”

“He likes you,” Mingyu realizes. His face has fallen from his bemused expression to a stony one.

You nod, grimacing in tandem with him. “He told me the night that Sara went into the hospital.”

Mingyu looks at his hands. “Got it,” he says. “And you don’t feel the same way about him?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, playing awkwardly with the hem of your shirt. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t think he’s quite my type.”

“Well, he doesn’t even know you don’t like cherry-flavored cough drops,” Mingyu says, like it’s the world’s biggest red flag.

“How do you know that?” you ask him, bewildered at this revelation.

He shrugs. “Simple observation. In the pantry where you keep the cough medicine, there’s also cough drops. You have a bag of every single flavor but cherry.”

“Huh,” you say. “I guess you weren’t a spy for nothing.”

He allows a small grin at that. “Or maybe I’m just paying attention,” he says quietly.

It feels stuffy and hot in the living room. “Well,” you say in an offhand tone, “I didn’t realize that not knowing my cough drop preferences was a deal-breaker. But I guess I haven’t really dated in two years. Like, since school.”

“Really?” he asks incredulously. 

“I dated around,” you clarify. “But even while I was dating, I wasn’t really thinking about dating. I was starting a business, I was trying to take care of Jeri, I was focusing on school…and then I got so busy with how well the magazine was doing. It never took priority.” You look around the room — at the baby toys in their basket and Sara’s blankets all over the couch — and sigh. “And now that I’m effectively a single mother, I think that ship has sailed.”

He scowls at this last admission. “There’s somebody for everyone,” Mingyu insists. “And you have a lot going for you, boss. So don’t give up on yourself.” He stands up and grabs Sara’s baby food off the counter, sitting down in the seat next to her high chair and spooning mashed up peas and carrots and sweet potatoes into her mouth. You don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you find yourself fixated on his hands. They’re big and manly, with a dark purple scar over one of the knuckles the only hint at his past life. But it’s more than that. There’s something about the way they dwarf the tiny plastic baby spoon so it looks like a toy and how gentle and careful they are with Sara’s messy eating, brushing the mush from the corners of her mouth. You find yourself wondering how such a hand might feel through the fabric of the shirt at your waist, or moving up the curve of your spine, or wound in the hair at the back of your head while you sigh out his name …

What the hell? you think to yourself, surprised at this abrupt nosedive into insanity. Suddenly bashful, you swallow hard. “What about you?” you ask him, before you can stop yourself. And as he looks at you, a little shocked, you immediately backtrack. “You really don’t have to answer that,” you say, blushing fiery red and combusting into another fit of violent coughs. 

“That’s okay,” he says, watching you with the same worried eyes from the table. “I don’t mind. When I was a fed, I didn’t have the time to date. After I got out I had one serious girlfriend, we nearly got engaged, but then I think we both realized it wasn’t what we wanted.”

“No heartbreaks?” you ask slyly.

He grins. “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “Maybe just not romantic ones.”

You bite your lip. If there was ever a perfect lead-in for you to ask the question that’s been at the back of your mind since the hospital, it was that. You start, gently. “You never have to answer any of my questions if you don’t want to,” you tell him. “And I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t refuse to answer, so please let me know if I cross any major boundaries. But I noticed something. About you.”

He looks at you expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you continue. “The doctor in the hospital seemed to know you.”

He smiles softly. “Any theories?” he asks you.

“Mainly that you or someone very close to you had a sick kid,” you say in a single breath, trying not to make him upset. 

He’s nodding thoughtfully. “You’re pretty observant,” he says. “Do you want to open that door?” His tone is still even, but you sense something behind it -- a soberness that is rare for his cheerful personality.

“Only if you feel okay about opening it,” you tell him. Honestly, it wouldn’t change anything if he decided to share or not to share, but you get the feeling that he has carried a heavy burden, unseen, for a good long while. And maybe you hope that you’ll be able to ease whatever you can of that burden. “It’s totally up to you.”

“Okay. Give me a second.”

He puts a lid on the half-finished container of baby food Sara is now stubbornly dodging spoonfuls of. Grabbing a washcloth, he gently wipes off her face as she writhes away from him, then brushes it over her hands and torso as well. Finally, he lifts Sara out of her high chair and into his arms, coming once again to sit by you on the couch while Sara rests against his chest.

He takes a deep breath. “My last official mission,” he begins, “was a security detail for an important diplomat’s wife and son as we evacuated them from the country due to some threats against him and his family. I got really close to the kid. He was six, and he was smart as a whip. Loved cars and toys and dinosaurs, but he also had seen a lot in his short life. Anyway, it took us a long time to get them here, and during that time, the poor guy started getting sick.”

You are unconsciously gripping your blanket around yourself as he tells the story, his soft low voice prodding at your heart in uncomfortable ways, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his face. He keeps speaking, all while Sara, still exhausted from her own illness, falls asleep in his arms, probably soothed into it by the cadence of Mingyu’s voice. “He had been born prematurely, and his lungs weren’t quite right. But then he got the flu or something, and because of his lungs, it was a lot more serious for him. We fought to get him here in time to get help, and the doctors did an amazing job, but in the end, the bureaucracy of it all made it so he passed away. Doctor Song was his doctor, and she was fabulous, which is why I knew her.”

“Is that why you left the service?” you ask him, and your voice comes out a hoarse whisper.

He nods. “I had seen a lot, but watching that kid die was the worst thing I’d ever seen. Because it was totally preventable if we’d been able to make it here in time.” His voice is so calm, but you can gauge a small amount of bitterness there, softened by the years since. He stands up. “I’m gonna put Sara in her crib. Stay there,” he says.

He’s back in a flash, sitting down a bit closer to you this time. “Anyway. That experience was kind of the nail in the coffin for two things: one was that I knew I didn’t want to be an agent anymore, and the other one was that I wanted to work with kids.”

“That’s quite a career change,” you point out. “Why kids?”

He can’t help but break into a wide smile. “I love kids. Things are so simple to them. And after my last job, I really needed that.”

“Is it hard to leave them when the job is over?” you ask him, thinking of Sara.

He shrugs. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not so bad. The older kids are usually a bit easier because you can explain to them why you’re leaving. They know it’s not really your choice or that they did something wrong. With the little ones, it can be brutal.”

You shift uncomfortably, this vein of the conversation making you inexplicably anxious. “Well, I was absolutely serious about you having a job until Sara moves out. So…please don’t leave us.” You try to feel embarrassed by how pathetic this sounds, but all you can do is meet Mingyu’s eyes and try to convey how desperately you both need him. “And if you’re ever thinking about quitting, just let me know,” you continue, trying to lighten the mood. “I can be very persuasive if I need to be.”

He cackles. “You sound like a mafia boss. Are you threatening me with violence or trying to bribe me?”

“Whichever is more effective,” you joke. “But seriously, this was a very unhappy home just a couple weeks ago. You’ve made a massive difference. So if there’s anything I can ever do to improve your work or your life at all, please tell me. It’s the least I can do.”

Mingyu puts a hand on your knee, poking out from between the folds of your blanket. “Thanks,” he says. “But you should know I really don’t foresee myself throwing in the towel here anytime soon.”

You smile. “Good,” you say, instinctively putting a hand over his and squeezing.

And then you burst into coughs — your most violent attack of the day. It is almost instantly made worse by Mingyu, who springs up to bring you your water, collides painfully with the coffee table, and ends up spilling your water, a potted plant, and a book on neoclassical art all over the floor. The ensuing laughter bubbling up in your chest turns into a gale of coughs, and Mingyu sheepishly grabs your cup from off the floor and limps to the sink to wash it off. He brings it back to you full again. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting down and rubbing at the spot on his shin that hit the table. “I’m a bit clumsy.”

You swallow your water and breathe carefully before responding. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to resist the urge to laugh, knowing it’ll just make you cough again. “Is that why you put all the pancakes on one of Sara’s baby plates?”

He nods furtively, biting his bottom lip. “I actually never use your nice dishes because I know I’ll break at least one, and they’re so pretty.”

The image of Mingyu eating off a plastic Dumbo plate with Sara while you’re at work flashes before your eyes. “How thoughtful,” you say with a grin. “But I don’t care if you break my plates.”

Truly, you thought to yourself as he, smiling widely, brings you the aforementioned pancakes, Mingyu could break whatever he liked of yours as long as he stuck around. 

***

“I’m not leaving,” Mingyu says stubbornly.

“You need to sleep,” you insist in a whisper outside of Sara’s bedroom door. 

“Not as much as you do,” he argues in a hushed tone. “You really should not be getting up with her in the middle of the night when you feel this bad.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your raspy voice gives you away — as has the entire day Mingyu has spent with you. 

Shortly after you had finished your pancakes, Sara had woken up. Mingyu had shouted you down from going to get her, instead accompanying you as you went upstairs and then marching you to your room for a nap. “You pay me to look after Sara,” he’d reminded you. “It’s my whole job. So you just rest.”

And you had rested, waking from your nap around 1 in the afternoon by a soft knock at your bedroom door. Mingyu had brought you some ramen on a tray, Sara strapped to his chest in a baby backpack, and his earlier accident ensured his steps were careful and measured. He had laid the try across your lap and bowed. “The queen’s lunch is served,” he’d said, winking at you as he left you to wonder why on earth such a simple thing as a wink could send a chill down your spine.

And then you’d brought the tray back down to the kitchen, and he’d scolded you — “who said you could get out of bed?” — but had relented when you told him you had been so bored upstairs by yourself and you’d wanted to watch a movie on the big-screen TV in the living room. Mingyu had set Sara down onto the fluffy white rug in front of the TV to entertain her for a moment, and you’d watched fondly as he blew raspberries into her chubby belly, drawing out her widest smiles. 

“Ooh, watch this,” he’d said. “She loves it!” He grabbed her thick legs and pulled them up and down in a mimic of a track runner, and Sara actually giggled. 

“Yeah, you’re shaking all the gas out of her,” you’d told him, and he’d laughed.

“She does usually fart a lot after,” he allowed. 

After awhile of searching for the right movie, you’d finally decided to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. Mingyu sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Sara play with her toys, but getting sucked into the movie at periodic intervals. Anytime something scary happened, he would cover Sara’s eyes and look at you in mock-judgment. After the third spooky moment, he exclaimed, “there is a child present!”

You had given him a dry look. “She seems really traumatized,” you had deadpanned, pointing to where Sara was whacking a plastic banana on the floor, babbling contentedly, completely ignoring the screen.

And so the day wore on, buffered by small moments of what you could only call growing comfort with each other. It was partially this that had you so adamant to kick him out — having Mingyu so close and so there was making your feelings all jumbled and weird. And having him stay overnight — waking up in the same house as he did — would most definitely not help anything.

So you try your best. “I’ll pay you to go home,” you beg. 

“And leave you by yourself?” He scoffs. “My mama didn’t raise me that way.”

“I manage just fine most nights,” you protest indignantly.

“Most nights you don’t have the plague,” he counters. “I’ve been around all day. I know how bad it is. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll even sleep in the nursery again.”

“Mingyu, you’ll get sick —“ you start to say, and then pause. “What did you say?”

“You won’t even know I’m here?” he repeats.

“No, after that. You slept in the nursery?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, the guest bedroom doesn’t have a baby monitor, and plus I was worried about her, and that rug in there is basically a mattress anyway,” he says. “But seriously, she’s teething. You’ll probably be up all night, and that won’t be good for your illness.”

The look in his eyes as he says it — almost begging you to let him stay — would be too much under a normal circumstance, but learning that this man slept on the floor to keep Sara company while she was so sick pushes you over the edge. “Fine,” you whisper. “But at least take the couch.”

He grins. “Good to see the lady can compromise.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push your luck,” you tell him. 

After bidding him goodnight, you close your bedroom door behind you and hold your hand over your heart, which is thumping wildly. This feeling is completely foreign to you — the closest approximation you can come up with is the embarrassing crush you used to have on Steve Irwin, which Jeri never stopped teasing you for. But even that was just enough to keep you interested in his work. It hadn’t reduced you to a full blushing mess as you slid down your bedroom door, a funny feeling in your stomach. You finally understand why people talk about “butterflies” as your insides flutter, trying not to imagine Mingyu stretched out on your couch, his eyelids closed, his pretty lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones  —

“Stop it.” You actually have to say it out loud because it’s ridiculous how nothing has even happened, but you’re blushing. It’s a good thing you’re so ill and exhausted, because otherwise you know you’d be tossing and turning all night. As it is, you pass out only minutes after your too-hot shower.

Your mind is not kind to you in your illness and exhaustion and confusion, though. In dreams you drift around the halls of the hospital, heart monitors beeping suspiciously slowly, producing an uneasy soundtrack for you to glide between rooms to. Your eyes can’t focus on anything properly, so you simply pass through room after room with blurry patients strapped to beds, bandaged or moaning or pale and silent, going faster and faster until you turn a corner and everything changes abruptly. 

Now you’re on an abandoned highway in the dark, and just ahead you can see the wreckage of a small teal vehicle.

You recognize the car, which is blistering in flames, its mangled exterior seeming to bubble grotesquely in the flickering firelight. You scan the interior, paralyzed with fear at what you’ll find there, but it is empty.

A voice is calling your name, a voice you know -- Jeri’s voice. You try to find your own voice to answer her, but when you open your mouth, all you can do is scream. And still, she calls your name, over and over and over again until you suddenly feel yourself being shaken awake by two large hands on your shoulders.

The first thing you register is the stinging in your throat as you wake up, signaling you had probably screamed in real life, not just in the dream. The next is the panicked brown eyes staring into yours, the perfect face they belong to a mask of worry and fear. “Are you with me?” Mingyu says. “Are you awake?”

The last thing you notice is how heavily you’re breathing. You sit up, coughing, while Mingyu watches you in paralyzed concern. “I’m so sorry,” you say raggedly when you can finally speak. “I’m so sorry for waking you up.”

Everything still feels surreal — like you’ve detached from the world you’re used to, like you’re watching things happen from outside your body. What brings you back down to earth is when Mingyu pulls you into his chest and nearly crushes you in his grasp.

He’s warm. Warm like a fire in the winter of your terror, warm like the sunlight after a chilly swim, warm like coming home after a long time of being away. You breathe him in, and everything is suddenly the clean scent of his shampoo and a hint of sweat and just the faintest dash of cologne. And somehow the spinning of the room stops, your heart slows down, the terror eases. You lean into him and close your eyes, letting yourself hold his massive body to you, feeling his broad fingers brush gently down your back and up again, hoping that neither of you will let go. 

“I thought something bad was happening to you,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“It was a dream,” you say softly. “It was a really bad dream.”

He pulls back to look at you, and a large part of you misses the warmth and the weight of him. This same part of you is rapidly soothed when he pushes some of your hair from your face to see your expression better, searching your face with those same anxious eyes. “Are you okay now?”

You are -- you really are -- but somehow you have the presence of mind not to say that. Instead you nod. “I’m awake,” you say with a soft nod. 

Mingyu sighs in relief. “Give me two seconds.”

He leaves the room, and you deflate into your pillows, exhausted and aching for the feeling of Mingyu’s arms around you again in a way you are not equipped to fight off. When he returns, you see he’s brought Sara with him, blinking sleepily. He slowly hands her to you and then sits facing you on your mattress.

You settle into the weight of Sara on your chest, which soothes you almost as much as Mingyu’s arms had. “What did you dream about?” Mingyu asks you, trying not to sound as worried as you know he must be. It makes you smile a little.

“I dreamed about the hospital and the accident,” you say simply.

“Your sister’s accident?” he asks. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “No, it was something my brain entirely made up,” you say. “But it felt real.”

He pauses. You sense some trepidation in him, some debate over whether or not to say what he’s mulling over in his brain. Finally he decides. “What happened to them? I only know it was a vehicle accident.”

You give him a humorless smile. “Do you want to open that door?” you ask him, echoing his words from earlier.

“Only if you do,” he says, putting a hand on your knee.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. It is the first time you will ever tell another human being the story. “It was raining,” you say. “My sister and her husband had gone to one of his sales team’s events -- it was a swanky party in the canyon. They were stopped at a stop sign when they got rear-ended so hard they slammed into the opposite railing. Jisung died right there, but my sister was thrown from the car. She lived long enough for someone to find them, long enough to crawl back to the road and get picked up by an ambulance, but not long enough to make it into surgery. She died on the same floor Sara was in two days ago, but the west wing instead of the east.”

Mingyu’s brow is furrowed, his eyes overly bright. “And the other driver?” he says roughly. “What happened to them?”

“They still haven’t found him,” you say. “They used paint chips from the back of my sister’s car to identify the vehicle, which wasn’t registered to anyone living. The police are apparently still looking for him.”

Mingyu looks like he’s about to hug you again, but stops himself because of Sara. He settles for smoothing a hand over Sara’s head and looking at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “That’s...unfair. And awful. And so sad.”

You nod in agreement. “It is.” You sigh, and with your breath you release a bit of tension you didn’t know you were holding in your jaw. “I just hope she knew how much I love her.” You think back to the last conversation you’d had — full of love and laughter and the promise to see each other soon. Your eyes begin to water, and you sniff.

Mingyu slides across your bed to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. He holds you and Sara in his arms while you silently cry -- not the shaking sobs of despair from the hospital or the agonized scream from your nightmares, but a release of all the pent-up feelings you hadn’t had time to allow yourself to feel. You spill over with sadness and anger and pain, but most of all with longing for your sister. You want to hear her voice again, make her laugh again, make her angry again as long as you could just have her there. 

And all of this feeling pouring out of you leaves you feeling drained when it’s over. You are empty, but not the same kind of emptiness you felt in the months before you’d met Mingyu. It was more like the emptiness of a backpack after you take everything out, an emptiness that was no longer hopeless to fill. 

After what is probably more than an hour, you whisper, “Mingyu?”

His sleepy “hm?” from above you floods your heart with warmth.

“I’m afraid I should be paying you double. I think you’re taking care of both of us,” you say, still in a whisper. 

“No need,” he says softly, his arms tightening around you for a fraction of a second. “You heard my whole tragic backstory this morning. It was only fair.”

You smile against his chest, and Sara stirs, beginning to fuss. Mingyu sits up but doesn’t let go, looking down at Sara. “She’ll be up crying in a second,” he says. “Let me take her.”

He scoops her into his arms, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one hand. “Get some rest,” he says, maneuvering himself off of the bed, stopping only briefly to brush one final tear off your face. 

“Sleep well,” he says softly as he closes your bedroom door behind him. 

You relax into the pillows, reaching over to grab the one Mingyu had been leaning against. It still smelled like him. The scent is enough for your overwhelmed brain — you fall asleep in seconds.

***

As he shuts the door behind you to allow you to go back to sleep, hoping that this time your mind stays free of traumatic dreams, Mingyu pauses.

He is in trouble.

He’d known it from that very first day. Because how could someone be so drop-dead gorgeous in their rattiest sweatpants, with their hair a mess, looking like they might burst into tears at any moment? 

And now, three weeks in, it was worse than ever — the light was coming back into your eyes, and that change was stirring feelings in him he’d never felt before. And as he’d heard more of your story, he became more and more enthralled. He was proud of how hard you worked, and he adored your sense of humor, and he admired your authenticity and honesty, but what had drawn him irresistibly to you was the way that you loved: passionately, almost recklessly, with everything in you. From what Mingyu could tell, that love had leached into every single thing you did — it was the reason your business was so successful, the reason Sara felt so safe with you, and the reason your grief was so heavy. Since realizing this, Mingyu hadn’t even stood half a chance.

As he bounced up and down with Sara in his arms, trying to soothe her fussing, he thought back to the moment when he knew he was a goner: when you’d knighted him in the kitchen and called him Sir Mingyu. The way he’d wanted to take your face in his hands and kiss you until you forgot about everything but him was almost criminal. And tonight...seeing your sleepy eyes, and how you’d melted into his embrace...he’d had to grab Sara as a buffer between the two of you, or he might just have risked it all, illness be damned. 

“Ah, Sara,” he whispered, remembering how you’d smiled dazedly at him as he left the room. “What should I do?”

He had tried to keep it professional with you. Tried to leave almost instantly when you arrived home without being rude. Tried to go out on weekends, so he didn’t have to think about you. But the truth was, he always did anyway. And coupled with the fact that Sara, too, had stolen his heart, and he knew he couldn’t love her more even if he were her own father — there was simply nothing for it. He’d just have to come to terms with the fact that he’d never felt more at home than when he was with the two of you.

It’s four in the morning, and Mingyu sighs as he pulls out his cell phone. “Why am I not surprised you’re awake?” he teases when Jungkook answers his call. 

“You know me,” Jungkook says, and Mingyu can hear the filthy smile on his friend’s face. “I never sleep.”

Mingyu shakes his head exasperatedly. “Got plans today?” he asks. “I’m working right now, but I think I need to go out later.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” For all his teasing, Jungkook is a good friend, and he can tell something’s up just by Mingyu’s tone of voice.

“I have someone I need you to help me forget.”

***

You wake up the next morning around 11, feeling better than you’ve felt in days, maybe weeks. You’re still coughing, but your energy is higher and you’re lighter than you’re used to when you first wake up. 

You head downstairs, where Mingyu is nodding off at the table, Sara sucking happily at her pacifier. You sit in the seat next to Mingyu. “Long night?”

“You have no idea,” he groans. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” you say. “You should go home and rest.” You have to resist an urge to lay a hand on his arm. 

He blinks blearily at you. “You want me to go?”

You chuckle at his tone -- he sounds devastated. “You need to rest. In fact, I’m going to insist that I drive you home. I don’t trust you to drive safely right now.”

Mingyu smiles sleepily, the sight making it impossible for you not to smile yourself. “‘Kay,” he says.

“Alright, big guy, up you get,” you say, unstrapping Sara and putting her into her baby carrier. “Where do you live?”

He gives you an address, which you plug into your phone. Mingyu forbids you from carrying Sara’s car seat and strapping it in the car, doing it himself at a slower pace than normal due to his tiredness. You watch, amused, as he fumbles with the slots the carrier slides into, his eyes half open. Your heart nearly bursts as he finally gets her buckled and places a clumsy kiss on her cheek. 

He sleeps for most of the drive, slumped against the door of the car. When you arrive in his driveway, you have to shake his shoulder gently to get him to wake up. So you let him out of the car and walk him to the door, feeling somewhat worried he’ll pass out on the way there as he stumbles up the walkway. 

To your surprise, he knocks at the door. “This is your house,” you remind him, giving him a worried look.

He chuckles. “Forgot my keys. I have a housemate.”

Sure enough, in seconds the door swings open to reveal a slim, bespectacled man whose eyes widen at the sight of Mingyu’s tired face. “What happened to him?” he asks you. 

“He was up all night,” you say apologetically. “I tried to get him to leave at the usual time, but he just wouldn’t.”

He scoffs. “Sounds like him. Alright, get in here, you big baby.” The man pulls Mingyu inside by the sleeve of his hoodie, and Mingyu collapses onto the couch just visible from the door. 

You watch him, torn between concern, fondness, and amusement, until you notice the other man eyeing you. “I’m Wonwoo,” he says with a small smile. “You must be Miss Boss.”

“Is that what he calls me?” you ask, embarrassed.

“No, that’s what I’ve been calling you,” he says. “He talks about you a lot.”

You blush. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not really sure why.

“It’s fine,” he says. “This job seems better for him than the last few, so I feel like I actually owe you one.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, Wonwoo, uh...just make sure he rests, okay? Tell him I can come get him whenever and he can drive his car home.”

“Will do,” Wonwoo says cheerfully. “Have a nice day!”

***

[23:23, the following evening]

“Why did I even come here?” Mingyu groans over the sound of the music.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You are absolute shit at forgetting people, you know that?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Not usually,” he says. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“You need to be more drunk,” Eunwoo suggests. 

“And maybe flirt with someone else,” Wonwoo recommends.

Mingyu wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought. “What are you scared of?” Jungkook asks with a laugh. “You said that you had absolutely no chance.”

“Yet,” Mingyu says. “I have no chance yet.”

“And your plan is to…what?” Eunwoo asks, leaning closer and examining Mingyu’s face. “Wait around until your chance comes?”

Mingyu hesitates. Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re a waiter, Kim Mingyu, but you’re allowed to prove me wrong if you want.”

At this, Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You’ve been eyeing the girl in the black dress over there for the past hour,” he remarks casually. “You can talk to me about waiting once you make a move.”

Jungkook watches the woman in the black dress with a tattooed hand on his chin. “Alright, I will.” He shrugs his thin black jacket off, revealing his full tattoo sleeve, and makes his way rhythmically to the dance floor, leaning in to speak to the girl.

“I know that was just a move to get him to go away,” Eunwoo says. “But well done, regardless.” He pats Mingyu on the shoulder. “So tell me, do you want to wait for her?”

Mingyu bristles. “The only thing I know for sure is that I have feelings for her. Beyond that I have no idea what to do about it.”

“Are the feelings you have for her … loving feelings or horny feelings?” Wonwoo asks carefully.

“Both,” Mingyu says through gritted teeth, fighting off the memory of your body in his arms. “How did you know you were in love?” he asks Eunwoo, glancing down at the ring on his finger. “How did you choose Nabi?”

Eunwoo looks thoughtfully into the distance. “She made it easy for me to just…be myself.”

Mingyu immediately remembers how simple it was to open up to you, his heart pounding at the thought. “I keep looking for a disqualifier,” he moans. “Something that would make her…I don’t know. Less…everything I ever wanted.”

Eunwoo grins ruefully. “I can think of one. She’s your boss,” he finishes, stirring his drink with his straw.

“And she told that one guy who liked her that she wasn’t ready to date,” Wonwoo pipes up. “She needs time to figure out what she’s doing before diving into a relationship.”

“So the only thing stopping me is circumstance?” Mingyu asks, frustrated.

Wonwoo and Eunwoo look at each other. “It sure seems that way,” Eunwoo agrees. “And…I don’t know, respect for her.”

“If she wasn’t your boss, and she wasn’t grieving,” Wonwoo points out, “what would you do?”

Mingyu’s cheeks warm with the thought of everything he’d do if you weren’t his boss. If you were ready for him. But he can’t say those things out loud, so he opts for the most generalized version of his answer. “I’d never give up on her,” he says with conviction.

Wonwoo’s eyes behind his spectacles are wise beyond his years. “Circumstances change all the time,” he says simply. “I know you don’t enjoy waiting for things, but maybe the best thing to do is stop fighting the feelings and just let them flow. You’ll either get your shot or you won’t, but if she’s as great as you think, she deserves to be waited for.” Wonwoo sips his water while Eunwoo and Mingyu stare, open-mouthed, at his sudden profundity.

“Damn,” Eunwoo says after awhile. “You should talk more.”

Wonwoo grins. “I would if anyone would listen to me,” he teases.

Mingyu is still letting Wonwoo’s words bounce around in his brain. “What should I do then?” he asks. “Like, right now. When there’s nothing I really can do.”

Wonwoo thinks for a minute. “Well, there’s a difference between what I think you should do and what I would do if it were me. What do you want to hear?”

“Both,” Mingyu and Eunwoo say together. Mingyu shoots Eunwoo an amused look, and he shrugs. “Hey, the last thing he said kind of blew me away.”

“Well,” Wonwoo says, “if it were me, I’d try to hide my feelings until I felt like it was a good time to talk about it.”

“And what do you think I should do?”

He ponders. “Well, you’re garbage at hiding your feelings. When you try, they just end up exploding out of you like diarrhea.”

Eunwoo snorts. “You were doing so well,” he laments.

Unbothered, Wonwoo continues. “So I’d say just be yourself. Don’t cross any lines or confess or anything, but don’t try to hide, either. And wait for her to say something.”

“And if she never does?” Mingyu asks, breathless.

“Die of unrequited love, I guess,” Wonwoo says with a wry grin. “Or move on.”

read part 4 here

driving lessons for dummies

❝ i can't parallel park, but i know all the lyrics to 'driver's license' by olivia rodrigo now. ❞

PAIRING ▸ kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, humor, smut, strangers to lovers au, college au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, weed consumption, mc has the worst luck imaginable, soonyoung is down horrendous, there is a minor car crash, very minor description of blood, hurt/comfort, almost car sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), grinding, oral (fem. receiving), praise, lots of teasing, overstimulation, pet names (both sexy and unsexy), friend group shenanigans

SUMMARY ▸ you've finally passed your written test and gotten your permit after six failed attempts. eager to get your license while attempting to avoid overpriced driving lessons, you enlist the help of kwon soonyoung, who only requires a STIIZY pod as payment.

PLAYLIST ▸ new romantics by taylor swift • see you again by tyler, the creator, kali uchis 

WORD COUNT ▸ 16,834 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is representation for all the girlies out there who can't drive. not me but

ONE OF THE MOST COMMON STEREOTYPES PERPETUATED AGAINST WOMEN WAS THAT THEY WERE DEEMED TERRIBLE DRIVERS. 

That, or they just flat-out couldn’t drive to save their lives. 

This sexist notion dated back to when the automobile was created, when driving was physically demanding work and men insisted they handled operating the vehicles themselves. Now, though, plenty of women drove just fine, but misogyny was the only thing keeping the stereotype relevant. 

After all, the only reason why women were considered “bad drivers” was because a man decided they were.

Screw all the women who revolutionized the automobile industry, right? Despite them being highly discouraged to take on the labor required of men, it was Bertha Benz who drove the furthest in a motorized carriage than anyone else. It was Anne French who was the first woman to receive a driver’s license. It was Marget Wilcox who invented the car heater, Mary Anderson who created windshield wipers, and Hedy Lamar who designed the wireless transmission technology that made the innovation of the GPS possible.

No matter how high that glass ceiling was, even if a woman demolished and obliterated it to pieces, there would always be a man out there who would push her right back down. 

Unfortunately, you were nowhere near smashing that glass ceiling because you had failed your permit test six times. 

Yes, it was embarrassing, but you were determined to get your license. At your age, it was getting ridiculous that you had consistently failed your permit test this many times. Plus, you were getting tired of asking all of your friends for rides. You envisioned picking them up in your new car with your shiny new license, grinning smugly at the shocked looks on their faces.

“I don’t think God wants you on the road,” Wen Junhui, your best friend since middle school, said as he dropped you off at the DMV. “If you fail a seventh time, I would personally just use public transportation for the rest of my life.” 

“If a sixteen-year-old can pass it without studying, then I can pass it,” you insisted. “Plus, I read the entire manual last night.”

“Yeah, except the sixteen-year-old passed it on their first or second try, and this is your seventh.” 

“Well, seventh time’s the charm, right?” 

“Right,” he replied, doubtful. He stopped the car in front of the DMV to let you out. “Well, good luck. I’m gonna go get gas and I’ll come back for you.”

“Thanks, Jun!” you chirped. “I swear I’ll pass it this time.”

“Sure.”

“Have some faith in me, please.”

When Junhui drove away, you steeled your nerves to mentally prepare yourself—not for the test but for interacting with the DMV employees. You weren’t a fan of being verbally abused by them, especially after having them roll their eyes at you the last six times you had to tell them you failed. 

But today would be different. 

Thankfully, the DMV wasn’t too busy today. You only had to wait twenty minutes until they called your number. After handing them the proper paperwork, you were directed to the computers to take the permit test. 

Since you were an adult, you only needed to get 30 questions correct out of 36. You had learned your lesson by now, so you actually studied the handbook this time. It took a while to admit to yourself that you weren’t blessed with common sense. 

First question. Wrong. 

Second question. Wrong. 

Third question. Wrong. 

What was happening?

By the time you had gotten five questions wrong in a row, your hands were shaking. The pressure started to set back in, and you were terrified about failing this exam a seventh time. Junhui would be so disappointed if you told him you failed again. 

You felt the back of your shirt cling to your skin once the sixth question was incorrect. This was ridiculous; you had studied, but these questions were strangely specific. It was like someone at the DMV had it out for you. 

Maybe Junhui was right. Maybe God didn’t want you on the road. 

You felt like your brain had entered auto-pilot to protect yourself from the discouraging loss of your permit yet again. You clicked through the rest of the questions mindlessly, hardly thinking about anything until— 

You passed! 

The white screen flashed in your face for about a minute before you could register it properly. All you could do was blink and stare until you pinched your wrist to make sure you weren’t seeing things. 

Had you really gotten the rest of the 30 questions right after your consecutive failed attempts? You were so worked up over the six you missed that the rest felt like a blur. Maybe the problem was that you had been overthinking the test this entire time. 

“I did it,” you breathed out to the woman at the counter, still in disbelief. “I passed.” 

“Congratulations,” she replied with little enthusiasm. She turned to grab papers from her printer, stapled them together, and handed you your brand new permit. “Have a nice day now.” 

“Thank you so much,” you replied, slightly distracted as you inspected your learner’s permit with wide eyes.

You had been waiting for this day for so long, and here you were, holding the permit you had spent years trying to obtain. You could only imagine how thrilled your parents and friends would be once they found out. 

Speaking of friends, when you checked your phone, you saw that Junhui had texted you five minutes ago that he was parked outside. He probably expected you to walk out with a gloomy expression and slumped shoulders, but you had a skip in your step this time. You finally had good news for your best friend. 

“Jun!” you yelled before you even opened the door to the passenger’s seat. “Jun, Jun, Jun, Jun!”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said sympathetically, but something about his automatic response definitely felt practiced, “you’ll get it next time.”

“No, Jun, I passed!”

His eyes went wide. “You did?!” 

“I did!” You squealed and practically jumped into the seat. Sinking back, a wide grin stretched across your face. “I finally did it.” 

“Yo, congrats.” Junhui grinned. “I guess the seventh time really is the charm, huh?” He started his car to pull out of the parking lot. “Well, now you just have to pass the driving test.” 

Your face fell.

You had been thinking about the permit test for so long that you forgot there was an actual driving component, too. 

First of all, you had never driven a vehicle in your life, not even illegally with friends. Second of all, you had terrible depth perception, which was probably not a great flaw to have if you wanted to drive. Thirdly, everything you prepared for the permit test had completely ejected from your brain. Your road sense was back to utterly clueless. 

“I’m gonna fail,” you said, defeated. “Jesus Christ, Jun, I didn’t even think about the actual driving test!”

“Relax, driving’s easy once you get the hang of it,” he replied. “What you should really be worrying about is how expensive those lessons are.” 

“How much are they?” 

“Uh, like, close to a few hundred.” 

“Total?” 

“No, per lesson.” 

“Per lesson?!” you cried. “Just for someone to tell me where to turn and brake? I can’t afford that!” 

“I’m guessing most of it is because they’re willingly sitting in a car with someone who doesn’t know shit about driving,” he explained, “but, yeah, it’s a crazy price. You do need to get that license before your permit expires, though, and you should probably get it done while you’re still here for college so you don’t run over the elementary schoolers back home.” 

You buried your face in your hands and let out a loud groan. “How am I gonna dish out hundreds of dollars? I don’t have that kind of money to spend when I have rent to pay off.” 

The corner of Junhui’s mouth lifted, more so exasperated than amused when he said, “I think I might know a guy.” 

Kwon Soonyoung. 

Junhui sent you his number after he dropped you off at your apartment. Apparently, Soonyoung was one of his good friends who also happened to have a side gig where he gave out driving lessons at a discounted price. Of course, the downside was that Soonyoung wasn’t exactly certified to teach people how to drive, but he was allegedly a good driver.

His lessons were normally for high schoolers, and he charged their parents around a hundred. For adults over the age of 21, though, he had a special offer that you couldn’t resist. 

You texted him to ask if he had any open spots for you. He took a few days to reply, but you eventually got a two-hour slot for the next week. You weren’t sure how effective his lessons would be, but you figured you would give it a shot since he was your age and giving out classes for cheap. 

When the day of your lessons rolled around, you were slightly anxious while you were waiting for him to arrive. You needed Junhui to reassure you for hours last night, promising that no, Soonyoung was not going to kidnap and murder you. He was a student at your university, actually, and he was a public health major who never had a murderous thought in his life.

soonyoung (driving instructor): i’m outside your house 

Okay, if he wasn’t a murderer, then the least he could do was not text you like one.  

After replying with an omw that autocorrected to On my way! and left you feeling very distressed that your communication sounded overly-enthusiastic, you worked up the courage to walk outside to his Honda Accord. 

“Hi,” you greeted shyly when you opened the door. “You’re Soonyoung, right?” 

Honestly, you didn’t care if he was Soonyoung or not. The man sitting in the driver’s seat was probably one of the most attractive people you had ever laid eyes on. Even if he wasn’t Kwon Soonyoung, you would happily let him kidnap you. Maybe you’d even blush a little because he picked you of all people to kidnap. 

He turned to look at you, seeming a little surprised that you opened the door but smiling nevertheless. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re Y/N?” 

When you nodded, he got out of the driver’s seat and motioned for you to take it. You skirted around the car to sit inside while Soonyoung took the passenger’s seat. 

You also got a glance of his off-brand, beige Fear of God Essentials sweater that read M.I.L.F. Hunter instead. Classy. 

“So, you came to me because you didn’t wanna give up your semester’s worth of college tuition for driving lessons,” Soonyoung said with an overwhelming air of confidence. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” You huffed. “Here, I heard this was your payment.”

You handed him a paper bag, not bothering to take out the receipt from the dispensary. Inside was the King Louis XIII STIIZY pod. One gram. 

“Ah, good. You know your stuff.” 

Soonyoung hummed as he examined the box, and you were just wondering when he would get to business and start showing you the controls in his car. You were slightly overwhelmed by his impressively relaxed demeanor. Maybe it would have been better if you settled for an uptight woman in her sixties. Pretty boys were always trouble. 

“You made the right choice coming to me. I’m a much better driver than those hags from the driving schools around here,” he continued. It was like he could read your mind; it was almost terrifying. “Plus, way less likely that I’ll get a heart attack in the passenger’s seat.” 

He was a total weirdo, but he was hot, so you supposed it canceled out in some obscure, mathematical sense. 

“That’s… good to hear, I think,” you replied. “So, are you, like, good at this?”

“Are you kidding? I’m basically the Lebron of driving.”

“I see.” You nodded along, unsure. “I don’t watch football, so…” 

“He plays basketball, but close enough.”

After spending about thirty minutes explaining all of the controls—from hand signals, to the dashboard, to the indicator—Soonyoung decided it was time for you to start driving on your own. You didn’t expect to move this quickly; actually, you didn’t think you’d even start driving until your second lesson. Thankfully, you gathered most of what Soonyoung had taught you, so you mustered up the courage to press your foot on the brakes and move the gear shift into drive. 

You looked over at Soonyoung expectantly, waiting for him to give you the green light to start driving. The boy only raised a brow at you, wondering why you hadn’t started driving yet. 

“Today would be nice,” he remarked.

“Uh, should I start now?”

“Sorry, I don’t have a starting pistol for you or anything.” He made a finger gun with his hand and pretended to fire. “On your mark, get set—”

“Okay, going,” you replied quickly, flushing with embarrassment. You pressed down on the accelerator and gasped as the car lurched forward. “Sorry!”

“Slowly!” Soonyoung cried out, holding onto the ‘oh shit’ handle, which you found highly unnecessary and felt somewhat offended about. “Press down slowly—gentle.”

The next hour of your lessons was a learning curve, to say the least. In your defense, it was your very first time driving, so you didn’t know you were actually supposed to look behind you before you switched lanes. Although Soonyoung kept reminding you, his instructions kept slipping your mind because you were focusing on several things at once. 

You sucked.

You were probably honked at around eight times and flipped off twice. It was a humbling experience, really. There was only so much a DMV victim could take, so you eventually had to pull over and try not to cry while Soonyoung consoled you. 

“C’mon, you probably didn’t even do anything wrong. It’s just their road rage,” he said, trying to duck his head to get a better look at you while you had your hands covering your face. “Plus, all those assholes were driving way over the speed limit. You were the responsible one back there.”

You sniffled, sucking in a shuddering breath before you gathered your composure. It wasn’t like you to be so vulnerable in front of a stranger like this, but it was probably the nerves of your first time driving coupled with the nerves of driving (and potentially damaging) someone else’s car. 

“You’re right.” You wiped at your damp cheek. “Fuck them. They couldn’t pass a driving test if they tried.”

“Well, technically, they already have.” 

“Not helping.”

He smirked. “Are you good to keep driving? Or do you wanna wrap this session up for today?” 

“Let’s keep going.” You set the car in drive again, but you looked over at Soonyoung before you did anything else. “Thanks, by the way. I’m guessing most of your students don’t usually pull over to cry during their lesson.” 

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t say it’s happened before, but it’s not a bad thing.”

It was a good thing that you were able to hide your blush from Soonyoung. With the clearly embarrassing impression you were making on him, it would have been mortifying if he found out that he was also making you flustered. 

For the next thirty minutes, you slowly started to get more comfortable behind the wheel. Soonyoung was thankfully not overbearing as most instructors normally were, so you didn’t end up flinching every time he spoke. 

He made light conversation to make you feel at ease, which you appreciated greatly. At first, you just nodded or hummed in response, as you were too afraid to do anything but stare at the road ahead, but you eventually steeled your nerves and replied with actual words. Soonyoung was a natural conversationalist, so you didn’t have to worry about your awkward pauses or stumbling over your words. He led the conversation, sharing random tidbits of his life that you wouldn’t expect to hear from someone the first time you met them. 

Everything seemed to be going perfectly normal until Soonyoung started queuing songs to play. 

The problem wasn’t the music. The problem was that Soonyoung had stopped teaching you to drive, allowing you to fend for your life while he sat back and relaxed. You weren’t sure if normal people were able to loosen up so easily while being driven by a complete amateur. 

Soonyoung must’ve been from a different planet, you decided. Some planet out there that deemed him the Lebron of driving. 

“Uh,” you started, “aren’t you gonna tell me where to go?” 

Soonyoung opened his mouth, as if he was going to ask what you meant, but then his demeanor completely shifted. 

“Pull over to the curb,” he instructed, “now.”

“What?” Your pulse raced, and you were scared that you had fucked up somehow. You checked your mirrors to make sure you hadn’t cut anyone off or anything, but there was no one behind you. Swallowing thickly, you pulled over to the curb as best as you could and parked the car, shooting your driving instructor a nervous glance. “Did I do something wr—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Soonyoung whispered, silencing you with a wave of his hand. “This is the best part.”

Your jaw clenched as Olivia Rodrigo’s vocals were drowned out by Soonyoung’s off-key singing. This was why he wanted you to pull over? 

“I knew we weren’t perfect but I’ve never felt this way for no one!” he belted out. “C’mon, sing with me—oh, and I just can’t imagine how you could be so okay now that I’m gone!”

You folded your arms across your chest. With a reluctant sigh, you gave in and started singing along with Soonyoung. 

You weren’t exactly ready for your driving test, but after two more lessons with Soonyoung, you felt more confident about being on the road. Sure, you almost ran over a pedestrian once and drove on the wrong side of the road the other day, but at least you were capable of handling a vehicle mostly by yourself. 

There were times where you wondered if your driving lessons would be more productive with a proper instructor, not Soonyoung. He surely knew how to drive (save for when he went over the speed limit and only slowed down when he saw a cop car), but he was more focused on messing around instead of actually teaching you. You were pretty sure that he saved his proper instruction for high school students with parents, and you were just someone he liked to mess around with. 

That didn’t stop you from scheduling another lesson with him, though. It was going to be another trip to the dispensary for you.

“How’re the driving lessons going?” Junhui asked, still nose-deep in his anatomy textbook. 

The two of you were preparing for your upcoming midterms in a study room, but all you could think about was the little notification on your phone screen telling you that Soonyoung requested to follow you on Instagram. How long were you supposed to wait until you accepted his request? Would it be weird if you followed him back right away?

“I can’t parallel park, but I know all the lyrics to ‘Driver’s License’ by Olivia Rodrigo now,” you answered. “I’ve also been honked at thirteen times.”

You counted. Mostly because each honk kept you up at night, staring up at your popcorn ceiling, wondering why everyone (a driver who probably didn’t even remember your face) hated you. 

“Ah,” Junhui mused, smiling a little to himself, “so it’s going well.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” you mumbled. “But he’s nice. He doesn’t make me feel like crying. I think my dad would make me cry.”

Your phone buzzed while Junhui started going off on a tangent about how your dad was, indeed, a scary man. (There was an incident during parent’s weekend in freshman year where your father walked into your dorm room to see Junhui sitting on your bed. Completely misunderstanding the situation, your poor friend got lectured for almost an hour.) Soonyoung’s contact name flashed across your screen, and you were itching to read his text. 

Once you and Junhui settled back into studying, you turned on your phone to check your messages.

soonyoung (driving instructor): i see you in the first floor study room soonyoung (driving instructor): come to the second floor study room for a good time

Terrifying. But you were intrigued. 

After excusing yourself for a moment, making some lame excuse about needing to use the bathroom, you slipped out of your study room to head upstairs. You realized you had never actually seen Soonyoung on campus before, so a strange feeling of excitement consumed you, making your body feel light and your chest feel giddy. 

Outside one of the study rooms, you heard echoes of laughter and conversation, which made you feel instantly nervous. You were invited, though, so you steeled your nerves and opened the door cautiously. 

“Hi,” you greeted quietly, glancing over at the three strangers before your eyes landed on Soonyoung, who grinned once he saw you. 

The four of them weren’t exactly studying. Two of them were fiddling with the flatscreen fixed to the wall, trying to connect a Nintendo Switch to it; one of them was sliding joy-cons into controllers; and Soonyoung, who had his legs kicked up on the table previously, was standing up to walk over to you. 

“You came!” His tone made it seem like he was doubtful that you’d actually show up, so you were glad to prove him wrong. “Oh, yeah, this is Seungcheol and Mingyu”—he gestured toward the two who were setting up the TV, and then he pointed at the guy with the joy-cons—“and this is Seungkwan.”

“Hey,” the three of them chorused in broken unison. 

“Wanna play Smash Bros with us?” Soonyoung asked. “Perchance.”

“You can’t just say ‘perchance,’ dude,” one of the guys setting up the TV said. 

“I think it’s applicable, Mingyu,” the other guy said, whom you now deduced was Seungcheol. “Conceivably.”

“There’s no reason for either of you to use the words ‘perchance’ or ‘conceivably’ at all,” Seungkwan chimed in. 

“Ignore them,” Soonyoung said, holding the door open wider for you before you even gave him an answer. “They’re just idiots.” 

“You’re the biggest idiot here!” Seungcheol protested. He turned to you and explained, “He’s, like, the final boss idiot.” 

Mingyu snickered. “Final idiot.”

You found yourself giggling a little, distracted by their banter as you walked inside the room and sat down in one of the empty chairs. Soonyoung slid into the one next to you, even though he was sitting next to Seungkwan earlier. You were glad that none of his friends made you feel like your presence was strange or unwelcome, but you still couldn’t help but feel awkward. 

While Soonyoung was asking Seungcheol if he had finished connecting his Switch to the TV, you pulled out your phone to text Junhui. 

y/n: i’m playing smash bros??? with soonyoung on the second floor y/n: wanna join?

jun: my anatomy midterm is in 3 days, 2 hours, and 26 minutes and all i know rn is that tissues are to wipe my tears after i fail this exam, negative feedback is all im getting back from my professor, and brain cells r what im deficient in  

y/n: ok damn i’ll take that as a no

jun: i’ll be in here for the next 3 days whenever u decide to come back 

y/n: it’ll take an hour tops y/n: pls don’t camp here for 3 whole days 

“Jun’s not coming,” you announced. 

You heard a chorus of groans. 

Great. They were all Wen Junhui fanboys. 

After Mingyu and Seungcheol finished setting up the Nintendo Switch, you watched Soonyoung and Seungkwan play the first match. Seungkwan chose Villager (which was sort of fitting for him, actually) and Soonyoung chose Donkey Kong. You honestly had no idea how Smash Bros worked, so you were completely lost while you watched their characters fly around and knock each other off the platform. 

Soonyoung was screaming at one point, threatening Seungkwan with several promises to knock him out, which never happened. Seungkwan, taking a calmer approach, focused on using several commands while Soonyoung was already jumping out of his chair and on the floor. Mingyu and Seungcheol were on the sidelines, yelling out strategies for them at random and laughing occasionally. 

The match ended with Seungkwan being victorious. Soonyoung had gotten so riled up during the game, but he took his defeat like a champ, congratulating his friend and laughing off his loss. 

You were just amused at how quickly he switched up. 

“You want a turn?” Soonyoung asked you, handing you his controller. 

You hesitated. “Uh, I’m not really good at these kinds of games.”

“I’ll help you.”

You were up against Mingyu. He was a formidable opponent at first glance, but you hoped he wasn’t as competitive as the others. Maybe he would show you mercy because it was your first time playing. 

You held the controller with stiffly-bent arms, holding it up like you were reading a map. Soonyoung didn’t laugh at you, to your relief, but he gently pushed your hands down and showed you what all of the controls were. 

You chose the pink blob named Kirby. You weren’t a gamer by any means, so you had no idea what purpose the pink blob served other than being cute. No one judged you for your selection, though, which you assumed was a good sign. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” you mumbled to Mingyu, who grinned in response. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Your heart raced when the countdown started. It felt like the longest three seconds of your life, and you were starting to regret choosing Kirby, who looked harmless in comparison to Mingyu’s character: Samus. You kept telling yourself that it was okay if you lost; you knew how to handle failure since you were pretty bad at virtually everything. 

Soonyoung was cheering for your victory as soon as the match started. He was an absolute angel for doing so, but you were afraid you were going to disappoint him. 

In Mingyu’s defense, you did tell him not to go easy on you. Unfortunately, the guy really wasn’t holding back at all. In the blink of an eye, you were already astral projecting off the screen. 

“Oh,” was all you could say. 

Maybe you should have swallowed down your pride and asked Mingyu to go easy on you.

Seungcheol playfully punched his friend’s shoulder. “C’mon, dude, it’s her first time.”

“Yeah, why’re you being a dick?” Seungkwan joined in, seeming more excited over having an excuse to target Mingyu than to actually defend you.

“She told me not to go easy on her!” he exclaimed, but no one allowed the poor boy to stand up for himself. With a pout, he turned to you and said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” You laughed. “I’m just bad at this.”

“Here, I’ll help you for the next round.” Soonyoung scooted closer to you until his knee brushed against yours. You couldn’t help but feel a little hot all of a sudden, but you made no effort to move away. 

The next round started with you dropping from the revival platform. You felt like your brain went into autopilot. You just heard Soonyoung talking in your ear while his fingers kept brushing against yours, telling you which controls were best for fighting Samus. Everything was going in one ear and out the other; you were so flustered that you could hardly think straight. 

You snapped back into reality when you heard three of them screaming, and you looked over with wide eyes to see Mingyu looking shell-shocked himself. 

You won. 

Soonyoung smiled. “See? You’re a natural.”

“No, it was all you,” you replied, shaking your head. It really was all thanks to Soonyoung because you had no idea what the hell you did. “It was probably just beginner’s luck.”

But, even so, a smile tugged at your lips, and you felt elated from your triumph. You thought back to Soonyoung’s hands brushing against yours, nearly swamping yours in comparison, and your chest felt a little warm. 

A little too warm. 

You put a pause on driving for a week and a half, informing Soonyoung that you had to focus on midterms before you could think about your driving lessons. Both caused you extreme distress, so you needed to cut one out temporarily.

Junhui really did camp out in the library for three entire days. You brought him food every day and forced him to go back to his apartment to take a shower. When you watched over his study room for him, Soonyoung would swing by and ask how you were doing. 

Brief interactions, but they were nice. 

You managed to get through your midterms without a single cry session in a bathroom stall. It was honestly a bigger success than your first Smash Bros win. 

Soonyoung and you grew a little closer. Two weeks ago, if someone told you that you would be FaceTiming your driving instructor every night before bed, you wouldn’t believe them for a second. Mostly because you assumed you would get a driving instructor who was pushing retirement age, and video calling someone that old at night sounded a little concerning and borderline adulterous.

You learned a lot about him. His go-to breakfast or midnight snack was Frosted Flakes, and he felt a little empty inside if there wasn’t a box of the cereal in his cabinet. He was loud most of the time, but he often got shy or quiet in loud settings; it was highly dependent on the crowd he was with. His love language was sending you pictures of cute animals and saying it was you two. (You also didn’t like calling this a “love language” because that implied there was something deeper than platonic feelings, which you were too afraid to come to terms with.)

“You have to start driving again now that your midterms are over,” Soonyoung said over the phone one night. He was sulking while you were doing your skincare routine, keeping your phone propped up on your desk. “You’re gonna start forgetting what you learned, and then we’re gonna be back to square one.”

He was (slightly) high tonight and you were the first person he called.

You were pretty sure that had to mean something. Unfortunately, you were too guarded to connect the pieces that were laid out perfectly for you.

“You just miss me, huh?” you joked. 

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

Nothing could have prepared you for that response. 

You felt your cheeks burn, and you had to physically turn around to hide whatever expression was betraying you. You pretended to examine something behind you, but there was clearly nothing there, so you just looked like an idiot. 

You didn’t know what you were feeling. There was a clear difference in your emotions when you spoke to Soonyoung versus when you spoke to his friends. 

You didn’t want to compare Soonyoung to Junhui, who you knew since middle school, but you knew that you didn’t feel anything funny in your chest when you interacted with Seungcheol, Seungkwan, or Mingyu. They were great to be around, of course, but it was only Soonyoung who made you walk with a little skip in your step.

You hadn’t had a proper crush in years. Now, you felt like you were overthinking everything and analyzing every little interaction that could possibly be meaningless. 

It had only been a few weeks, but you supposed there was no exact timeline for these sorts of things—whatever this thing was. 

Whatever it was, though, you were in danger.

“Tomorrow, then,” you said once you regained a sliver of your composure. “Pick me up after your classes.”

“Sure.” He rested his chin in his palm, staring at you with an amused expression. “I’ll bring flowers.”

Possible Ways To Respond: 1. “You’re too sweet! Thank you.” 2. “Flowers? What’s the occasion?” 3. “Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special, huh?” 

You went with a secret fourth option.

“Please don’t. I’m allergic.”

True to his word, Soonyoung picked you up after his classes the next day. 

You were pretty sure your lessons had gone over the regular quota, so you stopped by at the dispensary earlier to pick up another pod for Soonyoung. He didn’t look as though he was expecting anything when you got in the driver’s seat, though. In fact, he was perplexed when you handed him the paper bag. 

“What’s this?” he asked, growing sheepish. 

“Your payment,” you replied. “Also, I sort of lied about being allergic to flowers. I’m not allergic to flowers. I don’t know why I said that. I’m allergic to penicillin, though, but I don’t think that sounds remotely close to ‘flowers.’ Maybe I got confused? I don’t know.”

If this was an otome game, you had surely picked the bad relationship ending. Soonyoung’s face fell a little—just enough for you to notice—and you immediately felt guilt swallowing you whole. You meant for your words to sound lighthearted, but maybe they didn’t come across that way. 

But, at the same time, you didn’t know where you stood. Wouldn’t it have been unfair to not repay Soonyoung for the lessons? Was it unreasonable that you weren’t actually expecting him to bring you flowers for no reason?

Soonyoung recovered quickly, though, his smiling eyes crinkling at the corners. “So I can bring you flowers.”

“Hypothetically, you could.”

“But you don’t have to pay me anymore.” He looked into the paper bag, examining the STIIZY pod before scoffing. “If I keep stocking up on these, people are gonna think I’m a stoner.” 

“Well, I have to pay you for the lessons somehow,” you said. “So, if you don’t want the pods anymore, then I’ll have to start sending you money. I mean, what about gas?”

“You don’t have to worry about my gas tank.” He chuckled at your words and sat back to get comfortable. “What you should worry about is not hitting the curb.”

You flushed hotly. “Right.”

The first hour went smoothly. Soonyoung was impressed that you were gradually getting more and more comfortable behind the wheel, and he even congratulated you for changing lanes without muttering prayers under your breath. You were beginning to feel less overwhelmed with everything you were supposed to focus on, and you were certain that you were so close to everything clicking at once. 

That was, until a car crashed right into you on a local road. 

Thankfully, you and the other driver weren’t going too fast, but the force was sure to leave a dent in Soonyoung’s car. The collision wasn’t hard, by any means, but the impact jerked your body forward so that your mouth hit the steering wheel. The sting of pain radiated throughout your gums seconds later, and you winced and cradled your jaw. 

You immediately bubbled with rage as you pulled over to the curb, knowing that you had the right of way and he was supposed to stop and wait for you to pass, but you were still stiff with shock. Soonyoung’s eyes were fierce, looking back at the driver as if he was about to cuss him out, but then he turned his attention to you.

Before you could feel immense, crushing guilt over crashing Soonyoung’s car, you whipped your head around to make sure he wasn’t hurt. You wouldn’t be surprised if he completely ghosted you after this. You were probably the worst student he had ever come across, which was saying a lot considering most of his students were high school teenagers. 

“Y/N, are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, sounding as frantic as his hands were. You felt his palm against your cheek and his other hand atop your head, making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere. 

“Are you okay?” you blurted out. Your breathing was erratic, and you hardly registered the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. “Oh god. Your car. Oh god, I—” 

“It’s okay, Y/N, it’s not your fault,” he said. “You had the right of—” 

When he turned to look at you again, he just stared, eyes wide and jaw hanging open—almost comically. It almost looked like he was more bewildered by you than the fact that his car was rammed into by another car. 

He was wordless for far too long that you had to ask, “Everything okay?” 

Maybe that was a stupid question. Clearly, everything wasn’t okay, and it had everything to do with the fact that you two had gotten into a car crash.

“I think you loth a tooth,” he lisped—a seemingly joking remark, but his expression was dead serious.

For a split second, a laugh bubbled up in your mouth. You thought Soonyoung must have been messing with you, but it was ridiculous that he could joke around in such a situation. It was when you touched your lip and pulled your hand back to see blood, though, that cold reality washed over you.

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you turned to examine your teeth in the rear-view mirror. 

The worst possible thing that could happen to a woman was happening to you right now. 

Your front left tooth was gone. 

“I-it’s not that bad,” Soonyoung tried, although he sounded unconvinced himself. “It’s cute! It’s like, uh, that dragon—from, uh… How to Train Your Dragon.” 

Your eyes were burning and your throat was closing up, but tonguing the bloodied gap between your teeth sent you over the edge. You had tears streaming down your cheeks and you were gripping the wheel so hard that your knuckles turned pale.

“Toothleth?” you cried, which led to a few choked sobs when you realized that you had a lisp now. Then, you were full-on crying into your hands because sure, you could get over being the reason why Soonyoung’s car had a dent in it, but you were pretty sure there was no replacing a missing tooth. The more you cried, though, the worse you felt as you tasted the blood and heard the faint whistles coming from the gap in your teeth. “I’m tho thupid!” 

Soonyoung was clearly short-circuiting, but you could tell he was desperate to calm you down by the way he was rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Y/N, you’re not stupid. It's okay, we just—”

“Thoonyoung!”

Soonyoung slapped his hand over his mouth to suppress his laughter. He was trying to take you seriously, but the little bursts of laughter that bubbled up in his throat were betraying him. 

You swallowed down your sob and continued, “Ith not okay! I loth my tooth!” 

“Okay, no more talking,” he ordered. “I know you’re very hurt right now, but you’re gonna feel even worse if I start laughing at your lisp, so don’t make this harder for me.” 

You scowled at him, but you kept your mouth shut because Soonyoung was right; you were not in the proper headspace to be laughed at right now. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go outside and talk to the driver who ran into us,” he explained slowly. “I want you to calm your breathing and find your missing tooth. We can drive to the dentist right after, okay?” 

You sniffled and nodded, craning your neck to watch Soonyoung get out of the car to talk to the driver. Then, you sucked in a sharp breath and examined the floor to find your loose tooth. Lo and behold, it was laying next to the gas pedal. You cringed as you picked it up, frowning at how bloody it was in your palm. There were a few napkins in Soonyoung’s glove compartment, so you wrapped your tooth in one and kept it in your pocket.

You heard some yelling from the other driver—something about having kids in the back and how you were going way too fast—and it all just made you feel worse. You felt horrible that Soonyoung had to deal with the repercussions, and after they exchanged insurances and the guy drove off, you got out of the car to see the damage. 

Surely enough, there was a decent-sized dent in the side of his car. It was right where the back door opened, and you burst into tears at the sight of it. Soonyoung wouldn’t have to deal with all of this if he wasn’t teaching you to drive.  

Still, he wrapped his arms around your shaking body and pulled you in close. He rested his chin on top of your head and sighed. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “The insurance will cover the damage. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“What about my tooth?”

“Okay, maybe there’s one thing to worry about.”

You leaned into his touch when you felt his hand carding through your hair. His motions were slow and gentle, as if he was trying hard to make sure you didn’t notice the gesture. You did, though, and you appreciated it. 

You started, “I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he interrupted. You thought he was going to say something cheesy about how you had nothing to apologize for, but he continued, “You’re gonna say thorry, and I’m not gonna be able to take you seriously.”

With your face buried in his chest, you reached your hand out to punch his shoulder. 

Still, despite his snarky comment and the emotional distress you were experiencing over your missing tooth, a big smile crossed your face and his embrace left a warm, fluttery feeling in your stomach. 

Your heart was beating so fast that you almost thought it would stop. 

“Ew,” was Wen Junhui’s first reaction upon seeing your swollen lip. You could only see the top half of his face over FaceTime, but you were sure he had a look of disgust on. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you replied dryly, holding an ice pack to your cheek. 

Before Soonyoung drove you to a dentist, he scolded you for leaving your tooth wrapped up in a tissue. Apparently, your tooth was going to be fucked if it dried up, so his solution was to leave it in his half-empty water bottle that was left sitting in his car. You weren’t quite sure about this, but the dentist informed you that Soonyoung saved your front tooth. 

If he was with you in the room, you probably could’ve kissed him then and there—bloody mouth and all.

Thankfully, since you didn’t fracture or break any part of the tooth, the dentists were able to replant it into your gums without any complications. They told you it was a good thing you went straight to the dentist instead of waiting. Your front tooth would’ve been a lost cause if you waited another hour. 

It was really all thanks to Soonyoung. 

The procedure was quick and you were told that your avulsed tooth would be back to normal in about a week. The news filled you with relief because you were so sure you were going to be toothless for the rest of your life. 

Not that it was a bad thing. While Soonyoung was driving you to the dentist prior to the replantation, you had come to terms with the fact that you would be missing a front tooth for the rest of your life. You would grow old and tell your children the harrowing tale of how you got your driver’s license and sacrificed your front tooth for it. 

It couldn’t be all that horrible. Maybe you would grow an affinity for whistling.

Thankfully, that was all just your overthinking and your tooth was probably fine now. In seven days, everything was supposed to go back to normal, so you had your fingers crossed for a full recovery. 

“Of course that would happen to you.” Junhui laughed at your misery. “Shit like this only happens to you.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m the pinnacle of terrible luck.”

“So, what happened after? Did you make out with Soonyoung or something?” 

“No!” you exclaimed. Your cheeks started to burn just at the thought. “How do you expect me to make out with someone when I look like this? Soonyoung drove me home like a gentleman. He’s not into me like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing him for a while, anyway. I don’t wanna start driving again until my tooth is fine.”

“Then maybe you can go on a different kind of ride with him instead.”

“You need to stop.”

You didn’t see Soonyoung much over the next week. He told you that he had a few papers to finish before his schedule would clear up, so you were only able to text him occasionally and see him in passing, exchanging a greeting before one of you had to go. 

You saw his friends a lot, though. They were always in the study room next to the one you and Junhui liked to use, so you would stop by their room often to see what they were up to. They were usually either messing around or using the whiteboard for everything but its intended purpose, so you enjoyed taking study breaks with them. Junhui was the type to not take breaks because he was locked in on his work once he got in the zone, so Soonyoung’s friends were a breath of fresh air. 

Your Current Opinions on Soonyoung’s Friends:

Mingyu: Kind. Approached you whenever he saw you. Pleasant conversations. Swiped up on your Snapchat stories sometimes. Was unfortunately the only person you forgot to block from your story once when you posted a semi-thirst trap just for Soonyoung’s eyes.

Seungcheol: Friendly whenever he talked to you. A little awkward because you once saw him taking selfies at the gym instead of working out. 

Seungkwan: Not super buddy-buddy but sweet enough. Liked making fun of Soonyoung with you. He brought you McDonald’s once and you imagined a future with him momentarily.

Word also got around that your front tooth had been knocked out clean. Seungcheol let it slip when he accidentally referred to you as ‘Toothless’ the other day. You made a mental note to kill Soonyoung later.

The next time you ran into your driving instructor on campus was outside one of your lecture halls. You walked out in the middle of class to fill up your hydroflask. It was especially hot today, and you were seconds away from heat exhaustion. Soonyoung’s brows lifted in pleasant surprise once he saw you, and he missed his elevator to walk up to you.

“Whoa.” You paused for a moment, unblinking. “I keep forgetting you go here.”

“I’m the hall monitor.”

“This is college. We don’t have hall monitors.”

“Self-elected,” was his response. “Speaking of, I don’t see your bathroom pass.”

“I’m not going to the bathroom. I’m filling up my water. Anyway, why would I—”

“Just this once, I’ll let you off with a warning,” he interjected, pulling out a card from the pocket of his jeans. He handed it to you, and you accepted it after a moment of hesitation. “There’s your bathroom pass. Don’t let me catch you loitering around here again.” 

With that, Soonyoung walked off, leaving you utterly confused. 

You flipped the business card around to see his name and number printed neatly in the middle, and you frowned in response. There was some other fine text on the back, but you didn’t take the time to read it properly as you were still baffled. 

“I already have your number!” you called after him, but you just heard your driving instructor laugh to himself in response as he disappeared behind the elevator doors.

Later, after your classes ended, you went back to your study room with Junhui. He had been in the library since morning, deciding to skip his classes to prepare for his second round of midterms that he still had a few weeks for. 

You told him about your encounter with Soonyoung, noting how strange it was that he casually had business cards on hand. Junhui asked to see the card, so you handed it over to him. 

Upon closer inspection, Junhui raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Hall monitor rizz.”

“How was that rizz? He told me it was a bathroom pass and left.”

“Well, I’d consider it rizz since he’s asking you out on a date.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “You think he’s asking me out on a date?” 

“No, I know he’s asking you out on a date.” Junhui flipped Soonyoung’s business card around to show you the fine print: Schedule our first date with the number provided on the other side of this card. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Says it right here. He’s just shy, Y/N.”

“Shy? Him? He doesn’t look like the shy type.”

“He’s shy,” he affirmed, “around you, at least. I mean, you’d get shy around the person you liked, wouldn’t you?” 

“I guess, but…” you trailed off, shaking your head. “No, this is normal, right? Dates are normal. We’re just two normal adults going on a normal date. Nothing weird about that, right? I shouldn’t feel so weird about this. Do I sound weird? Am I weird?”

You didn’t realize you had gotten up and started pacing until you turned to see Junhui looking at you with concern hanging in his brows. You sucked in a sharp breath and sank back into your seat, burying your face in your hands. 

“I’m in way over my head,” you mumbled. 

“You’re nervous ‘cause you have a crush on him,” he replied. “Nothing weird about that.”

“I have a crush on him,” you echoed, more so to yourself than to Junhui. 

Although you were partly in denial, still tossing and turning the prospect of crushing on Soonyoung around in your head, Junhui took your words as confirmation. He hummed knowingly and turned back to his textbook, leaving you to ruminate for the next thirty minutes in silence before you excused yourself. 

You were currently speed walking to your usual bus stop, hoping you would be able to stop thinking about Soonyoung and the business card tucked into your pocket. However, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of you developing a tiny crush on him. 

You hadn’t had a proper crush in ages. The last time you had strong feelings for someone was in high school, which promptly ended following your first date—after an eight month talking stage. You proposed going to the fair, which seemed fine until you threw up on the ferris wheel and received an ‘I don’t think this is going to work out’ text later that night. 

And why were you so flustered over this, anyway? After all, you had been anticipating the day Soonyoung would make the first move. Plus, you were an adult; overthinking your feelings like this was so high school. 

Whatever. You had nothing to lose.

You pulled out your phone to text Soonyoung, a small smile crossing your face once you caught sight of his profile picture again. It was a picture of him with all his hair flying every which way in the wind and his mouth open to yell some profanity. 

y/n: date. y/n: this week any day 

soonyoung (driving instructor): WHOA!!!!!!

y/n: what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day what day

soonyoung (driving instructor): tomorrow night

y/n: okay

soonyoung (driving instructor): okay

y/n: okay.

soonyoung (driving instructor): okay. soonyoung (driving instructor): can’t wait

y/n: me neither

soonyoung (driving instructor): pick you up at 8

y/n: i’ll be ready

soonyoung (driving instructor): i’ll be even more ready

Your heart didn’t stop pounding for the rest of the day.

To be a woman was to perform. 

You were currently performing an illegal U-turn. 

Soonyoung held onto the ‘oh shit’ handle fixed to the ceiling, his face contorted in absolute fear as he repeated, “Wrong lane, wrong lane, wrong lane, wrong lane, wrong lane—”

“Sorry!” you exclaimed, swerving back into your correct lane after checking your mirrors. You swallowed thickly before saying, “I’ve got it under control now, I think.”

Of course, you had been nervous the entire day and a half leading up to your date with Soonyoung, but how you felt right now had completely reigned over every emotion you were feeling before. 

Throughout the day, you had butterflies in your stomach and a little skip to your step, but now you were terrified of things you had never even worried about before. The reason you took a U-turn in the first place was because Soonyoung told you that you missed the parking lot entrance, causing you to panic in the middle of the road (which, on your part, was not very smart.) 

In short, Soonyoung should not have let you take the wheel, and you should not have gotten this worked up over him planning to take you to the local fair. 

What were the odds that you were back in the place where you had an awful last date? You could almost feel the bile rising up your throat.

Soonyoung’s voice was unnaturally high-pitched when he asked, “A-are you sure you’re ready to schedule that driving test?” 

“Yes! I’m ready,” you said, “but, to make things clear, my driving today is not representative of my driving any other day.”

Somehow, you and Soonyoung wound up making it to the fairgrounds’ parking lot in one piece. You deflated upon hearing the sigh of relief escape Soonyoung’s lips once the car was in park, but it was well deserved. You were surprised he even let you drive in the first place. 

The fairgrounds were packed with people—mostly students—so there were several couples going around with their fingers interlocked. You were now hyper-aware of your fingertips, wondering if you’d get the chance to brush them against Soonyoung’s and slowly slide your hand into his. 

He ended up paying for your ticket, and you didn’t have much room to argue about it because the employee was already taking his card before you even noticed. You told Soonyoung you would pay for something else—food, rides, raffle tickets—but he ended up covering everything for you. Of course, you were sure Junhui would have scolded you because turning down a guy paying for you was apparently equivalent to turning down the guy himself. So, you swallowed your pride and let Soonyoung take the lead. 

You went on a few rides with Soonyoung, shared a churro, and you took a picture in front of the ferris wheel. You were having a great time, actually, and almost all of your nerves had all but melted away. All that was left to deem this a perfect date was to actually ride the ferris wheel, which was exactly what you were absolutely terrified of. 

“Not good with heights?” Soonyoung asked as you two were getting into the seat, pulling down the lap bar for you two. 

You wondered if you looked as ghastly as you felt. “Not so much.”

You weren’t good with a lot of things, to be fair.

Smooth talker Soonyoung took that as his opportunity to slip his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together with a shy smile on his face. “You can close your eyes if it gets scary, or just keep looking at me.”

Honestly, that sounded scarier than the possibility of plummeting to your death from the top of the ferris wheel. You weren’t sure your heart could handle staring at Soonyoung, especially with how flustered his gaze made you feel. 

“Hey, could I ask you something?” you asked, nearly shying away when Soonyoung fixed his gaze on you. “When did you start liking me? I mean, I had no idea.”

“Uh…” The ride started moving backward as Soonyoung hummed in thought. “Probably that first time you were in my car?”

Your eyes went wide. “You mean our very first lesson?”

“Yeah, I thought you were cute—a little weird, but cute.” He grinned. “I think it was when you fell asleep over FaceTime that one night when I started catching feelings.”

Your cheeks burned. You weren’t sure if you could pinpoint a specific moment like he did; you just remembered your heart started beating faster when you saw him one day, and the rest was history. It was almost incredible how blindsided you were by his feelings, even though he had integrated himself into your daily life so naturally.

“And then you posted that one picture on your story once,” he continued, voice growing shy once he realized what he admitted out loud, “and that was when I knew I was really in too deep.”

You blanched with embarrassment. He must have been talking about the thirst trap because that was the only time you ever posted yourself so confidently. How were you going to explain that you blocked everyone else from your Snapchat story just for him to see that?

A nervous laugh bubbled from your lips. “About that—”

Before you could get any other words out, though, you became painfully aware of your surroundings. Your seat started swinging with the strong winds, and you realized that you were at the very top. If you leaned over enough, you were pretty sure your seat would tip over and drop you and Soonyoung right out. The very thought paralyzed you to the core. 

Just as Soonyoung was in the middle of asking if you were okay, the ferris wheel started moving faster, and you yelped and clung onto him as you two went down. You were fine with the slow pace with breaks in between, but now that you were moving at full speed in one go, it was downright terrifying. 

Soonyoung seemed to find it hilarious, though. He laughed and wrapped an arm around you while you were the very picture of fear. You buried your face into his chest and dug your nails in so hard that you were afraid he would feel them through his sweater. 

Finally, it came to a stop. The ride operator started letting people out one seat at a time, but you and Soonyoung had ended up at the very top again. You raised your head to sit upright again, letting out an exasperated breath, but Soonyoung drew you closer. He was still laughing, and it made you blush uncontrollably. 

“Just so you know, I’m good with any other ride!” you tried to defend yourself. “Well, actually, save for roller coasters and drop towers… oh, and—”

“Y/N,” Soonyoung cut you off with a smile, his voice hardly a murmur. Before, you could barely hear him over the excited cries and shouts in the fair, but now your attention had zeroed in on him. You felt disoriented as he placed his warm hand on your cheek, tilting his head and leaning in. “C’mere.”

You were too shy to admit it, but you had fantasized about making out with Soonyoung before. Of course, you never knew what type of kisser he was, so you just settled for whatever fantasy played out in your head.

Now, though, with his lips pressed against yours, you felt something hot and needy stir up inside you as he tugged you impossibly close to his body. Your stomach fluttered when you let slip a whimper, which Soonyoung didn’t let go unnoticed. He pulled back for a moment, his gaze darkening, promising to return to that later, and he returned to kissing you. 

When you were almost near the ground, you and Soonyoung pulled away. There were definitely far too many children and parents around for you two to be kissing like that, but now you were anticipating how things would be once you two were alone. 

“You two have fun?” the ride operator, who appeared to be an older teenager, asked with a teasing lilt to his voice. 

All you could do was nod and duck your head in embarrassment while Soonyoung beamed brighter than the flashing lights. 

You spent some more time with Soonyoung on a few more (tamer) rides before you two decided to call it a day. Your feet were getting sore, so he courteously offered to drive the both of you home. However, you had an itching feeling that he just didn’t want you behind the wheel again. 

“Wanna get something to eat?” he asked once you both were inside the car, and he turned his head around as he reversed. “There’s a good froyo place down the street.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” you agreed quickly. Deep down, you were hoping this date wouldn’t end just yet.

Soonyoung played Olivia Rodrigo’s new album as he drove, rolling the window down so that the wind tousled his hair. You thought he looked cute that way, and you had to keep your hand under your thigh to keep it from reaching over and running it through his locks. 

When he parked in front of the froyo place, it appeared completely dark inside. It was also evidently clear that the only cars parked in the lot were the overflow crowd of people from the fair who couldn’t get a parking spot at the fairgrounds. 

“Did we miss it?” He frowned, pausing to look up the store hours on his iPhone. “Man. I didn’t want our date to end like this.”

“I don’t want it to end, either.”

Soonyoung looked over at you, studying your expression carefully before asking, “Do you wanna chill in the back for a while, then?”

You knew what that meant. And you had specifically worn your matching lingerie set just for this moment. 

You unlatched your seatbelt, and Soonyoung followed suit right after. “Yeah, I’m down.” 

“Wait, there’s something I need to do first,” Soonyoung said in a soft voice, looking down at you with gentle eyes. 

For a moment, your heart jumped to your throat. The way he was looking at you sent butterflies to your stomach, and you couldn’t even imagine what he was going to do next. Something about his tone was so sincere that you were sure he was going to kiss you, especially when he started leaning down. 

You let your eyes flutter shut, waiting for his soft lips to meet yours. Your heartbeat felt like a drum in your ears. 

But nothing happened. No kiss. Nothing. 

You opened your eyes to see what Soonyoung was doing. When you saw him hunched over, fiddling with something near his ankles, your face deadpanned—not a flicker of amusement. 

Soonyoung had put his Crocs in sports mode. 

First of all, wearing Crocs on the first date was absurd.

Second of all, putting your Crocs in sports mode on the first date was absolutely preposterous. 

Yet, it was the perfect thing Soonyoung had done to put your nerves completely at ease. You ended up bursting into laughter at the very sight, making his head shoot up while his eyebrows were drawn together, perplexed. However, he happened to hit his head on the steering wheel as he did so, which only made you laugh even harder. 

Your sudden surge of confidence spurred you to crawl over the gear stick and straddle his lap. Shocked, Soonyoung gripped your thighs and straightened up. Before his lip could curl up in amusement, you wrapped your arms around his neck and slotted your lips with his. 

He broke for air for a moment, breathing out, “Well, hi.”

“Hi.” Your nose gently bumped against his. “Having second thoughts?” 

“No!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “I just didn’t wanna start anything because I wasn’t sure if you were ready.” He threw a glance over his shoulder before looking out the window. “Plus, this place isn’t exactly private.” 

You looked out the window while Soonyoung’s warm hands returned to your thighs. It was true that there were empty cars around, but there weren’t any people in sight. It was still early in the night, so you were sure people would stay at the fairgrounds until midnight. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung started again, “what was that you were gonna say on the ferris wheel? Before we, uh, made out.” 

“Oh.” Shame bubbled in your chest when you realized what he was talking about. “Nothing important.”

“Tell me.”

Moonlight shone in from the window, illuminating the side of Soonyoung’s face and his neck, showing off his prominent collarbones. His low voice reached your core in a way you had never experienced before. You flushed with embarrassment because you were certain Soonyoung could feel how you clenched. 

You looked out the window, as if you could mentally escape through it. Find a way to get out of the situation you were in. 

“Fine.” He huffed lightly before placing a hand behind your neck and drawing you closer. “I’ll just get it out of you, then.”

Notably flustered, you gasped when Soonyoung’s lips latched onto the side of your neck, biting and sucking the tender skin. You croaked out some lame lie about forgetting what you were trying to say, but Soonyoung persisted. He ravaged the column of your neck like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You scooted up on his lap, sitting right on top of his growing bulge, which roused a throaty groan from him. You could feel Soonyoung twitch under you, and it was all that was needed for you to start grinding your hips slowly on his lap. And then he started guiding your hips down onto him. Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers dig into the grooves of your hips to take control of your motions. 

“Tell me,” he beseeched, and you shivered when you could feel his smile against your jawline.

You let out a whine. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, distracted as he looked up at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. His hands never left your hips as he watched you grind down on his lap. Soonyoung’s eyes were unfocused for a moment before clarity bled back into him. “It was about the Snapchat story, right? That one picture you posted.” 

“I don’t remember what that was,” you attempted to lie smoothly, but you were pretty sure your expression betrayed you once Soonyoung slid a hand under your shirt to cup your chest. 

“Yeah, you do. The one where you were wearing those thigh-high stockings.” You saw a flash of darkness in his eyes. “Can’t believe everyone got to see you like that.”

“I wouldn’t say everyone,” you muttered. 

“Hm?”

His thumb, after his hand managed to creep under your bra, found purchase on your nipple, rolling and circling around the supple flesh as he pleased. You only managed to let out a cry before Soonyoung was pressing you further, ordering you to answer him before he made you fall apart. 

You were so caught up in your own pleasure, practically chest-to-chest with Soonyoung, that you hardly noticed the knock on the window until Soonyoung jolted upright and straightened his back. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice still thick with lust that was ebbing away. Thankfully, you both were still mostly clothed, but Soonyoung had his pants nearly down and you had your shirt riding up past your waist.

The officer stopped knocking to give Soonyoung the opportunity to roll the window down after he was decent. It was evidently an uncomfortable situation for both parties. You turned your head to the side, screwing your eyes shut and hoping you would blink out of existence if you tried hard enough. You never thought you would have a cop at your window before even getting your license. 

“Hi,” he greeted sheepishly once the window was down. “Sorry, we’ll get going now.”

“Yeah, uh…” The officer trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a long-winded sigh. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but keep it in the bedroom, please.”

“Thanks…” Soonyoung trailed off, looking for some sort of identification tag. 

“Officer Hong,” he answered flatly. 

“Thanks, Officer Hong.”

“Don’t let me catch you two again.”

“Oh, probably not me, but once she gets her license then it’s over for—ow!” Soonyoung yelped when you pinched him in the side, effectively shutting him up. He immediately apologized, “Sorry, Officer Hong, it won’t happen again.”

The encounter with the police officer was awkward, yes, but somehow, Soonyoung was unfazed once you two had gotten off with the warning. He coolly looked up at you and asked if he could come over to your place tonight. You agreed, of course.

The drive home was perfectly fine. Soonyoung made sure you weren’t too startled by the officer and asked how you liked the fair. You thought it was all pleasant conversation that would continue once you were in your living room, but Soonyoung pinned you up against your front door as soon as you were inside. 

His strong arms caged you in his hold, and you could only helplessly look up at him and warble out some pathetic question, asking if he wanted water or snacks. He turned the offer down, obviously. 

Since you two had already gotten this far, you figured you might as well let Soonyoung in on your little secret. Although it was slightly humiliating to admit, you realized tonight that far more embarrassing things had happened to you. 

“You really wanna know, don’t you?” When he nodded in response, you sighed and explained, “What I posted on my story… I blocked everyone else so that only you’d see it.”

Well, him and Mingyu, but the latter was purely accidental. 

Hearing your words flipped a switch in Soonyoung and he completely froze up, as if he had stopped functioning altogether.

“Well, technically, you and Mingyu,” you rambled on, “but that’s only because I forgot to block him from my story. You know, I have, like, two hundred people on Snapchat, so I figured I’d accidentally skip over someone, anyway. But I don’t think he even paid any attention to it. I feel like he’d—”

He cut you off by sealing his lips over yours, and all the noise in your head simmered down. All the fluff filling up your brain billowed and sank back down. You remembered when you were a middle schooler, giggling and replaying the scenes in movies that were exactly like this. Now that you were actually living in it, though, you couldn’t get enough of Soonyoung. 

He broke away for a breather, lips hanging barely an inch from yours and your foreheads touching. His heavily-lidded eyes found yours, gazing at you longingly through his lashes. 

“No offense,” he started with a smirk, “but I don’t really care about Mingyu right now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you shut it as soon as you realized that you had nothing intelligent to contribute. You recognized that most of your mindless ramblings probably killed the mood—for you, at least.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the side of your neck. As he moved down to your chest, Soonyoung’s kisses grew sloppier and open-mouthed. He tugged at your shirt, and you helped him remove it with ease, snapping your bra off in the process and letting it fall to the floor. His hungry gaze upon seeing you bare before him made you ache for more. Soonyoung let out a groan and let his tongue drag over your nipple, circling and flicking around the sensitive skin until you were moaning shamelessly.

With his head ducked so that his lips could ravage your chest, Soonyoung bent down just a little bit more to wrap his arms around your thighs. He scooped you up in his arms swiftly, making you yelp, and he walked you to your bedroom after you whispered where your room was. He was so strong that you hardly had to hold onto him, but his strength was a double-edged sword because he had you pinned down on your bed in seconds. 

A grin crossed Soonyoung’s face as his lips returned to your chest. This time, his lips made their way down your body, to your stomach. You curled your hand in his hair, tugged hard because you wanted more, but Soonyoung was relentless with his teasing. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you squirm under him and ache for more. They were slow and torturous, and you only grew more needy as he made his way down. 

“Can I take these off?” he asked, fingers slipping into the waistband of your pants. 

“Only if you take your clothes off, too.”

You heard him chuckle before you felt cold air starting to hit your bare skin. Soonyoung unzipped your pants and tugged them down your legs until they were bunched up at your ankles, which you struggled to kick off until he bent down to move the fabric off your heel. You shuddered when he snapped the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers at the sides and twisting the fabric. He sure was enjoying toying with you, and you weren’t sure you could handle any more teasing. After what felt like forever, Soonyoung pulled the last of your undergarments down and marveled at your bare body.

“You’re unbelievable,” he all but growled, running his hands down your sides, to your hips, and past your thighs. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You sat up, looking up at him with a pout, which only seemed to drive Soonyoung to the brink of madness. 

“You’re still clothed,” you observed.

“Yes.”

“Take it off.” You folded your arms across your chest. “I can’t be the only one naked.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied with a laugh. You supposed he could see your expression falter, nearly letting some pathetic sound fall from your lips, so Soonyoung cooed at you and ran his thumb over your lower lip. “Oh, you like that? Like it when I call you princess?”

You did like it. You liked it too much for your own good, and it was almost humiliating.

Soonyoung towered over you as he peeled off his shirt, grabbing it from the nape of his neck and slipping it off in seconds. Your eyes ran over his beautiful expanse of skin, from every defined muscle in his abdomen to the little goosebumps that pricked his arms. You reached out to run your fingers down his abs, letting them trace each groove and dip in muscle. Soonyoung shivered at your very touch, but he allowed you to make your way down to undo his belt and pants. 

Your fingers were fumbling, but you managed to remove the latch after several failed attempts. He guided you with his steadier hands, but you were determined to do it yourself. Finally, you pulled his belt free and pushed his pants down his legs. 

He seemed to be slightly embarrassed, but Soonyoung was already rock hard. His cock sprang up so that the tip pushed past the waistband of his boxers. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he grumbled, sinking to his knees and placing his hands on your thighs. “I’ll take care of you first.”

He grabbed your knees and pushed them apart, staring at your soaked cunt like it was everything he ever wanted. Soft kisses peppered the inside of your thighs, working up to the apex of your legs. You felt the cold air hit your core and shivered, but then it was hot all over again once Soonyoung licked one long, slow stripe that made you writhe and cry out in bliss. He had to press your hips down to keep you from moving too much. 

But his movements were so slow and torturous. You were going insane by how much Soonyoung was teasing you with his kitten licks and lazy drags of tongue. Tears welled up in your eyes by the time you had been edged away from another impending orgasm, with him letting his dissolve as soon as the heat bloomed under your skin. 

Kissing your cunt. Plunging his tongue into your core. Licking at your walls until they trembled and shook with the warning of release. You were agonized by how good Soonyoung was making you feel.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breathless as your body felt lightweight, “let me cum, please.”

“Hm.” He seemed to consider it for a moment before saying, “Tell me three things you like about me, and I’ll let you cum.”

You laughed, but it died on your tongue as soon as you realized there was no amusement on his face.

“You’re kidding, right?” You swallowed hard, knowing you had your answer already. “Oh, you’re not kidding.”

He was making you work for your orgasm. This was mortifying; you never expected Soonyoung to be so cruel, and you never expected it to be so hot.

“Three things, baby,” he said. “Start with number one.”

“One,” you started, your voice shaky as Soonyoung returned to snaking his tongue past your folds, “I like how you treat me so well and look after me, like—oh, right there—yeah, like that.”

“Two,” you continued, more so in a whimper because Soonyoung was skillfully using his tongue to reach places you never thought to stimulate before. “I, ah—I like the way you look at me and when you tell me I’m beautiful.” You sucked in your teeth when you felt him press his tongue flat against your clit. “Soonyoung, please.”

“One more,” he murmured.

“T-three,” you breathed out, and by this point, your legs were already shaking. Your brain was turning to mush and you couldn’t help but clench at Soonyoung lapping at your soaked cunt. The tremor in your voice was unmistakable when you admitted, “I love how you’re so much better at this than I ever could’ve imagined.”

He breathed out a laugh against your cunt. “Am I really?” He tightened his grip on your hips to suck on your clit, making your back arch and your chest feel light. “You think about me that often, princess?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed with your eyes screwed shut. “Thought about you whenever I was—”

“Don’t finish that,” he warned, though it almost sounded like he was pleading with you, “or I’ll go crazy.”

Your nerves felt like they had tangled themselves into several knots that kept tightening in your stomach. You shuddered and moaned with each motion of Soonyoung’s tongue that brought you closer to your release. He was merciless with the way he dipped his tongue in your core, rubbing your clit with his thumb in slow circles.

Your walls tightened one last time before you were finally blinded by your white-hot orgasm, and you hardly even realized that hot tears were streaming down your cheeks. Soonyoung was eating you out unabated, not even giving you a break between each wave of pleasure that hit you. After your climax subsided and coherency gradually bled back into you, Soonyoung finally pulled back and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

You grabbed his arm before he could say anything. Soonyoung looked you in the eyes for a moment, alarmed, but the worry knitting his brows together melted away once you pulled him down for a proper kiss.

With your arms wrapped around his neck and his knee between your legs, Soonyoung eventually found himself lowering his body until your chests were pressed together. He kept himself up by his elbows and pulled away to look at you. He brushed your hair out of your face and leaned in for another kiss.

As you two became a tangled mess of limbs, wrapped up in each other and far too occupied to care about anything but making out, you moved your hand down Soonyoung’s abs to wrap your hand around his cock. He groaned against your lips and rocked his hips against your touch. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with lust. After reaching back to tug his boxers down, freeing his cock from the restricting fabric, Soonyoung looked down at you with desire glazing over his eyes. “May I?”

“Please do,” you answered.

You cried out when he started rubbing the head of his cock against your cunt, teasing your folds like he did before. You were aching already despite your previous orgasm, and you thought you were going to die on the spot from how needy you were.

“Turn onto your stomach,” he ordered. You were confused for a moment, but you ended up being manhandled by Soonyoung, anyway. He flipped you over and positioned himself at your entrance, keeping one hand on the back of your neck. “Good girl.”

The side of your face was pressed into the sheets, and your hands were desperately reaching for anything that gave you proper leverage. You ended up grabbing onto the pillows just as Soonyoung started pushing his cock inside you. You swallowed down the gasp that dared threaten to escape, and Soonyoung pressed kisses to your face and made sure you weren’t crying from how big he was.

With more filth and praises whispered into your ear, you were clenching and unclenching around him, making Soonyoung groan whenever he felt you tighten. It took a while for him to ease his way into you, but once Soonyoung had finally nestled inside of you, it was as if a switch flipped in him.

He was thrusting as soon as you gave him the green light. You were blindsided by how intense he was, hardly having any control over your own body as you held onto the sheets for dear life. Soonyoung held your hips with a bruising grip as he fucked into you.

Hot.

Everything felt hot and sticky. Your sweat-matted hair clung to the back of your neck, and you felt like your sheets were uncomfortably damp. Despite it all, though, you couldn’t get enough. You needed more, wanted more. Soonyoung was relentless, even when your box springs creaked and the frame rattled against the wall. 

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck. You’re taking me so well.”

Still overly-sensitive from your previous orgasm, it didn’t take long for you to reach your limit a second time. Soonyoung pounded into you with fervor, and even he was quickly falling apart. 

“That’s it,” he got out, teeth gritted. “That’s my girl.”

You pulled him down for a deep kiss, muffling both of your moans once you were clenching uncontrollably around him. You were falling from your peak and Soonyoung fucked you through your orgasm, even though he was on the verge of one himself. 

He pulled out right before he was about to cum, and you could only hear his groans before you realized he had gotten off, too. For a moment, you thought Soonyoung abandoned you on the bed. His voice sounded distant all of a sudden, and you were too tuckered out to move. 

Then, he returned with a towel and several tissues for you. You turned onto your back again to make out his silhouette entering the room and taking a seat next to you. Your eyes were shut as Soonyoung cleaned you up, and you only opened them once he pushed your hair back and kissed your cheek. 

“Wanna go again?” he asked with a grin. You were impressed by how quickly he was able to recover. You, on the other hand, needed a few minutes to recuperate. “The night’s still young.”

“Yeah, sure, if you use a condom this time,” you breathed out, turning over onto your side. “Just give me five.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your chest rise and fall until its rhythm steadied. Your breathing was even again, but when you opened your eyes, you saw neon green glowing in the middle of the room. 

“Soonyoung.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. You were not getting dicked down by manga censorship. “Why is your dick glowing?” 

“I prefer glow-in-the-dark condoms.” 

Typically, when two individuals had feelings for each other, it would often bloom into a relationship.

It was quite clear that you had feelings for Soonyoung and he had feelings for you, so, naturally, one would expect the two of you to start dating. However, it felt like you both were testing the waters around each other instead—dipping your toes into the dating pool. You two were exclusive, but not exactly together. 

You were perfectly content with taking things slow, but that didn’t necessarily mean Soonyoung didn’t end up over you almost every other night. The sex was great, of course. Mind-blowing, even. 

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan seemed to catch on quickly. There was no mistaking what was going on after you went over to their apartment to play Catan, and then you and Soonyoung disappeared into his room afterward. The next morning, when you walked downstairs in Soonyoung’s shirt to eat breakfast with everyone, you could pick up on their unspoken realization that you were hooking up with their roommate. 

Seungkwan even made an offhand comment about you and Soonyoung being a thing—whatever that was supposed to mean. 

You debriefed Junhui on the entire situation, of course. He seemed less surprised about you sleeping with Soonyoung, though, and more interested in the outcome of your driving test (which, you had to admit, you were terribly worried about). 

The night before your dreaded behind-the-wheel exam, you received a call from Soonyoung.

You weren’t sure what to expect when you picked up the call. You knew that he’d been planning on getting high with his housemates today, so you weren’t exactly sure if this phone call was going to be private or not. You were half-expecting Seungcheol to answer for him instead. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung greeted, voice slightly muffled. With the way the audio sounded, you suspected that he wasn’t holding onto his phone at the moment.

“Are you busy?” you asked. 

“No, just trying to get the pod you gave me out of its packaging.” You heard a few strained grunts from him before he exclaimed, “I got it!”

“I’m proud of you.”

“That’s what I’ll be telling you after you ace that driving test,” he said. He paused for a moment (which you guessed was him taking a hit). “You ready for it, by the way?”

“Not really.” You sucked in a sharp breath. “The good news is that taking years to pass the permit test has helped me memorize all the rules of the road; the bad news is that I have severe anxiety and probably won’t be able to utilize anything I’ve learned.”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N. You drove just fine with me, didn’t you?”

“But that’s you! How am I gonna drive properly with some scary old guy who probably hasn't ever smiled in his life?”

“Just relax. Remember to slow down on your turns and check your blind spots when you’re changing lanes.”

Your voice grew shy when you admitted, “This is gonna sound weird, but I kind of miss our driving lessons.”

“Even when you lost your tooth?”

You grimaced. “Even then.” 

Soonyoung laughed along with you for a moment before he simmered. The silence on the other side of the line didn’t feel uncomfortable, but you felt like each nerve end of yours was on fire. 

“I didn’t want it to end either, Y/N,” Soonyoung said after a while, his voice dropping an octave. 

“Really?”

“I don’t wanna be in a world where we aren’t in a car together, whether I’m telling you to stop driving under the speed limit or we’re crashing into that Honda Civic that knocked your front tooth out,” he started, and you scratched the back of your head. Yeah, he was definitely high. “And, maybe… maybe the missing front tooth was really the catalyst for all the memories we made along the way. Maybe, in another universe, that tooth never fell out—or existed. Maybe the concept of that occurrence manifested into this universe as a—”

“Okay, it was cute at first,” you interrupted, “but you’re definitely in that other universe right now.”

You had never been this much of a nervous wreck.

Actually, scratch that. You were probably this much of a nervous wreck at least thrice a week. You functioned on being anxious several times a day, so this was honestly not a new feeling. The only problem was that you had never driven with anyone other than Soonyoung, so you were slightly on edge as you turned into the DMV.

“Please return my car in one piece,” Soonyoung said, holding onto the ‘oh shit’ handle as you went over a speed bump, which you found highly unnecessary. He pointed to the starting point for the driving test. “I’ll wait for you outside the building over there.”

“Sounds good.”

“And remember: if you’re gonna fail the test, make sure you fail it big time. Don’t fail it by going ten over the speed limit, or something boring like that.”

“That’s terrible advice, Soonyoung.”

“I’m playing. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Thanks, I’m just so—oh my god!” 

You stepped on the breaks immediately, gripping the wheel tight as the car lurched forward. The man who was crossing in front of you doubled over onto the hood of the car before standing upright again. You rolled your window down to yell an apology, but the man paid you no attention and kept walking with a scowl on his face. 

“I almost killed him!” you cried, slapping a hand over your mouth. 

“Well…” Soonyoung didn’t seem to know how to reassure you as he was still immobilized with fear himself. He managed a shaky grin. “On the bright side, he’s alive and you’re not facing a lawsuit.”

You swallowed hard. There was no way this exam was going to go well. 

After handing in the necessary paperwork inside the DMV, they approved you to go outside for your driving test. Since Soonyoung was letting you use his car while he waited outside, he sat with you until your examiner came by. He did everything he could to calm you down, but, ultimately, it was up to you to pass. 

While Soonyoung was giving his seat up for your examiner, you closed your eyes and tried to take deep breaths to mentally prepare. 

“Ma’am, can you turn on your left turn signal?” the examiner asked from your window. 

When you turned to look at him, you felt something inside you shrivel up and die. 

The man you almost ran over was your examiner. 

In your daze, you managed to follow his instructions as he asked you to point out various things, such as the windshield wipers, defroster, and foot brake. All the while you were already preparing yourself for failure because there was absolutely no way this man was going to let you pass after almost becoming your victim. 

Once the pre-drive safety check was over, he circled around the car to sit in the passenger’s seat, looking down at his clipboard for a moment. You held your tongue, hands clasped together in your lap. Were you supposed to apologize? Would he even care about your apology? It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, right?

You started in a meek voice, “Oh, about what happened earlier, I’m so—”

“I’m Jeonghan, and I’m gonna be scoring your behind-the-wheel test today,” he cut you off with an air of indifference, looking back down at his clipboard. “Whenever you start the car is when the test begins.”

“Right—yes, okay.” You swallowed thickly and gripped the wheel, looking behind you to make sure no one was coming. Since there were a few cars driving by, you decided to wait for a moment. “A-are you having a good day?”

“I was.”

You wanted to crawl in a hole and drop dead. 

After the road was clear, you turned out of the DMV and started driving down the road, checking your speed and mirrors every so often. You had always been comfortably driving with Soonyoung, who would just help you reroute if you missed a turn. Now, though, if you missed anything Jeonghan said, you were going to fail (and probably die). 

“Take the right coming up here,” he instructed.

You remembered your turn signal and to look back over your shoulder. Soonyoung had taught you well, but you were afraid that his gentle instructions would only take you so far. Jeonghan was the most intimidating person you had come across (mostly because you almost killed him), and you should not have been trusted to drive someone you were terribly scared of. 

After you made the turn, you sighed in relief at the long stretch of road ahead. You attempted to cover it up by clearing your throat and making small talk with Jeonghan. 

“It’s pretty cold today, isn’t it?” you asked. Stupid question. You had no idea how cold it was. Soonyoung’s car felt like a sauna because you cranked up the heater, or maybe the heat was from how nervous you were. 

Jeonghan promptly ignored you. “Change lanes and take the next left.” 

Albeit your state of disarray, you followed what he said. You decided to give up on small talk altogether, coming to the conclusion that Jeonghan just hated you and didn’t want to converse with the person who almost murdered him in cold blood. 

You were pretty confident that the rest of your driving test went horribly. You almost went ten under the speed limit to make sure you didn’t run over anyone else in the school zone, you shrieked when the railroad lights turned on and you had to wait for the train to pass by, and you looked both ways about five times when you were at a stop sign. 

Jeonghan told you to park the car once you reached the DMV, so you pulled into an empty parking space. You were praying that he wasn’t still grading you because you were most definitely occupying two parking spaces right now. 

“Okay, so,” he started, looking at his clipboard before turning to you with a deadpan stare, “you drive too slow.”

Oh. That was intentional because you didn’t want to deal with another hit and run, but you stayed quiet and nodded. 

“And,” he continued, “you overthink too much when you’re behind the wheel. Don’t hesitate before you stop or make turns, or you’re just gonna run into trouble that way. You can’t be paranoid about driving, otherwise it’s gonna be hard for you to be on the road.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line. This was it. He was going to fail you. There was no way you were going to pass when you were being criticized for your entire performance. You didn’t blame Jeonghan, though; you probably wouldn’t pass the person who almost ran you over, either. 

“Well, you were cutting it really close,” he said, circling some parts of your examination sheet, “but you passed.”

Your eyes grew wide.

You passed.

You passed.

You turned to Jeonghan and cried out, “I passed?!”

“You know your car, you know the rules of the road, and you did all your maneuvers just fine,” he continued. “You slowed down in the school zone to make sure you didn’t hit any kids, and you were careful about your turns and stops. Just remember not to be too careful, though, or you might run into someone.”

For the first time, you heard a small snicker of amusement come from him. 

“I—I’m so sorry about that,” you blurted out. “I thought you were gonna fail me for hitting you with the car.”

“Like I said, the test begins when you start the car.” He handed you your papers and got out of your car. Before closing the door, he turned to you with his clipboard tucked under his arm. “You should go tell the DMV you passed and get your temporary license before I mark you down for this parking job.”

You gulped, unbuckling your seatbelt in a rush. “Will do.”

Jeonghan stalked off to grade another new driver, you supposed. When you got out of the car, your eyes immediately scanned the perimeter to search for Soonyoung, and there he was, waving you over from the sidewalk with a bright grin on his face. 

Before you could even make your way over and break the news to him, he yelled out with his hands cupped around his mouth, “That’s my girl!”

You blushed, stopping in your tracks and staring at him for so long that it took a car honking at you to propel you back into motion. You scrambled over to Soonyoung, eyes wide as saucers and still frazzled from the emotional turmoil you went through with Jeonghan.

He wrapped an arm around you. “You know, no matter the result, I’m proud of you for trying. There’s always next time, you know?”

“Soonyoung—”

“Did everything else go well, though? Other than you almost killing him, obviously.”

“Soonyoung, I—”

“It was probably just bad luck, honestly. I mean, it was a recoverable bump, not even a full-on crash! You were going so slow that anyone could walk that off.”

“Soonyoung!” you yelled, thrusting your score sheet into his hands. “I passed!”

His eyes widened. “You passed?!”

“I passed!” you squealed. “I have to tell Junhui! I mean, he totally thought I was gonna fail my first two or six tries!”

Soonyoung crushed you into a hug, which would’ve been more endearing if your ribs weren’t being squeezed so hard. “Holy shit, Y/N, I’m so proud of you.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him closer. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Be my girlfriend,” he spoke against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin, and you immediately froze.

Kwon Soonyoung wanted to be your boyfriend. Even with everything that had happened—from the STIIZY pods, to the car crash, to the glow-in-the-dark condom—you still felt relief flooding your veins at the thought of Soonyoung liking you as much as you liked him. It almost felt like you were in a dream.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally remembered how to breathe.

You pulled back to look at him, and even though it was the middle of the day, it felt like all the stars were out to make Soonyoung shine brighter than usual.

“Be my girlfriend,” he repeated, softer this time, and his eyes were gentle as his hands reached for yours. Your lips immediately tugged down and your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, no, no, Y/N, don’t start crying at the DMV.”

You wiped at the corner of your eye. “I can’t help it. I always cry at the DMV.” He smiled down at you fondly, waiting for you to gather your composure. You mustered up the strength to lift your head and nod eagerly. “I accept.”

He was your boyfriend now. The word felt strange on your tongue, but it also filled you with inexplicable happiness. And when you saw how Soonyoung’s eyes crinkled at the corners, you thought you could definitely get used to this. 

“You’re so cute.” He laughed, pulling you into his embrace once again. “How about we go get something to eat after you tell them your score?”

You grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

While Soonyoung was waiting in the car for you (and probably readjusting your terrible parking job before he got yelled at), you walked into the DMV and stood in the same line you were in months ago for your permit test. You remembered the anxious feeling of possibly failing your written test a seventh time, but now you felt a huge weight being lifted off your shoulders. 

“I did it,” you gushed to the woman at the counter, handing her your score sheet. “I passed.” 

“Congratulations!” she chirped, examining the papers before turning to type something on her computer. She turned to grab your temporary license from the printer and handed it to you. “Here you go. Your real one should come in the mail in a few weeks.”

“Thank you so much,” you replied, inspecting your new license with bright eyes. 

You failed your permit test six times, only passing on your seventh attempt. While other children were getting their licenses at the age of sixteen, you were still trying to pass the written test in your twenties. And, yes, you had severe driving anxiety, but you crossed that hurdle yourself and finally passed your driving test on your first try. 

So, that glass ceiling? Consider it smashed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so so much for reading if you've made it this far !! :') i've been wanting to write for hoshi for so long and this was just so fun <3 also BIG shoutout to everyone who asked to be on the tag list because although i couldn't respond to everyone (mostly because i figured i would end up tagging everyone twice 🧎‍♀️ ), i mega appreciate your interest ♡ hope everyone's having a wonderful day/night !!

TAG LIST ▸ @wonudazed @delicatewinterenthusiast @aaniag @primoppang @matchahyuck @xiaoting999 @alsktudy @fixonbreakoff @simqly-yunjin @kwonshiho @cottoncheol @nishloves @sarcasticsweetlara @ult-bee @vanishingboots @l2vedive @phenomenalgirl9 @notevenheretbh1 @hopetiger10 @junyangis @fyladymars @lilsafsafbooyah @kwanhaos @alltheshineofthestars-blog

Seventeen Master List

all mature content marked in red, minors PLS do not interact!! this includes all one-shots, timestamps, long fics, etc, including things yet to be published! Hip Hop Unit Universe marked in purple -- all these fics are interconnected with each other. They all have mature content so minors...you know what to do.

Reactions: -naughty photobook -slow down on spending -being shipped with you, their idol!bff -gym rat -the one that got away, pt 1 -the one that got away, pt 2

Hip Hop Unit

Seungcheol: [23:42] flame-bright (2nd installment of the HHUU) ->teaser ->part 1 ->part 2 ->part 3 ->part 4 wedding bells

Wonwoo: little wonders enchanted (3rd installment of the HHUU) ->teaser ->part 1 ->part 2 ->part 3

Mingyu: the hope in the fault lines (1st installment of the HHUU) ->part 1 ->part 2 ->part 3 ->part 4

Vernon: the luckiest (4th installment of the HHUU) ->teaser ->part 1 ->part 2 ->part 3 waste your time on me

Performance Unit

Junhui:

Hoshi:

Minghao: stars & butterflies

Chan: now what?

Vocal Unit

Jeonghan: fall with me

Joshua:

Jihoon: whipped

Dokyeom: sleepless pillow talk

Seungkwan:

surrender

THANK YOU ❤️🙏🏻 Part 4 is being edited as we speak… I should be posting it sometime tomorrow or Monday!!! Stay tunedddddd!!!

The Hope in the Fault Lines | Part 3

Part 3 is finished folks! Warnings: some suggestive material, smut in the next part!!! (so minors probably shouldn't interact with any of this), car accident described, death of a sibling, PTSD, nightmares, pretty severe cold symptoms, 97 liners ft Wonwoo make an appearance Word Count: 7.6k

Read part one and part two here!!

“Hi, Mingyu,” you say weakly into the phone.

“Hi,” he says. “You sound awful.”

You look around your bedroom, littered with used tissues, cough drop wrappers, and every blanket in your house that doesn’t belong to Sara. “I am awful,” you groan. “I didn’t know one person could be responsible for so much mucus.”

He laughs his charming, high-pitched giggle. “What’s the move, boss?” he asks you. 

“Well, I’m not going to work,” you tell him. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. I’m worried you’ll get sick if you come over.”

He scoffs. “I’m offended. I never get sick.”

“Well, still,” you say stubbornly. Already exhausted from the conversation, you lean against the headboard, coughing pathetically.

“I don’t think you should try to take care of Sara when you’re like this. You should be resting,” he says, his voice taking on that specific color it gets when he’s concerned. “And someone needs to take care of you, too.”

“Don’t come, Mingyu,” you protest, wondering at the blush now rising in your cheek.

“I’m coming,” he says with finality.

“Why did you even ask me what I wanted to do if you were just gonna do the exact opposite thing?” you ask him grumpily.

“Because I know you don’t think you need to rest, but the rest of us do,” he tells you, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“The rest of us?” you ask him, stifling another cough.

“Yeah, like, every single friend you have.”

You lose the battle with your lungs and cough violently for a moment, which is good, because it hides how touched you are that Mingyu has lumped himself with your friends. Then, “fine. But stay out of my room. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m not going to get sick. Have you eaten yet?”

Your silence earns a sigh from Mingyu. “I’ll make something when I get there. Hang tight, boss.”

It seems like hours before the doorbell rings and you have to drag yourself out of bed to answer it. The spring day is gloomy, and as you open the door a flood of cool morning air sweeps over you, making you shiver uncomfortably. But there he is, and he’s taking in the sight of you with an eagerness that belies the mundaneness of your meeting. Something seems to have changed between now and the hospital visit, but although words are your life’s work, you can’t put a name to what it is.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is a little more shy than you’ve ever been used to hearing. The reasons for this newfound bashfulness completely unknown to you, you curse yourself for the way your heart nearly beats itself out of your chest. 

“Hey,” you croak, throwing up a peace sign. You know you look bad. Your hair is a greasy, kinky mess, you’re wearing your worst grandma nightgown, and you didn’t even have the energy for contacts today, so your face is covered with thick spectacles.

He laughs. “That’s a really cute outfit, boss.”

“Shut up,” you say, and cough out a laugh yourself.

“I’m serious! You look like my granny. I’m pretty sure she has that nightgown.” He leans in a little to inspect. “And possibly the glasses too.”

You frown at him, but without any real venom — although a little startled by his closeness. “Cruel of you to tease me while I’m on my deathbed.”

“Speaking of which,” he says, coming into the house after removing his shoes. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Well, as much as I’m already regretting letting you come over, I couldn’t just leave you outside, could I?” you huff.

“I guess not,” he replies. “Where’s Sara?”

Your eyes get wide. “Oh my goodness. I haven’t even seen her today.” Guilt washes over you, followed by a pang of grief. What would Jeri say about you forgetting about her child?

Mingyu’s jaw drops, and he quickly runs to Sara’s room. He comes down seconds later with a sleepy-looking Sara in his arms. “She was awake, just laying there,” he says. “I think she knows you’re not feeling well.”

“Or she knows I suck at this,” you say quietly. “Either way, I’m glad she’s okay.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You don’t suck at this. You’re sick. Now go to bed before I kick your butt.”

You purse your lips, but obey, trudging tiredly up the stairs while he watches you carefully. “Who works for who?” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” he calls up to you, his tone trying for stern but landing at amused.

“Nothing,” you say in a scratchy sing-song voice that makes him chuckle. You pad your way up to your bedroom, shutting the door and tucking yourself in bed. Downstairs, you can hear the muffled sounds of Mingyu making food, presumably for you. You listen with interest -- you can’t make out the words, but you can tell Mingyu is speaking as he cooks. The sudden realization that Mingyu probably talks to Sara all day while you’re gone fills you with fondness; it strikes you as something Jisung would have done. 

Settling into your mountain of pillows, you try to relax your mind. It’s hard, though -- hard because for some reason your mind keeps wandering down the stairs and latching onto the obscenely beautiful man who is making you breakfast right now. No man, not even the ones you dated or slept with, has ever made you breakfast, and Kim Mingyu is managing to do it twice in one week. Are men only good to you if you’re paying them? you wonder to yourself.

Just then, the doorbell rings yet again. Curiously, you wrap yourself in a blanket and head back down the stairs to see who it is, and are shocked to find Mingyu at the door with Cory.

Cory is taking in the sight of Mingyu (in a Christmas apron he probably found in your pantry, still holding a spatula that has a few flecks of what looks like waffle or pancake batter). He looks between the two of you as you come down the hall. “Hey,” you say. “Mingyu, I see you’ve met my editor-in-chief, Cory.”

Mingyu’s eyes light with recognition. “Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” he says, his eager puppy-like energy making Cory blink in confusion. 

“Cory,” you explain, “this is Mingyu. He’s my...nanny.” You hesitate before stating Mingyu’s official job title, because “nanny” doesn’t seem serious enough for everything Mingyu does for you and Sara. 

“Oh,” Cory says, seeming to recover at least partially. You bite your lip, holding back a giggle, as Cory sizes Mingyu up yet again. “I’m sorry, uh, I thought…when you said nanny, I thought you meant…”

“A woman?” you say, raising an eyebrow. You cough, leaning against the wall for support, and Mingyu reaches out an arm to steady you.

“Well, I probably should go finish the pancakes,” he tells you after you finish coughing. “Nice to meet you, Cory!”

Cory’s eyes follow Mingyu down the hallway into the kitchen. “Your nanny?” he says in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat uncomfortable. “He came recommended by a friend who used to work with him.”

“Where? A bodybuilding competition?”

You really have to pinch your lips together tightly to avoid laughing. “So…why are you here?” you ask him after the urge subsides. 

“Oh,” Cory says, shaking himself. “I brought you some cough drops.” He hands you a bag of cherry-flavored cough drops lamely, his usual coolness tempered by the ego hit of meeting Mingyu, and looks at the floor. 

You take them from him. “Thanks, Cory. Don’t be late -- they need you there.”

“We need you there,” he corrects you. “Get better soon.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

You put the bag of cough drops on the kitchen counter and slump onto the couch in the living room. When you make eye contact with Mingyu as he turns around to put a pancake on a plate, you giggle. 

“What?” he asks, a little defensive and a little amused. 

“I think you just intimidated the shit out of my editor-in-chief,” you tell him.

His eyes get wide. “I didn’t mean to!” he protests. 

“I know you didn’t,” you say. Your laughs turn into coughs, which makes Mingyu look even more worried. He moves the now-empty pan off the hot stove and brings you a glass of water, which you accept gratefully. 

“Well, it’s cool your employees bring you stuff when you’re sick,” he reasons, taking a seat on the couch beside you as you drink the water. “You must be a good boss.”

You scoff. “My employees don’t bring me stuff when I’m sick,” you say. “Cory brings me stuff when I’m sick.” You can’t keep the annoyed tone out of your voice, and Mingyu notices.

“You...don’t like him?”

You sigh. “I like him just fine,” you say. But as Mingyu continues to stare at you, confused, you laugh again. “I’m sorry!” you say as his look grows exasperated. “You’re just funny. Um, well. I’ve known Cory since uni, and --”

“He likes you,” Mingyu realizes. His face has fallen from his bemused expression to a stony one.

You nod, grimacing in tandem with him. “He told me the night that Sara went into the hospital.”

Mingyu looks at his hands. “Got it,” he says. “And you don’t feel the same way about him?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, playing awkwardly with the hem of your shirt. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t think he’s quite my type.”

“Well, he doesn’t even know you don’t like cherry-flavored cough drops,” Mingyu says, like it’s the world’s biggest red flag.

“How do you know that?” you ask him, bewildered at this revelation.

He shrugs. “Simple observation. In the pantry where you keep the cough medicine, there’s also cough drops. You have a bag of every single flavor but cherry.”

“Huh,” you say. “I guess you weren’t a spy for nothing.”

He allows a small grin at that. “Or maybe I’m just paying attention,” he says quietly.

It feels stuffy and hot in the living room. “Well,” you say in an offhand tone, “I didn’t realize that not knowing my cough drop preferences was a deal-breaker. But I guess I haven’t really dated in two years. Like, since school.”

“Really?” he asks incredulously. 

“I dated around,” you clarify. “But even while I was dating, I wasn’t really thinking about dating. I was starting a business, I was trying to take care of Jeri, I was focusing on school…and then I got so busy with how well the magazine was doing. It never took priority.” You look around the room — at the baby toys in their basket and Sara’s blankets all over the couch — and sigh. “And now that I’m effectively a single mother, I think that ship has sailed.”

He scowls at this last admission. “There’s somebody for everyone,” Mingyu insists. “And you have a lot going for you, boss. So don’t give up on yourself.” He stands up and grabs Sara’s baby food off the counter, sitting down in the seat next to her high chair and spooning mashed up peas and carrots and sweet potatoes into her mouth. You don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you find yourself fixated on his hands. They’re big and manly, with a dark purple scar over one of the knuckles the only hint at his past life. But it’s more than that. There’s something about the way they dwarf the tiny plastic baby spoon so it looks like a toy and how gentle and careful they are with Sara’s messy eating, brushing the mush from the corners of her mouth. You find yourself wondering how such a hand might feel through the fabric of the shirt at your waist, or moving up the curve of your spine, or wound in the hair at the back of your head while you sigh out his name …

What the hell? you think to yourself, surprised at this abrupt nosedive into insanity. Suddenly bashful, you swallow hard. “What about you?” you ask him, before you can stop yourself. And as he looks at you, a little shocked, you immediately backtrack. “You really don’t have to answer that,” you say, blushing fiery red and combusting into another fit of violent coughs. 

“That’s okay,” he says, watching you with the same worried eyes from the table. “I don’t mind. When I was a fed, I didn’t have the time to date. After I got out I had one serious girlfriend, we nearly got engaged, but then I think we both realized it wasn’t what we wanted.”

“No heartbreaks?” you ask slyly.

He grins. “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “Maybe just not romantic ones.”

You bite your lip. If there was ever a perfect lead-in for you to ask the question that’s been at the back of your mind since the hospital, it was that. You start, gently. “You never have to answer any of my questions if you don’t want to,” you tell him. “And I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t refuse to answer, so please let me know if I cross any major boundaries. But I noticed something. About you.”

He looks at you expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you continue. “The doctor in the hospital seemed to know you.”

He smiles softly. “Any theories?” he asks you.

“Mainly that you or someone very close to you had a sick kid,” you say in a single breath, trying not to make him upset. 

He’s nodding thoughtfully. “You’re pretty observant,” he says. “Do you want to open that door?” His tone is still even, but you sense something behind it -- a soberness that is rare for his cheerful personality.

“Only if you feel okay about opening it,” you tell him. Honestly, it wouldn’t change anything if he decided to share or not to share, but you get the feeling that he has carried a heavy burden, unseen, for a good long while. And maybe you hope that you’ll be able to ease whatever you can of that burden. “It’s totally up to you.”

“Okay. Give me a second.”

He puts a lid on the half-finished container of baby food Sara is now stubbornly dodging spoonfuls of. Grabbing a washcloth, he gently wipes off her face as she writhes away from him, then brushes it over her hands and torso as well. Finally, he lifts Sara out of her high chair and into his arms, coming once again to sit by you on the couch while Sara rests against his chest.

He takes a deep breath. “My last official mission,” he begins, “was a security detail for an important diplomat’s wife and son as we evacuated them from the country due to some threats against him and his family. I got really close to the kid. He was six, and he was smart as a whip. Loved cars and toys and dinosaurs, but he also had seen a lot in his short life. Anyway, it took us a long time to get them here, and during that time, the poor guy started getting sick.”

You are unconsciously gripping your blanket around yourself as he tells the story, his soft low voice prodding at your heart in uncomfortable ways, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his face. He keeps speaking, all while Sara, still exhausted from her own illness, falls asleep in his arms, probably soothed into it by the cadence of Mingyu’s voice. “He had been born prematurely, and his lungs weren’t quite right. But then he got the flu or something, and because of his lungs, it was a lot more serious for him. We fought to get him here in time to get help, and the doctors did an amazing job, but in the end, the bureaucracy of it all made it so he passed away. Doctor Song was his doctor, and she was fabulous, which is why I knew her.”

“Is that why you left the service?” you ask him, and your voice comes out a hoarse whisper.

He nods. “I had seen a lot, but watching that kid die was the worst thing I’d ever seen. Because it was totally preventable if we’d been able to make it here in time.” His voice is so calm, but you can gauge a small amount of bitterness there, softened by the years since. He stands up. “I’m gonna put Sara in her crib. Stay there,” he says.

He’s back in a flash, sitting down a bit closer to you this time. “Anyway. That experience was kind of the nail in the coffin for two things: one was that I knew I didn’t want to be an agent anymore, and the other one was that I wanted to work with kids.”

“That’s quite a career change,” you point out. “Why kids?”

He can’t help but break into a wide smile. “I love kids. Things are so simple to them. And after my last job, I really needed that.”

“Is it hard to leave them when the job is over?” you ask him, thinking of Sara.

He shrugs. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not so bad. The older kids are usually a bit easier because you can explain to them why you’re leaving. They know it’s not really your choice or that they did something wrong. With the little ones, it can be brutal.”

You shift uncomfortably, this vein of the conversation making you inexplicably anxious. “Well, I was absolutely serious about you having a job until Sara moves out. So…please don’t leave us.” You try to feel embarrassed by how pathetic this sounds, but all you can do is meet Mingyu’s eyes and try to convey how desperately you both need him. “And if you’re ever thinking about quitting, just let me know,” you continue, trying to lighten the mood. “I can be very persuasive if I need to be.”

He cackles. “You sound like a mafia boss. Are you threatening me with violence or trying to bribe me?”

“Whichever is more effective,” you joke. “But seriously, this was a very unhappy home just a couple weeks ago. You’ve made a massive difference. So if there’s anything I can ever do to improve your work or your life at all, please tell me. It’s the least I can do.”

Mingyu puts a hand on your knee, poking out from between the folds of your blanket. “Thanks,” he says. “But you should know I really don’t foresee myself throwing in the towel here anytime soon.”

You smile. “Good,” you say, instinctively putting a hand over his and squeezing.

And then you burst into coughs — your most violent attack of the day. It is almost instantly made worse by Mingyu, who springs up to bring you your water, collides painfully with the coffee table, and ends up spilling your water, a potted plant, and a book on neoclassical art all over the floor. The ensuing laughter bubbling up in your chest turns into a gale of coughs, and Mingyu sheepishly grabs your cup from off the floor and limps to the sink to wash it off. He brings it back to you full again. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting down and rubbing at the spot on his shin that hit the table. “I’m a bit clumsy.”

You swallow your water and breathe carefully before responding. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to resist the urge to laugh, knowing it’ll just make you cough again. “Is that why you put all the pancakes on one of Sara’s baby plates?”

He nods furtively, biting his bottom lip. “I actually never use your nice dishes because I know I’ll break at least one, and they’re so pretty.”

The image of Mingyu eating off a plastic Dumbo plate with Sara while you’re at work flashes before your eyes. “How thoughtful,” you say with a grin. “But I don’t care if you break my plates.”

Truly, you thought to yourself as he, smiling widely, brings you the aforementioned pancakes, Mingyu could break whatever he liked of yours as long as he stuck around. 

***

“I’m not leaving,” Mingyu says stubbornly.

“You need to sleep,” you insist in a whisper outside of Sara’s bedroom door. 

“Not as much as you do,” he argues in a hushed tone. “You really should not be getting up with her in the middle of the night when you feel this bad.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your raspy voice gives you away — as has the entire day Mingyu has spent with you. 

Shortly after you had finished your pancakes, Sara had woken up. Mingyu had shouted you down from going to get her, instead accompanying you as you went upstairs and then marching you to your room for a nap. “You pay me to look after Sara,” he’d reminded you. “It’s my whole job. So you just rest.”

And you had rested, waking from your nap around 1 in the afternoon by a soft knock at your bedroom door. Mingyu had brought you some ramen on a tray, Sara strapped to his chest in a baby backpack, and his earlier accident ensured his steps were careful and measured. He had laid the try across your lap and bowed. “The queen’s lunch is served,” he’d said, winking at you as he left you to wonder why on earth such a simple thing as a wink could send a chill down your spine.

And then you’d brought the tray back down to the kitchen, and he’d scolded you — “who said you could get out of bed?” — but had relented when you told him you had been so bored upstairs by yourself and you’d wanted to watch a movie on the big-screen TV in the living room. Mingyu had set Sara down onto the fluffy white rug in front of the TV to entertain her for a moment, and you’d watched fondly as he blew raspberries into her chubby belly, drawing out her widest smiles. 

“Ooh, watch this,” he’d said. “She loves it!” He grabbed her thick legs and pulled them up and down in a mimic of a track runner, and Sara actually giggled. 

“Yeah, you’re shaking all the gas out of her,” you’d told him, and he’d laughed.

“She does usually fart a lot after,” he allowed. 

After awhile of searching for the right movie, you’d finally decided to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. Mingyu sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Sara play with her toys, but getting sucked into the movie at periodic intervals. Anytime something scary happened, he would cover Sara’s eyes and look at you in mock-judgment. After the third spooky moment, he exclaimed, “there is a child present!”

You had given him a dry look. “She seems really traumatized,” you had deadpanned, pointing to where Sara was whacking a plastic banana on the floor, babbling contentedly, completely ignoring the screen.

And so the day wore on, buffered by small moments of what you could only call growing comfort with each other. It was partially this that had you so adamant to kick him out — having Mingyu so close and so there was making your feelings all jumbled and weird. And having him stay overnight — waking up in the same house as he did — would most definitely not help anything.

So you try your best. “I’ll pay you to go home,” you beg. 

“And leave you by yourself?” He scoffs. “My mama didn’t raise me that way.”

“I manage just fine most nights,” you protest indignantly.

“Most nights you don’t have the plague,” he counters. “I’ve been around all day. I know how bad it is. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll even sleep in the nursery again.”

“Mingyu, you’ll get sick —“ you start to say, and then pause. “What did you say?”

“You won’t even know I’m here?” he repeats.

“No, after that. You slept in the nursery?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, the guest bedroom doesn’t have a baby monitor, and plus I was worried about her, and that rug in there is basically a mattress anyway,” he says. “But seriously, she’s teething. You’ll probably be up all night, and that won’t be good for your illness.”

The look in his eyes as he says it — almost begging you to let him stay — would be too much under a normal circumstance, but learning that this man slept on the floor to keep Sara company while she was so sick pushes you over the edge. “Fine,” you whisper. “But at least take the couch.”

He grins. “Good to see the lady can compromise.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push your luck,” you tell him. 

After bidding him goodnight, you close your bedroom door behind you and hold your hand over your heart, which is thumping wildly. This feeling is completely foreign to you — the closest approximation you can come up with is the embarrassing crush you used to have on Steve Irwin, which Jeri never stopped teasing you for. But even that was just enough to keep you interested in his work. It hadn’t reduced you to a full blushing mess as you slid down your bedroom door, a funny feeling in your stomach. You finally understand why people talk about “butterflies” as your insides flutter, trying not to imagine Mingyu stretched out on your couch, his eyelids closed, his pretty lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones  —

“Stop it.” You actually have to say it out loud because it’s ridiculous how nothing has even happened, but you’re blushing. It’s a good thing you’re so ill and exhausted, because otherwise you know you’d be tossing and turning all night. As it is, you pass out only minutes after your too-hot shower.

Your mind is not kind to you in your illness and exhaustion and confusion, though. In dreams you drift around the halls of the hospital, heart monitors beeping suspiciously slowly, producing an uneasy soundtrack for you to glide between rooms to. Your eyes can’t focus on anything properly, so you simply pass through room after room with blurry patients strapped to beds, bandaged or moaning or pale and silent, going faster and faster until you turn a corner and everything changes abruptly. 

Now you’re on an abandoned highway in the dark, and just ahead you can see the wreckage of a small teal vehicle.

You recognize the car, which is blistering in flames, its mangled exterior seeming to bubble grotesquely in the flickering firelight. You scan the interior, paralyzed with fear at what you’ll find there, but it is empty.

A voice is calling your name, a voice you know -- Jeri’s voice. You try to find your own voice to answer her, but when you open your mouth, all you can do is scream. And still, she calls your name, over and over and over again until you suddenly feel yourself being shaken awake by two large hands on your shoulders.

The first thing you register is the stinging in your throat as you wake up, signaling you had probably screamed in real life, not just in the dream. The next is the panicked brown eyes staring into yours, the perfect face they belong to a mask of worry and fear. “Are you with me?” Mingyu says. “Are you awake?”

The last thing you notice is how heavily you’re breathing. You sit up, coughing, while Mingyu watches you in paralyzed concern. “I’m so sorry,” you say raggedly when you can finally speak. “I’m so sorry for waking you up.”

Everything still feels surreal — like you’ve detached from the world you’re used to, like you’re watching things happen from outside your body. What brings you back down to earth is when Mingyu pulls you into his chest and nearly crushes you in his grasp.

He’s warm. Warm like a fire in the winter of your terror, warm like the sunlight after a chilly swim, warm like coming home after a long time of being away. You breathe him in, and everything is suddenly the clean scent of his shampoo and a hint of sweat and just the faintest dash of cologne. And somehow the spinning of the room stops, your heart slows down, the terror eases. You lean into him and close your eyes, letting yourself hold his massive body to you, feeling his broad fingers brush gently down your back and up again, hoping that neither of you will let go. 

“I thought something bad was happening to you,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“It was a dream,” you say softly. “It was a really bad dream.”

He pulls back to look at you, and a large part of you misses the warmth and the weight of him. This same part of you is rapidly soothed when he pushes some of your hair from your face to see your expression better, searching your face with those same anxious eyes. “Are you okay now?”

You are -- you really are -- but somehow you have the presence of mind not to say that. Instead you nod. “I’m awake,” you say with a soft nod. 

Mingyu sighs in relief. “Give me two seconds.”

He leaves the room, and you deflate into your pillows, exhausted and aching for the feeling of Mingyu’s arms around you again in a way you are not equipped to fight off. When he returns, you see he’s brought Sara with him, blinking sleepily. He slowly hands her to you and then sits facing you on your mattress.

You settle into the weight of Sara on your chest, which soothes you almost as much as Mingyu’s arms had. “What did you dream about?” Mingyu asks you, trying not to sound as worried as you know he must be. It makes you smile a little.

“I dreamed about the hospital and the accident,” you say simply.

“Your sister’s accident?” he asks. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “No, it was something my brain entirely made up,” you say. “But it felt real.”

He pauses. You sense some trepidation in him, some debate over whether or not to say what he’s mulling over in his brain. Finally he decides. “What happened to them? I only know it was a vehicle accident.”

You give him a humorless smile. “Do you want to open that door?” you ask him, echoing his words from earlier.

“Only if you do,” he says, putting a hand on your knee.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. It is the first time you will ever tell another human being the story. “It was raining,” you say. “My sister and her husband had gone to one of his sales team’s events -- it was a swanky party in the canyon. They were stopped at a stop sign when they got rear-ended so hard they slammed into the opposite railing. Jisung died right there, but my sister was thrown from the car. She lived long enough for someone to find them, long enough to crawl back to the road and get picked up by an ambulance, but not long enough to make it into surgery. She died on the same floor Sara was in two days ago, but the west wing instead of the east.”

Mingyu’s brow is furrowed, his eyes overly bright. “And the other driver?” he says roughly. “What happened to them?”

“They still haven’t found him,” you say. “They used paint chips from the back of my sister’s car to identify the vehicle, which wasn’t registered to anyone living. The police are apparently still looking for him.”

Mingyu looks like he’s about to hug you again, but stops himself because of Sara. He settles for smoothing a hand over Sara’s head and looking at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “That’s...unfair. And awful. And so sad.”

You nod in agreement. “It is.” You sigh, and with your breath you release a bit of tension you didn’t know you were holding in your jaw. “I just hope she knew how much I love her.” You think back to the last conversation you’d had — full of love and laughter and the promise to see each other soon. Your eyes begin to water, and you sniff.

Mingyu slides across your bed to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. He holds you and Sara in his arms while you silently cry -- not the shaking sobs of despair from the hospital or the agonized scream from your nightmares, but a release of all the pent-up feelings you hadn’t had time to allow yourself to feel. You spill over with sadness and anger and pain, but most of all with longing for your sister. You want to hear her voice again, make her laugh again, make her angry again as long as you could just have her there. 

And all of this feeling pouring out of you leaves you feeling drained when it’s over. You are empty, but not the same kind of emptiness you felt in the months before you’d met Mingyu. It was more like the emptiness of a backpack after you take everything out, an emptiness that was no longer hopeless to fill. 

After what is probably more than an hour, you whisper, “Mingyu?”

His sleepy “hm?” from above you floods your heart with warmth.

“I’m afraid I should be paying you double. I think you’re taking care of both of us,” you say, still in a whisper. 

“No need,” he says softly, his arms tightening around you for a fraction of a second. “You heard my whole tragic backstory this morning. It was only fair.”

You smile against his chest, and Sara stirs, beginning to fuss. Mingyu sits up but doesn’t let go, looking down at Sara. “She’ll be up crying in a second,” he says. “Let me take her.”

He scoops her into his arms, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one hand. “Get some rest,” he says, maneuvering himself off of the bed, stopping only briefly to brush one final tear off your face. 

“Sleep well,” he says softly as he closes your bedroom door behind him. 

You relax into the pillows, reaching over to grab the one Mingyu had been leaning against. It still smelled like him. The scent is enough for your overwhelmed brain — you fall asleep in seconds.

***

As he shuts the door behind you to allow you to go back to sleep, hoping that this time your mind stays free of traumatic dreams, Mingyu pauses.

He is in trouble.

He’d known it from that very first day. Because how could someone be so drop-dead gorgeous in their rattiest sweatpants, with their hair a mess, looking like they might burst into tears at any moment? 

And now, three weeks in, it was worse than ever — the light was coming back into your eyes, and that change was stirring feelings in him he’d never felt before. And as he’d heard more of your story, he became more and more enthralled. He was proud of how hard you worked, and he adored your sense of humor, and he admired your authenticity and honesty, but what had drawn him irresistibly to you was the way that you loved: passionately, almost recklessly, with everything in you. From what Mingyu could tell, that love had leached into every single thing you did — it was the reason your business was so successful, the reason Sara felt so safe with you, and the reason your grief was so heavy. Since realizing this, Mingyu hadn’t even stood half a chance.

As he bounced up and down with Sara in his arms, trying to soothe her fussing, he thought back to the moment when he knew he was a goner: when you’d knighted him in the kitchen and called him Sir Mingyu. The way he’d wanted to take your face in his hands and kiss you until you forgot about everything but him was almost criminal. And tonight...seeing your sleepy eyes, and how you’d melted into his embrace...he’d had to grab Sara as a buffer between the two of you, or he might just have risked it all, illness be damned. 

“Ah, Sara,” he whispered, remembering how you’d smiled dazedly at him as he left the room. “What should I do?”

He had tried to keep it professional with you. Tried to leave almost instantly when you arrived home without being rude. Tried to go out on weekends, so he didn’t have to think about you. But the truth was, he always did anyway. And coupled with the fact that Sara, too, had stolen his heart, and he knew he couldn’t love her more even if he were her own father — there was simply nothing for it. He’d just have to come to terms with the fact that he’d never felt more at home than when he was with the two of you.

It’s four in the morning, and Mingyu sighs as he pulls out his cell phone. “Why am I not surprised you’re awake?” he teases when Jungkook answers his call. 

“You know me,” Jungkook says, and Mingyu can hear the filthy smile on his friend’s face. “I never sleep.”

Mingyu shakes his head exasperatedly. “Got plans today?” he asks. “I’m working right now, but I think I need to go out later.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” For all his teasing, Jungkook is a good friend, and he can tell something’s up just by Mingyu’s tone of voice.

“I have someone I need you to help me forget.”

***

You wake up the next morning around 11, feeling better than you’ve felt in days, maybe weeks. You’re still coughing, but your energy is higher and you’re lighter than you’re used to when you first wake up. 

You head downstairs, where Mingyu is nodding off at the table, Sara sucking happily at her pacifier. You sit in the seat next to Mingyu. “Long night?”

“You have no idea,” he groans. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” you say. “You should go home and rest.” You have to resist an urge to lay a hand on his arm. 

He blinks blearily at you. “You want me to go?”

You chuckle at his tone -- he sounds devastated. “You need to rest. In fact, I’m going to insist that I drive you home. I don’t trust you to drive safely right now.”

Mingyu smiles sleepily, the sight making it impossible for you not to smile yourself. “‘Kay,” he says.

“Alright, big guy, up you get,” you say, unstrapping Sara and putting her into her baby carrier. “Where do you live?”

He gives you an address, which you plug into your phone. Mingyu forbids you from carrying Sara’s car seat and strapping it in the car, doing it himself at a slower pace than normal due to his tiredness. You watch, amused, as he fumbles with the slots the carrier slides into, his eyes half open. Your heart nearly bursts as he finally gets her buckled and places a clumsy kiss on her cheek. 

He sleeps for most of the drive, slumped against the door of the car. When you arrive in his driveway, you have to shake his shoulder gently to get him to wake up. So you let him out of the car and walk him to the door, feeling somewhat worried he’ll pass out on the way there as he stumbles up the walkway. 

To your surprise, he knocks at the door. “This is your house,” you remind him, giving him a worried look.

He chuckles. “Forgot my keys. I have a housemate.”

Sure enough, in seconds the door swings open to reveal a slim, bespectacled man whose eyes widen at the sight of Mingyu’s tired face. “What happened to him?” he asks you. 

“He was up all night,” you say apologetically. “I tried to get him to leave at the usual time, but he just wouldn’t.”

He scoffs. “Sounds like him. Alright, get in here, you big baby.” The man pulls Mingyu inside by the sleeve of his hoodie, and Mingyu collapses onto the couch just visible from the door. 

You watch him, torn between concern, fondness, and amusement, until you notice the other man eyeing you. “I’m Wonwoo,” he says with a small smile. “You must be Miss Boss.”

“Is that what he calls me?” you ask, embarrassed.

“No, that’s what I’ve been calling you,” he says. “He talks about you a lot.”

You blush. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not really sure why.

“It’s fine,” he says. “This job seems better for him than the last few, so I feel like I actually owe you one.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, Wonwoo, uh...just make sure he rests, okay? Tell him I can come get him whenever and he can drive his car home.”

“Will do,” Wonwoo says cheerfully. “Have a nice day!”

***

[23:23, the following evening]

“Why did I even come here?” Mingyu groans over the sound of the music.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You are absolute shit at forgetting people, you know that?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Not usually,” he says. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“You need to be more drunk,” Eunwoo suggests. 

“And maybe flirt with someone else,” Wonwoo recommends.

Mingyu wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought. “What are you scared of?” Jungkook asks with a laugh. “You said that you had absolutely no chance.”

“Yet,” Mingyu says. “I have no chance yet.”

“And your plan is to…what?” Eunwoo asks, leaning closer and examining Mingyu’s face. “Wait around until your chance comes?”

Mingyu hesitates. Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re a waiter, Kim Mingyu, but you’re allowed to prove me wrong if you want.”

At this, Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You’ve been eyeing the girl in the black dress over there for the past hour,” he remarks casually. “You can talk to me about waiting once you make a move.”

Jungkook watches the woman in the black dress with a tattooed hand on his chin. “Alright, I will.” He shrugs his thin black jacket off, revealing his full tattoo sleeve, and makes his way rhythmically to the dance floor, leaning in to speak to the girl.

“I know that was just a move to get him to go away,” Eunwoo says. “But well done, regardless.” He pats Mingyu on the shoulder. “So tell me, do you want to wait for her?”

Mingyu bristles. “The only thing I know for sure is that I have feelings for her. Beyond that I have no idea what to do about it.”

“Are the feelings you have for her … loving feelings or horny feelings?” Wonwoo asks carefully.

“Both,” Mingyu says through gritted teeth, fighting off the memory of your body in his arms. “How did you know you were in love?” he asks Eunwoo, glancing down at the ring on his finger. “How did you choose Nabi?”

Eunwoo looks thoughtfully into the distance. “She made it easy for me to just…be myself.”

Mingyu immediately remembers how simple it was to open up to you, his heart pounding at the thought. “I keep looking for a disqualifier,” he moans. “Something that would make her…I don’t know. Less…everything I ever wanted.”

Eunwoo grins ruefully. “I can think of one. She’s your boss,” he finishes, stirring his drink with his straw.

“And she told that one guy who liked her that she wasn’t ready to date,” Wonwoo pipes up. “She needs time to figure out what she’s doing before diving into a relationship.”

“So the only thing stopping me is circumstance?” Mingyu asks, frustrated.

Wonwoo and Eunwoo look at each other. “It sure seems that way,” Eunwoo agrees. “And…I don’t know, respect for her.”

“If she wasn’t your boss, and she wasn’t grieving,” Wonwoo points out, “what would you do?”

Mingyu’s cheeks warm with the thought of everything he’d do if you weren’t his boss. If you were ready for him. But he can’t say those things out loud, so he opts for the most generalized version of his answer. “I’d never give up on her,” he says with conviction.

Wonwoo’s eyes behind his spectacles are wise beyond his years. “Circumstances change all the time,” he says simply. “I know you don’t enjoy waiting for things, but maybe the best thing to do is stop fighting the feelings and just let them flow. You’ll either get your shot or you won’t, but if she’s as great as you think, she deserves to be waited for.” Wonwoo sips his water while Eunwoo and Mingyu stare, open-mouthed, at his sudden profundity.

“Damn,” Eunwoo says after awhile. “You should talk more.”

Wonwoo grins. “I would if anyone would listen to me,” he teases.

Mingyu is still letting Wonwoo’s words bounce around in his brain. “What should I do then?” he asks. “Like, right now. When there’s nothing I really can do.”

Wonwoo thinks for a minute. “Well, there’s a difference between what I think you should do and what I would do if it were me. What do you want to hear?”

“Both,” Mingyu and Eunwoo say together. Mingyu shoots Eunwoo an amused look, and he shrugs. “Hey, the last thing he said kind of blew me away.”

“Well,” Wonwoo says, “if it were me, I’d try to hide my feelings until I felt like it was a good time to talk about it.”

“And what do you think I should do?”

He ponders. “Well, you’re garbage at hiding your feelings. When you try, they just end up exploding out of you like diarrhea.”

Eunwoo snorts. “You were doing so well,” he laments.

Unbothered, Wonwoo continues. “So I’d say just be yourself. Don’t cross any lines or confess or anything, but don’t try to hide, either. And wait for her to say something.”

“And if she never does?” Mingyu asks, breathless.

“Die of unrequited love, I guess,” Wonwoo says with a wry grin. “Or move on.”

Ayyyyyy

Different Ways to Describe Eye Colors

↳ a masterpost for writing prompts that describe eye colors

Brown Eyes

Blue Eyes

Green Eyes

Hazel Eyes

Unusual Eyes

Gray Eyes

Heterochromia Eyes

Black Eyes

White Eyes

White/Silver Eyes pt 2

Hazel Green Eyes

Gold/Yellow Eyes

Reddish-Brown Eyes

My Victorian maiden 😍😍😍

i always find it so funny that choi seungcheol, mr. modesty himself, has one of the most feral fans in seventeen. i honestly don’t think i’ve seen anything below his left clavicle and yet,,,,