Cheol - Tumblr Posts - Page 3

A drive home. A surprise confession. Could it be a mistake? Choose you fighter style aka choose you biased.

.........

"Maybe this was a mistake"

"You could never be a mistake to me"

It had all happened fast- like one of those movie moments that you'd been hoping would happen from the start but had left you sitting on the edge of your seat willing it to happen in fear that it wouldn't.

"Did you hear me y/n?"

You looked at him puzzled still trying to hide the blush that spotted your cheeks. You did hear him, at least you thought you did. But yet you couldn't remember the words he just said. But you could remember his sweet sent. The way his hand felt as it brushed against your cheek tucking a small bit of hair behind your ear. You could remember the soft gentle touch of his lips against yours.

Mistake. That's what he had said. You could never be a mistake to him. But that couldn't be right...could it?

You got caught up again in the memory of it, the feeling of it. He had driven you home from the dorms. It was just like any other night, it was him. When you pulled up outside your building you could see this glint in his eyes. An unsureness clouded his face that you'd never seen before.

"Are you ok?"

"No I -" you could see him fighting his thoughts in his mind. He looked down at his hands as if looking for some kind of answer in them. Then he found it, "I've been trying for so long to act like everything's ok. But the truth is, it's not y/n"

You felt you stomach do a backflip.

"I've been trying to act like I'm ok with this, with us but I can't anymore." He paused almost like he was debating if he should go on but it was already too late. "I want you y/n. Not just as a friend though. I want all of you, for myself."

It was like time froze, you'd heard what he said but it was like your mind couldn't fully register what he said. But then it did.

You felt yourself lean across the car to him. Stopping just before your lips touched. Could you really do this? Was this really real?

"I said you could never be a mistake to me and I mean that. You don't know how long I've wanted to kiss you. For you to kiss me back. I wouldn't take it back for the world y/n and I hope you wouldn't either"

The world came rushing back to you. You'd just kissed one of your best friends. He wanted all of you. All to himself. You couldn't deny it - you wanted all of him, all to yourself too.

You smirked, leaning in close to him once again, "maybe you should kiss me again just to make sure."

I wrote this with Coups in mind but honestly you can adapt it to whoever you like :)

A late night voicemail about things left unsaid before tour

......

Hey it's me.

I know I wasn't suppose to call you but I can't help it Y/N - I need you, I need to hear your voice. I need to know that you're alright.

I can't get you out of my head. I have this crushing feel about how I left things. I shouldn't have told you to walk away. I was scared. Scared of everything between us changing. Scared of subjecting you to this life I live. Scared that I would mess it all up and I'd lose you.

And here I am, feeling like I lost you. I don't want to lose you Y/N.

I'm sorry - I can't say it enough. I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. Never say the things I said. I want you in my life. I need you in my life and I'm willing to do anything to get you back.

You're the only thing I want in life and I should have told you that then. You're made for me, you make my life complete. Without you in it, it wouldn't be the same. I'm so stupid for letting my fears get in the way.

I'm at the airport now, I'm coming to you and I'm hoping you'll let me in. Please let me in.

Soft Moments with Seungcheol

Princess Treatment - this man will forever treat you like you're his own personal princess. To him you are everything and he wants to make sure that you have everything you could ever need or want and more. From little things like being his designated forever passenger princess in total control of music, temp and horrible road trip games. To never being able to stop himself from buying you things he sees that remind him of you, would think you would like or remembers you saying that you needed or liked. He's on it ALWAYS. He even has an ongoing note on is phone keeping track of things you've mentioned in passing that he can use later to bring you home little just because or pick me up treats. Even when he's away he would make sure that you are comepletly taken care of. He would be the type to have schdueled groceries delivered of all your favourite things so that you could have more time to yourself, insist getting someone to drive you around and have someone around to clean your palces. He wants you to be able to spend time doing the things that you love, never wanting and having it all.

Open Listener - He wants you to feel heard, it doesnt matter if you think its something so silly hes there to listen. He never wants you to hide your thoughts and feelings from him so he makes sure to always provide a safe space for you to open to him about anything. Whenever you wanted to talk he would always put aside what he was doing and focus all his attention on you. If you weren't ready to talk yet he would allow you into his arms, holding you close until you found the words you wanted to say. He would let you get it all out, raw and unfiltered before he would comment on anything. His top priority was always to ensure you were able to express you feeling freely and without jugdment or without something trying to persude you away from certain feelings. He would listen to every word you'd have to say and at the end he would ask you what you wanted from him: advice, what his take on it was, a gossip session etc.

Always on his Mind - it wouldn't matter the distance that was between the two of you, it couldnt stop his mind from always wondering back to you. Cheol would constantly be reminding you that you were always a priority in his life no matter how caotic it would get. The reminders would come in all different forms. Throughout the day he would constantly be sending you little messages ranging from asking you about your day, reminding you to take care of yourself, videos he saw that he thought would make you laugh and pictures of things he saw while out that he thought you would like. He would send you voice notes just rambling, updating you on all the things that were going on, reminding you of how much he missed you and how much he wished you were right beside him now. It wouldnt' matter if he was away or laying beside you every night - he would always be sending or bringing you little presents as a form of expressing his affection for you. When he couldnt take the distance anymore, it would be nothing for him to tell you to book time off of work since he booked flight to come meet him wherever he was to spend a week with him.

Always wanting you close - You are his safe place, his happy place, the one place he feels like he can be totally and utterly himself. You make him feel whole, complete and he wants nothing more to feel that always. He would never admit it to you but when you're not near him apart of him feels broken. Any second he could spend with you he would make sure he could, he wouldnt be able to get enough of you no matter if you had been attached to the hip everyday for a month. He would never tire of having you in his space, in your space. You were home to him. Just having you in the same house as him, not even the same room would calm his mind and he'd feel the warmth in his heart increase. Wherever he'd go he'd want you to be there with him, experince everything with him and share every moment with him.

Boyfriend Cheol on Your Camera Roll 📷

Insta Stories with Cheol

pookie🤏🙁❤️

SUCH A BABIEEEE 🥹

Real

god gave me seungcheol so that i can sit and giggle about the right kind of man and have proper standards

i think abt this pic alot

bareface? short hair? if the mask is on bc he forgot to shave... sir pls... a little stubble hurt no one

cheol | going seventeen ep. 85

flame-bright | part 1

The second installment of the HHU Universe has been completed!

F2L, slow-burn, reader is in major denial and also goofy af, sports statistician!seungcheol x fem!fashion designer!reader, reader is described as wearing heels/dresses often, lowkey implied that cheol is somewhat bigger than reader, I think gendered terms may be used??? Idk this is barely proofread, mentions of toxic relationships/habits that make reader’s life more difficult, mentions of cheating, eventual smut (18+ only, underage readers will be systematically hunted down and whooped), lots of mutual pining, probably some drinking, bad decisions are made generally throughout, Mingyu and Wonwoo and Vernon will make cameos (references to the Hope in the Fault Lines couple), and there will be a hefty amount of painful against in the next two parts. Lmk if I missed anything!

If there was one word you’d use to describe Seungcheol, it would’ve been passionate. 

At least, while you were being kind. As it is, you’re using a litany of far less flattering descriptors while you wait for him to pick up his phone, your breath curling into soft gray tendrils in the chilly night air. You watch the clouds moving slowly, backlit by an occasionally-visible yellowish-orange moon, and curse as you get Cheol’s voicemail message in your ear. 

From the minute you’d met Choi Seungcheol, your life had been struck with misfortune. It wasn’t his fault -- not at all, in fact. Most of the time it was yours. Or maybe Seungcheol was just one of those people who made you realize your own buffoonery. Whatever the reasons, it seemed like you’d been down on your luck ever since you met him, and you were starting to wonder if he was some kind of bad omen for you. 

Your first conversation had happened because you were trapped in an elevator with him when it broke down on you. You had been trying to visit your boyfriend, at the time, who had been “sick” -- which apparently was code for “sleeping with someone else.” You had found out because Seungcheol was his next door neighbor, and he didn’t waste time telling you about the girl he’d been bringing over that wasn’t you. A short conversation on the phone with the boyfriend was enough to confirm the story. 

You’d broken up with him instantly, right there in that stupid broken-down elevator. Cheating was a dealbreaker for you, which was saying something. You knew that you tended to allow all sorts of poor treatment from men that made your friends worry about your love life, which is why you never told them about anything anymore, which is why you started to open up to this handsome stranger in the elevator who was attentive and sympathetic and kind and who you’d probably never see again. You told him almost everything: the long string of first dates that never went anywhere, the flings, and the off-and-on relationships you’d had until you’d met the guy you just dumped. He listened perfectly -- made disgusted noises in all the right places, gasped, said “no he did not” at all the antics that men had put you through -- and when you’d finally left the elevator you’d thanked him for letting you unload. 

He’d smiled then -- his first smile at you. It was probably just how fragile your heart was, but it made you all warm and fuzzy inside to see the way it changed his entire face from intimidating to soft. “No problem,” he said. “Sounds like you needed it.”

“I did,” you moaned. “I really really did. I’m so sorry you had to listen to all that.”

“It really wasn’t bad. I’m glad that I got some entertainment while we were stuck in there,” he said, gesturing at the elevator. “I hope your love life gets better.”

You had fully intended to leave the apartment building and never see him again. But you had -- he’d been exiting the elevator when you’d come to pick up the odds and ends you’d left at your now-ex-boyfriend’s apartment. The way his eyes lit up when he saw you, the way he crowed, “hey, elevator girl!”, it had all made you laugh. 

“Elevator boy!” you’d replied. “How nice to see you.”

“My name’s Choi Seungcheol,” he told you. “And the pleasure is all mine. Please tell me you didn’t get back with my neighbor.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Absolutely not. I came back to fight his new girlfriend for my blow dryer.”

“Do you need help?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Are you offering to fight in my place?” 

That had made him laugh. “No, I don’t fight women. What if we tag-teamed? I’ll fight him and you fight her.” He pretended to size you up. “I can definitely take him, and I gotta say I’d put my money on you beating her.”

“Well,” you’d said, pretending to consider it. “I hope it won’t come to that, but if you wanted to be moral support, I would promise to never ever tell you my entire disappointing dating history ever again.”

“I really didn’t mind that,” he said in protest. “Maybe we should take the stairs this time, though. If we get stuck in there again I might have to tell you something this time.”

“I’d probably feel less guilty if you did,” you’d told him. “But sure. I don’t have the time to get stuck in an elevator today.”

You’d followed him to the stairwell, jogging behind him up the stairs. You’d arrived at the doorstep a little out-of-breath and even more unprepared to come face-to-face with your ex and his new girlfriend. 

It became clear within the first few minutes that there was no way she was giving you back your very nice, very expensive hair-dryer. She claimed, in fact, that it was hers. (Never mind that there was a piece of duct tape with your name on it stuck to the cord.)

Thus had begun the plans for the Great Hair Dryer Heist of 2018. Seungcheol had invited you across the hall to his apartment, where the two of you had brainstormed ways to get the hair dryer back. He vetoed your first idea (murder), and you vetoed his (military intelligence-level blackmail). Back and forth you went until you had come up with the only feasible, if illegal, plan.

To break in.

It amused you how seriously Seungcheol took the assignment to canvas the ex’s apartment. He had discreetly attached an audio recording device to his door and hid it with a welcome mat, so that he would know the couple’s routine. He wrote down the timeframes of their comings and goings. He even tracked patterns -- “if they come in later than 10:30 PM, they won’t leave the house again until after 10 AM,” he’d told you as you joined him for what had become weekly intel meetings. “Does your ex even work? How can he afford to leave his house so late?”

“He’s a nepo baby,” you’d told him. “His daddy’s his boss.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “You sure can pick ‘em, sweetheart.”

“You have no idea,” you mumbled.

Finally the big day came. Seungcheol had planned it down to the last second. He’d practiced picking his own lock while he knew the neighbors were out. He’d told other people on the floor what was going down so they wouldn’t be suspicious. He’d even bought a pair of leather gloves for both of you to avoid leaving fingerprints. It was, as he said himself, “go time.”

The breaking in part had gone pretty well, but then, just as you were approaching the door of their apartment with the hair dryer in hand, you’d heard the clattering of keys outside. You froze, but Seungcheol acted fast, pulling you into a closet and gesturing for silence. 

Which was also going well, until your phone had gone off, blasting “Toxic” by Brittni Spears. You hurried to shut it off, but you heard the person outside pause, as though listening. When they came in, they said, “hello?”

The girlfriend was home.

As she passed the closet and went into the bathroom, Seungcheol whispered, “leave with the hair-dryer. I’ll be there soon.”

You slipped quietly from the closet and dashed out of the apartment, diving into Seungcheol’s apartment before the other apartment door had even closed. The problem was, the sound of the door shutting meant that Seungcheol was compromised. You could hear the new girlfriend screaming at him. Fighting a laugh, you went across the hall and knocked at the door, brandishing the hair dryer. 

“Hi,” you said when she opened the door, red-faced, a shell-shocked looking Seungcheol behind her. And you held up the hair dryer.

She had been so shocked that all she could do was splutter. “I’m here for him,” you said, reaching around her and grabbing Seungcheol by the front of his jacket.

Impulsively she grabbed his arm, but he ripped it from her grasp. “Unhand me,” he said coldly. “And you’d better hope there’s nothing else of hers here.”

And with that, the two of you had left, triumphant.

This is how your friendship had started -- and the mishaps with dating continued, almost comically accelerating the closer you became to him. The problem was, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your friendship or end it, because you’d gone on to become really good friends with him. Not just “talk occasionally, never meet up unless one of you is going through something, cancel plans with each other” kind of friends, either -- he had become one of your best friends in the world. You saw each other almost every day and had weekly movie nights and lunch dates. Choi Seungcheol, for all his flaws, was the person you knew you could always call, no matter what went wrong.  

So why, when you really needed him, was he not answering?

With a final curse aimed in the general direction of Seungcheol’s apartment building, you begin to walk to the bus station in the dark, your car sitting dead and useless in the empty museum parking lot. You debate whether or not to tell Seungcheol the real reason you called him twelve times when he inevitably calls back in a panic, hoping it’s later when you’re safe at home and not while you’re on the bus. You decide what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and pull your flimsy jacket closer to you in the chill October air. 

As is your luck, though, Cheol calls when you’re still two stops away from home. You answer him immediately, knowing it’ll be worse if you don’t — the last time this happened he had actually called the police. “Hey!” you say brightly. “What’s up, Seungcheol?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a mix of relieved, exasperated, and amused. “You called me twelve times.”

You sigh. “I know. I really wanted to not have to pick up my own dry cleaning,” you lie, using the only feasible excuse you could formulate during the half hour you’d been on the bus.

“At this time of night? So you called me twelve times?” he asks skeptically. “Just do your own laundry and then you won’t have this problem.”

“I don’t have dry cleaning technology, and if you think I’m about to put vintage rockabilly sweaters into a washing machine, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

He sighs. “I can pick it up tomorrow. Was that really all?”

“Of course,” you respond too quickly as the bus makes another stop. “Why didn’t you respond, though?”

Seungcheol hesitates. “I had a date,” he finally answers. 

“Really?” you exclaim, even as your stomach drops. “How was it?”

“It…uh, it went really well. She’s still here,” he replies.

You smack your forehead. “Shit, man. You should’ve said something. I’ll let you get back to it.” And before he can protest, you hang up, your heart beating too fast for someone just sitting on a bus.

He was on a date, you think to yourself, willing yourself to believe it and let it sink in. Of course. Because there was only one thing that Seungcheol would ignore you for, only one thing he’d put ahead of helping his (supposedly platonic) best friend — his love life, which was not nearly as pitiful as yours but which somehow made you feel just as bad about yourself. You cursed yourself for not seeing this coming and for letting yourself feel somehow betrayed by it, because there was nothing between you and never would be.

You fume for the full five more minutes it takes for you to get to your bus stop. You’re furious at yourself for calling him, and furious for interrupting his date, and furious that you’re furious. “You’d better work,” you growl at the elevator as you push the button in the lobby of your apartment complex. To its credit, it does carry you slowly up to your floor, where you are finally able to collapse onto your couch, looking around the small apartment cramped with dress forms and fabric and your industrial sewing machine (all out and in use as you prepared to send samples for a new collection for the brand you worked for to your suppliers). You rub at your eyes, feeling yourself growing more overstimulated by the minute.

And then your phone’s text tone rings through the quiet apartment. You glance down at the name attached to the notification, and your heart drops.  

Jinho: [23:34] “Hey, hope you’re doing well. I’m going to be in town for a couple months preparing for a trade show, and I’d love to meet up if you’ve got time.” 

All thoughts you might have been capable of before this moment evaporate, replaced by a drawn-out scream of horror. Because it’s not like Jinho was the ex from hell — quite the opposite, actually. He was the only ex you had who wasn’t a deadbeat, a cheater, or extremely toxic. Jinho was a regular person with a stable job in art curation, and you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. In fact, you privately attributed your string of bad relationships to losing Jinho. Ever since he’d ended things with you, you’d been reeling, almost haphazardly grabbing onto anything that got close enough and seeing if it’d stick.

After staring at this text for what feels like several days straight, you decide you have no business answering it tonight. You are so far behind where you hoped you’d be if he ever reappeared in your life. Although you no longer have feelings for him, there was a part of you that had pictured the two of you reconnecting when you’d started your own fashion label, and you were married to someone else. Neither of those things having happened yet, you could almost feel the justification for Jinho’s departure from your life weighing on you like a wet blanket. Of course he wouldn’t want to be with you. You couldn’t keep a partner, and the closer you got to taking the leap with your own brand, the harder it became to leave the company you worked for now.

The telltale signs of a stress migraine start to sneak into your body — a dull pinching pain starting right where your hairline begins on the back of your neck, almost like gravity gets heavier there and weighs down the rest of  your skull. It’s easy for you to determine what you need. You strip your clothes off and head into the shower, relishing how the hot water feels like a reset on your skin. Today is over. Tomorrow, you can figure out how to deal with everything else.

After your shower, you do your hair and skincare routine and change into your softest cropped tank and sweats. As you round the corner to plug in your phone, you nearly collide with a man in your apartment. 

You nearly shriek as the man grabs your shoulders to keep you from falling, but stop yourself when you realize it’s Seungcheol. He’s looking you up and down, coughing with the force of your collision — although you didn’t hit him that hard. “Nice outfit,” he chokes out.

“What the hell,” you hiss at him. “I thought you had a date!”

“I did,” he says defensively. “But I had this sneaking suspicion you were lying to me about what you really needed. So I asked her to pick it up where we left off tomorrow.”

“Did she agree to that?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow.

“Duh,” he says with an eye roll. “I’m a catch.” He inspects your face closely. “You were lying to me, weren’t you? I didn’t see Bertha.”

Bertha was the name of the obscenely old car you drove, distinctive because of its smoky black color — it looked like the whole car had been dusted with gunpowder. You sigh and extricate yourself from his grasp. “You should be a police chief.”

“Where’s Bertha?” he presses, ignoring your sarcasm.

“She died. At the museum,” you say shortly, not looking at him as you rummage around in the fridge for ingredients.

“So you took the bus?” he asks indignantly.

“Yes, because you were on a date, and I’m trying to make sure at least one of us doesn’t die alone.”

“And I’m trying to make sure you don’t die. Period.” He shakes his head in frustration, watching you with dark eyes and muscular arms folded across his chest, his jaw set in a sharp line. “I’ve told you to call if you need help. I’d rather have to come get you when it isn’t convenient for me than get a call later saying that they found your body somewhere.”

“Okay, dad,” you say sarcastically, moving to the stove. “It is not a long bus ride and I brought my pepper spray.”

“Don’t call me dad,” he says, his cheeks pink. “And I don’t care. Please just tell me next time.”

You sigh heavily. “Fine, whatever,” you agree tiredly. “So, wanna tell me about your date?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to rub it in.”

“Nah, come on,” you plead. “Hearing about a good date might give me hope that they actually exist!”

He cracks a smile. “Well,” he says, pulling out one of the chairs at your table and taking a seat. “She’s pretty. We met at the baseball game. She’s a sports marketer. She really knows her stuff,” he muses, sounding impressed.

You suppress a surge of violent hatred for this pretty, competent, sport-savvy woman and smile at his assessment. “That’s great. And you got her to come home with you, so she must have liked you too.”

“I hope so,” he murmurs. His eyes travel over to the pot you’ve placed on the stove. “Didn’t they feed you at the exhibition?” 

“They fed us those stupid little hors d'oeuvres,” you grumble, flipping the eggy batter in the pan so it lands perfectly on the other side. “I wanted jeon, and I knew I’d be hungry later, so I made the batter ahead.”

“Wise,” Seungcheol says. He leans back in his chair, watching you for a minute. “So other than your car dying, how was your day?” he asks.

You give him a look, and he chuckles. “That good, huh?” he asks.

“Oh, Seungcheol, you have no idea.” You bring over the jeon with the sauce you’d made for it and push some over to him. “Jinho texted me like an hour ago.”

“You know I only know your exes by numbers,” he complains, poking gingerly at the jeon, which is still too hot for his hands. 

It’s frustrating to watch, so you tear a bit off with your fingers, blow on it, and hold it up to his lips. “Jinho is The First Ex,” you say as you do this.

“I’m convinced you don’t have nerve endings in your fingers,” he says before he takes it from you with his teeth. “And you’re talking about Ex #1?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically. And while Seungcheol didn’t know the full story of Jinho, he knows enough to know it’s a big deal. His eyes go wide, and you can tell he’s trying not to be nosy as he watches you. “He wants to catch up.”

“Are you gonna do it?” he asks you, taking a pair of chopsticks from the table and swirling the jeon around in some sauce.

“Why not?” you say in what you hope is an offhand voice, picking at the jeon and not looking at him. This does not fool Seungcheol for a single second. 

He clears his throat pointedly. You look at him like a child about to receive a scolding, and he groans. “Don’t give me those eyes,” he says. “I guess I can’t really blame you. I’d probably do the same thing if I were you.”

You brighten a little. “So you think it’s a good idea?” 

“I never said that,” he says with a grim grin. “I just said it’s what I’d do.”

You scowl at him. “Rude.”

“Just true,” he says with a shrug. He rises, only to collapse on the couch. “Since tomorrow night I’ll be occupied, would you like to do movie night tonight?”

“I really didn’t need the reminder that you’re getting laid, but sure,” you say, plopping down beside him. “I think it’s your turn to pick.”

Cheol smiles wickedly at you before reaching around you for the remote. “Okay. Action or romcom or horror?” he asks.

“Horror,” you reply. “It’ll make me feel better about my life.”

He chuckles and makes his selection, opening his arm for you to snuggle into his side. He knew -- from experience -- that if you weren’t snuggling something during a horror film, people (usually him) were likely to be injured by the way you jumped in fright. You willingly nuzzled yourself into the warm cream sweatshirt he wore, eventually falling asleep there despite the anxiety the movie had induced. 

Waking up in an empty apartment after movie nights with Seungcheol was always a bit crushing, but waking up on the couch with your favorite pillow from your bed, perfectly tucked into one of your favorite blankets, made your heart hurt in a different kind of way. You usually didn’t fall asleep during movies, but the stressful day you’d had had evidently worn you out. As you blinked the tiredness out of your eyes, you tried not to imagine how Cheol had probably carefully extracted himself from your grasp, tiptoeing to your bedroom to grab the pillow and blanket. How he’d probably have had to lift your head to put it on the pillow. How he’d draped the blanket over your sleeping form. It wasn’t good for your mental state to think of things like this, because it’d force you to admit something about yourself that you were extremely unequipped to handle.

So you sat up. It was Saturday, so you didn’t have work -- thank goodness -- and you decided to sketch a little to clear your head. But as you went to grab your sketchbook, there was a tiny note from Seungcheol in the corner of the open page:

“Why is this the only paper you have in your house? Lol. Anyway, I had to go home to sleep, but I put the leftover jeon in the fridge for you to eat this morning. Have a good day today :) be happier than me!”

Happier than me. This was how Seungcheol closed all of his communication with you. You seemed to be in a days-long, never-ending conversation most days, but in the rare instances when you had to part for more time than usual, he always said that. And every time, it made you melt. (Followed almost immediately by sternly reminding yourself that that was stupid.)

And so you stare at the note, half of you wanting to frame it, and the other half wanting to rip it to shreds. Instead, you just flip the page over and grumble, “he could’ve texted,” to yourself, hating the half-smile on your face that you can’t resist.

*******

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Minghao says, sitting at the head of the long table. “So, we’re talking about fall/winter of next year?”

“Menswear,” you confirm. It’s just you and he in the room, and you pull some of the pieces off the portable rack to show him.

“Want to explain why it’s two weeks late?” he says, inspecting the soft fabric of the brown suit you hand him.

“Production still hasn’t recovered back to pre-pandemic speeds,” you tell him tiredly, knowing this would come up. “We had the designs in by the deadline, but they didn’t get here until now.”

“Did Ali already cast models to wear these?” Minghao asks, moving on to the next piece and peering carefully at the design details on the cuffs of a leather jacket. “I want to get someone in this week if we can.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Our usual models come from across the world.”

“Then recast,” he says simply. “I know that we have a good relationship with the agency you usually go through, and I understand we’ve burned bridges with a lot of the local agencies back when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was in charge, but I think it’d be kind of fun to use some new faces, too. It’ll catch the eye.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip in thought. “So, do you want me to do a social media sweep? Find guys in the area and invite them in?”

“Yeah, or just ask your friends. That’s how we got the deal with that producer,” Minghao reminds you, referring to a collaboration you’d arranged with one of your friend Jihoon’s proteges. 

“True,” you said, thinking to yourself. “I’ll ask around.”

So you go to your office after the meeting and text Seungcheol. 

“You: [10:34] hey, do you know anyone who might want a bit of extra cash? we need models for a shoot this week.”

“Cheol: [10:44] how much?”

“You: [10:46] uhhhh like $500? if they become a regular model for us that could become more”

“Cheol: [10:50] I got you. Wanna meet up for lunch?”

You have to laugh at this abrupt change in subject, but it’s been a couple days since you’ve seen Cheol, so you respond quickly.

“You: [10:51] sure!! where?”

“Cheol: [10:55] Bernini’s, I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”

***

“What can I get for you?” the friendly, bright-eyed waiter asks.

“I’ll have the caprese bites and the spinach and apple salad,” you say without any hesitation.

Seungcheol is squinting at the menu. “I’m still deciding,” he says. “What do you recommend?” 

“Oh!!” The server exclaims, looking excited that someone has asked. “I really love the tri-tip sandwich.”

“Yeah, that sounds awesome,” Seungcheol says. “I’ll have that.”

“He seems like a really nice kid,” you say to Seungcheol after the server scurries away to put in your orders. “Reminds me of Mingyu, a bit. He has that same puppy .” 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but can’t hide a fond smile at the mention of his friend. “Except that guy hasn’t spilled anything on you yet.”

“How is he? With the job and everything?”

“Apparently the kid is actually awesome,” Seungcheol replies. “And it seems like the kid’s guardian is even better.”

“Does our friend Mingyu finally have a crush?” you ask, grinning widely.

“Of course. He showed me pictures. She’s some high-powered publishing whiz with her own business. She’s pretty.” He says it in an offhand way, and yet you still feel uncomfortable.

“And Wonwoo? When we went to see Vernon’s cousin perform, he seemed like he was pretty into her friend who does her makeup.”

“You know, you could just come with me to hang out with them,” Seungcheol reminds you. “Then they can tell you all about their lives in person instead of you having to hear it from me.”

You’re about to respond when you hear a familiar sound that sends every cell in your body into attack mode. It’s a grating female voice, seemingly echoing through the small restaurant. “Cheol,” you say, gripping his arm. 

“What?” he asks, alarmed at the sudden shift in tone. 

“We have to move. Now.” 

You tug him to his feet with surprising force and nearly dive underneath a big banquet table covered by a long white tablecloth. All you can see are the feet of the people passing by, so you wait. It isn’t long before the signature chunky red heels appear.

“And don’t give me a table here in the front, I need to be seated somewhere with easy patio access. For my health,” says the woman’s voice. You are positively cowering into Seungcheol under the table, and he is dumbstruck.

“Why are we here?” he asks with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Ex #3’s Aunt Betty. She hates me,” you squeak. “If she sees me, she’ll verbally abuse me and I’ll cry in front of everyone.”

“Why does she hate you?” Seungcheol asks, trying not to sound amused and failing.

“Because I accidentally killed her Chihuahua. Spilled an entire bottle of Benadryl on the floor and missed a few pills as I was sweeping. The poor thing weighed next to nothing. Didn’t stand a chance.” You bite your lip. “We broke up a week later.”

“That’s terrible!” Seungcheol exclaims. “No wonder she hates you.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I’ll have you know he was the most evil chihuahua in the world, which is actually saying a lot, because chihuahuas are generally pretty awful to begin with.”

He rubs where you hit him ruefully. “Okay,” he allows, his eyes reproachful.

“Oh, I forgot to ask. Who was your friend who you wanted to model?” you whisper to him under the table.

“Is now the best time for this?” he asks.

“Well, what else do we need to discuss? Now’s as good a time as ever. Plus it’ll calm me down.”

Cheol purses his lips. “Well, it’s me.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You heard me.”

“You want to model?” you ask.

“I’ve modeled before,” he assures you. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Do you think I’m ugly?”

You glare. “It’s most definitely not that.”

“So you think I’m hot?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

You groan. “I’m regretting this conversation so much.” Pinching the bridge of your nose and avoiding eye contact, you actually manage a chuckle. “You’re actually perfect, but it just surprises me that you’d be interested.”

“Perfect?” he exclaims. “Wow, that’s a new one. How did that taste coming out of your mouth?”

“Don’t make me take it back. Are you broke? Do you need money for some reason?”

He actually laughs. “I’m doing fine. I just think it’d be fun. Plus, I love the clothes you design.”

“I don’t design for menswear,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but it’s still your brand.”

You scoff. “Hardly. It’s Minghao’s brand. I just work there.”

“And how is starting your own thing going?” Seungcheol asks, watching you carefully. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you mutter. “Honestly, I wish I had the energy to do more design work after my regular job, but I’m too busy and burnt out.”

He nods sympathetically. One of the many wonderful things about Seungcheol was his compassionate nature. You know he wants to see you succeed, but also understands there are a lot of obstacles between you and what you really want to be doing.

He changes the subject so you don’t have to. “Well, anyway. Modeling is fun, and it’ll give me the chance to learn more about your company and meet your work friends and stuff.”

“Do you have a portfolio I can show Minghao?” you ask. “There’s no chance he’ll reject you, but I figured it’ll help him warm up to you.”

“Sure,” he says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll text you the link.”

You tap it on your own phone and your jaw immediately drops. “Choi Seungcheol,” you gasp.

“Why the government name?” he protests defensively.

“You -- these are --” you stutter, unable to find the right words. “I was expecting something else.” You hope that Cheol doesn’t notice how flustered you are. Photo after photo showcased his wide, broad chest, that wavy hair, his beautiful eyes with those long eyelashes, his stunning eyebrows, and his absolutely perfect lips. The clothes are nothing but a shallow accessory to emphasize a truth that you’ve always known, but until this moment, have downplayed (for your own protection). 

Your best friend is absolutely devastating.

Conveniently, you are interrupted when your server pokes his head under the table. You all stare at each other for a few seconds, blinking, before the young man speaks.  “Why did you guys run away?” he asks, bewildered.

He stares at the photos visible on your phone. “Are you guys being weird down here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Cheol demands.

“I’m pretty much weird wherever I go,” you offer.

“Well then come sit back down so I can give you your food,” the server says, giving both of you a strange look.

As you head back to your booth, you nudge Seungcheol. “Why did you become a statistician when you could’ve been a model and made really good money? I mean, seriously, Seungcheol.”

“Because I loved sports?” Seungcheol answers, his voice amused. You look up and he’s watching your gawking with a nearly smug expression on his face. “I’m starting to rethink my choices after this reaction, though.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you scold, shaking your head in exasperation. “I don’t need this going to your head.” You finally tear your gaze away from the photos to make eye contact with Cheol -- a grave strategic error on your part. The way the overhead lights of the cafe hit his face, bringing out the subtle golden tones in his dark brown hair and illuminating the shadows in his nearly black eyes, has you feeling dizzy and uncomfortable. His expression isn’t helping anything, either. He’s wearing his signature half-smile, one dimple poking through his cheek, and the expression in his eyes is soft and fond. It’s a look he wears often when he lays eyes on you, and it’s currently making you clench your teeth against how gooey it makes you feel inside.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, offering a mock-salute, and you give a dry chuckle, trying to play it cool while your heart makes its best attempt to beat itself out of your chest.

“That’s right,” you approve, sliding to the end of the booth. “Well, I’ll show your portfolio to Minghao, but I’m confident he’s going to say yes. Can you come over tomorrow night? I’ll need to measure you for alterations.”

“I’ll be there,” he agrees. “Aren’t you meeting with Jinho, though?”

You grimace. “Yeah, I am.”

“So, should I maybe come a different night?” he asks.

“Nah,” you say. “It’ll be good to see you right after. I might need to debrief you.”

His smile slips just a little, but you pretend not to notice. “Understood,” he says, an odd note to his voice.

***

Never, ever, in a million years, did you foresee this.

Jinho showed up with flowers. He took you out to a nice restaurant, and as the two of you finished up eating, he leaned in and took you by the hand. “I need to know. Are you seeing anyone?”

You looked him dead in the face. “If I was, I wouldn’t have come.”

A brief look of relief flashed across his face. “Then...I want to ask if it would be possible to have another shot with you,” he asked. “I know we weren’t perfect back then, and I know I broke your heart. But these past few years, I’ve been comparing every girl to you. I just know it’s you that I’m meant to be with.”

These were the words that you had imagined him saying since he broke up with you. But now that he’d said them, it was a little odd. You had expected elation hidden in the shock, but it never came. Instead, you thought of Seungcheol, who was probably making his way to your house right now, and just the thought of how he looked in the cafe yesterday with the golden light had Jinho’s words coming up oddly empty.

You were surprised at your own answer. “I don’t know that I’ve fully forgiven you yet, so I can’t say that I’ll take you back,” you had told him. “But…I guess you can try.”

Jinho had beamed at this response, and that was what had cued the long-forgotten butterflies. “That’s more than I deserve,” he had reassured you. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

By the time you make your way home, Seungcheol is at your apartment on your couch, scrolling through social media on his phone. And of course, the first words out of his mouth are, “how’d it go?”

You sigh. “He asked me to take him back.”

“And did you?” Cheol asks sharply, standing up.

“No,” you say tiredly. “Well, not really, anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“I said he could try to win me over again, but I made no promises,” you explain, leaning against the wall to remove your heels. 

“Come sit down,” Seungcheol says, suddenly looking worried. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, Cheol. Really.” You swat at him as he wraps an arm around your waist and waltzes you to the couch. The way you melt into his touch as you both sit down, somehow winding up with your head in his lap as he gently teases your scalp with soft fingers, is almost embarrassing. But you need him right now -- need some reassurance that the emotional turmoil you’re in is going to be okay, need some consistency and compassion, and you know Seungcheol is the man for that job, as much as you don’t want to admit it.

“I’m proud of you,” Seungcheol murmurs kindly. “The old you would’ve taken him back immediately.”

You manage a grin as you realize he’s right. “Thanks,” you say, straightening up a little. You’ve come a long way, and it feels good to recognize that.

Then suddenly, you remember why Seungcheol is here. “Oh!” you exclaim, sitting all the way up. “I need to measure you.”

“It’s okay, you can rest for a minute,” Seungcheol tells you, but you’re already on your feet, running for your measuring tape. Once you’ve retrieved it, you gesture for him to come stand in the middle of the room. 

“I’m gonna have to get a little friendly,” you warn him, and he scoffs.

You begin with measuring across his shoulders, using your phone to annotate the measurement in a spreadsheet you’ll give to the tailors later. As you reach around his chest with the measuring tape, your gaze flicks to his face, and you have to catch your breath.

It’s not just that your hands are brushing up against his muscular frame in a way that, despite all your physical closeness with Cheol, you have never allowed yourself to touch him. Not to mention, he’s wearing skintight clothing like you had requested, and it’s showing off his body beautifully. But it’s also the way he’s looking at you -- his dark eyes smoldering like embers, trained on you without breaking his gaze, the corners of those gorgeous lips turned slightly up so that the pinprick hints of his dimples can be seen. It has your face feeling hot and your heart doing its stupid, reckless, too-quick tap dance routine. You swallow hard and look away, and Cheol gives a low chuckle that makes you literally stumble backwards, only prevented from falling on your ass by Seungcheol himself. 

Because the minute you became startled, his arms reached around you instinctively, steadying you. And oh, he’s so warm and sturdy and real, and though you’ve been in his arms many times before, this feels new. Somehow, this feels both like the first time you’ve ever been held, and the most natural thing in the world, as familiar as coming home for the holidays. Your hands had shot out and twisted into Seungcheol’s soft white tee as you’d stumbled, and you now have to force yourself not to look at him as you extricate yourself with a mumbled apology.

Wordlessly, you continue to measure Seungcheol, unable to keep yourself from occasionally glancing back at his perfect face, while he continues to look at you, that same soft smile on his lips. You wrap your arms around his waist with the measuring tape, taking down his measurement with shaking hands, before dropping your hands lower to measure his hips. As you adjust the tape across his widest point, you look at him again, and you’re surprised to see him looking flustered, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask -- only your voice comes out husky and soft because of the way your throat has seemed to close with the nearness of him.

“Uh, no,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. “You got it. Keep going.”

You try to shake yourself out of being flustered, and focus instead on measuring his inseam and outseam, after which you measure around his bicep as your final measurement. By the end of the measuring session, you’re both sweating, and both of you are holding your breath. Seungcheol makes some excuse for why he needs to go home, and vacates himself in a matter of seconds, leaving you standing dumbfounded in the living room.

You aren’t sure what just happened between the two of you, but you know that whatever it was has left you with a hollow kind of ache in your chest and absolutely no knowledge on how to cure it.

Flame-Bright | Part 2

After a literal age..........I finally wrote it. AND LET ME TELL U WHAT. It's not proofread, that's for sure! Genre: BFFS to ???? in this part, sports statistician!part time model!seungcheol x fem!fashion designer!reader Check out pt 1 for warnings, all still apply, DEFINITELY a menty b is described pretty generously and it is almost exactly how I experience bad bad bad mental health days. no smut in this part, there miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight be some *closed door* or implied smut in the next (and final) part. Also sorry if the end feels rushed....................................I have no good excuse just kind of wanted to write the next part because this part was SO angsty and hard for me to write. ALSO healthy levels of angst in this one, reader is DUMB AF sorry if that's frustrating, etc etc etc peace and love and sorry for all the warnings I probably forgot. A/N: This is also lowkey a love letter for @forcheol bc she fuels my fire for this cutie boy. breathe with me hani it's all gonna be ok

“I have a surprise for you!” Seungcheol practically sings as he crosses the threshold into your apartment. 

“Are you finally going to let me sell your extra kidney on the black market?” you ask, your gaze laser-focused on the fabric in front of you as you make slow, painstaking cuts. “Because if not, I’m not interested.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Firstly, we’ve been over this. I don’t have an extra kidney. I have the two I was born with.”

“But you only need one,” you remind him. “So the other one is superfluous.”

He shakes his head. “Secondly, it’s not that, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like this almost as much.”

“Will it make me a lot of money?” you say with a final snip through the thick velvet.

“Is that all you care about?” he asks you as you look up at him. He’s half-smiling with an eyebrow raised, and you can tell he’s fighting back a bigger grin. 

“Duh,” you say. “No, but seriously. What’s the surprise?”

“I’m moving!” he announces excitedly. 

Your jaw drops, along with your heart. “Wait, like…away?” you ask him.

“No, silly,” he reassures. “It’s a ten-minute walk in your direction from my old place.”

“So you’re moving…closer to me?” you ask, doing the mental math.

“Only about five minutes’ walk from here,” he says proudly. “And you know what’s the best part?”

His eyes are a little too eager. “Are you about to ask me to do something?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

His smile falters a little bit, and you roll your eyes. “I knew it! What do you want from me?”

“Well, it’s something you’d like…something you’re good at…” he says sheepishly.

“So why are you hesitating?”

“I need you to feng shui the place,” Seungcheol blurts. “Um… decorate. So that it doesn’t turn into a mojo dojo casa house.”

“That’s it? I’d love to do that. I don’t know why you were so scared to ask.”

He smiles grimly. “Well, you’ll understand when we get there.”

******

“Hey, uh….you in there?” Seungcheol asks you, his worried eyes taking in your dropped jaw and the way your feet are absolutely cemented to the sidewalk. 

“You bought this house?” you manage to choke out, finally tearing your eyes away from the structure to look at Seungcheol.

You knew this place – of course you did. How many times had you passed by to admire it, secretly daydreaming about planting camellia bushes by the front door and adding a swing to its old wraparound porch? How many unspoken wishes had you made at its front gate as you’d stared into its old boarded-up windows?

But this house – the one you’d fallen in love with despite its ugliness – was no longer boarded up. You’d wondered when it had been fixed up, supposing that in your business with work, you hadn’t had the time to take walks around the neighborhood. But now the porch is clean, the weeds have been pulled, new grass has been put down in the front yard, and the entire face of the house has been re-painted. It looks like a new home, with its pretty white brick and freshly-shingled brown roof, perfect for a new owner.

“When?” you ask. “When did you do this?”

“Oh, months ago,” Seungcheol admits meekly.

“And you waited to tell me – why?” you ask him, in a too-loud voice that makes a lady passing by stare at you in alarm as she hurries her small dog along.

“I’m sorry, I just…I kind of wanted it to be a surprise?” You give him your best “be serious” look, and he caves. “Okay, well, the truth is that I was toying with buying it for literally years, and the price dropped about six months ago.”

You realize what he’s getting at. “Oh,” you say softly. “About the time I got promoted.”

“And you were so busy,” Seungcheol says in a pleading tone. “I barely saw you regardless. And I knew you’d feel guilty if you knew I was fixing up the place and it was so close by and you couldn’t help. I was trying to prevent you from adding one more thing to your plate.”

You bite your lip. “Well, I can’t say I’m happy about it, but I guess I understand.” And if you’re being honest with yourself, you also know he’s right. You would’ve felt guilty. You feel guilty now, looking at the house that Seungcheol built without you, knowing you took no part in the remaking of this place that was so dear to you. Well, I suppose I’ll have to change that, you think to yourself.

“Do you want to see the inside?” Seungcheol suggests, seeming to guess the bittersweetness you’re feeling.

“Yes,” you say, following him up the walkway into the home.

It’s beautiful inside – but it’s empty. You try to distract yourself from your mixed emotions by putting your designer hat on. “So what do you want it to look like?” you ask Seungcheol, who is still watching you like he’s scared you’ll start yelling at him.

“I want it to look like I live here,” he answers simply. “You know me really well, so I kind of figured I’d trust you to do your thing.”

“I’m not an interior decorator,” you remind him. “But I’ll do my best. What’s your budget?”

At this, Seungcheol blushes. “Don’t worry about it.”

You level a sharp gaze at him. “Just how rich are you?”

“Do I have to answer that?” he begs.

“Yes,” you snap.

“Why are you mad?” he asks you.

“Because you kept such a massively huge secret from me – and now it seems like there’s another thing or two I still have to find out about you.” You sigh. “You’re my best friend, Seungcheol. You know everything there is to know about me. I thought it was the same for you.”

You know before Seungcheol even says anything that you crossed some invisible line -- his eyes flash with a fire you've seen in him when discussing your exes, but only rarely does he look at you like this. “Oh yeah?” he says quietly, but there’s a hard edge to his voice. “When was I supposed to bring it up to you, huh? When you were averaging 3 hours of sleep a night trying to learn your new role? When you were sick for three weeks after your first big project because you’d worked yourself to the bone, and I had to come check on you every day to make sure you hadn’t died in your sleep? When would it have been a good time to tell you?” He pauses at the sight of your face, at the hurt and shock there, and takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s just … I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“I never asked,” you whisper. “It’s not all your fault. I – I never ask you what’s going on in your life. I’m a really selfish friend.” You bite your tongue to keep the tears that you can feel burning in your eyes from overflowing. It hurts to realize how much you rely on him, and how little he feels like he can do the same.

“No,” Seungcheol denies, his voice distressed. “No, listen. It’s not like that, either. It is the same for me. I always want to tell you when something happens in my life, but I just worry about complicating things for you. I know you always have a lot going on. There’s more moving parts to your life than there is to mine.” He takes a step closer to you. “And we’re not friends because you ask me about my day. We’re friends because we like being around each other.”

You can quite literally feel yourself dancing around what you wish you could say to Choi Seungcheol. Your heart is in your throat, and you have to take a deep breath before mustering up a smile — though it feels completely false. “You’re right,” you breathe. “But I still want to know. It might be a lot to handle but you have to give me the choice, Seungcheol.” 

And you don’t say it — you can’t— but you think: it’s worth it if it’s you. And you can’t help but let one tear spill over.

Seungcheol makes a move toward you, but you hold your hand out to stop him. “I’m fine,” you reassure him, brushing the tear away and clearing your throat. “I just feel bad that I haven’t been as solid for you as you have for me.”

“I’m worried you’re now feeling like I regret taking care of you,” Seungcheol warns, his hands outstretched as though to pull you in. “I don’t mean to complain.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “I don’t feel like you’re complaining.”

“You know that’s how it goes, though, right?” he presses, seemingly unable to move on until he’s sure you understand. “Sometimes we’re both solid, sometimes I carry you, sometimes you carry me, sometimes we have to carry each other. That’s just life.”

You purse your lips at him. “Sounds like someone got an A in therapy.”

“At least I go to therapy.” 

“Touché,” you reply drily, once again turning your gaze to the large entryway. “Well, I’ll need a tour if I’m gonna help you decorate this place.”

“Come with me,” Seungcheol offers, tilting his head at the arched doorframe leading to a wide open room. 

“This is gonna be the kitchen,” Seungcheol informs you. “But I have no appliances or anything yet. But I want it to be a good entertaining space.”

“You’re planning on having people over?” you ask, trying to hide how shocked and delighted you are. One of the reasons you know you’re close with Seungcheol is that you’re one of the few friends he invites over.

“Of course, now that I’ve got the space,” he replies, a little miffed. “I didn’t have people over before because my apartment was small.” He gestures to the middle of the room. “I want a big table here. One where everyone can fit.”

The way he says it — so earnest, so sincere. A place for everyone. Everyone fits. You smile. “I love that.”

Seungcheol beams, and your knees go wobbly before you can prevent it. 

***

The tour was, overall, a success. Regardless of your initial surprise, the thought that Seungcheol was going to own the home you’d loved for so long felt right. You were buzzing with ideas — some less comfortable than others. For some reason, the idea of designing Seungcheol’s master bedroom raised the hair on your neck.

You’re just about to leave when you notice a door in the entryway that you didn’t explore. “Where does that go?” you ask, approaching it to open it, but Seungcheol steps in front of it smoothly, cutting you off.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with a smile, staring you down with unshakable confidence.

“Well, now I’m worried about it. What are you hiding?” you say, trying to skirt around Seungcheol. He very easily wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you around so that he’s between you and the door again, and though the sudden contact is alarming, you glare at him over your shoulder. 

“Did you kill someone and hide the body in there?” you ask.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “No. That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Is there some weird culty crap in there, then? Are you planning on running a compound?”

“I actually don’t think I have the charisma necessary to be a cult leader,” he reasons. “I hate that you’ve thought that much about it,” you grumble, “but I kind of agree.”

“Hey!” he says, indignant. “You’re not supposed to bring up my lack of rizz.”

“You don’t have cult leader rizz, Seungcheol. That’s a compliment.” You shake your head. “This is a stupid conversation, and you still haven’t told me what’s in there!”

“That’s true,” he agrees, smiling sunnily down at you.

“I thought we said no more secrets,” you say, meeting his gaze.

“It’s not a secret. It’s a surprise,” he rationalizes, and you roll your eyes.

“So I’ll see it eventually?”

“Most definitely you will,” he assures. “Also, why were your first two guesses murder and cults? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I hyperfixated on a true crime podcast last week,” you explain.

“Ah. Well, why don’t you hyperfixate on happier things? How busy are you today? Can we start shopping?”

He sounds so eager that you can’t bring yourself to shut him down, but the mysterious door stays in your head all the way up until your first post-breakup date with Jinho.

It is a bit of a rocky start. Jinho is an hour and a half late picking you up — but at least he texted beforehand, a definite improvement for how it’d been when you’d dated. “I’m so sorry,” he says, breathlessly, as he sweeps you into the cab. “I had a lot to do and it kind of got away from me.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly, tugging uncomfortably at the itchy black dress with its constricting high neck that had been hiding in the back of your closet since Jinho got it for you. He’d once complained that you never wore it, and you figured it would comfort him to see you making an effort to connect again, too.

The cab ride is pleasant enough, with Jinho talking about his work and his day. “How was your day?” he asks. 

“Well, actually,” you tell him, “my friend Seungcheol bought that old house I’ve loved forever.”

“The one five minutes from your apartment?” Jinho asks. He’d been familiar with the place. “The one that was kind of a dump?”

“It had character,” you say, a little affronted. “And yes, that one. He renovated it and asked me to help him decorate.”

“Does he need art?” Jinho asks interestedly.

You consider for a minute. For some reason, the idea of Seungcheol meeting Jinho feels like crossing a line. “He might,” you allow. “I’ll ask him.”

“I’ll get him a friends’ discount,” Jinho says eagerly. “I actually need more clients these days.”

You nod, grinning at his enthusiasm and pulling out your phone to text Seungcheol and ask if he needs art. After you’re finished sending the text, you pull at your collar again, noticing that you’re sweating a little in the hot air from the car heaters, exacerbating the itch.

Jinho takes your hand in his. “I’m nervous too,” he says quietly.

And even though he misinterpreted your discomfort for nerves, it’s a little endearing to hear him admit that you’re affecting him. So you don’t withdraw your hand.

***

Seungcheol was at work with you the next day. You’d been too busy with the release of the line, so you hadn’t been able to be there for the promotional photos he’d taken for the company website. But a fashion magazine had wanted to use your brand for an upcoming editorial, and Minghao thought it would be good to have a familiar face in the room for Seungcheol, who the magazine had specifically requested to work with.

His first look was a ribbed black turtleneck with white trim beneath a distressed leather jacket. He looked amazing -- of course he did -- but you were expecting him to. What you were not expecting was how attractive Seungcheol became as he effortlessly shifted from your sweet and generous and warm best friend into a haughty, confident, smirking model. One second, Seungcheol was enthusing about how soft the turtleneck was, and the next, he was smoldering like a forgotten fire into the camera.

The photographer was obsessed with him. It was almost bothersome how often she approached him just to tweak his pose in the most insignificant way possible. You were almost positive it was just so she could let her hands flutter over the fine structure of his face and the perfect planes of his shape. It annoyed you even more that Seungcheol didn’t even seem to notice. He (infuriatingly) shot her a grateful smile after every correction.

You try to keep it out of your voice as you greet him at the end of the shoot. “You did amazing,” you say, because it’s the only thing you can trust to sound genuine about the experience. 

“Thanks,” Seungcheol says easily. He’d finished the shoot in a stunning black denim set beaded with white crystal flames up the arms. Anyone else in this outfit might look a little crazy, but not him. He made it look like something anyone could wear. “These clothes are really comfy!” Seungcheol says, interrupting your errant thoughts (about him).

“That’s the idea,” you say with a smile. “Are you all tired out?”

“Why? Did you want to do something?”

You make a guilty face at his cheerful tone. “Meet with Jinho about the art?”

To his credit, Seungcheol only lets his smile slip a fraction before he agrees. You don’t need to ask him why he might not particularly want to meet with Jinho — as far as Seungcheol is concerned, the jury is still out in regards to your prodigal ex come home. He’d responded to the message you’d sent asking if Jinho could help him with a clipped “sure”, which honestly was enough to let you know that the three of you collaborating on this project was going to be weird at best and wildly uncomfortable at worst.

But still, Seungcheol travels to your apartment with you to await Jinho — even standing up as he arrives and greets you with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Hey,” he says breathlessly. “Did you wait long?”

“Not at all,” you say reassuringly, looking between them. You don’t know why, but it almost makes you laugh to watch them size each other up. Jinho’s eyes widen just slightly as they take in Seungcheol’s impressive build, and he can’t suppress a swallow as Seungcheol looks him over with an appraising sort of gaze. Although a couple inches shorter than Jinho, Seungcheol’s presence is far more impactful. 

You can almost hear the tension siphon out of the room as Seungcheol finally breaks a smile. “Hi,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Seungcheol.”

“I’m Jinho,” he replies, taking the offered hand and wincing a little as Seungcheol squeezes. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?” Seungcheol says, shooting you a look.

“Well, I heard you renovated that house,” Jinho says hurriedly, finally taking a seat at the table. 

“I did,” Seungcheol says, easing himself into a chair. “And it’s looking pretty bare at the moment.”

“Well, I hope I can help with that,” Jinho says fervently. 

“She tells me you’re quite good at your job,” Seungcheol says, gesturing at you.

Jinho’s eyes sparkle as he looks at you, and your heart turns over in your chest. “Very kind of you,” he says.

You shrug. “Just true.” Never mind that you sometimes wished Jinho was worse at his job so he had more time for you. You try not to let the bitterness of that thought make a show on your face.

Seungcheol is watching both of you carefully when Jinho turns his attention to him. “What’s the budget we’re working with?” Jinho asks.

Seungcheol shrugs. “I’m pretty flexible.”

Jinho’s eyes go wide. “What, exactly, do you do for work?”

“I’m a sports statistician,” Seungcheol replies with a wry smile, “but I inherited a lot of money from my grandfather and spent the last ten years building a pretty significant real estate portfolio.”

Jinho nods in understanding while you gape at your friend. “You never told me that!” you say. 

“Maybe I didn’t want you to like me for the money,” Seungcheol teases, smiling at your flabbergasted face.

“Mostly commercial real estate?” asks Jinho. 

“Mostly business parks,” Seungcheol confirms. “I own a hotel downtown too.”

“Is the house your first residential acquisition?”

“The first I plan on living in myself,” Seungcheol clarifies.

Jinho nods. “Well, we can go one of three routes. You can use the art as another type of investment, or you can use it as just decor, or both.”

“I’m leaning toward decor,” Seungcheol says, “but investments would be cool, too.” He pulls out his phone. “I like calm pieces like this,” he explains, pointing at a few reference paintings — boats at a dock at sunrise, a still-life of dandelions on the shore of a pond, a cozy-looking city street in autumn. “Nothing too modern or sterile.”

Jinho nods again. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see what I can do.”

It takes another half hour of finagling to get Jinho out of the apartment so you can whirl on Seungcheol. “Commercial real estate?” you say in a tiny voice. 

“Yeah,” he says, and you can hear the tension from the argument yesterday in his voice.

“I’m not mad,” you say quickly.

“I know,” he says back. You stare at each other for a long time. 

“Have I ever stayed in the hotel you own?” you finally ask to break the stony silence.

“Have you ever stayed in the Grandeur?” he fires back.

“You own the Grandeur?” you gasp, jaw dropping automatically. 

“Yeah,” he says again. “We had my birthday there once and I liked it so much I thought…” He trails off and blushes. 

“You thought what?”

And sheepishly, he looks down at the floor and replies in a quiet voice, “I thought it’d be a good birthday present.”

He actually laughs at the look on your face when he notices you. “This was all before I knew you,” he admits.

You sit down at the table with him again. “Okay, so, for the past few years we’ve been friends, you’ve been the richest person I’ve ever met. And I’ve met some very wealthy people. Like, when I bumped into you in the elevator, you were already a very wealthy man.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “This is why I think it’s silly to go Dutch when we go out to eat.”

“But you never said anything—“

“Because then I’d sound like a terrible person. ‘No, it’s fine, I’ll get this, I’m actually way richer than you.’”

“I might not have taken it that way,” you say doubtfully.

“Does it really change that much to know that I’m rich?” he asks. “I’m the same guy from before. Same personality and everything.”

“I know. It’s just weird to have to do the mental shift.”

“You don’t have to shift anything,” Seungcheol insists. “Everything is the same as it was before. You just have more information about me.”

“Why is this so weird for me?” you groan, slumping in your seat. “Intellectually, I get that you’re the same dude. But it just seems like you have this whole side of your life that you kept from me.”

“Maybe I was worried you’d react poorly,” Seungcheol says with a raised eyebrow.

You have to laugh at that. “You could be hanging out with celebrities. You could be dating models. But you hang out with me.”

He grins. “Well, you’re a lot more fun than most rich people.”

“Really?” you ask, rubbing at your forehead tiredly. “I guess being a disaster is entertaining, if nothing else.”

“You aren’t a disaster,” Seungcheol says with a warning tone. “And, for the third time, nothing is really different.”

“One thing’s for sure, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m never paying for another meal again,” you say, finally managing a real smile.

Seungcheol nods in approval. “That was how I hoped you’d react.”

“Just immediately start taking advantage of you?” you ask with a laugh.

“Well, yeah, pretty much,” Seungcheol says, and finally all the discomfort you’d been feeling dissolves into thin air as the two of you laugh together again. 

***

“So…you spend a lot of time with Seungcheol,” Jinho says at dinner next weekend. 

“Well, yeah,” you say. “He’s my best friend.”

Jinho nods thoughtfully, but he doesn’t look happy. “Do you think Seungcheol has ever had feelings for you?” he finally asks.

“I’m pretty certain he’s never felt anything past platonic for me,” you say, staring into your glass of water. “Why?”

Jinho gives you a long, hard look before answering. “You seem very close.”

“Like siblings?” you offer up half-heartedly. “There’s nothing going on between us, I promise. If there was, I wouldn’t have agreed to start seeing you again.”

Jinho nods. “I believe you. He just — he’s kind of intense, isn’t he?”

You contemplate. “I think he can be,” you finally respond. “Seungcheol is like … I don’t know. Maybe a fire is the best analogy. Capable of being comforting and quite destructive.”

“If he’s the flame, what does that make me?” Jinho asks you. He slips his hand into yours. 

You give him a little half-smile. “If he’s fire, you’re water.”

“Water usually beats fire,” Jinho says, sounding a bit comforted.

You squeeze his hand. “It’s not a competition.”

Because it isn’t. Seungcheol’s fire, as far as you could tell, burned deeper within him than the Marianna Trench, a terrifyingly powerful passion held in check by a man with enough kindness to keep it bubbling under the surface instead of spilling out onto everything around him. Jinho was more akin to swimming in the shallows. It was a comforting thing to be able to see his limits.

This is the first night that you kiss Jinho, post-breakup. The kiss is sugar-sweet, brief, and nervous — like you’re high school kids again. Your heart speeds up a little as your lips just brush.

And there is no fire to it at all.

***

You wake up the next day with a heaviness that seems to have burrowed its way into the marrow of your bones. It’s more emotional than physical, but the telltale ache of your body is enough to have you calling Minghao mid-morning. “I can’t come in,” you tell him. “I'm coming down with something.”

“Rest up,” he tells you, and you’re very grateful for him and how understanding he is as you end the call. 

Your first thought would normally be to call Seungcheol, but you dial Jinho’s number instead. When he doesn’t answer — probably still asleep, you reason — you slump on your bed, exhausted and unable to do much else besides stare at the ceiling of your bedroom.

This kind of sickness is awful. It’s even more awful when you’re facing it alone — when there’s no one there that can warm up the cold inside you. You can’t even muster up energy to leave your bed. The thought of cooking something is laughable. The emptiness and silence of it all is paralyzing. You’re lucky — for you, this inconvenient reality of your mental illness is rare — but when it hits, it’s difficult to remember what the point is of anything. 

Time crawls by like an inchworm across a vast, bare desert. If you had been able to feel anything at all, you know you’d be feeling acutely miserable. And still you lay there, uncomfortably warm in the light of day, still tangled in your blankets but unable to move them.

It’s a mystery to you how long you lay like this before a buzzing splits the silence. With tremendous effort, you grab your phone and look at the caller ID, expecting to see Jinho returning your call. But it’s Seungcheol.

“Hi,” he says once you’ve managed to answer it. “I haven’t heard from you today. You okay?”

“Hi,” you say in a flat, robotic tone, devoid of normal expression.

And in one word, Seungcheol knows. 

“I’m coming over,” he says, and hangs up.

A little drop of emotion seems to spill from your otherwise empty cup — anxiety. Seungcheol knows that you have days where life is harder than others. He’s also never seen you this incapacitated by one of them. A little knot of panic starts to grow in your chest, amplified by the seemingly hours-long minutes it takes Seungcheol to get to you. But when you finally hear him at the door, he lets himself in. 

He quietly makes his way back into your bedroom and sits at your bedside. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You try to get your mouth to move — no dice. Instead, you just slightly turn your body to face him, trying your hardest to focus your gaze on him so he knows you heard him.

And Seungcheol leans down and scoops you up out of your blankets, lifting you easily from the bed and onto the couch. He doesn’t let you go, though, just keeps ahold of you. He holds you in a hug until the feeling starts to come back into your limbs and you’re able to reach your arms around him and cling on tight. And then he keeps you in his arms for several more minutes for good measure. You barely notice his sigh of relief and the way he relaxes into your grasp when you finally wrap your arms around him.

When he pulls away, you cringe. But he just pushes your hair off your face and looks you over, and the warmth of his hands on you soothes whatever raw part of yourself began to ache when he stopped holding you.

And he doesn’t ask you what happened, or try to make you explain anything. He just asks you if you’ve eaten. 

“No,” you rasp. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since the phone call. And so Seungcheol makes you eggs. He watches like a hawk as you mechanically bring the fork to your mouth until the eggs are gone. And then he sits beside you, quietly reading, until the sun goes down and Jinho arrives.

By that time, you still feel lethargic and nowhere near normal, but you can stomach a conversation. Jinho puts his arms around you and holds you tight as Seungcheol slips out the door, and you nestle in close, trying to feel the same warmth you felt when it was your best friend holding you. “Bad day?” Jinho asks softly, pressing a kiss into your hair. And you laugh — because he’s not wrong. But how can you explain this?

Luckily he doesn’t ask you to. The two of you put on a comforting cartoon and cuddle on the couch all night. Jinho is asleep, holding you, before you can put together how he even knew something was wrong. And when you do put it together, it hits you like a gut punch. Because there’s no one else who knew. 

Seungcheol has saved you once again. 

***

Two months later

“You better not drop that,” Seungcheol warns Mingyu, who shoots you a longsuffering look as he carries in a sleek overhead lamp to go in Seungcheol’s office.

“Go easy on him! He managed the glassware really well!” you scold, hitting Seungcheol lightly on the sleeve. “And shouldn’t you be carrying something?”

“He said he’s supervising,” Wonwoo says owlishly, right on Mingyu’s tail with a small box of paperweights. 

Seungcheol throws up his arms at the look you level at him. “I helped move all the heavy stuff,” he calls after Wonwoo, who’s disappearing up the stairs.

“So did Mingyu, but you don’t see him sitting around watching,” you tease with a smile. 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and heads for the door, stepping around Jinho, who’s bringing in the last of the paintings for the gallery wall in the library. “Need help?” you ask as he comes to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“No, that’s okay,” he says. “You should help Vernon, though. I’ve heard he’s struggling with the jerseys.”

So you head into the east wing of the house, which Seungcheol has converted into an entertainment center. There are working arcade games, a pool table, a foosball table, and a projector complete with a huge drop-down screen for movies. Seungcheol, ever the sports fanatic, has acquired three priceless signed jerseys: a Pedro Martinez-signed Mets jersey, a Michael Jordan-signed Bulls jersey, and a Steve Young-signed 49ers jersey. Vernon is positioned underneath the wall where the Jordan and Martinez jerseys are already hung, staring pensively.

“You needed help?”

“They’re too far apart,” Vernon says. “There’s no room for the last one.”

“How long did it take you to do this?” you ask tiredly.

“Like two hours,” he replies with a sigh. 

So the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon taking down the jerseys and repositioning them. By the time you’re done, the rest of the house is practically finished. It’s amazing to see how much livelier it feels now that it’s not all empty white walls. 

“We have less than two hours until the housewarming party,” you remind Seungcheol, who’s sitting on the entryway steps looking exhausted. “Don’t you need to change?”

“Have you picked out my outfit yet?” he asks as Jinho comes up behind you and slides a hand around your waist. 

“I am nothing if not capable of meeting deadlines,” you remind him, squeezing Jinho’s hand and then beckoning Seungcheol up to his bedroom. Deftly, you lay his outfit out on his bed for him: a pair of light brown chinos, some black loafers, and a gift bag.

He raises his eyebrows. “What’s this?” he complains, but you can see a bit of his dimple and know he’s trying to hide a smile.

“Your housewarming present from me,” you tell him. “Now open it.”

He does — and reveals a soft black collared shirt. “This is nice,” he says, rubbing the material with his fingers. 

“I made it,” you say. 

“You did?” he asks, looking at you so quickly you think you hear his neck pop.

“By hand. With love,” you say, and open your arms to him.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, wrapping you up in a squeeze. “It’s perfect,” he says into your hair. “Thanks.”

“And,” you say, pulling back before his closeness gives you goosebumps, “a finishing touch.” You hand him a small box. “From Jinho.”

Surprised, Seungcheol opens the box. Inside is a slim black watch. “Wow. I should go tell him thank you,” Seungcheol says.

“Yes, you should,” you agree. “And then you should shower.” You crinkle your nose, and Seungcheol scoffs before running downstairs to say thank you to Jinho for the help and the watch.

You don’t have a lot of time to get ready for the housewarming party, so you end up showering quickly and throwing your hair into a messy bun before putting on your nice clothes and running downstairs to the cab Jinho brought to pick you up. Together, you make the short drive to the house, where you can already see a small crowd of people standing in that beautiful entryway. 

You grasp Jinho’s hand as the two of you walk in, greeting the friends you know and looking at the house with the renewed attention of people who aren’t trying to decorate it. It’s beautiful and cozy, with a natural, elevated style that suits the owner perfectly. Seungcheol’s house is full of earthy colors and calming textures, and you couldn’t be more proud. 

As is so often the case in a crowd, you find yourself looking for the man of the hour — and your heart sinks as your eyes follow the errant sound of his laughter in the high-ceiling room. Seungcheol is standing with a beautiful woman, laughing heartily at something she said. 

You knew he’d stopped seeing that pretty, knowledgeable sports reporter about two weeks after it started, but you hadn’t heard anything else about his love life since. You had a sense that Seungcheol tried to keep you separate from his romantic relationships, and so you didn’t want to pry. But surely he’d have said something to you if he really was seeing someone.

Someone calls your name, bringing you back to earth. “Minghao?” you say in disbelief.

“Hi,” Minghao says with a wave. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Seungcheol invited me,” he says simply. 

“Wow, that’s cool,” you say, still confused at the sight of your boss just hanging out with all your friends. “Minghao, this is Jinho. Jinho, meet Minghao — he’s my boss.”

They shake hands while you try to figure out why you didn’t introduce Jinho as your boyfriend. Minghao asks you if you’re excited for your award ceremony tomorrow night — turns out, one of your shoots won some kind of award.

“Kind of,” you reply. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Jinho says gently. “You deserve the award.”

You give his hand a squeeze, and then Seungcheol steps away from the woman (after giving her shoulder a squeeze, which makes you grit your teeth), and stands on one of the steps of the staircase to address the group. 

“Thank you all for your help and for coming to this housewarming party. I wouldn’t have been able to make this move without lots of help, so I’m super grateful.” He looks right at you then, and you see that carefully caged fire beneath his brown eyes. You feel the rest of the world melt away as he continues. “I want this to be a place where you feel welcome. I want you to feel as comfortable here as you do in your own home. Please let this be the beginning of a tradition where you know you can show up on my porch at any time and there will be a warm greeting for you.”

Your heart is in your throat. The eye contact between you two seems to connect your souls, searing into you like a hot branding iron, marking you forever. 

And then it passes, and you take a deep shuddering breath. Jinho looks at you in alarm. And Seungcheol finishes, “there are drinks and snacks — stay as long as you like.”

As everyone else mulls around the house, eating and drinking and laughing together, Seungcheol comes up to you and Jinho. "Thank you for your help," he says to Jinho, and his smile is genuine and kind. "I really couldn't have managed without you. The art is fantastic."

"Anytime," Jinho says, blushing. You grin at the sight of his shyness.

"I wanted to show you something," Seungcheol says, taking Jinho by the arm. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," you say, waving them off. The two men disappear into the crowd, and you walk toward Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Vernon, who are all standing at the edge of the room laughing with each other. "Hey," you say, and Mingyu sweeps you into his side in a quick hug.

"Hi," they chorus together. "You cleaned up nice," Wonwoo says, pointing at your dress.

"Thanks!" you say, a little surprised. Wonwoo usually wasn't the most vocal in his appreciation, and the compliment melted you just a little.

"Seungcheol told him to say that," Vernon says, with the air of a toddler tattling on his brother.

Your heart warms at the thought. "Of course he did," you say. "He's entirely too good to me."

"Where is Jinho?" asks Mingyu.

"Seungcheol dragged him off somewhere," you say. "I don't know."

The three of you discuss the usual gossip -- the other boys' love lives -- all the way up until Seungcheol and Jinho find you again. Jinho looks a little rattled, but pulls it together when he sees you.

"Where did he take you?" you ask him.

"I'll tell you later." It came out in such a flat little voice that you know something is wrong, but you don't feel like you can ask him about it, so you just stay quiet.

And you feel such sweeping emptiness that you find yourself dissociating from the party. Seungcheol introduces you to his friends you didn’t know already, and even in your disconnected state you register the pretty woman’s name — Nikita. She is so nice to you, telling you how much she loves the decor in “Cheol’s” house. 

It’s enough to send you home with a headache an hour and a half later.

***

It’s 8:45pm. Jinho left your award ceremony to go to the bathroom, and he still hasn’t come back. 

Things have been weird since last night. You’re starting to get the feeling that Jinho notices how you’re affected by Seungcheol and isn’t happy about it. It makes you feel rubbed raw, like your whole body has carpet burn. 

But now, you’re starting to panic. Jinho was the one who drove you downtown to this swanky party your company threw for you, and now you’re 45 minutes from home with just your phone — no wallet to pay for a cab if Jinho really did run off. 

Your phone rings — it’s Jinho. 

“Where are you?” you ask in a panic, your voice cracking with stress.

“I left,” Jinho says calmly. “I’m sorry. But I think there are some things you’ve been lying to me about. So for your own sake, and for my sanity, we can’t do this anymore.”

“Lying?” you say, choking around the word. “What do you mean?”

“Call Seungcheol. I bet he can explain it to you,” Jinho says harshly. And he hangs up.

The only reason why you don’t call Seungcheol immediately upon hearing the line go dead is because you’re in shock. You’d thought that the very real, very intensely powerful feelings you felt for Seungcheol wouldn’t get in the way of developing a new relationship — possibly hoping that any new feelings would push out the old ones.

But those old feelings had grown roots. And now they sat there, planted in your chest, too entangled with the person you are to be plucked out, and you’d been refusing to look at them, but now it was time. Jinho was right — you’d lied to him when you’d said there was nothing there. You’d lied to yourself for months, maybe years. The only person it seemed that you hadn’t lied to about it was Seungcheol himself, and that was simply because he’d never asked. If he’d asked, you would’ve lied to him too — lied until you were blue in the face, lied until you both believed it, because the truth would surely kill whatever good thing existed between the two of you.

The truth being, of course, that you are in love with Choi Seungcheol.

You’ve fought it so long it almost relieves you to say it, if only just to yourself. You’re in love with him, and you know now that no matter how much anyone else tries, you’re going to end up right back here, wanting him.

Your hands shake as you call him. 

He answers on the second ring.

“Jinho left me at the party,” you say hazily. “I’m 45 minutes away and I don’t have my wallet. I’m — I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Seungcheol says. You can hear him moving around, probably looking for his coat and his keys, and then he says, “are you okay? Where are you right now?”

You look around. Unbeknownst to you, your feet carried you out of the event space and into the lobby area, where you’re alone. “I’m okay. I’m by myself. I'm still inside the venue.”

“Stay right there, and don’t move. I’m coming.”

You expect the time to crawl by as you wait for Seungcheol, a pit of dread building in your stomach, but before you know it, he’s walking in and scooping you into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and you don’t have the strength to resist melting into him. Unconsciously, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you whisper back. “I did this to myself.”

“There’s no good excuse for him to leave you here,” Seungcheol says sharply. 

He takes you out to his car. The drive home is almost silent, as you let tears fall into your lap, staining your pink dress. When you finally get to your apartment, Seungcheol helps you inside before he turns to you, jaw clenched. “I ought to kill him,” he says in a low, dangerous voice.

“You don’t know —“ you start, but Seungcheol pulls away.

“No, I’m not going to hear this,” he says shortly. “All of our whole friendship, you’ve always accepted this kind of thing as inevitable. I have to know. Why do you do it?”

Seungcheol is angrier than you’ve ever seen him — brown eyes blazing, cheeks red and face heated. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand,” you ask in a flat little voice. 

“I haven’t ever seen you be treated well in a relationship. And that’s not your fault, but I guess I don’t know why you stick around when time after time they make you miserable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I watch them hurt you, over and over again. Why do you just take it? Why don’t you fight for yourself?”

“I — because of love?” you squeak. “Love means — love means you stay.”

And your heart breaks. Because every time someone else walked away from you, it reinforced the idea that you were uncared for. Because no matter how well the relationship started, it always ends up hurting you more than anyone. And because the only man who’s never hurt you is the one in front of you right now, and even if he did love you, you don’t trust that you could believe it. 

He takes your face in his hands. “It’s not love. Love isn’t the thing that breaks your heart. At least, not when it’s healthy.” He brushes a tear off your face with his thumb. “Someone who truly loves you wouldn’t leave you behind like that.”

Maybe his fire lights some of yours too — because now, you’re angry. Angry enough to push his hands from your face, to turn away from those eyes that are so beseeching and so understanding and so right. “Are you the expert?” you ask him quietly, but your hands are shaking and your voice is lethal. “What do you really know about love?”

His jaw flexes — his eyes flash — he crosses his arms over his chest. “Everything I know about love,” he says with a barely contained voice, “I have learned from you.”

You have no words for this. So you stand, breathless, watching Seungcheol. Waiting.

He sighs. And then comes undone. The tears start to flow down his cheeks. But when you move toward him, he steps away. “I’ve loved you for so long it’s hard to imagine a time when I didn’t. When I try to find someone else, I end up falling in love with pieces of them that remind me of you. It’s unfair to them. I haven’t tried in awhile.”

He brushes his tears, then looks you in the eye. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll let you…I’ll give you some space.”

And with that, he leaves you alone in your apartment, wondering how small a human is capable of feeling.

***

The next few days are torturously slow. You’re icy cold and can’t seem to get warm no matter what you do. Seungcheol doesn’t reach out — and you know it’s because he’s trying to give you space — but you sort of hate not hearing from him, not knowing what’s going on. By day three, you’ve had enough. You call him.

And the look he gives you when he shows up on your doorstep a few minutes later is almost enough to make you abandon what you know you have to say. What all that time by yourself has taught you. What you've spent all your nights crying yourself to sleep over.

But still — Seungcheol holds you. He wraps you up in his arms, his broad hand stroking the back of your head, and you can feel his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He freezes. Pulls back, confused. “I love you,” you repeat, louder now.

“You do?” he asks. And he’s bewildered, but he also seems to sag in relief.

“Yes,” you say. “I don’t remember when it started. It doesn’t matter. All I know is I love you.”

And when he smiles at you, for the first time in days, you don’t feel that spine-tingling cold. 

You take a deep breath.

“But I don’t think I’m in a good place for a relationship right now,” you say.

Seungcheol swallows. Hard.

“I know you don’t need to be perfect to be in a relationship,” you say. “And I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you. I’ve just learned that I don’t know how to open myself up to love. Real love. And … and if it’s you, I can’t risk it.” You take his face in your hands. “I want to be healthy. I don't want to ... depend on you so much that I lose myself, like I do with other people. I wouldn’t ask you to wait around until I’m ready,” you murmur. “So I understand if…you can’t, or won’t. But I need to figure out some things first.”

And Seungcheol wraps his arms around you once again. “You are choosing yourself this time,” he says. “And I’m proud of you.”

After a long while of holding each other, Seungcheol says, “Hear me out.”

You look at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I got an offer. To help with the Olympics.”

Your jaw drops. “In France?”

He nods. “For four months.”

You wince as this sinks in. “You want to go, don’t you?”

“I really want to go,” he says. “And maybe…”

“That would give me time.” You don’t have to ask what he’s insinuating — you already know. 

“I’m not giving you a deadline,” he says quickly. “If you’re still not…well, I was thinking we could just — just see where we’re at by then.”

You resist the urge to burst into tears, to throw yourself into his arms and beg him not to leave, and instead try to be logical about it. “A winter alone,” you muse. “Maybe it’ll be good for me.”

Seungcheol looks like he could kiss you. Instead, he squeezes you tightly. “If you need me — I mean, I’ll fly home in a second if you ask.”

And you know that he’s telling the truth, and you know that because of that, you’d never ask that of him. But you still say, “Deal.”

And then you spend the rest of the night sitting quietly, snuggled up with your best friend, determinedly not thinking about the moment you’ll need to let go.

*** 

Seungcheol leaves two days later. 

He stops by before he heads to the airport. “Will you water my plants while I’m away?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you promise.

He gives you one last searching look. “I’m not leaving you,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you say quickly. 

“And you really can ask me to come back whenever you want,” he says.

“I know,” you say, finally cracking a smile. “Go live your dream. I’ll be here when you get back.”

The final hug, a sweeter-than-honey forehead kiss — promising more — and Seungcheol is gone.

You let yourself ache for him for a minute. And then you act. 

You whip out your phone, dial a number. 

“This is Rocky Heights Mental Wellness Clinic. How can I help?” 

You smile at the chipper tone from the receptionist. “Hi,” you reply. “I’d like to set up a therapy appointment.”

S.COUPS '그리워하는 것까지' ❖ Power of Love Concert　

cheol moments that live rent free in my mind🍒💞 #HappySeungcherryDay #띵동띵동_승철이_생일이다_문열어

s.coups ✧ 겨우 acoustic ver.

You're so gorgeous, I can't say anything to your face 🎶

sunkissed cheollie🍒🌞

WRECK THE FOCKKK OUT OF ME CHOI SEUNGCHEOL 🙏🥹

🍒: …i want to show the sexiness of thirties..

HE WASN'T KIDDING 🫠😩

S.COUPS | Allure Korea 2024

SCOUPS @ Lollapalooza Berlin