Silly Goose | Kwon Soonyoung

silly goose | kwon soonyoung

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii we're back baby. genre is: crack. fake dating sort of. friends to ??? basically in love i guess. everyone is an idiot and it's awesome. warnings: reader is implied to be female, wears a dress, does hair and makeup, reader is briefly followed in a menacing kind of way, soonyoung is literally the most dumbest man ever but in the BEST way, reader's friends are quite honestly the actual worst, there is a rather frightening animal encounter that's mostly just funny but could be triggering if you're afraid of birds, lmk if there's anything else i forgot!!! word count: 8.3k

If one was to look up the definition of disappointment, you’re almost positive they’d see a picture of your mom’s face if she ever found out you were in this situation. You’re disappointed in yourself. It was never your plan to be in a loud, crowded club, smushed up against the bar by two large bikers who are bouncing up and down to the beat of the music so that the spikes on the back of the taller one’s jacket get dangerously close to your eyeball. And yet, here you are.

You desperately search the room for the group of very tipsy women you came here with, but they’re nowhere to be found. Scowling, you start to inch out from behind the bikers into a slightly more open space, but even with your improved vantage point, you don’t see them. You curse. Did they really leave you here?

It’s hard for you to understand why you were even invited to this bachelorette party. The bride is your childhood best friend, but you’ve been out of touch for years. Your lives went in completely different directions after high school, clearly evidenced by the predicament in which you currently find yourself. Where you had never been the life of the party, she seemed to have no life without a party. You found yourself wishing for the thousandth time you could be at home with your books and your remote and your cat.

You decide there’s nothing for it and head outside to try and call your friend. She picks up on the third ring, and her voice is slurred and barely distinguishable over the cacophony of sound in the background of the call. You think she’s saying that they’re taking a bus to a bar across town -- about an hour away from where you are now. To get there, you’d have to call a cab and pay almost $100, or you could walk to your apartment, which is three blocks from here. “I’m going to go home,” you tell her, and she laughs and agrees and hangs up.

You grimace at your phone screen and shiver slightly. It’s a chilly night, and you didn’t bring a jacket, so you decide it’s best if you start walking. The way home is well-lit and relatively crime free, so you aren’t nervous as you set off from the club. 

That is, until you notice someone is tailing you. He’s a taller man, with scruffy facial hair and red-rimmed eyes that scare you. As you glance over your shoulder, he calls after you. “Where are you headed?” he asks.

“Going to meet my boyfriend,” you claim, desperately trying to shake him off. He seems to be picking up speed, slowly gaining on you as you walk, and as you round a corner you see a group of three well-dressed men standing in front of the movie theater just ahead. “That’s him right there,” you say, pointing at them, and the man trailing after you only picks up his speed, so you make the risky choice to jog toward them and grab ahold of the nearest man’s arm. He has his back toward you, but as you wrap your hand around his bicep, he turns to look at you.

Oh, wow, you think. Because you couldn’t have chosen a hotter man to pretend to be your boyfriend -- unless, of course, you were to have chosen either of his friends. It was strange to be surrounded by so many extremely attractive men, almost like interrupting a model meetup. But you quickly recover, smiling at the man whose arm you grabbed and saying, “Hi, honey.”

You try to communicate with your eyes, and though the man at first looks confused, he glances over your head and sees the man who’d been following you and his eyes light with understanding. “Hello, muffin!” he shouts far too loudly. 

You wince. Muffin? you think to yourself. But still, you can’t help but be amused as he puts an arm around you and sends an angry look at the man. “This is my girlfriend,” he yells at him.

“You’re being way too obvious, dude,” one of your fake boyfriend’s friends hisses at him. 

“I call BS,” the stalker says, to your horror and surprise. “What’s her name?”

“Mildred,” your fake boyfriend says with no hesitation. 

You try not to let the shock of this answer register on your face. 

The stalker hesitates. “Is he really your boyfriend, Mildred?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “Uh, yep.”

“Oh, okay then,” the stalker says. The three of you stare at each other for awhile before he turns around and leaves. 

“I cannot believe that worked,” one of your fake boyfriend’s friends says, smacking his forehead. 

“Remind me never to call you in a crisis,” the other one says, chuckling.

“What do you mean?” your fake boyfriend says indignantly. He looks at you, as though wanting your opinion, his arms still around you. “I feel like we nailed that.”

You can’t help but smile at him. He really is unfairly pretty, with perfectly tousled black hair, an artful slit in one eyebrow, and a smile that has you wondering if maybe you do believe in love at first sight. “Thanks for helping me out,” you say, so you don’t have to lie and agree that he nailed it. “Do I really look like a Mildred, though?”

“Mildred is a lovely name,” he says matter-of-factly. “And you are lovely.”

You laugh, feeling a little hot around the collar. “And what’s your name?” you ask him, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He takes it and shakes it with a warm smile. “I’m Soonyoung,” he says. He releases you from his grip with a small shake, as though reminding himself to do it. As if he’d gotten lost in you for a second.

“Soonyoung,” you repeat. “And your friends?”

“Seungkwan,” the shorter of the two others says.

“Seokmin,” the taller one replies. 

“Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Seokmin,” you chant. “Well, thanks so much for your help, guys. I need to get home to my cat.”

“By yourself?” Seokmin says in a worried tone.

“In the dark?” Seungkwan follows, equally worried.

“Without a jacket?” Soonyoung says, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Well...” you say. “It’s not very far.”

“How far?” Seungkwan asks.

You hesitate. “How do I know you’re not serial killers?”

They all blink at you. “Us?” Seokmin asks.

“We’re idiots,” Soonyoung says sincerely. 

They all nod in agreement. “Seriously. If we were serial killers, we’d be caught in no time,” Seungkwan says.

“Let us walk you home,” Soonyoung insists. “I want to meet your cat.”

You’re still a bit nervous, but they keep a respectful distance as they walk you down the next two and a half blocks to your apartment building. You quickly realize that they weren’t lying. 

They are actually idiots.

The entire fifteen minute walk, Seungkwan and Seokmin are arguing about whether or not tomatoes are a fruit, culminating in Soonyoung opining that if tomatoes are a fruit, ketchup is a smoothie. The other two are (understandably) outraged by this, leaving you comforted that you actually could probably take all three of them in a fight at once, seeing as how they all seem to share one single brain cell. 

There’s something so endearing about their banter, though. So much so that when you finally arrive at the apartment, you find yourself asking if they want to come in for a minute and escape the chilly weather.

“Are you sure?” Seokmin asks.

“Positive. I have some instant ramen we could make, too. Just to warm you up. As a thank you for getting me home safe.”

They look at each other and then nod. “We’d love to,” Seungkwan says. 

So you lead them up to your door on the third floor. “Your apartment is so cute!” Soonyoung exclaims, admiring the pretty crocheted decorations that line your walls. “I love these.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I made them.”

He looks at you in awe. “You did? That’s so cool!”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say with a smile. 

“What do you do for work?” Soonyoung asks you.

“I’m a social worker,” you tell him. “I work with families in tough situations. Help them get their feet under them.”

“Do you work for the government, then?” asks Seungkwan.

“Make yourself at home,” you tell the three of them, who are standing awkwardly in the entry. As they settle onto the couch, you explain, “I actually work for a subcontractor of the government. We’re a nonprofit. On weekends, we also do a soup kitchen, and help run food banks throughout the county.”

“That must be very fulfilling work,” Seokmin points out. “Do you like it? I hear it can be tiring.”

“It’s good, but I don’t get paid enough,” you admit. “And before you ask, I do have a roommate. She’s just in the hospital. Appendicitis.”

They all wince, and Seungkwan hums sympathetically. You head to your pantry and rummage around looking for the instant ramen, finally locating it and putting a pan on the stove with water. Meanwhile, the guys find your box full of games and pull out the Monopoly. “We should play this!” Seokmin says. 

Seungkwan laughs. “We just met her, and you already want to ruin our friendship?”

Soonyoung pulls out a deck of cards. “How about Scum?”

The three of them set up the game while you make the ramen, and by the time you’re all served up all the cards have been dealt. You watch them over your own bowl of ramen, amused at the gusto with which they eat and heartwarmed by their compliments. You’re generally a bit of an introvert, but even you have been lonely the past few days with your roommate gone, and the unexpected company is warm, inviting, and friendly.

Until Scum begins. Unbeknownst to you, this group of three is the most cutthroat, merciless group of players who have ever lived. Their competition knows no bounds, and they seem determined to destroy each other, by whatever means necessary. “Don’t worry,” Seokmin whispers conspiratorially to you while Soonyoung and Seungkwan argue tooth-and-nail about a minor rule of the game. “They’re always like this, but they really do love each other.”

It takes all of them by surprise when you are the first to get rid of your cards, guaranteeing you the “king” spot. “That came out of nowhere!” complains Seungkwan.

You shrug. “I’m good with strategy games. Never challenge me to a game of Settlers of Catan,” you joke. 

Just then, your cat pokes his head around the corner and mewls reproachfully at all the noise you’re making. “Hi!” Soonyoung says excitedly, quickly dropping his cards to head over to the cat, making little cooing noises at him as he strokes his soft orange fur. “What’s its name?”

“He’s a he,” you tell him. “And his name is Tiger.”

The three men all freeze and look at you. “What?” you ask, looking around at them in worry.

“No way,” Soonyoung breathes.

Seungkwan groans. “You’ve really done it now.”

“What did I do?” you ask, bewildered.

“That’s like, the forbidden word,” Seokmin says, his tone apologetic.

Your eyes land on Soonyoung, whose entire face has lit up. “I love tigers,” he says, looking on the verge of tears.

“Love is an understatement,” Seungkwan says. “He is about to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Will you marry me?” Soonyoung asks immediately afterward, making you laugh. His hands are still gently cupping Tiger’s face, his thumbs rubbing the cat’s fur back tenderly.

“I barely know you, Soonyoung,” you remind him. “You’ll have to pretend to be my boyfriend a couple more times before I’ll agree to marriage.”

“Bet,” Soonyoung says. “This cat needs a father. There’s nothing sadder than a fatherless cat.”

You privately disagreed, but it makes you laugh again all the same. “When am I ever going to need you to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Soonyoung tsks. “I’m sure we could think of something.”

But almost as soon as you’d asked the question, you remembered: the wedding.

Your friend’s wedding -- the one who’d abandoned you tonight. And the one who, against your wishes, had invited your horrible ex-boyfriend. You’d had a plus-one — your roommate, who you’d enlisted to make the entire event endurable. But last-minute, her sister had needed help babysitting her daughter while she went to a divorce hearing on the day of the wedding. The wedding was in two weeks, and you didn’t have a backup date. 

Soonyoung watches in satisfaction as your face falls. “Tell me,” he says. “How can I be of service?”

“Well…you can say no,” you preface, and he chuckles. “But...” 

You launch into the story of the night. Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin listen well throughout it, making noises of exasperation and annoyance as you explain why you’d had to interrupt their evening by pretending to be Soonyoung’s girlfriend. “They really left you there?” Soonyoung asks, frowning. He seems to tire of crouching by Tiger, so he sits crosslegged on the ground. You watch carefully as Tiger gingerly climbs into Soonyoung’s lap -- something it took him almost a year to do with you. Tiger is an affectionate and social cat, but he does take some time to warm up, usually. But something about Soonyoung seems to have put him at ease. Soonyoung doesn’t even seem to notice, absently massaging his fingers into Tiger’s neck fur.

“They really did,” you finally reply, oddly touched by the sight of Soonyoung with your cat.

“You need better friends,” Seungkwan says indignantly.

You give him a weak smile. “You’re probably right about that. But I already said I’d go, and they’ve planned for me. So it’d be bad to back out now.” You sigh. “It would be so nice to have someone to go with who’s friendly. And you can totally say no if that’s too much awkwardness to put up with for an evening.”

“Well, I have no problems with going if it means I get to spend more time with your cat in between now and then,” Soonyoung says, tickling Tiger’s stomach and giggling as Tiger swats at his fingers.

“You can always come see my cat whenever you want,” you promise him. “Even if you say no.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding thrilled. “I mean, I’m saying yes, though.”

You let out a deep breath. “Thank you so much. You’re such a lifesaver.”

“I know. Imagine the poor decisions this cat would’ve made if I hadn’t decided to be his dad.”

“I resent the implication that I am a horrible mother who can’t raise a cat to be a good citizen who makes positive contributions to society.”

“Yeah, you psycho, respect this single mother!” Seungkwan says, smacking Soonyoung’s arm.

“Well, you’re partially right,” you admit with a laugh. “Tiger is a war criminal with warrants in 32 countries.”

Soonyoung laughs as well. “See! Fatherless behavior.”

“Plenty of cats grow up to be respectable without fathers,” you say indignantly. “Just not Tiger. He’s possessed of a devil.”

The four of you all have a good laugh about this, while Tiger chirps indignantly at the sudden sound, clambering out of Soonyoung’s lap and darting down the hallway. “Traitor!” Soonyoung calls after him, heading back to the card table to finish playing. 

By the time the trio bows themselves out of your apartment, you feel warm and sleepy. It’s been a long time since you’ve had people over to your house and enjoyed it — you had forgotten how nice it was.

******

“Hey there,” you greet your friend Ginger, who waves at you from her hospital bed. 

“Hi,” she says back. “How was the bachelorette party?”

“A complete disaster, as predicted,” you tell her, pulling up a chair next to her bed. “When are you coming home?”

“Tonight, if things go well,” she informs you. “But you said you had something to tell me. Is it good or bad?”

“It’s good,” you say with a shy smile.

“How good?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Like, weird-good.”

“Explain.”

“I found a date for tomorrow.”

Her eyes go wide. “You caught someone’s eye? During the bachelorette party?”

“No, after. Well, actually, the guy whose eye I caught was a total creep. But then I forced a different dude to be my fake boyfriend to shake off the first dude, and he agreed to be my date to the wedding.”

“Is he gonna pretend to be your boyfriend there too?” she asks, a suggestive edge to her voice.

“I don’t think so. I mean, we just talked about him coming with me so I wouldn’t have to go alone.”

“How did that even come up?” she asks you.

“Well, they kind of walked me home...”

“They?”

“There were three of them initially,” you explain apologetically.

“You let three random strangers walk you home?”

“Well, they openly admitted to being idiots when I asked if they were serial killers, so I thought it was probably safe.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ginger says dryly.

“Anyway, Soonyoung -- the one who’s gonna be my date -- wanted to meet Tiger. Because he loves tigers. And then it kind of devolved into playing Scum, and then Soonyoung claimed that if he just spent more time with Tiger he’d stop committing dastardly crimes every chance he gets. And then he asked if I’d need a fake boyfriend so that he could help me raise my cat right, and it was this whole thing, and now that I’m telling you the story it sounds really dumb but it was kind of sweet.”

Ginger is staring at you with raised eyebrows during this whole account. When you finally clam up, she sighs. “So, I hate to be the person to have to tell you this, but Soonyoung is actually in love with you.”

“What?” you gasp. “Why do you think that?”

“He is using your cat to get closer to you because he’s too scared to really ask you out because he really likes you.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. You should’ve seen his face when he heard the cat was named Tiger.”

Ginger rolls her eyes. “Girl, I know more about men than I care to admit. This is textbook crush behavior.” She grunts as she adjusts her position. “And I think you like him back, too.”

“I barely know him,” you protest, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Is he hot?” she asks shrewdly.

“Yes,” you answer, without hesitation or even a single iota of forethought. You cringe at your own obviousness, and Ginger laughs.

“It’s okay,” she reassures. “But how hot?”

You consider for a while before answering. “It’s hard to describe,” you complain, feeling more and more uncomfortable the longer it takes. “He’s...pretty.”

“A pretty boy?” Ginger repeats.

“No, like, he doesn’t look dainty -- but he’s not rugged or anything. But he doesn’t exactly look soft either. But he’s not quite all the way to edgy.” You realize you’re rambling once you catch sight of Ginger’s face.

Ginger shakes her head. “You’re a goner,” she sighs.

Conveniently, your phone starts buzzing before you can respond -- not that you really had a response anyway. It’s an unknown number, but you decide to answer it. “Hello?” you say. 

“Hi,” a familiar voice chirps on the other end. Your eyes go wide, and you mouth “Soonyoung” to Ginger, who is observing curiously.

“Hi!!!” you respond back, and then wince -- you were a little too eager, and Ginger makes a face at you too. You resolve to be much cooler going forward, and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Hi,” he says again, this time sounding amused. “What’s up?”

“Hi. Um, nothing much,” you reply. “What’s up with you?” Wow, what a zinger! you think to yourself. Why did you choose this moment to become an awkward fumbling mess?

“Well, I’m near your apartment, and I was wondering if you were home. I missed Tiger, you see.”

“Ah,” you say. “Well, um, I’m actually...out right now?” Your voice raises a few notes too high at the end of your phrase, and Ginger is pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, trying to fight back a laugh.

“Ah, that’s bad luck. Where are you?” Soonyoung asks.

“I’m just visiting my roommate in the hospital,” you say, confused as Ginger frantically shakes her head and makes an X with her hands. 

“Tell him you were just leaving and you’ll be there soon,” she hisses, pushing you with her foot off of her hospital bed. 

“Oh, how is she doing?” Soonyoung asks. “Is she feeling better?”

“She’s absolutely fine,” you grunt, trying to fend off Ginger’s attacks and failing, slumping off the bed onto the floor. “I was actually on my way home, though. Do you have time to wait?” You stand and snatch your bag from off the small table in the room and stick your tongue out at Ginger, who blows you a kiss and waves enthusiastically as you leave.

“Yes,” Soonyoung responds immediately. “Actually, are you hungry? I brought some chicken.”

“I’m actually starving,” you answer honestly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

True to your word, you sprint all the way out of the hospital and almost all the way home, stopping around the corner to your place to try and catch your breath and look cool when you see Soonyoung. Ginger’s words bounce around your brain in a disconcerting way, and you feel like you’re sweaty and flustered in a way that no amount of time stalling could really fix. So you decide to just bite the bullet and turn the corner. 

You can see Soonyoung waiting at the door to your apartment building. When he catches sight of you, his whole face lights up in a smile. And oh, what a smile it is. You have to physically restrain yourself from squealing at how obscenely adorable he is -- his eyes softening into crescents, his cheeks going all round and his nose scrunching just slightly. You can’t help but smile back as you finally reach him. “Hey,” you say, going for a breezy, cool vibe and missing the mark embarrassingly.

“Hi,” Soonyoung says, and to your comfort, he sounds just as eager as you did on the phone. “Um, how was the walk?”

“It was great! Super chill, super lowkey,” you lie through your teeth, thinking about how you had sprinted in a very not-chill, not-lowkey way to come see him. 

“That’s good!” he exclaims back.

“What were you doing near my house?” you ask, leading him toward the door.

“Oh, well, actually, I had to go visit this restaurant my friend works at,” he says, stuttering a little. “And he actually made extra chicken, so I thought -- well, and I knew you lived close by, so I thought it would be fun if we...I don’t know, got to know each other before the wedding?” He shrugs cutely. 

“You can just say you wanted to see my cat,” you tease, pressing the elevator button.

“I did, on the phone,” he reminds you.

“Oh,” you say.

“Oh,” he replies.

The two of you stare at each other for a minute.

Then, Soonyoung says, “Why are we so awkward?”

He doesn’t sound worried -- he even has a laugh in his voice. And for some reason, the easiness with which he addresses the strange tension in the air seems to dissipate it a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a laugh. “I’m not very good with surprises. I never know how to react. But I’m very glad you’re here.” Finally, the sincerity of the words shines through, and though you normally would’ve been embarrassed at the admission, you aren’t.

He smiles that brilliant smile yet again, and your heart does a little happy-dance in your chest. “Me too,” he replies fervently. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him as the two of you board the elevator. “I never asked, before.”

“Oh, that. I’m actually a kindergarten teacher,” he tells you.

You are gobsmacked at this information. “You don’t look like a teacher,” you tell him.

“Oh yeah? What do I look like?” he asks, striking a ridiculous pose. 

You giggle. “A rockstar, maybe. Or a band manager.”

“Thank you, I think,” Soonyoung says.

“You’re welcome,” you say with emphasis. “It was a compliment.”

The two of you chat aimlessly all the way into your apartment, where Soonyoung immediately starts calling for Tiger. “Your daddy’s home,” he bellows into the empty apartment. “Where are you, son?”

You absolutely know the neighbors must have heard him, but your brief embarrassment is soothed when Tiger comes tearing around the corner, coming to a screeching halt at Soonyoung’s feet. “He never does that,” you say, in awe of this overt affection from your normally skittish-around-strangers cat. 

“He knows who I am,” Soonyoung says, bending down to pick up Tiger and cradle him in his arms like a baby. “My son,” he coos, tickling his belly and laughing when Tiger bats at his fingers with his paws.

You catch yourself before Soonyoung can tear his attention away from Tiger, knowing you were probably staring at them with heart-eyes. Shaking yourself, you open the box of chicken Soonyoung left on the counter. “Do you mind? I actually haven’t eaten today.”

Soonyoung’s gaze snaps to you. “It’s like four in the afternoon!” he exclaims indignantly. “What do you mean, you haven’t eaten today?”

“Well, I woke up kind of late, and then I was running around doing important errands, and then I had to go see my friend,” you explain. “I kind of forgot.”

He tsks in annoyance. “Well, you need to take care of yourself too. How am I supposed to co-parent this cat with you if you pass away from malnutrition?”

“You are so dramatic,” you laugh. “This doesn’t happen very often. I promise I’m a regular eater.”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Okay. You’d better be.”

You dig into the chicken while you watch Soonyoung play with Tiger. “Holy cow!” you exclaim. “This is amazing.”

“I’ll tell my friend you said so. You should go to his restaurant, it’s right across the street from you.”

“I definitely will,” you say, taking a seat at the table and patting the chair next to you. “But I think it’s time for your interview.”

“Interview?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m not about to just let the first cat-loving man I come across be Tiger’s father. I need to see if you’re prepared for the role.”

So Soonyoung, giving you a cautious look, comes to sit beside you with Tiger trotting after him. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask him.

“That’s hardly a standard interview question,” he protests, laughing. 

“This is hardly a standard interview,” you shoot back. “Now tell me.”

He thinks for a minute. “Black and white.”

“Hmm, interesting,” you muse, but before you can go any further, he raises a hand.

“How about you?” he asks.

“I’m asking the questions!” you say indignantly, and he chuckles.

“Okay, but shouldn’t I know my son’s mother?” He makes a face. “That sounded weird. You know what I meant.”

You stare at him, considering, for awhile before answering. “Orange,” you finally reply. Then, in a teasing tone, you add, “Like a tiger.” 

“You’re joking,” Soonyoung insists, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. 

“I’m actually not,” you admit. “And can I confess something else: tigers are easily in my top five favorite animals.”

“Well, anything lower than number one is just bad taste,” Soonyoung claims, grinning.

“Ah, well, I guess we can’t all have entirely correct opinions,” you sigh. “Except you, of course.”

“You’re such a fast learner,” Soonyoung praises.

And on the conversation goes. Usually, when talking to someone as pretty as Soonyoung is, you find yourself tongue-tied and awkward, but talking with Soonyoung is as easy as breathing. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the man seems to have no idea how gorgeous he is -- he doesn’t take himself too seriously, and is incredibly silly in a way most men of his level of attractiveness aren’t willing to be. And he makes you feel smart and interesting, appearing just as fascinated by your answers as you are with his.

Over the course of your conversation, you learn that Soonyoung is close with his mother; he loves all animals; he befriends strangers on public transportation and is a caring and loyal friend to so many people he can hardly keep track of them all. He can’t drink very well, he gets sad late at night, and when you ask him what he’s most proud of, he tells you that he always knows who the killer is in a game of mafia.

Try as you might to discover any red flags that would disqualify Soonyoung as the perfect father for your cat, your interview proves quite the opposite. The less-than-rational wing of your mind-palace is already picking out your wedding colors for the inevitable moment you marry this man. The less feral part of your mind is, surprisingly, cautiously optimistic. For all your reservations about dating, Soonyoung has proven someone you very much enjoy getting to know.

After several hours, the two of you arrive at the first lull in the conversation, when your laughs fade out and you just look at each other, electricity charging the air. Soonyoung breaks the silence. “So, did I get the job?”

You pretend to deliberate for a single second. “Absolutely,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He throws his arms around you instead. “We’re actually married now, and married people hug,” he explains.

You giggle nervously, despite the growing heat in your face. “I don’t remember you proposing today,” you scold him lightly, still hugging.

“The one from last night is still valid,” he says, breaking apart. “Honey,” he adds as an afterthought.

Just then, your phone rings. You answer it quickly, rushing to your bedroom to take the call. After a few minutes, you return to the kitchen apologetically. “It’s work,” you tell Soonyoung. “A situation came up with a client.”

“Do you need to leave now?” Soonyoung asks, jumping up. “Can I give you a ride?”

You shake your head. “It’s actually an hour drive and I’m not supposed to bring people who aren’t privy to the case. But — well, Tiger usually gets fed around 8 pm, and I don’t think I’ll be back by then. Would you be okay to do that? If not it’s totally fine, I can call my sister-in-law to do it.”

Soonyoung beams. “Of course. Can I wait for you to get home?”

You blink. “Soonyoung, it’ll be at least four hours from now. Probably more. We’re talking past midnight.”

“No school tomorrow,” Soonyoung reminds you, shrugging. “Plus, a group of friends invited me out to drink tonight, and I didn’t really want to go. Now I’ve got an excuse.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “You are genuinely the best,” you say, going to him and wrapping him up in your arms. “Thanks.”

He seems taken aback by your sudden hug, but responds all the same. “Be safe on your way to work,” he says softly in your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck, and you steal one final look at him before leaving.

******

By the time you get home, it’s nearly one in the morning. As you slump tiredly against the steering wheel of your car before going in, you check your phone and find several missed calls from Ginger. It is only then you remember she was scheduled to come home today, and more than likely did — to Soonyoung. 

You race up to your apartment and open the door. Sure enough, curled up on the couch with Tiger is Soonyoung. He’s fast asleep, his cheek squished against the firm cushion, Tiger keeping vigil at his stomach. Tiger meows reproachfully as you come in, taking quiet steps to Ginger’s room. She’s resting with her back against the headboard, but she opens her eyes at the sound of her door. 

“So, I came home to a man in my house,” she says expectantly. “That was crazy.”

“Yeah. We had a runaway situation that I had to figure out, and Soonyoung stayed to feed Tiger and make sure I got home okay,” you explain softly, not wanting to wake Soonyoung.

“I’m so glad he’s not a serial killer,” Ginger whispers. “He was very attentive. Kept checking on me and asking if I needed anything.”

“He did?” you ask, your heart in your throat. 

“He seems like a tender little guy,” Ginger says, watching you carefully.

“He does,” is your simple reply. You can’t trust yourself to speak without crying.

******

Soonyoung ended up accidentally sleeping over that night. In the morning, the three of you — Soonyoung, Ginger, and yourself — spent a fractionally awkward but mostly pleasant morning breakfasting together before Soonyoung insisted it was time for him to shower. After that day, he dropped by frequently. 

Sometimes he would stay for just twenty minutes, dropping off a book or visiting Tiger. Occasionally he’d bring by an ingredient for a dinner you were making, and you made it a habit to invite him to join on those occasions. The easy conversation between the two of you became an easy friendship, bursting with silliness and laughter and acceptance of each other’s quirks. You felt more and more like your real self around him. Which was crazy, especially given how thoroughly and extremely smitten with him you are.

It had taken you less than a week to realize your feelings. You’d expected to start feeling uncomfortable around Soonyoung, but for some reason, he just made it so clear that he cared about you that you didn’t even worry about if he liked you or not.

You reflect on this as you drive to your friend’s house to get ready before the wedding. You’re nervous about how this whole day will go, but the promise of seeing Soonyoung later makes it all worth it. In fact, just the thought of him being with you seems to calm your nerves and make it easier to face the day. 

You mostly keep to yourself with the bustle of getting ready. The soft pink dresses the bride picked as your bridesmaids’ dresses are not your normal style or color, but you like how the sleek satin fabric looks on you. It pairs well with your minimal hairstyle and makeup. Before you know it, it’s time for you to go get Soonyoung.

When he opens the door, his face breaks into a huge smile. “You look beautiful!” he exclaims, covering his mouth with both hands. 

“You look so handsome!” you reply, looking him up and down. He looks amazing in his black suit, white shirt, and black tie. 

“You’re not supposed to outshine the bride,” Soonyoung says sternly. “I don’t think they’ll let us in.”

“Stop it,” you say, flustered. 

“I’m serious,” Soonyoung insists. 

“Well, if they don’t let us in, I think I’d prefer that,” you say honestly.

“I’m actually excited,” Soonyoung admits. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Even though my friends are...”

“Kind of awful? Yeah, I’m not worried about it.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I’m not planning on paying them any attention at all,” Soonyoung says simply, his eyes fixed on you. And as he helps you into the driver’s seat, you can’t help but smile.

The wedding is a lavish affair. After the complicated wedding ceremony, where you stood at the farthest distance from the bride and had a hard time tearing your eyes away from Soonyoung, who stared at you the whole time, he whisks you away to your dinner table. 

“Did you enjoy the ceremony?” you ask as Soonyoung pulls out your chair for you to sit down. 

“It was quite a view,” he teases lightly as he sits beside you.

You know what he really meant, and you give him a shy half-smile before replying, “It sure is beautiful out here!” You gesture around at the venue, which is gorgeous — a beautiful private property with loads of land, and a gazebo on the banks of a large pond, where the ceremony took place.

Soonyoung scoffs. “Well, yeah, but you seem determined to miss my point.” Nonchalantly, he slips a hand onto your knee, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. “I’m flirting with you.”

“Oh, are you?” you ask, feigning surprise. “I hadn’t noticed.” But in reality, it’s impossible to stop yourself from beaming. 

“Well, we are married,” Soonyoung says, his hand sliding across your knee to find your hand. He tangles his fingers with yours. “I think it comes with the territory.”

“If you say that too loud, you’re going to make people think it’s true,” you joke.

“Let them think that,” he says, his eyes trained on you in a way that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. You squeeze his hand and look away, slightly panicked.

Your eyes land below the table. “I like your shoes,” you blurt.

Soonyoung looks down at his plain black loafers. “These are like, my least interesting pair of shoes,” he points out with a sly grin.

“Well, you’re an interesting man,” you say, trying to recover but feeling flustered all the same. “What are your most interesting pair of shoes?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“The only thing I can count on is that they’re tiger-related,” you reply, grateful for this subject shift.

Soonyoung nods. “Calvin and Hobbes Air Force Ones,” he confirms proudly. “I should’ve worn them.”

“You would have made the bride angry.”

“That makes me want to wear them even more,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“What’s your beef with my friends?” you ask him lightly, absently trailing one of your hands over his arm.

He leans in to almost-whisper the answer. “They left you vulnerable when they should have been taking care of you, and that bothers me.”

You’re taken aback by how serious the usually silly Soonyoung sounds, but before you have a chance to respond, the music starts, heralding the arrival of the new Mr. And Mrs. You take the moment of cheering and applause to breathe deeply and steady your trembling hands. This is Soonyoung, you remind yourself. You don’t need to be nervous around him.

You’ve sufficiently pulled yourself together by the time you have Soonyoung’s attention again. “So, what will you do after the wedding is over?” you ask him, trying to keep the new, flirty side of him locked away.

“That’s an amazing question that I actually was going to ask you. Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asks.

“Well, my place is empty tonight, so that sounds kind of fun,” you admit, not sure you fully succeeded at not flirting. 

“Perfect,” he says. “So, what are you in the mood for? Action? Horror? Romcom?”

“How about…a wholesome sports movie? Those are my favorite genre of movies.”

“Really?” he asks with interest. “This surprises me about you.”

The conversation settles into its normal easy rhythm — all through dinner, you talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. When the dancing starts, you allow Soonyoung to pull you into his arms on the dance floor, following his lead in a smooth trot-step. “You’re a good dancer,” you observe.

“I teach kid’s dance classes on the side,” he admits. “It’s my night job.”

“Ah, and here I was, thinking you probably did pole-dancing after hours,” you tease.

“I know you’re not serious, but I am actually extremely flattered you’d assume that,” Soonyoung says. “Pole dancers are strong.”

“So are you,” you point out. 

“How do you know?” he asks.

You swallow hard. “Uh, you — your arms,” you stutter. “They're…really nice.”

Soonyoung (unconsciously?) flexes his bicep under your hand, and your knees nearly buckle. It’s almost pathetic how affected you are by him, especially given that he hasn’t even made a move yet, and you cringe inwardly at yourself.

“Are you okay? You look uncomfortable,” Soonyoung asks. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine?” you reassure, but in the least convincing voice ever. 

“Do you need some water?” he asks, concerned.

“Yes, that’d be amazing,” you say, shooing him away and fanning at yourself, your mind full of useless chiding for being so embarrassingly whipped.

A tap on your shoulder startles you from your thoughts. “Hi,” says a familiar voice — and your stomach drops.

It’s your ex boyfriend, the one you’d asked your friend not to invite but to no avail. “Hi,” you say shortly. 

“You look great,” he says, to no reply from you. “The color suits you.”

“Is there something you want?” you ask him, trying to make it clear you don’t want to talk with him about anything.

“Just trying to catch up on what’s happened since, well, you know—“

“Since I caught you cheating?” you finish. “Yeah, life’s been really great since then. Thanks for the trust issues.”

He gives a sheepish little grin. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, like he’s a call center employee placating an angry customer. “I got promoted at work.”

You could punch him. You would, if you weren’t at a wedding. Luckily all murderous intent is redirected by a very timely Soonyoung, who arrives on the scene with a confident, “hey, baby!” and a hand outstretched with a glass of water.

“Oh, you came with someone?” your ex says. He sizes up Soonyoung, who is easily bigger than him, and shrugs. “Bad luck. Maybe next time.”

“I was this close to ruining this wedding,” you confess as Soonyoung wraps a protective arm around your waist, watching your ex saunter away. “He started talking about his promotion.”

“Didn’t he cheat on you?” Soonyoung asks, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, scowling.

“Well, drink your water, and then we can dance again. You’ll forget all about him.”

This turns out to be true. Dancing with Soonyoung is so much fun -- he seems unusually good at it, and leads you very well, but also doesn’t take things too seriously, letting you spin him or even pretending to do a dip in which he almost falls over. The whole thing is just so ridiculous that you find yourself giggling through it, needing to pause and take a break. Soonyoung suggests that the two of you take a walk down to the lake, and you readily agree. 

He holds your hand during the walk, and you can feel yourself trying to explain away his behavior -- he’s probably just trying to scare off your ex, or any of the other bridesmaids who’ve been making eyes at him all evening (which you’ve been pretending not to notice or care, but which you most definitely have noticed and are not happy about). Or maybe he just wants some affection. Or maybe it’s something else. It certainly can’t be the simplest explanation -- that Soonyoung likes you in the same way you like him. 

The banks of the water are muddy and slick, and you and Soonyoung have to cling to each other for balance, but you’re still giggling like children as you kick off your shoes and let your toes sink into the murky shallows of the pond. “It’s freezing,” you say, hopping out almost immediately and colliding with Soonyoung, who automatically throws his arms out to steady you. Your laughter fades as you look into his eyes, which are wide and uncharacteristically shy and nervous. He swallows. Hard.

“Uh....” he says, stammering. “You’re -- you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say in a tense whisper.

“I think I -- I think I like you,” Soonyoung whispers back.

“You think?” you ask, smiling a little.

“No, that was ridiculous,” he corrects. “Uh, I like you. For suresies. For realsies.”

“For suresies and for realsies?” you say with wide eyes, and he cringes.

“Throw me a bone, please,” he whines. “I’m nervous.”

And he is. You can tell that this normally confident boy is all but in pieces after making his confession. So you untangle yourself from Soonyoung’s grasp and turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and looking at him. “So am I,” you admit. 

And at this, Soonyoung beams. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that a smile that lights up a room was a bit of metaphorical nonsense that didn’t truly apply to anyone, but seeing this now, you figure that was an understatement in Soonyoung’s case. This kind of smile from him was enough to support intelligent light on several planets. And you? Just like a moon, you know you’ll be rotating around him your whole life, just reflecting that light. It is impossible to fully describe the way it warms you from the inside out.

You’re so distracted by Soonyoung himself that you don’t notice how he’s leaned in close until his lips brush yours. And, in fact, this move surprises you so much that you jump, startled, which sends you sliding into the mud, dirtying up your pale pink dress and causing an angry honk to emanate from the reeds where you land. Before you know it, a goose is hissing in your ear, and you shriek with terror as you scramble to your feet, running with all your might from the furious bird, who emerges from its marshy home to chase you up the hill toward the wedding party.

You never thought you’d need to answer the question, “Could I beat a goose in a fight?” And now, here you are, with a very clear answer indeed: absolutely not. The goose is fast, using a combination of an aggressive waddle, short bursts of low flight, and what is more than likely a higher-than-average dose of unfettered bloodlust to stay right on your heels all the way onto the dance floor, where wedding guests dive out of the way in cartoonish confusion. You don’t have time to think about how ridiculous you must look, covered in mud, running from a murderous goose, before Soonyoung firmly plants himself in front of the rampaging animal. 

And inexplicably, it stops, looking up at Soonyoung with its unsettlingly blue eyes. He stands with his hands on his hips and glares down at the goose. “You interrupted what was supposed to be a very romantic moment for me,” he scolds. “Now shoo!”

And you watch, dumbfounded, as the goose gives a plaintive squawk before toddling back to its pond. “How did you do that?” you gasp. 

It is only then that you realize the entire wedding is staring at you. And for good reason -- the bride and groom are about to cut the cake. The terror of being chased by Satan’s personal fowl pales in comparison to the sight of the bride. Her eyes are even more murderous than the bird’s had been -- and she’s holding a cake knife to boot. 

So, before any other awful things can happen, you grab Soonyoung’s hand and run. Out of the wedding area, off the farm, onto the dirt road where you parked your car, realizing too late you left your shoes by the pond and not daring to face the wedding party or the goose to retrieve them. By the time you arrive at your car, you’re laughing so hard you’re crying. Soonyoung, though bewildered, joins in, and the two of you double over, struggling to breathe with the absurdity of it all.

When you’ve both been reduced to gasps for air, Soonyoung turns to you, leaning back against your passenger side door for support. “Is every day of your life like this?” he asks through deep breaths.

“Why?” you ask, your face falling. “Are you getting tired of rescuing me?”

He chuckles. Unexpectedly, he pulls you toward him by the waist, seemingly unbothered by the mud. “Not at all,” he says, pulling a stray clump of weeds from your hair. “I’d rescue you every day if you asked. I just need to know how much prep work I need to be doing. I mean, do I need to start a new workout routine? Do I need to learn karate geared toward beating up ducks?”

“That was a goose,” you correct. Then you register what he said. “You’d rescue me every day?”

He suddenly looks nervous again. “If you want,” he offers, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear.

But your answering smile is enough to tell him that’s exactly what you want. With a mite more confidence, he grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb and pulls your lips to his.

This kiss is much more substantial than the last. Soonyoung’s arms wrap around you, his hands resting on the small of your back, locking you into his grasp and making it difficult for you to pull away -- as if you would, because his kisses are sweeter than summer strawberries. As the warm winds begin to pick up speed, as your hair whips around you and your muddy dress is blown every which way, your heart seems to crystalize into calmness. Kissing Soonyoung feels like putting the last piece into a puzzle, like coming inside from a cold rain to a warm fire, like watching bees flit from flower to flower in a late spring sunset. It feels perfect. It feels right.

You could go on kissing Soonyoung forever, until the two of you became statues locked in an embrace, but eventually you do pull away. Soonyoung laughs at the deep, shaky breath you take, and so do you, bringing a hand to touch his pink cheek in wonder. “You’re so beautiful,” you tell him.

“Not as much as you,” he replies warmly. 

Then a thought strikes you. “Also, when were you going to tell me you have mind control over geese?”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t mind control. It was the eye of the tiger.” He brings his hand up in an imitation of a paw print, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Okay. If you’re a Disney Princess, you can just say that.”

“Okay. I’m a Disney Princess,” Soonyoung agrees. “Does that make you happy?”

“Only if I get to be the Disney Prince,” you mumble, nestling into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Deal,” he replies. You can hear the smile in his voice as he does.

When I Kissed the Teacher

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, humor

Summary: Mr. Kim has a crush, to his students that much is clear. It's also clear that you like him too. What happens when a group of meddlesome ten year olds decide to play cupid for their two favorite teachers?

Warnings: science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee

Length: ~5.2k

Note: it's here! thank you to @gyuwoncheol and @gyuswhore for beta reading and to my lovely @tomodachiii for fact checking my knowledge of primary school lol

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.

"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"

Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.

“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.

Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”

The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”

Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”

“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”

“How do you know they were for my class?”

You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.

“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.

“If you need paper, ask!”

Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?” 

“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”

“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.

Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.

—

“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”

The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.

“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”

A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”

Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”

They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.

“What's this about?” you ask.

Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.” 

“You’re kidding.”

Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.

“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”

“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.

Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.

The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.

“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”

The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.

“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.

Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.” 

Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.

So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.

Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”

“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.

“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”

Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”

Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.

“Meet at the tree during recess.” 

The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.

A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.

Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.

Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.

Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.

Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.

“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.

The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.

“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.

The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple. 

“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.

The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.

‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’ 

You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention. 

“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.

“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.” 

“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”

“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”

Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.

You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.

When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.

Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.

Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper. 

With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’

“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks. 

You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”

“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”

“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”

“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”

You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”

Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book. 

You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.

Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note. 

The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.

We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer

As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.

Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday. 

Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.

You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”

“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.” 

You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.

I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer

None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful. 

“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.

A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself. 

He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.

Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”

More screams bounce off the walls.

“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.

The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.

You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.

“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.

“Creative strategy,” he argues.

Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks. 

Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time. 

“We finished first!”

“No, we did!”

“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”

The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.

The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.

“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.

“Pasta salad.”

“Wanna trade?” 

“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.

“Pasta salad.”

You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.

—

After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.

Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.

“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”

“I was just…going to the bathroom!”

“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”

“It was gross!”

Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.

“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.” 

You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.

“Arin, what are you doing?” 

“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”

Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.

Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.

You jump back up.“What the—”

“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.

“Arin, what is going on?” 

“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.

“And why are you trying to scare me?” 

Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.

Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K

“Hana! What are you doing?”

“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.

Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.

“Sit. Now.”

They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.

You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.

Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.

“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”

“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.

Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.

“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.

“Thought what?”

“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”

“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”

They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’

Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.

“We can tell!”

“You’re perfect for eachother!”

“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”

“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.

It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”

“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.

Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.

“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”

“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.

“Me too.” 

You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.

“How about we get you two back to class?”

“But what about Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”

“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”

The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.

“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”

All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own. 

“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”

Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders. 

You’ll explain everything later.

You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’

Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.

But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.

It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.

His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”

“Seriously?” you choke.

The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee. 

Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.

—

Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.

He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.

“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks. 

Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.

So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.

Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”

“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.

“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”

Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”

“I–My friend does!”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods.

“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well that's tough.” 

“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”

“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”

“Did she run fast?”

The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.

“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”

“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”

“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”

“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”

“Poof?”

“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”

“What happened after that?”

“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”

“She knew you liked her?”

Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”

“So I should try and tell her I like her?”

“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.

Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”

“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”

Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench. 

“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”

Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?” 

“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”

“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure. 

Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you. 

Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.

“They think I have a crush on you too.”

You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago. 

You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Do I, what?”

“Have a crush on me?”

“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”

“Damn right you do.”

Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.

Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door. 

“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”

“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”

“It had to be them!”

They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.

Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout. 

Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by. 

“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”

“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about. 

An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.

Who on earth?

As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.

“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.

You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.

“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”

He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.

“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.

Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!” 

“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.

Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.

A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors. 

Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit. 

But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.

You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.

When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.

Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.

Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.

-

Fic taglist: @tacosandbitch @leechanniee @syprosight @prettygyuuu @itza-meee @cottoncheol @ashluvy @jkslvsnella @xuimhao @vanishingboots @miujunhui @viciousdarlings @imprettyweird @akeminy @sana-is-ms-rmty @jayfrvr @watermelonsugawara @bouclesdefeu

Permanent taglist:

@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

MINGYU for Arena Homme+ Korea, March 2024

The cutest of the cutie patooties

DINO Esquire

blanket fort | seokmin

haven't published anything in 5ever so here's a lil drabble. seokmin is so cute and silly and i would love to build a fort with him <3 also idk but i don't think there's any warnings.

"you didn't think this through, at all, even a little bit."

"sure didn't."

"have you ever built a blanket fort before?" you ask with an amused shake of your head.

"not even one time," seokmin admits, and you both giggle.

"really? tragic." you kiss his fingers intertwined with yours as you look at the mess on the living room floor in front of the TV. there was almost nothing that identified it as even an attempt at a fort -- just a clump of sheets, fluffy blankets, and the occasional pillow or two. "why didn't you ask for help?"

"because," he sasses, "i was trying to surprise you." he pulls out his phone and shows you a photo of an incredible blanket fort on pinterest. "this was my goal. and this is the reality." he can't help but laugh at himself.

the fort in the picture is beautiful, strung with fairy lights and made of cute floral blankets. it doesn't resemble the knotted lump in the center of the room at all, but you're still touched that he tried. "well, i have amazing news," you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "i'm the best blanket fort-builder in the universe."

"well, that's quite the claim," he says, wrapping his own arms around your waist and pecking you on the lips. "wanna back it up?"

and so, in the fading, golden afternoon light, you help the most beautiful boy in the world build a blanket fort. the pile of blankets transforms into a tent-like structure around the TV. seokmin helps you drag the mattress into the fort, and the two of you snuggle together while you watch your favorite show, his hands dragging soft lines across the back of your arms. somehow, these tiny moments are the things that give your life the most meaning -- laying here with seokmin on a windy fall evening, feeling loved and protected in his arms.

"you were right," he mumbles sleepily, interrupting your gentle thoughts.

"about what?"

"you are the best fort-builder in the universe."

gotta add this to my tbr :)))))))

Love Me Out Loud

Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader

Featuring: BooSeokSoon, the rest of team ENFJ, Kim Taehyung, Irene/Joohyun, Younghee

Synopsis: Kim Mingyu was your first, but to him, he was for sure you were his endgame. One year out from university, no one expected you to be dating the former campus heartthrob. It's why you had to hide it from everyone – Mingyu's 14.5K Instagram followers, at least. However, the return of your childhood best friend Kim Taehyung to Seoul for a wedding, forces Mingyu to rethink the secrecy of your whole relationship. 

Genre: Fluff, angst, smidgen of crack, established relationship, secretbf!mingyu, medschoolgrad!reader, childhood bestfriend!taehyung, bestfriend!younghee, title inspired by Chungha's Love Me Out Loud

Warnings: Use of profanity, mentions of food and alcohol, inaccurate statistics about couples, lack of communication, insecurities, yes I chose cliché wedding songs . . . I think that's it?

WC: ~14.6K

A/N: Surprise 🤡 This fic was inspired by Mingyu's IG thirst photos. Also . . . high-key low-key me projecting my beef with him onto the couple in this au😳 I deeply apologize in advance if the main conflict of this fic is kind of stupid 😭 I needed to . . . uh, vent out some steam :') Only Kim Mingyu can make me feel this deeply to the point where I can smash out almost 15K words in three sittings, despite recently declaring Vernon (and maybe Jihoon) as my new biases . . . (I am not proud).

I was this close to throwing out this fic, but @onlymingyus encouraged me to follow through with it, so here's the final result. Thank you for believing in my hot recycling writing when I can't, fam 😭

Other things: Per usual, this is unedited, so I'm sorry for any grammar and error mistakes. One of these days when I'm feeling ambitious, I will come back and fix them. This will probably be my last update in a while! I have a couple big exams coming up I need to focus on. I also need to work on those 1K fic drabbles (and finishing my 2 other series 🤡)! I'll be lurking around simping over Vernon, but for the most part, I'll see you all on the other side in a few weeks, hopefully having passed my exams with flying colors and with some new stories and updates in hand.

Last, Kim Mingyu if you're reading this: Sir, please love me back in my dreams at the bare minimum!!! 😭💔 #iykyk

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @woozarts @wonuziex @rockwidthyou @bibinnieposts @jeonghanniehae95

“He looks like a . . . a fuck boy.”

Her brows knitted together with a frown set on her lips, Younghee sank down into the wooden chair and shot you a concerned look. Mirroring her disappointment, though for different reasons, you pouted and lowered the image of your new boyfriend closer to your chest. Silently, you clicked the side button of your phone that turned your screen black. 

“He’s not,” you mumbled, your feelings hurt that your best friend would think you were that dumb to fall for a fuck boy. 

Younghee let out a heavy sigh, running her hands through her long wavy black hair. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear and clasped her hands together, tilting her head curiously to the side. “What’s his name again?”

“Mingyu,” you replied promptly, “Kim Mingyu.”

“Kim Mingyu, Kim Mingyu, Kim Mingyu,” she repeated like a mantra, tapping her chin curiously. She narrowed her eyes, “The name sounds familiar.”

“He . . . went to the same uni as me,” you added – not that it mattered a whole lot. Younghee didn’t know many of your friends from university as she didn’t attend with you when the both of you graduated from high school. Rather, she went down her own unique path, opting to attend culinary school and now owning her own bakery. Busy with your post-graduation and adult lives, the two of you hardly found the time to sit down like this and catch up anymore – it’s almost been a year since you last saw Younghee and had a lot to update her on, your relationship Mingyu being the main new occurrence. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she asked, “I don’t remember you talking about him.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” you cleared your throat and took a long sip of your own drink before replying. “We didn’t run in the same circles – I mean, we did, he’s friends with Seokmin and Seungkwan, but I was hardly around when he was because ya know, medical school is busy . . . We met after I graduated.”

“Ah,” Younghee nodded slowly. 

“He’s really nice – a sweetheart,” you volunteered. You rubbed your arm, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Treats me well . . . and s-stuff.”

“I mean, I hope he does,” Younghee replied. She shrugged and turned back to her iced coffee, twirling the straw nonchalantly as the ice sloshed against one another inside. 

You frowned and let out a heavy sigh. Your shoulders slumped forward. “What don’t you like about him already? You haven’t even met him yet”

“I never said I didn’t like him.”

“You said he was a fuck boy and keep giving me these weird looks.”

Younghee rolled her eyes. She hated how observant you were at the wrong times. “I said he looked like a fuck boy,” she pointed at your phone, “And I don’t know? It’s the air, the vibe, about him in his pictures? He’s definitely good-looking and you can tell he knows it – it’s like . . . arrogant?”

“He’s not–”

“And don’t lie to me, you can tell, the man has had bitches before you.”

“Okay and? We’re nearing our thirties, haven’t we all dated someone at this point?”

“You’ve never dated anyone before Mingyu and there’s a chance that there will be bitches after you.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” you scoffed. As much as you loved your best friend, she was quick to judge and did not know how to filter herself at times. “Also, I did date before this! There was –”

Younghee pointed at you, her eyes wide and playful as she was trying to make a point. “Hoseok doesn’t count – you both were so shy, nothing came about it.”

Annoyed, you pressed your lips tightly, waiting for Younghee to finish rattling off nonsense about Mingyu. She wasn’t wrong per se, but she also wasn’t right. Mingyu was one of three major heartthrobs at your university, and unironically, they were best friends with one another: Kim Mingyu, Joshua Hong, and Lee Chan. Like those cheesy coming-of-age movies set in high school, people gawked at them in the hallways while they blessed everyone with their presence. Women flocked in their direction at parties, hoping at a shot to be their companion for the night, or perhaps even the next few months. 

They each had their own charms, it just depended on what you preferred. Joshua Hong was the soft “indie” type. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming and sketching away in his notebook or strumming his guitar during his free time, the former Film major was quite the romantic. He was warm, kind, and soft-hearted. He was the owner of the gentle tinkling laugh that had women and men alike on their knees. Lee Chan was the youngest, but the boldest, of the trio. Effortlessly, funny and shameless, he was quite the flirt; yet known to be quite serious when it came to studies. And last: Kim Mingyu – arguably the most popular out of the three of them. He was a man written by a woman: Handsome, tall, well-built, respectful, and friendly. His photos on Instagram surmounted hundreds of likes within hours of posting them. Rumor had it that brands had offered him deals for modeling, but he always turned them down, opting to focus on pursuing his career in architecture instead. He was practically a university socialite, though that did come with a downside. 

“Are you done?” you asked when you saw Younghee lean back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

She nodded. “All I’m saying is you need to be careful with men who look like him. Looks can be deceiving.”

“I understand where you’re coming from and thank you for your concern,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “But . . . give him a chance? Mingyu’s . . . the first guy I’ve really liked in a long time.” You peered up at Younghee through your lashes, gnawing at your bottom lip. “I also thought he was going to be like that in university, up to when Seungkwan first introduced us: arrogant, only here for an ego boost and to play with me and go about his life, but . . . I don’t know, he has his flaws, but something’s . . . different about him. I promise.”

Younghee eyed you curiously, chewing the tip of her straw between her pearly white teeth. She turned your words in her head over and over like she was observing a stone in her hand. To her, Mingyu was an interesting shift from your type, which you had claimed your last crush, Hoseok, was. He wasn’t ugly, but from the first look, you knew that wasn't all there was to him like Mingyu. Hoseok was cheerful – he added color to your dull, gray life. His style was definitely unique to put it kindly, but he was supportive and got along well with all of your friends, especially Seokmin. She hadn’t met him yet, but one look at the picture of Mingyu wearing a black T-shirt reading, “ART THAT KILLS,” and coyly looking at the camera while putting on his headphones was enough to set off alarms in her head. 

Younghee let out a sigh and dropped her empty plastic cup onto the table. Her lips contorted as her eyes wandered around the cafe before they landed on you. Reaching over to place her hand over your clasped ones, she leaned in, trying to read your face. Clearly, you were upset with her. She wasn’t sure if you were just so far up Mingyu’s ass that you didn’t see the red flags, or maybe, she was wrong and Mingyu really was a good guy, so you genuinely did like him. 

“How long have the two of you been dating again?” Younghee asked. 

“Seven months,” you mumbled. 

She nodded. It was a sizable amount of time and you usually did have a good read on people to break things off before they got toxic – but maybe Kim Mingyu was a different breed. “And why is that I’m only finding out about him now? As your best friend, I kind of expect you to blow up my phone the day you made it official.”

“We agreed to keep it on the down-low,” you played with your thumbs, avoiding her eyes. Your mind flitted to the day, Mingyu and you talked about it on his old beat up blue couch. You still remembered the way his hands gingerly crept up to caress your own, his eyes silently pleading you to give him a chance.  “A secret, if you will?”

“But I’m your best friend,” Younghee frowned. She felt her stomach churn, though she was trying to keep calm and let you explain your side of the story before she misunderstood.

“You are!” you exclaimed, covering her hands with yours now. You folded your thumbs over her fingers. “B-but for my sake, I chose to keep it a secret and I asked him to do the same – he was only doing what I asked him to do . . . Not many people knew about us. Only Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Seokmin really did – Seungkwan set us up anyhow. Mingyu only told his friends recently too.”

“Okay,” Younghee replied slowly, “Why did you want to keep it a secret then?”

“I - I . . . Mingyu is, err, famous?” you offered. 

“All of it in one go, girlie, don’t stutter,” Younghee encouraged you, “I won’t understand otherwise.”

You huffed out a breath, blowing off the fringes in your eyes. “This is so cliche,” you muttered, “But Mingyu . . . was the, uh, ‘campus heartthrob’ at our university. A lot of people liked him and, uh, you were right, he dated a lot of people before me. With those people, he . . . was very vocal about his relationship with them on Instagram – you know, like, posting cute couple pictures and stuff. You knew when they were together, and you knew when they weren’t anymore, or when he found someone else. As much as I like him, I don’t want everyone from university who follows him to be all up in my business – especially since we graduated already. I-I like my privacy and the small world I built in university. You know too, I hardly use my IG account.”

“Anything else?” Younghee offered, giving you the space to add any sparing details. 

Biting your bottom lip, you replied, “I’m also scared about how my parents, especially my mom, will react when they find out I’m dating Mingyu . . . You know how they are.”

“You didn’t even tell your mom!?” Younghee exclaimed. 

“I know I’m almost twenty-six and I shouldn’t be scared of my mother, but I am,” you wailed, burying your head in your arms. “I wanted to be sure before I introduced Mingyu to them, let alone, tell them about him because I’m scared they’ll give the same scolding you did – but worse.”

Younghee let out a chortle. She rounded the table to sit in the seat next to you, pulling your form into her arms. “You’re the cutest.”

“Stop finding joy in my misery,” you whined. 

“But in all seriousness,” Younghee rubbed circles into your back, “I get it now. It makes sense why you kept it from me, especially when we run such opposite lives – you at the hospital and me at my bakery.”

You nodded, letting out a soft hum. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Though,” Younghee started teasingly. You glowered at her in annoyance, only eliciting a playful smile dancing on her lips, “You must really like him if you’re this cautious and scared.”

You shrank back against the window. “I’m just . . . not sure he feels the same. What if I do like him more than he likes me?”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s Kim Mingyu, and I’m me – I didn’t see this coming.”

“Did he approach you, or did you approach him?”

You thought for a bit. “The former.”

“And what made you cave in?”

“ . . . Seungkwan?”

“You dated him for Seungkwan?” 

You shook your head furiously. “No, no, no – I, um . . . Mingyu . . . after we met at Seokmin’s birthday party, we, uh, hung out a few times – as friends, friends only. But one day, he just casually asked me out on a date.”

“And how does Seungkwan play into all of this?” Younghee shook her head. 

“At first I told him no because I thought he was joking, but he was persistent. The first time turned into a second, then a third, then a fourth. I thought he’d give up by the fifth time, but he asked again, and he probably told Seungkwan about it because shortly after, he gave me a good long talk,” you peered up Younghee, “You know, Seungkwan and his long talks.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she chuckled and replied, “I know them the best.”

“But yeah,” you said in a small voice, perching your chin meekly on your hand. 

“Well, I think he’d be blind not to like you as much as you like him,” Younghee reassured you. 

You scoffed. “You’re obligated to say that as my best friend.”

“Y/N,” Younghee rolled her eyes, “You’re ambitious, pretty, humble, easygoing – you’re a fucking doctor for heaven’s sake. You’re everyone’s dream girl. Give yourself some credit.”

“I don’t know, Younghee,” you muttered. 

Younghee wanted to shake you. As amazing as you were, your insecurity was one of the things that always seemed to get the best of you. It made her heartache that after all your achievements at such a young age, you still succumbed to self-doubt. If only you saw you through her eyes. 

“When do I get to meet this ‘Kim Mingyu’?” Younghee asked, hoping to get your mind off of things. 

“You . . . want to meet him?” you asked nervously instead. 

She nodded. “I need to scope him out – make sure, he’s not here to play with my best friend’s heart.”

“Oh god – don’t. Soonyoung already gave him a hard enough time,” you chuckled at the memory of Soonyoung’s shocked expression when the two of you showed up hand-in-hand, the older man eventually pulling Mingyu aside and giving what Mingyu described as a “stern dad warning.” “But I do really want you to meet him . . . and he wants to meet you too.”

“Oh?”

“I talk a lot about you to him,” you nudged her in her ribs. 

Younghee smiled and pulled you into another hug. “I’m happy for you, truly – though, I don’t trust Mingyu 100% yet. Come by the bakery after work or on the weekend sometime. We’re gonna play on my turf.”

“Younghee,” you warned, jokingly. 

As you pulled away, your phone lit up, Mingyu’s caller ID, a photo of him with his dog Bobpul that he insisted on, displaying on the screen. Younghee wiggled her eyebrows at you playfully. 

“Hello?” you answered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Younghee moved to press her ear next to your phone, hoping to also catch a word or two from your boyfriend.

“What are you doing right now? Where are you?” Mingyu asked softly. His voice was rasp and low as if he just woke up from a nap. 

“I’m meeting with Younghee, remember?” you peered up at your best friend. She smirked at you, lightly slapping your shoulder in excitement. 

Mingyu let out a soft hum. You heard ‘poof’ in the background, assuming he rolled onto his back and collapsed on his bed. “How much longer are you gonna be there? Do you work today? I miss you – I want to see you.”

“I don’t work today, but I was hoping to spend more time with Younghee,” you side glanced at her, heat creeping across your cheeks. She was angrily holding up her two pointer fingers in a cross, suggesting you cancel your plans and run home to Mingyu. You rolled your eyes and shoved her away. “You know I only get to see her every few months and I saw you two days ago.”

“Mmm . . . it’s been too long though,” Mingyu groaned. 

“I’ll see you tonight? After the movie?” you offered. 

“I wanna see you now,” he chuckled. 

“Gyu.”

“Y/N.”

“You are insufferable,” you chortled. 

“But you’re stuck with me, so,” you could just picture him skittishly shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ll come over after, okay?”

“Okay,” he pouted jokingly, “Don’t be too long, love.”

“Bye, Gyu.”

“Bye.”

When you ended the call, you were met with Younghee’s shit-eating grin. A moment of silence passed before she erupted in a thunder of squeals and giggles. 

“You two are so gross, but so cute!” she latched onto your arm. “‘Love’? What other pet names does he have for you? Babe? Honey? Sweetheart?”

“Stop,” you groaned, reaching for your purse. “Let’s just go to the movies.”

“Sure thing, love,” Younghee winked facetiously. 

. . . .

As promised, you returned to Mingyu’s apartment that evening. Initially, you had only planned on staying a few hours before returning to your own home; however, like more times than not, he managed to convince you to stay the night. Hence, why you were lying in the crook of his arm on his bed, wearing one of his many black T-shirts that were much too large for you, the hem hitting you below mid-thigh.

Because Mingyu couldn’t sleep unless it was completely pitch black, there wasn't a trace of light. He had chosen a windowless bedroom, so not even the slightest sliver of moonlight would seep through. Your only sense of him was his large body half underneath you and the steady rise and fall of breathing. 

“I told Younghee about us,” you muttered, tracing invisible circles into his abdomen.

Mingyu replied with a soft hum, followed by a sigh of relief. You felt him shifting underneath you, turning until you were laying on his bicep. You peered up at him through your lashes, the light from outside reflecting off his deep brown irises shining like stars. Mingyu’s hair was getting long as his messy dark bangs were starting to skim the tops of his lashes. 

Mingyu reached over and brushed a few strands of loose hair from your face, letting his fingers linger a little longer along the curves of your cheeks. He gave you a small smile. “And?”

“Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to sugarcoat it a little?” you whispered. 

His smile grew into a grin – he was already expecting to not be well-received by Younghee as you’ve told him she was rather blunt and critical. It took her almost half a year to warm up to Seokmin because she claimed he was too nice to be true. Especially in the case that he was your first boyfriend in a while, Mingyu knew he’d have to be more than ‘nice’ for Younghee to welcome him into your life. 

Mingyu slipped his arms lower, wrapping them around your waist. He pulled you closer to him; you automatically placed both of your hands on his chest in efforts to create some distance between the two of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his physical affection, but rather, you weren’t used to someone being so clingy and touchy with you like this before. 

“Lay it on me, love,” Mingyu whispered, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I have to hold you in case it hurts too much.”

“You can just hold me if you want to, Gyu,” you giggled. 

“You’re my emotional support teddy bear,” he insisted. 

You rolled your eyes. Nonetheless, you found yourself snaking your arms around his waist as well. “Younghee thought you looked like a fuck boy.”

“Hhmm,” Mingyu hummed. You could already picture the slight pout setting on his face. You knew he didn’t like it when people made this assumption about him based on his appearance. 

“She’s . . . kind of nervous about you for me,” you continued to explain. It was as Mingyu expected, “But . . . I reassured her that you were good and she wants to meet you – but she thinks we’re gross.”

Mingyu let out a breathy chuckle. “Why?”

“When you called, she overheard you calling me ‘love’,” you squirmed a little in his hold. 

“Do you think it’s gross?” Mingyu asked instead. 

You pressed your lips into a tightline, answering his question with silence. Had you been an outsider watching the two of you, you might have said the same thing as Younghee: gross. However, admittedly, the pet names he gave you like, ‘love’ and ‘teddy bear’ made you feel warm and fuzzy inside – almost special if you will. There was a small voice inside of you that questioned if he did the same with his various past girlfriends. 

You buried your face into his chest, the scent of floral laundry detergent filling your nostrils. He must’ve pulled this out of the dryer recently. You felt a rumble bubbling through his body as Mingyu let out another chuckle at your reaction. You had a feeling, he already knew what you were going to say. You’ve only been dating seven months, but he already read you so well. 

“Kind of,” you finally replied, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“I . . . don’t blame you,” he reassured you. He planted a brief kiss on the crown of your head, while rubbing your back. “We are kind of gross, but . . . I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like it when you call me ‘Gyu.’”

“It’s not that special of a nickname,” you pointed out. 

“It is when you say it,” he immediately replied. 

You were glad he couldn’t see you right now as your cheeks grew warm. Again, you found yourself burying your face deeper into his chest – as if it could take anymore of you. Simultaneously, you were silently cursing yourself for swooning so easily at each flirt he shot your way. You shouldn’t let him have this much of an effect on you. What happens when the honeymoon phase is over? Will he still be calling you ‘love’? Will you still feel this special for doing the bare minimum?

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asked, his voice soft. 

“Nothing,” you lied. 

“You’ve been quiet for a while now though.”

“I’m just getting tired,” you sighed. You pulled back from his chest, fluttering your eyes shut. “We should sleep.”

Because he didn’t want to argue, Mingyu chose to leave it at that. Perhaps another day he’ll ask what’s been keeping you so preoccupied. With a deep breath, Mingyu turned and tightened his grip on you, molding his body against yours. He could feel you moving in his arms, trying to find a position to get comfortable. 

“Good night, Gyu,” you whispered when you had stopped turning. 

“Good night, love,” Mingyu replied. 

. . . .

You spun around at the familiar sound of his Leica camera shutter going off. Mingyu smiled softly, a fond look in his eyes as he admired the photo on the back screen. Placing the pumpkin spice candle back on the shelf, you shoved your hands in the pockets of your peacoat and walked over to him. Leaning over, you tiptoed peering over his shoulder looking on as well. The picture was of your profile as you read the label of the candle, your hair spilling over your shoulder. You knew Mingyu loved photography and you could appreciate it, but you couldn’t help but frown at the thought of him taking photos of you unaware. You just didn’t like taking pictures unless you had to; they made you uncomfortable, even if it was just Mingyu. Silently, you nudged his side, snapping him out of his musing. Mingyu lowered his camera and turned to face you, a nervous smile dancing on his lips. 

“Gyu,” you said softly, “You know I don’t like pictures.”

“You looked nice though,” he mumbled. 

You frowned at him. 

“Candid pictures are the best,” he tried to convince you. 

When you didn’t respond, only pressing your lips into a thin line and looking away, Mingyu finally relented with a soft sigh. He only wanted to love and appreciate you for who you were and that included taking pictures. He wanted to show you, you through his point-of-view; yet, you didn’t want it. Hooking the red camera strap around his neck, he reached over to place his hand on the crook of your elbow, tugging you closer towards him. 

“Hey,” he said more firmly this time. You peered up at him silently through your lashes. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but . . . I just like taking pictures of the people I love.”

Though you understood where he was coming from, it didn’t necessarily make you feel any better. Especially when the Instagram images of Mingyu with his previous girlfriends have flashed through your mind. 

“You’re beautiful and I just want to remember small moments like this with you,” his hand trailed from your elbow, down your forearm, naturally fitting them into yours. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. “But if you really are against it, I’ll stop.”

Guilt flooded your system at his words – it was the same unsettling feeling you had when you had asked him to delete his first Instagram story of the two of you. It was a photo taken by Seungkwan, Mingyu’s arm wrapped loosely over your shoulder while your head was tucked away in the nape of his neck with your arm resting on his chest – a closer look would reveal the bashful smile on your face. 

“Why?” Mingyu had asked innocently through the phone when you had anxiously called to ask him the favor. 

“I just like my privacy,” you had simply told him. “I would also rather . . . uh, keep our relationship out of the . . . public eye right now,” you chuckled nervously, “On the down-low?”

It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. 

“Okay,” he replied. Little did you know, his heart sank a little. He was excited for your relationship when it started that late spring – as corny as it sounded, it was as if the cherry blossoms bloomed late that year, just for the two of you to come together. Nonetheless, Mingyu wanted to try and be understanding and accommodating – you weren’t quite like any of the other girls he dated previously. “For future references though . . . would you be comfortable if I post pictures of us? Photography,” Mingyu let out a breathy, but nervous chuckle, “It's kind of a hobby of mine and I like sharing the ones I took.”

You had taken a minute to reply, your mind running at 100 miles per hour, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. It was as if the course of your whole relationship flashed before your eyes, the end seemingly soo and grim. 

“I-I . . . um, for now, let’s not,” you stuttered, “Maybe as we go along I’ll be more comfortable – just ask.”

But as time continued, the situation didn’t seem to get better. Similarly to today, you’d only get quiet when he took pictures of you, quickly reminding him not to post it on Instagram. Though he was curious if there was more of a reason beyond your privacy, Mingyu never dared to question you. Yet, it made you all the more guilty as time went on. 

He loved photography and he loved you – Mingyu was an altruistic and rather pure soul, so you knew his words weren’t without substance. You didn’t want to cut him off from his passion either – refraining from sharing your relationship was already a huge sacrifice for him. Mingyu was extroverted, confident, and unafraid to show himself to the world, and this included his photos and you. For that, you loved him, but you wouldn’t want him to change that for you. 

“It’s fine,” you finally muttered. 

Mingyu frowned, unconvinced. “Is it though?”

You pulled away from his hold, though not letting go of his hand. “J-just . . . give me a heads up next time okay? Like ‘hey, babe, I brought my camera and I might snap a few pictures,’ okay?”

A mischievous smile replaced the sullen look on his face. He cocked a curious eyebrow in your direction. “Babe?”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

Mingyu nodded, acknowledging your point. “I know, I know – I’ll let you know next time.”

“Don’t post it on Instagram,” you added. 

Mingyu felt his heart drop into his stomach, unsettled. It’s been seven months and most, if not all of your friends knew at this point. Were you still so worried? Nevertheless, he shooed away the turbulent feeling and nodded. “Promise.”

Looking down at your watch, you tugged Mingyu along towards the exit of the store. “C’mon, it’s almost time to meet Younghee.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, nervous. 

You chuckled at him, “Just be you and she’ll love you.”

“I purposely wore this jacket instead of my leather one because I thought it wouldn’t make me look like a fuck boy,” he noted as you pushed open the door. A clang sounded through the store as you walked out, being met by the crisp air of autumn. 

You paused in your steps, turning to him and grabbing either side of his collar. Pulling him towards you, you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Mr. Kim,” you teased, “I think we’re past the point in adulthood where you can refer yourself to a fuck boy.”

“Mr. Kim? Are we getting–”

You pecked his lips again to stop him before he could say anything suggestive. “We’re not in university anymore,” you explained, “Nor are we . . . the young adults we used to be.”

“Babe,” Mingyu interrupted, dragging on the word. “You don’t have to be in university to be called a ‘fuck boy’ – Joshua has a full-time job and I can assure you, he still is one!”

“But you’re Kim Mingyu and you aren’t one,” you tilted your head coyly at him. 

He pouted, stomping his feet. “I’m just still . . . mildly offended that she would think that.”

“Admittedly, I showed her a very hot picture of you,” you joked, hoping to take the edge off of him. You patted away an invisible crease on his jacket. 

 Mingyu wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, replying in a low voice, “Did you now?”

“I did,” you placed two fingers on his forehead and pushed him away, eliciting a whine from him. You chuckled and marched along. “Younghee doesn’t like people who run late, so we gotta hurry.”

For a moment, Mingyu watched you walk down the street, your hair swaying behind you. He was grinning stupidly and happily, and people were probably staring at him on the street, but he didn’t care. Serendipity was the best way to describe your presence in Mingyu’s life. To this day, he still wonders why he didn’t notice you then when the both of you still attended the same university, your friend groups even clashing through Seungkwan and Seokmin. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have you now. You had problems and differences, but he was hopeful the two of you could work them out. You had to – it’s what people who love each other do when things get hard. 

When you were a good distance away and noticed the lack of Mingyu’s presence, you turned around, eyebrows furrowed at him still standing by the streetlamp where you left him. He was grinning, though you weren’t quite sure at what. Just as you were about to call his name, he came jogging in your direction. Immediately, he linked hands with you and marched forward towards Younghee’s bakery again. Though he paid no mind to you, you stared at his profile curiously. Sometimes, you wondered what went on in that pretty head of his.

. . . .

Mingyu liked to think that he was a confident man, always willing to stand up to a challenge. If there was anything he wanted to do, he could put his mind to it and see it through. Yet, sitting here in front of Younghee with coffees that had grown lukewarm and half-eaten cranberry scones on the table, his cheeks burned with shame, the feeling of failure settling in the bottom of his stomach like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake. Even with your presence next to him, Mingyu couldn’t help but feel like he had just flunked one of his university exams – it was like that, but ten times worse because he knew that there were no revisions. 

To put it plainly, rather than this being a pleasant meeting between new friends, Younghee had just grilled him and Mingyu stumbled through it like a rat lost in the sewers. Interestingly, however, the first meeting seemed to go differently for Younghee, your friend, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, with a sly, but pleased smile dancing on her lips.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Underneath the table, you felt the warmth of Mingyu’s hand previously resting on your thigh leave your leg, nervously clasping his hands together in his own lap. His eyes fell from Younghee, choosing to take up interest in the creases of his hand instead. Mingyu’s short lashes fluttered quickly . . . almost as if he was blinking back tears? Concerned, you reached over and placed your hand over his, gently pushing them apart, so you could slot your hands in one of them. It didn’t require much effort as Mingyu knew, he needed your reassurance more than ever right now. 

“Well, I should probably get back to work,” Younghee casually glanced down at her watch. “Gotta close the shop and prepare for tomorrow – lots to do.”

“Of course,” Mingyu replied softly. He looked up and smiled at your best friend, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

In contrast, Younghee grinned and leaned over the table. “It was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mingyu,” her eyes flickered to you before they rested on his figure again. “I guess . . . you’re . . . much different from what I was expecting. I can kind of see why Y/N likes you now – I hope you stick around, get to know you better, make sure you’re the right fit for my best friend.”

“Younghee,” you warned.

She winked at you playfully. “I’m kidding, Mingyu – but really, it was a pleasure.” Younghee stood up from her chair and wiped her hands on her worn brown apron, stained with blotches of flour here and there. She extended a hand for Mingyu to take. “Come by again, okay?”

Mingyu was utterly confused at the invitation, but took her hand nonetheless. He moved towards the door of the bakery to grant you and your best friend a few moments of privacy to say your goodbyes. You were making your way over, adjusting your purse on your shoulder when Younghee suddenly called your name again. You responded with a soft hum. 

“Joohyun’s getting married at the end of next month,” Younghee announced.

Mingyu watched the way you gripped onto the leather strap, your feet stuttering to a stop at the drop of the news – at least to him it was. 

“Taehyung,” she continued, stretching out the last syllable. Mingyu noted the way your eyes visibly widen at the sound of the name, “He’s coming back for it, ya know?”

“Taehyung?” you choked. You spun around to look at your best friend, your mind reeled back to the lanky teenage boy with the round chocolate eyes and boxy grin, his hair neatly cut into a bowl cut. “As in Kim Taehyung?” 

The space between Mingyu’s eyebrows dipped at the tone of your voice. It was definitely surprise, but was it the good kind? As in you were excited to hear again about this person? Or was it the bad kind, in which he left a dent in your heart? Either way, Mingyu did not have a good feeling about it.

Younghee nodded. “I’m surprised he hasn’t contacted you.”

“He hasn’t,” your voice trailed off, “We haven’t chatted for a while – lost touch the first or second year of university because we both got busy.”

“You’re going, right?” Younghee asked. You saw the way her eyes trailed to your boyfriend standing behind you, her lips pulled mischievously between her teeth.  “With Mingyu?”

Right – Mingyu. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know the way Mingyu’s lips were already set in a small pout, a crease between his sharp brows now softened in a dispirited expression. He thought he knew everything about you – good, straightforward communication and no secrets, like the two of you agreed. But why was this the first time he was hearing about Joohyun and her upcoming wedding when you seemed to have known for a while now? 

Pressing your lips together, you nodded once stiffly. “Y-yeah, I think so.”

The hesitancy in your voice wrung Mingyu’s heart in a funny way. 

“Good,” Younghee chuckled, hiding her smile behind the back of her hand. “Him in a suit would make for a dashing Instagram photo with lots of thirsty comments underneath.”

. . . .

“Who’s Joohyun?” Mingyu finally asked. 

The two of you were on your way back to his car parked a few blocks away from Younghee’s bakery. The first half of the walk was oddly quiet, but you had chalked it up to Mingyu feeling disappointed about his conversation with Younghee. His usual charming ways did not quite work on the girl as it did with most people. You figured he needed his time and space to process the situation, only asking every now and then if he was okay and where he wanted to go for dinner. However, it seemed like it wasn’t Younghee on his mind, but rather someone else. 

Mingyu reached into the pocket of your jacket, intertwining his fingers with yours that were tucked away inside. He eyed your side profile carefully, giving you a soft squeeze, waiting for you to return the gesture – it was your thing. He did this when he was nervous (which was not often) and needed reassurance, but too shy to tell you the truth out loud. 

“She’s, uh . . . a friend,” you explained, squeezing his hand, “From high school.”

“How come you never mentioned her?” he pressed on. 

“She wasn’t ever really relevant in our conversations,” you replied softly, “And we weren’t that close really.”

“But close enough to be invited to her wedding – in a month,” Mingyu huffed, “That you didn’t tell me about.”

“I-I was going to tell you,” you stuttered, “Ask you – eventually. I just wasn’t sure how.”

Mingyu let out a half-hearted chuckle. “How hard could it be? You know I would happily go anywhere with you.”

You shrugged, jostling your linked hands. “Our . . . agreement, you know?”

Even though it’s been months since the two of you decided to keep your relationship fairly hidden, it still didn’t fail to send a sting through his heart. He tried to be understanding and respectful of your values of privacy, but Mingyu liked to love loud. Holding your hands at events with friends, kisses out on the sidewalk, and cute Instagram photos of the most seemingly boring things were beautiful to him. 

“How much longer do we have to keep it this way though?” Mingyu asked quietly. 

“Mingyu,” you started slowly. 

“I mean, at this point, all our friends know, right?” he pressed on, cutting you off. You could hear the exasperation in his voice overtaking his thought process. “Seungkwan, Seokmin, Soonyoung . . . I told Josh and Chan recently, and today we met Younghee.”

“I know,” you muttered, “B-but . . . there are just . . . so many other people who’ll be at the wedding.”

“I don’t care about those other people,” Mingyu deadpanned. 

“And if I do?”

At this point, the both of you had stopped walking, your hands still linked. Mingyu searched your face for an answer – anything, yet you always managed to stay so stoic somehow. In contrast to him who wore his heart on his sleeves and his current emotions written all over his expression, your heart was hidden in the folds of your jacket while an expressionless mask shielded your true feelings. It made you seemingly strong, but sometimes, for him, Mingyu wished you would let your guard down and tell him what was bothering you. 

“Is this about that Taeyong guy?” Mingyu asked abruptly. 

Your eyebrows ticked, furrowing together momentarily before they returned to their places. A small frown on your face, you corrected him, “Taehyung.”

“Taehyung, Taeyong – tomato, to-mah-to.”

“Why are you asking about Taehyung?” 

Mingyu shrugged, “I . . . dunno – you seemed pretty shocked to hear his name again and I was wondering why.”

“He’s just a friend who Younghee and I grew up with.”

“You seem to have a lot of friends I don’t know about,” Mingyu mumbled. 

“He was a neighbor from down the street and we went to school together, but he ended up going to a different university. I really mean it when I say I haven’t seen him since the first year of university,” you quickly summarized, hoping to calm his nerves. “Any other questions?”

Mingyu twisted his lips, glancing at the crack along the curb. “Who was he to you?”

“A friend,” you answered promptly. 

“Anything more?” 

You shook your head fervently. “Why are you so curious?”

“I mean, Younghee specifically mentioned him. Seokmin and Seungkwan went to high school with you too, but she didn’t talk about them going,” he shrugged like a child upset on the playground, “Frankly, I’m curious – perhaps, mildly jealous.”

“Mingyu,” you frowned. You leaned in and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Taehyung was just a good friend of ours and neither of us have really heard from or seen him in a while. We see the other two fairly regularly. I’m surprised Tae’s even coming back for this.”

“Tae?” Mingyu repeated. You’ve only ever shortened his own name – he assumed he was special.

“Gyu,” you scowled at him for latching onto the miniscule change in detail. 

Mingyu gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He should give you the benefit of the doubt, right? It’s been years and if there was something between you and this Taehyung, it would’ve happened already. If you said you were friends, then you must’ve been. He had no reason to question you otherwise. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Mingyu nodded and stepped towards you, bringing his hands up to your waist too. 

“Okay,” he relented. He peered up at you, “But . . . the wedding?”

“What about the wedding?”

“Are we . . .” his voice trailed off, hoping you’d finish the thought for him. 

But your answer was something he didn’t want to hear. 

“I, uh . . . I do want to go with you,” you stuttered, “A-as my plus one.” 

Visibly, Mingyu’s eyes lit up. 

“But, I’m not sure yet,” you finished, your voice soft followed by a shaky breath. “Let me think about it, hm?”

The light in his eyes dimmed as quickly as they came. "What is there to think about?"

"It might not seem like a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to me – just . . . Be patient, okay?"

The corner of his lips sagging, he nodded slowly. “Okay."

Because that’s all he could do right now. 

Be okay with it. 

. . . .

Leaning against the pillar of the front office, Seungkwan cocked a curious eyebrow at you as you walked in, yielding a red lunchbox that you weren’t holding before you left. A wolfish grin grew as you neared with your eyes wide, silently warning him to keep any snark comments he had to himself. It didn’t deter Seungkwan from teasing you, however – it never did, especially when it came to Mingyu. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he jovially joined your side. 

“Mingyu came by again, didn’t he, love?” Seungkwan asked, using the nickname, he’s heard Mingyu call you more than a thousand times at this point. 

“Shut up,” you grumbled. 

“He packed you lunch too?” Seungkwan pointed to the red lunchbox in your hand. “You guys are so domestic.”

“He didn’t – I just forgot it at home,” you tried to explain as you got onto the metal crate. 

“Oh so he spent the night?” Seungkwan pondered aloud, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. 

Aggressively punching the button reading ‘9’, you turned to your supposed friend and glared at him. “Boo Seungkwan if you know what’s good for you–”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Seungkwan let out a boisterous laugh as the elevator door closed. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder. “I just think it’s very cute to see you so in love – I feel like . . . a proud mother, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake him off your shoulder as the elevator door opened. If there was one bad thing about working at the same company as your friend, it’s the constant teasing when you were trying to be serious. The two of you weaved around the hallway towards the lunchroom, engaging in a light conversation about your weekends.

“Younghee finally met Mingyu,” you announced when the two of you settled down at a lunch table. 

“Oh yeah?” Seungkwan stuffed the egg salad sandwich in his mouth. “How’d it go?”

“You know Younghee,” you shrugged, “She was all ‘no shits’ and serious – her talk was worse than Soonyoung’s! I’m pretty sure she scared Mingyu.”

Seungkwan chortled, taking a quick swig of his sparkling water to wash down his food. “Sounds like Younghee.”

“He did well though,” you nodded, poking your chopsticks at your vegetables. “I think she likes him enough for now.”

“Is she the last friend you have to tell?” Seungkwan asked, knowing well about your decision to keep yours and Mingyu’s relationship a secret from the beginning. 

You paused, letting the chopsticks that were halfway to your lips drop with a clatter against the container. Your mind reeled back to the part you left out of meeting with Younghee: Joohyun’s wedding and Taehyung. 

“Younghee brought up Joohyun’s wedding,” you started, your voice suddenly growing soft. 

“And?” Seungkwan pressed on. He was confused with your change in demeanor. 

“I . . . hadn’t told Mingyu about it yet.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan puckered his lips. 

That was kind of bad. 

“Then Younghee said Taehyung was coming back to town for it.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan reiterated, as if it couldn’t get any worse. He remembered Taehyung very well. 

“Yeah,” you muttered. 

Silence ensued while you picked at your food. Seungkwan watched you carefully, questions about your situation spinning in his mind as they always have since you asked him, Seokmin, and Soonyoung to stay quiet about your relationship with Mingyu. Initially, the request to keep it a secret made sense: it was a new relationship, let alone with Mingyu. However, the two of you got along so well, it didn’t make sense for you to be insecure now. You telling Younghee was the final step to ending all of this, no? From Seungkwan’s point-of-view, all your dilemmas and inner turmoil could be solved with one simple solution. 

Holding his sandwich up to his lips, Seungkwan let out a sigh and shook his head. He looked up at you, his round eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it – why don’t you want people to find out about you and Mingyu still?”

You chewed slowly on your rice, taking your time to grind each piece and swallow it down with a sip of ice water. Seungkwan refrained from eating his sandwich until you replied. 

Your eyes flickered hesitantly up at him before they fell on your tray again. Bringing your fist to your lips, you faked a cough, clearing your throat of your food. 

“Y/N,” Seungkwan said sternly. 

“I-it’s . . . too early, okay?” you stuttered. 

“You’ve been together for almost a year now,” he deadpanned. 

“It’s only been seven months,” you corrected him. 

“And?”

“Mingyu’s best relationship lasted six months and we just barely made it past that,” you explained, the pace at which words were flying out of your mouth was astronomical. “I just want to make sure it’s not just a honeymoon phase and our relationship works out okay before it . . . gets out there. I’m comfortable with our close friends knowing, but not the whole world and Mingyu knows quite literally, the whole world.”

“What do you mean?” Seungkwan scrunched up his nose. “He’s friendly, but he doesn’t know the whole world – you're exaggerating.”

You sighed heavily, slumping over on the lunch table. “Unlike me, he’s quite friendly and makes friends anywhere he goes – it could be a rock and he’d somehow make relations with it! His Instagram following is also insane for a regular, non-celeb person.”

Seungkwan frowned and shook his head. “And that matters because . . .?”

You suddenly felt small and bare – vulnerable in a place where you shouldn’t be so. For some reason, however, the small voice at the back of your head told you that maybe you should share this insecurity with someone – and perhaps that someone could also be Seungkwan. “Mingyu’s been in a lot of relationships before me and, uh, I just . . . don’t want to be another girl who dated Kim Mingyu.”

Seungkwan’s eyes soften at your response. 

“Is that why you don’t want to post a picture with him on Instagram?”

“Partly,” you shrugged, “Research also shows that 67 percent of couples who post about their relationship consistently are insecure and about 45 percent of those social media couples break up.” You sucked in a sharp breath and lifted your eyes to meet Seungkwan’s gaze. “And as you know, Mingyu’s past relationships kind of . . . followed that trend.”

“Aaaww, my dear, Y/N,” Seungkwan cooed. He ruffled your hair lovingly. “You really think Mingyu is unsure of your guys’ relationship, so he needs to upload pictures to reinforce it?”

You swatted Seungkwan’s hand away and brushed your strands back into place. “Shut up,” you grumbled. 

Seungkwan smiled at you apologetically, stars shining in his eyes. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“Love is a stretch,” you stammered, “But like? Yeah, um, I like him . . . a lot.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Seungkwan took a bite of his sandwich, “I don’t think you need to worry about anything. You’re different.”

“What do you mean, different?”

“Different from the previous girls,” he replied with his full. He took a swig of his iced Americano to wash the food down. “He’s different with you.”

“As in . . .?”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, shooting you a look of disbelief – as if you grew antennas from your head. “I guess it’s not fair to assume you’d know, but I’ve been around when Mingyu dated other people and I’m currently around while he’s dating you, and honestly? I hope he keeps dating you. Of course, getting engaged and marriage aside, but I’ve never seen him so . . . calm and sure before? I’m not sure if ‘sure’ is the right word, but there’s a sense of stability and content – maturity, maybe? I haven’t seen it before. Sure the other girls might have been prettier or more fun, and he squealed like a thirteen year-old girl getting tickets to a BTS concert after amusement park dates, but with you? He looks like he’s actually having fun cleaning with you.”

You tuned out as Seungkwan continued to ramble on. It was indeed nice to get an outsider’s perspective rather than being stuck in your own head. Your friend was probably right, and you were being irrational. But that’s what fear did to you. Mingyu was understanding and you know if you brought it up eventually, he’d be more than willing to listen and reassure you to the world's end. There was a piece of you that still hesitated, nonetheless. What if he got mad at you?

“If you’re that worried about it, I’d just bring it up to Mingyu – he’s understanding and has a good head on his shoulders,” Seungkwan finally finished ou. 

Stuffing your cheeks with rice, you gave Seungkwan a small nod. “I’ll think about it.”

. . . .

[unknown number]: hey

[unknown number]: this is tae :) 

[unknown number]: kim taehyung from high school if you remember me haha

[unknown number]: younghee gave me your new number – i hope you don’t mind:)

[unknown number]: i just wanted to say hello and see if you were free to meet up?

A warm mug of coffee in his hand, Mingyu paused and stared blankly at your phone as each new message from Taehyung flashed across your screen. He frowned, tightening his abdomen as if it would do anything to control the nerves swirling in the pits of his stomach right now. Baseless thoughts flooding his mind, he failed to hear your padded footsteps behind him.

“Whatcha doing, Gyu?” you asked, reaching for your coat.

Swiftly, he turned around and smiled at you, though it didn't reach his eyes like most times. 

“Ready?” Mingyu asked, avoiding your question. 

He didn’t miss the way the space between your brows dipped slightly at him avoiding your question. You chose not to hound him on it, however. 

“Yeah,” you untucked your hair from the collar and reached for your phone. 

Holding his breath, Mingyu watched you carefully as you swiped at the screen. His heart sank a little when the little smile on your face formed at the new messages from an old friend. It was the smile he pictured you would have every time he sent you something. 

Tugging on the arm of his jacket, Mingyu asked softly, “Who’s got smiling like that?”

You stopped in the middle of tapping away at a new message to Taehyung. You pulled your lips into a slight pout. “Like what?”

Mingyu waved his hand at your face before tucking them into his pockets. “Like that – the small one where you’re incredibly happy but you’re nervous to show it.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, clicking off your phone and dropping it into your purse instead. You extended a hand for him to take. “Only you Mingyu.”

“You sure?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me it was Taehyung messaging you?” Mingyu muttered. 

It was now your turn to frown. You didn’t have anything to hide from him nor was it the idea that he was snooping at your texts that made you upset. It was the fact that he was withholding his feelings from you. He was upset, jealous maybe, and he didn’t want to tell you. 

“Gyu – are you still hung up on that?” you asked.

His gaze drifted to your hands. He rubbed small circles into the back of your skin, opting not to answer. 

Gently, you pulled your hands from him and moved up to cup his cheeks instead, forcing him to look at you. He stared at you reluctantly with his puppy-like eyes. 

“He’s just a friend, Gyu,” you reminded him, “No one’s taking me away from you.”

Mingyu gulped, scared. You’ve never been quite this certain with your words before. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Wrapping his fingers around your own, he pulled them off his face, lacing them together in the space between you. He took note of the new coat of baby pink nail polish on your fingertips.  Silently, he brushed the rough pads of his fingers over them – they were calloused from the barbells at the gym. 

If you told him not to worry, there was no use in worrying, right?

You loved him and he loved you. 

“Okay,” Mingyu finally relented.

“Let’s go get those groceries now, hm?” you hummed, tightening your fingers around his. 

He nodded, his heart swelling once more. It was simple, grocery shopping, but it was in the ordinary things like this that were all the more precious because they were with you. 

. . . .

“Kim Taehyung?” Seokmin sits back, wracking his brain for a mental image of the man. 

Despite your reassurance, Mingyu was growing skeptical – more of Taehyung’s intention than he was of you. These past few days, you had been texting Taehyung non-stop and it was making Mingyu nervous. Your giggles were becoming more frequent and whenever Mingyu asked, it was always “back in high school Taehyung and I did this” or “Taehyung just said the funniest thing” when it wasn’t even that funny. 

It was bearable until it wasn’t. 

When you broke the news to him yesterday that you had agreed to meet up over coffee with Taehyung, it really pressed Mingyu into acceleration mode – nearly veering off a cliff. 

Was Mingyu worried that you would intentionally cheat on him? Absolutely not – you loved him and it showed enough. You were just happy to see your childhood friend again. Admittedly, the two of you did have some pretty bizarre memories. The story of when Taehyung got Hot Tamales stuck in his nose in detention was quite entertaining – Mingyu choked on his salad at that one.

Was Mingyu worried that Taehyung might try to pull something funny and sweep you up from under his nose? Absolutely. You were smart, pretty, shy, but outgoing enough. You had a charm to you that was attractive and alluring. Not to mention, Mingyu has done his research (read: Instagram stalking) and Taehyung was undeniably gorgeous. His aesthetic was classy and sophisticated, sprinkled in with a touch of goofiness. 

He definitely seemed to be “your type” – Taehyung was every girls’ dream type: a handsome gentleman with a touch of humor. 

Hell, even Mingyu almost fell for the man.  

Hence why today, Mingyu recruited the help of Seokmin to prevent you from falling for Taehyung and Taehyung from falling for you.

In an attempt to help jog Seokmin’s, Mingyu slipped his phone across the table, the screen displaying Taehyung’s Instagram page. Seokmin narrows his eyes curiously at his friend and reaches over for the phone, slowly scrolling through the pictures. As he gets further and further down, you could see the epiphany forming on Seokmin’s face. 

“This Kim Taehyung!” Seokmin screeched. He snapped and pointed at Mingyu. The latter winced back in confusion at his friend’s sudden excitement. Hands clasped tightly over Mingyu’s phone, Seokmin leaned over the table as if he had a secret to share with Mingyu. “Taehyung from high school – yes, I remember him. He hung out with Y/N – and so Younghee by default too, a lot. I thought it was a little weird at first, but didn’t think much of it since they just seemed like good friends and he was a nice kid! He grew up on the outskirts of town, kinda grubby, to be honest, but very sweet and goofy – shy too.” 

Seokmin wiggled his eyebrows as if he had the hottest tea to spill. “But,” he dragged out, “Senior year at someone’s graduation party, we found out he did actually have a crush on Y/N!” 

Seokmin glances down at the pictures again, his eyes latching on a black and white photo of Taehyung staring mysteriously into the camera, a hand placed teasingly by his temple. His forearms were ripped. Seokmin shook his head in amazement, letting out a shocked groan. “Wah, I can’t believe he grew up to look like this! He’s gorgeous! Almost identical to V of BTS!”

Eyes downcast on the chipped mahogany table, Mingyu couldn’t help but frown at Seokmin’s reaction. If his friend was this excited and shocked to see Taehyung again, how would you react? Let alone, knowing the two of you were close friends too. 

Seokmin finally took the hint when Mingyu remained quiet, calming down from his marvel. “I mean,” Seokmin coughed, thumbing through Taehyung’s profile some more, “He’s not that handsome – nothing compared to you Mingyu. You’re much better looking than him.” He stopped at a photo of Sesame plushies lined up on the couch. “I mean look at this – he likes stuffed animals like a kid!”

“Seok,” Mingyu deadpanned. 

Seokmin shrugged back, mumbling a soft apology. He cleared his throat. “Okay, um, well, why are you asking if I know him?”

“Y/N’s meeting up with him tomorrow,” Mingyu explained. 

“Aahhh,” Seokmin nodded slowly, starting to put the puzzle pieces together. “You’re nervous she’s gonna fall for him, aren’t you?”

Mingyu’s eyes flickered up timorously at him then downcast at his fingers. 

“Eeeyy,” Seokmin dragged out, “Have a little faith in Y/N? She’s whipped for you even if she holds back a little.”

Mingyu frowned even at Seokmin. 

“Okay, well maybe not a little – she holds back a lot, but she’s just nervous, okay?” Seokmin tried to reassure him. 

“About what? I try my best to remind her she’s the only apple of my eye every day,” Mingyu pouted. 

“I mean, I would be scared too if I was dating you,” Seokmin noted. 

Mingyu furrowed his brows at Seokmin, wondering what his friend was getting at. However, that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting though. He had to get to the main point – it was easy to get caught up in tangents with Seokmin. 

“I need you to help me tomorrow,” Mingyu started again. 

“Huh?” Seokmin frowned. 

“I’m gonna follow Y/N and Taehyung to their coffee thing tomorrow,” Mingyu told him, “Make sure he doesn’t pull any funny moves on her.”

“Mingyu, don’t you think that’s a little –”

Mingyu sighed heavily, cutting off his friend. “I . . . just want to make sure, Seok,” he fumbled with his thumbs. “I . . . really like Y/N – like really, really, really like her.”

“So you . . . love  . . . her?”

“I . . . think so,” Mingyu pressed his lips into a thin line. “I just . . . don’t want her to slip out of my grasp.”

MIngyu looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes literally sagging at the thought of losing you. The sad expression on Mingyu’s face tugged at Seokmin’s heartstrings (granted, he cried very easily, but still). What's worse could happen if he just lets Mingyu follow you this once? Mingyu would only be reassured because Seokmin was sure you wouldn’t swoon so easily for Taehyung. If you had, you wouldn’t be here with Mingyu all these years later. 

“Fine,” Seokmin sighed. “Whatchu got for disguises?”

. . . .

Detective trench coats, sunglasses, and a fake mustache. 

Very original. 

Seokmin rolled his eyes behind his Ray Ban sunglasses as Mingyu looked not very covertly over his menu, craning his neck to get a better look at you and Taehyung. A bell of laughter erupted from yours and Taehyung’s table. You threw your head back, covering your fabulous smile with the back of your hand. 

“Can you hear what they’re talking about?” Mingyu whispered. “What’s so funny?”

“Mingyu,” Seokmin tugged at the fake mustache that his friend made him wear. Fuck, it was itchy. “You’re being ridiculous – why would we be able to hear what they’re saying? We’re literally on the opposite end of the cafe!”

“Am not!” Mingyu pouted. “You just need to listen better.”

“They’re literally just laughing like old friends,” Seokmin peeled the mustache off, wincing in pain as it tugged at his upper lip. “Mingyu, when you said we were following them, I thought you meant just standing from afar to make sure Tae doesn’t put his hand on her ass or something.”

Seokmin had expected his friend to protest in return, but Mingyu just remained silent. Through the sides of his shades, Seokmin could make out his hardened gaze was hardened on you and Taehyung. You were leaning over the table while Taehyung held up his cell phone aimed at the two of you. Seokmin presumed he was just taking a selfie. Your pink-glossed lips were spread wide in a happy grin, Taehyung holding up a playful peace sign. Why was Mingyu so upset?

“Uh, Mingyu?” Seokmin called. 

Still no answer. 

The moment Taehyung set down his phone, swiping at his screen, Mingyu whipped out his own device. He quickly logged into Instagram and typed in ‘thv’, pulling up Taehyung’s page. 

“Mingyu –”

Aggressively, Mingyu pulled the toggle down to refresh the page. He did it again and again, until a new photo popped up in the upper left corner. 

‘Reunited </3,’ the caption read under a photo of you and Taehyung he had taken just moments ago. 

That was the last straw for Mingyu. Aggressively, he got up from his chair, nearly toppling it over. He ripped off his sunglasses and started walking – stomping, towards your table. 

“Oh – oh my god, Mingyu! Stop!” Seokmin hissed as he lunged forward. Mingyu’s pace was a tad too fast for Seokmin, his fingers barely grazing against his coat. Before Seokmin knew it, they were both standing at the foot of your table and you were blankly staring up at Mingyu.

Taehyung peered up innocently, his face lighting up when he saw Seokmin. 

“Seokmin!” Taehyung called cheerfully. 

“H-hi!” Seokmin laughed nervously. He punched Mingyu’s shoulder, but his gaze was hard and set on you. 

Taehyung looked back to you, then Mingyu, and back at you. He figured half as much as you and the tall, handsome man were acquainted with one another. 

“Who’s this?” Taehyung asked curiously. He brushed his wavy bangs out his eyes, tucking hand into his pocket. A gentle smile on his face, his eyes scanned your boyfriend up and down, oblivious to the daggers Mingyu was sending his way.

“This is . . . Mingyu,” you explained hesitantly. It was as if time was moving through viscous honey, all eyes on you waiting for a further explanation beyond his name. Yet in this moment, all you could see was the man who’s name just slipped from your mouth. Usually, it tasted like cotton candy, but the shift from envy to desperation in his eyes as he anxiously gnawed at the inside of his cheek, waiting for you to tell them the truth, the taste of iron spreading across your tongue. 

“He’s . . . a good friend,” you finished, your voice soft.

And that was the final nail in the coffin. 

“Oh!” Taehyung chuckled innocently, already extending a hand towards Mingyu. “We’re the same. I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung – also a friend of Y/N’s. Nice to meet you!”

Silence, then a beat. Only the chatter of the other customers and the hissing of the espresso machine filled the air.

Mingyu pressed his lips into a thin line, clearing his throat and offered Taehyung a tight smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Taehyung.” 

“Do you guys want to sit with us?” Taehyung offered, moving his Boston bag from the chair next to him, already making room for the two. “We were just about to order.”

Mingyu chortled half-heartedly and shook his head. “Thank you, but we should be on our way. Just . . . stopped to say ‘hello.’” Mingyu’s eyes flickered to you once more. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, Mingyu was gone. 

. . . .

Coffee with Taehyung was anything, but fun after Mingyu and Seokmin’s departure. As much as you tried to stay engaged and keep up with his stories about traveling across Europe with his new job, it was clear your mind was elsewhere. You were on edge, eyes flitting to your watch every five minutes, your fingers tapping at your phone screen every chance you got to see if you got any messages from Mingyu (spoiler: you didn’t). It was Taehyung who cut the hangout short. He knew something wasn’t quite right between you and your so-called “friend,” but was a polite man and pretended not to notice. Taehyung fibbed and told you he had forgotten he had a meeting to attend instead.

After bidding him goodbye, you sped walk back to the safety of your apartment, already rehearsing in your mind what you would say to Mingyu when you call him later. You paid no mind to the fact that his car was parked in the guest lot. Nor did you bother to listen to Mrs. Lee who worked the front desk, when she tried to tell you she saw Mingyu coming in earlier, only offering her a brisk nod. 

Hence, when you finally opened the door to your safe haven and let out a deep breath, pressing your body against the silver handle, you didn’t expect the familiar sound of Mingyu clearing his throat.

Your eyes shot up to find him sitting at your kitchen island, his elbows propped up on the table. The trench coat he was sporting earlier was draped over the chair next to him, suggesting he immediately came to your apartment after leaving the cafe. He had a key to your place after all.

Your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say. You knew you had fucked up introducing him as a friend to Taehyung, but your thoughts were jumbled and you couldn’t dare face him now. All you had prepared earlier vanished from your brain. 

You had to move (and think) fast as Mingyu was already making his way towards you, getting out of his chair. You pushed yourself off the door, preparing yourself to walk past him and drop your stuff off in room in an effort to give yourself a little more time to think. You should've known better that Mingyu would never let you make it that far though – not with this large of an elephant in the room.

Mingyu stood 187 centimeters tall and showed in his reach as his hand latched onto your bicep, stopping you abruptly in your tracks. His head turned robotically towards you, staring holes into your head. You could see in the side of your eye, the hurt in his face, silently begging you to say something.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply before you spoke. "Can we not –"

"No," he said softly.

“Mingyu–”

“No,” Mingyu stated more firmly this time. His voice was loud and commanding, taking you by surprise. He’s never raised his voice at you before. You caught sight of his grip on the edges of the granite counter; he was holding so tight, his knuckles grew white. 

“We’re not going to wait anymore – we’re talking about this now,” Mingyu continued. He took note of your stunned expression. “I’m tired and this is wearing on me, Y/N; I’m not sure how much of it I can take, but I also know I don’t want to lose you over something that could’ve been easily solved if we were just . . . honest about our feelings. I truly want this,” he waves his finger between the two of you, “to work . . . So please."

You gnawed the inside of your cheek, staring into his sharp dark brown eyes. You weren't used to them filled with so much sorrow and anger, and it pained you knowing you were the cause of it. As much as you were afraid of the dark path where this conversation may lead, you also knew it needed to be had if you wanted your relationship with Mingyu to progress – and you did.

With a heavy sigh, eyes downcasted on Mingyu’s hand on your arm, and nodded, silently agreeing to talk this through. His hand slipped down the expanse of your arm and laced his fingers with yours. His grip, but even in trying times, he held your hand ever so tenderly – because this was Kim Mingyu: unshakeable, yet soft hearted. 

“Where do you want to start?” you asked quietly as the two of you settled onto your blue couch. He still hadn’t let go of your hand. 

Swallowing harshly, you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Are you ashamed of me . . .? Of dating me?”

Your heart sank; though his words were minimal, the look in his eyes was deep. That was the thing about Mingyu. Perhaps he never cried in front of you (or anyone for that matter) and he never got outright angry, but one look in his eyes and they were a dead give away about the feelings swirling in his heart and the thoughts tumbling in his mind. Right now, his eyes told you heart was bruised and his mind was confused and set on one thing only: you. 

“It’s not that Mingyu,” you muttered. You could feel your airway tightening, your esophagus growing stiff. It was getting hard to even swallow your own saliva. 

“Then what is it?” Mingyu asked impatiently, “Why is it that you didn’t tell anyone outside of our mutual friends about our relationship? Why did you wait seven months to tell Younghee? Why did you introduce me as “a good friend” to Taehyung? Why can’t I post pictures of you, of us, on my Instagram, but Taehyung can?”

There was a long pause before you spoke again. It only grew harder for Mingyu every ticking second, he could feel an uncomfortable warmth spreading across his chest, threatening to boil over. 

“I’m scared,” you replied in a small voice. If it hadn’t been dead silent, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have heard you. 

“What?” Mingyu frowned. “What are you afraid of?”

“This,” you shook his hand, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. You and me. I’m . . . like, it’s too good to be true --you're too good to be true. And it's not even because you're handsome or whatever, Mingyu. It's your patience and consideration. It's your willingness to drop everything for the people you love. Do you remember that time Seungkwan got a flat tire? You had a big presentation at work, but rescheduled it and left early to go help him. You love so . . . so openly and loudly, not just through words. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve you? I’m scared that it’s all a dream and tomorrow when I wake up, you’ll be gone. I’m afraid that I’ll grow too attached – fuck, I'm probably already in too deep, and when we don't work out, it'll hurt more than it needs to.”

Mingyu sucked in a sharp breath, nodding slowly as he digested your confession. So this is what Seokmin must’ve meant when he said he would be nervous too if he was you. Truthfully, it was hurtful to hear all of this, but not necessarily irrational. Mingyu too thought you were too good to be true – all his past relationships were rather vain, ending because he wasn’t who they had dreamed him to be. They found his love for architecture boring and when he couldn’t meet their expectations of extravagant dates, they pouted until Mingyu came running with flowers and chocolates. It got tiring - fast.

However, the difference was in that Mingyu trusted the process and let himself grow attached to you. Never mind the thoughts of no longer having you by his side while taking Sunday morning strolls or staying up until 4AM on Friday nights because you both thought it would be a good idea to try the Starbucks PSL at 8PM. He lived in the moment, and while this didn’t mean he didn’t think about a future with you, he wanted to relish in all phases of being in love with you. What hurt him was the fact that you harbored all these feelings to yourself, not trusting him to understand your emotions and insecurities.

"And is that why you want to keep us a secret? Because you're scared I'm going to leave you?" Mingyu finally asked. 

"It’s not . . . Completely baseless," you muttered, looking away from him. 

"Then tell me more."

"It’s stupid."

"I'm sure it's not." He raised his eyebrows at you, silently warning you not to be stubborn but also reassuring you that he just wanted you to be heard. He knew how stuck in your head you could get when you were overcritical of yourself.

"When . . . we were in university, I followed you on Instagram because you know,” you shrugged, picking through your mind to find the right words. “And I saw all the girls you dated and how . . . they didn't last.

“And one day, I was doing some light reading on Pledis Times and there was a study that talked about couples on social media . . . How they felt insecure and overcompensated with photos and videos of each other . . . And ultimately, most of them broke up. I, um . . . as much as I lo– I mean like you, I feared that the louder we were about ‘us,’ I’d just end up being ‘just another girl’ who dated Mingyu.”

It was nothing to be shameful of, yet, your cheeks burned. You couldn’t bear to look at him. As the silence between you grew louder, the urge to flee to the sanctuary of your room became overwhelming. You squirmed in your seat, inching away from him. 

“Love,” Mingyu chortled. You felt him give your hands a squeeze in an attempt to stop you from moving. 

“I told you it was stupid,” you muttered. 

Rather than replying to you with words, however, Mingyu leaned over and captured your lips instead. He pressed against you with just enough pressure to reassure that you were his whole world, but not enough to scare you off. The kiss was firm, but tender – like Mingyu. 

When he pulled away, an apology spilled from your lips as if on instinct. You weren’t sure why but you felt you owed him one. Mingyu shook his head slowly as rested his forehead against yours, while his fingers played with the loose ends of your hair. 

“You don’t need to be sorry for your own feelings,” Mingyu said. 

“I ended up hurting you though,” you whimpered. 

Tucking your head under his chin, he hummed. “I think I’m more hurt by the fact that you didn’t tell me you were feeling this way. I just assumed you just wanted to keep things under wraps because we were a ‘new thing’ and wanted to take things slow.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again. 

“It must’ve been hard, hm?” Mingyu noted as he stroked the crown of your head. “I don’t know what else I need to do, but trust that I’m utterly heads over heels about you, alright? If you need me to tell you every day until you believe me, I will.” he tugged your hand out of your lap and placed it over his heart. There was a fast, but rhythmic thump.

”You feel that?” he asked.

You chortled softly. “Mingyu, I think I know where you’re going with this and it’s kind of corny.”

“I don’t care – you’re the only girl who has made me feel this way. The sight of you excites me, but it all feels . . . right. I’m scared, but I’m reassured things will fall into place in due time.”

You curled your fingers around his heart, letting his voice vibrate from his chest and flow into your ears melodically. 

“As unreal as I seem to you, you are equally a dream I don’t want to fade either,” Mingyu continued to explain. “No one has ever sat patiently and listened to me ramble about cameras for two hours, let alone when you don’t know the first thing about photography. You match my ‘grandpa’ energy, willingly going on hikes with me on the trails hours away from the city to keep me company. Heck, you didn’t even blink twice when I accidentally sneezed on you or scratched my ass in front of you during the first month we dated.”

“Gyu,” you chuckled, burying your face into his chest. 

He kissed the crown of your head. You could feel smiling into your hair. “Instagram, old girlfriends, old boyfriends–”

“Taehyung was a childhood friend,” you remarked.

“Old childhood friends,” Mingyu corrected himself, “And statistical data aside, it sounds like we’re both scared – and that’s not a bad thing, okay? It means we both care deeply about this relationship and neither of us would let it slip away so easily. That said, I also don’t want that fear getting in between us. I love you and I trust you – I could only hope you feel the same for me.”

And for the first time in your relationship, you decided you wanted to be strong for Mingyu – you needed to be. Too long you’ve locked away your feelings and let them run how you act around him with others. Rather than hiding away in his embrace and kissing him in secret, perhaps it was your time to love him just as loudly as he has loved you all this time. 

Rising from his chest, you peered up at him through your lashes. There was nothing but adoration for you gracing his face, patiently waiting for you to say something. 

“I do,” you replied hesitantly, “I . . . love you and I trust you too, and I’m sorry if I’ve struggled to show it, but I’ll be braver – I’ll change.”

“I don’t want you to change,” Mingyu cupped your cheeks, squishing them together. “I love you for you, and If you don’t want to be vocal about it, we don’t have to.”

You pushed his hands away and pecked his lips, shaking your head. “I want to – no more hiding. Let your 14.5K Instagram followers know that I’m utterly head over heels for you, Kim Mingyu.”

He grinned from ear to ear, his cheeks puffing up like marshmallows. He leaned over and gave you another breathtaking, yet simple kiss. How he was so relieved to be able to show you to the world.

 “I have a lot of pictures to choose from, you know?” 

. . . .

Joohyun’s wedding was a success – the blizzard outside and blustery wind seeping through the windows aside. Her and her new husband’s wedding photos were going to be absolutely stunning with all the winter white snow though, Mingyu had whispered to you during the ceremony. Bellies full of chicken and mashed potatoes, garters and bouquets tossed to all the single people, the reception was finally getting started. The DJ played bopped to the upbeat dance music, people starting to stream in and join the bride and groom.

Mingyu had an arm thrown over your shoulder, his hand resting on the head of your chair. Arms crossed, you leaned into his chest and watched your friends sing and dance happily to Tao Cruz's Dynamite. You had that smile on your face that Mingyu adored so much – the small one where you knew you were incredibly happy, but afraid to show too much of it.

Mingyu watched the crowd while pointing out funny occurrences on the dance floor. Soonyoung getting top excited and wrapping his tie around his forehead. Chan and Seungkwan were krumping in the corner as a small crowd formed around them. They both backed away when Seulgi pushed between them, however, a round of "oohs" and "ahhs" at her sharp and playful dance moves.

"Hello, Y/N," a familiar voice called from afar. Your attention turned to the source of the voice, your face spreading into a grin at the sight of Taehyung weaving through the tables. Though Mingyu knew he was ultimately no threat, he couldn’t help but stiffen at the presence of the other man.

Taehyung tipped his head in Mingyu’s direction. "Y'N's good friend," he teased, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Tae," you greeted him with an eye roll, "How's the party going for you?"

"Splendid," he tucked his hand into his pants pocket. "Got myself a nice cocktail earlier, caught up with Younghee, and even caught myself a garter," he pulled out the thing and waved it in the air.

"Gross," you chuckled.

He winked at you playfully and tilted his head at the dance floor. "What do you say, old friend? Wanna dance? Make it up to me when you went with Seokjin to prom instead?"

Instinctively, Mingyu found himself wrapping a hand around your waist, tugging you protectively into his side. Taehyung took note of this. "Your good friend is rather possessive."

You gave Mingyu a warning look, gently pushing his hand off your abdomen. You gave him a reassuring squeeze in an attempt to calm his nerves. "Mingyu’s actually my boyfriend."

Taehyung nodded. "I figured when he looked like he was ready to take me out at the cafe," he clicked his tongue against his teeth. He laughed at the sheepish look that crossed Mingyu's face. "It was worth a shot though," he shrugged, "In all seriousness, I'm happy for you, Y/N. He seems to like you a lot."

"Thank you," you turned and peered at him shyly through your lashes. Mingyu took it as a cue to press his lips against your temple.

"Alright, alright," Taehyung waved you off, shielding his eyes. "I'm gonna leave you lovebirds alone," he pointed at pretty blonde in a silk spring green gown sitting in the corner, her eyes wandering the venue. "I'm gonna go shoot my shot over there."

"Sure thing, buddy," you giggled.

He gave you both one last wave of goodbye. "The next wedding I see you at, it better be yours!"

"You caught the garter, Tae!" you shot back.

He gave you both one last boxy grin before he turned his back to you. Immediately, Mingyu let out a brisk 'tsk'.

"I like him, but he sure knows how to push my buttons," Mingyu huffed.

"It’s Tae," you giggled watching your friend approach the girl. She blushed when Tae extended a hand. "He teases a lot – it's his thing."

"Ladies and gentlemen, why don't we slow it down for the night?" The DJ tapped into his mic and announced, not giving Mingyu a chance to pout further. The gentle strumming of the guitar in Ed Sheeran’s ‘Photograph’ filled every corner of the room.

Mingyu brushed his lips gently against your cheek. His hot breath hit your skin as he asked, “If you won’t dance with Tae, will you dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes as if the answer wasn’t obvious. Your hand was already reaching for his own, leading him to the dance floor. Not letting go of him, you spun around to rest your free hand around his neck. The two of you settled into a gentle sway, Mingyu holding you by your waist and guiding you through the waltz. He grinned at you, his canines peeking out. Even under the dim lighting, his sharp eyes twinkled with fondness. Your face reflected his joy, the small smile spreading into something bigger. 

You loved him and he loved you, there was no denying it.  

“Bro,” Seungkwan sipped on his drink, nudging Seokmin. He pointed at you and Mingyu on the dance floor. Seokmin grinned widely, fishing for his phone in his pocket. He aimed his camera at the two of you, zooming in and adjusting the lighting to best capture all your features in the photo. 

“They’re so in love, I’m kind of regretting introducing them to each other,” Seungkwan grimaced, swallowing down the bitter taste of his alcohol. 

Seokmin slapped his arm. “Don’t say that – they look cute.”

Seungkwan leaned over and peeked at the photos on his friend’s phone. He nodded in approval at the one that captured your grin over Mingyu’s shoulder, your dress swirling at your calves very prettily. 

“Post that one to the ‘gram,” Seungkwan chuckled.

“Ew, don’t say that,” Seokmin looked at him scornfully. “You sound like an old fart.”

“They’ll thank me later,” Seungkwan shrugged. 

Even after your intervention, neither you nor Mingyu had posted anything onto the web to suggest that you were dating to your followers – not that it was a big deal to either of you at this point. If a good photo comes up, you would. It was just not on the forefront of your mind anymore and the both of you had been too busy to look through Mingyu’s gallery. 

Seungkwan figured, if you guys wouldn’t be loud about your relationship, he would – it was the least he could do to support the Mingyu-Y/N agenda. 

Nonetheless, it didn’t take an Instagram post to know you were mad about one another. 

Without words, pictures, or even a peep of your voices, Kim Mingyu loved you loud enough and you loved him, equally as clear.